Part 8

Strong and the Migleys halted to watch the downfall of a great pine. Soon the sawyers put their wedge in the slit and smote upon it. The sheet of steel hissed back and forth. Then a few blows of the axe. The men gave a shout of warning and drew aside. The great tree began to creak and tremble. Slowly it bent and groaned; its long arms seemed to clutch at the air. Then it pitched headlong, its top whistling, its heavy stem shaking the ground upon which it fell. A voice of thunder seemed to proclaim its fate. The axemen lopped off its branches, and soon the long column lay stark, and the growth of two centuries had come to its end. Strong and his companions stood a moment longer watching the scene.

"Huh!" the Emperor grunted, with a sorry look as they passed on.

Near sundown they came into the cleared land--the sandy, God-forsaken barrens of Tifton, robbed of root and branch and soil, of their glory, and the one crop nature had designed for them. The travellers passed a deserted cabin on a hot, stony hill. In its door-yard they could see a plough and an old wagon partly overgrown with weeds. Some one had tried to live on the spoiled earth and had come to discouragement. Where ten thousand men could have found healing and refreshment there was not enough growing to feed a dozen sheep. Here a part of the great inheritance of man had been forever ruined. Strong spoke of the pity of it.

"Can't be helped," said the elder Migley. "A man has a right to cut and sell his timber."

Strong made no question of that, claiming only that the cutting should be "reg'lated," an expression which he rarely took the trouble to explain. It stood for a meaning well considered--that the forest belonged to the people, the timber to the owner of the land; that the right of the owner should be subject to restraint. He should be permitted to cut trees of a certain size only. So the forest would be made permanent, and the owner and the generations to follow him would get a crop of timber every eight or ten years.

The sun was setting when they came into the little forest hamlet. The Migleys put up at the Pitkin general store, where one might have rude hospitality as well as merchandise. There Strong left pack and coon behind the counter and hastened to the home of Annette. The comely young woman rose from the supper-table and took both his hands in hers.

"Strong's ahead!" he answered, cheerfully, as she greeted him.

In response to her invitation he sat down to eat. Her father lighted his pipe and left them. Silas told of the swishers and the big trout and the children.

"M-me an' Sinth is b-bein' cut over," here-marked, with a smile, as he thought of the children.

"What do you mean?"

"B-bein' cleared an' p-ploughed an' sowed."

She laughed a little as the Emperor unfolded his pleasantry. He thought of his improved account in the matter of swearing and of the better temper of Sinth.

"G-gittin' p-proper," he added.

Annette was amused.

"G-got t' leave Lost R-river," he said, presently.

"Got to leave Lost River!" Annette exclaimed.

"Ay-ah," Strong answered. He looked down for a second, then he added, sorrowfully, "G-goin' to tear down the w-woods."

"It's an outrage. Couldn't you go to the plains?"

"S-sold an' f-fenced."

"How about the Rag Lake country?"

"B-bein' cut."

Annette shook her head ruefully.

"W-woods got t' g-go," said Strong, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. .

"What'll you do?"

"G-git tame," Strong answered, as he rose and went to the squirrel cage and began to play with his old pet. The little animal came to his wire gateway and stood upon the palm of the Emperor's hand.

"T-trespasser!" he remarked, stroking the squirrel. "Th-they'll have me in a c-cage, too, purty s-soon."

He put the squirrel away and offered his hand to Annette.

"S-some day," he whispered.

"Some day," she answered, with a sigh.

"Y-you're g-goin' to hear me d-do some t-talkin'," he assured her. The Lady Ann had often mildly complained of his reticence.

They now stood in front of the little veranda. She was looking up at him.

"It'll 'mount to s-suthin', t-too," he went on. It seemed as if he were making an honest effort to correct the idleness of his tongue. He was looking down at her and groping in his mind for some other cheerful sentiment. He seemed to make this happy discovery, and added, "W-won-derful good t-times comin'."

With a full heart she pressed his great hand in both of hers.

"K-keep ahead," said he, cheerfully, and bade her good-night.

