 27 An experience extending over a very active business career of thirty years had convinced Colonel Seth Pennington of the futility of racking his brains in vain speculation over mysteries. In his day he had been interested in some small public service corporations, which is tantamount to saying that he knew peanut politics, and had learned that the very best way to fight the devil is with fire. Frequently he had found it of great interest and profit to him to know exactly how certain men spent their time and his money, and since he was a very busy man himself, naturally he had to delegate somebody else to procure this information for him. When, therefore, the Northern California Oregon Railroad commenced to encroach on the Colonel's time appropriation for sleep, he realized that there was but one way in which to conserve his rest, and that was by engaging to fathom the mystery for him a specialist in the unraveling of mysteries. In times gone by the Colonel had found a certain national detective agency, an extremely efficient aide to well-known commercial agencies, and to these tried and trued subordinates he turned now for explicit and satisfying information and the Northern California outrage. The information forthcoming from Dunn and Bradstreet's was vague and unsatisfying. Neither of these two commercial agencies could ascertain anything of interest regarding the finances of the NCO. For the present the corporation had no office, its destinies in San Francisco being guarded by a well-known attorney who had declined to make any statement regarding the company, but promised one at an early date. The board of directors consisted of this attorney, his two assistants, his stenographer, and Mr. Buchanan Ogleby. The company had been incorporated for five million dollars, divided into five million shares of par value of one dollar each, and five shares had been subscribed. Both agencies forwarded copies of the articles of incorporation, but since the Colonel had already read this document in the Sequoia Sentinel he was not further interested. It looks fishy to me, the Colonel commented to his manager, and I'm more than ever convinced it's a scheme of that Trinidad Redwood timber company to start a timber boom and unload. And that is something the Laguna Grande lumber company does not view with favor for the reason that one of these bright days those Trinidad people will come to their senses and sell cheap to us. A slight extension of our logging road will make that Trinidad timber accessible, hence we are the only logical customers and should control the situation. However, to be sure is to be satisfied. Telephone the San Francisco office to have the detective agency that handled the Longshoreman strike job for us, send a couple of their best operatives up on the next steamer with instructions to report to me on arrival. When the operatives reported the Colonel's orders were brief and explicit. I want to know all about a man named Buchanan Ogilby, who is up north somewhere procuring rights of way for the Northern California Oregon Railroad. Find him. Get up with him in the morning and put him to bed at night. Report to me daily. Buch was readily located in the country north of Arcada and one of the operatives actually procured a job as chain man with his surveying gang, while the other kept Ogilvy and his secretary under surveillance. Their reports, however, yielded the Colonel nothing, until the first day of Buch's return to Sequoia when the following written report caused the Colonel to sit up and take notice. It was headed, Report of Operative Number 41, and it read, Ogilvy in his room until twelve o'clock noon. At twelve o'five entered dining room, leaving at one p.m. and proceeding direct to office of Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company. Operative took post behind a lumber pile at side of office so as to command view of interior of office. From manner of greeting accorded Ogilvy by Bryce Cardigan, operative is of opinion they had not met before. Ogilvy remained in Cardigan's private office half an hour, spent another half hour conversing with young lady in general office. Young lady, a brunette. Oh, then returned to Hotel Sequoia where he wrote several letters in writing room. At three p.m. called to telephone. At three o'two p.m. left hurriedly for Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company's office. Entered private office without waiting to be announced. Emerged at three twelve, walking slowly and in deep thought. At B. and Cedar Streets, stopped suddenly, snapped his fingers and started walking rapidly in the manner of one who has arrived at a decision. At three twenty-four, entered the telephone building and placed a long-distance call. Operative standing at counter close by heard him place-call with the girl on duty. He asked for the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company in San Francisco. Concluded his conversation at three thirty-two and proceeded to the city hall, entering the mayor's office at three forty-three and emerging at four ten. He then returned to the Hotel Sequoia and sat in the lobby until handed a telegram at four forty, whereupon he entered the telephone booth and talked to someone, emerging at four forty-three to go to his room. He returned at four forty-six and hurried to the law office of Henry Poundstone Jr. in the Cardigan block. He was with Poundstone until four fifty-nine when he returned leisurely to the Hotel Sequoia carrying a small leather grip. He also had this grip when he entered Poundstone's office. Arrived at the hotel at five-oh-three and went to his room. At six forty-five he entered a public automobile in front of the hotel and was driven to number eight forty-six Elm Street. The brunette young lady who works in the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company's office emerged presently and entered the car, which then proceeded to number thirty-eight Redwood Boulevard, where the brunette young lady alighted and entered the house. She returned at seven sharp accompanied by a young lady whom she introduced to O. All three were then driven to the canyon restaurant at four thirty-two Third Street and escorted to a reserved table in one of the screened-off semi-private rooms along the right side of the dining room. At seven fifteen Bryce Cardigan entered the restaurant and was escorted by the waiter to the table occupied by O. and Party. At nine thirty entire Party left restaurant and entered a Napier car driven by a half-breed Indian whom the second young lady hailed as George. O. and the brunette young lady were dropped at eight forty-six Elm Street, while Cardigan and the other young lady proceeded directly to number thirty-eight Redwood Boulevard. After aiding the lady to alight, Cardigan talked with her a few minutes at the gate, then bade her good night, and after waiting until she had disappeared inside the front door, returned to the automobile, and was driven to his home, while the chauffeur George ran the car into the Cardigan garage. Upon returning to Hotel Sequoia, found O. in Hotel Barr, saw him to bed at ten sharp. Needless to relate, this report had a most amazing effect upon Colonel Pennington, and when at length he could recover his mental equilibrium, he set about quite calmly to analyze the report word by word and sentence by sentence, with the result that he promptly arrived at the following conclusion. 1. His niece Shirley Sumner was not to be trusted in so far as young Bryce Cardigan was concerned. 2. Despite her assumption of hostility toward the fellow since that memorable day in Pennington's Woods, the Colonel was now fully convinced that she had made her peace with him, and had been the recipient of his secret attentions right along. The Colonel was on the verge of calling his niece up to demand an explanation, but on second thought, decided to wait a few days and see what his gumshoe men might have to report further. 2. The NCO was still a mystery, but a mystery in which Bryce Cardigan was interested. Moreover, he was anxious to aid the NCO in every way possible. However, the Colonel could understand this. Cardigan would aid anything that might possibly tend to lift the Cardigan lumber interests out from under the iron heel of Colonel Pennington, and he was just young enough, and unsophisticated enough, to be fooled by that Trinidad Redwood Timber gang. 3. The NCO was going to make a mighty bluff, even to the extent of applying for a franchise to run over the city streets of Sequoia. Hence Ogilvy's visit to Mayor Poundstone, doubtless on the advice of Bryce Cardigan. Hence also his visit to young Henry Poundstone, whom he had doubtless engaged as his legal representative in order to ingratiate himself with the young man's father. Course work! 4. Ogilvy had carried a small leather bag to and from Henry Poundstone's office. That bag was readily explained. It had contained a bribe in gold coin, and young Henry had been selected as the go-between. That meant that Mayor Poundstone had agreed to deliver the franchise, for a consideration, and like the smooth scoundrel he was, he wanted his bit in gold coin, which could not be marked without the marks being discovered. Ogilvy had called first on the Mayor to arrange the details, then he had called on the Mayor's son to complete the transaction. 