The train was held up on its way to the Canadian frontier by a wash-out
farther along the track. Devereux Clay stood in the noon sunshine
talking to Osborne at a small wayside station while groups of impatient
passengers strolled about the line, stopping now and then to glance at a
gap in the somber firs where the rails gleamed in the strong sunshine;
the engineer, leaning out from his cab, had his eyes turned in the same
direction. There was, however, nothing to be seen but climbing trees,
whose ragged spires rose one behind the other far up the steep hillside,
and the fragrance the hot noon sun drew out from them mingled with the
sharp smell of creosote from the ties. Except for the murmur of voices
and the panting of the locomotive pump, it was very quiet in the narrow
clearing, and the sound of falling water came up faintly from a deep
hollow where a lake glittered among the firs.
Clay leaned against the agent's wooden shack, with his watch in his
hand, for time was of value to him just then.
"Twenty minutes yet, from what that fellow said," he grumbled. "Give me
a cigar--I've run out--and you needn't wait."
"Oh, I'm in no hurry," said Osborne, glancing toward his automobile,
which stood outside the station. "I suppose it's the labor trouble
that's taking you to Vancouver?"
"You've hit it," Clay answered in a confidential tone. "I'm a bit
worried about things; but I've spent the last two days wondering whether
I'd go or not."
He was seldom so undecided, but Osborne thought he understood.
"It looks as if the unions meant business," he said, "and in this
agitation against alien labor they seem to have public sympathy. Have
you any Japs at the mill?"
"I believe so. That's partly why I'm going. Until I read the papers this
morning I thought I'd stay away. I figured it might be better to let the
boy worry through alone and see what he could make of it."
"Let him win his spurs?"
"That's right. I told him to sit tight, and so long as he made good I'd
foot the bill; but after the big row in Vancouver yesterday, I thought
I'd go along. Still, my notion is to keep in the background unless I
find I'm badly wanted."
His manner was half apologetic, and Osborne smiled. Clay was not
addicted to hovering in the background when things were happening; but
Osborne knew the affection he bore his son.
"It might be wiser for you to be on the spot; the white mob seems to be
in an ugly mood," he said. "How is Aynsley getting on?"
"Better than I expected. The boy has the right grip and he's taking
hold." Clay turned abruptly and fixed Osborne with his eyes. "I was a
bit puzzled about his making up his mind all at once that he'd run the
mill. Do you know of anything that might have helped to persuade him?"
"Since you ask, I have a suspicion," Osborne answered.
"So have I; I guess it matches yours. It's like the young fool that a
word from a girl who knows less than he does should have more effect
than all the reasons I gave him."
"It's not unnatural," Osborne smiled.
"Then suppose we're right in our idea of what this points to? You know
my boy."
"I like him. Perhaps I'd better say that if I found that Ruth shared my
good opinion, I shouldn't object. But I can't guess her views on the
matter."
"I know Aynsley's," Clay said dryly. "We had a talk not long ago, and I
offered to see what I could do."
Osborne gave him a searching glance and his expression changed. He
looked on his guard.
"So far, you have been able to get your son everything he wished for;
but you must understand that you can't dispose of my daughter. Ruth
shall please herself."
Clay's eyes gleamed with rather hard amusement.
"It's curious that my boy said much the same thing. In fact, he warned
me off. He knows how I've indulged him and seemed to think I might put
some pressure on you."
"In the present instance it wouldn't have much effect; but what you say
gives me a better opinion of Aynsley than I already had."
"That's all right," Clay rejoined, dropping his hand on the other's arm
in a friendly manner. "We certainly can't afford to quarrel, and I don't
know that it's unfortunate our children are more fastidious than we are.
Anyway, we don't want them to find us out. I'd feel mean if my son
disowned me."
Osborne winced at this allusion.
"Aynsley stands prosperity well," he said.
"In my opinion, it's considerably less damaging than the other thing.
I'm thankful I've done the grubbing in the dirt for him. I've put him
where it's easier to keep clean. So far as I can fix it, my boy shall
have a better time than was possible for me. I've put him into business
to teach him sense--I don't know a better education for any young man
than to let him earn his bread and butter. He'll learn the true value of
men and things; and when he's done that and shown he's capable of
holding his own, he can quit and do what pleases him. I've no near
relations, and there was a time when my distant connections weren't
proud of me. Everything I have goes to the boy; and if your daughter
will take him, I'd know he was in good hands. If she won't, I'll be
sorry, but he must put up with it."
Osborne felt reassured. Clay had his good points, though they were not
always very obvious, and perhaps the best was his affection for his son.
Before Osborne could reply, Clay glanced again at his watch and resumed
his usual somewhat truculent manner.
"If they get me into Vancouver after the trouble begins, I'll see the
road bosses in Seattle and have the superintendent of this division
fired!" he announced.
