CHAPTER XVI
SLUE FOOT "COMES ACROSS"
As Connie pushed open the door he was greeted with a growl: "It's adoggone wonder ye wouldn't stay 'round an' tend to business onct in awhile! Here I be'n waitin' half an' hour fer to git a plug of terbacker,an' you off kihootin' 'round the woods----"
"Save your growling, 'til someone's round to hear it," grinned the boy,as he produced the key to the chest. "Here's your tobacco, twenty cents'worth--makes thirty-two dollars and sixty cents, all told."
"Thirty-two sixty!" Slue Foot glared: "Thought Hurley's outfits nevergouged the men on the wanagan?" he sneered. "My tab ain't overtwenty-five dollars at the outside."
"Get it out of your system," retorted the boy. "You can't bluff me.Thirty-two sixty's down here. Thirty-two sixty's right--and you knowit's right! What's on your mind? You didn't walk clear down from CampTwo for a twenty-cent plug of tobacco, when you've got the biggest partof a carton in your turkey."
With his back to the stove, the boss scowled at the boy! "Smart kid,ain't you?" The scowl faded from his face, an' he repeated: "Smartkid--an' that's why I tuk a notion to ye, an'--'" he paused abruptly andcrossing to the window, took a position that commanded the clearing."--an' let ye in on some extry money."
Connie nodded: "Yes, and it's about time you were loosening up on theproposition--you haven't let me in yet."
"Ain't let ye in!" exclaimed Slue Foot. "What ye mean, 'ain't let yein'? How about shadin' the cut?"
"Shading the cut," exclaimed the boy, with contempt. "What's a couple ofhundred dollars? That's a piker's job--Injun stealing! You promised tolet me in on something big--now, come across."
Slue Foot stared at him: "Say, who's runnin' this, you? Yer all-firedcocky fer a kid. When I was your age a couple hundred dollars lookedbig as a township o' timber to me."
"Well, it don't to me," snapped the boy. "And you might as well comeacross."
Slue Foot advanced one threatening step: "Who d'ye think ye're talkin'to?" he roared. "I'll break ye in two!"
"And when I break, you break," smiled the boy. "Let me tell you this,Slue Foot Magee, I've got these books fixed so that if anything happensto me, your nose goes under, and all that's left is a string ofbubbles--see? I've been doing some figuring lately, and I've decided thetime's about right for me to get in on the other. According to the talk,it will be twenty or thirty days yet before the break-up. But, supposethe break-up should come early this year--early and sudden? You'd haveyour hands full and couldn't waste time on me. And besides you'd neverlet me in then, anyway. You're only letting me in because I'm supposedto furnish the dope on what's going on here. I'm playing safe--see thepoint?"
Slue Foot glowered: "An' what if I've changed my mind about lettin' yein?" he asked truculently.
"Oh, then I'll just naturally sell your cut-shading scheme out toHurley and his boss for what I can get--and let you stand the gaff."
Slue Foot's fists clenched, a big vein stood out upon his reddenedforehead, and he seemed to swell visibly: "You--you'd double-cross me,would you?"
"Sure, I would," said the boy, "if you don't come through. Look here,Slue Foot, business is business. I wouldn't trust you as far as I canthrow a saw log, and you may as well get that right now."
"How do I know you won't double-cross me on the big deal?" asked theman.
"Matter of figures," answered Connie. "You don't suppose Hurley and hisboss would pay me as much as we can get out of the logs do you? Ofcourse they won't--but they might agree to pay me as much as I'll getout of the cut-shading--especially if I tell them that you've got abigger game up your sleeve. You might as well be reasonable. It'll bebetter all around if you and I understand each other. They're beginningto talk in here about the drive. If I don't know what your scheme is,how am I to know what to remember? I can't remember everything theysay, and if I'm onto the game I can pick out what'll do us good, andnot bother with the rest."
Once more Slue Foot took up his place by the window, and for someminutes the only sound in the little office was the ticking of the alarmclock. Finally the man spoke: "I figgered you was smart allright--smarter'n the run of kids. But I didn't figger you couldout-figger me--or believe me, I'd of laid off of ye." The boss of CampTwo sat and scowled at the boy for several minutes. Then he spoke,sullenly at first, but as he warmed to his topic, the sullenness gaveplace to a sort of crafty enthusiasm--a fatuous pride in his cleverlyplanned scheme of fraud. "I was goin' to let ye in anyhow, so I s'poseit might's well be now as later. But, git this, right on the start: yeain't bluffed me into takin' ye in, an' ye ain't scared me into it.You've augered me into it by common sense ... what ye said about theymight come a sudden thaw, an' we'd be too busy to git together--an'about you knowin' what to remember of the talk that goes on here.
