SCATTERGOOD KICKS UP THE DUST
Scattergood Baines sat on the porch of his hardware store and looked
down Coldriver Valley. It was very beautiful, even under the hot summer
sun of the second anniversary of Scattergood's arrival in that part of
the world, but he was not seeing it as it was--mountainous, green,
with untouched forests, quickened to life and sound by the swift,
rushing, splashing downrush of a tireless mountain river. Scattergood
saw the valley as he was going to make it, for he was a specialist in
valleys.
For years he had searched for an undeveloped valley--for the sort of
valley it would be worth his while to take in hand, and two years ago he
had found it and invaded it. His equipment for its conquest had been
meager--some fifty dollars in money and a head filled from ear to ear
and from eyebrows to scalp lock with shrewdness. His progress in
twenty-four months had been notable, for he was sole proprietor of a
profitable hardware store in Coldriver village, and controlled the upper
stretches of Coldriver by virtue of a certain dam and boom company built
with other men's capital for Scattergood's benefit and behoof.
Now, in the eye of his mind, he could see the whole twenty-odd miles of
his valley. Along the left bank, hanging perilously to the slope of the
mountain, he saw the rails of a narrow-gauge railroad reaching from
Coldriver Valley to the main line that passed the valley's mouth. He saw
sturdy, snorting little engines drawing logs to sawmills of a magnitude
not dreamed of by any other man in the locality, and he saw other
engines hauling out lumber to the southward. He saw villages where no
villages existed that day, and villages meaning more traffic for his
railroad, more trade for the stores he had it in his thought to
establish. Something else he saw, but more dimly. This vision took the
shape of a gigantic dam far back in the mountains, behind which should
be stored the waters from the melting snows and from the spring rains,
so that they might be released at will to insure a uniform flow
throughout the year, wet months and dry months, as he desired. He saw
this water pouring over other dams, turning water wheels, giving power
to mills and factories. More than that, in the remotest and dimmest
recess of his brain he saw not sharply, not with full comprehension,
this tremendous water power converted into electricity and transported
mile upon mile over far-reaching wires, to give light and energy to
distant communities.
But all that was remote; it lay in the years to come. For the present
smaller affairs must content him. Even the matter of the narrow-gauge
railroad was beyond his grasp.
Scattergood reached down mechanically and removed his huge shoes; then,
stretching out his fat legs gratefully, he twiddled his toes in the
sunlight and gave himself up to practical thought. He controlled the
tail of the valley with his dam and boom company; he must control its
mouth. He must have command over the exit from the valley so that every
individual, every log, every article of merchandise that entered or left
the valley, should pass through his hands. That was to be the next step.
He must straddle the mouth of the valley like the fat colossus he was.
Scattergood was placid and patient. He knew what he wanted to do with
his valley, and had perfect confidence he should accomplish it. But he
had no disposition to hasten matters unwisely. It was better, as he told
Sam Kettleman, the grocer, "to let an apple fall in your lap instead of
skinnin' your shins goin' up the tree after it--and then findin' it was
green."
So, though he wanted the mouth of his river, and wanted it badly, he did
not rush off, advertising his need, and try brashly to grab the forty or
fifty acres of granite and scrub and steep mountain wall that his heart
desired. Instead, he basked in the sunshine, twiddling his bare toes
ecstatically, and let the huge bulk of him sink more contentedly into
the well-reinforced armchair which creaked under his slightest motion.
Scattergood glanced across the dusty square to the post office. The mail
was in, and possibly there were letters there for him. He thought it
very likely, and he wanted to see them--but movement was repulsive to
his bulging body. He sighed and closed his eyes. A shrill whistle
attempting the national anthem, with certain liberties of variation,
caused him to open them again, and he saw, passing him, a small boy,
apparently without an object in life.
"A-hum!" said Scattergood.
The boy stopped and looked inquiringly.
"If I knew," said Scattergood to his bare feet, "where there was a boy
that could find his way across to the post office and back without
gittin' sunstroke or stone bruise, I dunno but I'd give him a penny to
fetch my mail."
"It's worth a nickel," said the boy.
"Give you two cents," said Scattergood.
"Nickel or nothin'," said the boy.
Scattergood scrutinized the boy a moment, then surrendered.
"Bargain," said he, but as the boy hustled across the square
Scattergood heaved himself out of his chair and padded inside the store.
He stood scratching his head a moment and then removed a tin object from
a card holding eleven more of its like. With it in his hand, he returned
to his chair and resettled himself cautiously, for to apply his weight
suddenly might have resulted in disaster.
The boy was returning. Scattergood placed the tin object to his lips and
puffed out his bulging cheeks. A sound resulted such as the ears of
Coldriver had seldom suffered. It was shrill, it was penetrating, it
rose and fell with a sort of ripping, tearing slash. The boy stopped in
front of Scattergood and stared. Without a word Scattergood held out his
hand for his mail, and, receiving it, placed a nickel in the grimy palm
that remained extended. Then, apparently oblivious to the boy's
existence, he applied himself again to the whistle.
"Say," said the boy, "what's that?"
"Patent whistle," said Scattergood, without interest.
"Is it your'n, or is it for sale?"
"Calculate I might sell."
"How much?"
"Nickel."
