CHAPTER XVII
It was the following Friday that Jim’s attention was called to the scant stock of logs on the skids. He knew that the mill had been eating up more timber than before, and of course was pleased, for that meant an increased production. He knew, too, that the Diversity Hardwood Company had missed sending down a train of logs once or twice when they should have been sent; but other matters had filled his attention to the exclusion of this.
John Beam saw Jim staring at the logs and stepped over to his side.
“I was comin’ up to see you about this to-day,” he said. “Them folks is givin’ us the worst of it, plenty. Look at the logs they’re sendin’ down. Mostly beech, and dozy at that. For a week we’ve been short of maple for veneer. And they’ve been holdin’ back on us. We’re usin’ twice what they’re sendin’ down. I asked the boss of their train crew what was the matter, and he just grinned at me so’s I wanted to land him one, and says we was lucky to be alive.”
“Do you think they’re trying to tie us up?”
“I don’t think it,” said John.
Jim turned on his heel and strode back to the office. He called the Diversity Company on the telephone.
“We’re running short of logs,” he said. “You’ve been cutting down on shipments. When can we have another train-load?”
“Things aren’t going just right in the woods,” said a voice. “I don’t believe we can get you more than a small train-load before Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“We’ll be shut down Saturday if we don’t get logs.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ashe, but we’re doing our best.”
“Is Mr. Moran there?”
“He’ll be in on the afternoon train.”
Jim hung up the receiver. He had been feeling too fine; he had grown cocky at his recent successes; now he had a taste of the opposite emotion. His mill was running better—but what good did it do if the log supply failed? He had been able to borrow money to pay bills and to operate—but that only made matters worse if he were unable to get out his product. He had an option on Le Bar’s timber. This might or might not be a profitable matter, but it was of no present help. He must have logs.
That afternoon he was at the depot as the train pulled in. Moran alighted and Jim fastened upon him instantly. “Mr. Moran,” he said, “your men are not getting logs to us.”
“Um! What seems to be wrong?” Moran’s voice was irritating. Jim fancied it was deliberately irritating.
“I’m not here to tell you what’s wrong. That’s your lookout,” Jim said. “Your business is to supply us with logs according to our contract—and if anything interferes it’s your job to see it doesn’t interfere.”
Moran’s eyes glinted.
“You’ll get logs as we’re able to ship them. Our first business is to supply our own mill. You’re a side issue.”
“That’s your attitude, is it? The obligation of contract means very little to you.”
“That contract was none of my making, Ashe. And if you don’t like the way we carry it out, you have your redress. Go to the courts.”
“I guess I’ve smoked out the reason we aren’t getting what we’re entitled to,” said Jim, his voice rising with his anger. “Its name is Moran—a pretty unsavory reason, from all I gather.”
Moran glared.
“You can’t talk to me like that, young man. You can’t bulldoze me.” He started to move away. Jim reached out swiftly, caught the man by the shoulder, and slammed him against the side of the depot.
“I’m not through talking with you,” he said, evenly, his eyes beginning to glow. “When I want to talk to a man I don’t consider it good manners for him to walk off. Now, Mister Man, you stay put till I’ve mentioned a few things to you. If you budge I’ll fetch you back again.”
Moran struggled, cursed, and struck at Jim.
“I don’t want to thrash you, Moran,” said Jim, “but I can—and I may have to. It depends on you. Stand still!”
Moran turned his savage eyes on the young man’s face. What he saw made him hesitate. He ceased to struggle; stood glaring venomously.
“Now listen,” said Jim, unconscious of the knot of Diversity’s citizens who had gathered about. “You’ve been needing to hear a few facts and opinions, and to-day’s the date of delivery. You and your railroad have been a blight on this county. You’re trying to turn the Diversity Company into another blight. So far as I can learn you haven’t a decent hair on your head. You’re never guilty of a fair and decent act if hard work will show you a crooked way out of it. You’ve gouged citizens and shippers with your railroad; you’ve robbed your laborers in the woods. If you have any associates I expect you’ve cheated them.