5. If a franchise had been arranged for and the bribery already delivered, that meant the prompt and unadvertised commencement of operations. Where, the Colonel asked himself, would these operations begin? Why close to the waterfront, where materials could be landed from the steamer that brought them to Sequoia? At whose mill dock would those materials be discharged? Why, Cardigan's dock, of course. Ogilvy had probably called first on Cardigan to arrange that detail. Yes, the NCO was going to carry its monumental bluff to the point of building a mile of track through town. No. No, they wouldn't spend that much money on a bluff. They wouldn't bribe Poundstone unless the road was meant. And was it a common carrier, after all? Had Cardigan in some mysterious manner managed to borrow enough money to parallel the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's logging road? And was he disguising it as a common carrier? The trail was growing hot. The Colonel mopped his brow and concentrated further. If the NCO was really going to start operations, in order to move its material from the Cardigan dock to the scene of operations, it would have to cut his, the Colonel's, tracks, somewhere on Water Street. Damnation! That was it! They were trying to slip one over on him. They were planning to get a jump-crossing in before he should awake to the situation. They were planning, too, to have the City Council slip through the franchise when nobody was looking. And once the crossing should be in, they could laugh at Colonel Pennington. The scoundrels, he murmured. I am on to them. Cardigan is playing the game with them. That's why he bought those rails from the old Laurel Creek spur. Oh, the sly young fox! Quoting that portion of our hauling contract which stipulates that all spurs and extensions of my road, once it enters Cardigan's lands, must be made at Cardigan's expense. And all to fool me into thinking he wanted those rails for an extension of his logging-system. Oh, what a blithering idiot I have been! However, it's not too late yet. Poundstone is coming over to dinner Thursday night, and I'll ring the swine dry before he leaves the house. And as for those rails Cardigan managed to hornswoggle me out of, he seized the telephone and fairly shouted to his exchange operator to get his woodsform Jules Rondeau on the line. That you, Rondeau, he shouted when the big French-Canadian responded. Pennington talking. What has young Cardigan done about those rails I sold him from the abandoned spur up Laurel Creek? He have two flat cards upon his spur and now. Those woodsgang of his, she tear up those rails from his head of his spur and load in his flat cards. The cards haven't left the Laurel Creek spur, then? No, she don't leave yet. See to it, Rondeau, that they do not leave until I give the word. Understand? Cardigan's woods-boss will call you up and ask you to send a switch-engine tip to snake them out late this afternoon or tomorrow afternoon. Tell him the switch-engine is in the shop for repairs or is busy at other work, anything that will stall him off and delay delivery. Suppose, Bryce Cardigan, he comes around and say, Why? Rondeau queried cautiously. Kill'em! the colonel retorted coolly. It strikes me you and the Black Menorca are rather slow playing even with young Cardigan. Rondeau grunted. I think maybe so you kill him yourself, boss! he replied enigmatically and hung up. End of Chapter 27. Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 28 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 28. The dictograph which Shirley had asked Bryce to obtain for her in San Francisco arrived on the regular passenger steamer on Thursday morning, and Bryce called her up to ask when she desired it sent over. Good morning, Mr. Cardigan, she greeted him cheerily. How do you feel this morning? Any the worse for having permitted yourself to be a human being last night? Why, I feel pretty fine, Shirley. I think it did me a lot of good to crawl out of my shell last night. You feel encouraged to go on living, huh? Yes. And fighting? By all means. Then something has occurred of late to give you new courage? Oh, many things! Didn't I give an exhibition of my courage in accepting Ogilvy's invitation to dinner knowing you were going to be there? She did not like that. You carry your frankness to extremes, my friend, she retorted. I'm sure I've always been much nicer to you than you deserve. Nevertheless, there wasn't any valid reason why I should tantalize myself last night. Then why did you come? He had a suspicion that she was laughing silently at him. Partly to please Ogilvy, who had fallen head over heels in love with Moira. Partly to please Moira, who wanted me to meet you. But mostly to please myself, because while I dreaded it, nevertheless I wanted to see you again. I comforted myself with the thought that for the sake of appearances we dared not quarrel in the presence of Moira and my friend Ogilvy. And I daresay you felt the same way. At any rate, I have seldom had more enjoyment when partaking of a meal with an enemy. Please do not say that, she answered. I am your opponent, but not your enemy. That's nice of you. By the way, Shirley, you may inform your uncle at breakfast Friday morning about my connection with the NCO. In fact, I think it would be far better for you if you made it a point to do so. Why? Because both Ogilvy and myself have a very strong suspicion that your uncle has a detective or two on our trails. There was a strange man rather prevalent around him all day yesterday, and I noticed a fellow following my car last night. He was on a bicycle and followed me home. I communicated my suspicions to Ogilvy, and this morning he spent two hours trying to shake the same man off his trail, and couldn't. So I judge your uncle will learn today that you dined with Ogilvy, Moira, and me last night. Oh dear! That's terrible! He could sense her distress. Ashamed of having been seen in my company, huh? Please don't! Are you quite serious in this matter? Quite. Uncle Seth will think it's so, so strange. He'll probably tell you about it. Better beat him to the issue by fessing up, Shirley. Doubtless his suspicions are already aroused, and if you inform him that you know I am the real builder of the NCO, he'll think you're a smart woman, and that you've been doing a little private gumshoe work of your own on behalf of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. Which is exactly what I have been doing, she reminded him. I know. But then I'm not afraid of you, Shirley. That is, any more. And after Friday morning I'll not be afraid of your uncle. Do tell him at breakfast. Then watch to see if it affects his appetite. Oh dear! I feel as if I were a conspirator. I believe you are one. Your dictograph has arrived. Shall I send George Sea Otter over with it, and have you somebody to install it? Oh, bother! Does it have to be installed? It does. You place the contraption, hide it, rather, in the room where the conspirators conspire. Then you run wires from it into another room where the detectives listen in on the receivers. Could George Sea Otter install it? I think he could. There is a printed card of instructions, and I dare say George would find the job no more baffling than the ignition system on the Napier. Will he tell anybody? Not if you ask him not to. Not even you? Not even a whisper to himself, Shirley. Very well, then. Please send him over. Thank you so much, Bryce Cartigan. You're an awful good old sort, after all. Really, it hurts me to have to oppose you. It would be so much nicer if we didn't have all those redwood trees to protect, wouldn't it? Let us not argue the question, Shirley. I think I have my redwood trees protected. Good-bye! He had scarcely finished telephoning his home to instruct George Sea Otter to report with the express package to Shirley when Buck Ogilvy strolled into the office and tossed a document on his desk. There's your little old temporary franchise, old thing, he announced. And with many a hearty laugh, he related to Bryce the ingenious means by which he had obtained it. And now, if you will phone up your logging camp and instruct the woods-boss to lay off about fifty men to rest for the day, pending a hard night's work, and arrange to send them down in the last log-train today, I'll drop around after dinner and we'll fly to that jump-crossing. Here's a list of the tools we'll need. I'll telephone Colonel Pennington's manager and ask him to kick a switch-engine in on the Laurel Creek spur and snake those flat-cars with my rails aboard out to the junction with the main line, Bryce replied, and he called up the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, only to be informed, by no less a person than Colonel Pennington himself, that it would be impossible to send the switch-engine in until the following afternoon. The Colonel was sorry, but the switch-engine was in the shop, having the brick in her fire-box renewed, while the mogul that hauled the log-trams would not have time to attend to the matter, since the flats would have to be spotted on the sidetrack at Cardigan's log-landing in the woods, and this could not be done until the last loaded log-train for the day had been hauled out to make room. Why not switch back with the mogul after the log-train has been hauled out on the main line, Bryce demanded pointedly? Pennington, however, was not trapped. My dear fellow, he replied patronizingly, quite impossible, I assure you. That old trestle across the creek, my boy, it hasn't been looked at for years. While I'd send the light switch-engine over it and have no fears, I happen to know, Colonel, that the big mogul kicked those flats in to load the rails. I know it, and what happened? Why, that old trestle squeaked and shook and gave every evidence of being about to buckle in the center. My engineer threatened to quit if I sent him in again. Very well. I suppose I'll have to wait until the switch-engine comes out of the shop, Bryce replied. He turned a troubled face to Ogilvy. Check-mated, he announced, whipped to a frazzle. The Colonel is lying, Buck, and I've caught him at it. As a matter of fact, the mogul didn't kick those flats in at all. The switch-engine did, and I know it. Now I'm going to send a man over to snoop around Pennington, and I'll have to wait for him to come back. I know it. Now I'm going to send a man over to snoop around Pennington's roundhouse and verify his report about the switch-engine being in the shop. He did so. Half an hour later the messenger returned with the information that not only was the switch-engine not in the shop, but her firebox had been overhauled the week before and was reported to be in excellent condition. That settles it, Buck Ogilvy mourned. He had gumshoe men on my trail after all. They have reported, and the Colonel is as suspicious as a rhino. He doesn't know anything, but he smells danger just the same. Exactly, Buck. So he is delaying the game until he can learn something definite. He drummed idly on his desk for several minutes. Then, Buck, can you run a locomotive? With one hand, old man. Fine business. Well, I guess we'll put in that crossing to-morrow night. The switch-engine will be in the roundhouse at Pennington's mill to-morrow night, so we can't steal that, but we can steal the mogul. I'll just send word up to my woods-boss not to have his train loaded when the mogul comes up late to-morrow afternoon to haul it down to our log-landing. He will explain to the engineer and fireman that our big bull-donkey went out, and we couldn't get our logs down to the landing in time to get them loaded that day. Of course, the engine crew won't bother to run down to Sequoia for the night. That is, they won't run the mogul down. They'll just leave her at our log-landing all night and put up for the night at our camp. However, if they should be forced, because of their private affairs, to return to Sequoia, they'll borrow my track-walkers' velocipede. I have one that is driven with a small gasoline engine. I use it in running back and forth to the logging-camp, in case I fail to connect with the log-train. But how do you know they will put up at your camp all night, Bryce? My