XII

Locke, by means known to himself alone, managed to have his application

to the Transportation Commission set down for an early hearing. This

made Joe's presence necessary, and he came out of the woods lean and

hard and full of vigour. Neither McCane nor his crew had taken up the

challenge, and their intentions remained matter of speculation. Just

before the hearing, however, the railway suddenly restored the old

freight rate on lumber, thus taking the wind out of Locke's sails.

"This puts us in the position of flogging a dead horse," he grumbled.

"Now the commission will tell us we ought to be satisfied, and refuse to

let me show the genesis of the cancelled rate. Confound it! I depended

on this to find out more about Garwood."

This prediction turned out to be correct. The commission refused to

allow its time to be wasted. The old rate was restored, and that was not

complained of. Therefore, said they, there was no question for them to

consider, their powers not being retroactive. Locke was unable to

convince them to the contrary.

Outgeneralled in his plan of attack he sought another, finding it in a

grievance possessed by one Dingle, a small contractor in a town on the

O. & N. There the price of lumber had been boosted sky-high, and this

destroyed Dingle's profits on contracts he had undertaken. Investigation

showed that the Central Lumber Company had bought out two competing

dealers and immediately raised the price. Locke brought action for

Dingle, claiming damages and charging an unlawful combination. He named

the Central Lumber Company, its directors, Ackerman, Garwood, and the O.

& N. Railway, defendants. It was, in fact, a legal fishing expedition

and little more. The object of it was to obtain information looking to

an action by Crooks and Kent against the same defendants, with the

Peninsular Railway added.

Locke's first intimation that he had drawn blood came in the shape of a

visit from Henry J. Beemer, manager of the Peninsular. Beemer offered

him the position of general counsel for that railway. The offer was

apparently _bona fide_, and no visible strings dangled from it. Beemer,

in fact, was not aware of the Dingle action and was merely carrying out

instructions, and he was much surprised when Locke refused the offer.

"But why?" he asked. "It's a good thing."

"I know it is," said Locke with a sigh, as he thought of his own

rough-and-tumble practice. "Still I can't take it. I don't suppose you

are aware of the fact, Beemer, but this is an attempt to buy me up."

"Nonsense!" said Beemer indignantly. "If we had wanted to buy you we

should have done it before. There is no litigation against us now in

which you are interested. We make you the offer in good faith, because

you are the man for the job."

"I have litigation pending against Ackerman and Garwood," the lawyer

informed him. "You didn't know that. So, you see, I have to refuse."

Beemer took his departure, rather indignant at Ackerman for keeping him

in the dark. But a few days afterward Hugh Garwood himself walked into

Locke's office.

"My name is Garwood," he announced.

"I know you by sight," said Locke. "Sit down, Mr. Garwood."

Garwood sat down and looked at the lawyer from narrowed eyes. His face

was an inscrutable mask. "You have made me a defendant in litigation of

yours," he said bluntly. "Why?"

"Because I believe you are financing the Central Lumber Company."

"Can you prove that?" Garwood asked.

"I think so; at least I can put it up to you to disprove it."

"Suppose I am financing it," said Garwood after a pause. "Suppose this

man-of-straw, Dingle, gets a judgment and his paltry damages are

paid--what then?"

"Then he should be satisfied," said Locke.

Garwood frowned impatiently. "You are a clever man, Locke. Give me

credit for average intelligence, please."

"Certainly--for much more than the average, Mr. Garwood."

"Very good. Now I am going to talk plainly. You are promoting this

litigation to form a groundwork for more. If you find what you hope to

find, you will bring an action against myself and others."

"Well?"

"Well, I don't want that action brought."

Locke smiled.

"Understand me, I am not afraid of it; but it might disarrange some of

my plans. Now, a certain offer has been made to you. You refused it.

Wasn't it big enough?"

"No."

"In the not improbable event of the fusion of the Peninsular with the

O. & N.," said Garwood slowly, "you might be offered the post of counsel

for the amalgamated road."

"I should refuse that also, for the same reason."

Garwood threw himself back in his chair.