"Gimme it," said the boy, and Scattergood gravely received back his
coin.
"Might tell the kids I got more," said Scattergood, and watched the boy
trot down the street, entranced by the horrid sound he was fathering.
This transaction from beginning to end was eloquent of Scattergood
Baines's character. He had been obliged to pay more than he regarded a
service as worth, but had not protested vainly. Instead he had set about
recouping himself as best he could. The whistle cost him two cents and a
half. Therefore the boy had come closer to working for Scattergood's
figure than for his own demanded price. In addition, Scattergood's wares
were to receive free and valuable advertising, as was proven by the
fact that before night he had sold ten more whistles at a profit of
twenty-five cents! No deal was too small to receive Scattergood's best
and most skillful attention.
Now he opened his letters, one of which was worthy of attention, for it
was from a friend in the office of the Secretary of State for that
commonwealth--a friend who owed his position there in great measure to
Scattergood's influence. The letter gave the information that two
gentlemen named Crane and Keith had pooled their timber holdings on the
east and west branches of Coldriver, and had filed papers for the
incorporation of the Coldriver Lumber Company.
This was important. First, the gentlemen named were no friends of
Scattergood's by reason of having underestimated that fleshy individual
to their financial detriment in the matter of a certain dam and boom
company, of which Scattergood was now sole owner. Second, because it
presaged active lumbering operations. Third, because, in Scattergood's
safe were ironclad contracts with both of them whereby the said dam and
boom company should receive sixty cents a thousand feet for driving
their logs down the improved river.
And fourth--the fourth brought Scattergood's active toes to a rest.
Fourth, it meant that Crane and Keith would be building the largest
sawmill--the only sawmill of consequence--that the valley had seen.
It was an attribute of Scattergood's peculiar genius that even after you
had encountered him once, and come out the worse for it, you still rated
him as a fatuous, guileless mound of flesh. You did not credit his
successes to astuteness, but to blundering luck. Another point also
should be noted: If Scattergood were hunting bear he gave it out that
his game was partridge. He would hunt partridge industriously and
conspicuously until men's minds were turned quite away from the subject
of bear. Then suddenly he would shift shotgun for rifle and come home
with a bearskin in the wagon. Probably he would bring partridge, too,
for he never neglected by-products.
"Them fellows," said he to himself, referring to Messrs. Crane and
Keith, "hain't aimin' nor wishin' to pay me no sixty cents a thousand
for drivin' their logs.... I figger they calculate to cut about ten
million feet. That'll be six thousand dollars. Profit maybe two
thousand. Don't see as I kin afford to lose it, seems as though."
On the river below Coldriver village were three hamlets each consisting
of a general store, a church, and a few scattered dwellings. These
villages were the supply centers for the mountain farms that lay behind
them. Necessity had located them, for nowhere else along the valley was
there flat land upon which even the tiniest village could find a resting
place. These were Bailey, Tupper Falls, and Higgins's Bridge. In common
with Coldriver village their communication with the world was by means
of a stage line consisting of two so-called stages, one of which left
Coldriver in the morning on the downward trip, the other of which left
the mouth of the valley on the upward trip. There was also one freight
wagon.
The morning following Scattergood's second anniversary in the region, he
boarded the stage, occupying so much space therein that a single fare
failed utterly to show a profit to the stage line, and alighted at
Bailey. He went directly to the store, where no one was to be found save
sharp-featured Mrs. Bailey, wife of the proprietor.
"Mornin', ma'am," said Scattergood, politely. "Husband hain't in?"
"Up the brook, catchin' a mess of trout," she responded, shortly. "He's
always catchin' a mess of trout, or huntin' a deer or a partridge or
somethin'. If you're ever aimin' to see Jim Bailey here, you want to
git around afore daylight or after dark."
"Hain't it lucky," said Scattergood, "that some men manages to marry
wimmin that kin look after their business?"
"Not for the wimmin," said Mrs. Bailey, shortly.
"My name's Baines," said Scattergood.
"I calculate to know _that_."
"Like livin' here, ma'am?"
"Not so but what I could bear a change."
"Um!... Mis' Bailey, I calc'late you'd hate to see Jim make a little
money so's to be able to git away from here if he wanted to."
"Him? Only way hell ever make money is to ketch a solid-gold trout."
"Maybe I'm the solid-gold trout you're speakin' about," said
Scattergood.
She regarded him sharply a moment. "Set," she said. "Looks like you got
somethin' on your mind."
There were times when Scattergood could be direct and succinct. He
perceived it was best to be so with this woman.
"I might want to buy this here store--under certain conditions."
"How much?"
"Inventory, and a share in the profits of a deal I got in mind."
"What's them conditions you mentioned?"
"That you and Jim don't mention the sale to anybody, and keep on runnin'
the place--for wages--until I'm ready for you to quit."
"What's the deal them profits is comin' from, and how much you figger
they'll be?"
"The deal's feedin' about five hunderd men, and the profits'll be
plenty. I furnish the capital and show you how it's to be done. All
Jim'll have to do is foller directions."
Then, lowering his voice, Scattergood went farther into particulars.
