CHAPTER XVII
HEINIE METZGER
Saginaw Ed listened as Connie detailed at length all that Slue Foot hadtold him. When the boy finished, the woodsman removed his pipe andregarded him thoughtfully: "Takin' it off an' on, I've know'd someconsider'ble ornery folks in my time, but I never run acrost none thatwas as plumb crooked as this here specimen. Why, along side of him acorkscrew is straight as a stretched fiddle gut. He ain't square with noone. But, a man like him can't only go so far--his rope is short, an'when he comes to the end of it, they ain't a-goin' to be no knot fer tohang holt of. A man that's double-crossed folks like he has ain't got noright to expect to git away with it. If they don't no one else git him,the law will."
"Yes," answered the boy, "and we've got enough on him so that when thelaw gets through with him he's not going to have much time left for anymore crookedness."
"How d'you figger on workin' it?" asked Saginaw.
Connie laughed: "I haven't had time to dope it out yet, but there's nouse starting anything 'til just before the drive. Slue Foot's crowding'em up there in Camp Two, putting every last log he can get onto thelandings--he said he'd have close to three million feet branded with hisown paint."
"Expects Hurley's goin' to let Long Leaf boss the drive agin, I s'posean' the Syndicate crew do the sortin'!"
"I guess that's what's he's counting on," answered the boy. "Hurley willtend to that part. And now we know his scheme, the logs are safe--whatwe want is evidence. When we get him we want to get him right."
Saginaw Ed rose to go. "It's up to you, son, to figger out the best way.Whatever you say goes. Take yer time an' figger it out good--'cause youwant to remember that the Syndicate owes ye some thirty-odd thousanddollars they stoled off ye last year, an'----"
"Thirty-odd thousand?"
"Sure--ye stood to clean up twenty thousan', didn't ye? Instead of whichye lost fourteen thousan'--that's thirty-four thousan', ain't it? An'here's somethin' fer to remember when yer dealin' with the Syndicate:Never law 'em if you can git out of it. They've got the money--an' youain't got no square deal. Git the dope on 'em, an' then settle out o'court, with old Heinie Metzger."
When Saginaw had gone, Connie sat for hours at his desk thinking upplans of action, discarding them, revising them, covering whole sheetsof paper with pencilled figures.
When, at last, he answered the supper call and crossed the clearing tothe cook's camp, a peculiar smile twitched the corners of his lips.
"I've got to go up the road a piece an' figger on a couple of newskidways," said Saginaw, when the four who bunked in the office arosefrom the table. "It's good an' moonlight, an' I kin git the swampersstarted on 'em first thing in the morning."
"I'll go with you," decided the boy, "I've been cooped up all theafternoon, and I'll be glad of the chance to stretch my legs."
Leaving Hurley and Lon Camden, the two struck off up one of the broad,iced log roads that reached into the timber like long fingers clutchingat the very heart of the forest. The task of locating the skidways wassoon finished and Saginaw seated himself on a log and produced pipe andtobacco. "Well, son," he said, "what's the game? I watched ye whilst wewas eatin', an' I seen ye'd got it figgered out."
After a moment of silence, Connie asked abruptly: "How am I going tomanage to get away for a week or ten days?"
"Git away!" exclaimed Saginaw. "You mean leave camp?"
The boy nodded: "Yes, I've got to go." He seated himself astride the logand talked for an hour, while Saginaw, his pipe forgotten, listened.When the boy finished Saginaw sat in silence, the dead pipe clenchedbetween his teeth.
"Well, what do you think of it?"
The other removed the pipe, and spat deliberately into the snow. "Thinkof it?" he replied, "I never was much hand fer thinkin'--an' them bigfiggers you're into has got me woozy headed. Personal an' private, I'mtellin' ye right out, I don't think it'll work. It sounds good the wayyou spoke it, but--why, doggone it, that would be outfiggerin' the_Syndicate!_ It would be lettin' 'em beat theirself at their own game!It can't be did! They ain't no one kin do it. It ain't on."
"What's the matter with it?" asked the boy.
"Matter with it! I can't find nothin' the matter with it--That's why itwon't work!"
Connie laughed: "We'll make it work! All you've got to remember is thatif any stranger comes into the camp asking for Hurley, you steer him upagainst Slue Foot. This von Kuhlmann himself will probably come, and ifhe does it will be all right--he knows Slue Foot by sight. The onlything that's bothering me is how am I going to ask Hurley for a week orten days off? Frenchy's going in tomorrow, and I've got to go with him."
