Joan of Arc of the North Woods, Holman Day [accelerated reader books txt] 📗

a paper."
"An injunction?"
"I don't know," confessed the relator mildly. "Somehow, none of us seemed to be at all curious that day to find out what it was. Sheriff nailed it to a tree and then somebody touched a match to it. Latisan said he reckoned it must have been an invitation to Felix's wedding, but it was just as well that nobody ever read it, because the crew was too busy to go, anyway!"
"Are Comas men guarding Skulltree dam?"
"They sure are, miss!"
She and the old man were seated on the shore of the deadwater. The evening dusk was deepening.
Near them the cook's fires were leaping against the sides of the blackened pots; in the pungent fragrance of the wood smoke which drifted past there were savory odors which were sent forth when the cook lifted off a cover to stir the stew. The peacefulness of the scene was profound; that peace, contrasted with the prospect of what confronted her men if Flagg's logs were to go through, stirred acute distress in the girl. Coming down through the riot of waters she had not had time to think. Their logs were ahead; the laggards of the corporation drive were following. She had wondered because even the cowards, as they had shown themselves to be, had not put more obstructions in the way. There had been abortive interference, but it was evident that the Three C's had been making the first skirmishes perfunctory affairs, depending on dealing the big blow at Skulltree.
In the Flagg crew it was a subject for frequent comment that Rufus Craig had not appeared in the north country to take command of his forces in those parlous times when the Three C's interests were threatened. In council Lida and her advisers began to wonder how much information regarding the Flagg operations had filtered to the outside or whether the defeated Comas bosses were not apprehensively withholding word to headquarters that they had been beaten in the race on the upper waters.
"Craig would be here before this if he knew what was going on," averred Vittum. "They're either ashamed or scared to send him word, and they think it can all be squared for 'em at Skulltree." He sighed and turned his eyes from her anxious stare.
Near her were rivermen who were waiting for their suppers. She was aware of a very tender feeling toward those men who had been risking their lives in the rapids in order to indulge her in a hope which she had made known to them. She reflected on what the sarcastic Crowley had said when he told her that in that region she was among he-men. "If you're not careful, you'll start something you can't stop," he had threatened. Could she stop these men from going on to violent battle? Would she be honest with her grandfather and Latisan if she did try to prevent them from winning their fight? All past efforts would be thrown away if Skulltree dam were not won.
Out on the deadwater were several floating platforms; the men called them "headworks." On the platforms were capstans. The headworks were anchored far in advance of the drifting logs, around which were thrown pocket booms; men trod in weary procession, circling the capstans, pushing against long ashen bars, and the dripping tow warp hastened the drift of the logs.
As the men of the sea have a chantey when they heave at a capstan, so these men of the river had their chorus; it floated to her over the quiet flood.
Come, all, and riffle the ledges! Come, all, and bust the jam!
And for aught o' the bluff of the Comas gang we don't give one
good--
Hoot, toot and a hoorah!
We don't give a tinker's dam!
"That's exactly how they feel, miss," said the old man. "They're on their way. They can't be stopped."
But the declaration depressed rather than cheered her. Those men had taken up her cause valiantly and with single-hearted purpose, and she was obliged to assume responsibility for what they had done and what they would do to force the situation at Skulltree. In the rush of the drive, with the logs running free, the river was open to all and Latisan's task was in the course of fulfillment and the Flagg fortunes were having fair opportunity in the competition. But now competition must become warfare, so it seemed. She shrank from that responsibility, but she could not evade it--could not command those devoted men to stop with the job half finished.
The priest's promise to find Latisan had been living with her, consoling the hours of her waiting. Her load had become so heavy that her yearning for Latisan's return had become desperate and anguished.
The slow drag of the logs in the deadwater gave her time for pondering and she was afraid of her thoughts.
She was not accusing Latisan of being an inexcusable recreant where duty was concerned; she was understanding in better fashion the men and the manners of the north country and she realized the full force of the reasons for his flight and why the situation had overwhelmed him. Her pity and remorse had been feeding her love.
But the priest had promised. Latisan must know. Why did he not come to her and lift the dreadful burden in her extremity?
Old Vittum, sitting on a bleached trunk among the dry kye stranded on the shore, plucked slowly the spills of a pine tassel, staring down between his knees. "You've seen how they have worked, miss, for every ounce that's in 'em. But I don't know how they'll fight if they don't have a real captain--a single head to plan--the right man to lead off. Latisan's that! Half of 'em came north because they figured on him. I've been hoping. But I'm sort of giving up."
