 23 Though Buck Ogilvy was gone from Sequoia for a period of three weeks, he was by no means forgotten. His secretary proved to be an industrious press agent who, by mail, telegraph, and long-distance telephone, managed daily to keep the editor of the Sequoia Sentinel fully apprised of all the developments in the matter of the Northern California Oregon Railroad Company, including some that had not as yet developed. The result was copious and persistent publicity for the new railroad company, and the arousing in the public mind of a genuine interest in this railroad, which was to do so much for the town of Sequoia. Colonel Seth Pennington was among those who, sceptical at first and inclined to ridicule the project into an early grave, eventually found himself swayed by the publicity and gradually coerced into serious consideration of the result attendant upon the building of the road. The Colonel was naturally as suspicious as a rattlesnake in August. Hence he had no sooner emerged from the ranks of the Franks' scoffers than his alert mind framed the question, How is this new road, improbable as I know it to be, going to affect the interests of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, if the unexpected should happen and those bunco-steers should actually build a road from Sequoia to Grants Pass, Oregon, and thus construct a feeder to a transcontinental line? Five minutes of serious reflection suffice to bring the Colonel to the verge of panic, notwithstanding the fact that he was ashamed of himself for yielding to fright, despite his firm belief that there was no reason why he should be frightened. Similar considerations occur to a small boy who was walking home in the dark past a cemetery. The vital aspects of his predicament dawned on the Colonel one night at dinner, midway between the soup and the fish. So forcibly did they occur to him, in fact, that for the knots he forgot that his niece was seated opposite him. Confound them, the Colonel murmured distinctly. I must look into this immediately. Look into what, Uncle Deer? Shirley asked innocently. This new railroad that man Ogilvy talks of building, which means, surely, that with Sequoia at his starting point he is going to build a hundred and fifty miles north to connect with the main line of the Southern Pacific in Oregon. But wouldn't that be the finest thing that could possibly happen to Humboldt County? She demanded of him. Undoubtedly it would, to Humboldt County. But to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, in which you have something more than a sentimental interest, my dear, it would be a blow. A large part of the estate left by your father is invested in Laguna Grande's stock, and as you know, all of my efforts are devoted to appreciating that stock and to fighting against anything that has a tendency to depreciate it. Which reminds me, Uncle Seth, that you never discuss with me any of the matters pertaining to my business interests, she suggested. He beamed upon her with his patronizing and indulgent smile. There is no reason why you should puzzle that pretty head of yours with business affairs while I am alive and on the job, he answered. However, since you have expressed a desire to have this railroad situation explained to you, I will do so. I am not interested in seeing a feeder built from Sequoia north to the Grants Pass and connecting with the Southern Pacific. But I am tremendously interested in seeing a feeder built south from Sequoia toward San Francisco to connect with the Northwestern Pacific. Why? For cold, calculating business reasons, my dear. He hesitated a moment and then resumed, A few months ago I would not have told you the things I'm about to tell you, Shirley, for the reason that a few months ago it seemed to me you were destined to become rather friendly with young cardigan. When that fellow desires to be agreeable, he can be rather a likely boy, lovable even. You are both young. With young people who have many things in common and are thrown together in a community like Sequoia, a lively friendship may develop into an ardent love, and it has been my experience that ardent love not infrequently leads to the altar. Shirley blushed and her uncle chuckled good-naturedly. Fortunately, he continued, Bryce Cardigan had the misfortune to show himself to you in his true colors, and you had the good sense to dismiss him. Consequently I see no reason why I should not explain to you now what I considered it the part of wisdom to withhold from you at that time, provided, of course, that all this does not bore you to extinction. Do go on, Uncle Seth. I'm tremendously interested, avert Shirley. Shortly after I launched the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, in which, as your guardian and executor of your father's estate, I deemed it wise to invest part of your inheritance, I found myself forced to seek further for sound investments for your surplus funds. Now good timber, bought cheap, inevitably will be sold dear. At least such has been my observation during a quarter of a century, and old John Cardigan had some twenty thousand acres of the finest redwood timber in the state, timber which had cost him an average price of less than fifty cents per thousand. Well, in this instance the old man had overreached himself, and finding it necessary to increase his work in capital, he incorporated his holdings into the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, and floated a bond issue of a million dollars. They were twenty year, six percent, certificates. The security was ample, and I invested for you three hundred thousand dollars in Cardigan bonds. I bought them at eighty, and they were worth two hundred. At least they would have been worth two hundred under my management. How did you manage to buy them so cheap? She interrupted. Old Cardigan had had a long run of bad luck, due to bad management and bad judgment, my dear, and when a corporation is bonded the bondholders have access to its financial statements. From time to time I discovered bondholders who needed money, and hence unloaded at a sacrifice. But by far the majority of the bonds I purchased for your account were owned by local people who had lost confidence in John Cardigan and the future of the redwood lumber industry hereabouts. You understand, do you not? I do not understand what all this has to do with the railroad. Very well, I shall proceed to explain. He held up his index finger. Item one. For years old John Cardigan has rendered valueless, because inaccessible, twenty-five hundred acres of Laguna Grande timber on Squaw Creek. His absurd Valley of the Giants blocks the outlet, and of course he persisted in refusing me a right of way through that little dab of timber in order to discourage me and force me to sell him that Squaw Creek timber at his price. Yes, surely agreed. I dare say that was his object. Was it reprehensible of him, Uncle Seth? Not a bit, my dear. He was simply playing the cold game of business. I would have done the same thing to Cardigan had the situation been reversed. We played a game together, and I admit that he won, fairly and squarely. Then why is it that you feel such resentment against him? Oh, I don't resent the old fool, surely. He merely annoys me. I suppose I feel a certain natural chagrin at having been beaten, and in consequence cherish an equally natural desire to pay the old schemer back in his own coin. Under the rules as we play the game, such action on my part is perfectly permissible, is it not? Yes, she agreed, frankly. I think it is, Uncle Seth. Certainly, if he blocked you and rendered your timber valueless, there is no reason why, if you have the opportunity, you should not block him and render his timber valueless. The Colonel banged the table with his fist so heartily that the silver fairly leaped. Spoken like a man, he declared. I have the opportunity, and am proceeding to impress the Cardigans with the truth of the old saying that every dog must have his day. When Cardigan's contract with our road for the hauling of his logs expires by limitation next year, I am not going to renew it, at least not until I have forced him to make me the concessions I desire, and certainly not at the present ruinous freight rate. Then, said Shirley eagerly, if you got a right of way through his Valley of the Giants, you would renew the contract he has with you for the hauling of his logs, would you not? I would have, before young Cardigan raised such Hades that day in the logging-camp, before old Cardigan sold his Valley of the Giants to another burglar, and before I had gathered indubitable evidence that neither of the Cardigans knows enough about managing a sawmill and selling lumber to guarantee a reasonable profit on the capital they have invested, and still pay the interest on their bonded and floating indebtedness. Shirley, I bought those Cardigan bonds for you because I thought old Cardigan knew his business and would make the bonds valuable, make them worth par. Instead, the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company is tottering on the verge of bankruptcy. The bonds I purchased for you are now worth less than I paid for them, and by next year the Cardigans will default on the interest. So I'm going to sit tight and decline to have any more business dealings with the Cardigans. When their hauling contract expires, I shall not renew it under any circumstances. That will prevent them from getting logs, and so they will automatically go out of the lumber business and into the hands of a receiver. And since you are the largest individual stockholder, I, representing you and a number of minor bondholders, will dominate the executive committee of the bondholders when they meet to consider what shall be done when the Cardigans default on their interest and the payment do the sinking fund. I shall then have myself a pointed receiver for the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, investigate its affairs thoroughly, and see for myself whether or no there is a possibility