Newmark stretched his arms wearily.
“Press bought up,” he replied. “I know for a fact that old Stanford got five hundred dollars from some of the Heinzman interests. I could have swung him back for an extra hundred, but it wasn't worth while. They howl bribery at us to distract attention from their own performances.”
With this evasive reply Orde contented himself. Whether it satisfied him or whether he was loath to pursue the subject further it would be impossible to say.
“It's cost us plenty, anyway,” he said, after a moment. “The proposition's got a load on it. It will take us a long time to get out of debt. The river driving won't pay quite so big as we thought it would,” he concluded, with a rueful little laugh.
“It will pay plenty well enough,” replied Newmark decidedly, “and it gives us a vantage point to work from. You don't suppose we are going to quit at river driving, do you? We want to look around for some timber of our own; there's where the big money is. And perhaps we can buy a schooner or two and go into the carrying trade—the country's alive with opportunity. Newmark and Orde means something to these fellows now. We can have anything we want, if we just reach out for it.”
His thin figure, ordinarily slightly askew, had straightened; his steel-gray, impersonal eyes had lit up behind the bowed glasses and were seeing things beyond the wall at which they gazed. Orde looked up at him with a sudden admiration.
“You're the brains of this concern,” said he.
“We'll get on,” replied Newmark, the fire dying from his eyes.