A year passed and the folk of St. Marys had not yet accustomed
themselves to drawing water from a tap and turning on the light with a
switch ere Clark began a frontal attack on the resources of the country
to the north. It was typical of his methods that he invariably used
new agencies by which to approach affairs which, in the main, differed
from those already existing. Thus he called on many and widely
separated individuals, who, answering his imperious summons, fell
straightway under the spell of his remarkable personality, and found
themselves shortly in positions of increasing responsibility. They
became the heads of various activities, but, in a way, the secondary
heads, for Clark retained all kingship for himself. So it came that as
months passed he was surrounded by a constantly increasing band of
active and loyal retainers.
Such was John Baudette, for whom Clark had sent to talk pulp wood, but,
it is recorded, that Baudette's manner and bearing changed not at all
when Clark stared at him across the big flat topped desk and remarked
evenly that he wanted pulp wood and was assured that there was an ample
supply within fifty miles.
Baudette's hard blue eyes met the stare placidly. "Yes, there is pulp
wood north of here."
"I know it, because I've had some," said Clark, "but I want fifty
thousand cords next May and seventy-five thousand the year after."
Baudette felt in a way more at home, but he had never contemplated
seventy-five thousand cords of wood. "Am I to go and take it?"
Clark laughed, then settled back with the shadow of a smile on his
lips, and bent on the woodsman that swift inspection which discomforted
so many. It embarrassed Baudette not at all. He was rather small and
of slight build, but he was constructed in the manner of a bundle of
steel wire that enfolds a heart of inflexible determination. On casual
inspection he did not appear to be a strong man, but his body was a
mass of tireless sinew. His eyes were of that cold, hard blue which is
the color of fortitude, his face clean shaven and rather thin; his jaw
slightly underhung, his lips narrow and tightly compressed. In
demeanor he was quiet and almost shy, but it was the quietness of one
who has spent his days in the open, and the shyness of a life which has
dealt with simple things in a simple but efficient way. The longer
Clark looked at him the more he liked this new discovery. Presently he
began to talk.
"I want a man to take charge of my forest department, and one who has
got his experience at the expense of some one else. We need pulp wood
in larger quantities than have been required in this country before.
Next year we begin to grind wood that you will cut this winter."
The little man neither moved nor took his eyes from Clark's face, and
the latter, with the faintest twitch of his lip, went on.
"I'm satisfied that this wood exists in ample quantities and the rest
is up to you. You can have any reasonable salary you ask for."
"Where are the timber limits?" Baudette said quietly. He was,
apparently, uninterested in the matter of salary.
Clark flattened out a big map of the district that obliterated the
piles of letters and telegrams. Baudette's eyes brightened. He loved
maps, but never before had he seen one so minute and comprehensive.
"That's compiled from all available surveys and records. It took three
months to make it. I was getting ready for you."
Baudette nodded. He was interested in how the thing was compiled, and
his eyes traced the birth and flow of rivers and the great sweep of
well remembered lakes. Presently Clark's voice came in again.
"Where's the best pulp wood? We've been getting it from everywhere."
A lean brown forefinger slid slowly over the edge of the map. Clark
noted its delicacy and strength. It halted a moment at St. Marys,
then, as though Baudette counted the miles, traversed the shore of
Superior and turned into a great bay to the westward. At the belly of
the bay the finger struck inland following a wide river, and halted in
a triangle of land where the river forked. Baudette looked up and
nodded.
"Ah!" said Clark thoughtfully. "How much good wood is there?"
The forefinger commenced an irregular course during which it struck
into salients that followed up lesser and tributary streams. It had
enclosed perhaps five hundred square miles of Canadian territory when
it reached its starting point.
"Four years' wood." Baudette's voice was still impressive.
The other man smiled as though in subdued mirth, and with a red pencil
outlined the area. Following this his eyes rested contemplatively on
the lumberman who sat still focussed on the map.
"Come back in two weeks," he said suddenly. "Good morning."
Baudette glanced at him, and went out so quietly that there was not the
sound of a footstep. Clark's manner of speech and person had set him
thinking as never before. Ten thousand cords of wood a year was the
usual order of things, but of fifty thousand cords he had never dreamed.