of working it out of the jam it is in, and saving you a loss on your bonds. I must pursue this course, my dear, injustice to you and the other bondholders. If, on the other hand, I find the situation hopeless or conclude that a period of several years must ensue before the Cardigans work out of debt, I shall recommend to the bank which holds the deed of trust and access trustee that the property be sold at public auction to the highest bidder to reimburse the bondholders. Of course, he hastened to add, if the property sells for more than the corporation owes, such excess will then in due course be turned over to the Cardigans. Is it likely to sell at a price in excess of the indebtedness, surely queried anxiously? It is possible, but scarcely probable, he answered dryly. I have in mind, under those circumstances, bidding the property in for the Laguna Grande Lumber Company and merging it with our holdings, paying part of the purchase price of the Cardigan property in Cardigan bonds and the remainder in cash. But what will the Cardigans do then, Uncle Seth? Well, long before the necessity for such a contingency arises, the old man will have been gathered to the bosom of Abraham, and after the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company has ceased to exist, young Cardigan can go to work for a living. Would you give him employment, Uncle Seth? I would not. Do you think I'm crazy, Shirley? Remember, my dear, there is no sentiment in business. If there was, we wouldn't have any business. I think I understand, Uncle Seth, with the exception of what effect the building of the NCO has upon your plans. Some too, he challenged and ticked it off on his middle finger. The Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company owns two fine bodies of Redwood timber widely separated. One to the south of Sequoia in the Sanhedrin watershed, and at present practically valueless because inaccessible, and the other to the north of Sequoia, immediately adjoining our holdings in Township 9, and valuable because of its accessibility. He paused a moment and looked at her smilingly. The logging railroad of our corporation, the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, makes it accessible. Now, while the building of the NCO would be a grand thing for the county in general, we can get along without it because it doesn't help us out particularly. We already have a railroad running from our timber to Tidewater, and we can reach the markets of the world with our ships. I think I understand, Uncle Seth. When Cardigan's hauling contract with our road expires, his timber in Township 9 will depreciate in value because it will no longer be accessible, while our timber, being still accessible, retains its value. Exactly. And to be perfectly frank with you, Shirley, I do not want Cardigan's timber in Township 9 given back its value through accessibility provided by the NCO. If that road is not built, Cardigan's timber in Township 9 will be valuable to us, but not to another living soul. Moreover, the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company has a raft of fine timber still farther north and adjoining the holdings of our company and Cardigan's. And if this infernal NCO isn't built, we'll be enabled to buy that Trinidad timber pretty cheap one of these bright days, too. All of which appears to me to constitute sound business logic, Uncle Seth? He nodded. Item 3, he continued, and ticked it off on his third finger. I want to see the feeder for a transcontinental line built into Sequoia from the south for the reason that it will tap the Cardigan holdings in the Sanhedrin watershed and give a tremendous value to timber which at the present time is rather a negative asset. Consequently, I would prefer to have that value created after Cardigan's Sanhedrin timber has been merged with the assets of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. And so I must investigate this NCO outfit and block it if possible, and it should be possible. How, for instance, I haven't considered the means, my dear, those come later. For the present I am convinced that the NCO is a corporate joke, sprung on the dear public by the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company to get the said dear public excited, create a real estate boom and boost timber values. Before the boom collapses, a condition which will follow the collapse of the NCO, the Trinidad people hope to sell their holdings and get from under. Really? said Shirley de Meerly. The more I see of business, the more fascinating I find it. Surely, it's the grandest game in the world. As yet, she added musingly, old Mr. Cardigan is so blind and helpless. They'll be saying that about me some day if I live to be as old as John Cardigan. Nevertheless, I feel sorry for him, Uncle Seth. Well, if you'll continue to waste your sympathy on him rather than on his son, I'll not object, he retorted, laughingly. Oh, Bryce Cardigan is able to take care of himself. Yes, and mean enough. He saved our lives, Uncle Seth. He had to, in order to save his own. Don't forget that, my dear. Carefully he dissected a sandab and removed the backbone. I'd give a right peach to learn the identity of the scheming Badinsky who bottled Cardigan's Valley of the Giants, he said presently. I'll be hanged if that doesn't complicate matters a little. You should have bought it when the opportunity offered, she reminded him. You could have had it then for fifty thousand dollars less than you would have paid for it a year ago. And I'm sure that should have been sufficient indication to you that the game you and the Cardigans had been playing so long had come to an end. He was beaten and acknowledged it, and I think you might have been a little more generous to your fallen enemy, Uncle Seth. I daresay, he admitted lightly. However, I wasn't, and now I'm going to be punished for it, my dear. So don't roast me any more. By the way, that speckled hud-air fellow Ogilvy who is promoting the Northern California-Oregon Railroad is back in town again. Now I haven't much confidence in that fellow. I think I'll wire the San Francisco office to look him up in Dun and Brad streets. Folks up this way are taking too much for granted on that fellow's mere say-so. But I, for one, intend to delve for facts, particularly with regard to the NCO bankroll and Ogilvy's associates. I'll sleep a whole lot more soundly tonight if I knew the answer to two very important questions. What are they, Uncle Seth? Well, I'd like to know whether the NCO is genuine or a screen to hide the operations of the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company. It might, said Shirley, with one of those sudden flashes of intuition peculiar to women, be a screen to hide the operations of Bryce Cardigan. Now that he knows you aren't going to renew his hauling contract, he may have decided to build his own logging railroad. After a pause the Colonel made the answer, No, I have no fear of that. It would cost five hundred thousand dollars to build that twelve-mile line and bridge-mad river, and the Cardigans haven't got that amount of money. What's more, they can't get it. I suppose, she persisted, that the real builder of the road should prove to be Bryce Cardigan after all. What would you do? Colonel Pennington's eyes twinkled. I greatly fear, my dear, that I should make noise like something doing. Suppose you lost the battle. In that event the Laguna Grande Lumber Company wouldn't be any worse off than it is at present. The principal loser, as I view the situation, would be Miss Shirley Sumner, who has the misfortune to be loaded up with Cardigan bonds. And as for Bryce Cardigan, well, that young man would certainly know he'd been through a fight. I wonder if he'll fight to the last, Uncle Seth. Why, I believe he will, Pennington replied soberly. I'd love to see you beat him. Shirley, why, my dear, you're growing ferocious. Her uncle's tomes were laden with banter, but his countenance could not conceal the pleasure her last remark had given him. Why not? I have something at stake, have I not? Then you really want me to smash him? The Colonel's voice proclaimed his incredulity. You got me into this fight by buying Cardigan bonds for me, he replied meaningly, and I look to you to save the investment, or as much of it as possible, for certainly if it should develop that the Cardigans are the real promoters of the NCO, to permit them to go another half-million dollars into debt in a forlorn hope of saving her company already top-heavy with indebtedness, wouldn't save her of common business sense, would it? The Colonel rose hastily, came around the table, and kissed her paternally. My dear, he murmured, you're such a comfort to me. Upon my word you are. I'm so glad you have explained the situation to me, Uncle Seth. I would have explained it long ago had I not cherished a sneaking suspicion that, well, that despite everything, young Cardigan might influence you against your better judgment and mine. You silly man! He shrugged. One must figure every angle of a possible situation, my dear, and I should hesitate to start something with the Cardigans and have you, as a foolish sentiment, call off my dogs. Shirley thrust out her adorable chin aggressively. Sick'em, Tyge! she answered. Shake'em up, boy! You bet I'll shake'em up! the Colonel declared joyously. He paused with a morsel of food on his fork and waved the fork at her aggressively. You stimulate me into activity, Shirley. My mind has been singularly dull of late. I have worried unnecessarily, but now that I know you are with me, I am inspired. I'll tell you how we'll fix this new railroad if it exhibits signs of being dangerous. Again, he smote the table. We'll sew him up tighter than a new buttonhole. Do tell me how, she pleaded eagerly. I'll block them on their franchise to run over the city streets of Sequoia. How? By making the mayor and the city council see things my way, he answered dryly. Furthermore, in order to enter Sequoia, the NCO will have to cross the tracks