Jim spoke in a soft, drawling voice, and his almost expressionless tone seemed to indicate pleasant indifference; still, no one could have been misled by it, for the long, steady gaze he gave the men and his cool presence that held the room quiet meant something vastly different. No reply was offered. Bud and Bill sat down, evidently to resume their card-playing. The uneasy silence broke to a laugh, then to subdued voices, and finally the clatter and hum began again. **** led me outside, where we were soon joined by Jim.
"He's holed up," suggested ****.
"Shore. I don't take no stock in his hittin' the trail. He's layin' low."
"Let's look around a bit, anyhow."
**** took me back to the cook's cabin and, bidding me remain inside, strode away. I beard footsteps so soon after his departure that I made certain he had returned, but the burly form which blocked the light in the cabin door was not ****'s. I was astounded to recognize Buell.
"Hello!" he said, in his blustering voice. "Heard you had reached camp, an' have been huntin' you up."
I greeted him pleasantly enough--more from surprise than from a desire to mislead him. It seemed to me then that a child could have read Buell. He'd an air of suppressed excitement; there was a glow on his face and a kind of daring flash in his eyes. He seemed too eager, too glad to see me.
"I've got a good job for you," he went on, glibly. "jest what you want, an' you're jest what I need. Come into my office an' help me. There'll be plenty of outside work--measurin' lumber, markin' trees, an' such."
"Why, Mr. Buell--I--you see, ****--he might not--"
I hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. But at my halting speech Buell became even more smiling and voluble.
"****? Oh, **** an' I stand all right; take thet from me. ****'ll agree to what I want. I need a young feller bad. Money's no object. You're a bright youngster. You'll look out for my interests. Here!" He pulled out a large wad of greenbacks, and then spoke in a lower voice. "You understand that money cuts no ice 'round this camp. We've a big deal. We need a smart young feller. There's always some little irregularities about these big timber deals out West. But you'll wear blinkers, an' make some money while you're studyin' forestry. See?"
"Irregularities? What kind of irregularities?"
For the life of me I could not keep a little scorn out of my question.
Buell slowly put the bills in his pocket while his eyes searched; I could not control my rising temper.
"You mean you want to fix me?"
He made no answer, and his face stiffened.
"You mean you want to buy my silence, shut my mouth about this lumber steal?"
He drew in his breath audibly, yet still he did not speak. Either he was dull of comprehension or else he was astonished beyond words. I knew I was mad to goad him like that, but I could not help it. I grew hot with anger, and the more clearly I realized that he had believed he could "fix" me with his dirty money the hotter I got.
"You told Stockton you were leary of Washington, and were afraid I'd queer your big deal. . . . Well, Mr. Buell, that's exactly what I'm going to do-- queer it!"
He went black in the face, and, cursing horribly, grasped me by the arm. I struggled, but I could not loose that iron hand. Suddenly I felt a violent wrench that freed me. Then I saw **** swing back his shoulder and shoot out his arm. He knocked Buell clear across the room, and when the man fell I thought the cabin was coming down in the crash. He appeared stunned, for he groped about with his hands, found a chair, and, using it as a support, rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily.
"Leslie, I'll get you for this--take it from me," he muttered.
****'s lips were tight, and he watched Buell with flaming eyes. The lumberman lurched out of the door, and we heard him cursing after he had disappeared. Then **** looked at me with no little disapproval.
"What did you say to make Buell wild like that?"
I told ****, word for word. First he looked dumfounded, then angry, and he ended up with a grim laugh.
"Ken, you're sure bent on starting something, as Jim would say. You've started it all right. And Jim'll love you for it. But I'm responsible to your mother. Ken, I remember your mother--and you're going back home."
"****!"
"You're going back home as fast as I can get you to Holston and put you on a train, that's all."
"I won't go!" I cried.