men will make them comfortable, and it means they can lie a bed until seven o'clock, instead of having to roll out at five o'clock, which would be the case if they spent the night at this end of the line. If they do not stay at our logging-camp, the mogul will stay there, provided my woods foreman lends them my velocipede. The fireman would prefer that to firing that big mogul all the way back to Sequoia. Yes, Buck agreed, I think he would. There is a slight grade at our log-landing. I know that, because the air leaked out of the brakes on a log-train I was on a short time ago, and the train ran away with me. Now the engine crew will set the air-brakes on the mogul, and leave her with steam up to Throb all night. They'll not blow her down, for that would mean work firing her in the morning. Our task, Buck, will be to throw off the air-brakes and let her glide silently out of our log-landing. About a mile down the road we'll stop, get up steam, run down to the junction with the main line, back in on the Laurel Creek spur, couple on to those flat cars, and breeze merrily down to Sequoia with them. They'll be loaded, waiting for us. Our men will be congregated in our dry yard just off Water Street, near B, waiting for us to arrive with the rails, and bingo, we go to it. After we drop the flats, we'll run the engine back to the woods, leave it where we found it, return a flying in the Velocipede, if that's there, or in my automobile, if it isn't there. You can get back in ample time to superintend the cutting of the crossing. Spoken like a man, quote Buck Ogilvy, you're the one man in this world for whom I'd steal a locomotive? At a boy! Had either of the conspirators known of Pennington's plans to entertain Mayor Poundstone at dinner on Thursday night, it is probable they would not have cheered until those flat cars were out of the woods. End of Chapter 28 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 29 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 29 Mayor Poundstone and his wife arrived at the Pennington Home in Redwood Boulevard at 6.45 Thursday evening. It was with a profound feeling of relief that his honor lifted the lady from their modest little fliver. For once inside the Pennington House, he felt, he would be free from a peculiarly devilish brand of persecution, inaugurated by his wife about three months previously. Mrs. Poundstone wanted a new automobile, and she had entered upon a campaign of nagging and complaint, hoping to wear Poundstone's resistance down to the point where he would be willing to barter his hope of salvation in return for a guarantee of peace on earth. I feel like a perfect fool calling upon these people in this filthy little rattle trap, Mrs. Poundstone protested as they passed up the cement walk toward the Pennington Portal. Mayor Poundstone paused. Had he been Medusa, the glance he bent upon his spouse would have transformed her instantly into a not particularly symmetrical statue of concrete. He had reached the breaking point. In Pitti's name, woman, he growled, Talk about something else. Give me one night of peace. Let me enjoy my dinner and this visit. I can't help it, Mrs. P. retorted with asperity. She pointed to Shirley Sumner's car parked under the Port Corsair. If I had a sedan like that, I could die happy. And it only cost thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars. I paid six hundred and fifty for the rattle trap, and I couldn't afford that, he almost whimpered. You were happy with it until I was elected mayor. You forget our social position, my dear, she purred sweetly. He could have struck her. Hang your social position, he gritted savagely. Shut up, will you? Social position in a sawmill town. Rats! Control yourself, Henry! She plucked gently at his arm. With her other hand she lifted the huge knocker on the front door. Damn it, you'll drive me crazy yet! Poundstone gurgled and subsided. The Pennington Butler, a very superior person, opened the door and swept them with a faintly disapproving glance. It is possible that he found Mayor Poundstone, who was adorned with a white string tie, a soft slouch hat, a Prince Albert coat, and horseshoe cut vest, mildly amusing. The Poundstones entered. At the entrance to the living-room the Butler announced sonorously, Mayor Poundstone and Mrs. Poundstone. Glad to see you aboard the ship, Colonel Pennington boomed with his best air of hearty expansiveness. Well, well, he continued, leading Mrs. Poundstone to a dive-in in front of the fire. This is certainly delightful. My niece will be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Have a cigarette, Mr. Poundstone. In the midst of the common-place chatter incident to such occasions surely entered the room, and the Colonel, leaving her to entertain the guests, went to a small sideboard in one corner and brought forth the materials, as he jocularly termed them. James appeared like magic with a tray, glasses, and tiny serviettes, and the Colonel's elixir was passed to the company. To your beautiful eyes, Mrs. Poundstone, was Pennington's debonair toast as he fixed Mrs. P's green orbs with his own. Poundstone, your very good health, sir. Delicious, murmured Mrs. Poundstone. Perfectly delicious and not a bit strong. Have another, her hospitable host suggested. And he poured it, quite oblivious of the frightened wink which the Mayor telegraphed his wife. I will, if Miss Sumner will join me, Mrs. P. acquiesced. Thanks, I seldom drink a cocktail, and one is always my limit, surely replied smilingly. Oh, well, the Colonel retorted agreeably. We'll make it a three-cornered festival. Poundstone, smoke up. They smoked up, and Poundstone prayed to his rather nebulous gods that Mrs. P would not discuss automobiles during the dinner. Alas, the Colonel's cocktails were not unduly fortified, but, for all that, the two which Mrs. Poundstone had assimilated contained just sufficient kick to loosen the lady's tongue without thickening it. Consequently, about the time the pièce de résistance made its appearance, she threw caution to the winds and inverted to the subject closest to her heart. I was telling Henry as we came up the walk, how greatly I envied you that beautiful sedan, Miss Sumner, she gushed. Isn't it a perfectly stunning car? Poundstone made one futile attempt to head her off. And I was telling Mrs. Poundstone, he struck in with a pathetic attempt to appear humorous and condescending, that a little jitney was our gate, and that she might as well abandon her passionate yearning for a closed car. And Jelena, my dear, something tells me I'm going to enjoy this dinner a whole lot more if you'll just make up your mind to be real nice and resign yourself to the inevitable. Never, my dear, never, she shook a coy finger at him. You dear old tidy, she cooed. You don't realize what a closed car means to a woman? She turned to Shirley. How an open car does blow one around, my dear. Yes, indeed, said Shirley innocently. Heard the McKinnon people had a man killed up in their woods yesterday, Colonel, Poundstone remarked, hoping against hope to divert the conversation. Yes, the fellow's own fault, Pennington replied. He was one of those employees who held to the opinion that every man is the captain of his own soul and the sole proprietor of his own body. Hence that it behooved him to look after both, in view of the high cost of safety appliances. He was warned that the logging cable was weak at that old splice and liable to pull out of the becket, and sure enough it did. The free end of the cable snapped back like a whip, and I hold to the opinion, Mrs. Poundstone interrupted, that if one wishes for a thing hard enough and just keeps on wishing, one is bound to get it. My dear, said Mr. Poundstone impressively, if you would only confine yourself to wishing, I assure you your chances for success would be infinitely brighter. There was no mistaking this rebuke. Even two cocktails were powerless to render Mrs. Poundstone oblivious to it. Shirley and her uncle saw the mayor's lady flush slightly. They cut the glint of murder in his honor's eye, and the keen intelligence of each warned them that closed cars should be a closed topic of conversation with the Poundstones. With the nicest tact in the world, Shirley adroitly changed the subject to some tailored shirt-waists she had observed in the window of a local dry-goods emporium that day, and Mrs. Poundstone subsided. About nine o'clock, Shirley, in response to a meaning glance from her relative, tactfully convoyed Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, leaving her uncle alone with his prey. Instantly Pennington got down to business. Well, he queried apropos of nothing. What do you hear with reference to the Northern California Oregon Railroad? Oh, the usual amount of wind, Colonel. Nobody knows what to make of that outfit. Pennington studied the end of his cigar a moment. Well, I don't know what to think of that project, either, he admitted presently. But while it looks like a fake, I have a suspicion that where there's so much smoke, one is likely to discover a little fire. I've been waiting to see whether or not they will apply for a fight. I've been waiting to see whether or not they will apply for a franchise to enter the city, but they seem to be taking their time about it. They certainly are a deliberate crowd, the Mayor murmured. Have they made any moves to get a franchise? Pennington asked bluntly. If they have, I suppose you would be the first man to hear about it. I don't mean to be impertinent, he added with a gracious smile. But the fact is, I noticed that wind-bag Ogilvy entering your office in the city hall the other afternoon, and I couldn't help wondering whether his visit was social or official. Social, so far as I could observe? Poundstone replied truthfully, wondering just how much Pennington knew, and rather apprehensive that he might get caught in a lie before the evening was over. Preliminary to the official visit, I daresay. The Colonel puffed thoughtfully for a while, for which the Mayor was grateful since it provided time in which to organize himself. Suddenly, however, Pennington turned toward his guest and fixed the ladder with a serious glance. I hadn't anticipated discussing this matter with you, Poundstone, and you must forgive me for it. But the fact is, I might as well be frank with you, I am very greatly interested in the operation of this proposed railroad. Indeed, financially? Yes, but not in the financial way you think. If that railroad is built, it will have a very distinct effect on my finances. In just what way? Disastrous. I am amazed, Colonel. You wouldn't if you had given the subject very close consideration. The logical route for this railroad is from Willets, north to Sequoia, not from