"Timber"/Chapter 22
CHAPTER XXIII
Taylor and Black Joe were back in the forest by late afternoon. Helen was gone.
They went first to the men's shanty where Joe removed the worn and shabby suit he kept for such a rare event as a trip to Pancake and was struggling into overalls and a work shirt when John, importuned by Bobby to come and fix his see-saw, started toward the big house. Joe paused in his dressing.
"Say!" John stopped. Joe cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Tell her," he growled, "that I went to town an' that I'm back."
His voice was gruffer than ever, but John smiled as he walked away. Joe, who would not even speak to the sour Aunty May, sending her this trivial message of his well being!
He busied himself with the board and horse which made the children's teeter and saw Aunty May come to the door, mixing bowl on her hip, and glance at the children briefly, and look at length toward the men's shanty. She did this again and a third time; on her next appearance she came outside.
"Helen went to town," she volunteered.
"Yes?"
"Hump Bryant telephoned some news that made her glad. She's gone to bring him out for Sunday with the children. They don't see their Grandpa Humpy much." Taylor worked on. "You've been away most all day," she said. He had, he admitted. "Your logs most cut?" They were. "I s'pose you have to go to town a lot, now." Yes, he had been in today.
She talked with the manner of one whose mind is not just on what she says, and her eyes went from time to time to the men's shanty.
"That's one advantage of bein' an ornery man. You c'n pick up an' git out when you will." Taylor remonstrated that men, at times, had obligations. "But when you're free you gen'ally can find some one to bum with—Now a woman, she don't like to go to town alone."
And so on, edging close to the question which was uppermost in her mind, inspecting Taylor's work with an interest that was obviously assumed. John, watching, finally said:
"We were lucky today. Caught the down freight and got a ride back to Seven Mile with Dr. Pelly."
"Oh, so you didn't go alone?"
"No, Joe and I went in."
"An' three of you rode in that one-seated car of the doctor's?"
"Plenty of room. Yes we all came back—"
Forthwith, she departed for the kitchen with the alacrity of relief and Taylor chuckled. He heard her singing a doleful hymn in a terrible contralto.
Both funny and heartbreaking, it was, as Helen had said. Sour Aunty May, crusty Black Joe; they would not speak, but the first thought of each was for the other's welfare.
Humphrey Bryant came back with Helen that night and John joined them and listened to the old editor's modest recital of what had taken place in the court house. He saw Helen's relief, detected the justified pride that the old man took in thwarting Harris' carefully conceived plan. He listened, smiling, on the verge of telling the part he had played and which no one knew but Black Joe—the most important part in that day's vicory—when Helen checked her laughter and sighed.
"It's only the skirmish. The real fight is to come."
And then they talked seriously of what awaited their wits and courage. Again Taylor detected that unyielding temper in the girl, stirred against any man or influence that menaced her forest. It was, tonight, as though Jim Harris and the others sought her very life; she planned and talked that tensely.
Ezam Grainger had gone, the new bank cashier, one young Wilcox, had arrived the day before. Ezam's mind had been so taken up with his wife's trouble that he had no time for the troubles of others. He had been sorry, but he could do nothing for Helen himself surely, he thought, the new man would renew the mortgage; perhaps later he might aid himself, if help were still needed.
But that day Helen Foraker's chief ally had defied Pontiac Power and the corporation would go out of its way not at all to help carry on the dream of eternal pine. Humphrey was going down state the first of the week to hunt an investor. Outwardly he was optimistic, but he could not cover his misgiving and when Helen indicated the headlines in a Detroit paper heralding the sharp credit stringency, his pleasant assurance lost its ring entirely.
They talked for a long time and when Taylor went out Helen followed him down the steps. Bryant's eyes followed, too, with a smile not untouched by sadness.
Sunday.
The children, one at either hand drew Grandpa Humpy away to inspect a nest of hatching chicks and John, beside Helen, strolled down the river to sit on the bank and finally stretch out beside her on the needles and stare up into the pine crowns and talk—rather constrainedly.
