AFTER the fashion of any prisoner, Parker's initial impulse was to
examine the place in which he was confined. At first, escape was in his
mind. The more he pondered on the lawless performance of the old timber
baron and on the wilful destruction of the company's property, the more
eager he was to get to a telegraph instrument.
Nothing had been taken from his person. He had his huge, sharp,
jack-knife. The door was strong and thick but he believed that if he
attacked the wood vigorously he might be able to whittle out the lock.
There were wooden bars on the windows outside and within, rude
protection against thieves who might want to ransack the stock of the
wangan store. His stout knife would take care of them, too.
But after whittling vigorously at a bar for a few moments he stopped
suddenly, shut his knife and rammed it into his pocket with an
exclamation of sudden resolve.
He reflected that even if he got out of the camp that night, he was more
than fifty miles from Poquette, the only point in that wilderness whose
location was known to him. He was without food for a journey and had his
weary way to make through Gideon Ward's own country.
“He has brought me here to bluster at me and frighten me into running
away out of the section,” he reflected. “I'll stay and disappoint him.”
His own respect for law and order was still so strong within him that he
feared no extreme measures. His honest belief was that the colonel, like
most men who find they have picked up a brick too hot for them, would
drop him in good time and allow him to return to his work.
In order to force the old man to this issue he determined to put on a
bold front, defy his captor still more doggedly and in the end accept
release under conditions of his own making. He felt that Ward was
compromised and now to a certain extent in his power.
It was a decidedly comforting reflection, that, for a prisoner, and he
tucked himself into the blankets of his bunk and went to sleep with his
mind eased.
The cook's shrill morning call woke him and without rising he listened
to the bustle of men preparing for the day's work. He heard the
continuous rattle of tin dishes, the mellow rasp of axes on turning
grindstones, the squeak of footsteps departing over the crisp snow and
the squealing of the runners of sleds. And when all were gone, there was
as yet only the faintest glimmering of the dawn against the window of
the wangan camp.
The engineer was up and dressed when the key rattled in the door.
Colonel Ward came first, “sipping” his tongue against his teeth in a
manner that showed he had just finished breakfast. The morning light
showed redly on his face as he came ill, and in that glow he seemed to
be in more gracious spirit than on the evening before.
The man who had previously accompanied him, the man of the hatchet
visage, followed at his heels bearing several tin dishes that contained
breakfast.
“There ain't no intention here to starve ye nor use ye in any ways
contrary to gen'ral regulations--that is, so fur as we can help,”
began the colonel. “Of course, if you were a little more reasonable and
bus'ness-like we could use you better. Hackett, set down the breakfast!
Fall to, young man, and eat hearty jest as tho ye relished your
vittles.”
It was evident that Colonel Ward was making desperate attempts to appear
cordial.
He even endeavored to force a smile but it was hardly more than a
ridging of his cheek muscles under his bristly beard. Parker imagined
that he could hear the skin crackling at this unaccustomed facial twist.
The struggle to appear cheerful was so grim that the engineer dreaded
his antagonist in this new guise more than he did when he was brutally
open in his warfare.
“Sit down, Hackett,” commanded the colonel. “Hackett's a friend o'
mine--that is, in so far as I have friends, and he might as well be here
to listen to what I have to say to you and what you have to say to me.
There's northin' like a witness of transactions, Mr. Parker. Now you and
me ain't got together right up to now. I'm allus pretty much fussed up
by my bus'ness and kept cross-grained all the time by havin' to handle
so many blasted fool woodsmen, and the man that meets me for the
first time might natch-rally think I was uglier'n a Injun devil in
fly-time--which I ain't, Parker, No, I ain't I want you and me should be
good friends and bus'ness men together, which we ain't been so far, all
on account of a misunderstandin'. Now, you're goin' to find me square
and honest and open.”
Ward looked at the young man eagerly and waited as tho for some
encouraging word.
“Even under the circumstances in which you have placed me, not only
on my personal account but with my employers, by destroying their
property,” said Parker, after pondering a moment, “I am ready to talk
business with you if you are now ready to talk it.”
“Well, let's say that we can talk it all nice and friendly. Won't you
say that you'll talk it all nice and friendly?” He had Hackett in the
corner of his eye, as tho soliciting that individual to take careful
note of the conversation.
“The fact is, Colonel Ward,” replied the engineer, “human nature isn't
to be driven to and fro quite like an ox team. What I mean by that is,
I might say, 'Go to, now! Be friends!'--say that to myself. But that
wouldn't make me feel friendly--not in present circumstances. But I'm
going to say to you that I'd like to be friends, and if you will start
in now and show me some reason why we should be friends I'll give you my
word to come more than half way.”
“Wal, that sounds reasonable and as much as any one can expect on short
notice,” broke in Hackett, who sat straining his attention.
“You shut up, Hackett,” roared the colonel, who realized Parker's mental
reservation better than his man Friday. “I'll show ye all in good time
why we should be friends, Parker,” he went on, addressing the engineer.
