Chapter 39
Hell and High Water
Phineas Muldoon and two of his men peered down from the open window as the battle came to an end. The office door flew open. Ingman Loken entered, followed by his wheelchair-bound brother.
“Muldoon, you are done,” shouted Olaf. “Your men are defeated. Your Chicago henchmen are at my camp, chained to a tree by my Pinkerton men.”
The old man turned away, staring out the window in silence.
“Phineas, your boys have no more gumption to fight,” said Ingman. “Admit it, Muldoon, you have lost.”
King Muldoon turned, “Now you listen here, and you listen good. You Lokens are not driving your logs across my dam. You are no more than immigrant trash. I buy and sell better men than you two every day. By the time I am done with you Lokens, you will be lucky to get work throwing slop to my hogs.”
“You can’t stop us, Phineas,” Olaf said. “We have the law on our side, and, like it or not, we are taking our pine down this river.”
“Law on your side? Humph. Loken, I–am–the–law! You are more of a fool than I thought. Why, I own every politician and lawman from here to Chippewa Falls. Law on your side, indeed. There is not a lawman in northwest Wisconsin who will stand against me.”
“You are wrong,” replied Olaf. “I may not have the legislators and the lawmen on my payroll, but I have something better, old man, I have right on my side. Phineas Muldoon, you—do—not—own—the—water.”
Olaf reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an envelope, and waved it in the air. “This is a letter from Jeremiah Rusk, the Governor of Wisconsin. It says we have every right to send our pine down the river.”
“The die is cast,” said Ingman. “You have no right to stop us. Look out that window. We have over nine million board feet of prime white pine headin’ for the spillway and you, you small man, you cannot stop it.”
Muldoon rushed back to the window. The bay was thick with pine logs. Namakagon Timber Company drivers rode on top of them, working the logs toward the dam. The Loken pine stretched as far down the narrows as could be seen. To the east, smoke rose from the Empress Karina as Junior positioned the next boom of pine logs. Her shrill whistle pierced the air.
“Those are all our logs,” said Olaf, pointing past the window. “And I have a hundred men, each determined to see to it every log reaches the mill.”
“Phineas,” said Ingman, “you have no more hired henchmen left to do your dirty work. You have lost. And next year you will lose again. And the next, and the next, and every year after.”
“Fifty cents per log, Loken. That’s my fee. Your letter does not say I cannot charge you a toll. You want to drive your pine? Then pay me for the privilege of crossing my private dam.”
“Muldoon,” Olaf shot back, “you cannot assess fifty cents a log any more than I can charge you a dollar for every breath of air you take! The Wisconsin Constitution clearly states that the waters of Wisconsin are forever free. You need to get that into your thick, greedy head. Forever free! Our timber is going downstream today and you have nothing to say about it. Nothing!”
“Wilson! Show these immigrants why they will gladly pay me.”
King Muldoon’s assistant opened a desk drawer, revealing a rack bar detonating device. Its wires led across the desk and out the nearest window. He placed the device on the desk just as the door swung open. Tor rushed in, crossing the room to his father’s side.
“Now, you fools,” said Muldoon, “you will see why they call me King. Yesterday, I had my man set two charges below the spillway. Either you accept my terms, or I will blast this dam sky-high and send the entire head of water down the river valley, leaving your pine behind, high—and—dry. High and dry and useless, just like you, Olaf Loken. I will waste every stick of your pine unless you agree to my terms.”
Ingman rushed for the detonator, but stopped when Ed Wilson pulled up the handle, threatening to plunge it down again.
King Muldoon grinned. “Fifty cents per log, Loken.”
“Never!” replied Olaf.
“Now, Wilson!”
“Wait!” shouted Tor. “What about the people at Pac-wa-wong? You’ll drown them all.”
“I care not about a handful of Ojibwes! You’re as foolish as your father.”
“You can’t do this!” Tor shouted. He dove through the open window and rushed down the steep bank toward the base of the dam.
“Tor!” shouted Olaf. “Good Lord! No!”
Ingman bolted out the open doorway.
“Mercy’s sake, Muldoon!” shouted Olaf.
“You see, Loken? I win after all, you miserable, cripple.”
He turned to his hired man. "Wilson, set off those charges—right now—before the boy reaches them.”
Wilson didn’t move.
“Wilson!”
“No!” shouted Olaf. “Wilson! Don’t do it. Are you willing to rot in jail for this twisted old man?”
Wilson still didn’t move.
“Wilson!” screamed Muldoon, “These men are trespassing. I have every right to protect my property. Set off those charges. Now! That’s an order!”
“I ain’t no killer, Boss,” Wilson cried, tearing the wires free and thrusting the rack bar box into his employer’s hands. “I ain’t gonna be party to killin’ no boy and drownin’ no Indians and I sure ain’t goin’ to prison for the likes of you.”
Ed Wilson rushed out the office door with King Muldoon shouting, “Wilson, get back here. Wilson!”
Outside, Tor scrambled down the steep bank following the wires toward the charges. Ingman rounded the building just in time to see his nephew slip on one of the large rocks and fall to the water’s edge. Tor regained his footing and climbed up the rocks. Seeing the bundled sticks of dynamite, he fumbled for the wires, wrapped them around his hand, and gave a quick pull, snapping them from the first of the two charges.
With Ed Wilson gone, only King Muldoon and Olaf Loken remained in the office. Through the open door, both men could see Constable Burns and Earl Morrison running toward them from far down the shore.
“Well,” said Muldoon, “it seems I will just have to set the charges off myself. It will be more satisfying this way.”
