 CHAPTER XXXIV Shortly after Shirley's departure from his office, Bryce had a visit from Buck Oglvy. The latter wore a neatly pressed suit of shepherd plaid, with a white carnation in his lapel, and he was apparently the most light-hearted young man in Humboldt County. He struck an attitude and demanded, Boss, what do you think of my new suit? You lunatic, don't you know red blonde should never wear light shades? You're dressed like a negro minstrel. Well, I feel as happy as an endman. And, by the way, you're all jerked up yourself. Who's been helping you to the elixir of life? When we parted last night you were forty fathoms deep in the slew of despond. No less a divinity than Miss Shirley Sumner. She called this morning to explain that last night's fiasco was none of her making, and quite innocently she imparted the information that Old Pennington lighted out for San Francisco at one o'clock this morning. Therefore I laugh. Ha, ha, ha! Three long, loud raucous cheers for Uncle. He's gone to Russia restraining order through the United States District Court. Wonder why he didn't wire his attorneys to attend to the matter for him? He has the crossing block, and in as much as the mayor feeds out of Pennington's hand, the Colonel is quite confident that said crossing will remain block. As for the restraining order, well, if one wants a thing well done one should do it oneself. All that doesn't explain your cheerful attitude, though. Oh, but it does. I've told you about Old Duncan MacTavish, Moira's father, haven't I? Ogilvy nodded, and Bryce continued, When I fired the old scoundrel for boozing it almost broke his heart. He had to leave Humboldt, where everybody knew him, so he wandered down into Mendocino County and got a job sticking lumber in the drying-yard of the Willets Lumber Company. He's been there two months now, and I am informed by his employer that Old Mac hasn't taken a drink in all that time. And what's more, he isn't going to take one again. How do you know? Because I make it my business to find out. Mac was the finest woods-boss this county ever knew, hence you do not assume that I would lose the old scoundrel without making a fight for him, do you? Why, Buck, he's been on the cartagel payroll thirty years, and I only fired him in order to reform him. Well, last week I sent one of Mac's old friends down to Willets purposely to call on him and invite him out for a time. But Mac wouldn't drink with him. No, sir, he couldn't be tempted. On the contrary, he told the tempter that I had promised to give him back his job if he remained on the water-wagon for one year. He was resolved to win back his job and his self-respect. I know what your plan is, Ogilvy interrupted. You're going to ask Duncan McTavish to weigh lay Pennington on the road at some point where it runs through the timber, kidnap him, and hold him until we have had time to clear the crossing and cut Pennington's tracks. We will do nothing of the sort, but continued seriously. Listen now to Father's words of wisdom. This railroad game is an old one to me. I've fought at crossings before now, and whether successful or defeated, I have always learned something in battle. Didn't you hear me tell that girl and her villainous avuncular relative last night that I had another ace up my kimono? Bryce nodded. That was not brag, old dear. I had the ace, and this morning I played it. Wherefore, in my heart, there is that peace that passeth understanding, particularly since I have just had a telegram informing me that my ace took the odd trick. He opened a drawer in Bryce's desk and reached for the cigars he knew were there. Not at all a bad cigar for ten cents. However you will recall that from the very instant we decided to cut in that jump crossing we commenced to plan against interference by Pennington. In consequence we kept, or tried to keep, our decision a secret. However there existed at all times the possibility that Pennington might discover our benevolent intentions and block us with his only weapon. A restraining order issued by the judge of the United States District Court. Now one of the most delightful things I know about a court is that it is open to all men seeking justice, or injustice disguised as justice. Also there is a wise old saw to the effect that battles are won by the fellow who gets there first with the most men. The situation from the start was absurdly simple. If Pennington got to the District Court first we were lost. You mean you got there first? exclaimed Bryce. I did, by the very simple method of preparing to get there first in case anything slipped. Something did slip last night. However I was ready. So all I had to do was press the button. For as Omar Kayam remarked, what shall it avail a man if he buyeth a padlock for his stable after his favorite stallion hath been lifted? Several days ago my boy I wrote a long letter to our attorney in San Francisco explaining every detail of our predicament. The instant I received that temporary franchise from the City Council I mailed a certified copy of it to our attorney also. Then, in anticipation of our discovery by Pennington, I instructed the attorney to prepare the complaint and petition for a restraining order against Seth Pennington at all, and stand by to rush the judge with it the instant he heard from me. Well, about the time old Pennington started for San Francisco this morning, I had our attorney out of bed and on the long-distance telephone. At nine o'clock this morning he appeared in the United States District Court. At nine-fifteen the judge signed a restraining order forbidding our enemies to interfere with us in the exercise of a right legally granted us by the City of Sequoia, and at nine-thirty a deputy United States Marshal started in an automobile for Sequoia via the Overland Route. He will arrive late to-morrow night, and on Sunday we will get that locomotive out of our way and install our crossing. And Pennington? Ah, the poor Pennington! Mopovre Seth! Buck sighed comically. He will be just twenty-four hours late. You old he-fox! Bryce murmured. You wicked, wicked man! Buck Ogilvy lifted his lapel and sniffed luxuriously at his white carnation. The while a thin little smile played around the corners of his humorous mouth. Ah, he murmured presently. Life's pretty sweet, isn't it? End of chapter thirty-four, recording by Roger Maline. Chapter thirty-five of the Valley of the Giant. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Valley of the Giant by Peter B. Kine. Chapter thirty-five. Events followed each other with refreshing rapidity. While the crew of the big locomotive on the crossing busied themselves getting up steam, Sexton and Jules Rondeau toiled at the loading of the discarded boiler and heavy castings aboard two flat-cars. By utilizing the steel derrick on the company's wrecking-car, this task was completed by noon, and after luncheon the mogul backed up the main line past the switch into the Laguna Grande Yards, whereupon the switch engine kicked the two flat-cars and the wrecking-car out of the yard and down to the crossing, where the obstructions were promptly unloaded. The police watched the operation with alert interest, but forebore to interfere in this high-handed closing of a public thoroughfare. To Sexton's annoyance and secret apprehension, Bryce Cartigan and Buck Ogleby promptly appeared on the scene, both very cheerful and lavish with expert advice as to the best method of expediting the job in hand. To Bryce's surprise, Jules Rondeau appeared to take secret enjoyment of this good-natured chaffing of the Laguna Grande manager. Finally he eyed Bryce curiously, but without animus, and presently he flashed the letter a lightning wink, as if to say, "'What a fool to Sexton is to oppose you!' "'Well, Rondeau,' Bryce hailed the woods-boss cheerfully, "'I see you have quite recovered from that working-over I gave you some time ago. No hard feelings, I trust. I shouldn't care to have that job to do over again. You're a tough one.' "'By Gar, she don't pay to have hard feelings with you, Monsieur,' Rondeau answered bluntly. "'We have one fine fight, but,' he shrugged, "'I don't want some more.' "'Yes, by Gar, and she don't pay for cut other people's trees, Monsieur,' Bryce mimicked him. "'I shouldn't wonder if I took the value of that tree out of your hide.' "'I think so, Monsieur,' he approached Bryce and lowered his voice. "'For one month I am no good all the time. We don't fight some more, Monsieur. And I have feel shame for those black Menorca fellow. Always was him as it's a knife, was he club, and now is he rifle. Cachon! When I fight, I fight with what he bondure give me.' "'You appear to have a certain code, after all,' Bryce laughed. "'I'm inclined to like you for it. You're sporty in your way, you tremendous scoundrel.' "'Maybe so,' Rondeau suggested, hopefully. "'Monsieur likes me for Woodsboss?' "'Why, what's the matter with Pennington? Is he tired of you?' "'The color mounted slowly to the Woodsbully's swarthy cheek. "'Mademoiselle Sumner. He's tell me pretty soon he's going to be boss of Laguna Grande, and stop all these fights. And when Mademoiselle, he is in his saddle, good-bye, Jules Rondeau. "'These, Contadi, I like him. I feel sad, Monsieur, to leave those big trees.' He paused, looking rather wistfully at Bryce. "'I am fine Woodsboss for somebody,' he suggested, hopefully. "'You think Miss Sumner dislikes you, then, Rondeau?' "'I don't think. I know,' he sighed, his huge body seemed to droop. "'I am out of ze good luck now,' he murmured bitterly. "'Everybody, she hates Jules Rondeau. Colonel, she hate because I don't kill Monsieur Cartigan. Mademoiselle, he hate because I try to kill Monsieur Cartigan. Monsieur Sexton, she hate because I tell her this morning she is one fool for fighting Monsieur Cartigan.' "'Again,' he sighed. "'Those big trees. In Quebec, we have none. "'Inzy Woods, Monsieur, I feel here,' and he laid his great calloused hairy hand over his heart. "'When I cut your big trees, Monsieur, I feel like hell. "'That infernal gorilla of a man is a poet,' Buck Ogilvy declared. "'I'd think twice before I let him get out of the country, Bryce. "'Whose salt he eats, his song he sings,' quote Bryce. "'I forgive you, Rondeau, and when I need a woods-boss like you, I'll send for you.' CHAPTER 36 AT 11 O'CLOCK SATURDAY NIGHT THE DEPUTY UNITED STATES MARSHALL ARRIVED IN SACOYA. Upon the advice of Buck Ogilvy, however, he made no attempt at service that night, notwithstanding the fact that Jules Rondeau and his bullies still guarded the crossing. At eight o'clock Sunday morning, however, Bryce Cartigan drove him down to the crossing. Buck Ogilvy was already there with his men, superintending the erection of a huge derrick close to the heap of obstructions placed on the crossing. Sexton was watching him uneasily and flushed as Ogilvy pointed him out to the marshal. "'There's your meat, Marshal,' he announced. The marshal approached and extended toward Sexton a copy of the restraining order. The latter struck it aside and refused to accept it, whereupon the deputy marshal tapped him on the shoulder with it. "'You're out of the game, my friend,' he said pleasantly. As the document fluttered to Sexton's feet, the latter turned to Jules Rondeau. "'I can no longer take charge here, Rondeau,' he explained. I am forbidden to interfere.' "'Jules Rondeau can do ze job,' the woods-boss replied easily. "'Z-Law, she have not restrained me. I guess maybe so you don't take those things away. I miss your cardigan. Myself? I like sea.' The deputy marshal handed Rondeau a paper, at the same time showing his badge. "'You're out too, my friend,' he laughed. "'Don't be foolish and try to buck the law. If you do, I shall have to place a nice little pair of handcuffs on you and throw you in jail. And if you resist arrest, I shall have to shoot you. I have one of these little restraining orders for every able-bodied man in the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's employ, thanks to Mr. Ogilvy's foresight, so it is useless to try to beat this game on a technicality.' Sexton, who still lingered, made a gesture of surrender. "'Dismiss your crew, Rondeau,' he ordered, where whipped to a frazzle. A gleam of pleasure, not unmixed with triumph, lighted the dark eyes of the French-Canadian. "'I told Mr. Sexton she cannot fight Mr. Cardigan and win,' he said simply. Now maybe he believed that Jules Rondeau knows something. "'Shut up,' Sexton roared petulantly. Rondeau shrugged contemptuously, turned, and with a sweep of his great arm, indicated to his men that they were to go. Then, without a backward glance to see that they followed, the woods-boss strode away in the direction of the Laguna Grande Mill. Arrived at the mill-office, he entered, took down the telephone, and called up Shirley Sumner. "'Man was elle,' he said. "'Jules Rondeau speaks to you.' "'I have for you the good news. Bryce Cardigan, she puts in the crossing today. One man of the law, she comes from San Francisco with papers. And Mr. Sexton say to me, Rondeau, we are whipped. Dismiss your men. Rondeau, I have dismissed those men, and I now dismiss myself. Maybe so, by and by, I go to work for Mr. Cardigan. For, mademoiselle, I have no wish to make trouble to fire me. I quit. I will not fight those dirty fights some more. Au revoir, mademoiselle. I go.' And without further ado, he hung up. "'What's this?' "'What's this?' Sexton demanded. "'You're going to quit?' "'Nonsense, Rondeau, nonsense.' "'I will have my time, Monsieur,' said Jules Rondeau. I go to work for a man. Maybe so, I am not Wood's boss for him, but I work. "'You'll have to wait until the Colonel returns, Rondeau.' "'I will have my time,' said Jules Rondeau, patiently. "'Then you'll wait till payday for it, Rondeau. You know our rules. Any man who quits without notice waits until the regular payday for his money.' Jules advanced until he towered directly over the manager. "'I told Monsieur I would have my time,' he repeated once more. "'Is Monsieur deaf in his ears?' He raised his right hand, much as a bear raises its paw. His blunt fingers worked a little, and there was a smoldering fire in his dark eyes. Without further protest, Sexton opened the safe, counted out the wages due, and took Rondeau's receipt. "'Thank you, Monsieur,' the Wood's boss growled as he swept the coin into his pocket. "'Now I work for Monsieur Cartagin. So, Monsieur, I will have the switch-engine with two flat-cards and the wrecking-car. Those damned trash on the crossing Monsieur Cartagin does not like, and by God I take him away. You understand, Monsieur? I am Jules Rondeau, and I work for Monsieur Cartagin. La, la, Monsieur!' The great hand closed over Sexton's collar. "'Not Zee Pistol! No, not for Jules