The Riverman

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Riverman

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By their illumination finally Orde discovered the two girls
standing, and paused long enough in his own heavy labour of
assistance to draw Carroll one side.

"You'd better go home now, sweetheart," said he. "Bobby'll be
waiting for you, and the girls may be here in the crowd somewhere.
There'll be nobody to take care of him."

"I suppose so," she assented. "But hasn't it been exciting? Whose
vessels were they; do you know?"

Orde glanced at her strangely.

"They were ours," said he.

She looked up at him, catching quickly the wrinkles of his brow and
the harassed anxiety in his eyes. Impulsively she pulled him down
to her and kissed him.

"Never mind, dear," said she. "I care only if you do."

She patted his great shoulders lightly and smiled up at him.

"Run, help!" she cried. "And come home as soon as you can. I'll
have something nice and hot all ready for you."

She turned away, the smile still on her lips; but as soon as she was
out of sight, her face fell grave.

"Come, Mina!" she said to the younger girl. "Time to go."

They toiled through the heavy sand to where, hours ago, they had
left Prince. That faithful animal dozed in his tracks and awoke
reluctantly.

Carroll looked back. The fires leaped red and yellow. Against them
were the silhouettes of people, and in the farther circle of their
illumination were more people cast in bronze that flickered red. In
contrast to their glow the night was very dark. Only from the lake
there disengaged a faint gray light where the waters broke. The
strength of the failing wind still lifted the finer particles of
sand. The organ of the pounding surf filled the night with the
grandeur of its music.

XXXV

Orde mounted the office stairs next day with a very heavy step. The
loss of the NORTH STAR and of the two schooners meant a great deal
to him at that time.

"It kicks us into somewhat of a hole," he grumbled to Newmark.

"A loss is never pleasant," replied the latter, "and it puts us out
of the carrying business for awhile. But we're insured."

"I can't understand why Floyd started," said Orde. "He ought to
know better than to face sure prospects of a fall blow. I'll tan
his soul for that, all right!"

"I'm afraid I'm partly responsible for his going," put in Newmark.

"You!" cried Orde.

"Yes. You see that Smith and Mabley shipment was important enough
to strain a point for--and it's only twenty-four hours or so--and it
certainly didn't look to see me as if it were going to blow very
soon. Poor Floyd feels bad enough. He's about sick."

Orde for the first time began to appreciate the pressure of his
circumstances. The loss on the cargo of "uppers" reached about
8,000,000 feet; which represented $20,000 in money. As for the
NORTH STAR and her consorts, save for the insurance, they were
simply eliminated. They had represented property. Now they were
gone. The loss of $60,000 or so on them, however, did not mean a
diminution of the company's present cash resources to that amount;
and so did not immediately affect Orde's calculations as to the
payment of the notes which were now soon to come due.

At this time the woods work increasingly demanded his attention. He
disappeared for a week, his organising abilities claimed for the
distribution of the road crews. When he returned to the office,
Newmark, with an air of small triumph, showed him contracts for the
construction of three new vessels.

"I get them for $55,000," said he, "with $30,000 of it on long
time."

"Without consulting me!" cried Orde.

Newmark explained carefully that the action, seemingly so abrupt,
had really been taking advantage of a lucky opportunity.

"Otherwise," he finished, "we shouldn't have been able to get the
job done for another year, at least. If that big Cronin contract
goes through--well, you know what that would mean in the shipyards--
nobody would get even a look-in. And McLeod is willing, in the
meantime, to give us a price to keep his men busy. So you see I had
to close at once. You can see what a short chance it was."

"It's a good chance, all right," admitted Orde; "but--why--that is,
I thought perhaps we'd job our own freighting for awhile--it never
occurred to me we'd build any more vessels until we'd recovered a
little."

"Recovered," Newmark repeated coldly. "I don't see what 'recovered'
has to do with it. If the mill burned down, we'd rebuild, wouldn't
we? Even if we were embarrassed--which we're not--we'd hardly care
to acknowledge publicly that we couldn't keep up our equipment. And
as we're making twelve or fifteen thousand a year out of our
freighting, it seems to me too good a business to let slip into
other hands."

"I suppose so," agreed Orde, a trifle helplessly.