of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's line on Water Street, make a jump crossing, and I'll enjoin them and hold them up in the courts till the cows come home. Uncle Seth, you're a wizard! Well, at least I'm no slouch at looking after my own interests, and your, Shirley. In the midst of peace we should be prepared for war. You've met Mayor Poundstone and his lady, haven't you? I had tea at her house last week. Good news! Suppose you invite her and Poundstone here for dinner some night this week. Just a quiet little family dinner, Shirley. And after dinner you can take Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, on some pretext or other, while I sound Poundstone out on his attitude toward the NCO. They haven't asked for a franchise yet. At least the sentinel hasn't printed a word about it. But when they do, of course the franchise will be advertised for sale to the highest bidder. Naturally I don't want a bid against them. They might run the price up on me and leave me with a franchise on my hands. Something I do not want, because I have no use for the blamed thing myself. I feel certain, however, I can find some less expensive means of keeping them out of it. Say by convincing Poundstone and a majority of the city council that the NCO is not such a public asset as its promoters claim for it. Hence I think it wise to sound the situation out in advance. Don't you, my dear? She nodded. I shall attend to the matter, Uncle Seth. Five minutes after dinner was over Shirley joined her uncle in the library and announced that his honor, the mayor, and Mrs. Poundstone would be delighted to dine with them on the following Thursday night. CHAPTER XXIV To return to Bryce Cartigan. Having completed his preliminary plans to build the NCO, Bryce had returned to Sequoia, prepared to sit quietly on the sidelines and watch his peppery henchman Buck Ogilvy go into action. The more Bryce considered that young man's fitness for the position he occupied, the more satisfied did he become with his decision. While he had not been in touch with Ogilvy for several years, he had known him intimately at Princeton. In his last year at college, Ogilvy's father, a well-known railroad magnet, had come a disastrous cropper in the stock market, thus throwing Buck upon his own resources and cutting short his college career, which was probably the very best thing that could happen to his father's son. For a brief period, perhaps five minutes, Buck had staggered under the blow. Then his tremendous optimism had asserted itself, and while he packed his trunk, he had planned for the future. As to how that future had developed, the reader will have gleaned some slight idea from the information imparted in his letter to Bryce Cartigan, already quoted. In a word, Mr. Ogilvy had had his ups and downs. Ogilvy's return to Sequoia following his three weeks' tour in search of rights of way for the NCO was heralded by a visit from him to Bryce Cartigan at the latter's office. As he breasted the counter in the general office, Moira MacTavish left her desk and came over to see what the visitor desired. I should like to see Mr. Bryce Cartigan, Buck began in crisp business-like accents. He was fumbling in his card case and did not look up until about to hand his card to Moira. When his mouth flew half-open, the while he stared at her with consummate frankness, the girl's glance met his momentarily, then was lowered modestly. She took the card and carried it to Bryce. Hmm, Bryce grunted, that noisy fellow Ogilvy, huh? His clothes are simply wonderful, and so is his voice. He's very refined. But he's charity-red and has freckled hands, Mr. Bryce. Bryce rose and sauntered into the general office. Mr. Bryce Cartigan, Buck queried politely with an interrogative lift of his blond eye-brows. At your service, Mr. Ogilvy, please come in. Thank you so much, sir. He followed Bryce to the latter's private office, closed the door carefully behind him, and stood with his broad back against it. Buck, are you losing your mind? Bryce demanded. Losing it? I should say not. I've just lost it. I believe you. If you were quite sane, you wouldn't run the risk of being seen entering my office. Tut, tut, old dear, none of that. Am I not the mainspring of the Northern California Oregon Railroad, and privileged to run the destinies of that soulless corporation as I see fit? He sat down, crossed his long legs, and jerked a speckled thumb toward the outer office. I was sane when I came in here, but the eyes of the girl outside, oh, yow, them eyes! I must be introduced to her. And you're scolding me for coming around here in broad daylight. Why, you duffer! If I come at night, you suppose out of matter? Be sensible. You like Moira's eyes, huh? I've never seen anything like them. Sounds. I'm a fire. I have little prickly sensations, like ants running over me. How can you be insensitive enough to dissent a laborer with an hourly like that around? Oh, man! To think of an angel like that, working. To think of a brute like you making her work. Love at first sight, huh, Buck? I don't know what it is, but it's nice. Who is she? She's Moira McTavish, and you're not to make love to her. Understand? I can't have you snooping around this office after today. Mr. Ogleby's eyes popped with interest. Oh! He breathed. You have an eye to the main chance yourself, have you? Have you proposed to the lady as yet? No, you idiot. Then I'll match you for her, or rather for the chance to propose first. Buck produced a dollar and spun it in the air. Nothing doing, Buck. Spare yourself these agonizing suspicions. The fact of the matter is that you gave me a wonderful inspiration. I've always been afraid Moira would fall in love with some ordinary fellow around Sequoia. Propinquity, you know. You bet. Propinquity's the stuff. I'll stick around. And I've been on the lookout for a fine man to marry her off to. She's too wonderful for you, Buck, but in time you might learn to live up to her. Duck! I'm liable to kiss you! Don't be too precipitant. Her father used to be our woods-boss. I fired him for boozing. I wouldn't care two hoots if her dad was old Nick himself. I'm going to marry her, if she'll have me. Ah, the glorious creature! He waved his long arms despairingly. Oh, Lord, send me a cure for freckles. Bryce, you'll speak a kind word for me, won't you? Sort of boom my stock, huh? Be a good fellow. Certainly. Now come down to earth and render a report on your stewardship. I'll try. To begin, I've secured rights of way at a total cost of twelve thousand one hundred and three dollars and nine cents from the city limits of Sequoia to the southern boundary of your timber in Township Nine. I've got my line surveyed and so far as the building of the road is concerned, I know exactly what I'm going to do and how and when I'm going to do it once I get my material on the ground. What steps have you taken toward securing your material? Well, I can close a favorable contract for steel rails with the Colorado Steel Products Company. Their schedule of deliveries is OK as far as San Francisco, but it's up to you to provide water transportation from there to Sequoia. We can handle the rails on our steam schooners. Next, I have an option of a rattling good second hand locomotive down at the Santa Fe shops, and the Hawkins and Barnes Construction Company have offered me a steam shovel, half a dozen flat cars, and a lot of Fresnos and scrapers at ruinous prices. This equipment is pretty well worn and they want to get rid of it before buying new stuff for their contract to build the Arizona and Sonora Central. However, it is first-rate equipment for us because it will last until we're through with it, then we can scrap it for junk. We can buy or rent teams from local citizens and get half of our labor locally. San Francisco Employment Bureaus will readily supply the remainder, and I have half a dozen fine boys on tap to cross the steam shovel, pile driver, bridge building gang, track layer, and a construction gang. And as soon as you tell me how I'm to get my material ashore and out on the job, I'll order it and get busy. That's exactly where the shoe begins to pinch. Pennington's mainline tracks enter the city along Water Street, with one spur into his log dump and another out in his mill dock. From the mainline tracks we also have built a spur through our drying yard, out to our log dump, and a switch line out to our mill dock. We can unload our locomotive, steam shovel, and flat cars on our own wharf, but unless Pennington gives us permission to use his mainline tracks out to a point beyond the city limits, where a Y will lead off to the point where our construction begins, we're up a stump. Suppose he refuses, Bryce, what then? Why, we'll simply have to enter the city down Front Street, paralleling Pennington's tracks on Water Street, turning down B Street, make a jump crossing of Pennington's line on Water Street, and connecting with the spur into our yard. Can't we have an elbow turn at Front and B Street? Don't have to. We own a square block on that corner, and we'll build a crosset, making a gradual turn. See here, my son," Buck said solemnly. Is this your first adventure in Railroad Building? Bryce nodded. I thought so, otherwise you wouldn't talk so confidently of running your line over city streets and making jump crossings on your competitor's road. If your competitor regards you as a menace to his pocketbook, he can give you a nice little run for your money and delay you indefinitely. I realize that, Buck, that's why I'm not appearing in this railroad deal at all. If Pennington suspected I was back of it, he'd fight me before the city council, and move heaven and earth to keep me out of a franchise to use the city streets and cross his line. Of course, since his main line runs on city property, under a franchise granted by the city, the city has a perfect right to grant me the privilege of making a jump crossing of his line. Will they do it? That's the problem. If they will not, you're licked, my son, and I'm out