Suddenly Mrs. Bailey arose, and screamed shrilly to an urchin playing in
the road, "You, Jimmy, go up the brook and fetch your pa." Scattergood
knew his deal was as good as closed. Before the up-bound stage arrived
it was closed. The Baileys had cash in hand for their store and
Scattergood carried away a duly executed bill of sale.
The following day, for fifteen hundred dollars cash, he acquired all the
property of the stage line--and when the news became public it was
believed that Scattergood had departed from his wits, for the line was
notoriously unprofitable and an aching worry to its owners. But the
commotion the transfer of the stage line created was as nothing to the
news that Scattergood had bought a strip of land along the railroad at
the mouth of the river, and was erecting a large wooden building upon
it. When asked concerning this and its purpose, Scattergood replied that
he wasn't made up in his mind what he would use it for, but likely it
would be an "opry" house.
Following this, Scattergood went to the city, where he spent much
valuable time interviewing gentlemen in wholesale grocery and provision
houses....
Jim Bailey liked to fish--which is not an attribute to create scandal.
He was not ambitious, nor was he endowed with a full reservoir of
initiative, but he was a shrewd customer and seldom got the worst of it.
One virtue he possessed, and that was an ability to follow
directions--and to keep his mouth shut.
Not many days after Scattergood became the owner of the store at Bailey,
Jim was a caller at the new offices of the lumber company, formed when
Crane and Keith pooled their interests.
"I come to see you," he told Crane, "because it seemed like you got to
feed your lumberjacks, and I want to git the contract for furnishin' and
deliverin' the provisions."
"We've sure got to feed 'em," said Crane. "But five hundred men eat a
lot of grub. Can you swing it if we give you a chance at it?"
Bailey produced a letter from the Coldriver bank which stated the bank
was willing to stand behind any contract made by the Bailey Provision
Company, up to a certain substantial amount.
"Who's the Bailey Provision Company?"
"Me 'n' my wife mostly holds the stock."
"Huh!... You'll handle the stuff, deliver it, and all that? What's your
proposition?"
"Well, havin' been in business twenty-odd year, I kin buy mighty
favorable. More so 'n you fellers. All I want's a livin' profit. Tell
you what I'll do. I'll take this here contract like this: Goods to be
delivered in your camps at actual cost of the stuff and freighting plus
ten per cent. We'll keep stock on hand in depots, and deliver as needed.
It'll save you all the trouble of handlin'. We'll carry the stock, and
you pay once a month for what's delivered."
Crane called in Keith, and they discussed the proposition. It presented
distinct advantages; might, indeed, save them money in addition to
trouble. Bailey clinched the thing by showing an agreement with the
stage line to transport the provisions at a price per hundred pounds
notably lower than Crane and Keith imagined could be obtained, and went
home carrying the contract Scattergood had sent him to get.
Scattergood put the paper away in his safe and sat back in his
reinforced armchair, with placid satisfaction making benignant his face.
"I calc'late," he said to himself, "that this here dicker'll keep Crane
and Keith gropin' and wonderin' and scrutinizin' more or less--when it
gits to their ears. Shouldn't be s'prised if it come to worry 'em a
mite."
So, having created a diversion to conceal the movements of his main
attack, Scattergood got out his maps and began scientifically to plan
his fall and winter campaign.
Timber was his objective. Not a hundred acres of it, nor a thousand, but
tens of thousands, even a hundred thousand acres of spruce-covered hills
was the goal he had set. To control his valley he must have money; to
get money for his developments he must have timber. Also, ownership of
vast limits of growing spruce was necessary to the control of the
valley. He must own more timber thereabouts than anybody else. He must
dominate the timber situation. To a man whose total resources totaled a
matter of fifty thousand dollars--the bulk of which was tied up in a dam
and boom company as yet unproductive--this looked like a mouthful beyond
his capacity to bite off. Even with timber in the back reaches selling
at sixty-six cents an acre, a hundred thousand acres meant an investment
of sixty-six thousand dollars. True, Scattergood could look forward to
the day when that same timberland would be worth ten dollars an acre--a
million dollars--but looking ahead would not produce a cent to-day.
Of timberlands, whose cut logs must go down Coldriver Valley to reach a
market, Scattergood's maps showed him there were probably a quarter of a
million acres--mostly spruce. Estimating with rigid conservatism, this
would run eight thousand feet to the acre, or twenty billion feet of
timber--and this did not take into consideration hardwood. In
Scattergood's secret heart he wanted it _all_. All he might not be able
to get, but he must have more than half--and that half distributed
strategically.
It will be seen that Scattergood was content to wait. His motto was,
"Grab a dollar to-day--but don't meddle with it if it interferes with a
thousand dollars in ten years."
Scattergood's maps had been the work of two years. That they were
accurate he knew, because he had set down on them most of the facts they
showed. They were valuable, for, in Scattergood's rude printing, one
could read upon them the owner of every piece of timber, every farm, the
acreage in each piece of timber, with a careful estimate of the amount
of timber to the acre--also its proportions of spruce, beech, birch,
maple, ash.
Toward the head of the valley, where good timber was thickest,
Scattergood's map showed how it spread out like a fan, with the two main
branches of Coldriver and numerous brooks as the ribs. Then, down the
length of the stream, were parallel bands of it. On the map one could
see what this timber could be bought for; prices ranging from two
dollars and a half an acre down the main river to sixty-six cents at the
extremity of the fan.
