"I was just going," Jeff said hastily.
He was not so much as a trifle saddened as he trudged on down the
tracks. Even Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., could not overcome sales
resistance that was backed by threatening pick axes, and nobody won
every time. Nobody had to, for just down the road there were sure to be
new customers.
Jeff came to a steel railroad bridge and looked with delighted eyes at
the creek flowing beneath it. It was a clear, spring-fed stream, and it
purled down riffles that filled a deep pool. Beneath the bridge there
were weeds, sand, some big rocks, and driftwood.
Scrambling down the embankment, Jeff sighed at the sheer luxury of such
a place. It had everything anyone needed. Carefully, he laid the pack
down, put his food parcels in the shade, and from his own personal
compartment of the pack he took a towel, a wash cloth, a bar of soap, a
tooth brush and a comb. Taking off his clothes, he plunged into the pool
and swam across. After five minutes he waded out, soaped himself from
head to foot, and rinsed in the pool. He was thus engaged when the
handcar rattled over the bridge.
Jeff dried himself, dressed and combed some order into the chaos of his
hair. For a while he was satisfied to lay in the sun, happy just to
dream.
Left without parents when a young child, he had been brought up in an
orphanage which he had voluntarily left when he was fourteen and a half.
He had worked for a farmer, for a livery stable which was in the process
of becoming converted to a garage, for a pipe line crew and for others,
long enough to convince himself that there is no special virtue in and
not much to be gained through hard work alone. For the past two and a
half years he had been owner, manager and entire working force of
Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd.
That, by train, car, horse conveyance and on foot, had taken him to both
coasts and both borders. He spent his summers in the north and his
winters in the south, and the tidy roll of bills sewed in an inside
pocket was proof that hard work is fine and wonderful if combined with
initiative and intelligence. It was a happy life, one he liked, and
though he thought he might take roots some time, he was not ready to do
it yet.
Not until dusk brought the first hint of evening chill did Jeff gather
wood and build a fire. He built it close enough to a big boulder so
that the rock's surface would reflect heat, but far enough away so that
it would not be too hot. He lingered beside the pool, listening to the
night noises.
Out in the forest a whippoorwill began its eerie cry, and a sleepy bird
twittered from its roost. The purling riffles splashed and called and a
breeze set the forest to sighing. Only a stone rolling down the
embankment seemed to be out of tune. Jeff's fire cast weird shadows, and
the snapping of the burning wood added its own notes to the symphony of
night.
Jeff turned from the stream toward his fire and confronted the two men
whom he had met along the railroad. Now he knew why that stone had
rolled.
Except for this one small sound, they had come silently, and in the
firelight they seemed even more unkempt than they had appeared in the
full light of day. They were big men, all muscle, and they carried pick
handles in their brawny fists. Jeff felt a cold chill ripple down his
spine, for it looked as though the least Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., was
about to lose was its entire capital stock. He tried to take command of
the situation.
"Good evening, gentlemen! I thought you'd be back! I was sure you are an
intelligent--"