“Now you’re trying to grab all Diversity and run it as you run your business. You’re trying to steal a well-governed, honest town, and turn it into the sort of thing you admire. You came to me and asked me to help you. You want to make this county a little principality, with you as the autocrat. It would be a sad day for Diversity. If the people of this town have the sense the Almighty gave doodle-bugs they’ll see what you’re up to. You want the courts. You want the machinery of the law, so you can sack the place. Not a man here, not a man in your woods, would be safe in life or property. You could wrong without fear of redress. So far you’ve been able to get away with it, but I’m thinking the folks here will wake up in time. If you’ve been a crook with men you’ve been a miserable brute with women.”
Moran cursed again, but Jim quelled his struggle promptly.
“It’s astonishing,” he went on, “that some woman’s brother or father hasn’t seen to it you got what you deserve. Some day one of them will.”
Jim was surprised into a moment’s silence by the sudden grayness that shaded Moran’s face, by the expression of furtiveness, of fear, that crept into his eyes.
“Oh, you’re a bit afraid of that, eh? You ought to be. Now for personal matters. You think the Ashe Clothespin Company would be a fine property to add to your holdings, so you mixed up with Welliver and his gang to break me. You hired the Kowterskis to spike my logs and to tamper with my machinery, and you saw what happened to one Kowterski. You’ve tried to hold back cars so I couldn’t ship; now you’re planning to cut me off on timber. Well, you aren’t going to do it.” He thought of Marie Ducharme. “And there’s another matter, which we won’t discuss publicly. If you think hard perhaps you’ll guess. That’s what made me despise you first. I don’t suppose it matters to you how many decent folks despise you, Moran, but it gives me some satisfaction to tell you there are a lot of them. I guess that’s about all, except that I’ve got to have logs—and I’m going to have them.” He loosened his hold. Moran moved his head in his released collar, drew a long breath.
“Through, are you? Well, Ashe, see if you’re man enough to listen to me without using the strong arm. You’ve made your talk. Maybe you think you can talk that way to Michael Moran and get away with it. I’ve a few things to settle with you, and this isn’t the least.” His partially restrained passion burst its bonds in fury. “I’ll get you!” he shouted. “I’ll bust you if it takes every dollar I own. Logs! See how many logs you get. Where’ll you be by the time the courts give you damages—and by that time the courts will belong to me. You’ve started in to crowd me, too, you infernal fool. What good do you think that Le Bar option is going to do you? Do you think I’ll buy from you? Don’t you suppose I can stop a sale to anybody else? You just lose your thousand, that’s all. And that last thing that you didn’t describe. I know what it is, Ashe, and take a warning from me. Change your boarding-house and get out of my way.” He turned, pushed his way violently through the little crowd, and almost ran down the street.
As Jim followed more slowly he heard a man say: “Gosh! I wouldn’t be him for consid’able. Wait till Moran gits at him.”
Jim rather longed for that moment. He went at once to Grierson’s desk.
“Where’s our log contract?” he asked. Grierson got it from the safe. Jim jerked it open, read it quickly. His eyes lighted, his teeth clicked. “Listen to this,” he said. “Does it mean what it says—legally? ‘If for any reason the said Diversity Hardwood Company shall fail to deliver to the said Ashe Clothespin Company logs according to the terms of this contract in sufficient number to fill the requirements of the said Ashe Clothespin Company, then the said Clothespin Company shall have the right to go upon the lands of the Hardwood Company at the most convenient place to them, and to cut timber, take logs from skidways, make use of all tools and appliances belonging to the Hardwood Company which shall be necessary to such logging operations, and this shall include the use of camps, railroads, teams, tools, and any equipment which is available. The cost of such operations shall be faithfully noted and shall be deducted from the contract price of the timber taken in such manner.’”
Grierson peered at Jim through his glasses. “It’s a usual clause in such contracts,” he said, “and I guess it’s legal. But that’s as strong a clause as I ever saw. I don’t know as I ever heard of one that was enforced.”