Last night he had intended to tell her of his father's plan; he had put it off because of lack of opportunity. This morning the flush of yesterday's victory died before other grave problems. She had troubles enough; tonight he would talk to Rowe. Tomorrow would do—and perhaps tonight's interview would yield the hope that this obstacle need not be faced—such was the easier way!
There was their moment of love making when half reclining on the sweet needles he held her close to him and felt her hand stroking his head and heard her say that she needed him, that big as the forest was in her reason for living it would be small, now, without this other thing which had come into her heart. He wanted to blurt out his story of yesterday, of how he had held Jim Harris and opened the way for Humphrey's strategy, but he was not given to boasting; he was reticent; better to wait with his tales of allegiance until he could be sure that his unthinking enthusiasm, his desire to help her, had not brought her face to face with an unbeatable enemy.
They went bade together, his elbow touching her side. Goddard, on lookout in Watch Pine—for the fair days had dried the country and distant brush fires sent up wraiths of pale smoke—saw them come as he had seen them go. His hand clutched the battered field glasses and his knee against the rail of the crow's nest trembled.
Philip Rowe had arrived that morning and was in his room at dusk when John's knuckles fell on the door. He received his caller, deferential, suave, courteous, but now there was open irony in his manner and voice as he bade Taylor be seated beside the table which was littered with reports that Tolman had made, for the cruiser had gone back to the forest after that telephone conversation with old Luke and covered its most remote parts thoroughly.
No words were bandied this time. Taylor came to the point at once.
"Evidently I started the thing that I was trying to make impossible."
Rowe shrugged and smoked deliberately.
"Your father never did fancy long-time investments; and he's a bit touchy on any matter of conservation. It doesn't sound practical to him."
"Did you tell him what I told you about the work that this pine represents, about the fact that a girl has been carrying the load alone?"
He put that question sharply and Rowe's gaze locked with his; the lip over his cigar moved slightly.
"I told him everything you said, Taylor," defensively. "Are you thinking that I deliberately caused trouble between you and your father?"
There was bravado in that question, a show of fearless frankness, which did not sound real. Quickly Taylor reflected; Rowe had been close to his father and Marcia Murray more than once intimated that his position might be dangerous. Memory of those hints stirred dormant suspicion and as he looked into the glitter of the eyes that clung to his John believed that he had grounds for that misgiving.
"No I don't think that, yet, Rowe."
"Meaning that you think that you will think it!" laughing.
"Perhaps."
Rowe laughed again.
"There's no need of your losing your temper because you made your father lose his," he said. "You've a good opportunity here yet. You and your father don't think alike on a great many things; there's no point on which you could differ any more than on this pine deal. No use trying to impress you with his appetite for Michigan pine. You understand that as well as I do. Perhaps there is one thing about him you don't realize and that is that when it comes to a deal involving something he wants and which somebody else wants, too, he's a steam roller! He has the money, he has the determination, and he has—damned little regard for what other people want.
"He wants this pine. We've looked it over carefully, not only the timber but its backing. That backing is damned shaky. Taylor, I understand there was a little inside political excitement yesterday and Miss Foraker won. Well, that's only a stop-gap. These fellows have the law with them and in the end, which isn't very far away, they'll get her.
"There's another thing. This bank holds a mortgage for twenty thousand on a part of the forest and there's no chance of their renewing it. She can't get the money anywhere else unless she's got better credit than most of us, and the foreclosure will pretty well upset her scheme for logging as you outlined it the other day. And there are other things, several—" He paused and eyed his cigar. "You've never liked me very well, Taylor; I've known it. I'm now in a position to make you or break you as far as your future with your father is concerned. I have full authority to act for him on this matter and if you doubt it, try to get in touch with him either by telephone or by a trip home." He paused to let that sink in.
"I don't want to do anything that's unfair." He eyed the tendril of cigar smoke. Some one entered the next room. Muffled voices, which neither of them heeded. "If you want to come in on this deal with us, see it from your father's way and help, it may do a lot to re-establish you in his favor. Just now, you're not worth a white chip. He has a pretty good reason to believe, too, that you're somewhat prejudiced by your interest in Miss Foraker."
