The Trail of the Axe: A Story of Red Sand Valley

  CHAPTER X

  AN AUSPICIOUS MEETING

  Malkern as a village had two moments in the day when it wore theappearance of a thoroughly busy city. At all other times there waslittle outward sign to tell of the prosperity it really enjoyed.Malkern's really bustling time was at noon, when its workers took anhour and a half recess for the midday meal, and at six o'clock in theevening, when the day and night "shifts" at the mill exchanged places.

  There was no eight-hour working day in this lumbering village. Thelumber-jacks and all the people associated with it worked to makemoney, not to earn a mere living. They had not reached that deplorablecondition of social pessimism when the worker for a wage believes he isthe man who is making millions for an employer, who is prospering onlyby his, the worker's, capacity to do. They were working each forhimself, and regarded the man who could afford them such opportunity asan undisguised blessing. The longer the "time" the higher the wages,and this was their whole scheme of life.

  Besides this, there is a certain pride of achievement in thelumber-jack. He is not a mere automaton. He is a man virile, strong,and of a wonderful independence all his own. His spirits are animal,keen of perception, keen for all the joys of life such as he knows. Helives his life, whether in play or work. Whether he be a sealer, acant-hook man, a teamster, or an axeman, his pride is in his skill, andthe rating of his skill is estimated largely by the tally of his day'swork, on which depends the proportion of his wages.

  It was the midday dinner-hour now, and the mill was debouching itsrough tide of workers upon the main street. Harley-Smith's bar was fullof men seeking unnecessary "appetizers." Every boarding-house wasrapidly filling with hungry men clamoring for the ample, even luxuriousmeal awaiting them. These men lived well; their work was tremendous,and food of the best, and ample, was needed to keep them fit. The fewstores which the village boasted were full of eager purchasersdemanding instant service lest the precious time be lost.

  Harley-Smith's hotel abutted on the main road, and the tide had to passits inviting portals on their way to the village. Usually the verandawas empty at this time, for the regular boarders were at dinner, andthe bar claimed those who were not yet dining. But on this occasion itpossessed a solitary occupant.

  He was sitting on a hard windsor chair, tilted back at a dangerousangle, with his feet propped upon the veranda rail in an attitude ofease, if not of elegance. He was apparently quite unconcerned atanything going on about him. His broad-brimmed hat was tilted wellforward upon his nose, in a manner that served the dual purpose ofshading his eyes from the dazzling sunlight, and permitting his gaze towander whither he pleased without the observation of the passers-by. Togive a further suggestion of indolent indifference, he was luxuriouslysmoking one of Harley-Smith's best cigars.

  But the man's attitude was a pretense. No one passed the veranda whoescaped the vigilance of his quick eyes. He scanned each face sharply,and passed on to the next; nor did his watchfulness relax for oneinstant. It was clear he was looking for some one whom he expectedwould pass that way, and it was equally evident he had no desire toadvertise the fact.

  Suddenly he pushed his hat back from his face, and, at the same time,his feet dropped to the boarded floor. This brought his chair on itsfour legs with a jolt, and he sat bolt upright. Now he showed thebloated young face of Jim Truscott. There was a look in his eyes ofsomething approaching venomous satisfaction. He had seen the man he waslooking for, and promptly beckoned to him.

  Dick Mansell was passing at that moment, and his small, ferret-likeeyes caught the summons. He hesitated, nor did he come at once inresponse to the other's smile of good-fellowship.

  "Dick!" Truscott said. Then he added genially, "I was wondering ifyou'd come along this way."

  Mansell nodded indifferently. His face was ill-humored, and his smalleyes had little friendliness in them. He nodded, and was about to passon, but the other stayed him with a gesture.

  "Don't go," he said. "I want to speak to you. Come up to my room andhave a drink."

  He kept his voice low, but he might have saved himself the trouble. Thepassing crowd were far too intent upon their own concerns to botherwith him. The fact was his attitude was the result of nearlyforty-eight hours of hard thinking, thinking inspired by a weakcharacter goaded to offense by the rough but justifiable treatmentmeted out to him in Dave's office. This man's character, at no timerobust, was now morally run-down, and its condition was like the weaklybody of an unhealthy man. It collected to itself every injurious germand left him diseased. His brain and nerves were thrilling withresentment, and a desire to get even with the "board." He was furiouslydetermined that Dave should remember with regret the moment he had laidhands upon him, and that he had come between him and the girl he hadintended to make his own.

  Mansell, stepping on to the veranda, paused and looked the other fullin the eye.

  "Well," he said, after a moment's doubtful consideration, "what is it?'Tain't like you givin' drink away--'specially to me. What monkeytricks is it?"

  There was truculence in the sawyer's tone. There was offense in hisvery attitude.

  "Are you coming to my room for that drink?"

  Truscott spoke quite coldly, but he knew the curse of the man's thirst.He had reason to.

  Mansell laughed without any mirth.

  "Guess I may as well drink your brandy. It'll taste the same as anyother. Go ahead."

  His host at once led the way into the hotel and up the stairs to hisroom. It was a front room on the first floor, and comparativelyluxurious. The moment the door closed behind him Mansell took in thedetails with some interest.