"It's like this: The logs is paint-branded, an' the mark of this outfitis the block-an'-ball in red on the butt end. They're branded on thelandin's, an' I done the markin' myself. Last year Hurley inspected 'eman' so did Lon, an' they know the brands showed up big an' bright an'sassy. But when them logs reached the booms an' was sorted theywasn't near as many of them wearin' the red block-an'-ball aswhen they started--an' the difference is what I split up with theSyndicate--boom-toll free!"
"You mean," asked the boy, "that the Syndicate men changed the brands,or painted them out and painted their own over them?"
Slue Foot sneered. "Ye're pretty smart--some ways. But ye ain't smartenough to change a red block-an'-ball to a green tripple X. An' as ferpaintin' over 'em, why if a log hit the big river with a brand paintedout they'd be a howl go up that would rock the big yaller ball on top ofthe capital. No sir, it takes brains to make money loggin'. The big oneshas stole and grabbed up into the millions--an' they do it accordin' tolaw--because they've got the money to make the law an' twist it to suittheirselves. They put up thousands fer lobbys an' legislaters, an' ferjudges an' juries, an' they drag down millions. The whole timber game'sa graft. The big operators grab water rights, an' timber rights, an'they even grab the rivers. An' they do it legal because they own thedummies that makes the laws. The little operator ain't got no show. Ifhe don't own his own timber he has to take what he can get in stumpagecontracks, an' whether he owns it or not they git him on water-tolls,an' when he hits the river there's boom-tolls an' sortin'-tolls, an' bythe time he's got his logs to the mills an' sold accordin' to the boomscale he ain't got nawthin' left, but his britches--an' lucky to havethem. All business is crooked. If everyone was honest they wouldn't beno millionaires. If a man's got a million, he's a crook. It ain't noworse fer us little ones to steal agin' the law, than it is fer the bigones to steal accordin' to law." Fairly started upon his favouritetheme, Slue Foot worked himself into a perfect rage as he ranted on."This here outfit's a little outfit," he continued. "It ain't got noshow, nohow. I seen the chanct to git in on the graft an' I grabbedit--if I hadn't, the Syndicate would have had it all. An' besides I gota chance to git square with Hurley. They's two kinds of folks in theworld--them that has, an' them that hain't. Them that has, has becausethey've retch out an' grabbed, an' them that hain't, hain't becausethey wasn't smart enough to hang onto what they did have." Connielistened with growing disgust to the wolfish diatribe. Slue Foot's eyesblazed as he drove his yellow fangs deep into his tobacco plug. "Butpeople's wakin' up to their rights," he continued. "There's theSocialists an' the I. W. W.'s, they're partly right, an' partly wrong.The Socialists wants, as near as I kin make out, a equal distribution o'wealth--that ain't so bad, except that there's only a few of 'em, an'they'd be doin' all the work to let a lot of others that don't donawthin', in on their share of the dividin'. What's the use of mea-workin' so someone else that don't help none gits a equal share? An'the I. W. W.'s is about as bad. They try to bust up everything, an'wreck, an' smash, an' tear down--that's all right, fer as it goes--but,what's it goin' to git 'em? Where do they git off at? They ain'tfiggered themselves into no profit by what they do. What's it goin' togit me if I burn down a saw-mill? I don't git the mi
ll, do I? No--an'neither don't they. What I'm after is gittin' it off them that's got it,an' lettin' it stick to me. I ain't worryin' about no one else. It'severy man fer hisself--an' I'm fer _me!_" The boss prodded himself inthe chest, as he emphasized the last word. "An' if you want yourn, you'dbetter stick with me--we'll gather."
It was with difficulty that Connie masked the loathing he felt for thisman whose creed was more despicable even than the creed of the organizedenemies of society, for Slue Foot unhesitatingly indorsed all theirviciousness, but discarded even their lean virtues.