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"Several things," said Locke. "I want a fair deal for my clients, Crooks

and Kent. I want damages for the outrageous freight rate you made for

their injury. They must have cars, hereafter, when they want them. The

political ukase forbidding purchases from them must be withdrawn, and

the markets must be thrown open to them again. The crooked system of

double-check tenders for timber limits must be altered. And generally

you must stop hammering these men and using your influence against

them."

Garwood waved an impatient hand. "We are not discussing these things

now. Leave them aside. What do you want for yourself?"

"They are not to be left aside. My clients will pay my fees. I can't

accept anything from you as matters stand."

Garwood stared incredulously. "I thought I was dealing with a lawyer,"

said he.

"You will be absolutely certain of that in a very short time," Locke

retorted bitingly.

Garwood saw his own mistake immediately. You may make an amusing pun on

a man's name or gently insinuate that the majority of the members of the

profession to which he belongs are unblushing rascals, and the man may

smile: but in his heart he feels like killing you. And so Garwood, who

desired to come to terms with Locke if possible, apologized. The lawyer

accepted the apology coldly and waited.

"Your demands for your clients are out of the question," Garwood resumed

positively. "We need not discuss them at all. I came here to make an

arrangement with you. I have made you an offer which most men would snap

at. I ask you again what you want?"

"I have told you," Locke replied. "I am bound to my clients. That is

absolute and final. If you will not recognize their claims I will

proceed with the Dingle action and follow it by another, as you infer."

"I dislike to upset your carefully arranged plans," said Garwood, "but

Dingle will come to you to-morrow, pay your fees, and instruct you to

discontinue the action."

"What?" cried Locke, shaken out of his usual calm. If this were true the

enemy had again executed a masterly retreat. It annoyed him exceedingly

to be blocked twice by the same trick, although he did not see how he

could have helped it.

"As I told you, we don't want litigation just now," said Garwood.

"Without admitting Dingle's claim at all, we considered a settlement the

easiest way."

"No doubt," said Locke dryly. "Well, you won't be able to buy off the

next action. I'll take care of that."

"You persist in your refusal to make terms?"

"That is a very cool way of putting it," said Locke. "I tell you now,

Garwood, I'm going after you, and when I get you I'll nail your hide to

the sunny side of the barn."

Garwood rose and shook a threatening forefinger at the lawyer.

"Remember, if you make trouble for me I'll smash your business. Perhaps

you don't think I can. You'll see. Inside a year you won't have a case

in any court."

"You own a couple of judges, don't you?" said Locke cheerfully. "A nice

pair they are, too. You think my clients will get the worst of it from

them. Of course they will, but I appeal most of their decisions now. You

can injure me to some extent, but not as much as you think. Go to it,

Garwood. When I get through with you you'll be a discredited man."

On the whole he considered that he had broken even with the railway

magnate. The settlement of the Dingle action was a confession of

weakness. When that individual made an apologetic appearance the next

day, Locke turned his anger loose and almost kicked him out of the

office. Then he sat down and did some really first-class thinking,

marshalling all the facts he had, drawing deductions, sorting and

arranging, and finally he decided that he had a _prima facie_ case.

Thereupon he brought action against everybody concerned, directly or

remotely, in the assault on the business of Kent and Crooks.

Meanwhile Joe Kent was impatient to get back to the woods, but certain

business held him. A year before he would have been quite content to

pass his evenings at the club, with cards, billiards and the like. Now

these seemed strangely futile and inadequate, as did the current

conversation of the young men about town. It all struck him as not worth

while. He longed for the little log shack with the dully glowing stove

within, the winter storm without, and the taciturn MacNutt. As he lay

back with a cigar in a luxurious chair he could see the bunk-house

filled with the smoke of unspeakable tobacco, the unkempt,

weather-hardened men on the "deacon seat," and the festoons of garments

drying above the stove. The smart slang and mild swearing disgusted him.

He preferred the ribald, man's-size oaths of the shanty men, the

crackling blasphemies which embellished their speech. In fact, though he

did not know it, he was passing through a process of change; shedding

the lightness of extreme youth, hardening a little, coming to the

stature of a man.

