by Holman Day
CHAPTER XVIII
THE OLD SOUBUNGO TRAIL
"And never a knight in a tournament Rode lists with a jauntier mien, Than he of the drive who came alive Thro' the hell of the Hulling Machine."
--The Spike-sole Knight.
Larry Gorman, "the woodsman's poet," whose songs are known and sung inthe camps from Holeb to Madawaska, was with Rodburd Ide's incoming crew.His three most notable lyrics are these: "I feed P.I.'s on tarts andpies," "Bushmen all, your ear I call until I shall relate," and "The OldSoubungo Trail."
When Rodburd Ide's hundred men "met up" with the Honorable Pulaski D.Britt's hundred men at the foot of Pogey Notch, Larry Gorman displayed atrue poet's obliviousness to the details of the wrangle betweenprincipals. He didn't understand why Pulaski Britt, blue with angerabove his grizzled beard, and "Stumpage John" Barrett, mottled withrage, should object so furiously when Rodburd Ide's girl took away thetatterdemalion maid of the Skeets, nor did Larry ask any questions. Ifthis be the attitude of a true poet, there was evidently considerabletrue poetry in both crews, for no one appeared to be especially curiousas to the why of the quarrel. However, the imminence of a quarrel was amatter demanding woodsmen's attention. It might have been noted thatPoet Gorman cut the biggest shillalah of any of them. And while herounded its end and waited for more formal declaration of hostilities,he lustily sang the solo part of "The Old Soubungo Trail," with ahundred hearty voices to help him on the chorus:
"I left my Lize behind me, Oh, she won't know what to do, I left my Lize for the Old Town guys, And I left my watch there, too. I left my clothes at a boardin'-house, I reckon they're for sale, And here I go, at a heel-an'-toe, On the old Soubungo trail. Sou-bung-o! Bungo! 'Way up the Bungo trail!"
Spirit rather than melody characterized the efforts of these wildwoodsongsters. The Honorable Pulaski Britt, who didn't like music anyway,and was trying to talk in an undertone to timber baron Barrett, swore adeep bass obligato.
He did not take his baleful gaze from Dwight Wade, who had gone apart,and was leaning against the mouldering walls of the Durfy hovel.
"You had your chance to block their game, and you didn't do it, John.You make me sick!" muttered the belligerent Britt. "You've let thatcollege dude scare you with threats, and old Ide champ his false teethat you and back you down. You don't get any of my sympathy from now on.I had a good plan framed. You knocked it galley-west by poking yourselfinto the way. They've got the girl. They'll use her against you. You canfight it yourself after this."
Barrett stared uneasily from one crew to the other.
"It would have been too tough a story to go out of these woods," hefaltered. "Two crews ste'boyed together by us to capture a Statepauper."
"A story of a woods rough-and-tumble, that's all!" snorted Britt. "Andthese dogs wouldn't have known what they were fightin' about--and wouldhave cared less. And while they were at it I could have taken the girlout of sight! You spoiled it! Now, don't talk to me! You go ahead andsee if you can do any better." He tossed his big hand into the air andwhirled away, snuffling his disgust.
Larry Gorman, having peeled a hand-hold on his bludgeon, was moved tosing another verse:
"I ain't got pipe nor 'backer, Nor I ain't got 'backer-box; I ain't got a shirt, and my brad-boots hurt, For I ain't a-wearin' socks. But a wangan's on Enchanted, Where they've got them things for sale, And I don't give a dam what the price it am On the old Soubungo trail. Sou-bung-o! Bungo! 'Way up the Bungo trail!"
Sturdy little Rodburd Ide, magnate of Castonia, bestrode in the middleof the trail to the south. His head was thrown back, and his mat ofwhiskers jutted forward with an air of challenge. To be sure, he did notexactly understand as yet the full animus of the quarrel. He had heardhis partner, Dwight Wade, announce on behalf of Honorable John Barrettthat the latter proposed to educate the girl protegee of the Skeets'tribe. He had noted that the timber baron did not warm to theannouncement in a way that might be expected of the true philanthropist.