Sequoia north to Grants Pass, Oregon. Such a road as the NCO contemplates will tap about one-third of the Redwood Belt only, while a line built in from the south will tap two-thirds of it. The remaining third can be tapped by an extension of my own logging road. When my own timber is logged out, I will want other business for my road, and if the NCO parallels it, I will be left with two streaks of rust on my hands. Ah, I perceive, so it will, so it will. You agree with me, then, Poundstone, that the NCO is not designed to foster the best interests of the community? Of course you do. Well, I hadn't given the subject very mature thought, Colonel, but in the light of your observations it would appear that you are quite right. Of course I am right. I take it, therefore, that when the NCO applies for its franchise to run through Sequoia, neither you nor your city council will consider the proposition at all. I cannot, of course, speak for the city council, Poundstone began, but Pennington's cold, amused smile froze further utterance. Be frank with me, Poundstone. I am not a child. What I would like to know is this. I would like to know is this. Will you exert every effort to block that franchise in the firm conviction that by doing so you will accomplish a laudable public service? Poundstone squirmed. I should not care at this time to go on record, he replied evasively. When I have had time to look into the matter more thoroughly, tut tut, my dear man, let us not straddle the fence. Business is a game, and so is politics. Neither knows any sentiment. Suppose you should favor this NCO crowd in a mistaken idea that you are doing the right thing, and that subsequently numberless fellow citizens develop the idea that you had not done your public duty. Would some of them not be likely to invoke a recall election and retire you and your city council in disgrace? I doubt if they could defeat me, Colonel. I have no such doubt, Pennington replied, pointedly. Poundstone looked up at him from under lowered lids. Is that a threat? he demanded tremulously. My dear fellow, threaten my guest, Pennington laughed patronizingly. I am giving you advice, Poundstone, and rather good advice that strikes me. However, while we're on the subject, I have no hesitancy in telling you that in the event of a disastrous decision on your part I should not feel justified in supporting you. He might, with equal frankness, have said, I would smash you. To his guest his meaning was not obscure. Poundstone studied the pattern of the rug, and Pennington, watching him sharply, saw that the man was distressed. Then suddenly one of those brilliant inspirations, or flashes of rare intuition, which had helped so materially to fashion Pennington into a captain of industry, came to him. He resolved on a bold stroke. Let's not beat about the bush, Poundstone, he said, with the air of a father patiently striving to induce his child to recant a lie, tell the truth, and save himself from the parental wrath. You've been doing business with Ogilvy. I know it for a fact, and you might as well admit it. Poundstone looked up, red and embarrassed. If I had known, he began, certainly, certainly, I realize you acted in perfect good faith. You're like the majority of people in Sequoia. You're also crazy for rail connection with the outside world that you jump at the first plan that seems to promise you one. Now, I'm as eager as the others, but if we are going to have a railroad, I, for one, desire the right kind of railroad. And the NCO isn't the right kind. That is, not for the interests I represent. Have you promised Ogilvy a franchise? There was no dodging that question. A denial, under the present circumstances, would be tantamount to an admission. Poundstone could not guess just how much the Colonel really knew, and it would not do to lie to him, since eventually the lie must be discovered. Caught between the horns of a dilemma, Poundstone only knew that Ogilvy could never be to him such a powerful enemy as Colonel Seth Pennington. So, after the fashion of his kind, he chose the lesser of two evils. He resolved to come clean. The City Council has already granted the NCO a temporary franchise, he confessed. Pennington sprang furiously to his feet. Damn it! he snarled. Why did you do that without consulting me? Didn't know you were remotely interested. Now that the ice was broken, Poundstone felt relieved and was prepared to defend his act vigorously. And we did not commit ourselves irrevocably, he continued. The temporary franchise will expire in twenty-eight days, and in that short time the NCO cannot even get started. Have you any understanding as to an extension of that temporary franchise, in case the NCO desires it? Well, yes, not in writing, however. I gave Ogilvy to understand that if he was not ready in thirty days an extension could readily be arranged. Any witnesses? I am not such a fool, sir, Poundstone declared with asperity. I had a notion, I might as well admit it, that you would have serious objection to having your tracks cut by a jump-crossing at B and Water Streets, and for no reason in life except to justify himself and inculcate in Pennington an impression that the ladder was dealing with a crafty and far-seeing mayor, Poundstone smiled boldly and knowingly. I repeat, he said, that I did not put it in writing. He leaned back nonchalantly and blew smoke at the ceiling. You oily rascal, Pennington soliloquized. You're a smarter man than I thought. You're trying to play both ends against the middle. He recalled the report of his private detective and the incident of Ogilvy's visit to a young Henry Poundstone's office with a small leather bag. He was more than ever convinced that this bag had contained the bribe in gold coin which had been productive of that temporary franchise and the verbal understanding for its possible extension. Ogilvy did business with you through your son Henry, he challenged. Poundstone started violently. How much did Henry get out of it? Pennington continued brutally. Two hundred and fifty dollars retainer and not a cent more. Poundstone protested virtuously and truthfully. You're not so good a businessman as I gave you credit for being. The colonel retorted mirthfully. Two hundred and fifty dollars? Oh Lord! Poundstone, you're funny. Upon my word you're a scream. And the colonel gave himself up to a sincerely hearty laugh. You call it a retainer, he continued presently, but a grand jury might call it something else. However, he went on after a slight pause. You're not in politics for your health, so let's get down to brass tax. How much do you want to deny the NCO not only an extension of that temporary franchise but also a permanent franchise when they apply for it? Poundstone rose with great dignity. Colonel Pennington, sir, he said, you insult me. Sit down. You've been insulted that way before now. Shall we say one thousand dollars per each of your three good councilmen and true? And for yourself that sedan of my nieces? It's a good car. Last year's model, but only run about four thousand miles, and in tip-top condition. It's always had the best of care, and I imagine it will please Mrs. P immensely and grant you sursees from sorrow. Of course I will not give it to you. I'll sell it to you. Five hundred down upon the signing of the agreement, and in lieu of the cash, I will take over that jitney Mrs. Poundstone finds so distasteful. Then I will employ your son Henry as the attorney for the Laguna Grande Lumber Company, and give him a retainer of twenty five hundred dollars for one year. I will leave it to you to get this twenty five hundred dollars from Henry and pay my niece cash for the car. Doesn't that strike you as a perfectly safe and sane proposition? Had a vista of paradise opened up before Mr. Poundstone, he could not have been more thrilled. He had been absolutely honest in his plea to Mrs. Poundstone that he could not afford a thirty two hundred and fifty dollar sedan, much as he longed to oblige her and gain a greatly to be desired piece. And now the price was dangling before his eyes, so to speak. At any rate it was parked in the Port Cochère not fifty feet distant. For the space of a minute the mayor weighed his son's future as a corporation attorney against his own future as mayor of Sequoia, and Henry lost. It might be arranged, Colonel, he murmured in a low voice, the voice of shame. It is already arranged, the Colonel replied cheerfully. Leave your jit at the front gate and drive home in Shirley's car. I'll arrange matters with her. He laughed shortly. It means, of course, that I'll have to telegraph to San Francisco to-morrow and buy her a later model. Thank goodness she has a birthday to-morrow. Have a fresh cigar, mayor. Riding home that night in Shirley Sumner's car, Mrs. Poundstone leans suddenly toward her husband, threw a fat arm around his neck and kissed him. Oh, Henry, you darling, she purred. What did I tell you? If a person only wishes hard enough. Oh, go to the devil, he roared angrily. You've nagged me into it. Shut up and take your arm away. Do you want me to wreck the car before we've had it an hour? As for Colonel Pennington, he had little difficulty in explaining the deal to Shirley, who was sleepy and not at all interested. The Poundstones had bored her to extinction, and upon her uncle's assurance that she would have a new car within a week, she thanked him and for the first time retired without offering her cheek for his good night-kiss. Shortly thereafter the Colonel sought his own virtuous coach and prepared to surrender himself to the first good sleep in three weeks. He laid the flattering unction to his soul that Bryce Cartigan had dealt him a poor hand from a marked deck, and he had played it exceedingly well. Lucky I blocked the young beggar from getting those rails out of the Laurel Creek spur, he mused, or he'd have his jump-crossing in overnight, and then where the devil would I have been. Upsalt creek without a paddle, and all the courts in Christendom would avail me nothing. He was dozing off when a sound smote upon his ears. Instantly he was wide awake, listening intently, his head cocked on one side. The sound grew louder. Evidently it was approaching Sequoia, and with a bound the Colonel sat up in bed, trembling in every limb. Suddenly out of the deep rumbling diapason he heard a sharp click. Then another and another. He counted them. Six in all. A locomotive and two flat cars, he murmured, and they just passed over the switch leading from the main line tracks out to my log dump. That means the train is going down Water Street to the switch into Cartigan's yard. By George they've outwitted me. With the agility of a boy he sprang into his clothes, raced downstairs, and leaped into Mayor Poundstone's