of a job. We can sue and condemn a right of way. Yes, but if the city council puts up a plea that it is against the best interests of the city to grant the franchise, you'll find that, except in most extraordinary cases, the courts regarded as against public policy to give judgment against a municipality, the state, or the government of the United States. At any rate, they'll hang you up in the courts till you die of old age. And as I understand the matter, you have to have this line running in less than a year, or go out of business. Bryce hung his head thoughtfully. I've been too cocksure, he muttered presently. I shouldn't have spent that twelve thousand for rights of way until I had settled the matter of the franchise. Oh, I didn't buy any rights of way, yet, Ogilvy hastened to assure him. I've only signed the landowners up on an agreement to give or sell me a right of way at the stipulated figures any time within one year from date. The cost of the surveying gang and my salary and expenses are all that you're out to date. Buck, you're a wonder. Not at all. I've merely been through all this before and have profited by my experience. Now then, to get back to our muttons. Will the city council grant you a franchise to enter the city and jump Pennington's tracks? I'm sure I don't know, Buck. You'll have to ask them. Sound them out. The city council meets Saturday morning. They'll meet this evening in the private dining room of the Hotel Sequoia if I can arrange it, Buck Ogilvy declared emphatically. I'm going to have them all up for dinner and talk the matter over. I'm not exactly aged, Bryce, but I've handled about fifteen city councils and county boards of supervisors, not to mention Mexican and Central American governors and presidents in my day, and I know the breed from cover to cover. Following a preliminary conference, I'll let you know whether you're going to get that franchise without difficulty or whether somebody's itchy palm will have to be crossed with silver first. Honest men never temporize. You know where they stand, but a grafter temporizes and plays a waiting game, hoping to wear your patience down to the point where you'll ask him bluntly to name his figure. By the way, what do you know about your blighted old city council anyway? Two of the five councilmen are for sale. Two are honest men, and one is an uncertain quantity. The mayor is a politician. I've known them all since boyhood, and if I dared come out in the open, I think that even the crooks have sentiment enough for what the cardigans stand for in this county to decline to hold me up. Then why not come out in the open and save trouble and expense? I am not ready to have a lot of notes called on me," Bryce replied drily. Neither am I desirous of having the Laguna Grande lumber company start a riot in the redwood lumber market by cutting prices to a point where I would have to sell my lumber at a loss in order to get a hold of a little ready money. Neither do I desire to have trees felled across the right of way of Pennington's road after his trainloads of logs have gone through and before mine have started from the woods. I don't want my log landings jammed until I can't move, and I don't want Pennington's engineer to take a curve in such a hurry that he'll whip my loaded logging trucks off into a canyon and leave me hung up for lack of rolling stock. I tell you, the man has me under his thumb, and the only way I can escape is to slip out when he isn't looking. He can do too many things to block the delivery of my logs and then dub them as acts of God in order to avoid a judgment against him on suit for non-performance of his hauling contract with this company. Ah, slimy old beggar, isn't he? I daresay he wouldn't hesitate to buy the city council to block you, would he? I know he'll lie and steal. I daresay he'd corrupt a public official. Buck Ogilvy rose and stretched himself. I've got my work cut out for me, haven't I?" he declared with a yawn. However, it'll be a fight worth while, and that at least will make it interesting. Well... Bryce pressed the buzzer on his desk, and a moment later Moira entered. Permit me, Moira, to present Mr. Ogilvy. Mr. Ogilvy, Miss McTavish. The introduction, having been acknowledged by both parties, Bryce continued, Mr. Ogilvy will have frequent need to interview me at this office, Moira, but it is our joint desire that his visits here shall remain a profound secret to everybody with the exception of ourselves. To that end he will hear after call at night, when this portion of the town is absolutely deserted. You have an extra key to the office, Moira. I wish you would give it to Mr. Ogilvy." The girl nodded. Mr. Ogilvy will have to take pains to avoid our watchman, she suggested. That is a point well taken, Moira. Buck, when you call, make it a point to arrive here promptly on the hour. The watchman will be down in the mill then, punching the time clock. Again Moira inclined her dark head and withdrew. Mr. Buck Ogilvy groaned. God speed the day when you can come out from under and I'll be permitted to call during office hours, he murmured. He picked up his hat and withdrew via the general office. Half an hour later Bryce looked out and saw him draped over the counter, engaged in animated conversation with Moira McTavish. Before Ogilvy left he had managed to impress Moira with a sense of the disadvantage under which he labored through being forced, because of circumstances Mr. Cartigan would doubtless relate to her in due course to abandon all hope of seeing her at the office, at least for some time to come. Then he spoke feelingly of the unmitigated horror of being a stranger in a strange town, forced to sit around hotel lobbies with drummers and other lost souls, and drew from Moira the assurance that it wasn't more distressing than having to sit around a boarding-house night after night watching old women tat and tattle. This was the opening Buck Ogilvy had sparred for. Fixing Moira with his bright blue eyes he grinned boldly and said, Moira McTavish we start a league for the dispersion of gloom. You be the president and I'll be the financial secretary. How would the league operate? Moira demanded cautiously. Well, it might begin by giving a dinner to all the members, followed by a little motor-trip into the country next Saturday afternoon, Buck suggested. Moira's Madonna glance appraised him steadily. I haven't known you very long, Mr. Ogilvy, she reminded him. Oh, I'm easy to get acquainted with, he retorted lightly. Besides, don't I come well recommended? He pondered for a moment, then. I'll tell you what, Miss McTavish, suppose we put it up to Bryce Cartigan. If he says it's all right, we'll pull off the party. If he says it's all wrong, I'll go out and drown myself, and fairer words than them as no man spoke. I'll think it over, said Moira. By all means, never decide such an important matter in a hurry. Just tell me your home telephone number, and I'll ring up at seven this evening for your decision. Reluctantly, Moira gave him the number. She was not at all prejudiced against this charity stranger. In fact, she had a vague suspicion that he was a sure cure for the blues, an ailment which she suffered from all too frequently. And moreover, his voice, his respectful manner, his alert eyes, and his wonderful clothing were all rather alluring. Womanlike, she was flattered at being noticed, particularly by a man like Ogilvy, whom it was plain to be seen was vastly superior to any male, even in Sequoia, with the sole exception of Bryce Cardigan. The flutter of a great adventure was in Moira's heart, and the flush of a thousand roses in her cheeks, when Buck Ogilvy, having at length departed, she went into Bryce's private office to get his opinion as to the propriety of accepting the invitation. Bryce listened to her gravely, as with all the sweet innocence of tears and unworldliness she laid the Ogilvy proposition before him. By all means, except, he counseled her, Buck Ogilvy is one of the finest gentlemen you'll ever meet. I'll stake my reputation on him. You'll find him vastly amusing, Moira. He'd make Naiobi forget her troubles, and he does know how to order a dinner. Don't you think I ought to have a chaperone? Well, it isn't necessary, although it's good form in a small town like Sequoia, where everybody knows everybody else. I thought so, Moira murmured thoughtfully. I'll ask Miss Sumner to come with us. Mr. Ogilvy won't mind the extra expense, I'm sure. He'll be delighted, Bryce assured her maliciously. Ask Miss Sumner, by all means. When Moira had left him, Bryce sighed. Gosh, he murmured. I wish I could go too. He was roused from his bitter introspection presently by the ringing of the telephone. To his amazement Shirley Sumner was calling him. You're a wee bit surprised, aren't you, Mr. Cardigan? She said, teasingly. I am, he answered honestly. I had a notion I was quite persona non grata with you. Are you relieved to find you're not? You aren't, you know. Thank you, I am relieved. I suppose you're wondering why I have telephoned to you? No, I haven't had time. The suddenness of it all has left me more or less dumb. Why did you ring up? I wanted some advice. Suppose you wanted very, very much to know what two people were talking about, but found yourself in a position where you couldn't eavesdrop. What would you do? I wouldn't eavesdrop, he told her severely. That isn't a nice thing to do, and I didn't think you would contemplate anything that isn't nice. I wouldn't ordinarily, but I have every moral, ethical, and financial right to be a party to that conversation. Only, well, with you present there would be no conversation, is that it? Exactly, Mr. Cardigan. And it is of the utmost importance that you should know what is said? Yes. And you do not intend to use your knowledge of this conversation when gained, for an illegal or unethical purpose? I do not. On the contrary, if I am aware of what is being planned, I can prevent others from doing something illegal and unethical. In that event surely