With this he left her and was happy, for the taming of Sinth had seemed to bring that "some day" of his promise into the near future.

At the Pitkin general store his two companions had retired for the night, and he joined a group of woodsmen who occupied everything in the place which had a fairly smooth and accessible top on it. They were all in debt to the storekeeper and seemed to entertain a regard for him not unmingled with pity. This latter sentiment was, the historian believes, rather well founded. They called him "Billy," with the inflection of fondness. Two sat slouching, apologetically, on the counter. One rested his weight, as tenderly and considerately as might be, on a cracker-barrel. Another reposed with a look of greater confidence on the end of a nail-keg. They were guides, two of whom had come out for provisions; the others, like Strong, were on their way to Hillsborough.

"Here's the old Emp'ror," said one, as Strong entered and returned their greetings and sat down astride the beam of a plough.

"I'd like to know what he thinks of it," said a guide from the Jordan Lake country.

Strong looked up at him without a word.

"A millionaire has bought thirty thousand acres alongside o' my camp," the guide explained. "He won't let me cross on the old trail. I had to go six mile out o' my way to git here."

He smote the counter with his fist and coupled the name of the rich man with vile epithets.

"My father and my grandfather travelled that trail before he was born," the angry woodsman declared.

Strong leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at his hands without speaking. One laughed loudly, another gave out a sympathetic curse.

"I'll git even with him--you hear me." So the aggrieved party expressed himself.

"How?" Strong inquired, looking up suddenly.

"I'll git even. I'll send a traveller into that preserve who'll put him off it." He spoke with a sinister suggestion.

"Huh!" the Emperor grunted. He understood the threat of the other, who clearly meant to set the woods afire.

"Ain't I right? What d' ye come to, anyway, when ye think it all over?" The words came hot and fast off the tongue of the com-plainer.

"F-fool," Strong stammered, calmly. There was something in his way of saying it that made the others laugh.

A faint smile of embarrassment showed in the face of the angry woodsman.

"Me or the millionaire?" he inquired.

"B-both," Strong answered, soberly, as the storm ended in a little gust of laughter.

Strong had stripped the guide of his anger as deftly as a squirrel could take the shell off a nut. In the brief silence that followed he thought of another maxim for his memorandum-book, and soon it was recorded therein as follows:

_"Man that makes trouble sure to have most of it."_

Presently he who sat on the cracker-barrel remarked, "If them air woods git afire now, they'll burn the stars out o' heaven."

All eyes turned upon the once violent man.

"Of course, I wouldn't fire the woods," he muttered. He was now cool, and could see the folly and also the peril which lay in his threat. "I never said I'd set the woods afire, but the ol' trail has been a thoroughfare for nigh a hunderd year.-I believe I've got as good a right to use it as he has."

"Th-think so?" the Emperor inquired.

"Yes, sir."

"Then d-do it," Strong answered, dryly. There was much in those three words and in the look of the speaker. It said, plainly, that the other was to do what he thought to be right and never what he knew to be wrong.

"Lumbermen are more to blame," said another. "Where they've been nobody wants to go. They cut everything down t' the size o' yer wrist an' leave the soil covered with tinder-stacks. They think o' nothin' but the profit. Case o' fire, woods 'round 'em wouldn't hev a ghost of a show."

"Look at the Weaver tract," said he who sat on the nail-keg. "Four thousand acres o' dead tops--miles on 'em--an' all as dry as gunpowder. If you was t' touch a match there ye'd have to run fer yer life."

"Go like a scairt deer," said he of the cracker-barrel. "'Fore it stopped I guess ye'd think the world was afire."

"W-woods g-goin'," said the Emperor, sadly.

He thought of the cold springs at which he had refreshed himself in the heat of the summer day and which were to perish utterly; he thought of the brooks and rivers, slowing their pace like one stricken with infirmity, and, by-and-by, lying dead in the sunlight--lying in a chain of slimy pools across the great valley of the St. Lawrence; he thought of green meadows which, soon or late, would probably wither into a desert.