“But first of all I'll show ye how much it is goin' to hurt me to have
that railroad built acrost Poquette. And when I show you that, then
you'll understand what the trouble was that you and me didn't start
in on the basis of good friends. I tell ye, Parker, it's a serious
proposition for me and my associates. I can tell ye just why that road
can't and mustn't be built.”
The old man straddled his legs, leaned forward and set his right
forefinger into his left palm with the confident air of one who is
prepared to prove his contentions.
“I say,” he went on, “that the road must not be built, and as a business
man--”
“Colonel Ward,” broke in Parker, mildly yet firmly, “if that line of
talk is what you are proposing to me I think I'd better tell you at the
start that you'll have to take the question of whether the road must
or must not be built to my employers. I have no right to enter upon any
such discussion. Nothing will be gained. They have sent me to Poquette
to build the road. I shall keep on with the work until my first
orders are countermanded from our headquarters. And if you want them
countermanded you'll be obliged to go to headquarters. It seems to me
that ought to be pretty plain to you.”
The old man, his finger still boring his palm, sat for some moments and
stared at the engineer. He tried to keep from scowling but his brows
twisted into knots in spite of himself.
“You _will_ keep on till orders are countermanded, hey?” he inquired
grimly. “Ain't you got no commonsense nor reason to you?”
“It isn't a question of that, Colonel. It's a question of obeying my
employers.”
The old man gave him another thorough looking-over and then whirled on
Hackett.
“You go 'tend to something else,” he ordered bluffly. And after Hackett
had closed the door on himself he again turned to his scrutiny of the
young engineer.
“I ain't no great hand to beat about the bush, young feller,” he
declared. “Now look at the position you're in. You might say, you're
more than half queered already with your company. Your engine and all
that collateral has been dumped into the lake--sayin' nothin' about how
it happened. The main point is, it's there! And you're here! I ain't
makin' any threats--not as yet--but you're here, and you can't gainsay
that much. Now the idea is, with your stuff under water and you here,
how long do you think it's goin' to be before you git to work ag'in?”
Parker made no reply.
“Needn't answer any question that you can't answer,” continued Ward.
“And that's one that you can't answer. You tell me you've got to build
that road. You're goin' to tell me that if you don't build it some one
else will. Mebbe they will! Mebbe they will!” His eyes grew shrewd.
“Mebbe I'll build it myself! I can say this much, that I'd rather build
it than have outsiders come in here and git a foothold. There's too big
interests in this region and owned by them that's allus lived here, my
son, to have outsiders come in now and meddle. It's the very first run
of potater bugs that you want to keep out of the garden. And the first
run can be handled easier than the settlers after they have set up
housekeeping. Now you see the point, I reckon! So the whole thing
simmers down to this: I want to discourage them city fellers. It's a
long arm they're reachin' down this way, and I won't have to tread on
their fingers many times till they'll be mighty glad to pull back. It's
only a side issue with them, and they won't let a side issue keep 'em
awake too many nights when there's a way to get rid of the bother. When
they are discouraged enough to be willin' to sell the charter and the
stuff they've got on the spot--and under water,” he added with a wicked
grin, “then I'll step in with the cash in my hand. I reckon we can
handle our own railroad build-in' down this way. If I ain't got you
discouraged already, young man, then I don't understand human natur'
as well as I think I do. So now I want to hire you in the discouragin'
business--you understand it fairly well. I need an assistant
discourager. And here's my proposition! I'll give ye five thousand
dollars bonus smack down in your fist and promise you in the name of
the Lumbermen's Association a steady job. We're goin' to build three big
dams along the West Branch and a four-mile canal cut-off at headwaters.
You'll find work enough, if that's what you're lookin' for.”
“And you'll be looking for me to sell out your interests at my first
opportunity,” said Parker.
“Ours is a different proposition--a different proposition,” blurted Ward
earnestly. “Your men ain't got any right to be here on our own stamping
ground--not as bus'ness men. We ain't goin' down where they are to
bother them. They hadn't ought to be up here. If you leave 'em and come
with us we'll consider that it's showin' that you understand what a
square deal in bus'ness matters means. And furthermore,” he said with a
certain air as tho he had reserved his trump card, “we'll make our trade
in black and white for a ten years' contract at a third more wages than
your railroad people are paying and tip you off regular on timber deals
where you can make an extry dollar. I don't mind tellin' ye, Parker,
that I've had ye looked up and I know that we ain't buyin' any gold
brick.” This with a certain cordiality.
“I must say, Colonel Ward, that you have taken a rather peculiar method
of getting me interested in your enterprises.” Parker's tone was a bit
resentful, but the old man believed he could understand that resentment,
and grew more cheerful and confident.