Saginaw Ed slapped his mittened hand against his leg: "I've got it," heexclaimed. "There was three new hands come in today--good whitewater menfer the drive. One of 'em's Quick-water Quinn. I've worked with him offan' on fer it's goin' on fifteen year. He'll do anything fer me, accountof a little deal onct, which he believed I saved his life. I'll slipover to the men's camp an' write a letter to you. Then later, when we'reall in the office, Quick-water, he'll fetch it over an' ask if you'rehere, an' give it to ye. Then ye read it, and take on like you've got togo right away fer a week er so. You don't need to make anyexplainin'--jest stick to it you've got to go. Hurley'll prob'ly raveround an' tell ye ye can't, an' bawl ye out, an' raise a rookusgenerally, but jest stick to it. If it gits to where ye have to, jesttell him you quit. That'll bring him 'round. He sets a lot of store byyou, an' he'll let ye go if ye make him."
And so it happened that just as the four were turning in that night, alumberjack pushed open the door. "Is they any one here name o' C.Morgan?" he asked.
Connie stepped forward, and the man thrust a letter into his hand:"Brung it in with me from the postoffice. They told me over to the men'scamp you was in here."
Connie thanked the man, and carrying the letter to the light, tore itopen and read. At the end of five minutes he looked up: "I've got to goout with Frenchy in the morning," he announced.
Hurley let a heavy boot fall with a thud, and stared at the boy asthough he had taken leave of his senses. "Go out!" he roared, "What'yemean, go out?"
"I've got to go for a week or ten days. It's absolutely necessary or Iwouldn't do it."
"A wake er tin days, sez he!" Hurley lapsed into brogue, as he alwaysdid when aroused or excited. "An' fer a wake or tin days the books kinrun theirsilf! Well, ye can't go--an' that's all there is to ut!"
"I've got to go," repeated Connie stubbornly. "If I don't go out withFrenchy, I'll walk out!"
The boss glared at him. "I know'd things wuz goin' too good to last. ButOi didn't think th' trouble wuz a-comin' from ye. Ye can tell me, mebbe,what, Oi'm a-goin' to do widout no clerk whoilst yer gaddin' roundhavin' a good toime? Ye can't go!"
"Steve can run the wanagan, and Lon, and Saginaw, and Slue Foot can holdtheir reports 'til I get back. I'll work night and day then 'til I catchup."
"They ain't a-goin' to be no ketch up!" roared Hurley. "Here ye be, an'here ye'll stay! Av ye go out ye'll stay out!"
Connie looked the big boss squarely in the eye: "I'm sorry, Hurley.I've liked you, and I've liked my job. But I've got to go. You'll findthe books all up to the minute." Hurley turned away with a snort androlled into his bunk, and a few minutes later, Connie blew out the lampand crawled between his own warm blankets, where he lay smiling tohimself in the darkness.
By lamplight next morning the boy was astir. He placed his fewbelongings in his turkey, and when the task was accomplished he noticedthat Hurley was watching him out of the corner of his eye. He tied thesack as the others sat upon the edge of the bunks and drew on theirboots. And in silence they all crossed the dark clearing toward thecook's camp.
With a great jangle of bells, Frenchy drew his tote-team up before thedoor just as they finished breakfast. Connie tossed his turkey into thesleigh and turned to Hurley who stood by with Lon Camden and Saginaw Ed."I'll take my time, now," said the boy, quietly. "And good luck to youall!"
For
answer the big boss reached over and, grabbing the turkey, sent itspinning into the boy's bunk. "Ye don't git no toime!" he bellowed."Jump in wid Frenchy now, an' don't be shtandin' 'round doin' nawthin'.Tin days ye'll be gone at the outsoide, an' av' ye ain't at yer diskhere be th' 'leventh day, Oi'll br-reak ye in two an' grease saws widthe two halves av ye!" Reaching into his pocket, he drew forth a roll ofbills. "How much money d'ye nade? Come spake up! Ye kin have all, orpar-rt av ut--an' don't ye iver let me hear ye talk av quittin' agin, erOi'll woind a peavy around yer head."
Connie declined the money and jumped into the sleigh, and with a crackof the whip, Frenchy sent the horses galloping down the tote road. Whenthey were well out of hearing the Frenchman laughed. "Dat Hurley she lakfor mak' de beeg bluff, w'at you call; she mak' you scairt lak she gon'keel you, an' den she giv' you all de mon' she got."
"He's the best boss in the woods!" cried the boy.
"_Oui_ dat rat. Ba goss, we'n she roar an' bluff, dat ain' w'en you gotfor look out! Me--A'm know 'bout dat. A'm seen heem lick 'bout fifty menwan tam. Ovaire on----"
"Oh, come now, Frenchy--not fifty men."
"Well, was seex, anyhow. Ovaire on Leech Lak' an' _sacre!_ He ain' saynuttin', dat tam--joos' mak' hees eyes leetle an' shine lak de _loupcervier_--an' smash, smash, smash! An', by goss, 'bout twenty of demfeller, git de busted head."