Tommy Eye's astonishing declaration from the house-top that the timbermagnates of Jerusalem townships were proposing to marry the girl off toColin MacLeod, boss of "Britt's Busters," and that, too, in spite ofMacLeod's lack of affection, had some effect in enlisting Ide'ssympathies and interference. But his daughter's spirited championship ofthe poor girl was really the influence that clinched matters with thepuzzled Mr. Ide.
"Rodburd," declared the Honorable Pulaski, approaching him on thecontemptuous retreat from Barrett, "you've gone to work and stuck yournose into matters that don't concern you. Your man Wade there, insteadof attending to your operation on Enchanted, has been spending his timebeauing that girl around these woods and stirring up a blackmail scheme.I'm telling you as a friend that you'd better ship him. He's going tomake more trouble for you than he has yet. He isn't fit for the woods. Ifound it out and fired him. Do the same yourself, or you'll never getyour logs down and through the Hulling Machine."
"Do you mean that you're going to fight him on the drive on account ofyour grudge?" demanded Ide.
"I don't mean that," blustered Britt. "It's the man himself who'll queeryou."
"I don't believe it," replied Ide, stoutly. "There are some things goin'on here that I don't understand the inside of up to now; but as for thatyoung man, I picked him for square the first time I laid my eyes on himat Castonia. I've had him looked up by friends of mine outside, and nowI know he's square. You can't break up our partnership by that kind oftalk, Britt. Now own up! What's the nigger in the woodpile here,anyway?" The little man was still unbending, but his eyes snapped withcuriosity.
But the Honorable Pulaski's shifty eyes dodged the inquiring stare ofthe Castonia man. The view down the tote road in the direction in whichNina Ide and Kate Arden had disappeared under convoy of ChristopherStraight seemed to be a more welcome prospect than that franklyinquisitive face. And the view down the trail also suggested a safertopic for conversation.
"I believe in indulgin' a girl's whims, Rod, but this is a time whenyou've let yourself go too far. That lucivee[2] kitten that yourdaughter has lugged off home set this fire that we've been fightin' uphere. She set it maliciously, in the face and eyes of Sheriff Rodliffand myself. She's the worst one of the whole lot, and as a plantationofficer you know the Skeets and Bushees pretty well. Are you goin' tolet your girl take a critter like that back home with her?" He noted aflicker of consternation in the little man's eyes. "Now, don't be a foolin this thing. Let a half-dozen men run after that girl and fetch herback. She don't belong in any decent home. John Barrett and I havearranged a plan to take care of her and keep her out of mischief."
[Footnote 2: Lynx, corruption of the French-Canadian name,_loup-cervier_.]
But again the timber magnate's eyes failed to meet the test of Ide'sfrank stare.
"I've known you a good many years, Pulaski," said he. "I've done a lotof business with you, and you can't fool me for a minute. You've beeninto a milk-pan, for I can see cream on your whiskers."
"I'm only warnin' you not to harbor such a criminal!" stormed the other.His wrath slipped its leash once more. The presence of Dwight Wade, hisvery silence, seemed tacit proclamation of victory and the boast of it."The girl belongs back here, and we're goin' to have her back. If yourmen don't fetch her, mine will."
But Ide set his short legs astride a little more solidly.
"As first assessor of the nearest plantation, I can handle the Statepauper business of these parts, and do it without help," he said.
"You mean that meddlin' girl of yours is runnin' it," taunted Britt.
In his heart the fond father realized the force of the taunt, and knewwhy he was blocking that trail so resolutely. A mother bear would haveshown no more determination in closing the retreat of her cubs.
"If for any reason that I don't understand as yet you want theguardianship of that girl, Britt," he declared, "come down any
time youwant to and get your rights legally. But just now I'm tellin' you againthat you and your men can't get past here. And if you do, you'll go withcracked heads."
And once more Pulaski D. Britt substituted oaths for action.