"What 'll become of us?" said he on the nail-keg.

"Have t' be sawed an' trimmed an' planed an' matched an' go into town." It was the voice above the cracker-barrel.

"Not me," said the occupant of the nail-keg. "Too many houses an' folks an' too much noise. Couldn't never stan' it."

"Village is a cur'ous place," said another, who had never been sober when he saw it. "Steeples an' buildin's an' folks reel 'round in pairs. Seems so the sidewalk flowed like a river, an' nothin' stan's still long 'nough so ye can see how 't looks."

The speaker was interrupted by the proprietor of the Pitkin general store, who came downstairs and flung himself on the top of the counter.

"Goin't' the Fourth?" said he of the cracker-barrel.

"Might as well--got t' hev a tooth drawed."

"I've got one that's been growlin' purty spiteful," said the nail-kegger. "Dunno but I might as well go an' hev it tore out."

"I got t' be snaked, too," said the cracker-barrel man.

"Reg'lar tooth-drawin' down thar to-morrer," said a voice from the counter.

"Beats all how the teeth git t' rairin' up ev'ry circus an' Fourth o' July," said the nail-kegger. The laughter which now ensued seemed, as it were, to shake everybody off his perch. The counter and the cracker-barrel expressed themselves in a creak of relief, and all went abovestairs save the Emperor. He cut a few boughs for a pillow, spread his blanket under the pine-trees, flung an end of it over his great body, and "let go," as he was wont to say. At any time of day or night he had only to lie down and "let go," and enjoy absolute forgetfulness.

XVII

AT the break of day next morning, Strong rose and called his fellow-travellers. Beside the turnpike he built a fire, over which he began to cook fish and potatoes and coffee. When the Migleys had come, all sat on a blanket within reach of their food and helped themselves in a fashion almost as ancient as the hills. Then Strong gave the coon his share, and washed the dishes and got his pack ready. It was a tramp of four miles to the station below Pitkin. They arrived there, however, before the sun was an hour high.

When they were seated in the end of the smoking-car, with coon and pack beside them, Mr. Migley began to reveal the plans of the great king, Business. Having increased his territory, he now felt the need of adding to his power. He must have more legislation, for there were to be ruthless changes of the map. Those few really free and independent people who dwelt in and near the Lost River country were to be his subjects and they must learn to obey. At least they must not oppose him and make trouble. Gently his envoy began.

"You know," said he, "there's to be a new member of Assembly in our district."

Strong nodded.

"I want my son to go," the elder Migley went on, as he winked suggestively. "He's going to make his home in Pitkin, and it's very necessary to his plans that you people should be with him. He's got the talent of a statesman. Ask anybody who knows the boy."

He paused a moment. The Emperor made no reply.

"Level-headed and reliable in every spot an' place, an' a good-looker," Migley continued, as if he were selling a road-horse, while he nudged the Emperor. "Look at him. I'd swap faces with that boy any day and give him ten thousand dollars to boot. Wouldn't you?"

Mr. Migley spoke in dead earnest. He pinched the knee of Strong and waited for his reply.

"W-wouldn't fit me," the Emperor replied.

"Pop" Migley took the answer as a compliment and gurgled with good feeling.

"Strong, you're a kind of a boss up here in the hills," said he. "There isn't a jay in the pine lands that wouldn't walk twenty miles to caucus if you asked him to."

"Dunno," Strong answered, doubtfully.

"I know what I'm talking about," said the lumberman, with a smile. "I want the vote o' the town o' Pitkin. If we get that we can give 'em all the flag."

Strong was not unaccustomed to this kind of appeal. There were not many voters in his town, but they always followed the Emperor.

"You can get it for us," Mr. Migley insisted.

"N-no."

"Why not?"

"I've promised to help M-Master."

"Oh, well, now, look here--you and I ought to be friends," said Migley. "We ought to stand by each other. You look out for me and I'll look out for you."

As he offered his alliance, Migley tenderly pressed the shoulder of Silas Strong. Then he put his index-finger on that square of latitude and longitude which indicated the region of his heart, and added, impressively, "I have the reputation of being true to my friends--ask anybody."

