Lida did not wait to be admitted to her grandfather's house in the
conventional manner; she did not dare to test her new resolution by a
pause on the steps, and she was afraid that Rickety Dick would enforce
the Flagg injunction against a woman.
Gasping for breath after her run across the ledges, she flung herself
into the presence of her grandfather.
Dick was holding a flaming splint of wood to the bowl of Flagg's pipe.
Startled, he dropped the splint, and the fire burned out unheeded on the
bare floor.
She held on to the cap and the jacket and with her free hand she beat
upon her breast and tried to pour out a confession of her part in the
mischief which had been done. She could not tell Flagg who she was; she
was telling him what she was. She made herself a part of the Vose-Mern
conspiracy; that seemed to be the best way. She did not try to make
herself better than her associates; she admitted that she was an
operative; in no other way could she account for her presence in the
north country; and the old man's keen eyes warned her that a less
plausible statement would endanger her secret. Therefore, she arraigned
herself bitterly as the cause of Latisan's undoing, and to explain her
new attitude she pleaded love and resulting repentance. There seemed to
be no other way of giving Flagg a good reason why she was interested in
speeding the fortunes of Latisan and the Flagg drive.
She began to babble rather incoherently. His silence troubled her. His
gaze was intent.
After a time, allowing her to talk on, he ordered Dick to bring more
fire for the pipe, and then he puffed and listened a little longer.
At last he jabbed his pipe stem toward the door, and Dick obeyed the
silent command and left the room.
"Now, my girl, hold up a moment and get your breath. Sit down!" She
obeyed.
"I see that you're hanging on to Latisan's cap and jacket. Did he pull
himself out of the jacket whilst you were clinging to his collar?" In
spite of the seriousness of the news which she had brought to him, there
was a touch of dry humor in his tone. "He must have had a pretty
desperate change of heart to run away from such a girl, after what he
told me of his feelings this morning."
He talked on, allowing her to recover. "Your words have been tumbling
along like logs coming down the Hulling Machine Falls, but I reckon I
understand that a detective agency sent you up here to Delilah my
Samson. I've just been reading about that case in the Old Testament. And
you're sorry, eh? It's a start in the right direction--being sorry. He
told me this morning that he was going back to the drive in spite of
me--he said it was because you had torched him on to do so. I'll admit I
haven't got over being thankful to you for that help. And now it's all
tipped upside down, eh? I'm not surprised. It's the Latisan nature to
blow up! I knew his grandfather well--and I remember! We seem to have
made a bad mess of it, you and I. I'll own to it that I haven't been
careful in the management of my tongue where he's concerned. If I had,
all the girls this side o' Tophet couldn't have made him jump his job in
this style. You see, I'm willing to admit my mistake, and that makes me
feel kinder toward you, now that you admit yours."
Her courage was coming back to her. Only a veritable frenzy of despair
had forced her into the presence of that old man who had declared his
unalterable hostility to her and hers. She found him singularly and
surprisingly mild in this crisis. Wreathed in the tobacco smoke, his
countenance was full of sympathy. It was an amazing alteration in
Echford Flagg, so those who knew him would have stated, had they been
there to behold.
"I suppose you have to slap on a lot of deceit in that detective
business."
"I'm done with deceit. I've left that work forever."
"So I reckoned whilst I looked at you and heard you talk. I've got quite
an eye for a change of heart in persons. I hate to see young folks in
trouble. 'Most always I'm pretty hard on people. I've grown to be that
way. Had good reasons! But you seem to have caught me to-day in a
different frame of mind. I didn't get a good look at you last evening.
I've just been telling myself that you remind me very much of somebody I
used to know. There was a time," he went on, wrinkling his forehead,
"when I would have ordered you out of this house, simply on your looks.
But to-day, somehow, I like to keep my eyes on you. Old age has a lot of
whims, you know."
She did not venture to speak. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
"It's too bad, sis! Too bad! 'Tis a tough thing to work out, this
Latisan matter. You have started the old John devil a-roaring in him!
And I reckon that now you're falling in love with the fool, even if you
did come up-country to do something mean to him!"
She nodded; her emotions were too deeply stirred to permit evasion or
more deceit.
"I have to depend on hired help, sis. And the trouble with any other
drive master than Latisan is that the opposition crowd can hire away
what Latisan wouldn't sell--I'll say that for the boy! It's a matter of
principle with him--this fight for the independents."
"But your men will keep on working, won't they, sir?"
"They'll work--yes! But they won't fight without Latisan to lead 'em.
That's why the Three C's folks are so hot on the trail of one man.
They're going to trig my drive at the Skulltree dam unless we are
through ahead of 'em. Conservation of water, that's what they will call
it when they make their play for a court order," he snarled. "But it's
only devilish theft of the rights I hold in common--and that's where
lawyers have their chance to argue, when rights are common." He found
himself becoming garrulous in his emotion. He frowned. "But why talk
such matters to you; you can't understand!"