Rondeau!' Quite as easily as a woman dresses a baby, he gagged Sexton with Sexton's own handkerchief, laid him gently on the floor and departed, locking the door behind him and taking the key. At the corner of the building, where the telephone line entered the office, he paused. Sexton reached once at the wire and passed on, leaving the broken ends on the ground. In the roundhouse he found the switch-engine crew on duty, waiting for steam in the boiler. The withdrawal of both locomotives, brief as had been their absence, had caused a glut of logs at the Laguna Grande landings, and Sexton was catching up with the traffic by sending the switch-engine crew out for a one-train load, even though it was Sunday. The crew had been used to receiving orders from Rondeau, and moreover they were not aware of his recent action. Hence at his command they ran the switch-engine out of the roundhouse, coupled up the two flat-cars and the wrecking-car, and back down to the crossing. Upon arrival, Jules Rondeau leaned out of the cab window and hailed Bryce. "'Monsieur,' he said, "'do not buzzer to make ziderik. I have here the wrecking-car. All you need. Pretty soon we lift him off the crossing. I tell you, eh, Monsieur de Cartigan?' Bryce stepped over to the switch-engine and looked up at his late enemy. "'By whose orders is this train here?' he queried. "'Mine,' Rondeau answered. "'Monsieur Sexton, I have tie like one little pig and locker in her office. I work now for Monsieur.' And he did. He waited not for a confirmation from his new master, but proceeded to direct operations like the born driver and leader of men that he was. With his late employer's gear he fastened to the old castings in the boiler, lifted them with the derrick and the wrecking-car, and swung them up and around onto the flat-cars. By the middle of the afternoon the crossing was once more clear. Then the Cartigan crew fell upon it while Jules Rondeau ran the train back to the Laguna Grande Yards, dismissed his crew, returned to the mill-office, and released the manager. "'You'll pay through the nose for this, you scoundrel,' Sexton whimpered. "'I'll fix you, you traitor!' "'You feaks nothing, Monsieur Sexton,' Rondeau replied imperturbably. "'Who has witnessed Jules Rondeau tie you up? Somebody see you? No? I guess you don't feaks me. Sock it. I guess you don't try!' CHAPTER 37 Colonel Pennington's discovery at San Francisco that Bryce Cartigan had stolen his thunder and turned the bolt upon him was the hardest blow Seth Pennington could remember having received throughout thirty odd years of give and take. He was too old and experienced a campaigner, however, to permit a feudal rage to cloud his reason. He prided himself upon being a foeman worthy of any man's steel. On Tuesday he returned to Sequoia. Then related to him in detail the events which had transpired since his departure, but elicited nothing more than a non-committal grunt. "'There is one more matter, sir, which will doubtless be of interest to you,' Sexton continued apologetically. Miss Sumner called me on the telephone yesterday and instructed me formally to notify the board of directors of the Laguna Grande Company of a special meeting of the board to be held here at two o'clock this afternoon. In view of the impossibility of communicating with you while you were on route, I conformed to her wishes. Our bylaws, as you know, stipulate that no meeting of the board shall be called without formal written notice to each director mailed twenty-four hours previously. What the devil do you mean, Sexton, by conforming to her wishes? Miss Sumner is not a director of this company. Pennington's voice was harsh and trembled with apprehension. "'Miss Sumner controls forty percent of the Laguna Grande stock, sir. I took that into consideration.' "'You lie,' Pennington all but screamed. You took into consideration your job as secretary and general manager. Damn nation!' He rose and commenced pacing up and down his office. Suddenly he paused. Sexton still stood beside his desk, watching him respectfully. "'You fool!' he snarled. "'Get out of here and leave me alone!' Sexton departed promptly, glancing at his watch as he did so. It lacked five minutes of two. He passed Shirley Sumner in the general office. "'Surely!' Pennington began, in a hoarse voice as she entered his office. "'What is the meaning of this director's meeting you have requested?' "'B.C.' to Uncle Seth,' the girl answered quietly. "'If you will only be quiet and reasonable, perhaps we can dispense with this director's meeting which appears to frighten you so.' He sat down promptly, a look of relief on his face. "'I scarcely know how to begin, Uncle Seth,' Shirley commenced sadly. "'It hurts me terribly to be forced to hurt you, but there doesn't appear to be any other way out of it. I cannot trust you to manage my financial affairs in the future. This for a number of reasons, the principal one being—' "'Young Cardigan!' he interrupted in a low voice. "'I suppose so,' she answered, although I did think until very recently that it was those sixteen townships of Red Cedar—that crown-grant in British Columbia in which you induced me to invest four hundred thousand dollars. You will remember that you purchased that timber from me from the Caribou Timber Company, limited?' You said it was an unparalleled investment. Quite recently I learned, no matter how, that you were the principal owner of the Caribou Timber Company, limited. Smart as you are, somebody swindled you with that Red Cedar. It was a wonderful stand of timber, so read the cruisers' report, but fifty percent of it, despite its green and flourishing appearance, is hollow-butted. The remaining fifty percent of sound timber cannot be logged unless the rotten timber is logged also, and gotten out of the way also. And I am informed that logging it spells bankruptcy. She gazed upon him steadily, but without malice. His face crimsoned, and then paled. Presently his glance sought the carpet. While he struggled to formulate a verbal defense against her accusation, Shirley continued, "'You had erected a huge sawmill and built and equipped a logging-road before you discovered you had been swindled. So in order to save as much as possible from the wreck, you decided to unload your white elephant on somebody else. I was the readiness victim. You were the executor of my father's estate. You were my guardian and financial advisor, and so you found it very, very easy to swindle me. I had my back to the wall,' he quavered. "'I was desperate, and it wasn't at all the bad investment you have been told it is. You had the money, more money than you knew what to do with. And with the proceeds of the sale of those cedar lands, I knew that I could make an investment in California redwood and more than retrieve my fortunes. Make big money for both of us. You might have borrowed the money from me. You know I have never hesitated to join in your enterprises. This was too big a deal for you, Shirley. I had vision. I could see incalculable riches in this redwood empire, but it was a tremendous gamble and required twenty millions to swing it at the very start. I dreamed of the control of California redwood, and if you'll stand by me, Shirley, I shall yet make my dream come true, and half of it shall be yours. It has always been my intention to buy back from you secretly and, at a nice profit to you, that