At that moment the telegraph began to tick in the shack, and shortly
afterward the agent came up to Clay.
"They're through. We'll get you off in five minutes, and I have orders
to cut out the next two stops," he said.
While he gave the conductor his instructions a shrill whistle rang
through the shadows of the pines and a big engine with a row of flat
cars carrying a gravel plow and a crowd of dusty men came clattering
down the line. As they rolled into the side-track Clay climbed to the
platform of his car, and almost immediately the train started. His face
grew hard and thoughtful when he leaned back in a corner seat; and he
had emptied the cigar-case his friend had given him before he reached
Vancouver, where he hired the fastest automobile he could find.
----
While his father was being recklessly driven over a very rough road
which ran through thick bush, Aynsley sat on a pile of lumber outside
the mill with his manager. It was getting dark, the saws which had
filled the hot air all day with their scream were still, and the river
bank was silent except for the gurgle of the broad, green flood that
swirled among the piles. A great boom of logs moored in an eddy worked
with the swing of the current, straining at its chains; there was a red
glimmer in the western sky, but trails of white mist gathered about the
thinned forest that shut the clearing in. Only trees too small for
cutting had been left, but the gaps between them were filled with
massive stumps. Tall iron stacks, straggling sheds, and sawdust dumps
took on a certain harsh picturesqueness in the fading light; and the
keen smell of freshly cut cedar came up the faint breeze. But Aynsley
had no eye for his surroundings. He was thinking hard.
After a brief experience, he had found, somewhat to his surprise, that
his work was getting hold of him. The mechanical part of it in
particular aroused his keen interest: there was satisfaction in feeling
that the power of the big engines was being used to the best advantage.
Then, the management of the mill-hands and the care of the business had
their attractions; and Aynsley ventured to believe that he had made few
mistakes as yet, though he admitted that his father had supplied him
with capable assistants. Now, however, he must grapple with a crisis
that he had not foreseen; and he felt his inexperience. There was, he
knew, an easy way out of the threatened difficulties, but he could not
take it. He must, so far as possible, deal effectively with an awkward
situation, and, at the same time, avoid injustice, though that would
complicate matters. The problem was not a novel one: he wanted to
safeguard his financial interests and yet do the square thing.
"You think the Vancouver boys will come along and make trouble for us
to-night, Jevons?" he asked presently.
The young manager nodded.
"That's what I'm figuring on; and it's quite likely the Westminster
crowd will join them. They've been making ugly threats. I found this
paper stuck up on the door when I made my last round."
Aynsley read the notice.
_This is a white man's country. All aliens warned to leave.
Those who stay and those who keep them will take the
consequences._
"I suppose our keeping the Japs on is their only quarrel with us?"
"It's all they state."
"Well," Aynsley said slowly, "if we give way in this, I dare say they'd
find something else to make trouble about. When you begin to make
concessions you generally have to go on."
"That's so," agreed Jevons. "It looks to me as if the boys were driving
their bosses, who can't pull them up; but those I've met are reasonable
men, and when the crowd cools off a bit they'll get control again.
They'd give us leave to run the mill if you fired the Japs."
Aynsley frowned.
"I have received their deputations civilly, and during the last week or
two I've put up with a good deal. We pay standard wages and I don't
think there's a man about the place who's asked to do more than he's
able. But I can't have these fellows dictating whom I shall employ!"
"You have some good orders on the books for delivery on a time limit,"
Jevons reminded him. "You'll lose pretty smartly if we have to stop the
mill."
"That's the trouble," Aynsley admitted. "I'd hate to lose the orders;
but, on the other hand, I hired these Japs when I couldn't get white
men, and I promised their boss I'd keep them until we'd worked through
the log boom."
"You might call him up and ask what he'd take to quit. It might work out
cheaper in the end."
Aynsley pondered this. Though he had not suspected it until lately, he
had inherited something of his father's character. He had seldom thought
much about money before he entered the mill, but since then he had
experienced a curious satisfaction in seeing the balance to his credit
mount up, and in calculating the profit on the lumber he cut. Now he
found the suggestion that he should throw away part of his earnings
frankly impossible. It was, however, not so much avarice as pride that
influenced him. He had taken to business seriously, and he meant to show
what he could do.
"No," he said decidedly. "I don't see why I should let the mob fine me
for being honest. I'd rather fight, if I'm forced to; and I'm afraid
you'll have to stand in."
Jevons laughed.
"I don't know that I'm anxious to back out. I tried to show you the
easiest way, as a matter of duty; but there's a good deal to be said for
the other course. I don't think there are any union boys still in the
mill, and my notion is that the rancher crowd don't mean to quit."