"No," she admitted, sadly. "I haven't any knowledge about drives. I can
only understand that through me a great mischief has been done."
"Well, it might have been worse for young Latisan if they hadn't got rid
of him by this underhand way. Now that he has quit and has gone
larruping off on his own hook, you may as well get what comfort out of
it you can," he said, trying to ameliorate her distress. "There's no
telling what they might have been savage enough to do to him if he had
stayed to make the fight as he intended to make it."
"Do you give up the fight?"
With the left hand he lifted his helpless right arm across his knees.
"It's a two-fisted proposition this year. I guess I'm licked. They'll
buy in my logs at what price they have a mind to pay and will turn 'em
into paper. The sawmills will have to shut down, and the chap who wants
to build a home will keep on cussing the price of lumber. I have made a
good try of it, sis, but the big combinations are bound to have their
way in the end."
"It isn't right for anybody to have his own way without giving the other
man a square deal," she cried, adding, with bitterness, "though I'm the
last person entitled to preach on that subject."
"It's all in the way of progress, so the syndicate fellows tell us," he
remarked, dryly. "Maybe they know. Whilst they're grabbing in all the
money, they may be getting control of all the brains, too."
She flung up her arms and accused herself, passionately: "I have been a
fool. I'd give my very heart to make matters right again!"
"I think so," he admitted. "I reckon you're in earnest."
Again his fixed, appraising stare was disturbing her.
"About Mr. Latisan----" she hurried on. "I can't believe that he'll stay
away long."
"I guess you know as little about the ways of men up here as you know
about the drives, my girl. There's plenty of iron in their natures, but
there isn't much brass in their cheeks. He's done--he can't face the Big
Laugh. He's seen what it has done to others. But you city folks don't
understand woods ways and notions!"
She set her firm teeth over her lower lip to control its quivering. Then
she ventured. It was a resolve born out of her desperate desire to
redeem, if she were able. There was one thing she could do--it seemed a
natural thing to do, in that extremity.
"I have something to ask of you. Please don't be angry! I'm trying to
square myself!"
"Go ahead! I'm ready now to be pretty easy natured when somebody is
really in earnest about helping me."
"Give me your permission to go north and explain to your men why Mr.
Latisan isn't on the drive! I'll tell them everything. I'll open my soul
to those men. They'll understand."
"It's not a girl's job," he declared, sternly.
"I have been trained in a hard school, sir. I have been forced to study
men and to deal with men. I have been sorry because I have been obliged
to do the things I have done. But my knowledge of men may help your
affairs. I am glad I have been through my trials. Let me go north to
your crews! I beg it of you!"
"I don't want to have you messing into any such business. There's
something about you--something that makes me want to put a safeguard
over you, sis, instead of sending you into danger."
"You'll make the danger worse for me if you don't give me that
permission--a word from you to them that I'm your agent." She arose,
flaming with her resolution. "I am going anyway, sir! You can't stop me
from going where I will in the woods."
"You're right!" he admitted, sadly. "I'm so old and helpless that I
can't even boss a girl."
She stood in front of him and put Latisan's cap on her head; she pulled
on the belted jacket. "They'll know this jacket and cap! I'll tell the
story! Do you think it is folly? No! I can see in your face that you
know what those men will do!"
"Yes, I do know! I have been a woodsman in my time, too! After they have
listened to you they'll hammer hell out of anything that gets in front
of 'em."
His face lighted up. He beamed on her. "I told you that old age has its
whims. A minute ago a whim made me want to keep you away from trouble.
Now, by the gods! the same whim makes me want to send you north. You
will stand for Eck Flagg, saying what he'd like to say to his men! The
right spirit is in you! I ain't afraid that you won't make good!"
He pointed to an object on the wall of the room. It was a stout staff
of ash tipped with a steel nose and provided with a hook of steel; it
was the Flagg cant dog. The ash staff was banded with faded red stripes
and there was a queer figure carved on the wood.
"Lift it down and bring it here and lay it across my knees," he
commanded.
She ran and brought it.
"They know that stick along the Noda waters," he told her, caressing the
staff with his hale hand. "I carried it at the head of the drive for
many a year, my girl. You won't need letters of introduction if you go
north with that stick in your hand. I would never give it into the hands
of a man. It has propped the edge of my shelter tent, to keep the spring
snow off my face when I caught a few winks of sleep; that steel dog has
rattled nigh my ear when I couldn't afford to sleep and kept walking.
Tell 'em your story, with that stick in your hand when you tell it! Take
it and stand up in front of me!"
Her face was white; she trembled when she lifted the staff from his
knees.
An old man's whim! The girl believed that she understood better than he
the instinct which was prompting him to deliver over the scepter which
he had treasured for so long.
