The Greater Power

“Have you had any strangers round?” he asked.

“No,” answered Nasmyth, with a dry smile. “That is, they didn’t get any farther than the head of the gully. Two of them turned up one wet day, and when they found they couldn’t get down, they explained rather forcibly what they thought of me.”

Wheeler nodded, and handed the paper across to him.

“I guess you did quite right,” he said. “This should make it clear that some of the city men with money are on our trail.”

Nasmyth glanced at the paper, and saw a notification that certain timber rights in the forest belt surrounding the valley had been applied for.

“The Charters people!” he declared. “When I was in Victoria I had a talk with them. I partly expected something of the kind. By the way, I got a notification from the rancher I mentioned that, if I continued operations, proceedings would be begun against me.”

“They mean business,” commented Wheeler, with a snap in his dark eyes. “It seems to me there are several of them in the thing, and they evidently expect to get their hands on the valley one way or another. In all probability their idea is to let you get most of the work in, and then scare you into selling out for what they like to offer. Have you had any big trees coming along lately?”

“Yes,” answered Mattawa, “one or two went over the fall this afternoon.”

“Drift logs?”

“Two had the branches chopped off them.”

Wheeler made a sign of comprehension. “Well,” he predicted, “you’re going to see a good many more of that kind before very long.” He turned to Nasmyth. “I’m going to stay over to-morrow. The mill’s held up again. We had an awkward break, and I can’t get the new fixings in. You can tell me how you’re getting on.”

They talked until late that night, and on awakening next morning found the river higher and thick with shattered ice. It had also crept into the heading, and the men who worked in it were knee-deep in water. They, however, went on as usual, and it was in the afternoon that several great trees leapt the fall, and, driving down the rapid, whirled away into the black depths of the cañon. Wheeler, who stood watching attentively, nodded as the trees drove by.

“Hemlock. That’s not going to count for milling purposes,” he observed.

Nasmyth, who came up dripping wet, sat down on a boulder and took out his pipe.

“Did you expect anything else?” he asked.

Wheeler laughed. “I’m not sure that I did. It seems to me the men who want those timber rights don’t figure on doing much milling.” He looked up sharply. “This one’s red cedar.”

Another great trunk leapt the fall, swept round the pool, and then brought up with a crash upon the pile of shattered rock which still lay athwart the head of the rapid. Nasmyth rose and straightened himself wearily.

“It’s a trifle unfortunate I hadn’t hove that rock out with the derrick. We’ll have to take hold if the log won’t swing clear,” he said.

The tree swung a little, and then the thinner head of it drove in among the boulders and stuck fast. In another moment a shout rose from a man standing on the ledge above the fall.

“Quite a batch of big logs coming along!” he called.

Nasmyth thrust his pipe into his pocket, and Wheeler, who watched him, nodded.

“They’ll jam and pile up,” said Wheeler. “I guess that’s what the other folks wanted. You have got to keep them clear.”

In another few moments Nasmyth was beating a suspended iron sheet, and while its clangour broke through the roar of the river the men floundered towards him over the shingle. One or two of them had axes, and the rest, running into the shanty, brought out saws and handspikes. In the meanwhile a huge log crashed upon the one held fast, and there was no need to tell any of the men that those which followed would rapidly pile up into an inextricable confusion of interlocked timber. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to cut away the first log, which would hold them back, as soon as possible.

The men set to work, two or three of them running recklessly along the rounded top of the slippery trunk, which rolled a little as it hammered upon the rock. Mattawa, with a big crosscut saw, crouched on the half-submerged pile of stone, and a comrade, who seized its opposite handle, held himself somehow on the second trunk by his knees. It was difficult to understand how they could work at all, but they were accustomed to toiling under embarrassing conditions. The saw had hardly bitten through the bark when another log drove grinding against the rest, and Mattawa’s companion, who let the handle go, fell forward on his face. He was up again in a moment, and after that stuck fast while log after log drove smashing upon the growing mass. Sometimes the one he clung to rose up under him, and sometimes it sank until he crouched in the water while another great butt crept up upon it, and it seemed that he must be crushed between them. Still, the saw rasped steadily through the heaving, grinding timber. It was perilous work, but it was clear to all of them that it had to be done.

