Part 9

It was Strong's turn now. He bent his broad back, and the loaders began to burden him. At ten they stopped, but Strong called for more. Three others were heaped upon him, and slowly he began to move away. One could see only his legs beneath his burden, which towered far above him. Ten feet beyond the farthest mark he bore the bags and let them down. The people began cheering, and many came to shake his hand and feel the sinews in his arms and shoulders. Of the trial at scale-lifting a woodsman who stood near gave this illuminating description, "When they all got through, Strong put on two hundred more an' raised his neck an' lifted, an' the bar come up like a trout after a fly." Silas Strong stood, his coat off, his trousers tucked in his boots, looking soberly at the people who cheered him. One eye was wide open, the other partly closed. There were wrinkles above his wide eye, and his faded felt hat, tilted backward and to one side, left his face uncovered. He had a new and grateful sense of being "ahead," but seemed to wonder if so much brute strength were altogether creditable.

Master was to address the people, and Strong was invited to sit behind the speaker's table with the select of the county. He accompanied the president of the corporation to the platform in the park, his pack-basket on his arm. More than a thousand men and women had gathered in front of them when the chairman introduced the young orator.

The speech delighted Silas Strong, and he summed it up in his old memorandum-book as follows:

_"folks cant be no better than the air they brethe "roots of a plant are in the ground but the roots of a man are in his lungs_

_"whair the woods ar plenty the air is strong an folks are stout an supple like our forefathers when they licked the British them days they got a powrful crop of folks sometimes fifteen in a famly the powr of the woods was in em. now folks live under a sky eight feet above their heads an take their air secont handed an drink at the bar instead of the spring an eat more than what they earn an travel on wheels an think so much of their own helth they aint got no time to think of their countrys when a man's mind is on his stummick it cant be any where else brains warnt made to digest vittles with old fashioned ways is best which Strong says is so also that a man had not oughto eat any more than what he's earnt by hard labor."_

After the address Strong went home to dinner with Congressman Wilbert, the leading citizen of Hillsborough. That little town still retained the democratic spirit of old times. There one had only to be clean and honest to be respectable, and the mighty often sat at meat with the lowly. Strong declined the invitation at first, on the plea that he had fried cakes in his pack-basket, and yielded only after some urging.

The statesman's wife received the hunter cordially and presented him to her daughter. The girl led Strong aside and began to entertain him. He had lost his easy, catlike stride, his unconscious control of bone and muscle. He looked and felt as if he were carrying himself on his own back. He seemed to be balancing his head carefully, for fear it would fall off, and had treated his hands like detached sundries in a camp-outfit by stuffing them into the side pockets of his coat. Gradually he limbered in his chair and settled down. His confidence grew, and soon he "horsed" one knee upon the other and flung his hands around it as if to bind an invisible burden resting on his lap. He carried this objective treatment of his own, person to such an extreme that he seemed even to be measuring his breath and to find little opportunity for cerebration. When the young lady addressed him he often answered with the old formulas of "I tnum!" or "T-y-ty!" They eased the responsibility of his tongue, and, without seriously committing him, expressed a fair degree of interest and surprise.

At the table Strong behaved himself with the utmost conservatism. They treated him very tenderly, and he found relief in the fact that his embarrassment seemed not to be observed. He thought it the part of politeness to refuse nearly everything that was offered and to eat in a gingerly fashion.

The Congressman had often heard of Silas and gave him many compliments, and finally asked what, in his opinion, should be done to protect the forest. Briefly Strong gave his views, and the other seemed to agree with him.

"I'll do what I can for the woods and for you, too," said the statesman. "You ought to be a warden with a good salary."

These kindly assurances flattered the "Emperor of the Woods." Insidiously the great world power was making its most potent appeal to him.

"I may ask you for a favor now and then," said Wilbert. "I'd be glad if you'd do what you could to help Migley. He needs the vote of your town."

Strong knew not what to say. "M-mind's m-made up," he stammered, after a little pause. When his mind was "made up" he had nothing further to do but obey its will. The other did not quite comprehend his meaning.

