CONNIE MORGAN
IN THE
LUMBER CAMPS
BY
JAMES B. HENDRYX
AUTHOR OF "CONNIE MORGAN IN ALASKA," "CONNIE
MORGAN WITH THE MOUNTED"
[Illustration]
_ILLUSTRATED_
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1919
BY
JAMES B. HENDRYX
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--CONNIE MORGAN GOES "OUTSIDE" 1
II.--HURLEY 14
III.--INTO THE WOODS 28
IV.--CONNIE TAMES A BEAR-CAT 45
V.--HURLEY LAYS OUT THE NEW CAMP 58
VI.--THE I. W. W. SHOWS ITS HAND 69
VII.--THE PRISONERS 89
VIII.--THE BOSS OF CAMP TWO 103
IX.--SAGINAW ED IN THE TOILS 114
X.--CONNIE DOES SOME TRAILING 129
XI.--CONNIE FINDS AN ALLY 145
XII.--SHADING THE CUT 162
XIII.--SAGINAW ED HUNTS A CLUE 175
XIV.--A PAIR OF SOCKS 192
XV.--HURLEY PREPARES FOR THE DRIVE 204
XVI.--SLUE FOOT "COMES ACROSS" 217
XVII.--HEINIE METZGER 235
XVIII.--CONNIE SELLS SOME LOGS 255
XIX.--THE UNMASKING OF SLUE FOOT MAGEE 277
XX.--CONNIE DELIVERS HIS LOGS 292
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Hurley 8
Mike Gillum took Connie to the river where miles of
booms held millions of feet of logs 23
"Come on, tell them what you told them a minute ago" 55
Swiftly the boy followed the tracks to the point
where the man had struck into the clearing 131
The boy hastened unnoticed to the edge of a crowd
of men that encircled Frenchy Lamar 134
"What in the name of time be you doin' here?"
exclaimed Saginaw 150
"Phy don't yez tell me oi'm a big liar?" he roared 167
"Phwat d'yez want?" he whined 178
"What's this?" asked the boy, pushing up a small
bundle 193
Slue Foot turned. "Think y're awful smart, don't
ye?" 232
He leaned back in his chair and stared at Connie
through his glasses, as one would examine a
specimen at the zoo 251
Very gingerly he donned the garments and for some
moments stood and viewed himself in the mirror 265
Hurley had remained at the Upper Camp, and as the
drive at last began to thin out, he came floating
down, standing erect upon a huge log 299
Connie placed his hand affectionately upon the arm
of the big boss who stood at his side grinning
broadly 309
Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps
CHAPTER I
CONNIE MORGAN GOES "OUTSIDE"
[Illustration]
With an exclamation of impatience, Waseche Bill pushed a formidable
looking volume from him and sat, pen in hand, scowling down at the sheet
of writing paper upon the table before him. "I done give fo' dollahs fo'
that dictionary down to Faihbanks an' it ain't wo'th fo' bits!"
"What's the matter with it?" grinned Connie Morgan, glancing across the
table into the face of his partner.
"The main matteh with it is that it ain't no good. It's plumb full of a
lot of wo'ds that no one wouldn't know what yo' was talkin' about if yo'
said 'em, an' the common ones a man has got some use fo' is left out."
"What word do you want? I learned to spell quite a lot of words in
school."
"Gillum."
"What?"
"Gillum--I want to write a letteh to Mike Gillum. They ain't no betteh
man nowheahs than Mike. He's known all along the Tanana an' in the
loggin' woods outside, an' heah's this book that sets up to show folks
how to spell, an' it cain't even spell Mike Gillum."
Connie laughed. "Gillum is a proper name," he explained, "and
dictionaries don't print proper names."
"They might a heap betteh leave out some of the impropeh an' redic'lous
ones they've got into 'em, then, an' put in some of the propeh ones. I
ain't pleased with that book, nohow. It ain't no good. It claims fo' to
show how to spell wo'ds, an' when yo' come to use it yo' got to know
how to spell the wo'd yo' huntin' fo' oah yo' cain't find it. The only
wo'ds yo' c'n find when yo' want 'em is the ones yo' c'n spell anyhow,
so what's the use of findin' 'em?"
"But, there's the definitions. It tells you what the words mean."
Waseche Bill snorted contemptuously. "What they mean!" he exclaimed.
"Well, if yo' didn't know what they mean, yo' wouldn't be wantin' to use
them, nohow, an' yo' wouldn't care a doggone how they was spelt, noah if
they was spelt at all oah not. Fact is, I didn't give the matteh no
thought when I bought it. If it had be'n a big deal I wouldn't have be'n
took in, that way. In the hotel at Faihbanks, it was, when I was comin'
in. The fellow I bought it off of seemed right pleased with the book.
Why, he talked enough about it to of sold a claim. I got right tired
listenin' to him, so I bought it. But, shucks, I might of know'd if the
book had be'n any good he wouldn't have be'n so anxious to get red of
it."
"Where is this Mike Gillum?" Connie asked, as he folded a paper and
returned it to a little pile of similar papers that lay before him on
the table.
