The White Desert Part 12
"Wait!" Ba'tiste, suddenly serious, turned away into the woods, to go slowly from tree to tree, to dig at them with his knife, to squint and stare, to shin a few feet up a trunk now and then, examining every protuberance, every round, bulbous scar. At last he shouted, and Houston hurried to him, to find the giant digging excitedly at a lodgepole. "I have foun' another!"
The knife, deep in the tree, had scratched on metal. Five minutes more and they had discovered a third one, farther away. Then a fourth, a fifth; soon the number had run to a score, all within a small radius.
Ba'tiste, more excited than ever, ranged off into the woods, leaving Barry to dig at the trees about him and to discover even more metal buried in the hearts of the standing lumber. For an hour he was gone, to return at last and stand staring about him.
"The spike, they are all in this little section," he said finally. "I have cruise' all about here--there are no more."
"But why should trees grow spikes?"
"Ah, why? So that saws will break at the right time! Eet is easy for the iron hunter at the mill to look the other way--eef he knows what the boss want. Eet is easy for the sawyer to step out of the way while the blade, he hit a spike!"
A long whistle traveled over Houston's lips. This was the explanation of broken saws, just at the crucial moment!
"Simple, isn't it?" he asked caustically. "Whenever it's necessary for an 'accident' to happen, merely send out into the woods for a load of timber from a certain place."
"Then the iron hunter--the man who look for metal in the wood--he look some other place. Beside," and Ba'tiste looked almost admiringly at a spike-filled tree. "Eet is a good job. The spike, they are driven deep in the wood, they are punched away in, so the bark, eet will close over them. If the iron hunter is not, what-you-say, full of pepper, and if he is lazy, then he not find heem, whether he want to or not.
M'sieu Thayer, he have a head on him."
"Then Thayer--"
"Why not?"
"But why? He was the only man on the job out here. He didn't have to fill a whole section of a forest full of spikes when he wanted to break a saw or cause me trouble."
"Ah, no. But M'sieu--that is, whoever did eet--maybe he figure on the time when you yourself try to run the mill. Eh?"
"Well, if he did," came sharply, "he's figured on this exact moment.
I've seen enough, Ba'tiste. I'm going to Denver and contract myself an entirely new crew. Then I'm coming back to drop this masquerade I've been carrying on--and if you'll help me--run this place myself.
Thayer's out--from the minute I can get a new outfit. I'm not going to take any chances. When he goes, the whole bunch here goes with him!"
"Ah, _oui_!" Ba'tiste grinned with enthusiasm. "You said a what-you-say--large bite! Now," he walked toward the saw, "we shall fell a tree that shall not split."
"If you don't mind, I'd rather go back and look around the place. I want to get lined up on everything before I start to Denver."
"Ah, _oui_." Together, led by the wolf-dog, they made their way to the wagon again, once more to skirt the lake and to start down the narrow roadway leading beside the flume. A half-hour more and there came the sound of hammers and of saws. They stopped, and staring through the scraggly trees, made out the figures of half a dozen men busily at work upon the erection of a low, rambling building. All about them were vast piles of lumber, two-by-fours, scantlings, boardings, shingles,--everything that possibly could be needed in the building of not one, but many structures. Ba'tiste nodded.
"The new mill."
"Yes. Probably being built out of my lumber. It's a cinch they didn't transport it all the way from Tabernacle."
"Nor pay M'sieu Houston. Many things can happen when one is the manager."
Barry made no answer. For another mile they drove in silence, at last to come into the clearing of Barry's mill, with its bunk house, its cook house, its diminutive commissary, its mill and kilns and sheds.
Houston leaped from the wagon to start a census and to begin his preparations for a cleaning-out of the whole establishment. But at the door of the commissary he whirled, staring. A buggy was just coming over the brow of the little hill which led to the mill property. Some one had called to him,---a woman whose voice had caused him to start, then, a second later, to go running forward.
She was beside Thayer in the buggy, leaning forth, one hand extended as Barry hurried toward her, her black eyes flashing eagerness, her full, yet cold lips parted, her olive-skinned cheeks enlivened by a flush of excitement as Houston came to her, forgetful of the sneer of the man at her side, forgetful of the staring Ba'tiste in the background, forgetful of his masquerade, of everything.
"Agnes!" he gasped. "Why did you--"
"I thought--" and the drawling voice of Fred Thayer had a suddenly sobering effect on Houston, "that you weren't hurt very bad. Your memory came back awful quick, didn't it? I thought she'd bring you to your senses!"
CHAPTER IX
Houston pretended not to hear the remark. The woman in the buggy was holding forth her hands to him and he a.s.sisted her to the ground.
"Well," she asked, in a sudden fawning manner, "aren't you glad to see me, Barry? Aren't you going to kiss me?"
"Of course." He took her in his arms. "I--I was so surprised, Agnes.
I never thought of you--"
"Naturally you didn't." It was Thayer again. "That's why I sent for her. Thought you'd get your memory back when--"
"I've had my memory for long enough--" Houston had turned upon him coldly--"to know that from now on I'll run this place. You're through!"
"Barry!" The woman had grasped his arm. "Don't talk like that. You don't know what you're saying!"
"Please, Agnes--"
"Let him rave, if that's the way he wants to repay faithfulness."
"Wait until I've talked to you, Barry. You haven't had time to think.
You've jumped at conclusions. Fred just thought that I could--"
"This hasn't anything to do with you, Agnes. There hasn't been anything wrong with me. My brain's been all right; I've known every minute what I've been doing. This man's crooked, and I know he's crooked. I needed time, and I shammed forgetfulness. I've gotten the information I need now--and I'm repeating that he's through! And every one else in this camp goes with him!"
"I'm not in the habit of taking insults! I--"
Thayer moved forward belligerently, one hand reaching toward a cant hook near by. But suddenly he ceased. Ba'tiste, quite naturally, had strolled between them.
"M'sieu Houston have a broke' arm," had come very quietly. Thayer grunted.
"Maybe that's the reason he thinks he can insult every one around here."
Ba'tiste looked down upon him, as a Newfoundland would look upon a snapping terrier.
"M'sieu Houston insult n.o.body."
"But--"
The voice of the big man rose to a roar.
"Ba'teese say, M'sieu Houston insult n.o.body. Un'stan'? Ba'teese say that! Ba'teese got no broke' arm!"
"Who is this man?" The woman had turned angrily toward Barry; "What right has he to talk this way? The whole thing's silly, as far as I can see, Barry. This man, whoever he is, has been stuffing you full of stories. There--"
"This man, Agnes," and Barry Houston's voice carried a quality he never before had used with Agnes Jierdon, "is the best friend I ever had.
You'll realize it before long. He not only has saved my life, but he's going to help me save my business. I want you to know him and to like him."