“This one is going to be,” said Jim, shortly. “Go out to the log-yard,” he said to Grierson’s assistant, “and send Tim Bennett here.”
“Tim,” said Jim, when the cant-dog man appeared, “there was a time when lumberjacks would fight for their boss.”
“Who says I won’t?” Tim demanded, belligerently.
“Just wanted to find out,” said Jim, with a smile that Tim answered broadly. “Know where there are any more like you?”
“Lumberjacks—real ones—is leavin’ this county as fast as they kin go. But there’s some left. Shouldn’t be s’prised if I could dig up a couple of dozen.”
“I want clean men—no boozers—on duty. I want men to depend on in a pinch, who will keep their mouths shut. And I’d just as soon they wouldn’t be friends of Michael Moran.”
“Mike Moran, is it?” Tim asked, his eyes gleaming. “Are you goin’ after him? ’Tis a glad day for Tim Bennett. Friends of Mike’s—there hain’t no sich animal, Mr. Ashe.”
“Find all you can. Don’t tell ’em what’s up—because you don’t know,” Jim said, with a twinkle. “Don’t get ’em together in a gang, but have ’em meet to-morrow night in that bunch of cedar this side the red bridge. If they happen to have peavey handles they might bring them along.”
“To use for canes where the walkin’s bad,” grinned Tim. “I’ll have them there.”
Jim was not satisfied. He wired a friend in the old home town:
Go down Patsy’s have him send twenty good boys. Ten on afternoon, ten on morning train to-morrow. With peavey handles.
He knew this would be enough; that Patsy Garrity would send him the men he needed.
Jim wanted advice, but hesitated to ask it. He knew Zaanan Frame was his friend, but the old man was on the side of law and order. He might frown on Jim’s intention, for, lawful as it was, it might, probably would, turn out to be anything but orderly or peaceful. Still, he decided to go.
Zaanan listened to him quietly, let him finish without comment.
“Blood’s young,” he said at the end, and wagged his head. “But this time I calc’late there hain’t no other way. Moran hain’t got no use for law, but he’ll go rushin’ off for a temp’rary injunction. That’ll tie you up till he kin collect his army. If I was doin’ this I calc’late I’d git there first. Eh? See young Bob Allen that’s runnin’ for prosecutor. He’ll draw the bill for you. You’re startin’ in on a real job, Jim. Better be reasonable sure you’re ready to finish it ’fore you start in. G’-by, Jim.”
Jim went to Bob Allen. The young lawyer’s eyes shone as he listened.
“It’s coming to him,” he said. “Moran’s been needing somebody to handle him without tongs. Mr. Ashe, if I get to be prosecutor, and you’ll back me, I’ll chase him round in circles. I’ll do it whether you back me or not. We want to handle this right. When do you plan to land your invasion?”
“About midnight to-morrow.”
“Then Judge Scudder’s due to have his rest broken. I’ll be at his house at midnight with the papers—and a deputy. He’ll issue the injunction, all right. By that time you’ll be in full blossom. The deputy will slide off to serve the restraining order. Gosh! I’d like to be along with you.”
“I’d like to have you,” said Jim, heartily. “We’ve never had time to get acquainted, but I guess we’re going to. Eh?”
“You bet you!” said Allen. “This place has been drifting along to the graveyard. It’s a godsend to have somebody come along that’s sudden. From what I hear you’re sudden enough to suit anybody—judging from your little love-feast with Moran this afternoon.”
“I suppose the citizens are holding a funeral over me.”
“Yes. But they’re thinking, too. You mentioned a few things that gave them something to think about. I don’t figure you did Peleg Goodwin’s campaign a heap of good. It’s going to be a fight, though. Moran’s spending money.”
“The next prosecutor ought to have legal evidence of it,” said Jim.
“By Jove!” Allen exclaimed, “that’s something I overlooked. If evidence is to be had I’ll get it.”
Jim went back to the office to study a map of the section and to lay the plans for his campaign.