  "A mighty swell apartment--fer you," he observed offensively.

  Truscott shrugged as he turned his back to pour out drinks at the table.

  "That's my business," he said. "I pay for it, and," he added, glancingmeaningly over his shoulder, "I can afford to pay for it--or anythingelse I choose to have."

  Mansell was a fine figure of a man, and beside him the other lookedslight, even weedy. But his face and head spoiled him. Both were smalland mean, and gave the impression of a low order of intelligence. Yethe was reputed one of the finest sawyers in the valley, and a man, whennot on the drink, to be thoroughly trusted. Before he went away to theYukon with Jim he had been a teetotaler for two years, and on thataccount, and his unrivaled powers as a sawyer, he had acted as theother's foreman in his early lumbering enterprise. Except, however, forthose two years his past had in it far more shadows than light.

  He grinned unpleasantly.

  "No need to ast how you came by the stuff," he said.

  Truscott was round on him in an instant. His eyes shone wickedly, butthere was a grin about his lips.

  "The same way you tried to come by it too, only you couldn't keep yourdamned head clear. You couldn't let this stuff alone." He handed theman a glass of neat brandy. "You and your cursed drink nearly ruined mychances. It wasn't your fault you didn't. When I ran that game up inDawson I was a fool to take you into it. I did it out of decency,because you had gone up there with me, and quite against my bestjudgment when I saw the way you were drinking. If you'd kept straightyou'd be in the same position as I am. You wouldn't have returned heremore or less broke and only too ready to set rotten yarns going aroundabout me."

  The sawyer had taken the brandy and swallowed it. Now he set the glassdown on the table with a vicious bang.

  "What yarns?" he demanded angrily.

  "Tchah! Hardwig's a meddling busybody. You might have known it wouldcome back to me sooner or later. But I didn't bring you here to throwthese things up in your face. You brought it on yourself. Keep a civiltongue, and if you like to stand in I'll put you into a good thing.You're not working? And you've got no money?"

  Truscott's questions came sharply. His plans were clear in his mind.These points he had made sure of already. But he wanted to approach thematter he had in hand in what he considered the best way in dealingwith a man like Mansell. He knew the sawyer to have scruples of a kin
d,that is until they had been carefully undermined by brandy. It was hispurpose to undermine them now.

  "You seem to know a heap," Mansell observed sarcastically. Then hebecame a shade more interested. "What's the 'good thing'?"

  Jim poured some brandy out for himself, at the same time, as thoughunconsciously, replenishing the other's glass liberally. The sawyerwatched him while he waited for a reply, and suddenly a thoughtoccurred to his none too ready brain.

  "Drink, eh?" he laughed mockingly, as though answering a challenge onthe subject. "Drink? Say, who's been doing the drink since you gotback? Folks says as your gal has gone right back on you, that ther'wench as you was a-sparkin' 'fore we lit out. An' it's clear along ofliquor. They say you're soused most ev'ry night, an' most days too. Youshould git gassin'--I don't think."

  The man's mean face was alight with brutish glee. He felt he had handedthe other a pretty retort. And in his satisfaction he snatched up hisglass and drank off its contents at a gulp. Indifferent to the gibe,Jim smiled his satisfaction as he watched the other drain his glass.

  "You've got no work?" he demanded, as Mansell set it down empty.

  "Sure I ain't," the other grinned. "An'," he added, under the warminginfluence of the spirit, "I ain't worritin' a heap neither. My credit'sgood with the boardin'-house boss. Y' see," he went on, his pride ofcraft in his gimlet eyes, "I'm kind o' known here for a boss sawyer.When they want sawyers there's allus work for Dick Mansell."

  "Your credit's good?" Truscott went on, ignoring the man's boasting."Then you have no money?"

  "I allows the market's kind o' low."

  Mansell's mood had become one of clumsy jocularity under the influenceof the brandy.

  "If you can get work so easily, why don't you?" Truscott demanded,filling the two glasses again as he spoke.

  Mansell seated himself on the bed unbidden.

  "Wal," he began expansively, "I'm kind o' holiday-makin', as they say.Y' see," he went on with a leer, "I worked so a'mighty hard gittin'back from the Yukon, I'm kind o' fatigued. Savee? Guess I'll git towork later. Say, one o' them for me?" he finished up, pointing at theglasses.

  Truscott nodded, and Mansell helped himself greedily.

  The former fell in with the other's mood. He found him very easy todeal with. It was just a question of sufficient drink.

  "Well, I don't believe in work, anyway. That is unless it happens to bemy pleasure, too. I worked hard up at Dawson, but it was my pleasure. Imade good money, too--a hell of a sight more than you or anybody elseever had any idea of."

  "You ran a dandy game," agreed the sawyer.

  "With plenty of customers with mighty fat rolls of money."

  Mansell nodded.

  "I was a fool to quit you," he said regretfully.

  "You were. But it isn't too late. If you aren't yearning to work toohard."

  Truscott's smile was crafty. And, even with the drink in him, Mansellsaw and understood it.

  "Monkey tricks?" he said.

  "Monkey tricks--if you like."

  Mansell looked over at the bottle.

