The Valley of the Giants

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER XXX

  The success of Bryce Cardigan's plan for getting Ms rails down fromLaurel Creek depended entirely upon the whimsy which might seizethe crew of the big mogul that hauled the last load of logs out ofCardigan's redwoods on Thursday afternoon. Should the engineer andfireman decide to leave the locomotive at the logging-camp for thenight, Bryce's task would be as simple as turning a hose down asquirrel-hole. On the other hand, should they run back to Sequoia withthe engine, he and Ogilvy faced the alternative of "borrowing" it fromthe Laguna Grande Lumber Company's roundhouse; and that operation, inview of the fact that Pennington's night watchman would be certain tohear the engine leaving, offered difficulties.

  Throughout the afternoon, after having sent his orders in writing tothe woods-boss, via George Sea Otter (for he dared not trust to thetelephone), be waited in his office for a telephone-call from thelogging-camp as to what action the engine-crew had taken. He couldnot work; he could not think. He only knew that all depended upon thesuccess of his coup to-night. Finally, at a quarter of six, Curtis, hiswoods-boss rang in.

  "They're staying here all night, sir," he reported.

  "House them as far from the log-landing as possible, and organize apoker-game to keep them busy in case they don't go to bed before eighto'clock," Bryce ordered. "In the meantime, send a man you can trust--JimHarding, who runs the big bull-donkey, will do--down to the locomotiveto keep steam up until I arrive."

  He had scarcely hung up, when Buck Ogilvy came into the office. "Well?"he queried casually.

  "Safe-o, Buck!" replied Bryce. "How about your end of the contract?"

  "Crowbars, picks, shovels, hack-saws to cut the rails, lanterns to workby, and men to do the work will be cached in your lumber-yard by nineo'clock, waiting for the rails to arrive."

  Bryce nodded his approval, "Then I suppose there's nothing to do but geta bite of dinner and proceed to business."

  Buck insisted on keeping an engagement to dine with Moira, and Bryceagreed to call for him at the Bon Gusto restaurant. Then Bryce went hometo dine with his father. Old Cardigan was happier than his son had seenhim since the return of the latter to Sequoia.

  "Well, sonny, I've had a mighty pleasant afternoon," he declared asBryce led him to the dinner-table. "I've been up to the Valley of theGiants."

  Bryce was amazed. "Why, how could you?" he demanded. "The old skid-roadis impassable, and after you leave the end of the skid-road, the trailin to Mother's grave is so overgrown with buckthorn and wild lilac Idoubt if a rabbit could get through it comfortably."

  "Not a bit of it," the old man replied. "Somebody has gone to work andplanked that old skid-road and put up a hand-railing on each side, whilethe trail through the Giants has been grubbed out and smoothed over. Allthat old logging-cable I abandoned in those choppings has been strungfrom tree to tree alongside the path on both sides. I can go up therealone now, once George sets me on the old skid-road; I can't get lost."

  "How did you discover this?" Bryce demanded.

  "Judge Moore, representing the new owner, called round this morningand took me in tow. He said his client knew the property held for me acertain sentimental value which wasn't transferred in the deed, andso the Judge had been instructed to have the skid-road planked and theforest trail grubbed out--for me. It appears that the Valley is going tobe a public park, after all, but for the present and while I live, it ismy private park."

  "This is perfectly amazing, partner."

  "It's mighty comforting," his father admitted. "Guess the new owner mustbe one of my old friends--perhaps somebody I did a favour for once--andthis is his way of repaying. Remember the old sugar-pine windfall weused to sit on? Well, it's rotted through, and bears have clawed it intochips in their search for grubs, but the new owner had a seat put inthere for me--just the kind of seat I like--a lumberjack's rocking-chairmade from an old vinegar-barrel. I sat in it, and the Judge left me,and I did a right smart lot o' thinking. And while it didn't lead meanywhere, still I--er--"

  "You felt better, didn't you?" his son suggested.

  John Cardigan nodded. "I'd like to know the name of the owner," he saidpresently. "I'd like mighty well to say thank you to him. It isn't usualfor people nowadays to have as much respect for sentiment in an oldduffer like me as the fellow has. He sort of makes me feel as if Ihadn't sold at all."

  Buck Ogilvy came out of the Bon Gusto restaurant with Moira, just asBryce, with George Sea Otter at the wheel of the Napier, drove up tothe curb. They left Moira at her boarding-house, and rolled noiselesslyaway.

  At nine o'clock they arrived at Cardigan's log-landing and found JimHarding, the bull-donkey engineer, placidly smoking his pipe in the cab.Bryce hailed him.

