as well as I think I do. So now I want to hire you in the discouragin'

business--you understand it fairly well. I need an a.s.sistant discourager. And here's my proposition! I'll give ye five thousand dollars bonus smack down in your fist and promise you in the name of the Lumbermen's a.s.sociation a steady job. We're goin' to build three big dams along the West Branch and a four-mile ca.n.a.l cut-off at headwaters.

You'll find work enough, if that's what you're lookin' for."

"And you'll be looking for me to sell out your interests at my first opportunity," said Parker.

"Ours is a different proposition--a different proposition," blurted Ward earnestly. "Your men ain't got any right to be here on our own stamping ground--not as bus'ness men. We ain't goin' down where they are to bother them. They hadn't ought to be up here. If you leave 'em and come with us we'll consider that it's showin' that you understand what a square deal in bus'ness matters means. And furthermore," he said with a certain air as tho he had reserved his trump card, "we'll make our trade in black and white for a ten years' contract at a third more wages than your railroad people are paying and tip you off regular on timber deals where you can make an extry dollar. I don't mind tellin' ye, Parker, that I've had ye looked up and I know that we ain't buyin' any gold brick." This with a certain cordiality.

"I must say, Colonel Ward, that you have taken a rather peculiar method of getting me interested in your enterprises." Parker's tone was a bit resentful, but the old man believed he could understand that resentment, and grew more cheerful and confident.

"You had to be discouraged," chuckled the colonel. "Didn't I tell you that you had to be discouraged? Why, if you hadn't been shown what kind of a proposition you were up against you might have kept on thinkin'

that the P. K. &. R. railroad company was the biggest thing in the world. All young men want to work for the biggest folks. But I reckon by this time you have found out that Gideon Ward and the Lumbermen's a.s.sociation come pretty near bein' lord of all they survey in this country. There, young man! The cards are down. Look at 'em! I'm pretty rough and I'm pretty tough and I play the game for all that's in me. But when it's over you won't find any cards up my sleeve nor down the back of my neck--and you can't always say that of your smooth city chaps."

Parker sat with his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor, his forehead wrinkled. He was a pretty st.u.r.dy young American in principles and conduct, but at the same time he had all of young America's appreciation of the main chance. And the main chance in these days lies along the road where the dollars are sprinkled thickest. He reflected that the building of the little bob-tail railroad had been tossed at him as a rather silly and secret escapade of two big men who were already half ashamed of the whole business. He realized that in their present frame of mind they would be inclined to close out the whole thing in disgust as soon as they received news of the destruction of the property.

When he got back to town he would simply remind them of a mutual failure to accomplish, and the history of such reminders is that they have been side-tracked in some places where their presence could not remind.

"You know there isn't goin' to be any hurry about your givin' up your present job--not till spring has got well opened and the ice is out of Spinnaker," said Colonel Ward slyly, breaking in on the young man's meditations. "There's always a right time for re-signin' and we'll discover that time. But your five thousand will be put to your credit in Kenduskeag Bank the next day after you sign our papers, and your salary with us will begin the minute the ink is dry. You'll have double pay for a while, but I reckon you'll be earnin' it." He chuckled once more.

Parker, surveying his red cheek k.n.o.bs, his cruel gray eyes narrowed now in evil mirth, recollected with a photographic flash of memory of the details of that story the postmaster at Sunkhaze had told him. This was the same man who had coolly stolen wife and property from his own brother and then had jeered at him, probably with that same expression puckering about his evil, gray eyes. In the sudden revulsion of his feelings Parker wondered if he really had been tempted by the bait held out to him. At least, he had been weighing the chances. He remembered cases where other men who had stopped to weigh advantages had ended in becoming disloyal. He promptly forgot with a mental wrench the bribe that had been offered. It was a coaxing bait and he bravely owned that it had tempted for a moment. He was honest enough to own to himself that, offered by another, it might have won him--and he felt a little quiver of fear at the thought.

But when he pictured himself as the a.s.sociate of this old harpy who sat leering at him, hands on his knees, and already swelling with a sense of proprietorship, he almost forgot his personal wrongs in the hot flush of his indignation on behalf of the cheated brother.