The hunter sat filling his pipe in silence.

"With what's pledged to us, if we get this town we can win easy."

Strong began to puff at his pipe thoughtfully. Here sat a man who could make or break him. His face reddened a little. He shook his head.

Mr. Migley had caught the eye of a man he knew--Joe Socket--postmaster and politician of Moon Lake. He rose, tapped the shoulder of Strong, and said, "Think it over." Then he hurried down the aisle of the car.

He leaned over and whispered into the ear of Socket, "What kind of a man is Strong?"

"Square," said the other, promptly. "A little cranky in some ways, but you can depend upon him. He'll do What he says--the devil couldn't turn him."

"He says he's pledged to Master--that chap who's come up here with a bag o' money. Do you think Master has bought him?"

"I don't think so. I suppose he could be bought, but--but I never knew of his taking money. The boys of the back country swear by the Emperor; they look up to him. Fact is, Sile Strong is a ------ ---- good fellow."

His oath seemed to contradict his affirmation.

"He's like a rock," said Migley. "The glad hand don't make any impression. What ye going to do with a man who won't drink or talk or swap lies with ye? I could put the poor devil out of house and home, but he don't seem to care."

"We'll turn him over to the Congressman," Socket answered. "He'll bring him into camp. If not we can get along without him."

The fact was the "Emperor of the Woods" was not like any other man they had to deal with--in history, character, and caliber.

He used his brain for a definite purpose--"to think out thoughts with," as he was wont to say, and if his heart approved of them they were right, and he could no more change them than a tree could change its bark or its foliage.

As yet the arts and allies of the flatterer had no power over him. He was content and without any false notion of his own importance.

XVIII

WHAT a fair of American citizenship was on its way to Hillsborough this morning of the Fourth of July! They that now crowded the train were like others travelling on all the main thoroughfares of the county--farmers and their wives, rustic youths and their sweethearts, mill-hands and mill-owners, teamsters, sawyers, axemen, guides, and storekeepers. They were celebrating a day's release from the tyranny of Business, and were not deeply moved by the tyranny which their grandfathers had suffered. History, save that of the present hour, did not much concern them.

They were mostly sound-hearted men. There were some who, in answer to the charge that a local statesman had got riches in the Legislature, were wont to say, "He'd be a fool if he hadn't." He was "a good fellow," anyhow, and they loved a good fellow. All the men of wealth and place and power were in his favor, and had practised upon them the subtle arts of the friend-maker. They would not have accepted "a bribe"--these good people now on their way to Hillsborough--but they could get all kinds of favors from Joe Socket and Pop Migley and Horace Dumay and other henchmen of the wealthy boss and legislator. They had yielded to the insidious briberies of friendship--warm greetings and handshakes, loans, small sinecures, compliments, pledges of undying esteem over clinking glasses, and similar condescension. They loved the forest and were sorry to see it go, but many of them got their bread-and-butter by its downfall--directly or indirectly--and then Socket, Dumay, and Migley were nothing more or less than lumber, pulp, and water-power personified. They were like the lords and barons of the olden time--less arrogant but more powerful. Indeed, Strong was right--the tyrant of the modern world is that ruthless giant that he called "Business," and his nobles are coal, iron, cotton, wool, food, power, paper, and lumber. These people on the edge of the woodland were slaves of power, paper, and lumber. With able and designing chiefs this great triumvirate gently drove the good people this way and that, and there was a little touch of irony in this journey of the latter to celebrate their freedom and independence.

One who knew them could not help feeling that the old martial spirit of the day was wholly out of harmony with their own. They were a peace-loving people, purged of their fathers' hatred, and roars of defiance found no echo in any breast--save those overheated by alcohol.