Strong in his embarrassment had put too much tabasco sauce on his meat. He blew, according to his custom in moments of distress, and took a drink of water. He looked thoughtfully at the small cylinder of glass. He tried to read its label.

"Small b-bore," he remarked, presently.

"Sh-shoots w-well," he added, after a moment of reflection.

Strong had begun to think of his coon, now clinging in a tree-top. Suddenly he had become too proud to try to sell him, but he could not bear to abandon his old pet. So while the others talked together he began to contrive against the dogs of Hillsborough. As he was about to leave, he asked Mrs. Wilbert where he could buy "one o' them l-little r-red guns," by which he meant a bottle of tabasco sauce. She immediately sent a servant to bring one, which the Emperor accepted with her compliments. His host went with him to a store where Strong invested some of his prize-money in "C'ris'mus presents"--so he called them--for Sinth and the "little fawns," filling his pack well above the brim.

Then, forthwith, Strong proceeded to the coon's refuge, in the public park, where, with the aid of a Roman-candle, as he explained to Sinth in the privacy of their cook-tent, he made the coon "l-let go all holts." The animal had been clinging high in the old elm, and, being stunned by his fall, Strong caught and held him firmly by the nape of the neck while he covered him with an armor of liquid fire from the tabasco bottle. The fur of back and neck and shoulders had now the power to inflict misery sharper than a serpent's tooth.

"D-Dick," he whispered, "Strong is 'shamed o' y-you. He c-can't 'sociate n-no more with c-coons in this v-village. But he won't let ye git t-tore up."

Strong carried his coon out of the park and let him down. In Hillsborough popular enthusiasm had turned from revelry to refreshment. The crowd, having retired to home and hostelry, had left the streets nearly deserted.

Strong's coon set out in the direction of the river, and soon a bull-dog laid hold of him. The dog gave the coon a shake, and began, as it were, to lose confidence. He dropped the hot-furred animal, shook his head, and tarried the tenth part of a second, as if to make a note of the coon's odor for future reference, and then ran with all speed to the river. He heeded not the call of his master or the jeering of a number of small boys. They were no more to him than the idle wind.

The coon proceeded on his way to the woods. Farther on three other dogs bounded into trouble, and rushed for water. The coon passed two bridges and made his way across an open field in the direction of Turner's wood.

Strong, whose hunger had not been satisfied, bought some cake and pie, and made for open country where he sat down by the road-side. Tree-tops above him were full of chattering birds, driven out of town probably by its hideous uproar.

The Emperor, having appeased his hunger, took half an hour for reflection. Before the end of it came he began for the first time in his life to suffer the penalty of idleness and high living. Indigestion, the bane of towns and cities, had taken hold of him. Before leaving he made these entries in his little book:

_"July the 4

"This aint no place for Strong

"Man might as well be in Ogdensburg * as have Ogdensburg in him.

"Strong's coon snaked out of his cage contrived to git even also coon made free and independent."_

His revenge was of such lasting effect that, some say, for a long time thereafter dogs in Hillsborough fled terror-stricken at the sight of a coon-skin overcoat.

* _It should be remembered that with the woods-loving and wholly mistaken Emperor, Ogdensburg meant nothing less than hell._

XIX

MEANWHILE Socky and Sue, in Sunday costume, had gone out with their aunt for a holiday picnic in the forest. Sinth had been busy until ten o'clock preparing a sumptuous dinner of roasted wild fowl and jelly, of frosted cake and sugared berries and crab-apple tarts. They went to the moss-covered banks of a little brook over in Peppermint Valley, half a mile or so from the camp. Master's man carried their dinner and blankets, upon which they could repose without impairing the splendor of their dress. Sinth had put on her very best attire--a sacred silk gown and Paisley shawl which had come on a cheerful Christmas Day from her sister.

"Might as well show 'em to the birds an' squirrels," said she. "There ain't nobody else t' dress up for 'cept the little fawns."

The man left them, to return later for their camp accessories. Sinth played "I spy" and "Hide the penny" and other games of her childhood with Socky and Sue. She had brought some old story-papers with her, and when the little folks grew weary they sat down beside her on the blankets while she read a tale. To her all things were "so" which bore the sacred authority of print, and she read aloud in a slow, precise, and responsible manner.