His manner was stinging and John rose.
"We'll leave Miss Foraker out of this," he said sharply.
Rowe's brows lifted. The voices in the next rooom broke off.
"What influence she has on me is none of your affair and none of my father's. We're talking a timber deal; not something personal. The girl concerns only me. It was my idea and I am going to insist on having things my way if I go in at all.
"I came up here, I saw the timber and its possibilities. Why, there's money in it, Rowe, lots of money for my father and for me! The fact that Miss Foraker is in a pinch gives us a chance to be in on the deal at all. If she weren't pressed for money we'd never get in. I want to do this, Rowe, as much as my father ever wanted to cut pine in his life. I can't do it alone. I need his help and understanding.
"You can help me in this if you will. You have the authority to act for my father. You're on the ground. You have cruiser's report on the values. I make this sporting proposition to you: Help me out, interest my father in the plan I've put up to you and we'll pull together in a combination that can't lose.
"The timber's there; you can't get away from that; she's grown it to saw-log size. She's done it alone and she's reached the end of her rope. Look at the thing from my point of view. Get behind me with my father's money and I'll stake everything I hold dear on the bet that we'll clean up."
He stopped rather breathless. Rowe cleared his throat. From the other room the sound of footsteps, a closing door. Men went down the hall.
"And suppose I tell you I am not interested in seeing it your way any more than your father is?"
"Then it will be up to me to fight you both!"
A gleam of triumph swept Rowe's face. "You mean that? That you will fight your father in this thing?"
"You heard me!"
"And you want me to tell him this?" leaning forward in his chair. "You want me to tell him that you will actually fight him? That you will not even stand aside?"
Color flooded Taylor's face. "Tell him just that," he muttered. "Tell him that I have made my choice, that I stand by the forest. I don't relish fighting him—but I'm ready to go the limit. That's final, Rowe. That's all I have to say."
The other rose and put down his cigar.
"It will interest him," he said ironically. "It will interest him more than anything has since you first mentioned the timber. I—" his eyes ran over Taylor's face craftily. "I will go back tonight with your message. Beyond a doubt you will hear of it—and before long."
They stood silent a moment.
"Then we understand each other," said Taylor and with no more took his hat and walked out. He went down the stairs, down the steps and along the walk. He did not notice the two figures on the hotel verandah, two men who stopped talking when he came out and watched him go. He was in a swirl of impulses. Go to Detroit and face his father? No, that would do no good. Stay here, confide in Helen, summon Humphrey Bryant and plan their campaign of resistance? Or think it out himself? There was time—and he again shrank from the ordeal of making Helen know what he had brought upon her by trying to help.
In his room Phil Rowe lighted a fresh cigar, looked at his reflection in the faulty mirror and smiled.
"That makes it very simple." He laughed nervously. "John Taylor—as an heir, you're a wash-out—and as for this other, I'll strike so quick you'll not get your breath!"
On the verandah Milt Goddard leaned closer to Jim Harris.
"I knew it all along, " he said, thickly, watching Taylor. "I knew he wasn't on the level and didn't mean any good by her."
"Course, it's none of my business, Milt, but I never like to see a square girl get taken in. Miss Foraker don't like me, thinks I don't like her, but maybe she'll wake up and find out who her friends are—some day."
He sighed in satisfaction and half closed his eyes and scarcely heard Goddard's heavy threats, made against Taylor.
All last night Harris had lain awake, trying to determine just what had struck his plan yesterday to knock it into a cocked hat. Humphrey Bryant had been the agency, yes, but there was something else, he felt, something beneath the surface.
His day had been replete with serious conversations. First had been one with Rowe in which names and figures and details were discussed. Then he had summoned the boy Lucius and talked gravely to him—so gravely and earnestly that the lad's eyes bulged and when he left Jim's room he walked with the bearing of one who is excited by great responsibility. And then he talked with Henry Wales, his good nature giving way to hardness; Sim Burns came to see him and they were locked up for an hour.