Some wore flannel shirts and the livery of a woodsman's toil; some, unduly urged, no doubt, by a wife or sister, had ventured forth in more conventional attire. They sat, as if posing for a photograph, galled, hot, gloomy, suspicious, self-suppressed, silent, their necks hooped in linen, their bodies resisting the tight embrace of new attire. In the crowd were a number to whom the reaping of the ruined hills, on either side of the train, had brought wealth and an air of proprietorship. Most of the crowd were in high spirits. The sounds of loud talk and laughter and the rankling smoke of cheap cigars filled the air above them. A lank youth under a dark, broad-brimmed hat, tilted backward, so as neither to conceal nor disarrange a rare embellishment of curls upon his brow, entered the car with another like him. His hair had the ginger-brown, ringletudinous look of spaniel fur. He began to whistle loudly and, as it would seem, prelusively. In a moment he was in full song on a ballad of the cheap theatres, with sentiment like his hair--frank, bold, oily, and outreaching.

As the train stopped at Hillsborough, Strong rose and put on his pack and left with the crowd, coon in hand. The sidewalks were crowded, and Strong took the centre of the street. There, at least, was comparative seclusion.

Silas had not travelled a block when, all unexpectedly, he became a centre of attraction. A group of whining dogs gathered about him, peering wistfully at the coon. They were shortly reinforced by a number of small boys, which grew with astonishing rapidity. Cries of curiosity and derision rose around him. Sportsmen who had visited his camp and who recognized him shouted their greeting to the "Emperor of the Woods." A "swisher" of some prominence in the little school of sportsmanship at Lost River came and dispersed the boys. The Emperor kicked at a dog and ran a little way in pursuit of him. He came back and set down the coon-cage and shook hands with his pupil. Immediately a dog, approaching from behind, sprang at the cage and tipped it over, and leaped upon it and began to claw. Strong seized and flung the dog away, and as he righted the cage its door came open and the coon escaped. Dodging his enemy, the little animal sought refuge in a thicket of people. Being pursued by dogs, and accustomed also to avoid peril by climbing, he straightway climbed, not a tree, but a tall sapling of a youth, from which the others broke away in a panic. They were opposite a little park, and the youth, not daring to lay hold of the animal, fled among the trees, pursued by Strong and two dogs and a throng of brave spirits who shouted information as to what he had best do.

For half a moment the frightened coon clung on a shoulder, his tail in the air, growling at the dogs. The latter leaped up at him, and he began to feel for more altitude. The youth, who had some knowledge of the nature of coons, ran to the nearest tree. Quickly the coon sprang upon it and scrambled far out of reach. He ran up the smooth shaft of elm and settled on a swaying bough some forty feet above ground. A crowd of people were now looking up at him.

"Coon in a cage is worth two in a tree," a man shouted.

Strong sat down beneath the tree and lighted his pipe and "thought out" another bit of wisdom for his memorandum-book. It was:

_"Coon on yer shoulder worth less'n what he is anywhere."_He sat in meditation--as if, indeed, he were resting in the wilderness. A cannon, not a hundred feet away, shook the windows of Hillsborough with a loud explosion for every star on the flag. A perpetual fusillade of fire-crackers seemed to suggest the stripes. Accustomed to woodland silences, the Emperor's feeling was, in a measure, like that of his coon. The "morning salute" ended presently, and then he uttered an exclamation which indicated clearly that he had been losing ground in his late struggle with Satan.

One of the guides with whom he had sat in the store at Pitkin came near. "Had yer tooth drawed?" was the question he put to the Emperor.

Strong was now looking at the empty cage. "Had my coon d-drawed," he answered.

"Where is he?"

"Up-s-stairs." Strong pointed in the direction of the coon's refuge.

Silas was now the centre of an admiring company. His former pupil had brought the president of the corporation of Hillsborough to meet him. The official invited Strong to participate in the games. The Emperor was willing to do anything to oblige, and walked with his new acquaintance to the public square.

A trial at lifting and carrying was the first number on the programme. The contestants leaned, with hands behind them, while others on a raised platform began to heap bags of oats upon their backs and shoulders. Loaded to the limit of their strength, they carried the burden as far as they were able and flung it down. One after another tried, and the last carried nine bags a distance of seven feet and was rewarded with many cheers.