Clammy mist hung about the edge of the clearing, veiling the somber
spires of the pines, but leaving the rows of straight trunks uncovered
below a straight-drawn line. It was a gloomy morning. Jimmy, standing
with Bethune and several others beside a growing log-pile, stopped a
moment to rest his aching muscles. He was wet through, and his arms and
back were sore from the previous day's exertions. Two strong skids,
placed so as to form an inclined bridge, led to the top of the log-pile
and the soil between them was trodden into a wet, slippery mess in which
it was difficult to keep one's footing. A length sawed off a massive
trunk lay across the ends of the skids, and Jimmy and his companions
were trying to roll it into its place on top of the previously laid
tier.
Getting their poles beneath it they forced it upward, little by little.
When they got half-way, a pole slipped, and for a few anxious moments
the men strained every muscle to prevent the mass from rolling back,
while their companion found a fresh rest for his pole. The log must be
held: they could not jump clear in time. Breathing hard, with the sweat
dripping from them, they raised it a foot or two, until it seemed
possible to lift it on to the lower logs by a strenuous effort. They
made the attempt; and one of the skids broke. Laying their shoulders
beneath the mass, they struggled with it for their lives. If it
overpowered them, they would be borne backward and crushed. With one
support gone, it seemed impossible that they could lift it into place.
For a few moments they held it, but did no more, though Jimmy felt the
veins swell on his forehead and heard a strange buzzing in his ears. His
mouth was dry, his heart beat painfully, and he knew he could not stand
the cruel strain much longer. But there was no help available. They must
conquer or be maimed.
"Lift! You have got to land her, boys!" cried somebody in a half-choked
voice. And they made their last effort.
For a moment the mass hung in the balance, and then rose an inch. Again
they hove it upward before their muscles could relax, and now its weight
began to rest upon the lower logs. Another thrust rolled it slowly
forward--and the danger was past.
Though the incident was not of an unusual character, Jimmy sat down
limply in the wet fern to recover breath, and he was still resting when
the foreman came up and beckoned him.
"We'll not want you and your partner after to-night," he said abruptly.
Jimmy looked at him in surprise.
"As you haven't found any fault with us, might one ask the reason?"
"You might; but I can't tell you. There it is--you're fired. I've got my
orders."
The Canadian is often laconic, and Jimmy nodded.
"Very well," he said; "we'll go now. This isn't a luxurious job."
"As you like," replied the foreman. "The boss's clerk is in the shack;
I'll give him your time."
Jimmy followed him to the office and drew his pay, but the clerk seemed
unable to explain his dismissal.
"I guess it's because we can't get our value out of the boys in this
rain," he said evasively.
"But why single us out?" Jimmy persisted. "I don't know that I want to
stay; but I'm curious. Our gang has put up as many logs as the others."
"I've no time for talking!" the clerk exclaimed. "Take your money and
quit!"
Bethune drew Jimmy away and they crossed the clearing to where Moran was
at work. He showed no great surprise when he heard their news.
"Well," he said, "I'll finish the week here and then follow you to the
city. We'll need the money."
"All right," Bethune agreed; "if you get the chance of staying; but
that's doubtful. You know where to find us."
They went back to the sleeping shack to get their clothes.
"What did you mean when you said he might not have the chance?" Jimmy
asked.
"I have a suspicion that Hank will get his time in the next day or two.
The boss wouldn't want to make the thing too obvious, and Hank's a good
chopper. There are some awkward trees to get down where he's working."
"But why should they want to get rid of him--or us?"
Bethune smiled grimly.
"I think we're marked men. We'll find out presently whether I'm right."
Bethune's forebodings proved correct, for only a few days elapsed before
Moran joined him and Jimmy in Vancouver. After spending a week in
searching for employment they got work with a lumber-rafting gang and
kept it for a fortnight, when they were dismissed without any convincing
reason being given.
On the evening after their return to the city they sat in a corner of
the comfortless lobby at the hotel. It was quiet there because the other
boarders lounged in tilted chairs before the big windows with their hats
on and their feet supported by the radiator pipes, watching the
passers-by.
"I came across the fellow we got the pumps from this afternoon," Jimmy
remarked. "The last time I saw him he was fairly civil, but he's turned
abusive now. Wanted to know when we were going to pay him the rest of
his money, and made some pointed observations about our character."
"That won't hurt us," laughed Bethune. "As we have nothing to give him
and the sloop's safely hidden, he can't make much trouble. I heard
something more interesting. An acquaintance of mine mentioned that they
had a big lot of lumber to cut at the Clanch mill and wanted a few more
men. If we could get a job there, we might hold it."
"It seems to me we can't hold anything," Jimmy grumbled. "Why that?"
Bethune chuckled in a manner that indicated that he knew more than he
meant to tell.
"Boldness often pays, and I imagine that our mysterious enemies won't
think of looking for us at the Clanch mill. We'll go out there
to-morrow."
They found it a long walk over a wet road, for soon after they left the
city rain began to fall. On applying at the mill gate, they were sent to
the office, and Jimmy was standing, wet and moody, by the counter,
waiting until a supercilious clerk could attend to him, when an inner
door opened and a young man came out. Jimmy started as he recognized the
yachtsman they had met on the island; but Aynsley moved forward with a
smile.
"This is a pleasant surprise! I'm glad you thought of looking me up."
"As a matter of fact, we are looking for work," Bethune said
laconically.
Aynsley laughed and indicated the door behind him.
"Go in and sit down. I'll join you in a minute or two, and we'll see
what can be done."
They entered his private office, which was smartly furnished, and, being
very wet, felt some diffidence about using the polished hardwood chairs.