He had a new set of sensations which filled him with a novel confidence
in his own powers. He was reacting, like all the others, to the
intimate touch of a communicative confidence. He passed thoughtfully
through the general office, noting as he closed the door that on a
bench near Clark's door sat Fisette, a French halfbreed whom he knew.
He remarked also that Fisette's pockets were bulging, it seemed, with
rocks.
A moment later Fisette was summoned. He went in, treading lightly on
the balls of his feet, and leaning forward as though under a load on a
portage. Clark's office always frightened him a little. The rumble of
the adjoining power house, the great bulk of the buildings just
outside, the masses of documents,--all of this spoke of an external
power that puzzled and, in a way, worried him. He halted suddenly in
front of the desk.
"Well?" said Clark, without offering him a seat, for Fisette was more
at ease when he stood.
The half breed felt in his pockets. The other unrolled a duplicate of
the map he had shown Baudette and held out his hand, in which Fisette
placed some pieces of rock.
At the weight and chill of them, Clark experienced a peculiar thrill,
then, under a magnifying glass he examined each with extreme care,
turning them so that the light fell fair on edge and fracture. One
after another he scrutinized, while the breed stood motionless.
"Where do they come from?" he said shortly.
The breed made a little noise in his throat, and his dark eyes rested
luminously on the keen face. After a little he gathered the samples
and disposed them on the map, laying each in that corner of the
wilderness from which it had been broken. He did this with the
deliberation of one who knew beyond all question. He had brought
months of hardship and exposure in his pocket. By swamp and hill,
valley and lake and rapid he had journeyed alone in search of the gray,
heavy, shiny rock of which Clark had, months before, given him a
fragment, with curt orders to seek the like. The small, angular pieces
were all arranged, and his chief stared at them with profound
geological interest. Fisette did not move. He had looked forward to
this moment.
"They're no good," came the level voice, after a pause, "but you're in
the right country. Go back for another two months. You'll get it yet.
It should be near this," he picked up a sample. "Take what men you
want, or no, don't take any. I want you to do this yourself, and don't
talk. Good morning."
Fisette nodded dumbly. The moment had come and gone and he felt a
little paralyzed.
"Here, have a cigar."
He took one, such a cigar as he had never seen, large, dark and fat
with a golden band around its plump middle. He glanced at Clark, who
apparently had forgotten him, and went silently out. On the doorstep
he paused, slid off the golden band and put it in his pocketbook,
cupped a lighted match between his polished palms, took one long
luxurious breath and started thoughtfully to town with worship and
determination in his breast.
Clark, from the office window, was looking down at his broad back in a
moment of abstraction. At Fisette's departure he had suddenly plunged
into one of those moods so peculiar to his temperament. Beside the
halfbreed he seemed to perceive Stoughton, and with Baudette he
discerned the figure of Riggs, and so on till there were marshalled
before him the whole battalion of those who were caught up in the
onward march. He realized, without any hesitation, that should
Baudette fail in his work, the magnificent bulk of the great pulp mill
would be but a futile shell. And should the prospecting pick of the
half-breed not uncover that which he sought, the entire enterprise
would lack its basic security. But it was characteristic of the man
that this vision brought with it no depression, but seemed rather to
point to ultimate success in the very blending of diverse elements that
strove together towards the same end.
Two weeks later, Baudette returned and looked questioningly at his
chief. In very few words he explained that the fortnight had been
spent in the woods and that what he had said was correct.
Clark listened silently. Here was a man to his liking. When the
lumberman finished he again unrolled the big map, but this time instead
of the wavering red pencil line, there was the bold demarcation of a
much greater area, which Belding's draughtsman had plotted in
professional style. In the middle of it was the territory Baudette had
previously indicated.
"I thought we'd better be safe, and got this--from the Government. Go
to the chief accountant in the outside office. Give him an estimate of
what money you need for the next six months--and get to work--Good
morning."
Baudette merely nodded and disappeared. There was too much in his mind
to admit of expressing it, but, even had he felt conversational, there
was a finality about his dismissal that left no opening. He went away
charged with a grim determination. Here was the chance he had been
waiting for all his life.
