CONNIE LISTENS TO A PROPOSITION
At the sound of wheels rattling over the gravel of the creek bed,
Connie and Tex turned from the corral where they had been inspecting
the new saddle horses, to greet Two Dot Townsend who, with a younger
man, was just alighting from a spring wagon.
"Hello, Morgan," grinned Two Dot. "They tell me you be'n sort of
makin' history down here on the South Slope sence you come."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy.
"Well, the talk goes that there's some folks that was inhabited down
this way that's changed their residence fer a spell, an' likewise I
heard this mornin' that they's a new agent over on the reservation."
Connie laughed: "I told you, when you were driving me out here, the
day I hit the country, that I was going to find out what the trouble
was, and then make the Round Seven pay----"
"Yes, an' I figgered you had about as much chanst of doin' anything
with that there hard-b'iled outfit as you would of makin' a North
Dakoty flat out of the Bear Paw Mountains. You've done a big job,
son, an' you done it quick, an' thorough. Choteau County started in
to laugh at you--but they ain't laughin' now. Which reminds me I
plumb fergot to make you acquainted with my brother-in-law here.
Bill McLaren, his name is. He's my wife's brother, an' he's a
Gover'ment forester. He's got charge of one of these here National
Forests."
Tex, who had unhitched and led Townsend's team to the stable,
returned, and together the four walked over and seated themselves on
the porch.
"You figger you got the Round Seven on a payin' basis, now?" asked
Two Dot, puffing at a long, thin stogie.
"She'll pay, now, all right," answered Tex, "an' pay big."
"An' what you goin' to do next?" asked Two Dot, regarding Connie with
a smile.
"What do you mean?" asked the boy.
"Well, I recollect you told me, speakin' about yer mines up in
Alasky, that when they got to payin' big money you kind of lost
intrust in 'em--kind of let yer pardner run the outfit, whiles you
was generally kitin' off on side issues--like this here cattle
business."
"Yes," answered Connie, seriously. "Somehow, it's the game that
interests me more than the profits. After the game is won, I lose
interest. I want to tackle something else. You see, I was only a
little kid when I struck Alaska, and while other boys my age were
playing the regular games that boys play, I was prospecting for gold.
That was my game--and I played it--and I won. So, now, everything I
tackle seems like a game. I play it as hard as I can. I want to
win. While I am playing it, it seems the biggest, the most important
thing in the world--that I should win. But, after it is won, it
becomes just a machine for adding more money to a pile that's so big
now I don't know what I'll ever do with it."
Two Dot nodded: "I see what you mean. I used to feel that way when I
was younger. Only, I never had the brains nor the money to back up
the feelin' with. The Two Dot ranch was my game, but it's come to
where I'm doggone glad she's payin' out reg'lar money. That was what
I remembered you said, an' that's why I brung Bill, here, down to see
you. He's got a proposition he wants to talk to you about. He come
out to the ranch fer his vacation, an' he was tellin' me about this
here proposition--an' I thought of you right away, so this mornin' I
hooked up the team, an' we come over."
Connie laughed: "Go ahead," he invited, "I'd like to hear it. But, I
may as well tell you, I won't take hold of anything big, without
first consulting my partner."
Tex and Two Dot strolled over to the corral, and McLaren nodded:
"Certainly, I understand that. As a matter of fact, the thing I have
in mind is a very big undertaking--just how big I don't know,
myself--but, it's big." The man paused and asked abruptly: "Do you
know anything about timber?"
"Not much. We logged off a tract in Minnesota and made a nice profit
out of it."
"What was it?"
"White pine and Norway--mostly white."
"But, you don't know anything about forestry?"
Connie shook his head: "Never even heard of it."
McLaren smiled: "Almost anyone can go onto a tract of timber and log
it off, as you say, and make a profit out of it. What have you got
left?"
"Got left? What do you mean?"
"I mean what have you got left up there on your timber tract? You've
taken out the merchantable stuff--what's left?"
"Why--I don't know. Nothing, I guess."
"I can tell you what you've got left--what you mean by nothing.
You've got a waste of slash, and stumps, and sand--and if the fire
hasn't been through it yet, you've got a stand of what the natives
call 'bresh.' Young poplar, and scrub oak, and wild cherry, and soft
maple, with here and there a pine tree that escaped the saws of your
crew, and probably a few pine seedlings. In other words you have a
tract of cut-over that is about as near worthless as land can be."