caribou red cedar, and with the acquisition of the cardigan properties, I would have been in position to do so. Why, that cardigan tracked in the Sanhedrin which we will buy in within a year for half a million is worth five million at least. And by that time I feel certain, in fact I know the northern Pacific will commence building in from the south, from Willets. She silenced him with a disdainful gesture. You shall not smash the cardigans. She declared firmly. I shall—' He began, but he paused abruptly, as if he had suddenly remembered the tact and not-pugnacity was the requirement for the handling of this ticklish situation. You are devoid of mercy, of a sense of sportsmanship. Now then, Uncle Seth, listen to me. You have twenty-four hours in which to make up your mind whether to accept my ultimatum or refuse it. If you refuse, I shall prosecute you for fraud and a betrayal of trust as my father's executor on that red cedar timber-deal. He brightened a trifle. I am afraid that would be a long, hard road to home, my dear, and, of course, I shall have to defend myself. In addition, the girl went on quietly, the county grand jury shall be furnished with a stenographic report of your conversation of Thursday night with Mayor Poundstone. That will not be a long, hard road, a ho, Uncle Seth. For in addition to the stenographer, I have another very reliable witness. Judge Moore. Your casual disposal of my sedan as a bribe to the mayor will be hard to explain and rather amusing in view of the fact that Bryce Cartigan managed to frighten Mr. Poundstone into returning the sedan while you were away. And if that is not sufficient for my purposes, I have the sworn confession of the Black Menorca that you gave him five hundred dollars to kill Bryce Cartigan. Your woods-boss, Rondeau, will also swear that you approached him with a proposition to do away with Bryce Cartigan. I think, therefore, that you will readily see how impossible a situation you have managed to create, and will not disagree with me when I suggest that it would be better for you to leave this county. His face had gone gray and haggard. I can't, he murmured. I can't leave this great business now. Your own interests in the company render such a course unthinkable. Without my hands at the helms, thing will go to smash. I'll risk that. I want to get rid of that worthless red-seeder timber, so I think you would better buy it back for me at the same figure at which you sold it to me. But I haven't the money, and I can't borrow it. I—I—I will have the equivalent in stock of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. You will call on Judge Moore to complete the transaction and leave with him your resignation as president of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. The Colonel raised his glance and bent it upon her in cold appraisal. She met it with firmness, and the thought came to him, she is a Pennington. And hope died out in his heart. He began pleading in maudlin fashion for mercy, for compromise, but the girl was obdurate. I am showing you more mercy than you deserve, you to whom mercy was ever a sign of weakness, of vacillation. There is a gulf between us, Uncle Seth, a gulf which for a long time I have dimly sensed, and which, because of my recent discoveries, has widened until it can no longer be bridged. He wrung his hands in desperation, and suddenly slid to his knees before her. With hypocritical endearments he strove to take her hand, but she drew away from him. Don't touch me! She cried sharply, and with a breaking note in her voice. You plan to kill Bryce Cartigan. And for that, and that alone, I shall never forgive you." She fled from the office, leaving him cringing and groveling on the floor. There will be no directors meeting, Mr. Sexton, she informed the manager as she passed through the general office. It is postponed. CHAPTER 38 That trying interview with her uncle had wrenched Shirley's soul to a degree that left her faint and weak. She had once set out on a long drive, in the hope that before she turned homeward again she might regain something of her customary composure. Presently the S. Fulton paved street gave way to a dirt road, and terminated abruptly at the boundaries of a field that sloped gently upward. A field studded with huge black redwood stumps showing dismally through coronets of young redwoods that grew riotously around the base of the departed parent trees. From the fringe of the thicket thus formed, the terminus of an old skid-road showed, and a signboard, freshly painted, pointed the way to the valley of the giants. Shirley had not intended to come here, but now that she had arrived it occurred to her that it was here she wanted to come. Parking her car by the side of the road, she alighted and proceeded up the old skid, now newly planked and with the encroaching forestration cut away so that the daylight might enter from above. On over the gentle divide she went, and down toward the amphitheater where the primeval giants grew. And as she approached it, the sound that is silence in the redwoods, the thunderous diapason of the centuries, wove its spell upon her. Quickly, imperceptibly, there faded from her mind the memory of that groveling thing she had left behind in the mill-office. And in its place there came a subtle peace, a feeling of awe, of wonder. Such a feeling indeed as must come to one in the realization that man is distant, but God is near. A cluster of wild orchids pendant from the great fungus-covered roots of a giant challenged her attention. She gathered them. Farther on, in a spot where a shaft of sunlight fell, she plucked an armful of golden California poppies and flaming rhododendron, and with her delicate burden she came at length to the giant guarded clearing where the halo of sunlight fell upon the grave of Bryce Cardigan's mother. There were red roses on it, a couple of dozen at least, and these she arranged in order to make room for her own offering. "'Poor dear!' she murmured audibly. God didn't spare you for much happiness, did he. A voice, deep, resonant, kindly, spoke a few feet away. "'Who is it?' Shirley, startled, turned swiftly. Shared across the little amphitheater in a lumberjack's easy-chair fashioned from an old barrel, John Cardigan sat, his sightless gaze bent upon her. "'Who is it?' he repeated. "'Shirley Sumner,' she answered. "'You do not know me, Mr. Cardigan?' "'No,' replied he. "'I do not. That is a name I have heard, however. You are Seth Pennington's niece. Is someone with you?' "'I am quite alone, Mr. Cardigan.' "'And why did you come here alone?' he queried. "'I—I wanted to think.' "'You mean you wanted to think clearly, my dear?' "'Ah, yes, this is the place for thoughts.' He was silent a moment. "'You were thinking aloud, Miss Shirley Sumner. I heard you. You said, poor dear, God didn't spare you much for happiness, did he? And I think you rearranged my roses. Didn't I have them on her grave?' "'Yes, Mr. Cardigan. I was merely making room for some wildflowers I had gathered.' "'Indeed. Then you knew about her being here?' "'Yes, sir. Some ten years ago, when I was a very little girl, I met your son, Bryce. He gave me a ride on his Indian pony, and we came here. So I remember.' "'Well, I declare, ten years ago, huh? You've met, huh? You've met Bryce since his return to Sequoia, I believe? He's quite a fellow now.' "'He is indeed,' John