"I don't like to hear you say that," she cried. "As soon as he knows the truth he will come to us. Father Leroque promised to carry that truth to him."
"Providing the priest can find him in the Tomah country--yes, you have said that to me and I've been cal'lating to see Latisan come tearing around a bend in the river most any minute ever since you told me. But Miah Sprague, the fire warden, went through to-day. I've been hating to report to you, miss, for I'm knowing to it how you feel these days; your looks tell me, and I'm sorry. But Sprague has come from the Tomah and he tells me that Ward Latisan hasn't been home--hasn't been heard from. Nobody knows where he is. That is straight from Garry Latisan, because Garry is starting a hue and a cry and asked Miah to comb the north country for news."
She did not reply. She was not sure that there was a touch of rebuke in the old man's mournful tones, but she felt that any sort of reproach would be justified. She had never made a calm analysis of the affair between herself and Latisan, to determine what onus of the blame rested on her and how much was due to the plots and the falsehoods of Crowley. She clung to her sense of fault in order to spur herself to make good; that same sense, a heritage from a father, had served vicariously in rousing her spirit to battle for her grandfather.
"I hope you're going to keep up your grit, miss," urged Vittum. "We'll do our best for you--but I ain't lotting much on Latisan's showing up again. It's too bad! It'll break his heart when he finds out at last what he has been left out of and what a chance he has missed."
Like many another, she had, at times, dreamed vividly of falling from great heights. That was her sensation then, awake, when she heard that Ward Latisan was not to be found. Despair left her numb and quivering. Till then she had not realized how greatly her hope and confidence in his final coming had counted with her. She had not dared to think that his anger would persist; it had seemed to be too violent to last. However, it was plain that rage had overmastered the love he had proclaimed. Lida was very much woman and felt the feminine conviction that a lover would be able to find her if his heart were set on the quest. There was only a flicker of a thought along that line; it was mere irritation that was immediately swept away by her pity for him. She was able to comprehend man's talk then--she knew what Vittum meant when he spoke of the chance that was missed--and she understood how Ward Latisan would mourn if he heard too late what the struggle that year on the Noda waters signified in the case of the girl for whom he had professed love.
She could not talk with the old man; she stumbled across the dry kye, threw herself on her couch of boughs, and pressed her palms over her ears to keep out the threat in the song of the men who toiled around and around the capstan post, drawing the Flagg logs in their slow, relentless passage to the scene of the promised conflict at Skulltree.


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"I'll be cursed if I don't think I ought to hire a real detective and put him onto the inside affairs in this office," was Chief Mern's ireful opinion after he had listened to Crowley and Miss Elsham when they reported in from the north country. They were voluble in their own behalf, but their talk was slippery, so the chief felt. They were also voluble in regard to Lida Kennard, but Mern found himself more than ever enmeshed in his guesswork about that mysterious young lady.
Crowley kept shifting off the topic onto his own prowess, patting himself on the breast and claiming all the credit for getting Latisan off his job.
Miss Elsham, on her part, kept lighting fresh cigarettes and was convincing on only one point: "No more wild men of the woods for me. Never again in the tall timber. I'll do night and day shifts in the cafes if you ask me to. And I've got a knickerbocker suit that's for sale!"
Mern had several interviews with the two, trying to understand.
When the blustering Crowley was present Miss Elsham allowed him to claim all the credit and made no protest.
Alone with Mern, she declared that Buck was a big bluff, but she was not especially clear in her reports on his methods.
"But what has become of Kennard?"
"I don't know. Lynched, maybe. They were threatening to do it to Buck and me before we got away."
One thing seemed to be true--Mern had a wire from Brophy in reply to an inquiry: Ward Latisan had gone away and was staying away.
And Rufus Craig, arriving in the city, telephoned the same information to the chief and promised to call around and settle.
Crowley was informed of that confirmation, and grinned and again patted his breast and claimed the credit.
"All right," allowed the chief, "you're in for your slice of the fee. But if you're lying about Kennard I'll make you suffer for deserting her."
"I stand by what I have said. She was double-crossing us."
Later, Crowley began to inquire casually from time to time whether Miss Kennard had sent in any word. He was not good at concealing his thoughts, and he was manifestly worried by the prospect of possible developments, but Mern was not able to pin him down to anything