As Scattergood studied his maps he saw, far in the future, perhaps, but
clearly and distinctly and certainly, two parallel lines running up the
river to his village; he saw, branching off from a spot below the
village, where East and West Branches joined to pour over a certain dam
owned by him, other narrower parallel lines following river and brooks
back and back into the mountains, the spruce-clad mountains. These
parallel lines were rails. The ones which ran close together were
narrow-gauge--logging roads to bring logs to the big mill which
Scattergood planned to build beside his dam. The broader lines were a
standard-gauge road to carry the cut lumber to the outside world, and
not only the cut lumber, but all the traffic of the valley, all the
freight, the manufactured products of other mills and factories which
were to come along the banks of his river. Here, in black and white, was
set down Scattergood's life plan. When it was accomplished he would be
through. He would be willing to have his maps rolled up and himself to
be laid on the shelf, for he would have done the thing he set out to
do.... For, strange as it may seem, Scattergood was not pursuing money
for money itself--his objective was achievement.
Scattergood was not the only man to own or to study maps. Crane and
Keith were at the same interesting employment, but on a lesser scale.
"Here's your stuff," said Keith, "over here on the East Branch--thirty
thousand acres. Here's mine, on the West Branch--close to thirty
thousand acres. We don't touch anywhere."
"But our locations put us in the driver's seat so far as the timber up
here is concerned. We're in control. There are sixty thousand acres of
mighty good spruce in that triangle between us, and it's as good as
ours. It's there for us when we need it. All we got to do is reach out
our hand for it. The folks that own it haven't got the money to go ahead
with it. Pretty sweet for us--with sixty thousand acres in the palm of
our hand and not a cent invested in it."
"Sweet is the word. But what if somebody grabbed it off?"
"Who'll grab?"
"I think we ought to tie it up somehow. If we owned the whole thing we
could work a heap more profitably. Now we've got to divide camps, or
else cut off one slice or the other at a time. If we owned the whole
thing we could make our cut where it would be easiest handled--and leave
the rest till things develop."
"It's safe. And we can make it mighty unpleasant for anybody who comes
ramming into this region in a small way. Which reminds me of that
Baines--our friend Scattergood. Are we going to let him get away with
that dam and boom company we made him a present of?"
"I can't see ourselves digging down for sixty cents a thousand for
driving our logs--contracts or no contracts."
"Maybe we can buy him off."
"Hanged if I'll do that--we'll chase him off. Look here--he's got to
handle our logs. If he can't handle them we've got a right to put on our
own crew and drive them down--and charge back to him what it costs us.
Get the idea?"
"Not exactly."
"We deliver the logs as specified in the spring. Let him start his
drive. Then, I figure, he'll have some trouble with his men, and most
likely men he don't have trouble with will get into a row with
lumberjacks going out of camp. See? Men of his that we can't handle
we'll pitch into the river. Then we'll take charge with our men and make
the drive. On top of that we'll sue Scattergood for thirty or forty
cents a thousand--extra cost we've been put to by his inability to
handle the drive. That'll put a crimp in him--and if we keep after him
hot and heavy it won't take long to drive him out of the valley."
"Don't believe he's dangerous, anyhow. That last deal was bullhead
luck."
"Yes, but he's stirring around. We don't want anybody poking in. There's
a heap of money in this valley for us, if we can keep it to ourselves,
and the sooner the idea gets abroad that it isn't healthful to butt in,
the better."
"Guess you're right."
If Scattergood could have heard this conversation perhaps he would not
have been so gayly partaking of the softer joys of life. For that is
what Scattergood was doing. He had polished up his buggy, put his new
harness on his horse, and was driving out to make a social call. Not
only that, but it was a social call upon a lady!
Scattergood was lonely sometimes. In one of his moments of loneliness
it had occurred to him that a great many men had wives, and that wives
were, undoubtedly, a remarkably effective insurance against that
ailment.
"I gather," he said, in the course of a casual conversation with Sam
Kettleman, the grocer, "that wives is sometimes inconvenient and
sometimes tryin' on the temper, but on the whole they're returnin'
income on the investment."
"Some does and some doesn't," said Kettleman, lugubriously.
"Hotel grub," said Scattergood, "gets mighty similar. Roast beef and
roast pork! Roast pork and roast beef! Then cold roast pork and beef for
supper.... And me obliged, by the way I'm built, to pay extry board.
Sundays I always order me two dinners. Seems like a wife 'u'd act as a
benefit there."
"But there's drawbacks," said Sam, "and there's mother-in-laws, and
there's lendin' a dollar to your brother-in-law."
"The thing to do," said Scattergood, "is to pick one without them
impediments. I also figger," he added, wriggling his bare toes, "that a
feller ought to pick one that could lend a dollar to _your_ brother in
case he needed one."
"Hain't none sich to be found," said Sam.
"I calc'late to look," Scattergood replied.
He had already done his looking. The lady of his choice, tradition says,
was older than he, but this is a base libel. She was not older. She had
not yet reached thirty. Scattergood had first encountered her when she
came to his hardware store to buy a plow. On that occasion her excellent
business judgment and her powers of barter had attracted him strongly.