Stamping back towards his men, he saw Tommy Eye squatting like ajack-rabbit on the top of the Durfy camp. That guileless marplot offereda fair target for his rage against the world in general.
"MacLeod," bawled Britt to the boss, who had not yet pulled himselftogether after that final flash of scorn from the eyes of Nina Ide,"pull that drunken loafer off that roof and yard the men back to camp!"
"I'm discharged out of your crew, Mr. Britt," squealed Tommy, a quaverof apprehensiveness in his voice. "I've discharged myself. I've told thetruth about what you was tryin' to do. So I ain't fit for you to hire."
It was not the unconscious satire of the statement that put a wire edgeon the Honorable Pulaski's temper. It was Tommy Eye's rebelliousness,displayed for the first time in a long life of utter subservience.
"You won't be fit for anything but bait for a bear-trap ten minutesafter I get you back to camp," bellowed the tyrant. "MacLeod, get thatman down!"
"Don't you want to hire a teamster, Mr. Ide?" bleated Tommy, crawfishingto the peak of the low roof. "You know what I be on twitchro'd, ramdown,or in a yard. You don't find my hosses calked or shoulder-galled." Hehastened in nervous entreaty: "You hire me, Mr. Ide. I never had a teamsluiced yet. You know what I can do in the woods."
The plaintiveness of the frightened man's appeal touched Wade. Herealized the weight of misery this pathetic turncoat might expectthereafter at the hands of Britt and his crew of "Busters." MacLeod wasadvancing towards the ladder that conducted to the roof, his sullen facelighting with a certain amount of satisfaction. Wade put himself beforethe ladder.
"Hirin' men out from under isn't square woods style, Tommy," said Ide,shaking his head.
"That man isn't a slave," protested Wade. "He is the only man I've foundin these woods with courage enough to stand up for what's right, Mr.Ide. I don't believe in leaving him to those who are going to make himsuffer for it."
"Up to now, you dude, you've done about everything that shouldn't bedone in the woods!" cried Britt. "But there's one thing you can't do,and that's take a man out of my crew."
"It's an unwritten law, Wade," protested his partner. "It isn't squarebusiness to meddle with another operator's crew."
"When a case like this comes up, it's time to change the law, then,"declared Wade, with savageness of his own, the menacing proximity ofMacLeod acting on his anger like bellows on coals.
"I can't afford to be mixed into anything of the sort," persisted Ide.
"And nobody but a fool would try it, Rod. I've warned you to get rid ofhim. You can see for yourself now! He don't fit. He's protectin'fire-bugs, standin' out against timber-owners' interests, and breakingevery article in the code up here."
"And I'm likely to keep on breaking the kind of code that seems to gonorth of Castonia!" cried the young iconoclast. For a moment hisflaming eyes dwelt on the face of the Honorable John Barrett, and thatgentleman, who had been wondering just what shaft his own recalcitrancywould next draw from this champion of the oppressed, looked greatlyperturbed. "Mr. Ide, do you forbid me to hire this man?"
"N-no," admitted his partner, rather grudgingly.
"Then you're hired, Eye." Wade looked up and answered the gratitude inTommy's eyes by a nod of encouragement. "Come down, my man, and get intoour crew. You've acted man-fashion, and I'll back you up in it."
"Let it stand--let it stand as it is," whispered Barrett, huskily,clutching at the arm of Britt as that furious gentleman surged past him."If we tackle the young fool now he's apt to blab all he knows about me.It's a ticklish place. Handle it easy."
"I'll handle it to suit myself!" stormed Britt, yanking himself loose."You set back there if you want to, and play dry nurse to yourtwins--your family scandal on one arm and your governor's boom on theother. But when it comes to my own crew and my private business, by theLord Harry, I'll operate without your advice!"
He began to call on his men, rallying them with shrill cries. He orderedthem to surround the camp and take the rebel. In the next breath he badeMacLeod to go up the ladder and pull Tommy down.