jitney, standing in the darkness at the front gate. CHAPTER XXX The success of Bryce Cartigan's plan for getting M's rails down from Laurel Creek depended entirely upon the whimsy which might seize the crew of the big mogul that hauled the last load of logs out of Cartigan's Redwoods on Thursday afternoon. Should the engineer and fireman decide to leave the locomotive at the logging camp for the night, Bryce's task would be as simple as turning a hose down a squirrel hole. On the other hand, should they run back to Sequoia with the engine, he and Ogilvy faced the alternative of borrowing it from the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's roundhouse. And that operation, in view of the fact that Pennington's night watchman would be certain to hear the engine leaving, offered difficulties. Throughout the afternoon, after having sent his orders in writing to the woods-boss, via George Sea Otter, for he dared not trust to the telephone, he waited in his office for a telephone call from the logging camp as to what action the engine crew had taken. He could not work, he could not think. He only knew that all depended upon the success of his coup tonight. Finally, at a quarter of six, Curtis, his woods-boss, rang in. They're staying here all night, sir, he reported. Housed them as far from the log-landing as possible, and organized a poker game to keep them busy in case they don't go to bed before eight o'clock, Bryce ordered. In the meantime, send a man you can trust, Jim Harding, who runs the big bull-donkey, will do, down to the locomotive to keep steam up until I arrive. He had scarcely hung up when Buck Ogilvy came into the office. Well, he queried casually. Safe-o, Buck, replied Bryce. How about your end of the contract? Crowbars, picks, shovels, hacksaws to cut the rails, lanterns to work by, and men to do the work will be cashed in your lumberyard by nine o'clock, waiting for the rails to arrive. Bryce nodded his approval. Then I suppose there's nothing to do but get a bite of dinner and proceed to business. Buck insisted on keeping an engagement to dine with Moira, and Bryce agreed to call for him at the Bongusto restaurant. Then Bryce went home to dine with his father. Old Cartigan was happier than his son had seen him since the return of the ladder to Sequoia. Well, sonny, I've had a mighty pleasant afternoon. He declared as Bryce led him to the dinner table. I've been up to the Valley of the Giants. Bryce was amazed. Why, how could you, he demanded? The old skid-road is impassable, and after you leave the end of the skid-road, the trail into Mother's Grave is so overgrown with buckthorn and wild lilac, I doubt if a rabbit could get through it comfortably. Not a bit of it, the old man replied. Somebody has gone to work and planked that old skid-road and put up a hand railing on each side, while the trail through the Giants has been grubbed out and smoothed over. All that old logging-cable I abandoned in those choppings has been strung from tree to tree alongside the path on both sides. I can go up there alone now, once George sets me in the old skid-road, I can't get lost. How did you discover this? Bryce demanded. Judge Moore, representing the new owner, called round this morning and took me in tow. He said his client knew the property held for me a certain sentimental value which wasn't transferred in the deed, and so the judge had been instructed to have the skid-road planked and the forest trail grubbed out, for me. It appears that the valley is going to be a public park after all, but for the present and while I live it is my private park. This is perfectly amazing, partner. It's mighty comforting, his father admitted. Guess the new owner must be one of my old friends. Perhaps somebody I did a favour for once, and this is his way of repaying. Remember that old sugar-pine windfall we used to sit on? Well, it's rotted through, and bears have clotted into chips in their search for grubs. But the new owner had a seat put in there for me, just the kind of seat I like, a lumberjack's rocking chair made from an old vinegar barrel. I sat in it, and the judge left me, and I did a right smart lot of thinking. And while it didn't lead me anywhere—still, I—uh, you felt better, didn't you, his son suggested? John Cartigan nodded. I'd like to know the name of the owner, he said presently. I'd like mighty well to say thank you to him. It isn't usual for people nowadays to have as much respect for sentiment in an old duffer like me as this fellow has. He sort of makes me feel as if I hadn't sold at all. Buck Ogilvy came out of the Bongoostow restaurant with Moira, just as Bryce, with George Seawater at the wheel of the Napier, drove up to the curb. They left Moira at her boarding-house and rolled noiselessly away. At nine o'clock they arrived at Cartigan's log landing, and found Jim Harding, the bull-donkey engineer, placidly smoking in the car, and a little bit of a mischievous pipe in the cab. Bryce hailed him. That you, Jim? You bet! Run up to Jaybe Curtis's shanty and tell him we're here. Have him gather his gang and bring two pairs of overalls and two jumpers, large size, with him when he comes. Harding vanished into the darkness, and Buck Ogilvy climbed up into the cab and glanced at the steam-gauge. 140, he announced. Good enough! Presently the woods-boss, accompanied by 30 of his best men, came down to the log landing. At Bryce's order they clambered aboard the engine and tender, hanging on the steps, on the roof of the cab, on the cow-catcher, anywhere they could find a tow-hold. Harding cast aside the two old ties which the careful engine crew had placed across the tracks in front of the drivers as additional precaution. Buck Ogilvy cut off the air, and the locomotive and tender began to glide slowly down the almost imperceptible grade. With a slight click it cleared the switch and slid out onto the cardigan lateral, swiftly gathering speed. A quarter of a mile down the line, Buck Ogilvy applied the brakes and eased her down to 20 miles per hour. At the junction with the main line, Buck backed briskly up into the Laguna Grande woods and coupled to the two loaded flat-cars. The woods-gang scrambled aboard the flats, and the train pulled out for Sequoia. Forty minutes later they rumbled down Water Street and slid to a grinding halt at the intersection of B Street. From the darkness of Cardigan's drying-yard, where they had been waiting, twenty picked men of the mill-crew now emerged, bearing lanterns and tools. Under Buck Ogilvy's direction the dirt promptly began to fly, while the woods-crew unloaded the rails and piled them close to the sidewalk. Suddenly a voice, harsh and strident with passion, rose above the thud of the picks and the clang of metal. "'Who's in charge here, and what in blazes do you mean by cutting my tracks?' Bryce turned in time to behold Colonel Seth Pennington leap from an automobile and advance upon Buck Ogilvy. Ogilvy held a lantern up to the Colonel's face and surveyed Pennington calmly. "'Colonel!' he began, with exasperating politeness. "'I presume you are Colonel Pennington? My name is Buchanan P. Ogilvy, and I am in charge of these operations. I am the Vice President and General Manager of the NCO, and I am engaged in the blithe task of making a jump crossing of your rails. I had hoped to accomplish this without your knowledge or consent, but now that you are here, that hope, of course, has died a bornon. Have a cigar!' And he thrust a perfecto under the Colonel's nose. Pennington struck it to the ground, and on the instant half a dozen rough rascals emptied their shovels over him. He was deluged with dirt. "'Stand back, Colonel. Stand back, if you please. You're in the way of the shovelers,' Buck Ogilvy warned him soothingly. Bright's cardigan came over, and at sight of him, Pennington choked with fury. "'You! You!' he sputtered, unable to say more. "'I'm the NCO,' Bright replied. "'Nice little fiction, that of yours, about this switch engine being laid up in the shops, and the Laurel Creek Bridge being unsafe for this big mogul!' He looked Pennington over with Frank admiration. "'You're certainly on the job, Colonel. I'll say that much for you. The man who plans to defeat you must jump far and fast, or his tail will be trod on.' "'You've stolen my engine,' Pennington almost screamed. "'I'll have the law on you for grand larceny.' "'Tut, tut! You don't know who stole your engine. For all you know, your own engine crew may have run it down here.' "'I'll attend to you, sir,' Pennington replied, and he turned to enter Mayor Poundstone's little fliver. "'Not tonight at least,' Bright retorted gently. "'Having gone this far, I would be a poor general to permit you to escape now with the news of your discovery. You'd be down here in an hour with a couple of hundred members of your mill crew and give us the rush. "'You will oblige me, Colonel Pennington, by remaining exactly where you are until I give you permission to depart.' "'And if I refuse?' "'Then I shall manhandle you, trust you up like a foul in the tunnel of your car, and gag you.' To Bright's infinite surprise the Colonel smiled. "'Oh, very well,' he replied. "'I guess you've got the bulge on me, young man. Do you mind if I sit in the warm cab of my own engine? I came away in such a hurry I quite forgot my overcoat.' "'Not at all. I'll sit up there and keep you company.' Half an hour passed. An automobile came slowly up Water Street and paused half a block away, evidently reconnoitering the situation. Instantly the Colonel thrust his head out of the cab window. "'Sekston,' he shouted. "'Cardigans cutting in a crossing. He's holding me here against my will. Get the mill crew together and phone for Rondo and his woods crew. Send the switch engine and a couple of flats up for them. Phone Poundstone. Tell him to have the chief of police.' Bryce Cardigan's great hand closed over the Colonel's neck, while down Water Street a dark streak that was Buck Ogilvy sped toward the automobile, intending to climb in and make Pennington's manager a prisoner also. He was too late, however. Sekston swung his car and departed at full speed down Water Street, leaving the disappointed Buck to return panting to the scene of operations. Bryce Cardigan released his hold on Pennington's neck. "'You win, Colonel,' he announced. No good can come of holding you here any longer. Into your car and on your way.' "'Thank you, young man,' the Colonel answered, and there was a metallic ring in his voice. He looked at his watch in the glare of a torch. "'Plenty of time,' he murmured. "'Curfew shall not ring to-night.' Quite deliberately he climbed into the mayor's late source of woe and breezed away. Colonel Pennington did not at once return to his home, however. Instead he drove up