"Therefore I had to act without you," Newmark finished. "I knew
you'd agree. That's right: isn't it?" he insisted.

"Yes, that's right," agreed Orde drearily.

"You'll find copies of the contract on your desk," Newmark closed
the matter. "And there's the tax lists. I wish you'd run them
over."

"Joe," replied Orde, "I--I don't think I'll stay down town this
morning. I--"

Newmark glanced up keenly.

"You don't look a bit well," said he; "kind of pale around the
gills. Bilious. Don't believe that camp grub quite agrees with you
for a steady diet."

"Yes, that must be it," assented Orde.

He closed his desk and went out. Newmark turned back to his papers.
His face was expressionless. From an inner pocket he produced a
cigar which he thrust between his teeth. The corners of his mouth
slowly curved in a grim smile.

Orde did not go home. Instead, he walked down Main Street to the
docks where he jumped into a rowboat lying in a slip, and with a few
rapid strokes shot out on the stream. In his younger days he had
belonged to a boat club, and had rowed in the "four." He still
loved the oar, and though his racing days were past, he maintained a
clean-lined, rather unstable little craft which it was his delight
to propel rapidly with long spoon-oars whenever he needed exercise.
To-day, however, he was content to drift.

The morning was still and golden. The crispness of late fall had
infused a wine into the air. The sky was a soft, blue-gray; the
sand-hills were a dazzling yellow. Orde did not try to think; he
merely faced the situation, staring it in the face until it should
shrink to its true significance.

One thing he felt distinctly; yet could not without a struggle bring
himself to see. The California lands must be mortgaged. If he
could raise a reasonable sum of money on them, he would still be
perfectly able to meet his notes. He hated fiercely to raise that
money.

It was entirely a matter of sentiment. Orde realised the fact
clearly, and browbeat his other self with a savage contempt.
Nevertheless his dream had been to keep the western timber free and
unencumbered--for Bobby. Dreams are harder to give up than
realities.

He fell into the deepest reflections which were broken only when the
pounding of surf warned him he had drifted almost to the open lake.
After all, there was no essential difference between owing money to
a man in Michigan and to a man in California. That was the net
result of his struggle.

"When the time comes, we'll just borrow that money on a long-time
mortgage, like sensible people," he said aloud, "and quit this
everlasting scrabbling."

Back to town he pulled with long vigorous strokes, skittering his
feathered spoon-oars lightly over the tops of the wavelets. At the
slip he made fast the boat, and a few minutes later re-entered the
office, his step springy, his face glowing. Newmark glanced up.

"Hullo!" said he. "Back again? You look better."

"Exercise," said Orde, in his hearty manner. "Exercise, old boy!
You ought to try it. Greatest thing in the world. Just took a row
to the end of the piers and back, and I'm as fit as a fiddle!"

XXXVI

Orde immediately set into motion the machinery of banking to borrow
on the California timber. Taylor took charge of this, as the only
man in Monrovia who had Orde's confidence. At the end of a
necessary delay Orde received notice that the West had been heard
from. He stepped across the hall to the lawyer's office.

"Well, Frank," said he, "glad we managed to push it through with so
little trouble."

Taylor arose, shut carefully the door into his outer office, walked
to the window, looked contemplatively out upon the hotel backyard,
and returned to his desk.

"But there is trouble," said he curtly.

"What's the matter?" asked Orde.

"The banks refuse the loan."

Orde stared at him in blank astonishment.

"Refuse!" he echoed.

"Absolutely."

"What grounds can they possibly have for that?"

"I can't make out exactly from these advices. It's something about
the title."

"But I thought you went over the title."

"I did," stated Taylor emphatically; "and I'll stake my reputation
as a lawyer that everything is straight and clear from the Land
Office itself. I've wired for an explanation; and we ought surely
to know something definite by tomorrow."