As a matter of fact, he was a bit in doubt if she hadn't the best of him
on the deal.... Her name was Amanda Randle.
Scattergood gave the matter his best thought, then polished the buggy
as aforesaid, and called.
"Howdy, Miss Randle?" said he, tying to her hitching post.
"Howdy, Mr. Baines?"
"I calculated," said he, "that, bein' as it's a hot night, a buggy ride
might sort of cool you off, after a way of speakin'."
Amanda blushed, for the proffer of a buggy ride was not without definite
significance in that region.
"I'll git my shawl and bonnet," she said.
To the casual eye it would have appeared that Scattergood's summer was
devoted wholly to running his hardware store and to paying court to
Mandy Randle.... But this would not have been so. He was making ready
for the winter--and for the spring that came after it. For in the spring
came the drive, and with the coming of the drive Scattergood foresaw the
coming of trouble. He was not a man to dodge trouble that might bring
profit dangling to the fringe of her skirt.
Coldriver watched with deep interest the progress of Scattergood's suit.
It had figured Mandy as an old maid--for, as has been mentioned, she was
close upon her thirtieth year, which, in a village where eighteen is the
general age for taking a husband, is well along in spinsterhood. It was
late in October when Scattergood "came to scratch," as the local saying
is.
"Mandy," said he, "I calc'late you noticed I been comin' around here
consid'able."
"You have--seems as though," she said, and blushed. It was coming. She
recognized the signs.
"I been a-comin' on purpose," said Scattergood.
"Do tell," said Mandy.
"Yes, ma'am. It's like this: I own a hardware store and some other
prop'ty; not a heap, ma'am, but _some_. It's gittin' to be more. I
calculate, some day, to be wuth consid'able. When a man gits to this
p'int, he ought to have him a wife, eh?"
Mandy made no reply.
"So," said Scattergood, "I took to lookin' around a bit, and of all the
girls there was, Mandy, it looked to me like you would be the only one
to make the kind of a wife I want. That's honest. Yes, sir. Says I to
myself, 'Mandy Randle's the one for me.' So I washed up the buggy and
hitched up the horse and come right out. I been comin' ever since,
because that there first impression of mine has been bore out by
facts.... I'm askin' you, Mandy, will you be Missis Baines?"
"You're stiddy and savin'--and makin'," said Mandy. "Add what _you_ got
to what I got, and we'll be pretty well off. And I aim to help take care
of it."
"I aim to have you help," said Scattergood. "But, Mandy, I don't want
you scrimpin' and savin' too much. I want my wife should have as good as
the best, and be looked up to by the best. The day'll come, Mandy, when
we'll keep a hired girl!"
"No extravagances, Scattergood, till I say we kin afford it.... And,
Scattergood, you got to promise not to make no important move without
consultin' me. I got a head for business."
"Mandy," said Scattergood, "you and me is equal partners."
Which, say both tradition and history, is how the arrangement worked
out. Mandy and Scattergood _were_ equal partners. Scattergood was to
learn through the years that Mandy's _was_ a good head for business,
and, though business men who came to deal with Scattergood in the future
sometimes laughed when they found Mandy present at their conferences,
they never laughed but once.... And, though Scattergood's proffer of
marriage had not been couched in fervent terms of love, nor had Mandy
fallen on his overbroad bosom with rapture, theirs was a married life to
be envied by most, for there was between them perfect trust, sincere
affection, and wisest forbearance. For forty years Scattergood and Mandy
lived together as man and wife, and at the end both could look back
through the intimate years and say of the other that he had chosen well
his mate.
It may be thought that this bit of romance is dropped in here by legend
and history merely to amuse, or as a side light on the character of
Scattergood Baines. This is not so. We are forced by the facts to regard
the matter as an integral part of the business transaction related in
this narrative. Not a minor part, not an important part, but perhaps the
deciding factor....
John Bones, lawyer, age twenty-six, was a recent acquisition to
Coldriver village. Scattergood had watched the young man's comings and
goings, and had listened to his conversation. Early in November he went
to his bank and drew from deposit two hundred and fifty dollars.... Then
he went to call on Bones.
"Mr. Bones," he said, "folks says old Clayt Mosier's a client of
your'n."
"He's given me some business, Mr. Baines."
"Uh-huh!... Somethin' to do with title to a piece of timber over
Higgins's Bridge way, wa'n't it?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Baines, but I guess you'll have to ask Mr. Mosier about
that."
"Huh!... Mosier hain't apt to tell _me_. Seems like I was sort of
int'rested in that thing. I can't manage nohow to git the facts, so I
thought I'd talk to you."
"I can't help you. I have no right to talk about a client's confidential
matters."
"To be sure.... How's business?"
"Not very good."
"Not gittin' rich, eh?"
Young Bones looked unhappy, for making both ends meet was a problem he
had not mastered as yet.
Scattergood got up, closed the door, and walked softly back to the desk.
He drew from his pocket the roll of bills, and spread them out in
alluring pattern.
"Them's your'n," said he.
"Mine? How? What for?"
"I'm swappin' with you."
"For what, Mr. Baines?" A slight perspiration was noticeable on young
Lawyer Bones's brow.