to the business-center of the town. The streets were deserted, but one saloon, the sawdust pile, was still open. Pennington strode through the bar and into the back room. For a moment he stood, his cold, Ophidian glance circling the room, until it came to rest on no less a personage than the Black Menorca, an individual with whom the reader has already had some slight acquaintance. It will be recalled that the Black Menorca led the feudal rush against Bryce Cardigan that day in Pennington's woods. The Colonel approached the man and said, Cardigan that day in Pennington's woods. The Colonel approached the table where the Black Menorca sat thumbing the edges of his cards and touched the cholo on the shoulder. The Black Menorca turned, and Pennington nodded to him to follow, whereupon the latter cashed in his chips and joined his employer on the sidewalk. Here a whispered conversation ensued, and at its conclusion the Black Menorca nodded vigorously. Sure, he assured the Colonel, I'll fix him good and plenty. Together Pennington and the Black Menorca entered the automobile and proceeded swiftly to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's mill office. From a locker the Colonel produced a repeating rifle and three boxes of cartridges which he handed to the cholo who departed without further ado into the night. Twenty minutes later, from the top of a lumber pile in Cardigan's drying-yard, Bryce Cardigan saw the flash of a rifle and felt a sudden sting on his left forearm. He leaped around in front of the cowcatcher to gain the shelter of the engine, and another bullet struck at his feet and ricocheted off into the night. It was followed by a fuselage, the bullets kicking up the freshly disturbed earth among the workers and sending them scurrying to various points of safety. In an instant the crossing was deserted and work had been stopped, while from the top of the adjacent lumber pile the Black Menorca poured a steam of lead and filthy invective at every point which he suspected of harboring a Cardigan follower. I don't think he's hurt anybody, Buck Ogle be whispered as he crouched with Bryce beside the engine, but that's due to his marksmanship rather than his intentions. He tried hard enough to plug me, Bryce declared, and showed the hole through his sleeve. They call him the Black Menorca, and he's a mongrel greaser who'd kill his own mother for a fifty-dollar bill. I'd like to plug him, Buck murmured regretfully. What would be the use? This will be his last night in Humboldt County. A rifle shot rang out from the side of B Street. From the lumber pile across the street Bryce and Ogle be heard a suppressed grunt of pain and a crash as of a breaking board. Instantly out of the shadows George See Otter came padding on velvet feet, rifle in hand, and then Bryce understood. All right, boss, said George simply as he joined Bryce and Ogle be under the lee of the locomotive. Now we get busy again. Safe-o, men, Ogle be called, back on the job! And while Bryce, followed by the careless George See Otter, went into the lumberyard to sucker the enemy, Ogle be set an example to the men by stepping into the open and starting briskly to work with the shovel. At the bottom of the pile of lumber the Black Menorca was discovered with a severe flesh wound in his right hip. Also he was suffering from numerous bruises and contusions. George See Otter possessed himself of the fallen cholo's rifle, while Bryce picked the wretch up and carried him to his automobile. Take the swine over to the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's hospital and tell them to patch him up, he ordered George See Otter. I'll keep both rifles and the ammunition here for Jules Rondeau and his woods gang. They'll probably be dropping in on us about two a.m., if I know anything about Colonel Pennington's way of doing things. End of Chapter 30 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 31 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 31 Having dispatched the Black Menorca to hold up the work until the arrival of reinforcements, Colonel Pennington fairly burned the streets en route to his home. He realized that there would be no more sleep for him that night, and he was desirous of getting into a heavy ulster before venturing forth again into the night air. The violent slam with which he closed the front door after him brought Shirley in dressing gown and slippers to the staircase. Uncle Seth, she called. Here, he replied from the hall below. What's the matter? There's the devil to pay, he answered. That fellow cardigan is back of the NCO after all, and he and Ogilvy have a gang of fifty men down at the intersection of water and bee streets, cutting in a jump-crossing of our line. He dashed into the living-room, and she heard him calling frantically into the telephone. At last she murmured and crept down the stairs, pausing behind the heavy portiers at the entrance to the living-room. That you, poundstone! she heard him saying rapidly into the transmitter. Pennington speaking. Young Bryce Cardigan is behind that NCO outfit, and it's a logging road and not intended to build through to Grant's Pass at all. Cardigan and Ogilvy are at water and bee streets this very instant, with a gang of fifty men cutting in a jump-crossing of my line, curse them. They'll have it in by six o'clock tomorrow morning if something isn't done, and once they get it in, the fat's in the fire. Telephone the chief of police and order him to take his entire force down there if necessary, and stop that work. To blazes with that temporary franchise. You stop that work for two hours, and I'll do the rest. Tell the chief of police not to recognize that temporary franchise. He can be suspicious of it, can't he, and refuse to let the work go on until he finds you? And you can be hard to find for two hours, can you not? Delay, delay, man, that's all I want. Yes, yes, I understand. You get down about daylight and roast the chief of police for interfering, but in the meantime. Thank you, Poundstone, thank you, goodbye. He stood at the telephone. The receiver still held to his ear and right forefinger, holding down the hook while the line cleared. When he spoke again, Shirley knew he was calling his mill office. He got a response immediately, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. Sexton, Pennington speaking. I've sent over the Black Menorca with a rifle and 60 rounds of ammunition. What? You can hear him shooting already? Bully boy with a crockery eye. He'll clean that gang out and keep them from working until the police arrive. You've telephoned Rondo, have you? Good. He'll have his men waiting at the log landing, and there'll be no delay. As soon as you've seen the switch engine started for the woods, meet me down at Water and B Streets. Sexton, we've got to block them. It means a loss of millions to me if we fail. Shirley was standing in the doorway as he faced about from the telephone. Uncle Seth, she said quietly, use any honorable method of defeating Bryce Cardigan, but call off the Black Menorca. I shall hold you personally responsible for Bryce Cardigan's life, and if you fail me, I shall never forgive you. Silly, silly girl, he soothed her. Don't you know I would not stoop to bushwhacking? There's some shooting going on, but it's wild shooting, just to frighten Cardigan and his men off the job. You can't frighten him, she cried passionately. You know you can't. He'll kill the Black Menorca, or the Black Menorca will kill him. Go instantly and stop it. All right, all right, he said rather humbly. And sprang down the front steps into the waiting car. I'll play the game fairly, Shirley, never fear. She stood in the doorway and watched the red tail light, like a malevolent eye, disappear down the street. And presently, as she stood there, down the boulevard, a huge gray car came slipping noiselessly. So noiselessly, in fact, that Shirley recognized it by that very quality of silence. It was Bryce Cardigan's nape here. George, she called, come here. The car slid over to the gate and stopped at the site of the slim white figure running down the garden walk. Is Mr. Cardigan hurt? She demanded in an agony of suspense. George Sea Otter grunted contemptuously. Nobody hurt, secta black Menorca. I am taking him to your company hospital, miss. He tried to shoot my boss, so I shoot him myself once through the leg. Now, my boss says, take him to the Laguna Grande Hospital, George. Me, I would drop this greaser in the bay if I was the boss. She laughed hysterically. On your way back from the hospital, stop and pick me up, George. She ordered. This senseless feud has gone far enough. I must stop it at once. He touched his broad hat, and she returned to the house to dress. Meanwhile, Colonel Pennington had reached the crossing once more, simultaneously with the arrival of Sam Perkins, the chief of police, accompanied by two automobiles crammed with patrolmen. Perkins strutted up to Bryce Cardigan and Buck Ogleby. What's the meaning of all this row, Mr. Cardigan? He demanded. Something has slipped, Sam. Bryce retorted pleasantly. You've been calling me Bryce for the past twenty years, and now you're mistering me? The meaning of this row, you ask? Bryce continued. Well, I'm engaged in making a jump crossing of Colonel Pennington's tracks under a temporary franchise granted me by the city of Sequoia. Here's the franchise. And he thrust the document under the police chief's nose. This is the first I've heard about any franchise, Sam Perkins replied suspiciously. Seems to me you've been mighty secret about this job. How do I know this ain't a forgery? Call up the mayor and ask him, Bryce suggested. I'll do that, quote Mr. Perkins ponderously. And in the meantime, don't do any more digging or rail-cutting. He hurried away to his automobile, leaving a lieutenant in charge of the squad. Also in the meantime, young man, Colonel Pennington announced, You will pardon me if I take possession of my locomotive and flat-cars. I observe you have finished unloading those rails. Help yourself, Colonel! Bryce replied, with an assumption of hardiness he was far from feeling. Thank you so much, Cardigan. With the greatest good nature in life Pennington climbed into the cab, reached for the bell-cord, and rang the bell vigorously. Then he permitted himself a triumphant toot of the whistle, after which he threw off the air and gently opened the throttle. He was not a locomotive engineer, but he had ridden in the cab of his own locomotive and felt quite confident of his ability in a pinch. With a creek and a bump the train started, and the Colonel ran it slowly up until the locomotive stood on the tracks exactly where Buck Ogilvy had been cutting in his crossing, whereupon the Colonel locked the