With this uncertainty Orde was forced to be content. For the first
time in his business career a real anxiety gnawed at his vitals. He
had been in many tight places; but somehow heretofore success or
failure had seemed to him about immaterial, like points gained or
conceded in the game; a fresh start was always so easy, and what had
been already won as yet unreal. Now the game itself was at issue.
Property, reputation, and the family's future were at stake. When
the three had lived in the tiny house by the church, it had seemed
that no adversity could touch them. But now that long use had
accustomed them to larger quarters, servants, luxuries, Orde could
not conceive the possibility of Carroll's ever returning to that
simplest existence. Carroll could have told him otherwise; but of
course he did not as yet bring the possibility before her. She had
economised closely, these last few years. Orde was proud of her.
He was also fiercely resentful that his own foolishness, or untoward
circumstances, or a combination of both should jeopardise her
future. Therefore he awaited further news with the greatest
impatience.

The message came the following day, as Taylor had predicted. Taylor
handed it to him without comment.

"Land Office under investigation," Orde read. "Fraudulent entries
suspected. All titles clouded until decision is reached."

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Orde, although he knew well
enough.

Taylor glanced up at his dull eyes with commiseration.

"They simply won't lend good money on an uncertainty," said he.

"Frank," said Orde, rousing himself with an effort, "I've got to be
here. I couldn't get away this winter if my life depended on it.
And I won't even have time to pay much attention to it from here. I
want you to go to California and look after those interests for me.
Never mind your practice, man," as Taylor tried to interrupt him.
"Make what arrangements you please; but go. It'll be like a sort of
vacation to you. You need one. And I'll make it worth your while.
Take Clara with you. She'll like California. Now don't say no.
It's important. Straighten it out as quick as you can: and the
minute it IS straight borrow that money on it, and send it on p.d.q."

Taylor thoughtfully tapped his palm with the edge of his eye-
glasses.

"All right," he said at last.

"Good!" cried Orde, rising and holding out his hand.

He descended the dark stairs to the street, where he turned down
toward the river. There he sat on a pile for nearly an hour, quite
oblivious to the keen wind of latter November which swept up over
the scum ice from the Lake. At length he hopped down and made his
way to the office of the Welton Lumber Co.

"Look here, Welton," he demanded abruptly when he had reached that
operator's private office, "how much of a cut are you going to make
this year?"

"About twenty million," replied Welton. "Why?"

"Just figuring on the drive," said Orde, nodding a farewell.

He had the team harnessed, and, assuming his buffalo-fur coat, drove
to the offices of all the men owning timber up and down the river.
When he had collected his statistics, he returned to his desk, where
he filled the backs of several envelopes with his characteristically
minute figures. At the close of his calculations he nodded his head
vigorously several times.

"Joe," he called across to his partner, "I'm going to cut that whole
forty million we have left."

Newmark did not turn. After a moment his dry expressionless voice
came back.

"I thought that we figured that as a two-years' job."

"We did, but I'm going to clean up the whole thing this year."

"Do you think you can do it?"

"Sure thing," replied Orde. Then under his breath, and quite to
himself, he added: "I've got to!"

XXXVII

The duel had now come to grapples. Orde was fighting for his very
life. The notes given by Newmark and Orde would come due by the
beginning of the following summer. Before that time Orde must be
able to meet them personally, or, as by the agreement with Newmark,
his stock in the Boom Company would be turned in to the firm. This
would, of course, spell nearly a total loss of it, as far as Orde
was concerned.

The chief anxiety under which the riverman laboured, however, was
the imminent prospect of losing under the mortgage all the Northern
Peninsula timber. He had thought that the firm would be able to
step in for its redemption, even if he personally found himself
unable to meet the obligation. Three hundred million feet would
seem to be too important a matter to let go under so small a
mortgage. Now as the time approached, he realised that if he could
not pay the notes, the firm would certainly be unable to do so.
What with the second mortgage, due two years later, and to be met by
Newmark; with the outstanding obligations; with the new enterprise
of the vessels ordered from Duncan McLeod, Newmark and Orde would be
unable to raise anything like the necessary amount. To his personal
anxieties Orde added a deep and bitter self-reproach at having
involved his partner in what amounted to a total loss.

Spurred doubly by these considerations, then, he fell upon the woods
work with unparalleled ferocity. A cut and sale of the forty
million feet remaining of the firm's up-river holdings, together
with the tolls to be collected for driving the river that spring
would, if everything went right and no change in the situation took
place, bring Orde through the venture almost literally by "the skin
of his teeth." To cut forty million feet, even in these latter days
of improvements then unknown, would be a task to strain to the
utmost every resource of energy, pluck, equipment and organisation.
In 1880-81 the operators on the river laughed good-humouredly over
an evident madness.