In the meanwhile Nasmyth and Gordon stood knee-deep amidst the white foam of the rapid. The water was icy cold, and it was with difficulty they kept their feet, while every now and then a shower of spray that leapt out from among the timber fell upon them. The logs were already two deep at that spot, and one great top ground steadily forward over the others as its pressed-down butt was driven on by those behind. One could almost have fancied it was bent on escaping from the horrible confusion of piled-up trunks that moved on one another under the impact of the flood. More were sweeping on, and crash after crash rang through the hoarse clamour of the fall.

Nasmyth felt very feeble as he whirled the heavy axe about his head, for that mass of timber was impressively big. He had torn off his deer-hide jacket, and his soaked blue shirt gaped open to his waist at every heave of his shoulders. He stood in icy water, but the perspiration dripped from him as he swung with every blow. Though some men with good thews and sinews can never learn to use the axe to any purpose, he could chop, and the heavy blade he whirled rang with a rhythmic precision in the widening notch, then flashed about his head, and fell with a chunk that was sharp as a whip-crack into the gap again. In between Gordon’s axe swept down, and the blades flashed athwart each other’s orbits without a check or clash. It requires years to acquire that kind of proficiency with the axe, but the result is a perfecting of the co-operation between will and hardened muscle.

It was fortunate that both could chop, for the men with the crosscut appeared in difficulties. The tree bent on the pile of rock, and in straining closed the cut upon the saw. Another man who had joined them was endeavouring to hammer a wedge in, but with that crushing weight against him the attempt seemed futile. He persisted, however, and stood above the white froth of the rapid, a puny figure dwarfed by the tremendous rock wall, whirling what appeared to be a wholly insignificant hammer. His comrades were scattered about the grinding mass making ineffective efforts to heave a butt or top clear of the others with their handspikes, but there was clearly only one vulnerable point of attack, and that was the one Nasmyth and Gordon were hewing at. Wheeler, who felt the tension, watched them, clutching hard upon an unlighted pipe. He was aware that if the mass of timber, which grew rapidly larger, once wedged itself fast, it might be a month or two before a flood broke it up; but he had also sense enough to recognize that, since most of the men’s efforts were futile, he might just as well sit still.

The trunk was partly hewn through when the top of it bent outwards, and Gordon flashed an anxious glance at it. It was evident that if none of the others wedged themselves in upon and reinforced it the weight behind would shortly rend the trunk apart. Then the position would become a particularly perilous one, for the whole mass would break away in chaotic ruin, and he and his comrade stood close in front of it; but he could not tell how much further strain the tree would bear, and he recognized that it was desirable to hew the notch as deep as possible before he relinquished chopping. The axes rang for another two minutes, and then there was a sudden crash, and a cry from Wheeler that was drowned in the tumult of sound that rose from the liberated timber.

Great logs reared their butts or tops out of the heaving mass. Some rolled round and disappeared beneath those that crept upon them, but for a moment or two the shattered trunk, jammed down by the weight upon it, held them back from the plunge into the rapid. It smashed among the rocks that ground and rent it as it slowly gave way, and Wheeler ran his hardest towards a strip of shingle that projected a little into the river. He saw Nasmyth, who had evidently lost his footing, driving downstream towards it, and knew that in another moment or two the logs would be upon him.

Nasmyth was not exactly swimming. In fact, strictly speaking, one cannot swim in a rapid, nor when there is only three or four feet of water can one get upon one’s feet. He rolled over and over, went down and came up again, until Wheeler, floundering into the foaming water, clutched him, and held on desperately, though he felt that his arm was being drawn out of its socket. He would probably have been swept away, too, had not somebody grabbed his jacket, and he heard a hoarse voice behind him.

“Heave!” it said–“heave!”

The strain on Wheeler’s arm became intolerable, but somehow he held fast, and just then there was an appalling crash and roar. He felt himself being dragged backwards, and in another moment fell heavily upon the shingle with Nasmyth across his feet. Blinking about him half dazed, he saw the logs drive by, rolling, grinding, smashing, and falling on one another. Then, as they whirled down the rapid, and the roar they made began to die away, he looked round, and saw several gasping men standing close behind him.