For three years the boy's lot had been cast among men--rough men of thegreat outland. He had known good men and bad men, but never had he knowna man whom he so utterly despised as this Slue Foot Magee. The bad menhe had know were defiant in their badness, they flaunted the law to itsface--all except Mr. Squigg, who was a sneak with the heart of a weasel,and didn't count. But this man, as bad as the worst of them, sought tojustify his badness. Connie knew what Waseche Bill, or big MacDougallwould have done if this human wolf had sought to persuade them to throwin with him on his dirty scheme, and he knew what Hurley or Saginaw Edwould do--and unconsciously, the boy's fists doubled. Then came thememory of McKeever and Ricky, the men of the Mounted with whom he hadworked in the bringing of bad men to justice. What would McKeever do?The boy's fists relaxed. "He'd get him," he muttered under his breath."He'd throw in with him, and find out all he could find out, and thenhe'd--_get him!_"
"Whut's that?" Slue Foot asked the question abruptly, and Connie facedhim with a grin:
"Your dope sounds good to me," he said, "but come across with thescheme. Hurley or Saginaw may drop in here any time. If the Syndicatedidn't change the brands, or paint over them, how did they work it?"
"They didn't work it--it was me that worked it. All they done was tofurnish me the paint an' put their own marks on the logs after I'd got'em into the big river, brand free. It's this way: Brandin' paint willstand water. You kin paint-brand a log here an' the brand will still beon it if it floats clean to New Orleans. That's the kind of paint Hurleyfurnished. An' that's the kind of paint that went on some of the logs.But another kind went on the rest of the logs. It was just as red an'just as purty lookin' as the other--while the logs stayed on therollways. After they'd b'en in the water a while they wasn't no paint on'em. German chemists mixed that paint--an' water'll take it off, likeit'll take dirt offen a floor--easier 'cause you don't have to use nosoap, an' you don't have to do no scrubbin'--it jest na'chelly melts an'floats off. Hurley bossed the rear end drive, an' when our crews got tothe mills, the Syndicate had saw to it that all unbranded logs was tookcare of an' wore the green tripple X."
Connie nodded and Slue Foot continued: "Pretty slick, eh? But they'smore to it than that. It's got to be worked right. I had to slip LongLeaf Olson the word when the rollways would be busted out so he couldfoul our drive an' git his logs in on the head end. Then, there was thedickerin' with the Syndicate. It took some rammin' around before I gotnext to old Heinie Metzger--he's the big boss of the Syndicate. I workedit through passin' myself off fer Hurley to a stuck-up youngwhipper-snapper name of von Kuhlmann, that's old Heinie'sside-kick--confidential secretary, he calls him. Them Germans is slick,but at last we got together an' made the deal, an' they paid me allright, boom scale, when the logs was in. This here von Kuhlmann hisselfslipped me the money--he's a funny galoot, always swelled up an' blowin'like he owned the world, an' always noddin' an' winkin', like they wassomethin' he was holdin' out on ye, as if he know'd somethin' that noone else know'd--an' brag! You'd ort to hear him brag about Germany,like they wasn't no other reg'lar country, the rest of the world justbein' a kind of place that wasn't hardly worth mentionin'. They say theSyndicate stock is all owned in Germany, an' some of the cruisers that'sworked fer 'em say it's a sight the amount of stuff they make 'em put intheir reports. Accordin' to his job a cruiser or a land-looker issupposed to estimate timber. But the cruisers that works fer theSyndicate is supposed to report on everything from the number of boxcars an' engines on the railroads, to the size of the towns, an' thenumber of folks in 'em that's Socialists an' I. W. W.'s. an' their name.They don't care nawthin about wastin' postage stamps, neither, 'causeall that stuff is sent over to Germany. What do they care over in theold country how many box cars is on some little old branch loggin' roadin the timber country, or how many I. W. W.'s. lives in Thief RiverFalls?
"An speakin' of I. W. W.'s--them Germans is slick some ways, an' blamedfools in another. With the I. W. W.'s. threatenin' the timber interests,these here Germans, that owns more mills an' standin' timber than anyone else, is eggin' 'em on an' slippin' 'em money to keep 'em goin'. TheI. W. W.'s., don't know that--an' I wouldn't neither except fer a luckyaccident, an' I cashed in on it, too." The man paused and grinnedknowingly. "In Duluth, it was, we pulled off a meetin' right under thenose of the police, an' not one of 'em in the hall. Called it aSocialist meetin', an' word was passed that they was a feller name ofMueller, from Germany, a student that was wised up to every wrinkle fromblowin' up dams to wipin' out the Government. He come with greetin'sfrom the 'brothers acrost the sea,' he said, an' what was more to thepoint, he brung along a nice fat package of cash money which he claimedhad be'n raised by subscription fer to help the cause over here. Ilistened an' kep' a studyin' about where I'd saw this here Muellerbefore, but it didn't stand to reason I had, an' him just over fromGermany. But they was somethin' about him made me sure I know'd him. Hewas dressed cheap an' wore glasses half an inch thick, an' they hadn'tno barber be'n into his hair fer quite a spell; he'd needed a shave ferabout three weeks, too, an' he looked like a reg'lar b'ilin' outwouldn't of hurt him none. Anyways, before the meetin' was over, I'dspotted him, so 'long about midnight, after the meetin' had be'n overabout an hour I loafs down to the hotel. It was a cheap dump, a hang-outfer lumberjacks an' lake sailors, an' I know'd the clerk an' didn't haveno trouble gittin' to his room.