"That's a proposition that sort of catches ye, hey?" inquired Ward, misunderstanding the nature of the flush that sprung to Parker's cheeks.

"I'm going to be honest enough to say that it did catch me for a moment," replied the young man.

"Oh, I know all about what temptation is to any men--especially a young man," said the colonel blandly.

"But I'll bet you a hundred dollars to a toothpick you never knew what it was to resist temptation," shouted Parker. "And I'm going to tell you now and here that I'd no more accept your offer and take a job with you than I'd poison myself with paris green." He flung himself back in his chair and glared at his tempter with honest indignation.

For a little while Ward stared at him, open-mouthed. His surprise was greater, for he believed that he had landed his fish.

"And don't you make me any more offers. I've no use for them or for you, either," cried the young man, his voice trembling.

"I've read about such critters as you be," said the colonel slowly, "but it was in a dime novel and it was a good many years ago and I didn't believe it. I believe it said in the novel that the young man died young and went to heaven--the only one of his kind. P'raps I'm wrong and he didn't die--went to heaven jest as he stood in his shoes and co't and pants."

Parker merely scowled back at the biting irony of this rejoinder.

"There's no dime novel or any other kind of a novel to this affair, Colonel Ward. I'm not especially fitted to be the hero of a book. Nor to be one of your hired men, either."

"Then ye've made up your mind to straddle out your legs and play Branscome's mule, hey?"

"What was his special characteristic?"

The question was drawled coolly.

"He kicked when ye tried to drive him with a whip and he bit and squealed when ye tried to coax him along with sweet apples. So if ye won't neither lead nor drive, then out with it man fashion."

"I simply demand my liberty."

"And what be ye goin' to do with it?"

"That is my own affair."

The two men sat and looked at each other a long time, the old man's choler rising the higher from the fact that it had been so long repressed. The young man's glance did not fall before this furious regard.

At last Ward quivered his fists above his head, stamped around the little room and went to the door.

"You've got a few hours to do a little more thinkin' in, and then you look out for yourself, for it's up to you, you--," he slammed and locked the door and went away, cursing horribly.

CHAPTER ELEVEN--THE BEAR THAT WALKED LIKE A MAN

That in this age of law and order Gideon Ward meditated any actual violence to his person Parker found it hard to believe as he sat there in the "w.a.n.gan" and pondered on his situation. He could not avoid the conclusion that at heart Colonel Ward was a coward. But sometimes circ.u.mstances that a brave man will not suffer to rule him will drive a coward into crime.

It was a long and dreary day for him.

From the window he saw Colonel Ward go scurrying away on a jumper, evidently bound for the choppings.

The cook and cookee surveyed his prison at a distance. They seemed to have no desire to come into close contact with a man of whom they had heard such sinister reports.

Hackett, who hung about camp, apparently to serve as general "striker"

and man of all work, brought food at noon and left it without engaging in conversation.

Parker made a dull day of it.

After the chill dusk had fallen and he had stuffed his rusty little stove with all the wood it would hold, he heard the men returning.

A colloquy that occurred after supper interested him.

He heard Colonel Ward bellow at some one who was evidently advancing toward the w.a.n.gan.

"Here you, Connick, where are you goin'?"

"Just to pa.s.s a word with the lad," the man replied.

"Have you got your knittin'?" squalled Ward sarcastically. "There's no call for you to go pa.s.sin' talk around that w.a.n.gan camp, Connick. You come away from it."

But when Connick spoke again it was evident he had not retired.

"It's only right to let him come into the men's camp for a bit this evening, Colonel Ward. There'll be a s.n.a.t.c.h or so of fiddlin' that he'll like, to cheer him up, and a jig and a song or so. I don't see the harm in mentionin' it to him, to find if he'd like to come. I'll answer for it that he's put back in his nest ag'in all right."

"Who's runnin' this camp, me or you?"

"You're the man, sir."

"Well, then, there'll be no invitin' out nor pa.s.sin' talk. You men have nothin' to do with that chap in that w.a.n.gan and you'll keep away from him or get your heads broken open. Do you hear what I say? Why don't you come away when I speak?"