brakes, opened his exhaust, and blew the boiler down. And when the last ounce of steam had escaped he descended and smilingly accosted Bryce Cardigan. That engine being my property, he announced, I'll take the short end of any bet you care to make, young man, that it will sit on those tracks until your temporary franchise expires. I'd give a good deal to see anybody not in my employ attempt to get up steam in that boiler until I give the word. Cut in your jump-crossing now if you can, you welp, and be damned to you. I've got you blocked. I'd rather imagine this nice gentleman has it on us, old dear, chirped Buck Ogilvy plaintively. Well, we did our damnedest, which angels can't do no more. Let us gather up our tools and go home, my son, for something tells me that if I hang around here I'll bust one of two things, this sleek scoundrel's gray head, or one of my bellicose veins. Hello! Whom have we here? Bryce turned and found himself facing Shirley Sumner. Her tender lip was quivering, and the tears shone in her eyes like stars. He stared at her in silence. My friend, she murmured tremulously, didn't I tell you I would not permit you to build the NCO? He bowed his head in rage and shame at his defeat. Buck Ogilvy took him by the arm. To his midnight's holy hour, he quoted, and silence now is brooding like a gentle spirit or a still and pulseless world. Bryce, old chap, this is one of those occasions where silence is golden. Speak not, I'll do it for you. Miss Sumner, he continued, bowing graciously, and Colonel Pennington, favoring that triumphant rascal with an equally gracious bow. We leave you in possession of the field, temporarily. However, if anybody should drive up in a hack and lean out and ask you, just tell him Buck Ogilvy has another trump tucked away in his kimono. Bryce turned to go, but with a sudden impulse Shirley laid her hand on his arm, his left arm. Bryce, she murmured. He lifted her hand gently from his forearm, led her to the front of the locomotive, and held her hand up to the headlight. Her fingers were crimson with blood. Your uncle's killer did that, Shirley. He said, ironically. It's only a slight flesh wound, but that is no fault of your allies. Good night. And he left her standing, pale of face and trembling, in the white glare of the headlight. End of Chapter 31, recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 32 of the Valley of the Giants. This Librivox records the death of the young man. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Valley of the Giants by Peter B. Kine. Chapter 32. Shirley made no effort to detain Bryce Cartigan as he walked to his car and climbed into it. Ogilvy remained merely long enough to give orders to the foreman to gather up the tools, store them in the machine shop of Cartigan's mill, and dismiss his gang. Then he too entered the automobile and, at a word from Bryce, the car slid noiselessly away into the darkness. The track-cutting crew departed a few minutes later, and when Shirley found herself alone with her uncle, the tumult in her heart gave way to the tears she could no longer repress. Pennington stood by, watching her curiously, coldly. Presently Shirley mastered her emotion and glanced toward him. Well, my dear, he queried nervously. I—I think I had better go home, she said without spirit. I think so too, he answered. Get into the mayor's fliver, my dear, and I'll drive you. And perhaps the least said about this affair the better, Shirley. There are many things that you do not understand, and which cannot be elucidated by discussion. I can understand an attempted assassination, Uncle Seth. That blackguard, Menorca. I should have known better than to put him on such a job. I told him to bluff and threaten. Cartigan I knew would realize the grudge the black Menorca had against him, and for that reason I figured the greaser was the only man who could bluff him. While I gave him orders to shoot, I told him distinctly not to hit anybody. Good Lord Shirley! Shirley, you do not think I would wink at a murder? I do, she answered passionately. With Bryce Cartigan out of the way you would have a clear field before you. Oh, my dear, my dear, Shirley, you do not realize what you are saying. You are beside yourself, Shirley. Please, please, do not wound me so, so horribly. You do not, you cannot realize what a desperate fight I have been putting up for both our sakes. I am surrounded by enemies, the most implacable enemies. They force me to fight the devil with fire, and here you are, giving them aid and comfort. I want you to defeat Bryce Cartigan if you can do it fairly. At another time, and in a calmer mood, we will discuss that villain, he said authoritatively. If we argue the matter now, we are liable to misunderstandings. We may quarrel, and that is something neither of us can afford. Get into the car, and we will go home. There is nothing more to be done tonight. Your sophistry does not alter my opinion, she replied firmly. However, as you say, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. They drove home in silence. Shirley went at once to her room. For the Colonel, however, the night's work had scarcely begun. The instant he heard the door to his niece's room shut, he went to the telephone and called up the Laguna Grande Roundhouse. Sexton, his manager, answered, Have you sent the switch engine to the woods for Rondo and his men? Just left. Good. Now then, Sexton, listen to me. As you know, this raid of Cartigans has developed so suddenly I am more or less shaken by surprise, and have had no time to prepare the kind of counter-attack that will be most effective. However, with the crossing blocked, I gain time in which to organize. Only there must be no weak point in my organization. In order to ensure that, I am proceeding to San Francisco tonight by motor, via the Coast Road. I will arrive late to-morrow night, and early Saturday morning I will appear in the United States District Court with our attorneys and file a complaint and petition for an order temporarily restraining the NCO from cutting our tracks. I will have to make an affidavit to support the complaint, so I had better be Johnny on the spot to do it, rather than risk the delay of making the affidavit to-morrow morning, here, and forwarding it by mail to our attorneys. The judge will sign a restraining order, returnable in from ten to thirty days. I'll try for thirty, because that will knock out the NCO's temporary franchise. And after I have obtained the restraining order, I will have the United States Marshal telegraph it to Ogilvy and Cartigan. Bully, cried Sexton heartily, that'll fix their clock. In the meantime, Pennington continued, logs will be glutting our landings. We need that locomotive for its legitimate purposes. Take all that discarded machinery and the old boiler we removed from the mill last fall, dump it on the tracks at the crossing, and get the locomotive back on its run. Understand? The other side, having no means of removing these heavy obstructions, will be blocked until I return. By that time the matter will be in the district court. Cartigan will be hung up until his temporary franchise expires, and the city council will not renew it. Get me? Yes, sir. I'll be back Sunday for noon. Goodbye. He hung up, went to his chauffeur's quarters over the garage, and routed the man out of bed. Then he returned quietly to his room, dressed and packed a bag for his journey, left a brief note for Shirley, notifying her of his departure, and started on his two hundred and fifty mile trip over the mountains to the south. As his car sped through sleeping Sequoia and gained the open country, the Colonel's heart thrilled pleasurably. He held cards and spades, big and little casino, four aces, and the joker. Therefore he knew he could sweep the board at his pleasure. And during his absence Shirley would have opportunity to cool off, while he would find time to formulate an argument to lull her suspicions upon his return. End of Chapter 32 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 33 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 33 Quite oblivious of her uncle's departure for San Francisco, Shirley lay awake throughout the remainder of the night, turning over and over in her mind the various aspects of the Cartigan-Fennegan embryo. Of one thing she was quite certain, peace must be declared at all hazards. She had been obsessed of a desire, rather unusual in her sex, to see a fight worthwhile. She had planned to permit it to go to a knockout, to use Bryce Cartigan's language, because she believed Bryce Cartigan would be vanquished, and she had desired to see him smashed, but not beyond repair. For her joy in the conflict was to lie in the task of putting the pieces together afterward. She realized now, however, that she had permitted matters to go too far. A revulsion of feeling toward her uncle, induced by the memory of Bryce Cartigan's blood on her white fingertips, convinced the girl that, at all hazards to her financial future, henceforth she and her uncle must tread separate paths. She had found him out at last, and because in her nature there was some of his own fixity of purpose, the resolution cost her no particular pang. It was rather a relief, therefore, when the impeturbable James handed her at breakfast the following note. Surely, dear, after leaving you last night, I decided that in your present frame of mind my absence for a few days might tend to a calmer and clearer perception, on your part, of the necessary tactics which, in a moment of desperation, I saw fit with regret to pursue last night. And in the hope that you will have attained your old attitude toward me before my return, I am leaving in the motor for San Francisco. Your terrible accusation has grieved me to such an extent that I do not feel equal to the task of confronting you until, in a more judicial frame of mind, you can truly absolve me of the charge of wishing to do away with young Cartigan. Your affectionate Uncle Seth. Shirley's lip curled. With a rarer, keener intuition than she had hitherto manifested, she sensed the hypocrisy between the lines. She was not deceived. He has gone to San Francisco for more ammunition, she soliloquized. Very well, unky-dunk. While you're away, I shall manufacture a few bombs myself. After breakfast she left the house and walked to the intersection of B with Water Street. Jules Rondeau and his crew of lumberjacks were there, and with two policemen guarded the crossing. Rondeau glanced at Shirley, surprised, then lifted his hat. Shirley looked from the woods bully to the locomotive and back to Rondeau. Rondeau, she said, Mr. Cartigan is a bad man to fight. You fought him once. Are you going to do it again? He nodded. By whose orders? Mr. Sexton, he tell me to do