It was a thunderous tale she was now reading--a tale of bloody swords and high-sounding oaths and epithets. Socky began to feel his weapon. Master had shaped a handle on a piece of lath and presented it for a sword to the little "Duke of Hillsborough." Since then it had trailed behind the boy, fastened by a string to his belt. He sat listening with a serious, thoughtful look upon his face. At the climax of the tale he raised his weapon. Presently, unable to restrain his heroic impulse, he sprang at Zeb, sword in hand, and smote him across the ribs, shouting, "Defend yourself!" Zeb retreated promptly and took refuge in a fallen tree-top, out of which he peered, his hair rising. Soon he satisfied himself that the violence of the Duke was not a serious matter. Socky ran upon him, waving his sword and crying, in a loud voice, "You're a coward, sir!" Zeb rushed through the ferns, back and forth around the boy, growling and grimacing as if to show that he could be a swashbuckler himself.

On his merry frolic he ran wide in thickets of young fir. Suddenly he began barking and failed to return. They called to him, but he only barked the louder, well out of sight beyond the little trees. Socky went to seek him, and in a moment the barking ceased, but neither dog nor boy came in sight of the others. Sinth followed with growing alarm.

Back in a mossy glade, not a hundred feet from where they had been sitting, she stopped suddenly and grew pale with surprise. There sat a beautiful maiden looking down at the boy, who lay in her arms. Sue, who had followed her aunt, now sprang forward with a cry of delight. The maiden rose, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

"Oh, aunt," said the boy, as he clung fondly to the hand of Edith Dunmore, "this is the beautiful lady."

"What's your name?" Sinth demanded.

"Edith Dunmore." The girl's voice had a note of sadness.

"My land! Do you go wanderin' all over the woods like a bear?" Sinth inquired.

The maiden turned away and made no answer.

"Land sakes alive! you 'ain't got no business goin' around these woods an' meetin' strange men."

"Oh, silly bird!" croaked the little crow from a bough near them.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Sinth, as she looked up at the ribboned crow. "It's enough to make the birds talk."

There were tears in the maiden's eyes, and the children glanced from her to their aunt, sadly and reprovingly.

Sinth, now full of tender feeling, put her arms around the neck of the girl in a motherly fashion. "Poor, poor child!" said she, her voice trembling. "I've laid awake nights thinkin' of you."

Something in the tone and touch of the woman brought the girl closer. Another great need of her nature was for a moment satisfied. She leaned her head upon the shoulder of Sinth, and her heart confessed its loneliness in tears and broken phrases.

"I--I followed you. I couldn't--couldn't help it," said she.

"Poor girl!" Sinth went on, as she patted the head of the maiden. "I've scolded Mr. Master. He oughter let you alone, 'less he's in love, which I wouldn't wonder if he was."

"Ah-h-h!" croaked the bird, as if to attract his mistress.

"Sakes alive!" exclaimed Sinth, looking up at the crow with moist eyes. "That bird is like a human bein'. Hush, child, you mus' come an' help us celebrate. Come on now; we'll all set down an' have our dinner."

Socky and Sue stood by the knees of the maiden looking up at her.

Gently the woman led her new acquaintance to their little camp, and bade her sit with the children. Sinth had a happy look in her face while she hurried about getting dinner ready.

"Jes' straighten the end, please--that's right," said she as Edith Dunmore put a helping hand on the snowy table-cloth.

Sinth began to spread the dishes, and the maiden furtively embraced Socky and Sue. "My land! you do like childem--don't ye? So do I. They's jes' nothin' like 'em in this world."

"Dinner's ready," said Sinth, when all the dainties had been set forth. "Heavens an' earth! I'm so glad t' see a woman I could lay right down an' bawl."

"You have made me as happy as a young fawn," said Miss Dunmore. "I am not afraid of you or the children."

"Are you afraid of _him?_"

The maiden looked down, blushing, and almost whispered her answer. "Yes; I am afraid."

