A NEW ALLY
Garry hastily unstrapped his canteen and unloosing the stopper, poured
some of the water on the man's face. At the same time, Dick, showing a
surprising amount of speed for one so undeniably stout, sprang to help
Garry and unloosed the man's shirt collar.
In a few moments the man had been revived, and when he had come to,
Garry asked him if he had been shot or stabbed or wounded in any way.
"No," replied the man weakly. "One of those jacks hit me on the head
with a club, and I guess I just got groggy. I wonder if you boys could
help me home, I live a few hundred yards down the road."
"Indeed we will, you wait just a moment and we will improvise something
to carry you on," replied Phil.
"No, you won't have to do that, just give me an arm to lean on; that
will do very nicely."
The boys did as he wished, and in a few minutes of easy walking they
came to a neat little cottage, set back a few yards from the door with a
number of flower beds scattered over the little lawn.
"Oh Grace," called the man, and soon a pretty young woman came to the
door. When she saw her husband, for so he proved to be, leaning on the
arm of Garry she flew down the path and asked anxiously what was the
matter.
"Nothing at all. Just wait till we get in the house and I will tell you
all about it," said the stranger. Then turning to the boys, he asked
them to come in.
Anxious to hear what the cause of attack was, and why the man had wanted
the rascals to escape, the trio accepted his invitation, and soon were
sitting in the attractive little living room of the cottage.
"Now I suppose you boys who so kindly helped me out of a nasty hole
would like to know what the whole business is about, wouldn't you?"
asked the owner of the cottage.
"We are rather curious," answered Garry speaking for the others.
"My name is Howells, Arthur first name, generally called Art by my
friends, and I am a timber scaler by occupation. I am scaling on the
Boone cutting a few miles from here, and the chaps who attacked me were,
until a few days ago, lumber jacks employed on the cutting. One morning
I found them 'spiking a tree,' and forthwith sent a report to the office
with a demand that they be fired. For that reason they met me tonight
and attempted to get satisfaction by giving me a sound beating. Perhaps
it would have been worse had you boys not come along so opportunely. I
don't think they would have murdered me, but could have easily put me
out of commission so that I could not work, and that is one thing that I
must do now of all times."
"But why did you want us to let them escape. I should think you would
have wanted them put safely under lock and key for such an unwarranted
attack," demanded Garry.
"Yes, Arthur," chimed in his wife. "I would have had them arrested and
given a good long sentence. They might have killed you or crippled you."
"There's just one reason. One of them was Dave Pingree, son of old Daddy
Pingree who lives in the village near here. You know the son is a
worthless scoundrel, but old Daddy has had so much trouble that I didn't
want to bring any more on him by having his son arrested, bad as he is,
and as richly as he deserves to be jailed. The other one was a stranger
to these parts, half breed Canadian by the name of LeBlanc, who picked
up Pingree somewhere in the woods, and who has been his constant
companion for the past few weeks, at least since the cutting operations
of the Boone tract were started," concluded Howells.
The three boys were so startled at the sound of the name LeBlanc that
they jumped to their feet simultaneously and asked Howells to repeat the
name.
"LeBlanc is the name. But why does that surprise you so?" queried Mr.
Howells in surprise.
"What is his first name," demanded Garry without answering the question.
"On the payroll he is listed as Baptiste."
"We did not get a very good look at him in the dusk," said Garry. "Would
you mind describing him for us, please. This is a peculiar situation,
and we will tell you about it after you have described the man,"
answered Garry rather agitatedly.
"Why he is a swarthy chap about twenty-seven or eight, just about the
same age as Pingree. He has black hair and mustache, and a jagged scar
on one side of his neck, probably a knife wound from some lumber camp
fight," answered Howells.
Garry sank back with a sigh of relief.
"At any rate he is not the man we think he is. The scar and the age
settle that, although the rest of the description fits him well enough
to make him a brother to Jean LeBlanc, the one man we do want to run
across in this neck of the woods," replied Garry.
"Well, not that I want to raise any apprehension on your part, or tell
you something that is displeasing to you, he is a brother of a man
called Jean LeBlanc. I happen to know that this is so, for one night the
lumberjacks were wrestling in front of the bunkhouse and boasting about
their exploits, when this Baptiste came up and succeeded in throwing
several of the men with a rather vicious hold. After he had thrown
several of them he started boasting about his brother Jean, who had
taught him the hold. I was standing at one side watching the wrestling,
which is how I happened to overhear the matter. But why does the name of
LeBlanc bother you so?" he asked in conclusion.
