_Joan of Arc of the North Woods_CHAPTER ONEThe timber situation in the Tomah country was surcharged.When Ward Latisan came upon Rufus Craig, one afternoon in autumn, steelstruck flint and trouble's fuse was lighted.Their meeting was on the Holeb tote road just below Hagas Falls.Young Ward was the grandson of old John, a pioneer who was in his day asaw-log baron of the times of pumpkin pine; by heredity Ward was theforemost champion in the cause of the modern independent operators.In his own way, Craig, the field director of the Comas ConsolidatedPaper Company, was the chief gladiator for an invading corporation whichdemanded monopoly of the Tomah timber by absorption of the independents.Latisan tramped down the tote road from the shoulder of Holeb Mountain,where he had been cruising alone for a week on the Walpole tract,blazing timber for the choppers, marking out twitch roads andhaul-downs, locating yards; his short-handled ax was in his belt, hislank haversack flapped on his back; he carried his calipers in one hand;with the other hand he fed himself raisins from his trousers pocket,munching as he went along. He had eaten the last of his scanty supply ofbiscuits and bacon; but, like other timber cruisers--all of them musttravel light--he had his raisins to fall back on, doling them one byone, masticating them thoroughly and finding the nourishment adequate.He had been on the go every day from sunup till dark; nights he cinchedhis belted jacket closely and slept as best he could, his back against atree; he had cruised into every nook and corner of the tract, spendingstrength prodigally, but when he strode down the tote road his vitalityenabled him to hit it off at a brisk gait; his belt was a few holestighter, yet his fasting made him keenly awake; he was more alert to thejoy of being alive in the glory of the crisp day; his cap was in hispocket, his tousled brown hair was rampant; and he welcomed the flood ofsunshine on his bronzed face.Craig was making his way along the tote road in a buckboard, with adriver. The road bristled with rocks and was pitted with hollows; thefat horses dragged their feet at a slow walk. Craig was a big man, a bitpaunchy, and he grunted while he was bounced. He wore his city hard hatas if he wished by his headgear to distinguish himself from the herd ofwoodsmen whom he bossed.Latisan overtook the toiling buckboard, and his stride was taking himpast when Craig hailed."Ride?""No--thank you!" The negative was sharp. Privation and toil had put anedge on the young man's temper, and the temper was not amiable whereCraig was concerned."I've got some business to talk with you, Latisan.""If that's so I can listen while I walk alongside."But Craig ordered the driver to halt. Then the Comas director swungaround and faced Latisan. "I'm putting it up to you again--will you andyour father sell to the Comas?""No, sir!""What is it going to be--a fight to a finish?""If you keep your hands off us saw-log fellows, Mr. Craig, there'll beno fight. We were here first, you know!""That's got nothing to do with the present situation, Latisan. We'vebuilt a million-dollar paper mill on the Toban, and it's up to me tofeed it with pulp stuff. We can't lug our plant off in a shawl strap ifsupply fails.""Nor can the folks who have built villages around the sawmills lug awaytheir houses if the mills are closed.""Paper dominates in this valley nowadays, instead of lumber. Latisan,you're old-fashioned!"The young man, feeling his temper flame, lighted his pipe, avoiding tooquick retort."You stand to lose money in the lumber market, with conditions as theyare," proceeded Craig, loftily counseling another man about his ownbusiness. The Comas director, intent on consolidation, had persistentlyfailed to understand the loyalty, half romantic, which was actuating theold-line employers to protect faithful householders. "Let the workersmove down the river to our model town.""And live in those beehives of yours, paying big rent, competing withthe riffraff help you hire from employment agencies? We can't see itthat way, Mr. Craig!""Look here! I've got some news for you. I've just pulled five of theindependents in with us--Gibson, Sprague, Tolman, Brinton, and Bodwell.The Comas now controls the timber market on the Toban. How about logsfor your mills?"Craig believed he was hitting Latisan five solid jolts to the jaw whenhe named the recreant operators.However, the young man had heard rumors of what the bludgeoning methodsof the Comas had accomplished; he surveyed Craig