Cardigan nodded, sagesly. "'So that's why you thought aloud,' he remarked, impersonally. "'Brice told you about her. You are right, Miss Shirley Sumner. God didn't give her much time for happiness, just three years. But oh, such wonderful years! "'It was mighty fine of you to bring flowers,' he announced presently. "'I appreciate that. I wish I could see you. You must be a dear, nice, thoughtful girl. Won't you sit down and talk to me?' "'I should be glad to,' she answered, and seated herself on the brown carpet of redwood twigs close to his chair. "'So you came up here to do a little close-up, huh?' "'But you came up here to do a little clear thinking,' he continued in his deliberate, amiable tones. "'Do you come here often?' "'This is the third time in ten years,' she answered. "'I feel that I have no business to intrude here. This is your shrine, and strangers should not profane it.' "'I think I should have resented the presence of any other person, Miss Sumner. "'I resented you, until you spoke.' "'I'm glad you said that, Mr. Cartigan. It sets me at ease.' "'I hadn't been up here for nearly two years until recently. You see, I—I don't own the Valley of the Giants any more.' "'Indeed. To whom have you sold it?' "'I do not know, Miss Sumner. I had to sell. There was no other way out of the jam Bryce and I were in. So I sacrificed my sentiment for my boy. However, the new owner has been wonderfully kind and thoughtful. She reorganized that old skid-road so even an old blind duffer like me can find his way in and out without getting lost. And she had this easy chair made for me. I have told Judge Moore, who represents the unknown owner, to extend my thanks to his client. But words are so empty, Shirley Sumner. If that new owner could only understand how truly grateful I am, how profoundly her courtesy touches me.' "'Her courtesy?' Shirley echoed. "'Did a woman buy the Giants?' He smiled down at her. "'Why, certainly. Who but a woman, and a dear, kind, thoughtful woman, would have thought to have this chair made and brought up here for me?' Fell a long silence between them. Then John Cartigan's trembling hand went groping out toward the girls. "'Why, how stupid of me not to have guessed it immediately,' he said. "'You are the new owner. My dear child, if the silent prayers of a very unhappy old man will bring God's blessing on you, there, there, girl. I didn't intend to make you weep. What a tender heart it is, to be sure!' She took his great toil-worn hand, and her hot tears fell on it, for his gentleness, his benignancy, had touched her deeply. "'Oh, you must not tell anybody. You mustn't,' she cried. He put his hand on her shoulder as she knelt before him. "'Good land of love, girl. What made you do it? Why should a girl like you give a hundred thousand dollars for my valley of the Giants? Were you, hesitatingly, your uncle's agent?' "'No. I bought it myself, with my own money. My uncle doesn't know I am the new owner. You see, he wanted it, for nothing. "'Ah, yes, I suspected as much a long time ago. Your uncle is the modern type of business man. Not very much of an idealist, I'm afraid. But tell me why you decided to thwart the plans of your relative. I knew it hurt you terribly to sell your Giants. They were dear to you for sentimental reasons. I understood also why you were forced to sell. So I—well, I decided the Giants would be safer in my possession than in my uncle's. In all probability he would have logged this valley for the sake of the clear seventy-two inch boards he could get from these trees. That does not explain satisfactorily, to me, why you took sides with a stranger against your own kin,' John Cartigan persisted. "'There must be a deeper and more potent reason, Miss Shirley Sumner.' "'Well,' Shirley made answer, glad that he could not see the flush of confusion and embarrassment that crimsoned her cheek. When I came to Sequoia last May, your son and I met quite accidentally. The stage to Sequoia had already gone, and he was gracious enough to invite me to make the journey in his car. Then we recalled having met his children, and presently I gathered from his conversation that he and his John-partner, as he called you, were very dear to each other. I was witness to your meeting that night. I saw him take you in his big arms and hold you tight, because you'd gone blind while he was away having a good time. And you hadn't told him. I thought that was brave of you. And later, when Bryce and Moira McTavish told me about you, how kind you were, how you felt your responsibility toward your employees and the community, well, I just couldn't help a leaning toward John-partner and John-partner's boy, because the boy was so fine and true to his father's ideals. Ah, he's a man! He is indeed, old John Cardigan murmured proudly. I daresay you'll never get to know him intimately, but if you should. I know him intimately, she corrected him. He saved my life the day the log-train ran away. And that was another reason. I owed him a debt, and so did my uncle. But uncle wouldn't pay his share, and I had to pay for him. Wonderful! murmured John Cardigan. Wonderful! But still you haven't told me why you paid a hundred thousand dollars for the Giants, when you could have bought them for fifty thousand. You had a woman's reason, I daresay, and women always reason from the heart, never the head. However, if you do not care to tell me, I shall not insist. Perhaps I have appeared unduly inquisitive. I would rather not tell you, she answered. A gentle, prescient smile fringed his old mouth. He wagged his Leonine head as if to say, Why should I ask when I know? Fell again a restful silence. Then am I allowed one guess, Miss Shirley Sumner? Yes, but you would never guess the reason. I am a very wise old man. When one sits in the dark one sees much that was hidden from him in the full glare of the light. My son is proud, manly, independent, and the soul of honour. He needed a hundred thousand dollars. You knew it. Probably your uncle informed you. You wanted to loan him some money, but you couldn't. You feared to offend him by proffering it. Had you proffered it, he would have declined it. So you bought my valley of the giants at a preposterous price and kept your action a secret. And he padded her hand gently, as if to silence any denial, while far down the skid-road a voice, a half-trained baritone, floated faintly to them through the forest. He was singing, or rather chanting, a singularly tuneless refrain, wild and barbaric. What is that? Shirley cried. That is my son coming to fetch his old daddy home, replied John Kurtigan. That thing he's howling is an Indian war song, or a peon of triumph, something his nurse taught him when he wore pinafores. If you'll excuse me, Miss Shirley Sumner, I'll leave you now. I generally contrived to meet him on the trail. He bade her good-bye and started on the trail, his stick tapping against the old logging-cable stretched from tree to tree beside the trail and marking it. Shirley was tremendously relieved. She did not wish to meet Bryce Kurtigan today, and she was distinctly grateful to John Kurtigan for his nice consideration in sparing her an interview. She seated herself in the lumberjack's easy-chair so lately vacated, and chin in hand gave herself up to meditation on this extraordinary old man and his extraordinary son. A couple of hundred yards down the trail Bryce met his father. Hello, John Kurtigan, he called. What do you mean by scally-hooting through these woods without a pilot? Huh? Explain your reckless conduct. You great overgrown duffer, his father retorted affectionately. I thought you'd never come. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, but failed to find it and searched through another pocket and still another. My gravy son, he remarked presently, I do believe I left my silk handkerchief, the one Moira gave me for my last birthday, up yonder. I wouldn't lose that handkerchief for a farm. Skip along and find it for me, son. I'll wait for you here. Don't hurry. I'll be back in a pig's whisper, his son replied, and started bristly up the trail, while his father leaned against a madrone tree and smiled his prescient little smile. Bryce's brisk step on the thick carpet of withered brown twigs aroused surely from her reverie. When she looked up, he was standing in the center of the little amphitheater gazing at her. You! You! She stammered and rose as if to flee from him. The Governor sent me back to look for his handkerchief, surely, he explained. He didn't tell me you were here. Guess he didn't hear you. He advanced smilingly toward her. I'm tremendously glad to see you today, surely, he said, and paused beside her. Fate has been singularly kind to me. Indeed, I've been pondering all day as to just how I was to arrange a private and confidential little chat with you, without calling upon you at your uncle's house. I don't feel like chatting today, she answered a little drearily, and then he noted her wet lashes. Instantly he was on one knee beside her. With the amazing confidence that had always distinguished him in her eyes, his big left arm went around her. And when her hands went to her face, he drew them gently away. I've waited too long, sweetheart, he murmured. Thank God I can tell you at last all the things that have been accumulating in my heart. I love you, Shirley. I've loved you from that first day we met at the station, and all these months of strife and repression have merely served to make me love you the more. Perhaps you have been all the dearer to me because you seemed so hopelessly unattainable. He drew her head down on his breast. His great hand patted her hot cheek. His honest brown eyes gazed earnestly, wistfully, into hers. I love you, he whispered. All that I have, all that I am, all that I hope to be, I offer to you, Shirley Sumner, and in the shrine of my heart I shall hold you sacred while life shall last. You are not indifferent to me, dear. I know you're not. But tell me, answer me." Her violet eyes were uplifted to his, and in them he read the answer to his cry. Ah, may I, he murmured, and kissed her. Oh, my dear impulsive, gentle, big sweetheart, she whispered, and then her arms went around his neck, and the fullness of her happiness found vent in tears he did not seek to have her repress. In the safe haven of his arms she rested, and there, quite without effort or distress, she managed to convey to him something more than an inkling of the thoughts that were want to come to her whenever they met. Oh, my love! he cried happily. I hadn't dared dream of such happiness until to-day. You were so unattainable. The obstacles between us were so many and so great. Why to-day, Bryce? she interrupted him. He took her adorable little nose and his great thumb and forefinger and tweaked it gently. The light began to dawn yesterday, my dear little enemy, following an interesting half-hour which I put in with his honour the Mayor. Acting upon suspicion only, I told Poundstone I was prepared to send him to the rock-pile if he didn't behave himself in the matter of my permanent franchise for the NCO, and the oily old invertebrate wept and promised me anything if I wouldn't disgrace him. So I promised I wouldn't do anything until the franchise matter should be definitely settled, after which I returned to my office to find a waiting-me-there no less a person than the right-of-way man for the Northwestern Pacific. He was a perfectly delightful young fellow, and he had a proposition to unfold. It seems the Northwestern Pacific has decided to build up from will-it, and all that pow-wow and publicity of Buck Ogleby's about the NCO was in all probability the very thing that spurred them to action. They figured the C. M. and St. P. was back of the NCO, that it was to be the first link of a chain of coast-roads to be connected ultimately with the terminus of the C. M. and St. P. on Grays Harbour, Washington, and if the NCO should be built, it meant that a rival-road would get the edge on them in the matter of every stick of Humboldt and Del Norte Redwood, and they'd be left holding the sack. Why did they think that, dear? That amazing rascal Buck Ogleby used to be a C. M. and St. P. man, and told me that the money had been deposited in escrow there, awaiting formal deed. That money puts the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company in the clear. No receivership for us now, my dear one. And I'm going right ahead with the building of the NCO, while our holdings down on the Sanhedrin double in value, for the reason that within three years they will be accessible and can be logged over the rails of the Northwestern Pacific. Brice, surely declared, haven't I always told you I'd never permit you to build the NCO? Of course, he replied. But surely you're going to withdraw your objections now. I am not. You must choose between the NCO and me." And she met his surprised gaze unflinchingly. Surely you don't mean it! I do mean it. I have always meant it. I love you, dear. But for all that you must not build that road. He stood up and towered above her sternly. I must build it, surely. I've contracted to do it, and I must keep faith with Gregory of the Trinidad Timber Company. He's putting up the money, and I'm to do the work and operate the line. I can't go back on him now. Not for my sake, she pleaded. He shook his head. I must go on, he reiterated. Do you realize what that resolution means to us? The girl's tones were grave. Her glance graver. I realize what it means to me. She came closer to him. Suddenly the blaze in her violet eyes gave way to one of mirth. Oh, you dear big booby! She cried. I was just testing you. And she clung to him, laughing. You always beat me down. You always win. Bryce, dear, I'm the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. At least I will be tomorrow. And I repeat for the last time that you shall not build the NCO. Because I'm going to. Oh, dear, I shall die laughing at you. Because I'm going to merge with the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company. And then my railroad shall be your railroad. And we'll extend it and haul Gregory's logs to Tidewater for him also. And, silly, didn't I tell you you'd never build the NCO? God bless my mildewed soul! He murmured and drew her to him. In the gathering dusk they walked down the trail. Beside the madrone tree, John Cardigan waited patiently. Well, he queried when they joined him. Did you find my handkerchief for me, son? I didn't find your handkerchief, John Cardigan, Bryce answered. But I did find what I suspect you sent me back for. And that is a perfectly wonderful daughter-in-law for you. John Cardigan smiled and held out his arms for her. This, he said, is the happiest day that I have known since my boy was