CHAPTER IV
DICK MANSELL'S NEWS
For Dave the next fortnight was fraught with a tremendous pressure ofwork. But arduous and wearing as it was, to him there was that thrillof conscious striving which is the very essence of life to theambition-inspired man. His goal loomed dimly upon his horizon, he couldsee it in shadowy outline, and every step he took now, every effort heput forth, he knew was carrying him on, drawing him nearer and nearerto it. He worked with that steady enthusiasm which never rushes. He wascalm and purposeful. To hasten, to diverge from his deliberate coursein the heat of excitement, he knew would only weaken his effort.Careful organization, perfect, machine-like, was what he needed, andthe work would do itself.
At the mills a large extension of the milling floors and an addednumber of saws were needed. In its present state the milling floorcould hardly accommodate the ninety-foot logs demanded by the contract.This was a structural alteration that must be carried out at expressspeed, and had been prepared for, so that it was only a matter ofexecuting plans already drawn up. Joel Dawson, the foreman, one of thebest lumbermen in the country, was responsible for the alterations.Simon Odd, the master sawyer, had the organizing of the skilled laborstaff inside the mill, a work of much responsibility and considerablediscrimination.
But with Dave rested the whole responsibility and chief organization.It was necessary to secure labor for both the mill and the camps up inthe hills. And for this the district had to be scoured, while twohundred lumber-jacks had to be brought up from the forests of theOttawa River.
Dave and his lieutenants worked all their daylight hours, and most ofthe night was spent in harness. They ate to live only, and slept onlywhen their falling eyelids refused to keep open.
Only Dave and his two loyal supporters knew the work of that fortnight;only they understood the anxiety and strain, but their efforts werecrowned with success, and at the end of that time the first of the"ninety-footers" floated down the river to the mouth of the great boomthat lay directly under the cranes of the milling floor.
It was not until that moment that Dave felt free to look about him, toturn his attention from the grindstone of his labors. It was middaywhen word passed of the arrival of the first of the timber, and he wentat once to verify the matter for himself. It was a sight to do hisheart good. The boom, stretching right into the heart of the mills, wasa mass of rolling, piling logs, and a small army of men was at workupon them piloting them so as to avoid a "crush." It was perilous,skilful work, and the master of the mills watched with approval thesplendid efforts of these intrepid lumber-jacks. He only waited untilthe rattling chains of the cranes were lowered and the first log wasgrappled and lifted like a match out of the water, and hauled up to themilling floor. Then, with a sigh as of a man relieved of a greatstrain, he turned away and passed out of his yards.
It was the first day for a fortnight he had gone to his house fordinner.
His home was a small house of weather-boarding with a veranda allcreeper-grown, as were most of the houses in the village. It had onlyone story, and every window had a window-box full of simple flowers. Itstood in a patch of garden that was chiefly given up to vegetables,with just a small lawn of mean-looking turf with a centre bed offlowers. Along the top-railed fence which enclosed it were, set atregular intervals, a number of small blue-gum and spruce trees. It wasjust such an abode as one might expect Dave to possess: simple, useful,unpretentious. It was the house of a man who cared nothing for luxury.Utility was the key-note of his life. And the little trivialdecorations in the way of creepers, flowers, and such small luxurieswere due to the gentle, womanly thought of his old mother, with whom helived, and who permitted no one else to minister to his wants.
She was in the doorway when he came up, a small thin figure withshriveled face and keen, questioning eyes. She was clad in black, andwore a print overall. Her snow-white hair was parted in the middle andsmoothed down flat, in the method of a previous generation. She was analert little figure for all her sixty odd years.
The questioning eyes changed to a look of gladness as the burly figureof her son turned in at the gate. There could be no doubt as to herfeelings. Dave was all the world to her. Her admiration for her sonamounted almost to idolatry.
"Dinner's ready," she said eagerly. "I thought I'd just see if you werecoming. I didn't expect you. Have you time for it, Dave?"
"Sure, ma," he responded, stooping and kissing her upturned face. "Thelogs are down."
"Dear boy, I'm glad."
It was all she said, but her tone, and the look she gave him, said farmore than the mere words.
Dave placed one great arm gently about her narrow shoulders and led herinto the house.
"I'm going to take an hour for dinner to-day sure," he said, withunusual gaiety. "Just to celebrate. After this," he went on, "for sixmonths I'm going to do work that'll astonish even you, ma."
"But you won't overdo it, Dave, will you? The money isn't worth it. Itisn't really. I've lived a happy life without much of it, boy, and Idon't want much now. I only want my boy."
There was a world of gentle solicitude in the old woman's tones. Somuch that Dave smiled upon her as he took his place at the table.
"You'll have both, ma, just as sure as sure. I'm not only working forthe sake of the money. Sounds funny to say that when I'm working tomake myself a millionaire. But it's not the money. It's success first.I don't like being beaten, and that's a fact. We Americans hate beingbeaten. Then there's other things. Think of these people here. They'lldo well. Malkern'll be a city to be reckoned with, and a prosperousone. Then the money's useful to do something with. We can help others.You know, ma, how we've talked it all out."
The mother helped her son to food.
"Yes, I know. But your health, boy, you must think of that."
Dave laughed boisterously, an unusual thing with him. But his mood waslight. He felt that he wanted to laugh at anything. What did anythingmatter? By this time a dozen or so of the "ninety-footers" were alreadyin the process of mutilation by his voracious saws.
"Health, ma?" he cried. "Look at me. I don't guess I'm pretty, but Ican do the work of any French-Canadian horse in my yards."
The old woman shook her silvery head doubtfully.
"Well, well, you know best," she said, "only I don't want you to getill."
Dave laughed again. Then happening to glance out of the window he sawthe figure of Joe Hardwig, the blacksmith, turning in at the gate.
