“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.”