The letter dropped into Bob’s lap, and for a long minute he sat staring
into the yellow, dancing flames. His face was blank, and just a little
white, for the blow had been a heavy one, and totally unexpected. He
could not seem to understand it. It was unbelievable that he and Tweedy,
who had been fair and square in every one of their business dealings,
could be forced to the wall by such a monster of corruption as Elihu
Crane.
There must be some mistake. Tweedy must have been thrown into one of his
unjustifiable panics. That was it, of course.
Bob picked up the letter to read it carefully again.
He perused it to the last word, and then leaned back against the
sapling, his face drawn and somber. It really did not sound like a
mistake. It was all clear and logical, and singularly cohesive. It was
the sort of thing Crane would delight in planning and putting into
execution--the cutting of prices on a competitor. Tweedy had written
that if they attempted to cut under the trust’s present rates, there
would be a further reduction. That was quite true. Bob knew, because he
had had a vast deal of experience with the trust’s method of doing
business. They would ruin him, no matter how great the cost, because he
was dangerous to their continued well-being. With Bainbridge in the
ring, and fighting vigorously against the graft and wholesale theft of
timberlands, those juicy melon cuttings which had been so pleasing to
the stockholders would cease--therefore Bainbridge must go.
Presently Bob’s eyes fell again to the letter, and somehow that single
sentence seemed to stand out as if written in capitals: “It hurts like
sin to say it, boy, but there’s nothing left to do but give in and make
the best terms we can.”
For a second Bob stared, the blood rushing into his face, a crimson
flood. Make terms with Crane? Go on his knees to that scoundrel, who had
long ago parted with the last shred of decency and self-respect? Not
much!
They must have resources enough to meet that note, at least. The trust
could not keep the price of lumber down indefinitely. They must weather
the storm in some way. And when this drive was safe at the mills, ready
to be cut into lumber, they would have the laugh on Elihu Crane.
Oblivious to the men about him, even to the fact that the cook had some
time ago announced supper, Bainbridge began to search his mind for means
of staving off the evil day. Most of the stocks and bonds constituting
his private fortune had been already pledged as collateral for loans to
the firm. He still had a few thousand dollars’ worth of Steel Preferred
which could be sold; and there was Pinecrest, the beautiful and costly
home on the outskirts of Bangor, which had been left him by his father.
It should not be difficult to raise a mortgage of ten thousand, at
least, on the place.
“The note’s for ten thousand, so that’s all straightened out,”
Bainbridge murmured, with a snap of his fingers. “The money from the
stock can go for current expenses. I’ll fix it up this very night.”
He did. Fortunately Tweedy held his power of attorney with the right to
sign checks and execute papers of any sort, so it was possible for him
to put through these deals without his returning to Bangor. That another
note for nearly as much as the first fell due in little more than a
fortnight Bainbridge knew quite well. By that time, however, he fully
intended to have the drive down as far as their mill at Lancaster, fifty
miles or so above Bangor. And it is always possible to raise money on
timber, even in the rough.
Of course, if the trust continued their campaign of cutting prices Bob’s
plans would be materially affected. He could not believe, however, that
they would do such a thing for any great length of time. A dollar meant
as much to them as to any one, and even the pleasure of ruining a
competitor would scarcely compensate for the loss of so much money.
A long letter of instruction and explanation was written to Tweedy that
night, and despatched the first thing in the morning by the trusty hand
of Joe Moose, the Indian. That off his mind, Bob returned to his drive
with renewed vigor, for the necessity for haste was now even greater
than before. It was a question of getting the logs down in double-quick
time or being dragged into the bankruptcy court; and that sort of
notoriety did not appeal in the least to the young man.
It was this feeling of necessity which got Bob up next morning before
the blackness of the night was more than faintly tinged by streaks of
pale gray in the east. He wanted to be off and doing; even necessary
inaction chafed. It seemed an eternity before the men had finished
breakfast, and were ready for the day’s work. As a matter of fact, they
took less time than usual, for something of Bainbridge’s intense
eagerness for speed seemed to have made itself felt.
All morning Bob worked like a Trojan getting the drive out into the
Katahdin River. He did not storm and swear at his men, as many bosses
do. Instead he had a way of jollying them along in a manner which might
sound superficially like fun, but which held more than an undercurrent
of seriousness. He treated them as human beings, not as if they were
slaves from whom every last atom of work was to be extracted. And yet,
when the need arose, he could hand out a rebuke, the caustic sting of
which was enough to make a man’s hair stand on end. The result was that
the crew soon admired him, and when they found how urgent was the need
for haste they fell to with a will, and gave the best that was in them.
Bainbridge was not long in perceiving their attitude, and it gratified
him intensely. He had never actually had charge of a drive before. He
knew the theory, of course, but that is very different from the
practical operation; and the discovery that he could handle a
rough-and-ready crowd like this in a manner so totally different from
that generally practiced by bosses of crews gave him no small
satisfaction.
By dint of constant labor, at which Bob spared neither himself nor his
men, the drive was successfully swung into the slightly larger river by
two o’clock. There was no real respite even then. The stream was almost
as difficult as the Megantic, and constant watchfulness was necessary to
prevent fresh jams at a number of points. Consequently the men snatched
a hurried dinner in relays and hustled back to work again.
It was about three, and Bob had just left the spot where only the most
strenuous personal labor on the part of himself and four river jacks had
kept the drive from jamming. He was hot and sweaty, and generally weary
as he continued his way downstream, and his wrath was naturally instant
when, on suddenly rounding a bend, he came upon Curly Kollock, cool,
calm, and unruffled, sitting comfortably on a rock, enjoying a
cigarette.
As the latter saw Bainbridge, he flushed slightly, and half rose from
the bowlder. Then, with a stubborn twist of his lips, he sank back
again, pulling hard on the cigarette, and doing his best to look
unconcerned.
Bob walked straight up to him, and stopped.
“Well,” he said bitingly, “I’m sorry you’ve lost the use of your feet
and hands. Is it paralysis?”
Kollock’s flush deepened, and he mumbled something inane about taking a
smoke. He found that he had arisen, apparently without volition, and was
standing before the other man, who stared at him a long half minute.
“This is no rest cure,” said Bob at length. “You’re paid for helping the
drive along. I don’t want any loafers in this gang. Understand? Now, get
down to the head of the drive--and do something!”
Kollock’s face was flaming, and his eyes gleamed angrily. “I don’t take
that line of talk from anybody!” he growled, clenching his fists
threateningly. “I’ll----”
“You’ll do what I said, and do it quick!” Bainbridge’s voice was not
raised above a conversational pitch, but there was a ring in it which
seemed to take the fight and bluster out of the big riverman with the
effectiveness of a keen knife thrust into an inflated bladder. For a
second he stood in awkward silence, swallowing hard in his
embarrassment. Then he raised his head again.
“I don’t need your job,” he said, in a poor imitation of devil-may-care
defiance. “I’ll get my time, and----”
Bainbridge cut him short. “You’ll get down to the drive and _work_. Beat
it now--quick!”
Without another protesting word, Kollock turned meekly and obeyed.