"Well, what of it?" asked Connie. "I told you we got our profit out
of the logs."
McLaren's face became graver: "I wondered if you were going to say
that. It is the very thing that any of the timber operators would
have said a few years ago--and that most of them are saying to-day,
although a few of them are beginning to see the light--to awaken to a
realization of the vast importance of the problem that confronts
them. It is a problem that is just as serious to the business man of
New York City, and to the Iowa farmer as it is to the timber
operator. You are a very young man. Your answer was thoughtless,
rather than cynical. From what I have heard of you, you are a very
exceptional young man--you have a shrewd, clean brain, you have the
aggressiveness--the pep, as the expression goes, to accomplish the
thing you go after, and you have the financial means to back up your
personal qualifications."
As Connie listened he saw that McLaren was very much in earnest.
Uppermost in his mind was Waseche Bill's oft repeated warning: "Look
out fer these yere promoters, son. Don't never put yer name to no
papers till you've looked the proposition over up an' down, an'
crossways. If it's good, they c'n prove it. If it ain't, you don't
want it." But, some how, this man did not look like a promotor. His
grey eyes were serious--honest, and he spoke his words with
conviction. His skin was the weather-tanned skin of the outdoors
man. The boy led him on: "What is this problem you spoke about?" he
asked.
"Timber," answered the man. "Lumber. Where is the next generation's
lumber supply coming from?'
"Why, the same place the last generation's came from, I guess.
Surely there is plenty of timber."
"Where?"
"Why--everywhere. I passed through a lot of it coming here from
Alaska. And there's lots left in Minnesota, isn't there?"
"None! That is, none to speak of. With the exception of a limited
supply in the south, all the remaining timber is in the west--and
within twenty-five years all the world will be bidding against us for
what remains of that. And, the reason for it is plain. Because
everyone else logged just as you logged in Minnesota. Took the
timber and left a worthless waste behind you. With a senseless, I
may say a criminal disregard of the future, they have taken their
profit from millions of acres of forest and in its place they have
left to their sons and their daughters, a legacy of fireswept
desolation!"
"What's the answer?" snapped the boy, his brain vainly grasping to
visualize millions of acres of slash.
"The answer is to harvest the remaining forests instead of to
demolish them. And to raise timber as a crop. Reforest the cut-over
as you go along, keep out the fire--and carry that cut-over on your
books as an asset, ever increasing in value, instead of a liability
worse than worthless."
"Can it be done? I mean, as a practical business proposition? And
show a profit as you go along?"
"Absolutely."
"I don't see how you could expect to show a profit. Why, it must
take years and years for a tree to grow big enough to make a log. If
you planted little trees on the cut-over it would be years before you
could show any profit."
"Just so, if you started in with cut-over. Suppose, however you
started in with virgin forest, harvested yearly, and reforested
behind you? By the time you had gone once over the whole tract, the
young stuff you first set out would be ready to cut."
"And, you are acting as agent for someone who wants to sell me a
forest?"
"No! I am in charge of a National Forest--work on a salary for the
United States Government. I have not one penny's worth of interest,
either directly or indirectly, in any timber land, anywhere. Quite
by accident, I happened, not long since, to hear of a large tract of
timber--two tracts, that adjoin, to be exact, that could probably be
purchased at a very reasonable figure. These tracts are held by two
different outfits that have fought each other in the courts and out
of them, until they are about exhausted. Neither would sell to the
other, but either, so my information goes, would gladly sell to a
third party."
"My interest in the proposition is merely the interest of one who
sees the chance for some outfit to step in and do some real forest
work. The Government is doing it. Some States are doing it. A very
few individuals are doing it, in a smaller way. But this tract, the
combined tracts, would be on a vastly larger scale than any private
undertaking has yet attempted. I want to see someone go into a
forest, not as a desperado bent on loot, but as a business man who is
content to take a reasonable profit, and at the same time build up
his holdings, so that in the future, instead of a worthless tract of
devastated land, he will have a property of enormous, and ever
increasing value."
"But, that's a job for a trained forester."
"You can hire trained foresters."
"But, I'd want to run it, myself."
"You can learn forestry. There are several ways. Go to any one of a
dozen universities. Go onto a forest as ranger, and study under the
forester, as you work--come onto my forest. Or, hire a forester, and
study under him on your own forest."
"How much of an investment would it take?"
"That would depend on what terms you could get. The total would
involve upwards of a million--possibly two or three millions. I
don't know the exact acreage, nor the stumpage scale--but it's big."