"I don't jest recollec' now, but I got the place copied down in my
notebook. It's some town back in Minnesota."
"Minnesota!"
"Yes. Fact is we be'n so blamed busy all summeh right heah in Ten Bow,
I'd plumb forgot about ouh otheh interests, till the nippy weatheh done
reminded me of 'em."
"I didn't know we had any other interests," smiled the boy.
"It's this way," began Waseche Bill, as he applied a match to his pipe
and settled back in his chair. "When I was down to the hospital last
fall they brought in a fellow fo' an operation an' put him in the room
next to mine. The first day he stuck his nose out the do', I seen it was
Mike Gillum--we'd prospected togetheh oveh on the Tanana, yeahs back,
an' yo' bet yo' boots I was glad to see someone that had been up heah in
the big country an' could talk sensible about it without askin' a lot of
fool questions about what do the dawgs drink in winteh if everythin's
froze up? An' ain't we afraid we'll freeze to death? An' how high is the
mountains? An' did you know my mother's cousin that went up to Alaska
after gold in '98? While he was gettin' well, we had some great old
powwows, an' he told me how he done got sick of prospectin' an' went
back to loggin'. He's a fo'man, now, fo' some big lumbeh syndicate in
one of theih camps up in no'the'n Minnesota."
"One day we was settin' a smokin' ouh pipes an' he says to me,
'Waseche,' he says, 'you've got the dust to do it with, why don't you
take a li'l flyeh in timbeh?' I allowed minin' was mo' in my line, an'
he says, 'That's all right, but this heah timbeh business is a big
proposition, too. Jest because a man's got one good thing a-goin', ain't
no sign he'd ort to pass up anotheh. It's this way,' he says: 'Up to'ds
the haid of Dogfish Riveh, they's a four-thousand-acre tract of timbeh
that's surrounded on three sides by the Syndicate holdin's. Fo' yeahs
the Syndicate's be'n tryin' to get holt of this tract, but the man that
owns it would die befo' he'd let 'em put an axe to a stick of it. They
done him dirt some way a long time ago an' he's neveh fo'got it. He
ain't got the capital to log it, an' he won't sell to the Syndicate. But
he needs the money, an' if some private pahty come along that would take
it off his hands an' agree to neveh sell it to the Syndicate, he could
drive a mighty good ba'gain. I know logs,' Mike says, 'an' I'm tellin'
yo' there ain't a betteh strip of timbeh in the State.'
"'Why ain't no one grabbed it befo'?' I asks.
"'Because this heah McClusky that owns it is a mighty suspicious ol'
man, an' he's tu'ned down about a hund'ed offehs because he know'd they
was backed by the Syndicate.'
"'Maybe he'd tu'n down mine, if I'd make him one,' I says.
"Mike laughed. 'No,' he says, 'spite of the fact that I'm one of the
Syndicate's fo'men, ol' man McClusky takes my wo'd fo' anything I tell
him. Him an' my ol' dad come oveh f'om Ireland togetheh. I'd go a long
ways around to do ol' Mac a good tu'n, an' he knows it. Fact is, it's me
that put him wise that most of the offehs he's had come from the
Syndicate--my contract with 'em callin' fo' handlin' loggin' crews, an'
not helpin' 'em skin folks out of their timbeh. If I'd slip the we'd to
Mac to sell to you, he'd sell.'"
Waseche refilled his pipe, and Connie waited eagerly for his big partner
to proceed. "Well," continued the man, "he showed me how it was an awful
good proposition, so I agreed to take it oveh. I wanted Mike should come
in on it, but he wouldn't--Mike's squah as a die, an' he said his
contract has got three mo' yeahs to run, an' it binds him not to engage
in no private business oah entehprise whateveh while it's in fo'ce.
"Befo'e Mike left the hospital he sent fo' McClusky, an' we closed the
deal. That was last fall, an' I told Mike that as long as the timbeh was
theah, I might's well staht gettin' it out. He wa'ned me to keep my eye
on the Syndicate when I stahted to layin' 'em down, but befo'e he'd got
a chance to give me much advice on the matteh, theah come a telegram fo'
him to get to wo'k an' line up his crew an' get into the woods. Befo'e
he left, though, he said he'd send me down a man that might do fo' a
fo'man. Said he couldn't vouch for him no mo'n that he was a tiptop
logman, an' capable of handlin' a crew in the woods. So he come, Jake
Hurley, his name is, an' he's a big red Irishman. I didn't jest like his
looks, an' some of his talk, but I didn't know wheah to get anyone else
so I took a chance on him an' hired him to put a crew into the woods an'
get out a small lot of timbeh." Waseche Bill crossed the room and,
unlocking a chest, tossed a packet of papers onto the table. "It's all
in theah," he said grimly. "They got out quite a mess of logs, an' in
the spring when they was drivin' 'em down the Dogfish Riveh, to get 'em
into the Mississippi, they fouled a Syndicate drive. When things got
straightened out, we was fo'teen thousan' dollahs to the bad."
The little clock ticked for a long time while Connie carefully examined
the sheaf of papers. After a while he looked up. "Why, if it hadn't been
for losing our logs we would have cleaned up a good profit!" he
exclaimed.