“Guess that was quite a near thing,” said one of them. “Any way, in this kind of contract you can sure figure on trouble.”

This, as a matter of fact, was perfectly correct, for it is only at considerable peril to life and limb that saw-logs are driven down the rivers to a Western mill. They must be guided through each awkward pass and frothing rapid, and the men who undertake it spring with pike and peevie from one to another while the rolling trunks tumultuously charge on.

Nobody, however, troubled himself any further about the matter, and in a few more minutes the men had set to work again heaving the rocks that had held up the first log out of the river with the derrick. It was not until supper was over, and he sat with his companions in the shanty, that Wheeler referred to the affair again. He looked at Nasmyth with a smile.

“I guess it’s fortunate you got those logs away,” he said. “It’s probably a little more than the men who turned them loose on you figured you could do.”

“That,” agreed Nasmyth, “is very much my own opinion.”

Wheeler filled his pipe. “Now,” he said reflectively, “anybody can apply for timber rights, and bid for them at public auction, but the man who secures them must cut up so many thousand feet every month. Since that’s the case, it’s quite evident that nobody is likely to bid for timber rights round the valley, except the Charters people, who have a little mill on the Klatchquot Inlet, and they’d probably get the timber rights ’most for nothing, though they might have to put in a new saw or two with the object of satisfying the Legislature.”

“It’s rather difficult to see how they expect to make a profit on hemlock in view of what it would cost them to get the logs there,” Gordon broke in.

“They don’t want to make a profit.” Wheeler smiled. “Seems to me it’s their programme to get hold of the rights cheap, and then worry you because they can’t run the logs through this cañon. The Legislature won’t give you land or rights to do nothing with, and it’s quite likely the Charters people will file a notification that your workings are the obstacle. Still, they’d probably make you an offer first. If you let them in on the ground-floor–handed them a big slice of the valley or something of the kind–they’d let up on their timber rights. I’m not sure they could run good milling fir to that mill at a profit.”

A grim look crept into Nasmyth’s face. Difficulties were crowding thick upon him, and though he was as determined as ever on proceeding with the work, he almost felt that it would be only until they crushed him.

“It seems to me we are in the hands of the Charters people, unless I can keep the cañon clear,” he commented.

Wheeler’s eyes twinkled. “Well,” he returned, “they’re smart. I have, however, come across smart folks who missed a point or two occasionally. Now, I saw a couple of red cedar logs among that hemlock.”

He glanced at Mattawa. “Tom, you’ve been round the head of the valley. Did you strike any trees of that kind up yonder?”

“A few,” answered Mattawa. “It’s quite likely there are more.”

“A sure thing. You and I are going out timber-right prospecting at sun-up to-morrow. Just now they can’t get red cedar shingles fast enough on to the Eastern markets.”

Nasmyth looked up and Gordon laughed a soft laugh, while Wheeler waved his hand.

“Anyone can bid for timber rights,” he declared. “Now, our folks are open for any business, and we have got a mill. It’s not going to cost much to put a shingle-splitting plant in. We have easy water-carriage to the Inlet, where a schooner can load, and the Charters people would have to tow their raw material right along to their mill. Besides, that Inlet’s a blame awkward place to get a schooner in. It’s quite clear to me we could cut shingles way cheaper than they could.” He paused for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “if there’s milling cedar near the valley, our folks will make their bid. If Charters wants those rights, he’ll have to put up the money, and it’s quite likely we’ll take them up in spite of him if I’m satisfied with my prospecting. In that case, we’re not going to worry you about the cañon. In fact, we would probably make you a proposition at so much the log for running the trees down for us.”

He filled his pipe again, and Nasmyth looked at him with relief in his eyes.

CHAPTER XXVIII

A PAINFUL DUTY

Three months had slipped away since the evening on which Wheeler had discussed the subject of shingle-splitting with his companions. Nasmyth stood outside the shanty in the drenching rain. He was very wet and miry, and his face was lined and worn, for the three months of unremitting effort had left their mark on him. Wheeler had secured the timber rights in question, and that was one difficulty overcome, but Nasmyth had excellent reasons for believing that the men who had cast covetous eyes upon the valley had by no means abandoned the attempt to get possession of at least part of it.