"Poet" Larry Gorman, who had been gradually edging near the spot whichhe had sagely picked as the probable core of conflict, set himselfsuddenly before Colin MacLeod as the boss advanced towards Wade with alook in his eye that was blood-lust. MacLeod had a weather-beaten ashsled-stake.
"Sure, and a gent like him don't fight with clubs," said Gorman. "We'veall heard about his lickin' ye once, and man-fashion, too! Now, go getyour reputation. Start with me." The redoubtable bard poked hisshillalah into MacLeod's breast and drove him suddenly back. At thisoverture of combat the men for Enchanted came up with a rush. They metthe "Busters" face to face and eye to eye.
"We're all axe-tossers together, boys!" cried Gorman. "Ye know me andyou've sung my songs, and ye know there's no truer woodsman than me everchased beans round a tin plate. Now, Britt's men, if ye want to fight tokeep a free man a slave when he wants to chuck his job, then come andfight. But may the good saints put a cramp into the arm of the man thatfights against the interests of woodsmen all together!"
Under most circumstances even such a cogent argument as this would nothave stayed their hands. But coming from Larry Gorman, author of"Bushmen All," it made even the "Busters" stop and think a moment. Andwhen MacLeod was first and only in renewing hostilities--obeying Britt'sinsistent commands--Gorman again held him off at the end of hisbludgeon, and shouted:
"Oh, my cock partridge, you're only brisk to get into the game becauseyou're daffy over a girl. You'd wipe your feet on Tommy Eye or any otherhonest woodsman to polish your shoes for the courtin' of her."
It was a taunt whose point the "Busters" realized and relished. It waseven more forceful than Larry's first appeal. Some of the men grinned.All held back. But for MacLeod it was the provocation unforgivable. Hedrew back his arm and swept his stake at Larry's head. That master ofstick-play warded and leaped back nimbly.
"Fair, now! Fair!" he cried. "They're all lookin' at us, and there can'tbe dirty work." Gorman's face glowed, for he had won his point. His withad balked a general combat. His massing fellows had tacitly selectedhim as their champion. He had put the thing on a plane where the"Busters" were a bit ashamed to take part. They turned their backs onBritt in order to watch the duellists more intently. They knew thatLarry Gorman was vain of two things--his songs and his stick-swinging.
"What say ye to waitin' till your shoulder ain't so stiff?" he inquired,with pointed reference to the injury MacLeod had received at the handsof Wade. His mock condolence pricked Colin to frenzy. He drove sovicious a blow at the bard that when the latter side-stepped the bossstaggered against the side of the camp.
"But sure I can make it even," said Larry, facing him again withoutdiscomposure; "for I'll sing a bit of song for you to dance by."
The merry insolence of this brought a hoarse hoot of delight from bothsides. And pressing upon his foe so actively that the crippled MacLeodwas put to his utmost to ward thwacks off his head and shoulders, thissprightly Cyrano of the kingdom of spruce carolled after this fashion:
"Come, all ye good shillaly men. Come, lis-ten unto me: Old Watson made a walkin'-cane, And used a popple-tree. The knob it were a rouser-- A rouser, so 'twas said-- And when ye sassed old Watson He would knock ye on the head."
MacLeod got a tap that made his eyes shut like the snap of a patentcigar-cutter.
"Chorus!" exhorted the lyrist. And they bellowed jovially:
"Knick, knock, Hickory dock, And he'd hit ye on the head!"
Larry leaped back, whirled his stick so rapidly that its bright peeledsurface seemed to spit sparks, and again got over the boss's indifferentguard with a whack that echoed hollowly.
MacLeod was too angry to retreat. He was too ang
ry to see clearly, andhis brain rang dizzily with the blows he had received. His injuredshoulder ached with the violence of his exertions. But his pride kepthim up, and forced him to meet the fresh attack that Gorman made--anattack in which that master seemed to be fencing mostly to mark the timeof his jeering song:
"Old Watson was a good old man, And taught the Bible class, But he didn't like the story Of the jawbone of the ass. 'Why didn't he make a popple-club,' So Uncle Watson said, 'And scotch the tribe of the Phlistereens By bangin' 'em on the head?'"