“No!” shouted Olaf. He wheeled his chair as close as possible to Muldoon but, with the large desk in his way, could not reach him. “Phineas! My God, Phineas! You cannot do this!”
“Loken, you miserable cripple, look at you. How do you plan to stop me? Insignificant pawns like you will never stop men like me.”
Laughing, Muldoon turned his back to Olaf and twisted the wires back onto the magneto contacts. He jerked the tee-handle up.
Olaf reached down, grabbed the leg of the large desk, and, with a mighty rush of adrenalin, flipped it onto its side, scattering papers and a large pile of five-dollar bills across the floor. He wheeled his chair into the back of Muldoon’s legs, causing him to drop the rack bar box. The plunger went half way down but did not set off the remaining charge.
Grinning now, Muldoon kicked the wheelchair over. Olaf flew across the papers and bills that lay on the floor. The old man turned back to the window. He picked up the rack bar and placed it on the windowsill. Looking below, he saw Tor moving across the face of the dam toward the second dynamite charge. Muldoon pulled the plunger up.
Just as he was about to push it down, a large, powerful hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. There, with his left hand clamped like a vice on Phineas Muldoon’s right shoulder, stood six-foot-four-inch Olaf Loken. The Norwegian’s huge right hand was clenched and drawn back like a catapult waiting to be released. Muldoon’s eyes and mouth opened wide in disbelief.
Chief Namakagon came through the doorway just in time to see Olaf’s large fist strike Muldoon square on the chin. The blow lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling across the office floor.
Olaf stood above him for a moment before turning to the window to look for Tor and Ingman in the rocks below.
The chief rushed around the overturned desk and wheelchair, joining Olaf at the window. Both men searched below for Tor and Ingman.
Muldoon lay on the floor looking up at a fire ax hanging on the wall. Scrambling to his feet, he pulled it free and ran toward Olaf with the ax held high. He swung the ax down toward Olaf’s head, but the big man sensed him coming and ducked away from the window. The momentum of the ax carried Muldoon past Namakagon and Olaf, flipping him out of the open window and down onto the rocks below.
Chief Namakagon reached out to catch him, but Muldoon was gone, the rack bar with him.
Olaf watched the rack bar bounce down the steep, rocky bank, knowing each time it hit the rocks, the dynamite might go off. Again and again it bounced, clattering down the boulders. Olaf watched in horror as it tumbled out of sight. His son was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, the blast shook the nearby woods and waters, echoing across the lake. Olaf was thrown back into the room by the terrific explosion. Namakagon caught him, and they both landed on the floor. Far below, timbers flew into the stream, washed by torrents of water. A deep rumbling sound came from within the dam.
Chief Namakagon helped his unsteady friend to his feet. They returned to the window to see a large stream of water shooting straight out from the left-center of the dam.
“Tor!” screamed Ingman from the rocks above.
Chief pointed at the spillway below. “Look! Tor! And Ingman! There!”
Tor climbed out from between two large boulders. As he ascended the rocks, he spotted Muldoon lying in the rising water only yards away.
“Stay there, I’ll help you,” Tor shouted.
“No, Son!” yelled his father. “It’s too dangerous!” Get out of there before the whole dam gives way.”
The water’s rush and roar above drowned out his father’s words. Tor scrambled down, nearer to Muldoon.
A second, deep rumble shook the dam. Several logs washed over the top and were immediately whisked downstream by the raging water. Another support timber gave way and a huge stream of water blasted through a wider breach in the dam. A score of men, unable to help, looked on from above.
“Phineas! Grab my hand!” screamed Tor over the roar of the water.
Muldoon tried, but could not reach the boy’s hand.
“Tor,” screamed his father, “the dam is givin’ way! Save yourself!”
The rumbling grew louder. Tor peeled off his shirt and flipped one end to Muldoon who grabbed for it, missed, then caught it, clutching tightly. Tor pulled Muldoon from the water.
They both climbed up the rocks, Tor in the lead, and the icy water rising fast. More logs drifted into the breach above, some dropping over the dam, others jamming in tightly.
Muldoon, hunting for any handhold as they climbed, found Tor’s ankle. Grasping it, he pulled himself up, causing Tor to slip and fall. Muldoon glanced down at the boy, grinned, and resumed his ascent.
But Tor was lean, strong, and agile. He quickly scrambled up and beyond the old man, and reached the top of the wall.
More logs plugged the breach. The rumbling ceased. An eerie silence followed.
From far within the dam wall came another deep, earth-shaking rumble, then a thunderous roar as the other side of the structure collapsed, sending an enormous torrent of water rushing through the dam. With the water came tens, then hundreds of white pine logs, eight to twenty feet long, two to five feet in diameter. The water flooded both spillway and channel, engulfing Muldoon, and throwing his frail body into the icy, white, swirling vortex below, now crowded with logs.
“Muldoon!” Tor screamed. He climbed down toward him again. “Muldoon!”
The old man struggled to swim. Within seconds, a dozen huge pine logs surrounded him, bobbing and slamming into each other with extraordinary force. Horrified, Tor watched as the logs closed in, crushing King Muldoon.
Within minutes, a thousand logs washed over the dam as raging ice water blasted violently into the gorge below. It tore trees from the banks, moved large boulders and turned the clear river into a dark, muddy torrent, destroying all hope of finding any remains of Phineas King Muldoon.
Tor rounded the building and ran into the dam tender’s office, Ingman close behind. There, standing near the window was his father, his wheelchair still lying on the floor.
“Pa! Look at you!” Tor ran to his father. “Pa! You’re standin’ up!”
“Dang well about time, Son. Took me a good long while to get out of that insufferable chair. Now, maybe we can get some work done around here.”