“You had to be discouraged,” chuckled the colonel. “Didn't I tell you
that you had to be discouraged? Why, if you hadn't been shown what kind
of a proposition you were up against you might have kept on thinkin'
that the P. K. &. R. railroad company was the biggest thing in the
world. All young men want to work for the biggest folks. But I reckon
by this time you have found out that Gideon Ward and the Lumbermen's
Association come pretty near bein' lord of all they survey in this
country. There, young man! The cards are down. Look at 'em! I'm pretty
rough and I'm pretty tough and I play the game for all that's in me. But
when it's over you won't find any cards up my sleeve nor down the back
of my neck--and you can't always say that of your smooth city chaps.”
Parker sat with his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor, his
forehead wrinkled. He was a pretty sturdy young American in principles
and conduct, but at the same time he had all of young America's
appreciation of the main chance. And the main chance in these days lies
along the road where the dollars are sprinkled thickest. He reflected
that the building of the little bob-tail railroad had been tossed at him
as a rather silly and secret escapade of two big men who were already
half ashamed of the whole business. He realized that in their present
frame of mind they would be inclined to close out the whole thing
in disgust as soon as they received news of the destruction of the
property.
When he got back to town he would simply remind them of a mutual failure
to accomplish, and the history of such reminders is that they have been
side-tracked in some places where their presence could not remind.
“You know there isn't goin' to be any hurry about your givin' up your
present job--not till spring has got well opened and the ice is out
of Spinnaker,” said Colonel Ward slyly, breaking in on the young man's
meditations. “There's always a right time for re-signin' and we'll
discover that time. But your five thousand will be put to your credit in
Kenduskeag Bank the next day after you sign our papers, and your salary
with us will begin the minute the ink is dry. You'll have double pay for
a while, but I reckon you'll be earnin' it.” He chuckled once more.
Parker, surveying his red cheek knobs, his cruel gray eyes narrowed now
in evil mirth, recollected with a photographic flash of memory of the
details of that story the postmaster at Sunkhaze had told him. This
was the same man who had coolly stolen wife and property from his own
brother and then had jeered at him, probably with that same expression
puckering about his evil, gray eyes. In the sudden revulsion of his
feelings Parker wondered if he really had been tempted by the bait held
out to him. At least, he had been weighing the chances. He remembered
cases where other men who had stopped to weigh advantages had ended in
becoming disloyal. He promptly forgot with a mental wrench the bribe
that had been offered. It was a coaxing bait and he bravely owned that
it had tempted for a moment. He was honest enough to own to himself
that, offered by another, it might have won him--and he felt a little
quiver of fear at the thought.
But when he pictured himself as the associate of this old harpy who sat
leering at him, hands on his knees, and already swelling with a sense of
proprietorship, he almost forgot his personal wrongs in the hot flush of
his indignation on behalf of the cheated brother.
“That's a proposition that sort of catches ye, hey?” inquired Ward,
misunderstanding the nature of the flush that sprung to Parker's cheeks.
“I'm going to be honest enough to say that it did catch me for a
moment,” replied the young man.
“Oh, I know all about what temptation is to any men--especially a young
man,” said the colonel blandly.
“But I'll bet you a hundred dollars to a toothpick you never knew what
it was to resist temptation,” shouted Parker. “And I'm going to tell you
now and here that I'd no more accept your offer and take a job with you
than I'd poison myself with paris green.” He flung himself back in his
chair and glared at his tempter with honest indignation.
For a little while Ward stared at him, open-mouthed. His surprise was
greater, for he believed that he had landed his fish.
“And don't you make me any more offers. I've no use for them or for you,
either,” cried the young man, his voice trembling.
“I've read about such critters as you be,” said the colonel slowly, “but
it was in a dime novel and it was a good many years ago and I didn't
believe it. I believe it said in the novel that the young man died young
and went to heaven--the only one of his kind. P'raps I'm wrong and he
didn't die--went to heaven jest as he stood in his shoes and co't and
pants.”
Parker merely scowled back at the biting irony of this rejoinder.
“There's no dime novel or any other kind of a novel to this affair,
Colonel Ward. I'm not especially fitted to be the hero of a book. Nor to
be one of your hired men, either.”
“Then ye've made up your mind to straddle out your legs and play
Branscome's mule, hey?”
“What was his special characteristic?”
The question was drawled coolly.
“He kicked when ye tried to drive him with a whip and he bit and
squealed when ye tried to coax him along with sweet apples. So if ye
won't neither lead nor drive, then out with it man fashion.”
“I simply demand my liberty.”
“And what be ye goin' to do with it?”
“That is my own affair.”
The two men sat and looked at each other a long time, the old man's
choler rising the higher from the fact that it had been so long
repressed. The young man's glance did not fall before this furious
regard.
At last Ward quivered his fists above his head, stamped around the
little room and went to the door.
“You've got a few hours to do a little more thinkin' in, and then you
look out for yourself, for it's up to you, you--,” he slammed and locked
the door and went away, cursing horribly.