"Information," said Scattergood, looking him in the eye. As the young
man did not speak, Scattergood continued, "about Mosier's title matter."
For an instant the young man stood irresolute; then he reached slowly
over, gathered up the money into a neat roll--while Scattergood watched
him intently--and then, with suddenly set teeth, hurled the roll into
Scattergood's face, and leaped around the desk.
"You _git_!" he said, between his teeth. "Git, and take your filthy
money with you...."
Scattergood, who did not in the least look it, could move swiftly. The
young lawyer was abruptly interrupted in his pastime of ejecting
Scattergood forcibly. He found himself seized by his wrists and held as
if he had shoved his arms into steel clamps.
"Set," said Scattergood, "and be sociable.... And keep the money. It's
your'n. You're hired. I guess you're the feller I'm aimin' to use."
He forced the struggling young man back into his chair, and released
him--grinning broadly, and not at all as a tempter should grin. "If
it'll relieve your conscience," he said, "I hain't got no more int'rest
in Mosier's affairs than I have in the emperor of the heathen Chinee....
But I _have_ got a heap of int'rest in a young feller that kin refuse a
wad of money when he can't pay his board bill. Maybe 'twan't jest a nice
way, but I had to find out. The man I'm needin' has to have a clost
mouth--and somethin' a mite better 'n that--gumption not to sell out....
Git the idee?"
"I--yes, I guess I do--but--"
"Any objections to workin' for me?"
"None."
"All right. Keep the money. When you've worked it up come for more. And,
young feller, if things turns out for me like I think they will, you're
goin' to quit bein' a lawyer one of these days. I'm a-goin' to need you
in my business. Come over to my store."
At the store Scattergood spread his maps before the young man, and
pointed to a certain spot. "There's about fifty different passels of
timber in that crotch. I don't aim to need 'em all to-day, but I
calc'late on gittin' a sort of fringe around the edge." He drew his
finger down the East Branch and up the West Branch in a sort of
horseshoe. "Your job's to git options on the fringe--in your own name.
Git the idee?"
"Yes."
"Git 'em cheap."
"Yes, sir."
"There's five thousand dollars on deposit in the bank in your name. Use
it." When Scattergood trusted a man he trusted him. "And now," he said,
"I calc'late to raise a little dust, so's you won't be noticed."
Scattergood's little dust consisted of allowing to be inserted in the
local paper an item announcing that Scattergood Baines had bought all
the stock and contracts of the Bailey Provision Company, which concern
was purveying food supplies to all the camps of Messrs. Crane and
Keith.... Then Scattergood settled back to watch the dust rise.
The dust arose, and filled the eyes and noses of Messrs. Crane and
Keith, as Scattergood expected, with the result that Mr. Crane was a
passenger on Scattergood's stage to Coldriver village.
"Howdy, Mr. Crane?" said Scattergood, as that gentleman belligerently
entered the hardware store. "I was sort of lookin' forward to seein'
some of you folks."
"Look here, Baines," said Crane, "what are you butting into our game
for? We let you get away with that other thing, but this last deal of
yours makes it look as if you were hunting trouble. You bought that
provision company to get a lever on us."
"Maybe so.... Maybe so, but I wouldn't get het up about it.... You see,
it's like this: you folks kind of did what I expected you'd do on that
dam and boom deal, and come pretty close to doin' me out of some
valuable property. I didn't get het up, though, I jest sort of sat
around and waited.... And it come out all right. Now, didn't it?"
"Bullhead luck."
"Maybe so.... Maybe so. Now, here's how I figger things to-day. You and
Keith hain't amiable about that deal, and you don't aim to let my dam
and boom company make any money out of you. I expect you can manage it.
If I was in your shoes, and was the kind of a man I judge you folks be,
I'd fix it so's the dam and boom company couldn't handle the drive. Buy
up the men, maybe, and start fights, and be sort of forced to take
charge so's to get my drive through. And then I'd sue for damages....
That's how I'd do. I calc'late that's about what you and Keith has in
mind, hain't it?"
Crane was purple with rage, but underneath his rage was a clammy layer
of unpleasant surprise that this mound of flabby fat should have had
such uncanny vision into his hardly creditable plans.
"You're crazy, man," he blustered.
"Maybe so.... Maybe so. Anyhow, I took out a mite of insurance ag'in'
sich a happenin'. I got me this here provision company to feed your
men.... Ever happen to think what would happen in the woods if your
lumberjacks run short of grub? Eh?... And suppose it happened, and your
men come bilin' out of camp, sore as bears with bee stings. What then,
eh? Couldn't git another crew this winter, maybe. Eh?"
Crane blustered. He threatened legal measures, but Scattergood pointed
out no legal measures could be taken until he failed to deliver
supplies. Also, he directed Crane's attention to the fact that the
provision company was a corporation, and liable only to the extent of
its assets. "So, even if you got a judgment, you wouldn't collect enough
to make no profit. And your winter's cut would be off, and what logs you
got cut would rot in the woods. I calc'late you'd stand to git damaged
consid'able."
"What's your proposition?" spluttered Crane.
"Hain't got none.... You jest run back to Keith and repeat as much of
this here talk as you can remember. I'm goin' to be busy now.
Afternoon."