"Another plate, ma," he said hastily. "There's Hardwig coming along."
His mother summoned her "hired" girl, and by the time Hardwig's knockcame at the door a place was set for him. Dave rose from the table.
"Come right in, Joe," he said cheerily. "We're just having grub. Ma'sgot some bully stew. Sit down and join us."
But Joe Hardwig declined, with many protestations. He was a broad,squat little man, whose trade was in his very manner, in the strengthof his face, and in the masses of muscle which his clothes could notconceal.
"The missus is wantin' me," he said. "Thank you kindly all the same.Your servant, mam," he added awkwardly, turning to Dave's mother. Thento the lumberman, "I jest come along to hand you a bit of information Iguessed you'd be real glad of. Mansell--Dick Mansell's got back! I'vebeen yarnin' with him. Say, guess you'll likely need him. He's wantin'a job too. He's a bully sawyer."
Dave had suddenly become serious.
"Dick Mansell!" he cried. Then, after a pause, "Has he brought word ofJim Truscott?"
The mother's eyes were on her son, shrewdly speculating. She had seenhis sudden gravity. She knew full well that he cared less for Mansell'spowers as a sawyer than for Mansell as the companion and sharer of JimTruscott's exile. Now she waited for the blacksmith's answer.
Joe shifted uneasily. His great honest face looked troubled. He had notcome there to spill dirty water. He knew how much Dave wanted skilledhands, and he knew that Dick needed work.
"Why, yes," he said at last. "At least--that is----"
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"Out with it, man," cried Dave, with unusual impatience. "How is Jim,and--how has he done?"
Just for an instant Joe let an appealing glance fall in the old woman'sdirection, but he got no encouragement from her. She was steadilyproceeding with her dinner. Besides, she never interfered with her boy.Whatever he did was always right to her.
"Well?" Dave urged the hesitating man.
"Oh, I guess he's all right. That is--he ain't hard up. Why yes, he wasspeakin' of him," Joe stumbled on. "He guessed he was comin' along downhere later. That is, Jim is--you see----"
But Dave hated prevarication. He could see that Joe didn't want to tellwhat he had heard. However he held him to it fast.
"Has Jim been running straight?" he demanded sharply.
"Oh, as to that--I guess so," said Joe awkwardly.
Dave came over to where Joe was still standing, and laid a hand on hisshoulder.
"See here, Joe, we all know you; you're a good sportsman, and you don'tgo around giving folks away--and bully for you. But I'd rather you toldme what Mansell's told you than that he should tell me. See? It won'tbe peaching. I've got to hear it."
Joe looked straight up into his face, and suddenly his eyes lit angrilyat his own thought. "Yes, you'd best have it," he exclaimed, all hishesitation gone; "that dogone boy's been runnin' a wild racket. He'slaid hold of the booze and he's never done a straight day's work sincehe hit the Yukon trail. He's comin' back to here with a gambler's wadin his pocketbook, and--and--he's dead crooked. Leastways, that's howMansell says. It's bin roulette, poker an' faro. An' he's bin runnin'the joint. Mansell says he ain't no sort o' use for him no ways, andthat he cut adrift from the boy directly he got crooked."
"Oh, he did, did he?" said Dave, after a thoughtful pause. "I don'tseem to remember that Dick Mansell was any saint. I'd have thought acrooked life would have fallen in with his views, but he preferred toturn the lad adrift when he most needed help. However, it don'tsignify. So the lad's coming back a drunkard, a gambler and a crook? Atleast Dick Mansell says so. Does he say why he's coming back?"
"Well, he s'poses it's the girl--Miss Betty."
"Ah!"
Joe shifted uneasily.
"It don't seem right--him a crook," he said, with some diffidence.
"No." Then Dave's thoughtful look suddenly changed to one of businessalertness, and his tone became crisp. "See here, Joe, what about thatnew tackle for the mills? Those hooks and chains must be ready in aweek. Then there's those cant-hooks for the hill camps. The smiths upthere are hard at it, so I'm going to look to you for a lot. Thenthere's another thing. Is your boy Alec fit to join the mills and takehis place with the other smiths? I want another hand."
"Sure, he's a right good lad--an' thankee. I'll send him along rightaway." The blacksmith was delighted. He always wanted to get his boytaken on at the mill. The work that came his way he could cope withhimself; besides, he had an assistant. He didn't want his boy workingunder him; it was not his idea of things. It was far better that heshould get out and work under strangers.
"Well, that's settled."
Dave turned to his dinner and Joe Hardwig took his leave, and whenmother and son were left together again the old woman lost no time indiscussing Dick Mansell and his unpleasant news.
"I never could bear that Mansell," she said, with a severe shake of herhead.
"No, ma. But he's a good sawyer--and I need such men."
The old woman looked up quickly.
"I was thinking of Jim Truscott."
"That's how I guessed."
"Well? What do you think?"
Dave shook his head.
"I haven't seen Jim yet," he said. "Ma, we ain't Jim's judges."
"No."
"I'm going down to the depot," Dave said after a while. "Guess I've gotsome messages to send. I'm getting anxious about that strike. They saythat neither side will give way. The railway is pretty arbitrary onthis point, and the plate-layers are a strong union. I've heard thatthe brakesmen and engine-drivers are going to join them. If they do,it's going to be bad for us. That is, in a way. Strikes are infectious,and I don't want 'em around here just now. We've got to cut a hundredthousand foot a day steady, and anything delaying us means--well, it'sno use thinking what it means. We've got to be at full work night andday until we finish. I'll get going."
He pushed his plate away and rose from the table. He paused while hefilled and lit his pipe, then he left the house. Joe Hardwig's news haddisturbed him more than he cared to admit, and he did not want todiscuss it, even with his mother.