I should say you are quite justified in eavesdropping. But how can I do it? I can't hide in a closet and listen. Buy a dictograph and have it hidden in the room where the conversation takes place. It will record every word of it. Where can I buy one? In San Francisco. Will you telephone to your San Francisco office and have them buy one for me and ship it to you together with directions for using? George C. Otter can bring it over to me when it arrives. Surely this is most extraordinary. I quite realize that. May I depend upon you to oblige me in this matter? Certainly. But why pick on me of all persons to perform such a mission for you? I can trust you to forget that you have performed it. Thank you. I think you may safely trust me. And I shall attend to the matter immediately. You are very kind, Mr. Cartigan. How is your dear old father? Moira told me some time ago that he was ill. He's quite well again, thank you. By the way, Moira doesn't know that you and I have ever met. Why don't you tell her? I can't answer that question now. Perhaps some day I may be in a position to do so. It's too bad the circumstances are such that we, who started out to be such agreeable friends, were so little of each other, surely? Indeed it is. However, it's all your fault. I have told you once how you can obviate that distressing situation. But you're so stubborn, Mr. Cartigan. I haven't got to the point where I like crawling on my hands and knees," he flared back at her. Even for your sake I declined to simulate friendship or tolerance for your uncle. Hence I must be content to let matters stand as they are between us. She laughed lightly. So you are still uncompromisingly belligerent. Still after Uncle Seth's scalp? Yes, and I think I'm going to get it. At any rate, he isn't going to get mine. Don't you think you're rather unjust to make me suffer for the sins of my relative, Bryce? She demanded. She had called him by his first name. He thrilled. I'm lost in a quagmire of debts. I'm helpless now, he murmured. I'm not fighting for myself alone, but for a thousand dependents, for a principal, for an ancient sentiment that was my father's and is now mine. You do not understand. I understand more than you give me credit for, and some day you'll realize it. I understand just enough to make me feel sorry for you. I understand what even my uncle doesn't suspect at present, and that is that you're the directing genius of the Northern California-Oregon Railroad and hiding behind your friend Ogilvy. Now listen to me, Bryce Cartigan. You're never going to build that road. Do you understand? The suddenness of her attack amazed him to such an extent that he did not take the trouble to contradict her. Instead he blurted out, angrily and defiantly, I'll build that road if it costs me my life, if it costs me you. Understand? I'm in this fight to win. You will not build that road," she reiterated. Why? Because I shall not permit you to. I have some financial interest in the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, and it is not to that financial interest that you should build the NCO. How did you find out I was behind Ogilvy? Intuition. Then I accused you of it and you admitted it. I suppose you're going to tell your uncle now," he retorted witheringly. On the contrary, I am not. I greatly fear I was born with a touch of sporting blood, Mr. Cartigan, so I'm going to let you two fight until you're exhausted, and then I'm going to step in and decide the issue. You can save money by surrendering now. I hold the whip hand. I prefer to fight. With your permission this bout will go to a knockout. I'm not so certain I do not like you all the more for that decision, and if it will comfort you the least bit, you have my word of honor that I shall not reveal to my uncle the identity of the man behind the NCO. I'm not a tattle-tail, you know, and moreover I have a great curiosity to get to the end of the story. The fact is both you and Uncle Seth annoy me exceedingly. How lovely everything would have been if you too hadn't started this feud and forced upon me the task of trying to be fair and impartial to you both. Can you remain fair and impartial? I think I can, even up to the point of deciding whether or not you are going to build that road. Then I shall act independently of you both. Forgive my slang, but I'm going to hand you each a poke, then. Surely," he told her earnestly, listen carefully to what I am about to say, I love you. I've loved you from the day I first met you. I shall always love you, and when I get around to it I'm going to ask you to marry me. At present, however, that is a right I do not possess. However, the day I acquire the right I shall exercise it. And when will that day be? Very softly in awesome tones. The day I drive the last spike in the NCO. Fell a silence. Then I'm glad, Bryce Cartigan, you're not a quitter. Goodbye, good luck, and don't forget my errand. She hung up and sat at the telephone for a moment, dimpled chin and dimpled hand, her glance wandering through the window and far away across the roofs of the town to where the smokestack of Cartigan's mill cut the skyline. How I'd hate you if I could handle you, she murmured. Following this exasperating but illuminating conversation with Shirley Sumner over the telephone, Bryce Cartigan was a distressed and badly worried man. However, Bryce was a communicant of a very simple fate, to wit, that one is never whipped till one is counted out. And the first shock of Shirley's discovery having passed, he had no time in vain repinings but straight away set himself to scheme away out of his dilemma. For an hour he sat slouched in his chair, chin unbressed, the while he reviewed every angle of the situation. He found it impossible, however, to disassociate the business from the personal aspects of his relations with Shirley, and he recalled that she had the very best of reasons for placing the relations on a business basis rather than a sentimental one. He had played a part in their little drama which he knew must have baffled and infuriated her. More had she, in those delightful few days of their early acquaintance, formed for him a sentiment somewhat stronger than friendship, he did not flatter himself that this was so, he could understand her attitude toward him as that of the woman scorned. For the present, however, it was all a profound and disturbing mystery, and after an hour of futile concentration there came to Bryce the old childish impulse to go to his father with his troubles. That sturdy old soul, freed from the hot passions of youth its impetuosity and its proneness to consider cause rather than effect, had weathered too many storms in his day to permit the present one to be numb his brain as it had his sons. He will be able to think without having his thoughts blotted out by a woman's face, Bryce soliloquized. He's like one of his own big redwood trees. His head is always above the storm. Straightway Bryce left the office and went home to the old house and the knoll. John Cardigan was sitting on the veranda, and from a stand beside him George Seeotter entertained him with a phonograph selection, the Swani River, sung by a male quartet. As the gate clicked, John raised his head. Then as Bryce's quick steps spurned the cement walk up the little old-fashioned garden, he rose and stood with one hand outstretched and trembling a little. He could not see, but with the intuition of the blind, he knew. What is it, son? he demanded gently as Bryce came up the low steps. George choked that contraption off. Bryce took his father's hand. I'm in trouble, John Cardigan, he said simply, and I'm not big enough to handle it alone. The Leonine old man smiled, and his smile had all the sweetness of a benediction. His boy was in trouble and had come to him. Good! then he would not fail him. Sit down, son, and tell the old man all about it. Begin at the beginning and let me have all the angles of the angle. Bryce obeyed, and for the first time John Cardigan learned of his son's acquaintance with Shirley Sumner and the fact that she had been present in Pennington's Woods the day Bryce had gone there to settle the score with Jules Rondeau. In the wonderful first flush of his love a sense of embarrassment following his discovery of the fact that his father and Colonel Pennington were implacable enemies had decided Bryce not to mention the matter of the girl to John Cardigan until the entente cordial between Pennington and his father could be re-established. For Bryce had, with the optimism of his years, entertained for a few days a thought that he could bring about this desirable condition of affairs. The discovery that he could not, together with his renunciation of his love, until he should succeed in protecting his heritage and eliminating the despair that had come upon his father in the latter's old age, had further operated to render unnecessary any discussion of the girl with the old man. With the patience and gentleness of a confessor, John Cardigan heard the story now, and though Bryce gave no hint in words that his affections were involved in the fight for the Cardigan acres, yet did his father know it, for he was a parent, and his great heart went out in sympathy for his boy. I understand, sonny, I understand. This young lady is only one additional reason why you must win, for of course you understand she is not indifferent to you. I do not know that she feels for me anything stronger than a vagrant sympathy, dad, for while she is eternally feminine, nevertheless she has a masculine way of looking at many things. She is a good comrade, with a bully sense of sportsmanship, and unlike her skunk of an uncle, she fights in the open. Under the circumstances, however, her first loyalty is to him. In fact, she owes none to me. And I dare say he has given her some extremely plausible reason why we should be eliminated. While I think she is sorry that it must be done, nevertheless, in a mistaken impulse of self-protection, she is likely to let him do it. Perhaps, perhaps, one never