He had had flood and frost against him, and his money was rapidly running out. A wild flood swept through the cañon. The heading was filled up, so that no one could even see the mouth of it, and half the rock he had piled upon the shingle had been swept into the rapid, where it had formed a dam among the boulders that could be removed only at a heavy expenditure of time and powder when the water fell. He was worn out in body, and savage from being foiled by the swollen river at each attempt he made, but while the odds against him were rapidly growing heavier he meant to fight.

A Siwash Indian whom he had hired as messenger between the cañon and the settlement had just arrived, and Gordon, who stood in the doorway of the shanty, took a newspaper out of the wet packet he had brought. Gordon turned to Nasmyth when he opened it.

“Wheeler’s getting ahead,” he said. “Here’s his announcement that his concern is turning out a high-grade cedar shingle. That’s satisfactory so far as it goes. I don’t quite know how we’d have held out if it hadn’t been for the money we got from him for running the logs down.” Then his voice grew suddenly eager. “Try to get hold of the significance of this, Derrick: ‘We have got it on reliable authority that certain propositions for the exploitation of the virgin forest-belt beyond the Butte Divide will shortly be laid before the Legislature. It is expected that liberal support will be afforded to a project for the making of new waggon-roads, and we believe that if the scheme is adopted certain gentlemen in this city will endeavour to inaugurate a steamboat service with the Western inlets.’” He waved his hand. “When this particular paper makes an assertion of that kind, there’s something going on,” he added. “It’s a sure thing that if those roads are made, it will put another thirty or forty cents on to every dollar’s worth of land we’re holding.”

“Exactly,” replied Nasmyth, whose tense face did not relax. “That is, it would, if we had run the water out of the valley; but, as it happens, we haven’t cut down very much of the fall yet, and this thing is going to make the men we have against us keener than ever. They’re probably plotting how to strike us now. Get those letters open.”

There was anxiety in his voice, and Gordon started when he had ripped open one or two of the envelopes.

“This looks like business,” he remarked, as he glanced at a letter from a lawyer who had once or twice handled Nasmyth’s affairs in the city. “It’s from Phelps. He says he has been notified that, unless an agreement can be arrived at, proceedings will be taken by a man called Hames, who claims to hold one hundred acres on the western side of the valley, to restrain you from altering the river level. Atterly–he’s the man we’ve heard from already–it seems, is taking action, too.”

“Hames?” repeated Nasmyth. “I’ve never heard of him. Any way, he can’t hold land on the western side. We haven’t sold an acre.” He stopped a moment, and looked hard at Gordon. “That is, I haven’t sanctioned it, and I believe there’s nobody holding a share in the project who would go back on us.”

Gordon made a gesture indicating his doubt in the subject, and they looked at each other for half a minute.

“I’m afraid I can’t go quite as far as that,” he replied, and laughed harshly. “As it stands recorded, the land could be transferred to anyone by Waynefleet. Any way, it seems to be in his block. Phelps cites the boundary-posts.”

Nasmyth closed one hand tight. Waynefleet, who had found the constant wetting too much for him, had left the cañon a week or two before this morning, on which it was evident a crisis of some sort was near. He had complained of severe pains in his back and joints, and had sent them no word after his departure.

“Is there anything from him?” asked Nasmyth.

Gordon picked out an envelope and opened it. “Here’s a note from Miss Waynefleet. She desires you to ride across at once.”

With a troubled face Nasmyth stood still in the rain another minute.

“I’ll take the pack-horse and start now,” he said after a brief silence. “When I have seen Miss Waynefleet, I’ll go right on to Victoria.” He turned and gazed at the river. “If one could get into the heading by any means, I’d fire every stick of giant-powder in it first. Unfortunately, the thing is out of the question.”