The throb of engines and the scream of saws made it unlikely that their
conversation could be overheard, and Jimmy turned to Bethune with a
frown.
"You made a curious remark about boldness paying, when you suggested
coming here. Did you know that young man was in charge?"
"No; it's an unexpected development. But I'll confess that I knew the
mill belonged to his father."
"Clay?" Jimmy exclaimed. "The owner of the wreck?"
"Her late owner. She belongs to the underwriters now. It seems to me the
situation has its humorous side; I mean our getting a job from the man
who's been hunting us down."
"You suspected Osborne not long ago," Jimmy said shortly.
"They're partners; but, from what I've gathered, it's more likely that
Clay's the man who's on our trail. We helped him to follow it by
registering with an employment agent--and that makes me wonder whether
it would be an advantage to change our names?"
"I'll stick to mine!" said Jimmy; and Moran declared his intention of
doing the same.
"After all, it's a feeble trick and not likely to cheat the fellow we
have to deal with," Bethune agreed. "He has obviously got a pretty
accurate description of us."
"But would a man of his kind spend his time in tracking us? And wouldn't
it lead to talk?"
Bethune laughed.
"He'll act through agents; there are plenty of broken-down adventurers
in Vancouver who'd be glad to do his dirty work. These cities are full
of impecunious wastrels; I was one myself."
"Perhaps we'd better clear out," suggested Jimmy. "I'd hate to take the
fellow's pay."
"You needn't feel diffident. If it's any consolation, the mill foreman
will get full value out of you. However--" Bethune broke off as Aynsley
came in.
"The fishing doesn't seem to have been very profitable," he said,
putting a box on the table. "Have a cigar."
"All we caught hardly paid for the net," Bethune replied. "On the whole,
I don't think we'll smoke. Perhaps we had better not, so to speak,
confuse our relations at the start. You see, though we didn't know you
were the manager, we came along in the hope that you might have an
opening for three active men."
"If I hadn't, I'd try to make one," Aynsley answered. "However, as it
happens, we do need a few extra hands; but I'm afraid I've only rough
work to offer."
"It couldn't be much rougher than we've been doing. I believe we can
make ourselves useful; and that Hank here could move more lumber in a
day than any man in your mill. But of course you're under no obligation
to take us."
"We'll let that go; I need help. You can begin with the stacking gang,
but something better may turn up. Now tell me something about your
northern trip."
Bethune told him as much as he thought advisable, and, although he used
tact, Aynsley gave him a keen glance now and then, as if he suspected
some reserve. Before Aynsley could make a comment, Bethune stood up.
"I've no doubt you're a busy man," he said, "and we mustn't waste your
time. Shall we make a start in the morning?"
"You can begin right now."
Aynsley rang a bell and handed them over to his foreman.
For some weeks the men remained contentedly at the mill. The work was
hard, but the pay was fair, and the boarding arrangements good, and
Aynsley seldom failed to give them a pleasant word as he passed. Indeed,
Jimmy felt a warm liking for him; and it was not by his wish but by
Bethune's that their respective stations as employer and workmen
remained clearly defined.
One day, when Aynsley had been absent for more than a week, the foreman
came to them.
"I'm sorry you'll have to quit," he said. "We're paying off several of
the boys."
"Quit!" Jimmy began indignantly; but he caught Bethune's warning look
and added lamely, "Oh, well; I suppose it's by Mr. Clay's orders?"
"No, sir," the foreman answered unguardedly; "Mr. Aynsley had nothing to
do with it. He didn't even know--" He broke off abruptly. "Anyhow,
you're fired!"
He turned away from them quickly; and Bethune, sitting down on a pile of
lumber, took out his pipe.
"Since I've got my notice with no reason given," he drawled, "I don't
see why I should exhaust myself by carrying heavy planks about. Of
course you noticed his statement that Mr. Aynsley was not
responsible--though the fellow was afterward sorry he had made it. I'm
of the opinion that there's something to be inferred from his use of our
employer's Christian name, particularly as a big automobile stood at the
gate for two hours yesterday. I shouldn't be surprised to learn that
Clay, senior, had examined the pay-roll."
"What's the blamed hog aiming at in getting after us like this?"
questioned Moran.
Bethune looked thoughtful.
"He may wish to drive us out of the country; but I'm more inclined to
believe he means to wear us out, and then make some proposition when he
thinks we're tame enough."
"He'll be badly disappointed if he expects we'll come to terms!" Jimmy
strode up and down, his face flushed with anger. "Anyway, I can't
believe that Aynsley knows anything about this."
"He doesn't." Bethune smiled grimly. "I know by experience how the
scapegrace son tries to conceal his escapades from his respectable
relatives, but I rather think the unprincipled parent who doesn't want
his children to find him out is more ingenious. All this, however, isn't
much to the purpose; we'll have the boys down on us unless we clear the
lumber from the saws."
They left the mill the next morning and tramped back to Vancouver in a
generally dejected mood.
"What's to be done now?" asked Jimmy as they reached the outskirts of
the city.
"How about going down into the States and trying our luck?" Bethune
suggested. "We'd at least be out of Clay's reach--anywhere but Seattle."
"What--run!" Jimmy exclaimed indignantly. "I stay right here!"
"Me too!" grunted Moran.
Bethune laughed.
"Well, how about turning and charging the enemy? I'll admit that I'd
enjoy a good fight right now--physical or verbal."
"Won't do," objected Moran; "we won't be well armed until we know just
what those other boxes in the strong-room contain. Before we get a
chance to find out, I've an idea our enemy himself will make a move."
And he did.