Wade, even though Rodburd Ide had so brusquely commanded him to forget his love, felt that love stirring in the thrill that animated him now. Did not success mean Elva Barrett? Did not fair return from honest toil mean that he could face John Barrett, bulwarked by his millions? Forget his love? Ide couldn’t understand. His love was a spur whose every thrust was delicious pain. But now that the great secret was out, Rodburd Ide’s tide of enthusiasm seemed to be in somewhat ominous and depressing reflux.
He spread upon the splint table a lumberman’s map, and his hands trembled as he did so.
“You’ve done as I told you, and only yarded at the ends of the twitch-roads, and haven’t hauled to landings?” he inquired.
Wade nodded.
“I was waitin’, I was waitin’,” explained the other, nervously scrubbing his hand over the map. “If nothin’ had happened at Umcolcus Hullin’ Machine this year we’d have landed our logs on Enchanted Stream and run ’em down into Jerusalem, and taken our chances along with Britt’s logs. ’Twas a hard outlook, Wade. The last time I dared to operate here I did that, and you’ll find jill-pokes with my mark stranded all along the stream. The old pirate took my drive because he claimed control of the dams, charged me full fees, and left behind twenty-five per cent. of my logs, claiming that the water dropped on him. But I noticed he got all of his out. It’s what we’re up against, my son. If I’d tried to fight him with an independent drive he would have had me hornswoggled all the way to the down-river sortin’-boom, and then would have had my heart out on the scale. It’s what we’re up against!” he repeated, despondently. “There isn’t any law to it. It’s the hard fist that makes the right up this way. I’m tellin’ you this so you can understand. You’ve got to understand, my boy. I wish it was different. I wish it was all square. I hate to do dirty things myself. I hate to ask others to do ’em.”
It was not entirely a gaze of reassurance that the young man turned on him. Ide avoided it, and with stubby finger began to mark the map to illustrate his words. Wade leaned close. He realized that a new and grave aspect of the situation was to be revealed to him. Getting the timber down off the stumps had absorbed his attention utterly. As to getting it to market, he had been awaiting the word of his partner and mentor.
“Here it is!” growled Ide. “It’s a picture of it! And if it ain’t a good picture of the damnable reason why no one else but Pulaski Britt and his crowd can make a dollar on these waters, then I’m no judge. Here we are on Enchanted—mountain here and pond here! The dam at our pond will give us water enough to get us down to Britt’s dam on Enchanted dead-water. Then we’ve got to deal with Britt. Law may be with us, but in dealin’ with Britt up here in this section law is like a woodpecker tryin’ to pull the teeth out of a cross-cut saw. Britt has got the foot of Enchanted Stream, and he controls Jerusalem Stream that gobbles Enchanted. That’s our outlook to the east of us. Now to the west, and only two miles from our operation here, is Blunder Stream. Runs into Umcolcus main river, you see, like Jerusalem Stream away over here to the east. Straightaway run. Fed by Blunder Lake, up here ten miles to the north—that is, it ought to be fed! And it ought to be the stream to take our logs. But more than thirty years ago, without law or justice, Britt closed in the rightful western outlet of Blunder Lake with a big dam, and dug a canal from the eastern end to Jerusalem Stream, and every spring since then he’s used the water for the Jerusalem drive. A half a dozen small operators have been to the legislature from time to time to get rights. Did they get ’em? Why, they didn’t even get a decent look! Old King Spruce doesn’t go to law or the legislature askin’ for things. King Spruce takes them. Then the laborin’ oar is with the chaps who try to take ’em away. Even if a thing is unrighteous, Wade, it doesn’t stir much of a scandal in politics to keep it just as it is. It’s what we’re up against, I say!”
He held down the map, his finger on Enchanted, as though typifying the power that held them and their interests helpless. Wade gazed upon the finger-end. He felt it pressing upon his hopes. His brows wrinkled, but he said nothing.
“The Great Independents will make that name heard by the next legislature, I’ve no doubt,” Ide went on, “but that’s a year from now. In the mean time we’ve got five millions or so of timber here at this end, and its market and the money waitin’ at the other end, which is Castonia. And there’s another thing, Wade, and it’s the biggest of all: we’ve got to hold our timber above the Hullin’ Machine. Nature has fixed the place for us. There’s the dead-water behind Hay Island. With Britt drivin’ our logs, he’d ram ’em hell-whoopin’ through the Hullin’ Machine, and find an excuse for it, and then buy ’em in down-river at his own price. If we undertook to follow him down Enchanted and Jerusalem, he wouldn’t leave enough water to drown a cat in. I’m taking the time to show you this thing as it stands, son. You’ve got to see all sides of it.”