Connie laughed, and during all the long miles of the tote roadhe listened to the exaggerated and garbled stories of theFrenchman--stories of log drives, of fights, of bloody accidents, and of"hants" and windagoes. At the railroad, the boy helped the teamster andthe storekeeper in the loading of the sleigh until a long-drawn whistleannounced the approach of his train. When it stopped at the tinystation, he climbed aboard, and standing on the platform, waved his handuntil the two figures whisked from sight and the train plunged betweenits flanking walls of pine.
In Minneapolis Connie hunted up the office of the Syndicate, whichoccupied an entire floor, many stories above the sidewalk, of a tallbuilding. He was a very different looking Connie from the roughly cladboy who had clambered onto the train at Dogfish. A visit to a bigdepartment store had transformed him from a lumberjack into a youthwhose clothing differed in no marked particular from the clothing ofthose he passed upon the street. But there was a difference that hadnothing whatever to do with clothing--a certain something in the easyswing of his stride, the poise of his shoulders, the healthy bronzedskin and the clear blue eyes, that caused more than one person to pauseupon the sidewalk for a backward glance at the boy.
Connie stepped from the elevator, hesitated for a second before aheavily lettered opaque glass door, then turned the knob and entered, tofind himself in a sort of pen formed by a low railing in which was aswinging gate. Before him, beyond the railing, dozens of girls sat atdesks their fingers fairly flying over the keys of their clickingtypewriters. Men with green shades over their eyes, and queer blacksleeves reaching from their wrists to their elbows, sat at other desks.Along one side of the great room stood a row of box-like offices, eachwith a name lettered upon its glass door. So engrossed was the boy innoting these details that he started at the sound of a voice closebeside him. He looked down into the face of a girl who sat before acomplicated looking switchboard.
"Who do you wish to see?" she asked.
Connie flushed to the roots of his hair. It was almost the first time inhis life that any girl had spoken to him--and this one was smiling. Offcame his hat. "Is--is Heinie Metzger in?" he managed to ask. Connie'swas a voice tuned to the big open places, and here in the office of theSyndicate it boomed loudly--so loudly that the girls at the nearertypewriters looked up swiftly and then as swiftly stooped down to pickup imaginary articles from the floor; the boy could see that they weretrying to suppress laughter. And the girl at the switchboard? He glancedfrom the others to this one who was close beside him. Her face was redas his own, and she was coughing violently into a tiny handkerchief.
"Caught cold?" he asked. "Get your feet dry, and take a dose of quinine,and you'll be all right--if you don't get pneumonia and die. If Heinieain't in I can come again." Somehow the boy felt that he would like tobe out of this place. He felt stifled and very uncomfortable. Hewondered if girls always coughed into handkerchiefs or clawed around onthe floor to keep from laughing at nothing. He hoped she would say thatHeinie Metzger was not in.
"Have you a card?" the girl had recovered from her coughing fit, but herface was very red.
"A what?" asked the boy.
"A card--your name."
"Oh, my name is Connie Morgan."
"And, your address?"
"Ma'am?"
"Where do you live?"
"Ten Bow."
"Where? Is it in Minnesota?"
"No, it's in Alaska--and I wish I was back there right now."
"And, your business?"
"I want to see Heinie Metzger about some logs."
A man passing the little gate in the railing whirled and glared at him.He was a very disagreeable looking young man with a fat, heavy face,pouchy eyes of faded blue, and stiff, close-cropped reddish hair thatstuck straight up on his head like pig's bristles. "Looks like he'd beenscrubbed," thought Connie as he returned glare for glare. The manstepped through the gate and thrust his face close to the boy's.
"Vat you mean, eh?"
"Are you Heinie Metzger?"
"No, I am not _Herr_ Metzger. _Unt_ it pays you you shall be civil toyour betters. You shall say _Herr_ Metzger, _oder_ Mister Metzger. _Unt_he has got not any time to be mit poys talking. Vat you vanted? If yougot pusiness, talk mit me. I am _Herr_ von Kuhlmann, confidentialsecretary to _Herr_ Metzger."
"I thought you were the barber," apologized the boy. "But anyhow, youwon't do. I want to see Heinie Metzger, or 'hair' Metzger, or MisterMetzger, whichever way you want it. I want to sell him some logs."
The other sneered: "Logs! He wants to sell it some logs! _Unt_ how muchlogs you got--on de vagon a load, maybe? Ve dondt fool mit logs here,exceptingly ve get anyhow a trainload--_unt_ _Herr_ Metzger dondtmention efen, less dan half a million feets. Vere iss your logs?"
