The timber situation in the Tomah country was surcharged.
When Ward Latisan came upon Rufus Craig, one afternoon in autumn, steel
struck flint and trouble's fuse was lighted.
Their meeting was on the Holeb tote road just below Hagas Falls.
Young Ward was the grandson of old John, a pioneer who was in his day a
saw-log baron of the times of pumpkin pine; by heredity Ward was the
foremost champion in the cause of the modern independent operators.
In his own way, Craig, the field director of the Comas Consolidated
Paper Company, was the chief gladiator for an invading corporation which
demanded monopoly of the Tomah timber by absorption of the independents.
Latisan tramped down the tote road from the shoulder of Holeb Mountain,
where he had been cruising alone for a week on the Walpole tract,
blazing timber for the choppers, marking out twitch roads and
haul-downs, locating yards; his short-handled ax was in his belt, his
lank haversack flapped on his back; he carried his calipers in one hand;
with the other hand he fed himself raisins from his trousers pocket,
munching as he went along. He had eaten the last of his scanty supply of
biscuits and bacon; but, like other timber cruisers--all of them must
travel light--he had his raisins to fall back on, doling them one by
one, masticating them thoroughly and finding the nourishment adequate.
He had been on the go every day from sunup till dark; nights he cinched
his belted jacket closely and slept as best he could, his back against a
tree; he had cruised into every nook and corner of the tract, spending
strength prodigally, but when he strode down the tote road his vitality
enabled him to hit it off at a brisk gait; his belt was a few holes
tighter, yet his fasting made him keenly awake; he was more alert to the
joy of being alive in the glory of the crisp day; his cap was in his
pocket, his tousled brown hair was rampant; and he welcomed the flood of
sunshine on his bronzed face.
Craig was making his way along the tote road in a buckboard, with a
driver. The road bristled with rocks and was pitted with hollows; the
fat horses dragged their feet at a slow walk. Craig was a big man, a bit
paunchy, and he grunted while he was bounced. He wore his city hard hat
as if he wished by his headgear to distinguish himself from the herd of
woodsmen whom he bossed.
Latisan overtook the toiling buckboard, and his stride was taking him
past when Craig hailed.
"Ride?"
"No--thank you!" The negative was sharp. Privation and toil had put an
edge on the young man's temper, and the temper was not amiable where
Craig was concerned.
"I've got some business to talk with you, Latisan."
"If that's so I can listen while I walk alongside."
But Craig ordered the driver to halt. Then the Comas director swung
around and faced Latisan. "I'm putting it up to you again--will you and
your father sell to the Comas?"
"No, sir!"
"What is it going to be--a fight to a finish?"
"If you keep your hands off us saw-log fellows, Mr. Craig, there'll be
no fight. We were here first, you know!"
"That's got nothing to do with the present situation, Latisan. We've
built a million-dollar paper mill on the Toban, and it's up to me to
feed it with pulp stuff. We can't lug our plant off in a shawl strap if
supply fails."
"Nor can the folks who have built villages around the sawmills lug away
their houses if the mills are closed."
"Paper dominates in this valley nowadays, instead of lumber. Latisan,
you're old-fashioned!"
The young man, feeling his temper flame, lighted his pipe, avoiding too
quick retort.
"You stand to lose money in the lumber market, with conditions as they
are," proceeded Craig, loftily counseling another man about his own
business. The Comas director, intent on consolidation, had persistently
failed to understand the loyalty, half romantic, which was actuating the
old-line employers to protect faithful householders. "Let the workers
move down the river to our model town."
"And live in those beehives of yours, paying big rent, competing with
the riffraff help you hire from employment agencies? We can't see it
that way, Mr. Craig!"
"Look here! I've got some news for you. I've just pulled five of the
independents in with us--Gibson, Sprague, Tolman, Brinton, and Bodwell.
The Comas now controls the timber market on the Toban. How about logs
for your mills?"
Craig believed he was hitting Latisan five solid jolts to the jaw when
he named the recreant operators.
However, the young man had heard rumors of what the bludgeoning methods
of the Comas had accomplished; he surveyed Craig resolutely through the
pipe smoke.
He had come down from the Walpole tract that day in a spirit of new
confidence which put away all weariness from him. He was armed with a
powerful weapon. In his exultation, fired by youth's natural hankering
to vaunt success in an undertaking where his elders had failed, he was
willing to flourish the weapon.