[Illustration: HURLEY]
Waseche Bill nodded. "Yes--if. But the fact is, we didn't clean up no
profit, an' we got the tract on ouh hands with no one to sell it to,
cause I passed ouh wo'd I wouldn't sell it--o' co'se McClusky couldn't
hold us to that acco'din' to law, but I reckon, he won't have to. I got
us into this heah mess unbeknownst to you, so I'll jest shouldeh the
loss, private, an'----"
"You'll _what!_" interrupted Connie, wrathfully. And then grinned
good-humouredly as he detected the twinkle in Waseche Bill's eye.
"I said, I c'n get a raise out of yo' any time I'm a mind to try, cain't
I?"
"You sure can," laughed the boy. "But just so you don't forget it, we
settled this partnership business for good and all, a couple of years
ago."
Waseche nodded as he glanced affectionately into the face of the boy.
"Yes, son, I reckon that's done settled," he answered, gravely. "But the
question is, now we ah into this thing, how we goin' to get out?"
"Fight out, of course!" exclaimed the boy, his eyes flashing. "The first
thing for us to find out is, whether the fouling of that drive was
accidental or was done purposely. And why we didn't get what was coming
to us when the logs were sorted."
"I reckon that's done settled, as fah as _knowin'_ it's conse'ned.
Provin' it will be anotheh matteh." He produced a letter from his
pocket. "This come up in the mail," he said. "It's from Mike Gillum.
Mike, he writes a middlin' sho't letteh, but he says a heap. It was
wrote from Riverville, Minnesota, on July the tenth."
"FRIEND WASECHE:
"Just found out Hurley is on pay roll of the Syndicate. Look
alive.
"MIKE."
"Double crossed us," observed the boy, philosophically.
"Yes, an' the wo'st of it is, he wouldn't sign up without a two-yeah
contract. Said some yeahs a boss has bad luck an' he'd ort to be give a
chance to make good."
"I'm glad of it," said Connie. "I think he'll get his chance, all
right."
Waseche looked at his small partner quizzically. "What do yo' mean?" he
asked.
"Let's go to bed. It's late," observed the boy, evasively. "Maybe in the
morning we'll have it doped out."
At breakfast the following morning Connie looked at Waseche Bill, and
Waseche looked at Connie. "I guess it's up to me," smiled the boy.
"Yo' mean----?"
"I mean that the only way to handle this case is to handle it from the
bottom up. First we've got to get this Jake Hurley with the goods, and
when we've got him out of the way, jump in and show the Syndicate that
they've run up against an outfit it don't pay to monkey with. That
timber is ours, and we're going to have it!"
"That sums the case right pert as fa' as talkin' goes, but how we goin'
to do it? If we go down theah an' kick Hurley out, we've got to pay him
fo' a whole winteh's wo'k he ain't done an' I'd hate to do that. We
don't neitheh one of us know enough about loggin' to run the camp, an'
if we was to hunt up anotheh fo'man, chances is he'd be as bad as
Hurley, mebbe wo'se."
"There's no use in both of us going. You're needed here, and besides
there wouldn't be much you could do if you were there. Hurley don't know
me, and I can go down and get enough on him by spring to put him away
where he can think things over for a while. I've just finished a year's
experience in handling exactly such characters as he is."
Waseche Bill grinned. "I met up with Dan McKeeveh comin' in," he said.
"From what I was able to getheh, heahin' him talk, I reckon they cain't
be many bad men left oveh on the Yukon side."
"Dan was prejudiced," laughed Connie. "I did just what any one else
would have done--what good men any place you put 'em have _got_ to do,
or they wouldn't be good men. After I'd found out what had to be done, I
figured out the most sensible way of doing it, and then did it the best
I knew how. I haven't lived with men like you, and Dan, and MacDougall,
and the rest of the boys, for nothing----"
"Jest yo' stick to that way of doin', son, an', I reckon, yo'll find
it's about all the Bible yo'll need. But, about this heah trip to the
outside. I sho' do hate to have yo' go down theh, so fah away from
anywhehs. S'posin' somethin' should happen to yo'. Why, I don't reckon I
eveh would get oveh blamin' myself fo' lettin' yo' go."
"Any one would think I was a girl," smiled the boy. "But I guess if I
can take care of myself up here, I can handle anything I'll run up
against outside."
"What do yo' aim to do when yo' get theah?"
"The first thing to do will be to hunt up Mike Gillum and have a talk
with him. After that--well, after that, I'll know what to do."
Waseche Bill regarded the boy thoughtfully as he passed his fingers
slowly back and forth along his stub-bearded jaw. "I reckon yo' will,
son," he said, "from what I know of yo', an' what Dan done tol' me,
comin' in, I jest reckon yo' will."
When Connie Morgan made up his mind to do a thing he went ahead and did
it. Inside of a week the boy had packed his belongings, bid good-bye to
Ten Bow, and started upon the journey that was to take him far from his
beloved Alaska, and plunge him into a series of adventures that were to
pit his wits against the machinations of a scheming corporation.