born. End of CHAPTER XXXVIII Colonel Seth Pennington was thoroughly crushed. Look which way he would, the bedeviled old rascal could find no loophole for escape. You win, Cardigan! He muttered desperately as he sat in his office after Shirley had left him. You've had more than a shade in every round thus far, and at the finish you've landed a clean knockout. If I had to fight any man but you! He sighed resignedly and pressed the push-button on his desk. Pennington entered. Sexton, he said bluntly, and with a slight quiver in his voice. My niece and I have had a disagreement. We have quarreled over young Cardigan. She's going to marry him. Now our affairs are somewhat involved, and in order to straighten them out we spun a coin to see whether she should sell her stock in Laguna Grande to me, or whether I should sell mine to her. And I lost. The book valuation of the stock at the close of last year's business, plus ten percent, will determine the selling price. And I shall resign as president. You will, in all probability, be retained to manage the company until it is merged with the Cardigan-Redwood Lumber Company, when, I imagine, you will be given ample notice to seek a new job elsewhere. Well Miss Sumner's attorney judged more on the telephone and asked him to come to the office at nine o'clock tomorrow, when the papers can be drawn up and signed. That is all. The Colonel did not return to his home in Redwood Boulevard that night. He had no appetite for dinner and sat brooding in his office until very late. Then he went to the Hotel Sequoia and engaged a room. He did not possess sufficient courage to face his niece again. At four o'clock the next day the Colonel, his baggage, his automobile, his chauffeur, and the solemn Butler James boarded the passenger steamer for San Francisco, and at four-thirty sailed out of Humboldt Bay over the thundering bar and on into the south. The Colonel was still a rich man, but his dream of a Redwood Empire had faded, and once more he was taking up the search for cheap timber. Whether he ever found it or not is a matter that does not concern us. At a moment when young Henry Poundstone's dream of legal opulence was fading, when Mayor Poundstone's hopes for domestic peace had been shattered beyond repair, the while his cheap political aspirations had been equally devastated because of a certain damnable document in the possession of Bryce Cardigan many events of importance were transpiring. On the veranda of his old-fashioned home John Cardigan sat tapping the floor with a stick and dreaming dreams which, for the first time in many years, were rose-tinted. Beside him Shirley sat, her glance bent musingly out across the roofs of Sequoia and onto the bay shore, where the smoke and exhaust steam floated up from two sawmills, her own and Bryce Cardigan's. To her came at regularly spaced intervals the faint whining of the saws and the rumble of log-trains crawling out on the log-dumps. High over the piles of bright, freshly sawed lumber, she caught from time to time the flash of white spray as the great logs tossed from the trucks, hurled down the skids, and crashed into the bay. At the docks of both mills vessels were loading, their tall spars cutting the skyline above and beyond the smokestacks. Far down the bay a steam-scooner, loaded until her main deck was almost flush with the water, was putting out to sea and Shirley heard the faint echo of her siren as she whistled her intention to pass to starboard of a wind-jammer inward bound in tow of a Cardigan tug. "'It's wonderful,' she said presently, apropos of nothing. "'Aye,' he replied, in his deep melodious voice. "'I've been sitting here, my dear, listening to your thoughts. You know something now of the tie that binds my boy to Sequoia? This,' he waved his arm abroad in the darkness, "'this is the true essence of life. To create, to develop the gifts that God has given us, to work and know the blessing of weariness, to have dreams and see them come true. That is life, and I have lived. And now I am ready to rest,' he smiled wistfully. "'The king is dead, long live the king. I wonder if you, raised as you have been, can face life in Sequoia resolutely with my son? It is a dull, drab, sawmill town, where life unfolds gradually without thrill, where the years stretch ahead of one with only trees among simple folk. The life may be hard on you, Shirley. One has to acquire a taste for it, you know. "'I have known the lilt of battle, John Partner,' she answered. Hence, I think I can enjoy the sweets of victory. I am content.' "'And what a run you did give that boy Bryce!' She laughed softly. I wanted him to fight. I had a great curiosity to see the stuff that was in him,' she explained. CHAPTER 40 Next day Bryce Cartigan, riding the top log on the end-truck of a long train just in from Cartigan's Woods in Township 9, dropped from the end of the log as the train crawled through the millyard on its way to the log-dump. He hailed Buck Ogilvy, where the ladder stood in the door of the office. "'Big doings up on Little Laurel Creek this morning, Buck?' "'Do tell,' Mr. Ogilvy murmured morosely. "'It was great,' Bryce continued. "'Old Duncan McTavish returned. I knew he would. His year on the mourner's bench expired yesterday, and he came back to claim his old job of woods-boss. "'He's one year too late,' Ogilvy declared. "'I wouldn't let that big Canadian Jules Rondeau quit for a farm. Some woods-boss that, and his first job with this company was the dirtiest you could hand him.' Smearing grease on the skid-road at a dollar and a half a day, and found. "'He's made too good to lose out now. I don't care what his private morals may be. He can get out the logs, hang his rascally hide, and I'm for him.' "'I'm afraid you haven't anything to say about it, Buck,' Bryce replied, dryly. "'I haven't, huh?' "'Well, any time you deny me the privilege of hiring and firing, you're going to be out at the service of a rattling good general manager, my son. Yes, sir. If you hold me responsible for results, I must select the tools I want to work with.' "'Oh, very well,' Bryce laughed. "'Have it your own way. Only if you can drive Duncan MacTavish out of Cardigan's woods, I'd like to see you do it. Possession is nine points of the law, Buck, and old Duncan is in possession.' "'What do you mean in possession?' "'I mean that at ten o'clock this morning Duncan MacTavish appeared at our log-landing. The whiskey-fat was all gone from him, and he appeared forty years old instead of the sixty he is. With a whoop he came jumping over the logs, straight for Jules Rondeau. The big Canucks saw him coming and knew what his visit pretended, so he wasn't taken unawares. It was a case of fight for his job, and Rondeau fought. "'The devil, you say?' "'I do, and there was the devil to pay. It was a rough and tumble, and no grips barred. Just the kind of fight Rondeau likes. Nevertheless old Duncan floored him. While he's been away somebody taught him the hammer-lock and the crotch-hold, and a few more fancy ones, and he got to work on Rondeau in a hurry. In fact he had to, for if the tussle had gone over five minutes Rondeau's youth would have decided the issue. And Rondeau was whipped to a whisper. Mac floored him, climbed him, and choked him until he beat the ground with his free hand and token of surrender, whereupon old Duncan led him up, and Rondeau went to his