For two weeks Scattergood disappeared, and though Crane and Keith sought
him with fever in their blood, he was not to be found. He filled their
minds; he dominated their conversation; he gave them sleepless nights
and unpleasant days.... Their attention was effectively focused on the
emergency he had presented to them. Scattergood had kicked up an
effective dust.
At the end of two weeks Scattergood appeared again in town, and went
directly to Johnnie Bones's office. Scattergood now called his lawyer
Johnnie.
"Got 'em?" he asked.
"Not all. There's a fifteen-thousand-acre strip cutting right across
your horseshoe, from East to West Branch, and I couldn't touch it. I got
all the rest. That one belongs to a woman, and a more unreasonable
woman to try to do business with I never saw."
"Um!" said Scattergood. "Know where I been, Johnnie?"
"No, sir."
"Gittin' married."
"What?"
"Yes. Me 'n' the lady, we met by arrangement in Boston and got us a
preacher and done the job. Marriage, Johnnie, is a doggone solemn
matter."
"I've heard so," said the young man.
"Some day," said Scattergood, "I'm a-goin' to marry you off. Calculate I
got the girl in my eye now."
"I hope," Johnnie said, "that you'll be--er--very happy."
"Guess we'll manage so-so.... Now about them options, Johnnie. You make
tracks for the city and sort of edge up to Crane and Keith. Might start
by showin' 'em a deed for a mill site down across from theirs at the
railroad. Then you might start askin' questions like you was lookin' for
information. Guess that'll git up their curiosity some. Then you kin
spring your options on 'em.... When you've done that, come off and leave
'em sweatin'. And don't mention me. I hain't in this deal a-tall."
But before Johnnie could get to Crane and Keith, Crane and Keith came to
Scattergood.
"You've got some kind of a proposition in mind," said Keith, who did the
talking because he could keep his temper better than Crane. "What do you
want?"
"Make me an offer," said Scattergood.
"We'll buy your provision company--and give you a decent profit."
"Don't sound enticin'," said Scattergood, reaching down and loosening
his shoe. It was too cold to omit the wearing of heavy woolen socks, so
he could not twiddle his toes with perfect freedom, but he could
twiddle them some, and that helped his mental processes.
"Well, what do you want?"
"I'll sell the provision company's stock of provisions--and nothin'
more.... At a profit. You got to buy, 'cause you can't make arrangements
to git in grub before I bring on a famine for you.... And I got the grub
stored in warehouses. That's part of it. Second, I'll _lease_ you my
river for three years. You wasn't calc'latin' to pay for the use of it.
So you be obleeged to pay in advance. I figgered my profits on drivin'
at about two thousand this year. Give you a three-year lease for five
thousand. I hain't no hog.... Yes or no."
There was a brief conference. "Yes," was the answer.
"Cash," said Scattergood.
"You'll have to come to the city for it," Keith said, which Scattergood
was not unwilling to do. He returned with a certified check for
twenty-six thousand five hundred and twenty-four dollars and nineteen
cents, of which five thousand was rental of his river, and four thousand
and odd dollars were his profits on his provisions. Not a bad profit
from a dust-throwing project!
Meantime Johnnie paid his visit to Crane and Keith, and came home to
report.
"It hit them between wind and water," he said.
"Uh-huh!... What did you judge they had in mind?"
"They wanted to buy me out.... Of course I wouldn't sell. My clients
wanted that timber, and were going to work to build their mill.... The
last they said was that they were coming up to see me."
"Uh-huh! When they come, you mention about that strip of fifteen
thousand acres you couldn't buy, eh? Let on you couldn't get it."
Johnnie held Scattergood as he was going out. "I want to account for
that five thousand dollars you placed in my name."
"Go ahead. I hain't perventin' you."
"I got options on eighteen thousand six hundred acres of timber. The
options cost me twenty-one hundred and seventy dollars, and my expenses
were sixty-one dollars and a half."
"Um!... Cheap enough. What did the land cost an acre?"
"Averaged a dollar and seventy-five cents."
"Huh!... Not so bad. Now tend to Crane and his quiet friend."
They arrived in due time, accompanied by their lawyer.
"Mr. Bones," said the lawyer, "you have certain options that my clients
wish to purchase. Undoubtedly they were taken in good faith, but we
would like, before going farther, to know whom you are acting for."
"You can deal with me. I have full powers."
"You decline to disclose your principal?"
"Absolutely."
"Do I understand the project is to build a mill at once and start to cut
this timber?"
"That is my information."
"Aha!... May I ask how much land you have?"
Johnnie exhibited a map, on which was blocked off the timber in
question. "You see," he said, "there's one fifteen-thousand-acre strip I
couldn't get hold of. It cuts right across the triangle from river to
river."
Crane looked at Keith and Keith looked at Crane.
"It belongs to a woman who wouldn't do business," Johnnie added.
"What figure did you pay for the land?"
"That is hardly a fair question."
"What do you ask for your options? That's a fair question, isn't it?"
"They're not for sale."
"But we may make an offer. It might be profitable for your principals to
sell. My clients feel they need this property, lying as it does between
their holdings."
"I'll listen."
There followed whispered arguments among the three, resulting in an
offer of a dollar and seventy-five cents an acre for the whole
tract--exactly what Johnnie had agreed to pay.