Because the club bored him he took to spending his evenings with Jack

Crooks. There was a cosey little room with an open fire, a piano, big,

worn, friendly easy-chairs, and an atmosphere of home. This was Jack's

particular den, to which none but her best friends penetrated. Sometimes

Crooks would drop in, smoke a cigar, and spin yarns of logging in the

early days; but more often they were alone. Jack played well and sang

better; but she made no pretence of entertaining Joe. He was welcome; he

might sit and smoke and say nothing if he chose. She sang or played or

read or created mysterious things with linen, needle, and silk, as if he

were one of the household. On the other hand, if he preferred to talk

she was usually equally willing.

One night she sat at the piano and picked minor chords. Joe, sunk in the

chair he particularly affected, scowled at the fire and thought of logs.

Lately he had thought of little else. He wanted to get back and see the

work actually going on. Jack half turned and looked at him.

"He needs cheering up," she said. "He's thinking of her still."

"What's that?" said Joe with a start.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost," she quoted mockingly. "Brace up,

Joe." She often teased him about his temporary infatuation with Edith

Garwood, knowing that it did not hurt. She swung about to the piano and

her fingers crashed into the keys:

"Whin _I_ was jilted by Peggy Flynn,

The heart iv me broke, an' I tuk to gin;

An' I soaked me sowl both night an' day

While worrukin' on the railwa-a-a-y.

"Arrah-me, arrah-me, arrah-me, ay,

Arrah-me, arrah-me, arrah-me, ay,

Oh, sorra th' cint I saved of me pay

While worrukin' on the railwa-a-a-y.

"But in eighteen hundred an' seventy-three

I went an' married Biddy McGee,

An' th' foine ould woman she was to me

While worrukin' on the railwa-a-a-y.

"We'll omit the next thirteen stanzas, Joe. See what your fate might

have been:

"In eighteen hundred an' eighty-siven,

Poor Biddy died an' she went to Hiven;

An' I was left wid kids eliven

Worrukin' on the railwa-a-a-y."

"Great Scott, Jack, where did you pick up that old come-all-ye?" Joe

interrupted. "You sing it like an Irish section hand."

"I learned it from one. He was a good friend of mine. Do you want the

rest of the verses? There are about seventy, I think."

"If Biddy is in Heaven, we'll let it go at that," laughed Joe. "Why

don't you sing something touching and sentimental, appropriate to my

bereaved condition? By the way, Jack, where is Drew keeping himself? I

haven't seen him lately. I was just beginning to feel _de trop_ when he

called."

This was carrying the war into Jack's territory. Young Drew had paid her

very pronounced, attentions and had recently discontinued them, for a

reason which only she and himself knew. The colour flamed into her

cheeks.

"Don't talk nonsense! There was no reason why you should feel that way."

"Hello! You're blushing!" Joe commented.

"I'm not; it's the fire."

"Is it?" said Joe sceptically. For the first time in his life he

regarded her carefully. He had been used to taking Jack for granted, and

had paid no more attention to her looks than the average brother pays to

those of a younger sister. Now it struck him that she was pretty. Her

hair was abundant, brown and glossy; her eyes and skin were clean and

clear and healthy, and her small, shapely head was carried with regal

uprightness; she was slim and straight and strong and capable. In fact

she suddenly dawned upon his accustomed vision in an entirely new way.

"Jack," said he, and his surprise showed in his voice, "upon my word I

believe you are rather good looking!"

She rose and swept him a mock curtsey.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Nice eyes, plenty of hair, and a good figure," Joe drawled. "I don't

blame Drew at all."

"Now, Joe, quit it. I don't care to be jollied about that."

"What's sauce for the gander is ditto for the goose. I wasn't aware that

there was anything serious----"

"There isn't," Jack snapped, "and there never will be. Will you stop

when I ask you to?"

Joe dropped the subject, but eyed her curiously.

"I take it back," said he after an interval of silence. "Jack, you're

absolutely pretty. What have you been doing to yourself?"

"I always was pretty," Jack declared. "The trouble was with your powers

of observation."

"Likely," said Joe, and fell silent again. Jack picked up a book and

began to read. He watched her idly, pleased by the picture she

presented. She fidgeted beneath his gaze.