shanty and packed his turkey. The last I saw of him he was headed over the hill to camp two on Laguna Grande. He'll probably chase that assistant woods-boss I hired after the consolidation out of Shirley's woods and help himself to the fellow's job. I don't care if he does. What interests me is the fact that the old Cartigan woods-boss is back on the job in Cartigan's woods, and I'm mighty glad of it. The old horse-thief has had his lesson and will remain sober here after. I think he's cured. The infamous old outlaw. Mac knows the Sanhedrin as I know my own pocket. He'll be a tower of strength when we open up that tract after the railroad builds in. By the way, has my dad been down this morning? Yes, Moira read the mail to him and then took him up to the valley of the giants. He said he wanted to do a little quiet figuring on that new steam- schooner you're thinking of building. He thinks she ought to be bigger, big enough to carry two million feet. Bryce glanced at his watch. It's half after eleven, he said. Guess I'll run up to the giants and bring him home to luncheon. He stepped into the Napier, standing outside the office, and drove away. Buck Ogilvy waited until Bryce was out of sight. Then with sudden determination he entered the office. Moira, he said abruptly, approaching the desk where she worked. Your dad is back, and what's more, Bryce Cartigan has let him have his old job as woods-boss. And I'm here to announce that you're not going back to the woods to keep house for him. Understand? Now look here, Moira. I've shilly-shallyed around you for months, protesting my love, and I haven't gotten anywhere. Today I'm going to ask you for the last time. Will you marry me? I need you worse than that rascal of a father of yours does, and I tell you I'll not have you go back to the woods to take care of him. Come now, Moira. You give me a definite answer. I'm afraid I don't love you well enough to marry you, Mr. Ogilvy," Moira pleaded. I'm truly fond of you, but— The last boat's gone, cried Mr. Ogilvy desperately. I'm answered. Well, I'll not stick around here much longer, Moira. I realize I must be a nuisance, but I can't help being a nuisance when you're near me. So I'll quit my good job here and go back to my old game of rail roading. Oh, you wouldn't quit a ten thousand dollar job, Moira cried, aghast. I'd quit a million dollar job. I'm desperate enough to go over to the mill and pick a fight with the big bandsaw. I'm going away where I can't see you. Your eyes are driving me crazy. But I don't want you to go, Mr. Ogilvy. Call me Buck," he commanded sharply. I don't want you to go, Buck," she repeated meekly. I shall feel guilty driving you out of a fine position. Then marry me, and I'll stay. But suppose I don't love you the way you deserve. Suppose, suppose," Buck Ogilvy cried. You're no longer certain of yourself. How dare you deny your love for me, huh, Moira, I'll risk it!" Her eyes turned to him timidly, and for the first time he saw in their smoky depths a lambant flame. I don't know," she quavered. And it's a big responsibility in case. Oh, the devil takes the case," he cried rapturously, and took her hands in his. Do I improve with age, dear Moira?" he asked with boyish eagerness. Then before she could answer he swept on a tornado of love and pleading. And presently Moira was in his arms. He was kissing her, and she was crying softly because, well, she admired Mr. Buck Ogilvy. More she respected him and was genuinely fond of him. She wondered, and as she wondered, a quiet joy thrilled her in the knowledge that it did not seem at all impossible for her to grow, in time, absurdly fond of this wholesome red rascal. Oh, Buck, dear," she whispered, I don't know, I'm sure. But perhaps I've loved you a little bit for a long time. I'm perfectly wild over you. You're the most wonderful woman I ever heard of. Old rosy cheeks! And he pinched them just to see the color come and go. John Cardigan was seated in his lumberjack's easy chair as his son approached. His hat lay in the litter of brown twigs beside him. His chin was sunk on his breast, and his head was held a little to one side in a listening attitude. A vagrant little breeze rustled gently a lock of his fine long white hair. Bryce stooped over the old man and shook him gently by the shoulder. Wake up, partner, he called cheerfully. But John Cardigan did not wake, and again his son shook him. Still receiving no response, Bryce lifted the Leonine old head and gazed into his father's face. John Cardigan, he cried sharply. Wake up, old pal! The old eyes opened, and John Cardigan smiled up at his boy. Good son, he whispered. Good son! He closed his sightless eyes again as if the mere effort of holding them open wearied him. I've been sitting here, waiting, he went on in the same gentle whisper. No, not waiting for you, boy. Waiting. His head fell over on his son's shoulder. His hand went groping for Bryce's. Listen, he continued. Can't you hear it? The silence? I'll wait for you here, my son. Mother and I will wait together now, in this spot she fancied. I'm tired. I want rest. Look after old Mac and Moira and Bill Dandy, who lost his leg at Camp Seven last fall, and Tom Ellington's children, and all the others, son. You know, Bryce, they're your responsibilities. Sorry, I can't wait to see the Sanhedrin opened up, but I've lived my life and loved my love. Ah, yes, I've been happy, so happy, just doing things and dreaming here among my giants, and he sighed gently. Good son, he whispered again. His big body relaxed, and the great heart of the Argonaut was still. Bryce held him until the realization came to him that his father was no more, that like a watch, the winding of which has been neglected, he had gradually slowed up and stopped. Goodbye, old John Partner, he murmured. You've escaped into the light at last. We'll go home together now, but we'll come back again. And with his father's body and his strong arms, he departed from the little amphitheater, walking lightly with his heavy burden down the old skid-road to the waiting automobile, and two days later John Cartigan returned to rest, forever. With his lost mate among the giants, himself at last an infinitesimal portion of that tremendous silence that is the diapason of the ages. When the funeral was over, Shirley and Bryce lingered until they found themselves alone beside the freshly turned earth. Through a rift in the great branches two hundred feet above, a patch of cerulean sky showed faintly. The sunlight fell like a broad golden shaft over the blossom-laden grave, and from the brown trunk of an adjacent tree a gray squirrel, a descendant, perhaps, of the gray squirrel that had been want to rob Bryce's pockets of pine-nuts twenty years before, chirped at them inquiringly. "'He was a giant among men,' said Bryce presently. "'What a fitting place for him to lie!' He passed his arm around his wife's shoulders and drew her to him. You made it possible, sweetheart. She gazed up at him in adoration, and presently they left the valley of the giants to face the world together, strong in their faith to live their lives and love their loves, to dream their dreams and perchance when life should be done with and the hour of rest at hand, to surrender, sustained and comforted by the knowledge that those dreams had come true.' End of CHAPTER XIV END of THE VALLEY OF THE GIANT by Peter B. Kine