"'Hello, von Kuhlmann,' I says, when he opens the door, an' with a wildlook up an' down the hall to see if any one had heard, he reaches outan' yanks me in. Tried to bluff it out first, but it wasn't no use."Slue Foot grinned: "I come out in about a half an hour with five hundreddollars in my jeans. These here 'brothers from acrost the sea' is suresome donaters when you git 'em where you want 'em--'course this herestudent business was all bunk. But, what I ain't never be'n able to gitonto is, what in thunder does the Syndicate want to be slippin' the I.W. W. money fer?"
"Are you an I. W. W.?" Connie shot the question directly.
Slue Foot hesitated a moment and then answered evasively. "Git meright, kid, I'm anything that's agin' capital--an' I'm anything that'sagin' the Government. First and foremostly, I'm fer Magee. No man kinmake money by workin'. I've got money, an' I'm a-goin' to git more--an'I don't care how it's come by. I'm a wolf, an' I'll howl while therabbit squeals! I'm a bird of prey! I'm a Government all my own! AllGovernments is birds of prey, an' beasts of prey. What do you see ontheir money, an' their seals, an' their flags--doves, an' rabbits, an'little fawns? No, it's eagles, an' bears, an' lions--beasts that rips,an' tears, an' crushes, an' kills!
"You're lucky to git to throw in with a man like me--to git started outright when yer young. If you wasn't smart, I wouldn't fool with ye, butI'll git mine, an' you'll git yourn--an' some day, von Kuhlmann's kindof let it slip, they's somethin' big comin' off. I don't know what he'sdrivin' at, but it's somethin' he's all-fired sure is a-goin' tohappen--an' he's kind of hinted that when it comes he kin use a few likeme to good advantage."
"What kind of a thing's coming off?"
"I jest told ye I don't know--mebbe the Syndicate's goin' to grab offall the timber they is, or mebbe it's figgerin' on grabbin' the hullGovernment, or the State--but whatever it is, he kin count on me bein'in on it--if he pays enough--an' by the time he pays it, I'd ort to knowenough about the game so's I kin flop over to the other side an' sellhim out. It's the ones that plays both ends from the middle that gitstheirn--brains makes the money--not hands."
br /> Slue Foot glanced out the window and turned to the boy. "Here comesSaginaw. When he gits here I'll growl an' you sass. Remember to keepyour ears open an' find out when Hurley's goin' to break out therollways, an' where he's goin' to deliver the logs. I've tended to thebrandin'--if they's anything more I'll let ye know." Slue Foot pausedand scowled darkly: "An' don't try to double-cross me! They ain'tnothin' I've told ye that ye could prove anyhow. An' even if ye could,it's just as you said, this outfit won't pay ye as much as what you'llgit out of the deal by playin' square with me."
The door opened and Saginaw Ed entered, to interrupt a perfect torrentof abuse from Slue Foot, and a rapid fire of recrimination from the boy.Presently the boss of Camp Two departed, threatening to have Conniefired for incompetence, as soon as he could get in a word with Hurley.
SLUE FOOT TURNED. "THINK Y'RE AWFUL SMART, DON'T YE?"]
On the tote road at the edge of the clearing, Slue Foot turned and gazedat the little office. And as he gazed an evil smile twisted his lips:"Think yer awful smart, don't ye? Well, yer in on the scheme--'cause Ineed ye in. An' I'll use ye fer all there is in ye--but when cashin'-intime comes, yer goin' to be left whistlin' fer yourn--er my name ain'tSlue Foot Magee!" Then the smile slowly faded from his face, andremoving his cap, he thoughtfully scratched his head. "Only trouble is,he _is_ smart--an' where'll I git off at, if it turns out he's too_doggone_ smart?"