knows why a woman does things, although it is a safe bet that if they're with you at all, they're with you all the way. Eliminate the girl, my boy. She's trying to play fair to you and her relative. Let us concentrate on Pennington. The entire situation hinges on that jump-crossing of his tracks on Water Street. He doesn't know you plan to cross them, does he? No. Then, lad, your job is to get your crossing in before he finds out, isn't it? Yes, but it's an impossible task, partner. I'm not a laden, you know. I have to have a franchise from the City Council, and I have to have rails. Both are procurable, my son. Induce the City Council to grant you a temporary franchise tomorrow, and buy your rails from Pennington. He has a mile of track running up Laurel Creek, and Laurel Creek was logged out three years ago. I believe that spur is useless to Pennington, and the 90-pound rails are resting there. But will he sell them to me? Not if you tell him why you want them. But he hates me, old pal. The Colonel never permits sentiment to interfere with business, my son. He doesn't need the rails, and he does desire your money. Consider the rail problem settled. How do you stand with the Mayor and the Council? I do not stand at all. I opposed Poundstone for the office. Dobbs, who was appointed to fill a vacancy caused by the death of a regularly elected Councilman, was once a bookkeeper in our office, you will remember. I discharged him for looting the petty cash drawer. Andrews and Mullen are professional politicians, and not to be trusted. In fact, Poundstone, Dobbs, Andrews, and Mullen are known as the solid four. Yates and Thatcher, the remaining members of the City Council, are the result of the reform ticket last fall. But since they are in the minority, they are helpless. That makes it bad. Not at all. The cardigans are not known to be connected with the NCO. Send your bright friend Ogilvy after that franchise. He's the only man who can land it. Give him a free hand and tell him to deliver the goods by any means short of bribery. I imagine he's had experience with City Councils and will know exactly how to proceed. I know you can procure the rails and have them at the intersection of B. and Water Street's Thursday night. If Ogilvy can procure the temporary franchise and have it in his pocket by six o'clock Thursday night, you should have that crossing in by sun up Friday morning. Then let Pennington rave. He cannot procure an injunction to restrain us from cutting his tracks, thus throwing the matter into the courts and holding us up indefinitely, because by the time he wakes up the tracks will have been cut. The best he can do then will be to fight us before the City Council when we apply for our permanent franchise. Thank God, however, the name of cardigan carries weight in this county, and with the pressure of public sympathy and opinion back of us, we may venture, my boy, to break a lance with the Solid Four, should they stand with Pennington. Partner, it looks like a forlorn hope, said Bryce. Well, you're the boy to lead it. And it will cost but little to put in the crossing and take a chance. Remember, Bryce, once we have that crossing in, it stands like a spite fence between Pennington and the law which he knows so well how to pervert to suit his ignoble purposes. He turned earnestly to Bryce and waved a trembling admonitory finger. Your job is to keep out of court. Once Pennington gets the law on us, the issue will not be settled in our favor for years, and in the meantime you perish. Run along now and hunt up Ogilvy. George, play that Swanee River quartet again. It sort of soothes me. End of Chapter 24 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 25 Of the Valley of the Giants This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Valley of the Giants by Peter B. Kine Chapter 25 It was with a considerably lighter heart that Bryce returned to the mill office, from which he lost no time in summoning Buck Ogilvy by telephone. Thanks so much for the invitation, Ogilvy murmured gratefully. I'll be down in a pig's whisper. And he was. Bryce, you look like the devil, he declared the moment he entered the latter's private office. I ought to, Buck. I've just raised the devil and spilled the beans on the NCO. To whom, when, and where? To Pennington's niece over the telephone about two hours ago. Buck Ogilvy smote his left palm with his right fist. And you've waited two hours to confess your crime? Zounds, man, this is bad. I know. Curse me, Buck. I've probably talked you out of a good job. Oh, say not so, old settler. We may still have an out. How did you let the cat out of the bag? That remarkable girl called me up and accused you of being a mere screen for me and amazed me, so I admitted it. Ogilvy dropped his red hand and simulated agony and moaned. Presently he raised it and said, Well, it might have been worse. Think of what might have happened had she called in person. She would have picked your pocket for the corporate seal, the combination of the safe, and the list of stockholders, and probably ended up by gagging you and binding you in your own swivel chair. Don't, Buck. Comfort and not abuse is what I need now. All right. I'll conclude my remarks by stating that I regard you as a lovable fathead devoid of sufficient mental energy to pound the proverbial sand into the proverbial rat hole. Now, then, what do you want me to do to save the day? Deliver to me by six o'clock Thursday night a temporary franchise from the City Council, granting the NCO the right to run a railroad from our drying-yard across Water Street at its intersection with B Street and out Front Street. Certainly, by all means. Easiest thing I do. Sure you don't want me to arrange to borrow a star or two and make a tarara for the lady that's made a monkey out of you? No? All right, old dear. I'm on my way to do my damnedest, which angels can't do no more. Nevertheless, for your sins you shall do me a favor before my heart breaks after falling down on this contract you've just given me. Granted, Buck, name it. I'm giving a nice little private specially cooked dinner to Miss McTavish tonight. We're going to pull it off in one of those private screened corrals in that highly decorated chink restaurant on Third Street. Moira, that is, Miss McTavish, is bringing a chaperone, one Miss Shirley Sumner. Your job is to be my chaperone and entertain Miss Sumner, who from all accounts is most brilliant and fascinating. Nothing doing, Bryce almost roared. Why, she's the girl that bluffed the secret of the NCO out of me. Do you hate her for it? No, I hate myself. Then you'll come. You promised in advance and no excuses go now. The news will be all over town by Friday morning. So why bother to keep up appearances any longer? Meet me at the canton at seven and check dull care at the entrance. And before Bryce could protest, Ogilvy had thrown open the office door and called the glad tidings to Moira, who was working in the next room, whereupon Moira's wonderful eyes shone with that strange lambant flame. She clasped her hands joyously. Oh, how wonderful, she exclaimed. I've always wanted Miss Shirley to meet Mr. Bryce. Again Bryce was moved to protest, but Buck Ogilvy reached around the half-open door and kicked him in the shins. Don't crab my game, you miserable snarly yow. Detract one speck from that girl's pleasure and you'll never see that temporary franchise, he threatened. I will not work for a quitter, so there. And with his bright smile he set out immediately upon the trail of the city council, leaving Bryce Cartigan a prey to many conflicting emotions, the chief of which, for all that he strove to suppress it, was riotous joy in the knowledge that while he had fought against it, fate had decreed that he should bask once more in the radiance of Shirley Sumner's adorable presence. Presently, for the first time in many weeks, Moira heard him whistling, turkey in the straw. End of Chapter 25, Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 26 of The Valley of the Giants This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline The Valley of the Giants by Peter B. Kine Chapter 26 Fortunately for the situation which had so suddenly confronted him, Bryce Cartigan had Mr. Buck Ogilvy. And out of the experiences gained in other railroad building enterprises, the said Ogilvy, while startled, was not stunned by the suddenness and immensity of the order so casually given him by his youthful employer, for he had already devoted to the matter of that crossing the better part of the preceding night. Also he had investigated, indexed, and cross-indexed the City Council with a view to ascertaining how great, or how little, would be the effort he must devote to obtaining from it the coveted franchise. Got to run a sandy on the mayor, buck soliloquized as he walked rapidly uptown. And I'll have to be mighty slick about it, too, or I'll get my fingers in the jam. If I get the mayor on my side, if I get him to the point where he thinks well of me and would like to oblige me without prejudicing himself financially or politically, I can get that temporary franchise. Now how shall I proceed to sneak up on that oily old cuss's blind side? Two blocks farther on Mr. Ogilvy paused and snapped his fingers vigorously. Eureka! he murmured. I've got pound-stone by the tail on a downhill hall. Is it a cinch? Well, I just guess I should tell a man. He hurried to the telephone building and put in a long-distance call for the San Francisco office of the Cardigan-Redwood Lumber Company. When the manager came on the line, Ogilvy dictated to him a message which he instructed the manager to telegraph back to him at the Hotel Sequoia one hour later. This mysterious detail attended to, he continued on to the mayor's office in the city hall. Mayor Poundstone's bushy eyebrows arched with interest when his secretary laid upon his desk the card of Mr. Buchanan Ogilvy, vice-president and general manager of the Northern California Oregon Railroad. Ah! he breathed with an unpleasant resemblance