The blow that time staggered MacLeod.
"Chorus!" called "Poet" Larry. But before he could rap his antagonist atthe end of that roaring iteration the Honorable Pulaski was betweenthem, having at last contrived to fight his way through the ranks of thecrowding men. He narrowly missed getting the blow intended for the boss.He yanked the sled-stake out of the nerveless grasp of the sweating anddiscomfited MacLeod, and raised it.
"Be careful, Mr. Britt," yelped Gorman. His mien changed from gayinsouciance to bitter fury. "You've struck me once in my life, and Itook it and went on my way, because I was getting your grub and yourpay. You strike me to-day, and I'll split your head open like a rottenpunkin!"
Britt had begun to rant that he could thrash the whole Enchanted crewsingle-handed. He was maddened by the lamblike demeanor of his own men.But he knew a desperate and dangerous man when he saw him. At thatmoment Larry Gorman was dangerous. The tyrant lowered his club andbacked away, muttering some wordless recrimination at which the poetcurled his lip. Seeing his chance, Tommy Eye hooked his legs about theuprights and slid down the ladder with one dizzy plunge, struck theground in squatting fashion, and shot head-first into the ranks of hisprotectors.
But after that masterly raillery of Gorman's there was no fight left inthe "Busters." And his vengeful bearding of the Honorable Pulaski leftthe autocrat himself speechless and helpless.
Tommy Eye's trembling hand fingered his chin, his wistful eyes peeredover the shoulders of his new friends, and he knew he was safe. The"Busters," nudging each other and growling half-humorous comment, beganto sift out of the yard of the Durfy hovel, and lounge back along thetrail towards the Jerusalem camp.
"D--n ye for cowards!" yelled the Honorable Pulaski, viciously flingingthe ash sled-stake after them.
"Oh, but they're not cowards!" cried Larry. In his bushman's soul herealized that even now a chance taunt, a random prick of word, mightstart the fight afresh. "Every man-jack there is known to me of old, andthe good, brave boys they are! But your money ain't greasy enough, Mr.Britt, to make good men as them fight to take away a comrade'sman-rights."
The "Busters" nodded affirmation and kept on. One man stepped back andhallooed: "Right ye are, Larry Gorman! And when ye try to get yourEnchanted logs first through the Hulling Machine next spring, ye'll findthat we're the kind of gristle that can't be chawed. That'll be man'sbusiness, and no Teamster Tommy Eye to stub a toe over!"
There was a grin on the man's face, but none the less it was achallenge, and Larry accepted it.
"Sure, and we'll be there!" he called. "We'll be there with hair a footlong, pick-pole[3] in one hand, peavy-stick[4] in the other, ready for agame of jack-straws in the white water and a fist-jig on the bank!"
[Footnote 3: An ashen pole, shod with an iron screw-point.]
[Footnote 4: The Maine variety of the cant-dog, illustrated on thecover.]
"And will ye write it all into a song, Larry Gorman?"
"All into a song it shall go!"
And roaring a good-natured cheer over their shoulders, the "Busters"filed away into the mouth of Pogey Notch.
"You may as well move, boys," ordered Rodburd Ide. "This business hereisn't swampin' yards nor buildin' camps!"
The men for Enchanted cheerfully shouldered dunnage-sacks, and in theirturn set off up the Notch.
"Here's Tommy Eye's bill of his time, Mr. Britt," said Gorman, holdingout a crumpled paper to the choking tyrant. Tommy himself had prudentlydeparted, bulwarked by his new comrades.
"I'll not pay it!" blustered Britt. "He broke the contract!"
"No more does he want you to pay it," replied Larry, serenely, speakingin behalf of the amiable prodigal. "He says to credit it on that onedrink of whiskey he took out of your bottle, and when he earns moremoney workin' for honest men he'll pay ye the rest."
He tore the paper across and across, snapped the bits in Britt's face,turned, and followed the crew.