"That's a rather long story," answered Garry "and perhaps I had better
start by telling you our names. These are my chums, Phil Durant and Dick
Wallace, while my name is Garfield Boone, generally called Garry for
short."
"I don't suppose you are any relation to the Mr. Boone who owns this
tract where the summer logging is going on are you? Most people of that
name in this state are somewhat related. In fact I am a second or third
cousin of his myself," said Howells with a smile.
"Yes, I happen to be his son," answered Garry.
"Well, that is a coincidence. I suppose you are going on to take a look
at the cutting aren't you. This being your vacation time probably you
are camping and travelling around a bit," and Howells glanced at the
knapsacks and rifles which the boys had stacked near the door in the
hall and which could be plainly seen from the living room.
Dick was about to say something when he caught a meaning glance from
Garry, which was also seen by Phil, and which the boys interpreted as a
desire on the part of Garry to do any necessary explaining that might
have to be done.
"Yes, we were in this vicinity and thought that we would like to see how
the experiment in summer cutting was coming along," he told Howells.
"That's fine, then I shall see you around there a good deal as I am
scaling. Of course coming from a lumbering family, I don't need to tell
you that scaling means measuring the timber that is cut. I also do quite
a bit of timber cruising, which, as you know, means travelling through
the cutting, marking the trees that are fit to be cut. Your father is
very particular about his lumbering, and he doesn't do as many of the
other timber owners do, sweep clean through a tract of land, and make it
worthless as timber land for years to come. His having certain trees
marked for cutting means that every year there will be a growth suitable
to cut and market and thus he is assured of a steady income from his
tracts."
"Perhaps if you are not too busy every day, you could show us something
of the lumbering operations. Although as you say, I come from a 'lumber
family,' I don't know a great deal about timber cutting. About the only
time I have ever been at the camps was at the spring drive, just to see
the fight for the river, and neither of my chums know any more about it
than I do. The first thing I would like to know is what did you mean by
'spiking a tree'?" asked Garry.
"I don't know that I can explain that to you without having you near a
piece of big timber to demonstrate what I mean, but I will try and tell
you as best I can. There is a certain way to cut a tree, or rather there
is a certain place where one always starts to cut. This place is
determined by the diameter of the tree. If the tree is two feet thick,
the cutter measures up two feet from the ground to start his cut. Of
course he does not measure it exactly, but long experience has taught
him to estimate almost within an inch where to start. You know some
trees are cut by axe; those are the smaller ones, but the bigger ones
are sawed nearly all the way through, and then the axemen cut through
just enough with their axes to cause the tree to break off and fall.
'Spiking a tree' means to take an estimate where the sawyers will start,
and then drive several spikes in, using a nail set to drive them into
the tree out of sight. The hole left will close up very rapidly, or a
little dirt and moss can be stuck in so cleverly as to defy detection."
"But what harm does that do? I suppose it might kill the tree, but what
difference does that make, since it is going to be cut down directly?"
quizzed Phil who was an interested listener.
"It doesn't harm an old tree, but this is what it does, or rather figure
it out for yourselves. What happens when the saw strikes three or four
heavy spikes, set in the tree just in the path of the blade?" asked
Howells.
The truth flashed over the three boys in an instant, and immediately
they felt that they accomplished one purpose of their mission to the
woods. They had discovered one of the reasons for the delay in the
cutting. If several saws were to be spoiled that meant a delay in
getting new ones.
"Now here are two other things that a spike in a tree will do. If spikes
are driven in young trees, several of them, that is trees that won't be
cut for a few years, it means that it will cause the core or heart of
the tree to rot or break the grain. Then when the tree is finally cut, a
part of the lower trunk, or best part of the tree for lumber purposes,
shatters just like so much glass when it falls. That's one thing a spike
will do. Now here's another thing. Suppose that the mischief maker does
not drive his spikes in the tree where the cut will be made, but climbs
up twenty or thirty feet or so, and drives a dozen or two in different
parts of the trunk of the tree. The tree trunk is cut safely and then it
is drawn to the sawmill where it is sawed into planks. What happens when
one of the big, expensive circular saws rips through a dozen spikes?