"He wouldn't hurt ye--he's jest as gentle as a lamb," said Sinth. She paused to cut the cake, and added, with a far-away look in her eyes, "Still an' all, I dunno what I'd do if he was to make love to me."

Sinth ate in silence for a moment and remarked, dreamily, "Men are awful cur'is critters when they git love in 'em."

For a little, one might have heard only the chatter of the children and the barking of Zeb. By-and-by the maiden said, "I am sure that Mr. Master is--is a good man."

"No nicer in the world," Sinth answered. "Pleasant spoke, an' he don't set around as if he wanted ye t' breathe fer him. He'll be a good provider, too."

After a few moments the children took their cake and went away to share it with Zeb and the tame crow.

"Do you--do you think he would care to see me again?" Edith Dunmore asked, blushing and looking down as she touched a wild rose on her breast.

"'Course he would," Sinth answered, promptly. "Can't sleep nights, an' looks kind o' sick an' dreamy, like a man with a felon." Sinth looked into the eyes of the girl and added, soberly, "I guess _you're_ in love with him fast enough."

"I do not know," said Miss Dunmore, with a sigh. "I--I know that all the light of the day is in his eyes--that I am lonely when I cannot find him."

Sinth nodded. "It's love," said she, decisively--"the real, genuwine, pure quill. Don't ye let him know it."

She sat looking down for a moment with a dreamy look in her eyes. "I know what 'tis," she went on, sadly. "Had a beau myself once. Went off t' the war." After a little pause she added, "He never come back--shot dead in battle." She began to pick up the dishes. Having stowed them in a pail, she turned and said, in a solemn manner: "He was goin' t' bring me a gold ring with a shiny purple stone in it. Not that I'd 'a' cared for that if I could have had him."

That old look of sickliness and resignation returned to the face of Sinth.

"Folks has to give fer their country," she added soon. "My father an' my gran'father an' my oldest brother an' my true love all died in the wars. I hope you'll never have to give so much."

A great, earth-quaking roar from far down the valley of Lost River sped over the hills, and shook the towers of the wilderness and broke the peace of that remote chamber in which they stood. It was Business breaking through the side of a mountain to make a trail for the iron horse.

"Blastin'!" Sinth exclaimed.

"It's the king of the world coming through the woods--so my father tells me," said Miss Dunmore.

Then, as if fearful that he might arrive that day, she rose quickly and said:

"I--must go home. I must go home."

Sinth kissed her, and the children came and bade her good-bye and stood calling and waving their hands as Edith Dunmore, with the ribboned crow, slowly went up the trail to Catamount.

XX

ON his way home at night Strong was really nearing the City of Destruction, like that pilgrim of old renown. Shall we say that Satan had filled the man with his own greatness the better to work upon him? However that may be, a new peril had beset the Emperor.

For long he had been conscious only of his faults. Now the thought of his merits had caused him to forget them. Turning homeward, the world in his view consisted of two parts--Silas Strong and other people. One regrets to say it was largely Silas Strong--the great lifter, the guide and hunter whose fame he had not until then suspected.

Master took the train with him that evening.

This old-fashioned man--Silas Strong--whose mind was, in the main, like that of his grandfather--like that, indeed, of the end of the eighteenth century--sat beside one who represented the very latest ideals of the Anglo-Saxon.

They were both descended from good pioneer ancestry, but the grandfather of one had moved to Boston, while the grandfather of the other had remained in the woods. The boulevard and the trail had led to things very different.

They had sat together only a few moments when the two Migleys entered the car. These ministers of the great king got to work at once.

"Hello!" said the elder of them, addressing Master. "I congratulate you. I told my son it was a great speech. Ask him if I didn't."

"I enjoyed your speech," said young Migley. "But there's no use talking to us about saving the wilderness. If we did as you wish, we'd have nothing to do but twirl our thumbs."

"On the contrary, you'd have a permanent business, whereas your present course will soon lead you to the end of it. I would have you cut nothing below twelve inches at the butt, and get your harvest as often as you can find it."

"'Twouldn't pay," said "Pop" Migley, with a shake of his head.

"You condemn the plan without trial," Master continued. "Anyhow, if an owner wants his value at once, let us have a law under which he can transfer his timber-land to the State on a fair appraisal."