"I said I'd listen," said Johnnie, "but I don't seem to hear anything."
Another conference and a bid of two dollars. Johnnie shrugged his
shoulders. Two dollars and a half an acre was finally offered, and then
Johnnie leaned forward and tapped with his finger on his desk. "If you
gentlemen mean business, let's talk business. I've got what you want.
You can't get it unless I want to sell, and I don't want to sell. I and
my clients know what that timber is worth to us, but any business man
will consider a quick profit if it is _enough_ profit. In five years
that timber will be worth five or six dollars standing; in fifteen years
it will be worth fifteen to twenty.... But if you want to buy to-day you
can have it for three dollars through and through."
"We've got to have it," said Crane, and Keith nodded.
"Cash," said Johnnie, for cash was a hobby of Scattergood's.
"Our bank has made arrangements with your local bank to give us what
money we need," said Keith.
And then, clattering upstairs, came a small boy. Without ceremony he
burst into the room. "Mr. Bones," he shouted, "I was sent to tell you
that strip of timber you tried to buy from the lady is for sale." Then
he whisked out of sight.
Johnnie shrugged his shoulders. "Costs me some profit," he said.
"Confound that woman!... Well, we can go to the bank and close this up.
Then you fellows can finish up by buying that last fifteen thousand
acres."
"You bet we will," said Crane, savagely.
At the bank fifty-five thousand eight hundred dollars in the form of a
certified check was deposited in the hands of the cashier to be paid to
Johnnie when he should deliver proper deeds to the property sold.... It
represented a profit of twenty-three thousand two hundred and fifty
dollars.
"Now for the other parcel," said Crane, and getting the information as
to ownership, he and his companions took buggy to the spot. It was a
comfortable farmhouse, white painted and agreeable to look upon, but the
pleasure of the view was ruined for Crane and Keith by reason of a bulky
figure standing on the porch in conversation with a woman.
"Baines!" ejaculated Crane. It sounded like a swear word as he said it.
The three rushed the piazza.
"Madam," said Crane, not deigning to recognize Scattergood's presence,
"you own a tract of timber--fifteen thousand acres. We hear it is for
sale. We want to buy it."
"This gentleman was just making me an offer for it," she said, pointing
to Scattergood.
"We raise his offer twenty-five cents an acre," said Crane, and drew
from his-pocket a huge roll of bills--it being his idea of the
psychology of women that the sight of actual money would have a
favorable effect.
"That makes two dollars an acre," said she, and looked at Scattergood.
"Two and a quarter," said he.
"Two and a half," roared Crane.
"Two seventy-five," said Scattergood. "Three dollars."
"Three ten," said Scattergood.
"Three and a quarter" said Crane. He glared at Scattergood. "If you want
it worse than that," he shouted, "why, confound you, you can have it!"
"I don't," said Scattergood, placidly.
The woman figured a moment. "That makes forty-eight thousand seven
hundred and fifty dollars," she said. "I kind of like even money. You
can have it for an even fifty thousand."
Scattergood looked at her and grinned. One might have detected
admiration in his eyes.
"Done," said Crane. "We'll get into town and close the deal, ma'am, if
you don't mind."
"Your buggy seems to be crowded," said Scattergood. "I'll drive the lady
in, if you want I should."
"We want nothing from you at all, Baines."
"All right," said Scattergood, placidly, and, getting into his buggy, he
drove away. He drove rapidly, and alighted at Johnnie Bones's office.
Presently he emerged, carrying a legal-appearing document in his hand,
and went across to the bank, where he handed the document to the
cashier.
Presently the parties appeared, entered the bank, and the cashier, upon
being directed, executed a certified check to the lady for fifty
thousand dollars. Then he handed it to her, and the deed to Mr. Crane.
"You see," said he, "we have the deed all ready for you."
"Yes," said Scattergood, stepping through the door. "I had it fixed up
for you. I aim to be prompt when I'm tendin' to my wife's business
matters. Gentlemen, I guess you hain't met Mrs. Baines real proper
yet...."
It was not a happy moment for Messrs. Crane and Keith, but they
weathered it, not suavely, not with complete dignity, but after a
fashion.... Their departure might, perhaps, have been termed brusque.
"Well, Scattergood," said Mandy, "it was a real good deal."
"The way you h'isted 'em to fifty thousand was what got my eye," he
said, proudly. "I wouldn't 'a' had the nerve."
"I knew they'd pay it," she said. "Seems like a reasonable profit,
though the land's been a-layin' there unproductive for thirty year.
Father, he give a thousand dollars for it, and the taxes must 'a' been a
couple of thousand more. Say forty-seven thousand dollars profit...."
"And I come out of the other deals perty fair. Made twenty-three
thousand off of the options, and nine or ten off of the other things.
Guess the Baines family's a matter of seventy-five thousand dollars
richer by a good day's work."
"But it can't lay idle," she said.
"Not a minnit. We'll buy that sixty thousand acres 'way back up the
river for sixty-six cents, like we planned, and have some workin'
capital.... And, Mandy, Crane and Keith hain't got that timber for
keeps. It's comin' back to us some of these days. I feel it in my
bones...."
"Kind of a nice wind-up for our honeymoon," said Mrs. Baines,
practically.