It's just goodbye to the saw and goodbye to a lot of money, and means a
delay of several minutes until the saw can be replaced with another. And
when you are cutting timber on a time contract with a penalty for every
day's delay overtime that you take, a half an hour or so lost through
trouble with your sawmill means a big thing. Then there are two other
dangers. One is that the saw will fly off and hurt the millmen when it
hits the spikes, and the other is that it sometimes will cause serious
defects in the entire machinery, so that instead of just a few minutes'
delay to change saws, you waste a day or maybe two in repairing the
machinery. So that's that." Howells concluded his long description of
all the trouble one little handful of spikes could do, and then he
looked rather searchingly at the boys. Finally he seemed to have decided
in his own mind to say what he was thinking and he looked at Garry.
"I wonder if your father has any idea that someone is trying to hurt his
business? I don't believe for an instant that those two scoundrels were
driving those spikes just to make mischief. There is something deeper
than that behind the whole business. There are scores of petty accidents
occurring every week that all mean delay. Sometimes when the delays are
totalled up they equal nearly half a day, and in one summer that means a
long delay, a matter perhaps of two weeks. That two weeks is sufficient
to spoil the contract and take all the profit away, but more than that,
it means a loss of capital invested, for I happen to know that your
father is cutting under a contract that provides a heavy penalty for
failure to deliver goods as they are called for."
Garry debated with himself for a few moments, wondering whether or not
to take Howells into his confidence and enlist his help. He realized
that Howells, if he were honest as he seemed, would be an invaluable aid
in discovering what the trouble at the camp was. His knowledge of
timbering was extensive, Garry could see that with half an eye, and
Garry understood that he and his chums could see lots of things
happening right under their noses and never guess the malicious
significance of the happenings.
As he thought, Mrs. Howells settled the question for him. Reaching down
to one of the shelves in the library table about which they were
sitting, she produced an album.
"We are just old fashioned enough to have a family album," she laughed.
"I thought perhaps you would like to see a picture taken of your father
a great many years ago," and turning to one of the pages she showed
Garry a picture that he recognized immediately. It showed his father
with a sweet faced woman. "That is your father and Mr. Howells' mother.
She was his favorite cousin and she died a long time ago. This has
always been in Arthur's possession."
Garry remembered having seen a counterpart of the picture at home a long
time ago, and he decided that the timber sealer was not claiming any
false relationship.
"I wonder how it is that we have never seen you before," he asked,
turning to Howells.
"Easy, we went west when I was a youngster, and it was only this spring
that we came back to Maine. I did not say anything about my
relationship, for I want to go on my own hook. I am a graduate of a
forestry school, and I wanted to get actual experience in the woods,
which was why I asked for and received the position of timber sealer. I
like to stand in my own shoes, and so I said nothing about my
relationship to the manager at the camp. Then, too, I need money, as I
have a small interest in a little tract of young timber, and I am paying
on it a little at a time. By the time it is completely paid for it will
be ready to cut, and there will be a handsome profit on the investment,"
he answered.
For a boy of his age, Garry was a pretty shrewd judge of character, and
he had been sizing up young Howells while he was talking. So he made up
his mind to take him into his confidence in a limited way, and so
remarked:
"Yes, my father does know that there is something wrong at the camp, but
he cannot put his finger on the spot where the trouble is. Every time he
visits the camp things go along as smooth as clockwork, but it is
impossible to put in all this time at this one thing when he has so many
other irons in the fire. We thought that perhaps we could visit the camp
for a while and find out what is wrong, and report to him so that he
could remedy the trouble. But after hearing your story of the attempted
spiking, I am beginning to think that the job is almost too much for us
to handle. That would have been something I would never have dreamed of,
and if the enemies in the camp, for enemies there must be, know a trick
like that, they must have a bagfull of others of which we know nothing.
So you see that in a way we are helpless, and I am going to ask that you
aid us in this. I can promise for my father that in case your aid is
instrumental in locating the trouble that it will not be forgotten. What
do you say? Will you help us?"
"Indeed I will," and Howells thrust forward his hand. "You can count on
me to the last ditch!"
"Thanks," said Garry as he took the proffered hand. "Now there is one
thing to do, and that is to make sure that Baptiste LeBlanc is not in
these parts any more, for wherever the name of LeBlanc gets hitched up
with us there is trouble brewing!"