resolutely through thepipe smoke.He had come down from the Walpole tract that day in a spirit of newconfidence which put away all weariness from him. He was armed with apowerful weapon. In his exultation, fired by youth's natural hankeringto vaunt success in an undertaking where his elders had failed, he waswilling to flourish the weapon.Craig waggled a thick forefinger. "What are you going to saw, Latisan?""Two million feet from the Walpole tract--where no ax has chipped a treefor twenty-five years."It was a return jolt and it made the Comas man blink. "But nobody canbuy the right to cut there.""I have bought the right, Mr. Craig. An air-tight stumpagecontract--passed on by the best lawyer in this county--a clear title.""Latisan, the Comas has never been able to round up those heirs--andwhat we can't do with all our resources can't be done by you.""The Latisans know this region better than the Comas folks know it, sir.Five cousins by hard hunting--two gravestones by good luck! All heirslocated! Why don't you congratulate me?"Just then the Comas director was thinking instead of talking.In his operations he was a cocksure individual, Mr. Craig was! In hishands, by his suggestion, his New York superiors had placed all thedetails of business in the field of the north country. He had promisedconsolidation with full belief in his ability to perform; one explicitpromise had been that this season would mark the end of the oppositionby the independents; the Comas would secure complete control of theToban timber and fix prices. But here were the ringleader Latisans in away to smash the corner which Craig had manipulated by bulldozing andbribery! In the past Craig had not bothered headquarters with any minuteexplanations of how he accomplished results. This crusher whichthreatened all his plans and promises would make a monkey of him in NewYork, he reflected."I want to say a last word to you, Mr. Craig," continued Latisan,stiffly. "Probably we are now in for that fight on which you've beeninsisting. I don't want to fight, but I'm ready for a fair stand-up.Just a moment, please!" Craig had barked a few oaths preliminary to anoutpouring of his feelings. "I'm warning you to let up on thoseguerrilla tactics of yours. I propose to find out whether your big menin New York are backing you. I'm telling you now to your face, so youcan't accuse me later of carrying tales behind your back, of myintention to go to New York and report conditions to the president ofthe Comas.""Don't you dare!""I do dare. I'm going. I expect you to run in ahead of me, but nomatter. And speaking of tales behind a man's back----"Craig was having difficulty in finding speech for retort; Latisan wasrushing the affair. Again Craig blustered, "Don't you dare!""Yes, I do dare. When I went away last summer I had good reasons forkeeping my plans to myself. I got back to the Toban and found slanderaccusing me of sporting in the city, deviling around with liquor andwomen. That's a damnable lie!"Latisan delivered the accusation hotly; there was unmistakable challengein his demeanor. "You yourself have handed around some of that slander,Mr. Craig. I get it straight from men whose word is good!""I only said what others were saying.""I don't know, of course, who started those stories, but I do know thatthey have been used against me. They have helped you, it seems! I wantedto keep my plans under cover--but I've got to protect myself with thetruth, even if the truth gives you a tip. I went away to take a specialcourse in hydraulic engineering, so as to know more about protecting thecommon rights in the flowage of this river." He swung his hand toindicate the thundering falls of Hagas. "You have used your tongue tohurt my standing with some of the independents--they distrust myreliability and good faith--you have pulled in a few of them. The otherswill stand by me. Frankly, Mr. Craig, I don't like your style! It'll bea good thing for both of us if we have no more talk after this." Hewalked rapidly down the tote road, not turning his head when Craigcalled furiously after him."Pretty uppish, ain't he?" ventured the driver, touching the horses withthe whip.Craig, bouncing alone on the middle seat of the buckboard, grunted."Excuse me, Mr. Craig, but that's some news--what he said about gettingaholt of the old Walpole tract."The Comas boss did not comment.The driver said nothing more for some time; he was a slouchy woodsman ofnumb wits; he chewed tobacco constantly with the slow jaw motion of aruminating steer, and