Nevertheless Orde accomplished the task. To be sure he was largely
helped by a favourable winter. The cold weather came early and
continued late. Freezing preceded the snow, which was deep enough
for good travoying and to assure abundant freshet water in the
spring, but not too deep to interfere with the work. Orde increased
his woods force; and, contrary to his custom, he drove them
mercilessly. He was that winter his own walking-boss, and lived
constantly in the woods. The Rough Red had charge of the banking,
where his aggressive, brutal personality kept the rollways free from
congestion. For congestion there means delay in unloading the
sleighs; and that in turn means a drag in the woods work near the
skidways at the other end of the line. Tom North and Tim Nolan and
Johnny Sims and Jim Denning were foremen back in the forest. Every
one had an idea, more or less vague, that the Old Fellow had his
back to the wall. Late into the night the rude torches, made quite
simply from brown stone jugs full of oil and with wicks in their
necks, cast their flickering glare over the ice of the haul-roads.
And though generally in that part of Michigan the thaws begin by the
first or second week in March, this year zero weather continued even
to the eighth of April. When the drive started, far up toward
headwaters, the cut was banked for miles along the stream, forty
million feet of it to the last timber.

The strain over, Orde slept the clock around and awoke to the
further but familiar task of driving the river. He was very tired;
but his spirit was at peace. As always after the event, he looked
back on his anxieties with a faint amusement over their futility.

From Taylor he had several communications. The lawyer confessed
himself baffled as to the purpose and basis of the Land Office
investigation. The whole affair appeared to be tangled in a maze of
technicalities and a snarl of red-tape which it would take some time
to unravel. In the meantime Taylor was enjoying himself; and was
almost extravagant in his delight over the climate and attractions
of Southern California.

Orde did not much care for this delay. He saw his way clear to
meeting his obligations without the necessity of hypothecating the
California timber; and was the better pleased for it. With the
break-up of spring he started confidently with the largest drive in
the history of the river, a matter of over two hundred million feet.

This tremendous mass of timber moved practically in three sections.
The first, and smallest, comprised probably thirty millions. It
started from the lowermost rollways on the river, drove rapidly
through the more unobstructed reaches, and was early pocketed above
Monrovia in the Company's distributing booms. The second and
largest section of a hundred million came from the main river and
its largest tributaries. It too made a safe drive; and was brought
to rest in the main booms and in a series of temporary or emergency
booms built along the right bank and upstream from the main works.
The third section containing a remainder of about seventy million
had by the twenty-sixth of June reached the slack water above the
city of Redding.

XXXVIII

The morning of June twenty-sixth dawned clear. Orde was early on
the road before the heat of the day. He drove his buckboard rapidly
over the twelve miles that separated his home from the distributing
booms, for he wanted at once to avoid the heat of the first sun and
to arrive at the commencement of the day's work. After a glance at
the river, he entered the tiny office and set about the examination
of the tally sheets left by the foreman. While he was engaged in
this checking, the foreman, Tom North, entered.

"The river's rising a little"? he remarked conversationally as he
reached for the second set of tally boards.

"You're crazy," muttered Orde, without looking up. "It's clear as a
bell; and there have been no rains reported from anywhere."

"It's rising a little, just the same," insisted North, going out.

An hour later Orde, having finished his clerical work, walked out
over the booms. The water certainly had risen; and considerably at
that. A decided current sucked through the interstices in the
piling. The penned logs moved uneasily.

"I should think it was rising!" said Orde to himself, as he watched
the slowly moving water. "I wonder what's up. It can't be merely
those rains three days ago."

He called one of the younger boys to him, Jimmy Powers by name.

"Here, Jimmy," said he, "mark one of these piles and keep track of
how fast the water rises."

For some time the river remained stationary, then resumed its slow
increase. Orde shook his head.

