Curly Kollock’s interest and liking for his boss grew stronger day after
day. There was something about Bob Bainbridge which stirred the finer
qualities in his nature, and brought twinges of shame to the young
riverman whenever he thought how near he had come to throwing his lot
with his brother. If Bill ever showed up he resolved to tell him just
what he thought of him, too. But in the meantime, not being much of a
penman, he made no effort to answer the letter. It was sufficient that
he considered himself cut loose from the whole miserable bunch. If they
were expecting aid from him in their plotting they were doomed to
disappointment.
More and more often as they descended the Katahdin River, the boy was
stirred to anger at the constant succession of moves made by that gang
of crooks against the man who fought them practically alone and
singlehanded.
Along the river were several dams placed for the purpose of regulating
the head of water and facilitating the process of driving. They belonged
to the trust, but their owners were bound at all times to allow a normal
head of water when it was called for. Instead of doing this now, they
played all sorts of tricks on Bainbridge. When he particularly needed
plenty of water to float his drive past a shallow or narrow spot, the
gates were arbitrarily shut down, and the drive hung up. Again, at one
point where the middle part of the drive had jammed and the crew were
occupied in picking it instead of using dynamite, the gates which Bob
had personally closed were raised without warning, letting down a flood
of water which struck the jam with terrific force. It gave instantly,
carrying three men with it. Two managed to escape by a miracle, and were
dragged ashore with broken limbs; the other was crushed and drowned.
After that Bainbridge placed guards at the various dams with
instructions to shoot any one who attempted to interfere with them. This
resulted in a terrific outcry on the part of Crane’s underlings, an
appeal to the law, injunctions, and all that sort of thing. To which
Bainbridge paid no attention whatever. He went on his way calmly,
knowing well that they could not stop him in this manner, and willing to
put up with the inconvenience that would follow when it was all over and
he had returned to civilization.
Mr. Wolcott Sears continued his fishing trip along the route the
lumbermen were following, and began frequently to appear in camp for an
evening pipe with Bainbridge. One evening they had a private conference,
which lasted until the small hours, and the Boston capitalist finally
departed, leaving Bainbridge apparently much gratified.
The crew was with Bob to a man. By this time they had gathered an
inkling of the plot against the firm, and of the stakes involved. Men
had strayed into camp telling of the extraordinary reductions made by
the trust in the price of manufactured lumber. Large sales had resulted
to various parties, report said, thus preventing Bainbridge & Tweedy, as
well as several other small independents, from disposing of a single
plank.
The lumberjacks were not slow in putting two and two together. They
remembered rumors current in the big woods for many months of the fight
which had started between the trust and this man who was their boss. It
was a fight to the finish, people said, in which one side or the other
must go under, From all appearances it looked to these earnest,
simple-minded woodsmen as if Bainbridge would be vanquished unless he
could get that drive safely into the mill booms; and to that end they
strained every nerve. They toiled from dawn to dark, staggering into
camp each night so utterly weary that they sometimes fell asleep with
their supper half eaten before them; only to be up before daybreak to do
it all over again.
It was a period of stress and strain, but it ended at last when the
drive was ushered into the Penobscot, to be seized by the strong current
and urged on toward the mills at Lancaster, that goal which had seemed a
little while ago so unattainable, yet which was now so near.
That very afternoon was perpetrated the crowning outrage. Bainbridge was
shot at from the bushes--shot at deliberately with an intent to kill
which was defeated only by the miracle of chance which made him bend
over to tighten a shoe lace at the precise moment of firing.
Wild with fury, the men who were present dashed in pursuit of the
would-be assassins, but to no purpose. They were in the land of
civilization now, where there were motor cars. By the time the crowd of
rivermen had surged up the bank and plunged through the undergrowth, the
rascally tools of the trust were well away, leaving their pursuers to
rage impotently that there was not a gun in the party with which the
tires could be punctured and the car stopped.
The most angry of them all was Curly Kollock. He had double cause for
wrath, having received that morning a letter from the very town of
Lancaster toward which they were striving so hard to push the drive.
Brief it was, and to the point. He had played the traitor, Bill wrote
scathingly. There was only one way by which he could rid himself of the
stigma, and return to the good graces of the gang. He must come at once
to a certain house on the outskirts of the town, prepared to place
himself absolutely in his brother’s hands.