  "That you, Jim?"

  "You bet."

  "Run up to Jabe Curtis's shanty, and tell him we're here. Have himgather his gang and bring two pairs of overalls and two jumpers--largesize--with him when he comes."

  Harding vanished into the darkness, and Buck Ogilvy climbed up into thecab and glanced at the steam-gauge. "A hundred and forty," he announced."Good enough!"

  Presently the woods-boss, accompanied by thirty of his best men, camedown to the log-landing. At Bryce's order they clambered aboard theengine and tender, hanging on the steps, on the roof of the cab, on thecowcatcher--anywhere they could find a toe-hold. Harding cast aside thetwo old ties which the careful engine-crew had placed across the tracksin front of the drivers as additional precaution; Buck Ogilvy cut offthe air, and the locomotive and tender began to glide slowly down thealmost imperceptible grade. With a slight click it cleared the switchand slid out onto the Cardigan lateral, swiftly gathering speed. Aquarter of a mile down the line Buck Ogilvy applied the brakes and easedher down to twenty miles per hour.

  At the junction with the main line Buck backed briskly up into theLaguna Grande woods, and coupled to the two loaded flat-cars. Thewoods-gang scrambled aboard the flats, and the train pulled out forSequoia. Forty minutes later they rumbled down Water Street and slid toa grinding halt at the intersection of B Street.

  From the darkness of Cardigan's drying-yard, where they had beenwaiting, twenty picked men of the mill-crew now emerged, bearinglanterns and tools. Under Buck Ogilvy's direction the dirt promptlybegan to fly, while the woods-crew unloaded the rails and piled themclose to the sidewalk.

  Suddenly a voice, harsh and strident with passion, rose above the thudof the picks and the clang of metal.

  "Who's in charge here, and what in blazes do you mean by cutting mytracks?"

  Bryce turned in time to behold Colonel Seth Pennington leap from anautomobile and advance upon Buck Ogilvy. Ogilvy held a lantern up to theColonel's face and surveyed Pennington calmly.

  "Colonel," he began with exasperating politeness, "--I presume you areColonel Pennington--my name is Buchanan P. Ogilvy, and I am in chargeof these operations. I am the vice-president and general manager of theN.C.O., and I am engaged in the blithe task of making a jump-crossingof your rails. I had hoped to accomplish this without your knowledgeor consent, but now that you are here, that hope, of course, has dieda-bornin'. Have a cigar." And he thrust a perfecco under the Colonel'snose. Pennington struck it to the ground, and on the instant, half adozen rough rascals emptied their shovels over him. He was deluged withdirt.

  "Stand back, Colonel, stand back, if you please. You're in the way ofthe shovellers," Buck Ogilvy warned him soothingly.

  Bryce Cardigan came over, and at sight of him Pennington choked withfury. "You--you--" he sputtered, unable to say more.

  "I'm the N.C.O.," Bryce replied. "Nice little fiction that of yoursabout the switch-engine being laid up in the shops and the Laurel Creekbridge being unsafe for this big mogul." He looked Pennington over withfrank admiration. "You're certainly on the job, Colonel. I'll say thatmuch for you. The man who plans to defeat you must jump far and fast, orhis tail will be trod on."

  "You've stolen my engine," Pennington almost screamed. "I'll have thelaw on you for grand larceny."

  "
Tut-tut! You don't know who stole your engine. For all you know, yourown engine-crew may have run it down here."

  "I'll attend to you, sir," Pennington replied, and he turned to enterMayor Poundstone's little flivver.

  "Not to-night, at least," Bryce retorted gently. "Having gone this far,I would be a poor general to permit you to escape now with the news ofyour discovery. You'd be down here in an hour with a couple of hundredmembers of your mill-crew and give us the rush. You will oblige me,Colonel Pennington, by remaining exactly where you are until I give youpermission to depart."

  "And if I refuse--"

  "Then I shall manhandle you, truss you up like a fowl in the tonneau ofyour car, and gag you."

  To Bryce's infinite surprise the Colonel smiled. "Oh, very well!" hereplied. "I guess you've got the bulge on me, young man. Do you mind ifI sit in the warm cab of my own engine? I came away in such a hurry Iquite forgot my overcoat."

  "Not at all. I'll sit up there and keep you company."

  Half an hour passed. An automobile came slowly up Water Street andpaused half a block away, evidently reconnoitering the situation.Instantly the Colonel thrust his head out the cab window.