"Would you take the job?"
McLaren, taken completely by surprise by the abruptness of the
question, hesitated: "Well--I--of course--I would want time to
consider it. That is----"
Connie interrupted him: "Sure, I understand," he said, "I need time
myself. You are on your vacation?"
"Yes."
"Suppose you spend the rest of it getting all the information you can
about this proposition--acreage, value, cruiser's
reports--everything, and keep in mind the fact that you may have to
take hold of it and show me a profit--then we will get together and
see whether we want to handle it. In the meantime, I'll talk it over
with my partner, and I'll tell you whether or not we want to tackle
it."
"But--your partner is in Alaska, isn't he."
"Sure," answered the boy, "I'm leaving to talk it over with him
tomorrow--be back here in three or four weeks."
McLaren stared in amazement, as Connie called to Tex, who stood near
the corral talking with Two Dot: "Hey, Tex!"
"Comin'!"
"You've got to run this outfit for three or four weeks without me.
I've got to go back to Ten Bow for a little talk with Waseche Bill.
I'll fix up a checking account for you in town."
"Gosh sakes!" cried the range foreman, "You don't mean you're goin'
to hit out fer Alaska on a minute's notice--like most folks would
slip over to the neighbors!"
Connie laughed. "Yup. Heard about a patch of timber I may want to
buy. Guess I'll saddle up, now. So long--take care of yourself."
He turned to McLaren: "See you when I get back."
Ten minutes later, Connie disappeared up the trail.
McLaren looked at the others. Tex grinned: "Kind of, what you might
say, abrupt ain't he--the boss? They's a whole lot of loafin' he
never done."
"He's a--a whirlwind!" answered the forester, "a man would like to
work for him."
"I'll tell the world a man would!" answered Tex. "If he can keep
from gittin' dizzy."
The Connie Morgan Series
By
James B. Hendryx
It is difficult to say whether Mr. Hendryx is famous because of
Connie Morgan, or Connie because of Mr. Hendryx; but it is certain
that many youngsters have accepted this altogether wholesome and
unique character as one to be ranked with such historical figures as
Daniel Boone and Kit Carson.
Connie Morgan in Alaska, 22 Illus.
Connie Morgan with the Mounted, 13 Illus.
Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps 14 Illus.
Connie Morgan in the Fur Country, 8 Illus.
Connie Morgan in the Cattle Country.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
The Boy Adventurers Series
By
A. Hyatt Verrill
The popularity of these stories for boys is a result of Mr. Verrill's
unfailing ability to see things with their young eyes, to write for
them and not down to them. The books follow the Young Adventurers
through their strange wanderings in romantic countries.
The Boy Adventurers in the Forbidden Land
The Boy Adventurers in the Land of El Dorado
The Boy Adventurers in the Land of the Monkey Men
The Boy Adventurers in the Unknown Land
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
The Frozen Barrier
By
Belmore Browne
_Illustrated_
The author not only writes real books for real boys, he lives them.
He has had a vast experience in the great northern wastes, and his
settings are authentic. George Draper and Fred Morgan, who set out
on The Quest of the Golden Valley, and who were greeted again in The
White Blanket, now meet with other desperate adventures as they pack
into the very heart of Alaska-erupting volcanoes, sliding glaciers,
encounters with grizzlies, through which they emerge triumphant.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
The Frozen Barrier
By
Belmore Browne
In _The Frozen Barrier_ Belmore Browne has surpassed all his other
relatings. In it he tells of the hazardous adventures of George
Draper and Fred Morgan on their third journey, in which they packed
straight into the heart of Alaska.
There the boys met with perilous hairbreadth escapes, from grizzlies,
from suddenly erupting volcanoes, from being dashed to death when
crossing an almost impassable glacier, and for days having no food
other than the eggs of wild birds, and finally earning the gratitude
of an entire tribe of Indians.
Such a graphic and thrilling account of experiences in the great
North-west as is given in this novel, is rarely met with, and
everyone who reads it will wish that he, too, had been with George
and Fred when they were exploring this wonderful land of the Aleute
tribes.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
_By James B. Hendryx_
Connie Morgan in Alaska
Connie Morgan with the Mounted
Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps
Connie Morgan in the Fur Country
Connie Morgan in the Cattle Country
The Promise
The Gun Brand
The Texan
The Gold Girl
Prairie Flowers
Snowdrift
North