Labor had been scarce that year, and Aynsley had engaged a number of
small ranchers and choppers, who, as often happens when wages are high,
had come down from their homesteads in the bush. They were useful men,
of determined character, and were content with their pay.
"Well," he said, "we may as well ask what the Japs think of doing; but
they're stubborn little fellows, and seem to have some organization of
their own. Anyway, they whipped the mob pretty badly in Vancouver a day
or two ago."
Their leader, being sent for, explained in good English that, as their
honorable employer had hired them to do certain work which was not yet
completed, they meant to stay. On being warned that this might prove
dangerous, he answered darkly that they had taken precautions, and the
danger might not be confined to them. Then, after some ceremonious
compliments, he took his leave; and Aynsley laughed.
"That settles the thing! They won't go and I can't turn them out. I have
some sympathy with the opposition's claim that this is a white man's
country; but since they couldn't give me the help I wanted, I had to get
it where I could. Now, we'll interview the white crowd."
They found the men gathered in the big sleeping-shed where the lamps had
just been lighted. They were sturdy, hard-looking fellows, most of whom
owned small holdings which would not support them in the bush, and they
listened gravely while Aynsley spoke. Then one got up to reply for the
rest.
"We've seen this trouble coming and talked it over. So long as you don't
cut wages, we've nothing much to complain of and see no reason for
quitting our job. Now, it looks as if the Vancouver boys were coming to
turn us out. We'll let them--if they can!"
There was a murmur of grim approval from the rest; and Aynsley, dividing
them into detachments, sent them off to guard the saws and booms and
engine-house. Then he turned to the manager with a sparkle in his eyes.
"I think we're ready for anything that may happen. You'll find me in the
office if I'm wanted."
On entering it he took down a couple of books from a shelf and
endeavored to concentrate his attention on the business they recorded.
It was the first serious crisis he had had to face, and he felt that
hanging idly about the mill while he waited for the attack would be too
trying. Somewhat to his surprise, he found his task engross him, and an
hour had passed when he closed the books and crossed the floor to the
open window.
It was a calm, dark night, and warm. A star or two glimmered above the
black spires of the pines, but the mist that drifted along the waterside
blurred the tall stacks and the lumber piles. There was no sign of the
men; and the deep silence was emphasized by a faint hiss of steam and
the gurgle of the river.
Leaning on the sill, Aynsley drank in the soft night air, which struck
on his forehead pleasantly cool. He admitted that he was anxious, but he
thought he could keep his apprehensions under good control.
As he gazed into the darkness, a measured sound stole out of the mist,
and, growing louder, suggested a galloping horse. It approached the
mill, but Aynsley did not go down. If anybody wanted him, it would be
better that he should be found quietly at work in his office; and he was
seated at his table with a pen in his hand when a man was shown in. The
newcomer was neatly dressed except that his white shirt was damp and
crumpled. His face was hot and determined.
"I've come to prevent trouble," he explained.
"I'm glad to hear it, because, as we both have the same wish, it ought
to simplify things," Aynsley responded. "Since yours is the party with a
grievance, you'd better tell me what you want."
"A written promise that you won't keep a Jap here after to-morrow
morning."
"I can't give it," said Aynsley firmly. "I'll undertake to hire no more
and to let these fellows go when they have finished the work I engaged
them for, if that will do."
"It won't; I can't take that answer back to the boys. You must fire the
Japs right off."
Aynsley leaned forward on the table with a patient sigh.
"Don't you understand that when two parties meet to arrange terms they
can't both have all they want? The only chance of a settlement lies in a
mutual compromise."
"You're wrong," said the stranger grimly. "The thing can be settled
straight off if one of them gives in."
"Is that what you propose to do?"
"No, sir! I don't budge an inch! The boys wouldn't let me, even if I
thought it wise."
"Then, as I can't go as far as you wish, there's no use in my making a
move," Aynsley answered coolly. "It looks as if we had come to a
standstill and there was nothing more to be said."
"I'll warn you that you're taking a big responsibility and playing a
fool game."
"That remains to be seen. I needn't keep you, though I'm sorry we can't
agree."
He went down with the man, and as they crossed the yard the fellow
raised his voice.
"Come out from the holes you're hiding in, boys!" he cried. "Are you
going to back the foreigners and employers against your friends?"
Aynsley touched his shoulder.
"Sorry, but we can't allow any speeches of that kind. You have an
envoy's privileges, so long as you stick to them, but this is breaking
all the rules."
"How will you stop me?" the fellow demanded roughly.
"I imagine you had better not satisfy your curiosity on that point,"
Aynsley answered. "The man yonder has your horse. I wish you
good-night."
The envoy mounted and rode away into the darkness; and Aynsley sought
his manager.
"I suspect his friends are not far off," he said. "We had better go
round again and see that everything's ready."