to a bon vivant who sees before him his favorite vintage. I have been expecting Mr. Ogilvy to call for quite a while. At last we shall see what we shall see. Show him in! The visitor was accordingly admitted to the great man's presence and favored with an official handshake of great hardiness. I have been hoping to have this pleasure for quite some time, Mr. Poundstone," Buch announced easily as he disposed of his hat and overcoat on an adjacent chair. But unfortunately I have had so much preliminary detail to attend to, before making an official call, that at last I grew discouraged and concluded I'd just drop in informally and get acquainted. Buch's alert blue eyes opened wide in sympathy with his genial mouth to deluge Mayor Poundstone with a smile that was friendly, guileless, confidential, and singularly delightful. Mr. Ogilvy was a man possessed of tremendous personal magnetism when he chose to exert it, and that smile was ever the opening gun of his magnetic bombardment. For it was a smile that always had the effect of making the observer desire to behold it again, of disarming suspicion and establishing confidence. Glad you did, mighty glad," the Mayor cried heartily. We have all, of course, heard of your great plans and are naturally anxious to hear more of them in the hope that we can do all that anybody reasonably and legally can to promote your enterprise and, incidentally, our own, since we are not insensible to the advantages which will accrue to this county when it is connected by rail with the outside world. That extremely broad view is most encouraging, Buck chirped, and he showered the Mayor with another smile. Reciprocity is the watchword of progress. I might state, however, that while you humbolders are fully alive to the benefits to be derived from a feeder to a transcontinental road, my associates and myself are not insensible of the fact that the success of our enterprise depends to a great extent upon the enthusiasm with which the city of Sequoia shall cooperate with us. And since you are the chief executive of the city, naturally I have come to you to explain our plans fully. I have read your articles of incorporation, Mr. Ogilvy," Mayor Brownstone boomed paternally. You will recall that they were published in the Sequoia Sentinel. It strikes me. Then you know exactly what we propose doing, and any further explanation would be superfluous. Buck interrupted amiably, glad to dispose of the matter so promptly. Again he favored the Mayor with his bright smile and the latter, now fully convinced that here was a young man of vast enterprise whom it behooved him to receive in a wholehearted and public-spirited manner not at vigorous approval. Well, that being the case, Mr. Ogilvy," he continued, what can we Sequoians do to make you happy? Why, to begin with, Mr. Brownstone, you might accept my solemn assurances that, despite the skepticism which, for some unknown reason, appears to shroud our enterprise in the minds of some people, we have incorporated a railroad company for the purpose of building a railroad. We propose commencing grading operations in the very near future, and the only thing that can possibly interfere with the project will be the declination of the City Council to grant us a franchise to run our line through the city to Tidewater. He handed his cigar case to Mayor Brownstone and continued lightly, and I am glad to have your assurance that the City Council will not drop a cold chisel in the cogs of the wheels of progress. Mr. Brownstone had given no such assurance, but for some reason he did not feel equal to the task of contradicting this pleasant fellow. Ogilvy continued, at the proper time we shall apply for the franchise. It will then be time enough to discuss it. In the meantime the NCO plans a public dedicatory ceremony at the first breaking of ground, and I would be greatly honoured, Mr. Mayor, if you would consent to turn the first shovelful of earth and deliver the address of welcome upon that occasion. The Mayor swelled like a thanksgiving turkey. The honour will be mine," he corrected his visitor. Thank you so much, sir. Well, that's another worry off my mind. With the tact of a Prime Minister, Buck then proceeded deliberately to shift the conversation to the weather and asked a number of questions and then the annual rainfall. Then he turned to crops, finance, and national politics and gradually veered around to an artistic word picture of the vast expansion of the redwood lumber industry when the redwood belt should be connected by rail with the markets of the entire country. He spoke of the magic effect the building of such a line would have upon the growth of Sequoia. Sequoia, he felt convinced, was destined to become a city of at least a hundred thousand inhabitants. He rhapsodised over the progressive spirit of the community and with a wave of his hand studded the waters of Humboldt Bay with the masts of the world shipping. Suddenly he checked himself, glanced at his watch, apologised for consuming so much of his honour's valuable time, expressed himself felicitated at knowing the Mayor, gracefully expressed his appreciation for the encouragement given his enterprise, and departed. When he had gone Mayor Poundstone declared to his secretary that without doubt Ogilvy was the liveliest, keenest fellow that had struck Sequoia since the advent of old John Cardigan. Half an hour later the Mayor's telephone bell rang. Buck Ogilvy was on the line. I beg your pardon for bothering you with my affairs twice in the same day, Mr. Mayor. He announced, deprecatingly. But the fact is, a condition has just arisen which necessitates the immediate employment of an attorney. The job is not a very important one, and almost any lawyer would do, but in view of the fact that we must, sooner or later, employ an attorney to look after our interests locally, it occurred to me that I might as well make the selection of a permanent attorney now. I am a stranger in this city, Mr. Poundstone. Would it be imposing on your consideration if I asked you to recommend such a person? Why, not at all! Not at all! Delighted to help you, Mr. Ogilvy? Let me see now. There are several attorneys in Sequoia, all men of excellent ability and unimpeachable integrity, whom I can recommend with the utmost pleasure. Cadman, look up the relatives of a public official? Well, forward men, follow me to Henry's office. Henry Poundstone, Jr. proved to be the sole inhabitant of one rather bare office in the Cardigan Block. Buck had fully resolved to give him a retainer of a thousand dollars, or even more if he asked for it, but after one look at Henry he cut the appropriation to two hundred and fifty dollars. Young Mr. Poundstone was blond and frail, with large round spectacles, rabbit teeth, and the swiftly receding chin of the Terrapin. Moreover he was in such a flutter of anticipation over the arrival of his client that Buck deduced two things, two wit, that the mayor had telephoned Henry he was apt to have a client, and that as a result of this miracle Henry was in no fit state to discuss the sordid subject of fees and retainers. Ergo Mr. Ogilvy decided to obviate such discussion now or in the future. He handed Henry a check for two hundred and fifty dollars, which he wrote out on the spot, and with his bright winning smile remarked, Now Mr. Poundstone, we will proceed to business. That retainer isn't a large one, I admit, but neither is the job I have for you today. Later, if need of your services on a larger scale should develop, we shall of course expect to make a new arrangement whereby you will receive the customary retainer of all of our corporate attorneys. I trust that is quite satisfactory. Eminently so, gasped the young disciple of Blackstone. Very well, then, let us proceed to business. Buck removed from a small leather bag a bale of legal looking documents. I have here, he announced, agreements from landowners along the proposed right-of-way of the NCO to give to that company on demand within one year from date satisfactory deeds covering rights of way which are minutely described in the said agreements. I wish these deeds prepared for signing and recording at the earliest possible moment. You shall have them at this time to-morrow, Henry promised. The head of Henry Poundstone, Jr., was held high for the first time since he had flung forth his modest shingle to the breezes of Sequoia six months before, and there was an unaccustomed gleam of importance in his pale eyes as he rushed into Big Father's office in the city hall. By Jink's dad, he exalted, I have hooked a fish at last, and he's a whopper. Oh, met the cheers, my boy, remember I sent that fish to you, his father answered with a bland and indulgent smile. What are you doing for Ogilvy, and how large a retainer did he give you? I am making out deeds to his rights of way. Ordinarily it's about a fifty-dollar job, but without waiting to discuss finances, he handed me out two hundred and fifty dollars. Why, dad, that's more than you make in a month from your job as mayor. Well, that isn't a bad retainer. It's an opening wedge. However, it would be mere chicken feed in San Francisco. Read this, Henry urged, and thrust a yellow telegraph form under the mayor's nose. The latter adjusted his glasses and read, Imperative building operations commence immediately. Local skepticism injurious and delays dangerous. We must show good faith to our New York friends. JPM insists upon knowing promptly where we stand with Sequoia City Council. See them immediately and secure temporary franchise, if possible, to enable us to cross Water Street at B Street and build out Front Street. Your arrangement with Cartigan for use of his mill-dock and spur for unloading material from steamer ratified by board, but regarded as hold-up. If your judgment indicates no hold-up on permanent franchise, commence active operations immediately upon acquisition of permanent franchise. Engage local labor as far as possible. Cannot impress upon you too fully necessity for getting busy, as