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me as if I were a recently discovered

species," she exclaimed at last.

"Now I wonder," said he, "why I never noticed it before."

Jack dimpled charmingly. "I want to tell you, young man, that you are

singularly dense. Even dad knows what I look like."

"So do I--now," said Joe. "I suppose I've been thinking of you as a

little girl. Great Scott!" He shook his head, puzzled by his blindness.

Jack's eyes twinkled and her dimples became pronounced. She was enjoying

his discovery greatly. Presently she said:

"When do you go up to Wind River?"

"As soon as I can--in a day or two, anyway." A slight frown drew lines

between his eyes. "I ought to be up there now. Not that I can tell

MacNutt anything about his job, of course. But there's that outfit of

McCane's! No telling what they will be up to next. And then I ought to

go round to the other camps and see how there're making it. We want a

main drive of twenty-five or thirty million this year. Got to have it.

Yes, I ought to be on the spot."

He was talking to himself rather than to her, and the boyishness had

vanished from his voice and manner. He was the man of affairs, the

executive head, thinking, planning, immersed in his business.

Jack was quick to recognize the change.

"You need the logs, don't you, Joe?"

"I'll smash without 'em, sure. Twenty million feet delivered at Wismer &

Holden's booms by July 1st. Not a day later. Then I can lift the notes,

square my overdraft, and meet the mortgage payments. If I don't--well,

my credit is strained pretty badly now."

"You'll pull through, Joe. I know you will." Her hand fell on his

shoulder. He looked up abstractedly and saw her standing beside him.

Mechanically his hand reached up and closed on hers. At the contact he

felt a little thrill, and something stirred within him. It was the first

time he had touched her hand since childhood, save in greeting or

farewell. And her touch was the first of understanding human sympathy he

had had since called upon to hoe his own row. He vibrated to it

responsively.

"You're a good little sport, Jack," he said gratefully and pressed her

hand.

There was a discreet knock at the door.

"Telegram for you, Joe," said Jack, taking the yellow envelope from the

maid.

"May I?" said Joe, and tore it open. His face became a thunder-cloud. He

bit back the words that rose to his lips.

"What is it?" asked Jack anxiously. "Not bad news?"

"Couldn't be much worse." He held out the slip of yellow paper. She

read:

Camp burnt out. McCane's crew. Wire instructions.

--MacNutt.

Joe tore a leaf from a note-book and scribbled:

Hold men together and build new camp. Rushing supplies.

Coming at once.

"I've got to have that camp going again in a week," said he grimly.

"That means hustle. I shan't see you again before I go up."

"You're going yourself," she said with approval. "Good boy, Joe. Oh, how

I wish I were a man!"

"If you were I'd have you for a partner," he declared. "But I'm glad

you're not. I like you best this way. Good-bye, little girl, and thanks

for many pleasant evenings. I'll tell you all about the war when I come

back."

In spite of Joe's misfortune Jack went upstairs that night with a light

step, humming the refrain of the last stanza of her father's favourite

song:

When the drive comes dow-un, when the jam comes down.

What makes yeez lads so wishful-eyed as we draw near to town?

Other eyes is soft an' bright like the stars of a June night--

Wives an' sweethearts--prayin' waitin'--as we drive the river down.

(Oh, ye divils!)

God bless the eyes that shine for us when we boil into town.

"Other eyes is soft an' bright;" she crooned to her white-clad

reflection as she braided the great coils of glossy brown hair. "To

think Joe has just found out that _my_ eyes are bright. Charlie Drew

knew it long ago. How stupid some boys are!"

Meanwhile Wright and Locke were swearing angrily as they read the

telegram, while Joe told them of his determination to rebuild at once.

"That's the talk," said Wright.

"I'll sue Clancy Brothers at once," said Locke. "I believe they can be

made liable. Anyway, it will have a good moral effect. And when you get

the names of the men who did the burning I'll have them arrested."

"I don't think I'll bother about law," said Joe.

Locke stared at him in surprise.

"Because the way I feel now," young Kent continued, "I think as soon as

I can spare the time I'll take a bunch of bully-boys and run them out of

the woods."