In a few moments he was scrambling up the gully, and Gordon, who went into the shanty and lighted his pipe, sat gazing at the letters very thoughtfully. They had no money to spare for any legal expenses. Indeed, he was far from sure they had enough to supply them with powder and provisions until their task was accomplished. During the long grim fight in the cañon they had borne almost all that could be expected of flesh and blood, and it was unthinkable that the city man, who sat snug in his office and plotted, should lay grasping hands upon the profit. Still, that seemed possible now that somebody had betrayed them.

Meantime, Nasmyth had swung himself into the pack-saddle, and, in the rain, was scrambling up the rocky slopes of the divide. He had not changed his clothing, and it would have availed him little if he had, since there was a long day’s ride before him. The trail was a little easier than it had been, for each man who led the pack-horse along it had hewn through some obstacle, but it was still sufficiently difficult, and every here and there a frothing torrent swept across it. There were slopes of wet rock to be scrambled over, several leagues of dripping forest thick with undergrowth that clung about the narrow trail to be floundered through, and all the time the great splashes from the boughs or torrential rain beat upon him. In places he led the pack-horse, in places he rode, and dusk was closing in when he saw a blink of light across Waynefleet’s clearing. In another few minutes he had led the jaded horse into the stable, and then, splashed with mire, and with the water running from his clothes, had limped to the homestead door.

Nasmyth opened the door and saw Laura Waynefleet sitting by the stove. She started as he came in.

“I have been expecting you,” she said. She gave him her hand and her eyes met his with a look of anxiety. She noticed his appearance of weariness and the condition of his clothing. “I can get you something dry to put on,” she added.

“No,” said Nasmyth, “you must not trouble. I would be quite as wet again, soon after I leave here. If I can borrow a horse, I must push on to the railroad in an hour.”

“To-night?” asked Laura. “After riding in from the cañon, it’s out of the question. Besides, you could never get through the Willow Ford. Listen to the rain.”

Nasmyth sank wearily into the nearest chair, and heard the deluge lash the shingled roof.

“I’m afraid it must be done,” he declared.

Laura laid supper upon the table, and insisted that he should eat before she made any reference to the object she had in hand. Then, while he sat beside the stove with his clothes steaming, she looked at him steadily, and a little colour crept into her face.

“I wonder if you can guess why I sent for you?” she said.

“Where is your father?” Nasmyth asked abruptly.

“In Victoria. He left six days ago. I suppose he sent you no word that he was going.”

“No,” answered Nasmyth very dryly, “he certainly didn’t. I don’t think I could have expected it from him.”

He sat silent for almost a minute, looking at her with a troubled air, and though Laura was very quiet, her manner was vaguely suggestive of tension. It was Nasmyth who broke the silence.

“I believe you have something to tell me, Miss Waynefleet,” he said. “Still, I would sooner you didn’t, if it will hurt you. After all, it’s rather more than possible that I can arrive at the information by some other means.”

The tinge of colour grew plainer in Laura’s face, but it was evident that she laid a firm restraint upon herself. “Ah!” she cried, “it has hurt me horribly already. I can’t get over the shame of it. But that isn’t what I meant to speak of. I feel”–and her voice grew tense and strained–“I must try to save you and the others from a piece of wicked treachery.”

She straightened herself, and there was a flash in her eyes, but Nasmyth raised one hand.

“No,” he protested, almost sternly, “I can’t let you do this. You would remember it ever afterwards with regret.”

The girl seemed to nerve herself for an effort, and when she spoke her voice was impressively quiet.

“You must listen and try to understand,” she said.

“It is not only because it would hurt me to see you and the others tricked out of what you have worked so hard for that I feel I must tell you. If there was nothing more than that, I might, perhaps, never have told you, after all. I want to save my father from a shameful thing.” Her voice broke away, and the crimson flush on her face deepened as she went on again. “He has been offering to sell land that can’t belong to him,” she asserted accusingly.

Nasmyth felt sorry for her, and he made an attempt to offer her a grain of consolation.

“A few acres are really his,” he said. “I made them over to him.”

“To be his only if he did his share, and when the scheme proved successful,” Laura interrupted. “I know, if he has sold them, what an opportunity of harassing you it will give the men who are plotting against you. Still, now you know, you can, perhaps, break off the bargain. I want you to do what you can”–and she glanced at him with a tense look in her eyes–“if it is only to save him.”