"I've got 'em in my pocket," answered the boy. "Come on, Dutchy, you'rewasting my time. Trot along, now; and tell this Metzger there's a fellowout here that's got about eight or nine million feet of white pine tosell----"
"Vite pine! Eight million feets! You krasy?" The man stooped and swungopen the little gate. "Come along _mit_ me, _unt_ if you trying somefoolishness _mit_ _Herr_ Metzger, you vish you vas some blace else tohave stayed avay." He paused before a closed door, and drawing himselfvery erect, knocked gently. A full minute of silence, then from theinterior came a rasping voice:
"Who is it?"
"It is I, sir, von Kuhlmann, at your service, _unt_ I have _mit_ me onesmall poy who say he has it some logs to sell."
Again the voice rasped from behind the partition--a thin voice, yet, init's thinness, somehow suggesting brutality: "Why should you come to me?Why don't you buy his logs and send him about his business?"
Von Kuhlmann cleared his throat nervously: "He says it iss vitepine--eight million feets."
"Show him in, you fool! What are you standing out there for?"
Von Kuhlmann opened the door and motioned Connie to enter:
"_Herr_ Morgan," he announced, bowing low.
"Connie Morgan," corrected the boy quickly, as he stepped toward thedesk and offered his hand to the small, grey-haired man, with theenormous eyeglasses, and the fierce upturned mustache. "I suppose youare Heinie Metzger," he announced.
The man glared at him, his thin nostrils a-quiver. Then, in a dry,cackling voice, bade Connie be seated, giving the extended hand themerest touch. Von Kuhlmann withdrew noiselessly, and closed the door.Metzger opened a drawer and drew forth a box of cigars which he opened,and extended toward the boy. Connie declined, and replacing the cigars,the man drew from another drawer, a box of cigarettes, and when the boydeclined those he leaned back in his chair and stared at Connie throughhis glasses, as on
e would examine a specimen at the zoo.
HE LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR AND STARED AT CONNIE THROUGHHIS GLASSES, AS ONE WOULD EXAMINE A SPECIMEN AT THE ZOO.]
"Young man, how do I know you have any logs?" the question raspedsuddenly from between half-closed lips.
"You don't know it," answered the boy. "That's why I came here to tellyou."
"White pine, you said," snapped the man, after a pause. "Eight millionfeet?"
"Yes, white pine--at least eight million, maybe nine, and possibly more,if we continue to have good luck."
"Where are these logs?"
"On our landings on Dogfish River."
"Dogfish! You're the man from Alaska that bought the McClusky tract?"
"I'm his partner."
"Show a profit last year?"
"No. But we only had one camp then, and this year we have two and eachone has cut more than the one we had last year."
"Who did you sell to, last year?"
"Baker & Crosby."
"Satisfied with their boom scale?"
"Well, no, we weren't. That's why we thought we'd offer the cut to youthis year, if you want it."
"Want it! Of course we want it--that is, if the price is right."
"What will you pay?"
_Herr_ Heinrich Metzger removed his glasses and dangled them by theirwide black ribbon, as he glanced along his thin nose. "Sure you candeliver eight million feet?" he asked.
"Yes, our foreman reports eight million already on the rollways, or inthe woods all ready for the rollways. Yes, I can be sure of eightmillion."
"We have a big contract," said Metzger, "that is just about eightmillion feet short of being filled. If we can be sure of getting theentire eight million in one lump, we could afford to pay more--muchmore, in fact, than we could if there was anything short of eightmillion feet."
Connie nodded: "There will be eight million feet, at least," herepeated. "What will you pay?"
For a long time the other was silent, then he spoke: "It is a largedeal," he said. "There are many things to consider. Lest we make hastetoo quickly, I must have time to consider the transaction in all it'sphases. Meet me here one week from today, at eleven o'clock, and I willgive you a figure."
"A week is a long time," objected the boy, "And I am a long way fromhome."
"Yes, yes, but there are others--associates of mine in the business withwhom I must consult." The boy had risen to go, when the man stayed himwith a motion. "Wait," he commanded. "Your name is----?"
"Morgan--Connie Morgan."
"To be sure--Connie Morgan." He picked the receiver from the hook of hisdesk phone. "Get me the Laddison Hotel," he commanded, and hung up thereceiver. "The delay is of my own making, therefore I should pay for it.You will move your luggage into the Laddison Hotel, which is the best inthe city, and shall remain there until our deal is closed, at theexpense of this company----"
"But," objected the boy, "suppose the deal don't go through?"
"The expense will be ours whether the deal goes through or not. You see,I am confident that we can deal."
The telephone rang and Metzger made the arrangements, and again, turnedto the boy. "Each evening at dinner time, you are to ask at the desk foran envelope. In the envelope you will receive a ticket to the theatre.This, also, at our expense." He smiled broadly. "You see, we treat ourguests well. We do not wish them to become tired of our city, and wewish those with whom we have dealings to think well of us."