it. Well, Rondeau, some day I'll be boss of Laguna Grande, and there'll be no more fighting, she replied, and passed on down B Street to the office of the Cartigan Redwood Lumber Company. Moira MacTavish looked up as she entered. Where is he, dear? Shirley asked. I must see him. In that office, Miss Shirley, Moira replied and pointed to the door. Shirley stepped to the door, knocked, and then entered. Bryce Cartigan, seated at his desk, looked up as she came in. His left arm was in a sling, and he looked harassed and dejected. Don't get up, Bryce, she said, as he attempted to rise. I know you're quite exhausted. You look it. She sat down. I'm so sorry, she said softly. His dull glance brightened. It doesn't amount to that, Shirley, and he snapped his fingers. It throbs a little and it's stiff and sore, so I carry it in the sling. That helps a little. What did you want to see me about? I wanted to tell you, said Shirley, that that last night's affair was not of my making. He smiled compassionately. I couldn't bear to have you think that I'd break my word and tell him. It never occurred to me that you had dealt me a hand from the bottom of the deck, Shirley. Please don't worry about it. Your uncle has had two private detectives watching Ogilvy and me. Oh! she breathed, much relieved. A ghost of the old bantering smile lighted her winsome features. Well, then, she challenged. I suppose you don't hate me. On the contrary, I love you, he answered. However, since you must have known this for some time past, I suppose it is superfluous to mention it. Moreover, I haven't the right, yet. She had cast her eyes down modestly. She raised them now and looked at them searchingly. I suppose you'll acknowledge yourself whipped at last, Bryce? She ventured. Would it please you to have me surrender? He was very serious. Indeed, it would, Bryce. Why? Because I'm tired of fighting. I want peace. I'm afraid to let this matter go any further. I'm truly afraid. I think I want peace, too, he answered wirly. I'd be glad to quit, with honor. And I'll do it, too, if you can induce your uncle to give me the kind of logging contract I want with his road. I couldn't do that, Bryce. He has you whipped, and he is not merciful to the fallen. You'll have to surrender unconditionally. Again she laid her little hand timidly on his wounded forearm. Please give up, Bryce, for my sake. If you persist, somebody will get killed. I suppose I'll have to, he murmured sadly. I daresay you're right, though one should never admit defeat until he has counted out. I suppose, he continued bitterly, your uncle is in high feather this morning. I don't know, Bryce. He left in his motor for San Francisco about one o'clock this morning. For an instant Bryce Cartigan stared at her. Then a slow, mocking little smile crept around the corners of his mouth and his eyes lighted with mirth. Glorious news, my dear Shirley. Perfectly glorious. So the old fox has gone to San Francisco, huh? Left in a hurry and via the Overland Route? Couldn't wait for the regular passenger steamer to-morrow, huh? Great jumping Jehoshaphat. He must have had important business to attend to. And Bryce commenced to chuckle. Oh, the poor old Colonel, he continued presently. The dear old pirate. What a horrible right swing he's running into. And you want me to acknowledge defeat? My dear girl, in the language of the classic, there is nothing doing. I shall put in my crossing Sunday morning, and if you don't believe it, drop around and see me in action. You mustn't try, protested Shirley. Rondo is there with his crew, and he has orders to stop you. Besides, you can't expect help from the police. Uncle Seth has made a deal with the Mayor, Shirley pleaded frantically. That for the police and that venal Mayor Poundstone, Bryce retorted with another snap of his fingers. I'll rid the city of them at the fall election. I came prepared to suggest a compromise, Bryce, she declared, but he interrupted her with the wave of his hand. You can't affect a compromise. You've been telling me I shall never build the NCO, because you will not permit me to. You're powerless, I tell you. I shall build it. You shan't, she fired back at him, and a spot of anger glowed in each cheek. You're the most stubborn and belligerent man I have ever known. Sometimes I almost hate you. Come around at ten to-morrow morning and watch me put in the crossing. Watch me give Rondo and his gang the run. He reached over suddenly, lifted her hand, and kissed it. How I love you, dear little antagonist, he murmured. If you loved me, you wouldn't oppose me, she protested softly. I tell you again, Bryce, you make it very hard for me to be friendly with you. I don't want to be friendly with you. You're driving me crazy, Shirley. Please run along home or wherever you're bound. I've tried to understand your peculiar code, but you're too deep for me. So let me go my way to the devil. George Sea Otter is outside asleep in the tunnel of the car. Tell him to drive you wherever you're going. I suppose you're afoot today, for I noticed the mayor riding to his office in your sedan this morning. She tried to look outraged, but for the life of her she could not take a fence at his bluntness. Neither did she resent a look which she detected in his eyes, even though it told her he was laughing at her. Oh, very well, she replied with what dignity she could muster. Have it your own way. I've tried to warn you. Thank you for your offer of the car. I shall be glad to use it. Uncle Seth sold my car to Mayor Poundstone last night. Mrs. P. admired it so. Ah! Then it was that rascally Poundstone who told your uncle about the temporary franchise, thus arousing his suspicions to such an extent that when he heard his locomotive rumbling into town he smelled a rat and hurried down to the crossing. Possibly. The Poundstones dined at our house last night. Pretty hard on you, I should say. But then I suppose you have to play the game with Uncle Seth. Well, good morning, Shirley. Sorry to hurry you away, but you must remember we're on a strictly business basis, yet. And you mustn't waste my time. You're horrid, Bryce Cardigan. You're adorable. Good morning. You'll be sorry for this, she warned him. Good morning. She passed out into the general office, visited with Moira about five minutes, and drove away in the Napier. Bryce watched her through the window. She knew he was watching her, but nevertheless she could not forbear turning around to verify her suspicions. When she did he waved his sound arm at her and she flushed with vexation. God bless her, he murmured. She's been my ally all along, and I never suspected it. I wonder what her game can be. He sat musing for a long time. Yes, he concluded presently. Old Poundstone has double-crossed us, and Pennington made it worth his while. And the Colonel sold the mayor his niece's automobile. It's worth twenty-five hundred dollars at least, and since Old Poundstone's finances will not permit such an extravagance, I'm wondering how Pennington expects him to pay for it. I smell a rat as big as a kangaroo. In this case, two and two don't make four. They make six. Guess I'll build a fire under Old Poundstone. He took down the telephone receiver and called up the mayor. Bryce Cardigan speaking, Mr. Poundstone, he greeted the chief executive of Sequoia. Oh, hello, Bryce, my boy! Poundstone boomed affably. How's Tricks? So, so. I hear you've bought that sedan from Colonel Pennington's niece. Wish I'd known it was for sale. I'd have outbid you. Want to make a profit on your bargain? No, not this morning, Bryce. I think we'll keep it. Mrs. P. has been wanting a closed car for a long time, and when the Colonel offered me this one at a bargain, I snapped it up. Couldn't afford a new one, you know. But then this one's just as good as new. And you don't care to get rid of it at a profit? Bryce repeated. No, sirree. Oh, you're mistaken, Mr. Mayor. I think you do. I would suggest that you take that car back to Pennington's garage and leave it there. That would be the most profitable thing you could do. What? What? What in blue blazes are you driving at, the Mayor sputtered? I wouldn't care to discuss it over the telephone. I take it, however, that a hint to the wise is sufficient. And I warn you, Mayor, that if you keep that car, it'll bring you bad luck. Today is Friday, and Friday is an unlucky day. I'd get rid of that sedan before noon, if I were you. There was a long fateful silence. Then in a singularly small, quavering voice, you think it bests, cardigan? I do. Return it to number 38 Redwood Boulevard, and no questions will be asked. Goodbye. When Shirley reached home at noon, she found her car parked in front of the Porte-Cochere. And a brief note, left with the butler, informed her that after thinking the matter over, Mrs. Poundstone had decided the Poundstone family could not afford such an extravagance, and accordingly the car was returned with many thanks for the opportunity to purchase it at such a ridiculously low figure. Shirley smiled and put the car up in the garage. When she returned to the house, her maid, Thelma, informed her that Mr. Bryce Cardigan had been calling her in the telephone. So she called Bryce up at once. Has Poundstone returned your car? He queried. Why, yes, what makes you ask? Oh, I had a suspicion he might. You see, I called him up and suggested it. Somehow his honor is peculiarly susceptible to suggestions from me and— Bryce Cardigan, she declared. You're a sly rascal, that's what you are. I shan't tell you another thing. I hope you had a stenographer at the dictograph when the mayor and your uncle cooked up their little deal, he continued. That was thoughtful of you, Shirley. It was a bully club to have up your sleeve at the final showdown, for with it you can make unky-dunk behave himself and force that compromise you spoke of. Seriously, however, I don't want you to use it, Shirley. We must avoid a scandal by all means. And praise be, I don't need your club to beat your uncle's brains out. I'm taking his club away from him to use for that purpose. Really, I believe you're happy today. Happy? I should tell a man. If the streets of Sequoia were paved with eggs, I could walk them all day without making an omelet. It must be nice to feel so happy, after so many months of the blues. Indeed it is, Shirley. You see, until very recently I was very much worried as to your attitude toward me. I couldn't believe you'd so far forget yourself as to love me in spite of everything. So I never took the trouble to ask you. And now I don't have to ask you. I know. And I'll be around to see you after I get that crossing in. You're perfectly horrid, she blazed, and hung up without the formality of saying good-bye. End of Chapter 33, Recording by Roger Maline