was wrong, an' men don't like to do that—specially after they've made so much noise about bein' right.
"None of 'em was any more down on you than Tom Burns, my own uncle. None of 'em ridiculed any harder than he did. He'd been supervisor from Lincoln township since I can remember. Now he's dead, an' I'm in his place an' I aint afraid to step out an' tell the world an' Blueberry County that these old men have been wrong; that you can grow timber, that you have grown timber, an' that now, by God, you're goin' to pay for the privilege of growin' it in this county!"
His voice had risen to a thin cry and his eyes blazed churlish triumph.
"Yes, it is likely you can do that, if you want to," she said, measuring each word, thinking desperately. "It has been done before. The last stick of hardwood in the county was taken off last winter because you men taxed the owner to the point of financial failure. All over the country logging camps are slaughtering timber to keep ahead of taxation. You may start that with me if you see fit; you may not get very far, but—"
"Oh, I know Humphrey Bryant's behind you! I know he's tryin' to turn the timber taxation upside down at Lansing. Let me tell you, girl, I'll snap my fingers in Hump' Bryant's face. He's got to get elected to th' Senate again before he can help you an' he ain't so much a fox as he thinks he is. I'll have your assessment on th' rolls in a week; I'll have you whipped before th' first of th' year because you drove me off, with your wolf bitch!"
He forced the last words through set teeth. The girl, backed against the door, breathed rapidly as he advanced.
"Unless you'll listen to reason," voice lowering to a