he looked straight ahead between the ears of thenigh horse, going through mental processes of a certain sort. "Now 't Ithink of it, I wish I'd grabbed in with a question to young Latisan. Buthe doesn't give anybody much of a chance to grab in when he's talking.Still, I'd have liked to ask him something." He maundered on in thatstrain for several minutes."Ask him what?" snapped Craig, tired of the monologue."Whuther he's talked with my old aunt Dorcas about the heir who wentoff into the West somewheres. Grandson of the old sir who was the firstWalpole of the Toban--real heir, if he's still alive! My aunt Dorcas hadletters about him, or from him, or something like that, only a few yearsago.""Look here!" stormed Craig. "Why haven't you said something about suchletters or such an heir?""Nobody has ever asked me. And he's prob'ly dead, anyway. Them lawyersknow everything. And he's a roving character, as I remember what my auntsaid. No use o' telling anybody about him--it would cost too much tofind him.""Cost too much!" snarled the Comas director. "Oh, you----" But he chokedback what he wanted to say about the man's intellect. Craig pulled outnotebook and pencil and began to fire questions.Latisan was headed for home, the old family mansion in the village ofToban Deadwater where Ward and his widowed father kept bachelor's hall,with a veteran woods cook to tend and do for them. The male cook wasWard's idea. The young man had lived much in the woods, and the ways ofwomen about the house annoyed him; a bit of clutter was morecomfortable.It was a long tramp to the Deadwater, but he knew the blazed-trail shortcuts and took advantage of the light of the full moon for the last stageof the journey. He was eager to report progress and prospects to hisfather.Ward was not anticipating much in the way of practical counsel fromGarry Latisan.Old John had been a Tartar, a blustering baron of the timberlands.Garry, his son, had taken to books and study. He was slow and mild,deprecatory and forgiving. Ward Latisan had those saving qualities in ameasure, but he was conscious in himself of the avatar of old John'srighteous belligerency when occasion prompted.Ward, as he was trudging home, was trying to keep anger from cloudinghis judgment. When he felt old John stirring in him, young Latisansought the mild counsel of Garry, and then went ahead on a line ofaction of his own; he was steering a safe course, he felt, by keepingabout halfway between John's violence in performance and Garry'stoleration.Ward was the executive of the Latisan business and liked the job; hisyouth and vigor found zest in the adventures of the open. Old John'stimber man's spirit had been handed along to the grandson. Ward finishedhis education at a seminary--and called it enough. His father urged himto go to college, but he went into the woods and was glad to be there,at the head of affairs.The operations on the old tracts, thinned by many cuttings, had beenkeeping him closely on the job, because there were problems to be solvedif profits were to be handled.His stroke in getting hold of the Walpole tract promised profits withoutproblems; there were just so many trees to cut down--and the river washandy!In spite of his weariness, Ward sat till midnight on the porch with hisfather, going over their plans. The young man surveyed the Latisan milland the houses of the village while he talked; the moon lighted all andthe mill loomed importantly, reflected in the still water of the pond.If Craig prevailed, the mill and the homes must be left to rot, empty,idle, and worthless. As Ward viewed it, the honor of the Latisans was atstake; the spirit of old John blazed in the grandson; but he declaredhis intention to fight man fashion, if the fight were forced on him. Hewould go to the Comas headquarters in New York, he said, not to ask forodds or beg for favors, but to explain the situation and to demand thatCraig be required to confine himself to the tactics of square businessrivalry."And my course in engineering was a good investment; I can talk turkeyto them about our dams and the flowage rights. I don't believe they'rebacking up Craig's piracy!"Garry Latisan agreed fully with his son and expressed the wistful wish,as he did regularly in their conferences, that he could be of more realhelp."Your sympathy and your praise are help enough, father," Ward declared,with enthusiasm. "We're sure of our cut; all I'm asking from the Comasis gangway for our logs. There must be square men at the head of thatbig corporation!"