These conferences were followed by a gossipy journey up and down the street ending in the poolroom where the proprietor laughed with him over Black Joe's Bunion story; but in the midst of the laugh Harris sobered and smoked a moment and asked questions—about Black Joe's coming, about young Taylor; and when he learned that they had asked about his cigars and his habits the other man said:
"That Taylor's a funny cuss, ain't he? Yesterday he seemed more interested in the clock than he did in what Joe had to say."
"Yes, he—huh? The clock!" Harris stared blankly at the other a moment and then picked the band from his cigar carefully.
"By the way, Jim, what's this story about the Foraker girl gettin' Hump' to sit on the road and court house plans?"
"All rot! There's a kink in the tax law they brought up," he lied, "and they're tryin' to dodge taxes, but they'll never get away with it; not while I'm interested to see the country prosper."
"Dirty work, eh? Is that so! Always knew Hump was a nut, but never s'posed he was crooked."
"No, none of you ever did. He makes a dog's hind leg look like a straight line. But wait—you wait. Somethin's going to drop!"
Shortly thereafter he walked out and as he passed the Banner office he looked at the litter behind the dusty windows malevolently.
"You're one, Hump' Bryant—and young Taylor makes two—I'll get you as sure as water runs down hill!"
It was dusk when John and Bryant and Goddard drove into town. Harris watched them from the hotel verandah, studying Milt's sullen manner toward young Taylor. He knew men and motives, did Harris. Little of the bearing of men escaped him, because frictions were the material with which he could always work.
Taylor went into the hotel and Goddard came to sit beside Harris. Later they also went upstairs, for Harris had something important to say to the big woodsman. He did not need to say it, however, the long arm of coincidence reached out that evening and drew four men together, and through the thin partition Milt Goddard heard from Taylor's own lips all that Harris had wanted to tell him. After that they went down to the verandah and smoked again—and the work was done.
Harris smiled contentedly when Goddard walked away to join Taylor and drive back to the forest.
Milt scarcely spoke on the trip, but watched John carefully, patient and planning. He had given an empty warning to Helen and now backing for it had fallen, as it were, from the sky. He would not strike too quickly! He would let this upstart go to the end of his rope and bring him up sharply! Helen Foraker would know whom she could trust!
Two long-distance calls went out of Pancake that evening, the one to Luke Taylor and the other to Marcia Murray at Windigo Lodge, and when they were both accomplished Rowe went to drive with Harris. While they rolled slowly down the river road Rowe listened, rather startled at times, but always reassured by what his companion had to say.
"I'd figured I might have trouble with Milt, but it was as easy as kissin' a pretty girl. For years he's been sweet on her; he's been green-eyed ever since Taylor got the inside track.
"S' help me, I didn't know you and Taylor were upstairs! But Goddard stood in my room and heard with his own ears the young cub beg you for help—and it sounded just like he wanted to cut that pine himself, the way he put it! Better than any lie I could have thought up! Oh-ho, that's rich!"
"But you got him out just in time."
"Lord, it had my heart in my throat! I couldn't hustle him out fast enough. I figured any minute the kid 'uld blow up and cuss you out."
Further on:
"But won't Goddard blow to Miss Foraker?" Rowe asked.
"Hell, maybe Taylor will himself. But there's a bigger chance that Goddard suspects Taylor is on his dad's side and if we can get 'em fighting among themselves, it'll be all down hill and shady.
"I tell you, Rowe, you don't want to underestimate the kid! He put one over on me Saturday and if we don't scotch him he'll make more trouble—but he's gone on the girl, and she's a bug about that pine of hers, and Goddard is nuts about her and jealous of Taylor and thinks Taylor is tryin' to force her to sell—and there you are!
"The iron is hot, my friend. Better grab your hammer!"
"He thinks I'm going back to Detroit tonight. But there'll be no grass under my feet! I'll talk to her before the dew's dry in the morning!"