“But,” she said, “he’s had the best of you, hasn’t he?”
“He bragged of that, eh? I’ll admit he had more gumption than I figured on, but he’s gone his limit. I’m taking personal charge now. He’s in deep water, Marie. He’s up against a hard fight in his own line, bucking a combination. They’ve put prices down to where he loses money on every clothespin he makes.
“He’s in deep—borrowed money all over the shop, and no way to pay it. To-night will end his thrashing round. Can’t run without logs.”
“Yes,” Marie said, setting a thorn into Moran’s skin, “but he’s getting logs. Didn’t he take your logging-road away from you?”
“But he won’t run it any longer. You know where Crab Creek Trestle is? Well, the logs are all on the other side of it. And they’re going to stay there. The Diversity Hardwood Company is going to have the misfortune to lose its trestle by fire to-night. He’ll have to shut down. Then creditors will get worried. They’ll be down on him, but I’ll be there a little ahead.”
“How?” said Marie, breathlessly.
“I’m a director of the Diversity Bank,” he chuckled. “Ashe borrowed thirty thousand dollars of us, and gave a demand-note. You know what that is?”
“Yes.”
“To-morrow the note will be presented. He’ll have to raise that amount of money inside of three days—and he can’t do it. Oh, it won’t be long before a man named Michael Moran will be manufacturing clothespins with Ashe’s machinery.”
“But if you should fail about the trestle, if it shouldn’t burn, would he be able to beat you and keep his mill?”