And Clark had, by this time, labelled Baudette as a valuable and
dependable man. He forthwith forgot all about him, and went back to
the memory of Baudette's forefinger as it pushed its way up to the
Magwa River. It flashed upon him that, in the course of a vehemently
active life, he had built practically all things save one. At that he
fell into a reverie which ended with the pressing of a button that
flashed a small red light on Belding's desk. A moment later he glanced
keenly at his chief engineer.
"Belding, you have done railway work. What does a standard gauge road
cost in this country?"
"Where is the road to be built?" Belding displayed no surprise. The
time for that had long passed, and, he silently concluded, the
presidency of a railroad would suit Clark admirably.
"Up the Magwa River."
"And the maximum grades?"
"Suitable for freight haulage to this point. We run with the water,"
added Clark with one of his rare smiles, "you ought to know that."
"About thirty thousand a mile," answered Belding steadily, the trouble
being that when his chief's imagination took strong hold of him he was
apt to diverge from the point.
"Then you will send out survey parties and get detailed estimates when
the surveys are in."
"How far is the road to run? The head waters of the Magwa are one
hundred and fifty miles from its mouth."
Clark's lips tightened a little. "As far as the pulp wood is good. I
don't care how far that is--and, Belding--"
"Yes, sir."
"I have decided to double the size of the mill. Let me have plans and
estimates for that too."
Belding went on, his head swimming, and walked slowly toward the head
gates through which Lake Superior flowed obediently to do Clark's will.
It seemed now that his chief had reached the point where the god in the
machine must make some grievous error. He was insatiable. Presently
two figures approached. One was Judge Worden, the other a girl. The
former waved his stick.
"We're going to see Mr. Clark. Elsie, this is Mr. Belding."
The girl smiled and put out a slim hand. "I've heard all about
you--did you make all this?" Her brown eyes roved, taking in the great
sweep of rising structures.
"In a way, yes," he laughed, "that is I did what I was told."
"Mr. Belding is chief engineer," put in the judge assuringly.
She nodded. "You told me. I--I think it's rather wonderful. If
anything had to happen to the rapids, this is just right."
Belding made no immediate answer. He was studying the girl's face, her
supple figure, and the intelligence that marked every expression. It
struck him that she was meant to be some man's comrade.
"I'm glad you like it," he said a little awkwardly, "there's lots more
to come."
The judge touched Elsie's arm. "That's what I want to hear about at
the block house, and I hope you'll have supper with us next Sunday, Mr.
Belding. I hear you are too busy for a weekday diversion."
Elsie smiled approval and they turned down the long embankment.
Belding looked after them with a shade of resentment. She was, he had
decided, just like her photograph. In the distance he had seen Clark
walking quickly towards his visitors. They met a hundred yards away
and Clark's eyes began to twinkle.
"How do you do. I seem to know you quite well already."
Elsie flushed. She had pictured Clark in her romantic brain, but this
trim figure resembled none of her expectations.
"I'm very sorry," he went on quickly, "that urgent business will keep
me in the office all afternoon. I've just a few minutes."
"Then we'll be off at once," announced the judge.
"Not at all, if there's anything here to interest you, the place is
yours."
Elsie glanced at him curiously. She was conscious both of
disappointment and of a certain invitational thrill. His assurance was
not just what she had looked for, but yet it stimulated her thought.
He was very different from every one else. Decision marked him and a
flash that was breathless seemed to reach her. Imagination lay in his
quick change of expression and in the depths of the gray eyes. This
was the man who dreamed great dreams.
"The next time you are up this way I hope you and your friends will
come to the block house." He was looking at her with evident interest.
"You may not like it, but, I think you will,--it makes a background for
this"; he pointed to the works, "and I find it restful. I live quite
alone except for a Japanese cook, and," he added with a laugh, "he's
part of the background."
Elsie accepted and, for an instant, caught Clark's full glance. In a
fraction of time there passed between them a swift and subconscious
exchange of understanding that subsided almost ere it was born. Then
he took off his hat and hastened towards his office.
For a little while she did not speak, for she was filled with the
perception that between herself and this stranger lay something they
held in common. Could it be imagination?
"What do you think of Mr. Belding?" asked the judge reflectively as he
stepped round a shattered boulder.