"The State wouldn't pay us half we can make by cutting it."

"Probably not, but you'd have your time and capital for other uses. Then, too, you should think of the public good. You're rich enough."

"But not fool enough," said young Mr. Migley, in a loud voice.

The train stopped to take water, and those near were now turned to listen.

"I thought you were ambitious to be a public servant," said Master, calmly.

"But not as a professor of moral philosophy." This declaration of the young candidate was greeted with laughter.

"And, of course, not as a professor of moral turpitude," said the woods lover. "The public is not to be wholly forgotten."

"I'm for my part of the public, first, last, and always," young Migley answered.

It is notable that lawless feeling--especially after it has passed from sire to son--some day loses the shame which has covered and kept it from insufferable offence. Two or three citizens who sat near began to whisper and shake their heads. One of them spoke out loudly and indignantly; "His part of the public is mostly himself. He is trying to buy his way into the Assembly, and I hope he'll fail."

There were hot words between the Migleys and their accuser, until the lumbermen left the car.

Soon Master fell asleep. Strong took out his old memorandum-book and went over sundry events and reflections.

When Master awoke the Emperor still sat with the worn book in his hands.

"I've been asleep," said the young man. "What have you been doing?"

"Th-thinkin' out a few th-thoughts," Strong answered, as he put the book in his pocket.

The Emperor began to speak of the Congressman's courtesies in a tone of self-congratulation.

Master laughed heartily. "It was a pretty little plot," said he. "Those common fellows couldn't manage you, and they passed you on. I'll bet he asked you to help Migley."

Strong smiled and nodded.

"You haven't made me any promise, and I want you to feel free to do what you think best," said the young man.

The train pulled into Bees' Hill in the edge of the wilderness, and they left it and took quarters at the Rustic Inn.

Bees' Hill was a new lumber settlement where there were two mills, three inns, a number of stores, and a post-office. The bar-room was crowded with brawny mill-hands from across the border, in varying stages of intoxication. The inn itself was full of the reek of cheap tobacco and the sound of cheaper oaths. The most offensive in the crowd were of the new generation of back-country Americans. Their boastfulness and profanity were in full flood. They used the sacred names with a cheerful, glib familiarity, as if they were only saying "Bill" or "Joe."

The town had begun to ruin the woodsman as well as the woods.

Here were some of the sons of the pioneers--mostly "guides" and choremen of abundant leisure. Every day they were "dressed up," and sat about the inn like one who patiently tries his luck at a fishing-hole. They had discovered themselves and were like a child with its first doll. They had, as it were, torn themselves apart and put themselves together again. They had experimented with cologne, hair-oil, poker, colored neckties, hotel fare, and execrable whiskey. They were in love with pleasure and had sublime faith in luck. They spent their time looking and listening and talking and primping and dreaming of sudden wealth and kitchen-maids.

Strong and Master stood a moment looking at a noisy company of youths at the bar.

"They speak of the President by his first name, and are rather free with the Creator," said Master.

"J-jus' little mehoppers," Strong remarked, with a look of pity. In his speech a conceited fellow, who spoke too frequently of himself, was always a "mehopper."

"Large heads!" Master exclaimed, as he turned away.

"Like a b-balsam," Strong stammered. "B-big top an' little r-roots."

"And they can't stand against the wind," said Master.

Before he went to bed the Emperor made these entries in his memorandum-book:

_"Strong says he had just as soon be seen with a coon as a congressman also that a fool gits so big in his own eyes he dont never dast quarrell with himself. Strong got to mehoppin. he has fit and conkered_

_"God never intended fer a man to see himself er else hed have set his eyes difernt."_

XXI

IN the morning, a little after sunrise, Strong and Master set out across the State land stretching from the railroad to Lost River, a distance of some fourteen miles. Not an hour's walk from the station, at Bees' Hill, they passed another lumber job, where, on the land of the State, nearly a score of men were engaged felling the tall pines and hauling them to skid ways. The Emperor flung off his pack and hurried to the workers.

"Who's j-job?" he inquired.

"Migley's. We're working on a contract for the dead timber."