"I don't like June floods," he told Tom North. "A fellow can
understand an ordinary spring freshet, and knows about how far it
will go; but these summer floods are so confounded mysterious. I
can't figure out what's struck the old stream, unless they're having
almighty heavy rains up near headwaters."

By three o'clock in the afternoon Jimmy Powers reported a rise since
morning of six inches. The current had proportionately increased in
power.

"Tom," said Orde to the old riverman, "I'm going to send Marsh down
for the pile-drivers and some cable. The barge company has some
fifteen inch manilla."

North laughed.

"What in blazes do you expect to do with that?" he inquired.

"We may need them," Orde stated with conviction. "Everything's safe
enough now; and probably will continue so; but I can't afford to
take chances. If those logs ever break through they'll go on out to
Lake Michigan and there they wouldn't be worth the salvage."

Tom North stared at his principal in surprise.

"That's a mighty long chance," he commented. "Never knew you to
come so near croaking before, Jack."

"If this drive goes out, it surely busts me," replied Orde, "and I'm
not taking even long chances."

Captain Marsh, returning with the SPRITE, brought an evening paper
and news from the telegraph offices. A cloudburst in the China
Creek district followed by continued heavy rains was responsible for
the increased water. The papers mentioned this only incidentally,
and in explanation. Their columns were filled with an account of
the big log jam that had formed above the iron railroad bridge. The
planing mill's booms had given way under pressure and the contents
had piled down stream against the buttresses. Before steps could be
taken to clear the way, the head of the drive, hurried by the excess
water, had piled in on top. Immediately a jam formed, increasing in
weight each moment, until practically the entire third section had
piled up back of the bridge.

The papers occupied themselves with the picturesque side of the
affair. None expressed any anxiety as to the bridge. It was a new
structure, each of whose bents weighed over a hundred tons. A fall
of a few inches only would suffice to lock the jam solidly, thus
relieving whatever pressure the mass exerted against the iron
bridge. That the water would shortly go down was of course
inevitable at this time of year. It would be a big jam for the
rivermen to break, however.

"Do you think you'll go up there?" asked North.

Orde shook his head.

"They're in a nice pickle," he acknowledged; "but Nolan's in charge
and will do his best. I think we may have troubles of our own right
here at home."

He slept that night at the booms. The water, contrary to all
expectation, rose steadily. By morning it had crept so far up the
piles that there began to be danger that it would overflow their
tops. In that case, of course, the logs in the booms would also run
out.

"Guess it's time we did a little work," remarked Orde.

He set a crew of men to raising the height of the piling by tying
logs firmly to the bolted timbers atop. This would take care of an
extra two feet of water; a two feet beyond all previous records.
Another crew stretched the fifteen inch manilla cables across the
field of logs in order to segregate them into several units of mass,
and so prevent them from piling up at the down-stream end of the
enclosure. The pile-driver began to drop its hammer at spots of
weakness. In spite of the accelerated current and the increased
volume of the river, everything was soon shipshape and safe.

"We're all right now," said Orde. "The only thing I'm a little
uneasy about is those confounded temporary booms upstream. Still
they're all right unless they get to piling up. Then we'll have to
see what we can do to hold them. I think as soon as the driver is
through down at the sorting end, she'd better drive a few clumps of
piles to strengthen the swing when it is shut. Then if the logs
pile down on us from above, we can hold them there."

About two hours later the pile-driver moved up. The swing was
opened; and the men began to drive clumps of piles in such a
position as to strengthen the swing when the latter should be shut.
It was a slow job. Each pile had to be taken from the raft at the
stern of the scow, erected in the "carrier," and pounded into place
by the heavy hammer raised and let drop in the derrick at the bow.

Long before the task was finished, the logs in the temporary booms
had begun to slide atop one another, to cross and tangle, until at
last the river bed inside the booms was filled with a jam of
formidable dimensions. From beneath it the water boiled in eddies.
Orde, looking at it, roused himself to sudden activity.

"Get a move on," he advised Captain Aspinwall of the driver. "If
that jam breaks on us, we want to be ready; and if it don't break
before you get this swing strengthened, maybe we can hold her where
she is. There's no earthly doubt that those boom piles will never
stand up when they get the full pressure of the freshet."

He departed up river on a tour of inspection from which he returned
almost immediately.

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