  "Sexton!" he shouted. "Cardigan's cutting in a crossing. He's holding mehere against my will. Get the mill-crew together and phone for Rondeauand his woods-crew. Send the switch-engine and a couple of flats up forthem. Phone Poundstone. Tell him to have the chief of police--"

  Bryce Cardigan's great hand closed over the Colonel's neck, whiledown Water Street a dark streak that was Buck Ogilvy sped toward theautomobile, intending to climb in and make Pennington's manager aprisoner also. He was too late, however. Sexton swung his car anddeparted at full speed down Water Street, leaving the disappointed Buckto return panting to the scene of operations.

  Bryce Cardigan released his hold on Pennington's neck. "You win,Colonel," he announced. "No good can come of holding you here anylonger. Into your car and on your way."

  "Thank you, young man," the Colonel answered, and there was a metallicring in his voice. He looked at his watch in the glare of a torch."Plenty of time," he murmured. "Curfew shall not ring to-night." Quitedeliberately he climbed into the Mayor's late source of woe and breezedaway.

  Colonel Pennington did not at once return to his home, however. Instead,he drove up to the business centre of the town. The streets weredeserted, but one saloon--the Sawdust Pile--was still open.

  Pennington strode through the bar and into the back room, where anumber of poker-games were in progress. For a moment he stood, his cold,ophidian glance circling the room until it came to rest on no less apersonage than the Black Minorca, an individual with whom the reader hasalready had some slight acquaintance. It will be recalled that theBlack Minorca led the futile rush against Bryce Cardigan that day inPennington's woods.

  The Colonel approached the table where the Black Minorca sat thumbingthe edges of his cards, and touched the cholo on the shoulder. The BlackMinorca turned, and Pennington nodded to him to follow; whereupon thelatter cashed in his chips and joined his employer on the sidewalk. Herea whispered conversation ensued, and at its conclusion the Black Minorcanodded vigorously.

  "Sure!" he assured the Colonel. "I'll fix 'em good and plenty."

  Together Pennington and the Black Minorca entered the automobile andproceeded swiftly to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's mill-office.From a locker the Colonel produced a repeating rifle and three boxes ofcartridges, which he handed to the cholo, who departed without furtherado into the night.

  Twenty minutes later, from the top of a lumber-pile in Cardigan'sdrying-yard, Bryce Cardigan saw the flash of a rifle and felt a suddensting on his left forearm. He leaped around in front of the cowcatcherto gain the shelter of the engine, and another bullet struck at his feetand ricocheted off into the night. It was followed by a fusillade, thebullets kicking up the freshly disturbed earth among the workers andsending them scurrying to various points of safety. In an instant thecrossing was deserted, and work had been stopped, while from the top ofthe adjacent lumber-pile the Black Minorca poured a stream of leadand filthy invective at every point which he suspected of harbouring aCardigan follower.

  "I don't think he's hurt anybody," Buck Ogilvy whispered as he crouchedwith Bryce beside the engine, "but that's due to his marksmanship ratherthan his intentions."

  "He tried hard enough to plug me," Bryce declared, and showed the holethrough his sleeve. "They call him the Black Minorca, and he's a mongrelgreaser who'd kill his own mother for a fifty-dollar bill."

  "I'd like to plug him," Buck murmured regretfully.

  "What would be the use? This will be his last night in HumboldtCounty--"

  A rifle shot rang out from the side of B Street; from the lumber-pileacross the street, Bryce and Ogilvy heard a suppressed grunt of pain,and a crash as of a breaking board. Instantly out of the shadows GeorgeSea Otter came padding on velvet feet, rifle in hand--and then Bryceunderstood.

  "All right, boss," said George simply as he joined Bryce and Ogilvyunder the lee of the locomotive. "Now we get busy again."

  "Safe-o, men," Ogilvy called. "Back to the job." And while Bryce,followed by the careless George Sea Otter, went into the lumber-yard tosuccour the enemy, Ogilvy set an example to the men by stepping into theopen and starting briskly to work with a shovel.

  At the bottom of the pile of lumber the Black Minorca was discoveredwith a severe flesh-wound in his right hip; also he was suffering fromnumerous bruises and contusions. George Sea Otter possessed himself ofthe fallen cholo's rifle, while Bryce picked the wretch up and carriedhim to his automobile.

  "Take the swine over to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's hospital andtell them to patch him up," he ordered George Sea Otter. "I'll keep bothrifles and the ammunition here for Jules Rondeau and his woods-gang.They'll probably be dropping in on us about two a.m., if I know anythingabout Colonel Pennington's way of doing things."