road must be completed in three years if our plans are to bear fruit and time is all too short. Impress this upon City Council and wire answer tomorrow. Hockley. This telegram, as the Mayor observed, was dated that day and addressed to Mr. Buchanan Ogilvy, Hotel Sequoia, Sequoia, California. Also, with a keen eye to minor details, he noted that it had been filed at San Francisco subsequent to Ogilvy's visit to him that afternoon. Ah! breathed his honour. That accounts for his failure to bring the matter up at our interview. Upon his return to the hotel he found this telegram and got busy at once. By Jupiter this looks like business. Henry, how did you come into possession of this telegram? It must have been mixed up in the documents Ogilvy left with me. I found it on my desk when I was sorting out the papers, and in my capacity of attorney for the NCO I had no hesitancy in reading it. Well, I do declare. Wonder who Hockley is? Never heard of that fellow in connection with the NCO. Hockley doesn't matter, young Henry declared triumphantly. Although I'd bet a hat he's one of those heavyweight Wall Street fellows, and one of JPM's vice presidents, probably. JPM, of course, is the man behind. Who the devil is JPM? Henry smiled tolerantly upon his ignorant and guileless parent. Well, how would J. Pierpont Morgan do for a guess? he queried. Hell's bells and panther-tracks, Mayor Poundstone started as if snake-bitten. I should say you've hooked a big fish. Boy, you've landed a whale. And the mayor whistled softly in his amazement and delight. By golly, to think of you getting in with that bunch. Tremendous! Perfectly tremendous! Did Ogilvy say anything about future business? He did. Said if I proved satisfactory, he would probably take me on and pay the customary retainer given all of their corporation attorneys. Well, by golly, he'd better take you on. I had a notion that chap Ogilvy was smart enough to know which side his bread is buttered on, and who does the buttering. If I could guarantee Mr. Ogilvy that temporary franchise mentioned in his telegram, it might help me to get in right with JPM at the start, his hopeful suggested. I guess it would be kind of poor to be taken on as one of the regular staff of attorneys for a Morgan corporation, huh? Say, they pay those chaps as high as fifty thousand dollars a year retainer. Guarantee it, his father shouted. Guarantee it! Well, I should snicker. It'll just show JPM and his crowd that they made no mistake when they picked you as their Sequoia legal representative. I'll call a special meeting of that little old city council of mine and jam that temporary franchise through while you'd be saying Jack Robinson. I'll tell you what let's do, Henry suggested. I'll draw up the temporary franchise tonight, and we'll put it tomorrow at, say, ten o'clock, without saying a word to Mr. Ogilvy about it. Then when the city clerk has signed and attested it, and put the seal of the city on it, I'll just casually take it over to Mr. Ogilvy. Of course he'll be surprised and ask me how I came to get it, and and you look surprised, his father cautioned, sort of as if you failed to comprehend what he's driving at. Make him repeat. Then you say, oh, that! Why, that's nothing, Mr. Ogilvy. I found the telegram in those papers you had left me, read it, and concluded you'd left it there to give me the dope so I could go ahead and get the franchise for you. Up here, whenever anybody wants a franchise from the city, they always hire an attorney to get it for them. So I didn't think anything about this, but just naturally went and got it for you. If it ain't right, why say so, and I'll have it made right. Old Poundstone nudged his son in the short ribs and winked drolly. Let him get the idea you're a flybird and on to your job. Leave it to yours truly, said Henry. His father carefully made a copy of the telegram. Hmm, he grunted, wants to cross Water Street at B and build out Front Street. Well, I daresay nobody will kick over the traces at that. Nothing but warehouses and lumber-drying yards along there anyhow. Still, come to think of it, Pennington will probably raise a howl about sparks from the engines of the NCO, setting his firepiles afire. And he won't relish the idea of that crossing, because that means a watchman and safety-gates, and he'll have to stand half the cost of that. He'll be dead against it, Henry declared. I know, because at the Wednesday meeting of the Lumber Manufacturers Association, the subject of the NCO came up, and Pennington made a talk against it. He said the NCO ought to be discouraged, if it was a legitimate enterprise, which he doubted, because the most feasible and natural route for a road would be from Willett's Mendocino County, north to Sequoia. He said the NCO didn't tap the main body of the Redwood Belt and that his own road could be extended to act as a feeder to a line that would build in from the south. I tell you, he's dead set against it. Then we won't tell him anything about it, Henry. We'll just pull off this special session of the Council and forget to invite the reporters. After the job has been put over, Pennington can come around and howl all he wants. We're not letting a chance like this slip by us without grabbing a handful of the tail feathers, Henry. No, sir, not if we know it. You bet," said Henry earnestly. And it was even so. The entire Council was present, with the exception of Thatcher, who was home ill. His running mate Yates was heartily in favour of doing all unsundry of those things which would aid and encourage the building of the much-to-be-desired railroad, and offered no objection to the motion to grant a sixty-day temporary franchise. However, he always played ball with the absent Thatcher, and he was fairly well acquainted with his other colleagues on the Council. Where they were concerned he was as suspicious as a rattlesnake in August, in consequence of which he considered it policy to play safe pending Thatcher's recovery. Rising in his place, he pointed out to the Board the fact that many prominent citizens who yearned for such a road as the NCO had warned him of the danger of lending official aid and comfort to a pastel of professional promoters and fly-by knights. That after all, the NCO might merely be the stocking-horse to a real estate boom planned to unload the undesirable timber holdings of the Trinidad-Redwood Lumber Company, in which event it might be well for the Council to proceed with caution. It was Mr. Yates' opinion that for the present a temporary franchise for thirty days only should be given. If, during that thirty days, the NCO exhibited indubitable signs of activity, he would gladly vote for a thirty-day extension to enable the matter of a permanent franchise to be taken up in regular order. This amendment to the original motion met with the unqualified approval of the Mayor, as he was careful to announce for the benefit of other members of the Solid Four. The fact of the matter was, however, that he was afraid to oppose Yates in such a simple matter through fear that Yates might grow cantankerous and carry his troubles to the Sequoia Sentinel, a base trick he had been known to do in the past. After explaining the advisability of keeping secret for the present the fact that a thirty-day franchise had been granted, his honour, with the consent of the maker of the original motion, and the second thereof, submitted the amended motion to a vote, which was carried unanimously. At eleven-thirty Thursday morning, therefore, young Henry Poundstone, having worked the greater part of the previous night preparing the deeds, delivered both deeds and franchise to Buck Ogilvy at the latter's hotel. It was with difficulty that the latter could conceal his tremendous amazement when Henry casually handed him the franchise. True, he had slipped that fake telegram among the contracts as bait for Henry and his father, but in his wildest flights of fancy had not looked for them to swallow hook, line, and sinker. His fondest hope, at the time he conceived the brilliant idea, was that Henry would show the telegram to his father, and thus inculcate in the old gentleman a friendly feeling toward the NCO, not unmixed with pleasurable anticipations of the day when Henry Poundstone Jr. should be one of the most highly prized member of the legal staff of a public service corporation. When he could control his emotions, Mr. Ogilvy gazed approvingly upon Henry Poundstone. Mr. Poundstone? he said solemnly. I have met some meteoric young attorneys in my day, but you're the first genuine comet I have seen in the legal firmament. Do you mind telling me exactly how you procured this franchise and why you procured it without explicit orders from me? Henry did his best to look puzzled. Why, he said, you left that telegram with me, and I concluded that you regarded it as self-explanatory, or else had forgotten to mention it. I knew you were busy, and I didn't want to bother you with details, so I just went ahead and filled the order for you. Anything wrong with that? Certainly not. It's perfectly wonderful. But how did you put it over? Henry smirked. My dad's the engineer, he said bluntly. If thirty days ain't enough time, see me, and I'll get you thirty days more. And in the meantime, nobody knows a thing about this little deal. What's more, they won't know. I figured Colonel Pennington might try to block you at that crossing, so I buck Ogilvy extended his hand in benediction and let it drop lightly on Henry Poundstone's thin shoulder. Henry quivered with anticipation under that gentle accolade, and swallowed his heart while the great Ogilvy made a portentous announcement. My dear Poundstone," he said earnestly, I am not a man to forget clever work. At the proper time I shall," he smiled his radiant smile, you understand, of course, that I am speaking for and can make you no firm promises. However, he smiled again, all I have to say is that you'll do. Thank you," said Henry Poundstone Jr. Thank you ever so much. End of Chapter 26 Recording by Roger Maline