When the younger Kollock read those lines he swore roundly. That even
Bill should dare write in such a manner made him rage. He was no man’s
slave, and there were bounds beyond which even a brother could step. He
was on the point of asking for time off to come to a definite, final
settlement with the crowd when the attempted shooting occurred. At first
this cowardly deed only added to his rage, but swiftly in its wake came
unwonted gravity.
Disagreeable, even serious, as all those other persecutions had been,
not one of them held the weight of this last culminating effort to put
Bob Bainbridge out of the running. That Bill was mixed up in it Curly
had no doubt, and the realization frightened him. He had always looked
up to his older brother with admiration and a little awe, and he could
not bear now to think of him mixed up in anything so contemptible. There
was the danger involved, too, and altogether the youngster felt as if he
must see Bill at once and try to make him cut the gang and get away. His
efforts might have no effect, but there was at least a chance.
That night--or rather early in the morning, while it was still pitch
black--he slipped quietly out of camp without a word to any one. He
reached Lancaster at four in the afternoon, having made most of the
journey in a scow doing about six miles an hour. Going at once to the
address given in the letter, he found that his brother had gone out not
fifteen minutes before.
“Mebbe if you step in an’ wait he’ll be back soon,” suggested the
slatternly woman who kept the house.
Curly was shown to a room on the second floor back, where he recognized
a number of Bill’s belongings scattered about in the usual disorder.
Perhaps it was the sight of them which aroused in the young fellow an
increasing doubt of his ability to do what he came for. Would this man,
who had never been in the habit of taking any one’s advice, listen to
him? He wondered, and then, unable to remain still, arose and paced the
floor anxiously.
Presently he dropped in a chair before a rough deal table, on top of
which was tacked a large sheet of blotting paper. A corner of white
paper protruded from beneath it, but Curly scarcely noticed this save as
something to pluck at nervously with thumb and forefinger. Finally he
lighted the lamp, walked back and forth some more, then relapsed into
the chair again, resuming his absent plucking of the paper beneath the
blotter.
Ultimately, of course, he drew it gradually forth, and, catching a word
or two of writing, he did not hesitate to read the entire page.
It was a portion of a letter, both superscription and first page.
Neither was it signed. But there was enough in those few lines to make
the riverman leap to his feet with a startled cry of dismay.
“Great guns!” he gasped. “Burn the mill--_our mill_? Well, I guess not!”
He carried the paper over to the light thinking that he might have made
a mistake. But it was plain enough.
Having received orders from me by wire in the manner above specified,
you will at once fire the mill in the manner discussed by us and
decided upon by me at our last meeting. There must be no delay in
action. Neither should you step before I order. This is of the
greatest possible importance. Kindly advise me you thoroughly
understand these instructions.
For a minute or two Curly stood staring at this extraordinary fragment.
Then his gray eyes gleamed.
“Gee!” he muttered. “I sure wish I could find the rest o’ this letter.
It sounds like it might be from that old skunk Crane that Bill’s so
thick with, but o’ course you never kin tell. It would certain be worth
somethin’ to know for sure.”
Without hesitation he yanked up the blotter, tacks and all. There was
nothing underneath, so he next jerked forth the single drawer of the
table, and dumped out its contents. A search through these revealed
nothing of interest and he was about to replace the drawer when it
occurred to him to thrust an inquiring hand into the space back of it.
His fingers encountered paper, and a moment later his eyes gleamed with
satisfaction as they rested on two envelopes addressed to his brother in
that same erect black writing which had characterized the single sheet.
“Got you this time, I reckon,” he muttered, in a tone of intense
satisfaction. “If Bainbridge ain’t interested in this----”
He paused abruptly, and raised his head with a jerk, his eyes narrowing,
and his grip tightening unconsciously on the letters. From outside came
a queer, vibrating clang. For an instant he listened tensely as the
sound rose and fell on the night air, muffled a little by closed doors
and windows, but still clear and unmistakable--the primitive village
fire alarm. With a gasp of dismay, he leaped toward the door.
“Cripes!” he cried, gripping the knob. “It’s to-night--to-night! An’ I
never guessed!”