And some sort of instinct, trickling in the blood from that riverman
forebear, prompted her strike a pose, which brought a yelp of admiration
from the old man. She had set the steel nose close to her right foot and
propped the staff, with right arm fully extended, swinging the stick
with a man-fashion sweep.
"Sis, where did ye learn the twist of the Flagg wrist when ye set that
staff?" It was a compliment rather than a question, and the girl did not
reply. She was not able to speak; a sob was choking her. Her grip on
that badge of the family authority thrilled her; here was the last of
her kin; he was intrusting to her, as his sole dependence, the mission
of saving his pride and his fortunes. Her tear-wet eyes pledged him her
devoted loyalty.
"God bless you!" he said.
"And may God help me," she added fervently. Impulse was irresistible.
She succumbed. She dropped the staff and ran to the old man and threw
her arms convulsively about his neck and kissed him.
"I'm sorry," she faltered, stepping back. "I'm afraid I startled you."
"No," he told her, after a moment of reflection, "I guess I rather
expected you'd do that before you went away. Some more of that whim,
maybe! When do you think of leaving?"
"I'd like to go at once. I cannot stay any longer in this village."
"You'd best get to my drivers as soon as the Three C's slander does."
He shouted at a door and old Dick appeared.
"Move spry now!" commanded the master. "Have Jeff hitch the big bays
into the jumper. And Jeff will be able to tend and do for me whilst
you're away. For here's the job I'm sending you on. Take this young
woman north to the drive. She's tending to some business for me. See to
it that she's taken good care of. And bring her back when she feels
that she's ready to come."
"Am I to come here--back to your house to-to----" she faltered.
"To report? Of course you are!" He was suddenly curt and cold after his
softness of the moment before. He looked as if he were impatient for her
to be gone.
"Have Dick stop at the tavern for your belongings."
"There's only a small bag, sir."
"If you're short of clothes--well, I advise you to wear Latisan's cap
and jacket. They'll keep you warm--and they'll keep you--reminded!" He
put much meaning in his emphasis of the last word.
She bowed her head humbly; the clutch at her throat would not permit her
to reply to him. Then, bearing with her the Flagg scepter, she went out
to where the horses were being put to the jumper.
When he was alone the old man laid his hand on the Bible at his side.
For a long time he gazed straight ahead, deep in his ponderings. Then he
opened the volume and leaved the pages until he came to the family
register, midway in the book. After the New England custom, there were
inscribed in faded ink the names of the Flaggs who had been born, the
names of those who had died, the records of the marriages. Echford
Flagg's father had begun the register; the son had continued it. Across
the marriage record of Alfred Kennard and Sylvia Flagg were rude
penstrokes. On the page of births was the name of Lida Kennard, and he
slowly ran his finger under it. When he gazed down at the floor again in
meditation he met the stare of the cat that Rickety Dick loved and
petted.
The cat was bestowing no friendly look on Flagg. He had often cuffed her
whenever she ventured to leap into his lap. He had repulsed the cat as
he repelled human beings who had sought to make up to him. Now he called
to her softly, inviting her with his hand. She backed away with
apprehensive haste.
"I'm starting late, pussy," he muttered. "And I was never much of a hand
at coaxing anybody to come to me. But I wish you'd hop up here on my
knee. Come, kitty! Please come!"
It was a long time before he was able to gain her confidence. He heard
the big bays go trampling away down the ledges. At last the cat came
cautiously, climbing up his leg, and sat on his knees and stared up at
his face in a questioning way.
"She's too much like her mother for me not to know her--like her mother
looked when she went away," he informed the cat. "I reckon I'm a whole
lot different right now than I ever was before. I'm old and sick--and
I'm different. I don't blame you for looking hard at me, kitty. I'm so
lonesome that I'm glad to have a cat to talk to. She's got her mother's
looks--and the Flagg grit. She wants to do it her own way--like I'd want
to do it my way, without being bothered. And I'm letting her do it. It
wouldn't be a square deal if I didn't let her. And she'll do it! It's in
her! She's trying to pay back. It's the style of the Flaggs. She didn't
come up here to smash me or Latisan. I didn't believe what she said--a
Flagg knows when another Flagg is lying. She came to help--and she'll
do it yet! She's Lida, kitty, Lida!" His tone caressed the name. His
hand caressed the written name.
Then he turned the pages slowly, going forward in the volume--to the New
Testament.
And after a time he found words which fitted his new mood and he read
aloud to his feline auditor.
"'Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil
speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: and be ye kind to one
another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another----'"
Jeff, the servitor, hearing the mumble of the old man's voice, tiptoed
to the door and peeped in. He goggled at the tableau and listened to the
words. He was in the state of mind of that oft-quoted doubter who spat
on the giraffe's hoof and remarked to the bystanders, "Hell! There ain't
no such animile!"