  "Hand us another horn of that pizen an' I'll listen," he said.

  The other poured out the brandy readily, taking care to be more thanliberal. He watched the sawyer drink, and then, drawing a chairforward, he sat down.

  "What's that old mill of mine worth?" he asked suddenly.

  They exchanged glances silently. Truscott was watching the effect ofhis question, and the other was trying to fathom the meaning of it.

  "I'd say," Mansell replied slowly, giving up the puzzle and waiting forenlightenment--"I'd say, to a man who needs it bad, it's worth anythingover fifteen thousand dollars. Fer scrappin', I'd say it warn't worthbut fi' thousand."

  "I was thinking of a man needing it."

  "Fifteen thousand an' over."

  Truscott leant forward in his chair and became confidential.

  "Dave wants to buy that mill, and I'm going to sell it to him," he saidimpressively. "I'll take twenty thousand for it, and get as much moreas I can. See? Now I don't want that money. I wouldn't care to handlehis money. I've got plenty, and the means of making heaps more if Ineed it."

  He paused to let his words sink in. Mansell nodded with his eyes on thebrandy bottle. As yet he did not see the man's drift. He did not seewhere he came in. He waited, and Truscott went on.

  "Now what would you be willing to do for that twenty thousand--ormore?" he asked smilingly.

  The other turned his head with a start, and, for one fleeting second,his beady eyes searched his companion's face. He saw nothing there butquiet good-nature. It was the face of the old Jim Truscott--used tohide the poisoned mind behind it.

  "Give me a drink," Mansell demanded roughly. "This needs some thinkin'."

  Truscott handed him the bottle, and watched him while he drank nearlyhalf a tumbler of the raw spirit.

  "Well?"

  Mansell breathed heavily.

  "Seems to me I'd do--a heap," he said at last.

  "Would you take a job as sawyer in Dave's mill, and--and act under myorders?"

  "It kind o' depends on the orders." For some reason the lumbermanbecame cautious. The price was high--almost too high for him.

  Truscott suddenly rose from his seat, and crossing the room, turned thekey in the door. Then he closed the window carefully. He finallyglanced round the room, and came back to his seat. Then, leaningforward and lowering his tone, he detailed carefully all that thelumberman would have to do to earn the money. It took some time in thetelling, but at last he sat back with a callous laugh.

  "That's all it is, Dick, my boy," he cried familiarly. "You will be assafe as houses. Not only that, but I may not need your help at all. Ihave other plans which are even better, and which may do the jobwithout your help. See? This is only in case it is necessary. You see Idon't want to leave anything to chance. I want to be ready. And I wantno after consequences. You understand? You may get the money for doingnothing. On the other hand, what you have to do entails little enoughrisk. The price is high, simply because I do not want the money, and Iwant to be sure I can rely on you."

  The man's plausibility impressed the none too bright-witted lumberman.Then, too, the brandy had done its work. His last scruple fled,banished by his innate crookedness, set afire by the spirit and thedazzling bait held out to him. It was a case of the clever rascaldominating the less dangerous, but more brutal, type of man. Mansellwas as potter's clay in this man's hands. The clay dry would have beenimpossible to mould, but moistened, the artist in villainy had nodifficulty in handling it. And the lubricating process had beenliberally supplied.

  "I'm on," Mansell said, his small eyes twinkling viciously. "I'm onsure. Twenty thousand! Gee! But I'll need it all, Jim," he addedgreedily. "I'll need it all, and any more you git. You said ityourself, I was to git the lot. Yes," as though reassuring himself,"I'm on."

  Truscott nodded approvingly.

  "Good boy," he said pleasantly. "But there's one thing more, Dick. Imake it a proviso you don't go on any teetotal racket. I know you.Anyway, I don't believe in the water wagon worth a cent. It don't suityou in work like this. But don't get drunk and act foolish. Keep on theedge. See? Get through this racket right, and you've got a small pilethat'll fill your belly up like a distillery--after. You'll get thestuff in a bundle the moment you've done the work."

  Mansell reached out for the bottle without invitation, picked it up,and put the neck to his lips. Nor did he put it down till he haddrained it. It was the culminating point. The spirit had done its work,and as Truscott watched him he knew that, body and soul, the man washis. The lumberman flung the empty bottle on the bed.

  "I'll do it, you damned crook," he cried. "I'll do it, but not becauseI like you, or anything to do with you. It's the bills I needsure--green, crisp, crinkly bills. But I'll need fifty of 'em now. Handover, pard," he cried exultingly. "Hand over, you imp of hell. I wantfifty now, or I don't stir a hand. Hand 'em----"

  Suddenly the man staggered back a
nd fell on the bed, staring stupidlyat the shining silver-plated revolver in the other's hands.

  "Hold your noise, you drunken hog," Jim cried in a biting tone. "Thisis the sort of thing I suppose I can expect from a blasted fool likeyou. Now understand this, I'm going to give you that fifty, not becauseyou demand it, but to seal our compact. And by the Holy Moses, whenyou've handled it, if you attempt to play any game on me, I'll blow youto hell quicker than any through mail could carry you there. Get that,and let it sink into your fool brain."