The postmaster's eyes were searching Parker's face for signal of approbation.

The engineer went to him and shook his hand with hearty emphasis.

"You've got a level head, Mr. Postmaster," he said, delightedly. "We'll start exactly where we left off and so far as I am concerned the place will never get a bad name from me. In return for your frankness and your service to me, I'll give you a hint as to what happened to Colonel Ward. I know you won't abuse my confidence."

When he had finished, the postmaster said earnestly, "Mr. Parker, however much old Gid Ward owes you, you owe Josh Ward a good deal more. He ain't a man to dun for his pay. But if he ever does ask you to square the account you won't be the man I take you for if you don't settle. If you feel that you owe me anything for the little service I've done you and your bus'ness, just take and add it to the Josh Ward account. Of all the men on earth I pity that man the most."

There were tears in Dodge's eyes when he stumbled down the tavern stairs.

One cheerful moment for Parker had been when the postmaster informed him of Sunkhaze's equilibrium in the matter of news-monging But a more cheerful moment was when Mank, his foreman, standing with him on the ice above the submerged Swogon told him that a sandbar made out into the lake at that point and that the locomotive was probably lodged on the bar, only a little way below the surface.

When they had sawed the ice and sounded they found this to be true. As soon as a broad square of ice had been removed they saw her, all her outlines clear against the white sand. The sunken sleds were equally in evidence. It was not a diver's job, then, as Parker, in his worryings, had feared. On the thick ice surrounding the whole there was solid foothold for the raising apparatus and Parker's crew set at work with good cheer.

It was a cold, wet and tedious job, the grappling and the raising, but his derricks were strong and his rigging plentiful. Moreover, the water was not deep.

All the material that could not be recovered by the grapples was duplicated by means of quick replies to wired orders, and the work of transportation across the lake was successfully completed.

It was well into a warm May, and his men for the last week had been moving soil and building culverts before the case of Col. Gideon Ward was brought to Parker's attention in a manner requiring action. One evening just after dusk his foreman scratched on the flap of the engineer's tent, in which he was now living at Poquette.

"Come in!" he called.

The canvas was lifted and a man entered. Parker turned the reflector of his lantern on the visitor.

"Joshua Ward!" he exclaimed, as he started up and seized the old man's outstretched hand.

He led him to a camp-stool. They looked at each other for a time in silence. Tears trembled on Joshua's eyelashes, and he passed his knotted hand over his face before he spoke.

"Mr. Parker," he said, tremulously, "I've come to bring ye money to pay for every cent's worth o' damage to property 'an loss o' time an' everything." He laid a package in the young man's hand. "Help yourself," he quavered. "I'm goin' to trust to your honesty, for I'm certain I can. Take what's right. Gid and I don't know anythin' about railroads an' what such things as you lost are worth. All we can do is to show that we mean to square things the best we can now. Gid's sorry now, Mr. Parker, he's sorry—sorry—sorry—poor Gid!" The old man sobbed outright.

"Did he—" The young man paused, half-fearing to ask the question.

Joshua again ran his rough palm across his eyes. Then, in dumb grief, he set the edge of his right hand against his left wrist, the left hand to the right wrist, and then marked a place on each leg above the ankle.

"All off there, Mr. Parker." The old man bent his head into his hollowed palms. Tears trickled through his fingers. There was a long silence. The young man did not know how to interrupt that pause.

"I'm feedin' an' tendin' him like I used to when he was a baby an' I a six-year-old. He's at my camp, Mr. Parker. He don't ever want to be seen agin in the world, he says—only an old, trimmed, dead tree, he says. Poor old Gid! No matter what he's been, no matter what he's done, you'd pity him now, Mr. Parker, for the hand o' punishment has fell heavy on my poor brother."

The engineer, truly shocked, stood beside Joshua, and placed his hand on the bowed shoulders.

"Mr. Ward," he said, with a quiver in his voice, "never will I do anything to add one drop to the bitterness in the cup that has come to you and yours."

"I told Gid, I told Gid," cried the old man, "that you'd say somethin' like that! I had to comfort him, you know, Mr. Parker; but I felt that you, bein' a young man, couldn't make it too hard for us old men. He ain't the same Gid now. See here, sir!"

With tremulous hands he drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to Parker. It was a writing giving sole power of attorney to Joshua Ward. The old man pointed to a witnessed scrawl—a shapeless hieroglyph at the bottom of the sheet.

"Gid's mark!" he sobbed. "No hands—no hands any more! I feed him, I tend him like I would a baby, an' the only words he says to me now are pleasant an' brotherly words.

"An' more'n that, Mr. Parker, I'm on my way down to town. I've got some errands that are sweet to do—sweet an' bitter, too. There's new fires been lit in the dark corners of my poor brother's heart. I've got here a list of the men that Gideon Ward hain't done right by in this life,—that he's cheated,—an' a list of the widows of the men he hain't done right by, an' by that power of attorney he's given me the means, an' he says to me to make it square with them people if it takes every cent he's worth. It won't cost much for me an' Gid to live at Little Moxie, Mr. Parker—an' poor Cynthy—"

He looked into vacancy a while and was silent. Then he went on:

"We'll have our last days together, me an' Gid. All these years that I've lived alone up there the trees an' the winds an' the skies an' the waves of the lake have been sayin' good things to me. I told Gid about them voices. He has been too busy all his life to listen before now. But sittin' there in these days—sit-tin' there, always a-sittin' there, Mr. Parker! Nothing to do but bend his ear to catch the whispers that come up out o' the great, deep lungs o' the universe! He has been listenin', an'"—the old man rose and shook the papers above the head of the engineer—"God an' the woods have been talkin' the truth to my poor brother Gideon."

The old man slept that night in Parker's tent and went on his way at morning light, and tho the engineer pressed back again into his hands, unopened, the packet that was proffered, and assured him that no harm should befall Gideon Ward through complaint or report for which he was responsible, Parker still felt that somehow there was a balance due old Joshua Ward on their books of tacit partnership in well-doing;—such was the honest faith, and patient self-abnegation of the good old man, who had endured so much for others' sake.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN—THE DAY WHEN POQUETTE BURST WIDE OPEN

Through the spring and the early summer Poquette Carry was an animated theater of action. Woodsmen, went up and woodsmen came down, and mingled with the busy railroad crews. All examined the progress of construction with curiosity, and passed on, uttering picturesque comment. Strange old men came paddling down West Branch from unknown wildernesses, and trudged their moccasined way from end to end of the line, as if to convince themselves that Colonel Gideon Ward really had been conquered on his own ground. Newspaper reporters came from the nearest city, and pressed Engineer Parker to make a statement "Gentlemen," he said, with a laugh, "not a word for print from me. I was sent here to build this bit of a railroad quietly and unobtrusively. Circumstances have paraded our affairs before the public in some measure. Now if you quote me, or twist anything I may say into an interview, my employers will have good reason to be disgusted with me, as well as with the situation here. Furthermore, there are personal reasons why I do not wish to talk."

Whether Parker's eager appeal had effect upon the reporters, or whether the timber barons influenced the editors, the whole affair of the sunken engine was lightly passed over as the prank of roistering woodsmen, and Colonel Ward was left wholly undisturbed in his retreat. Even the calamity that had befallen him was not mentioned except by word of mouth among the woodsmen of the region.

With self-restraint that is rare in young men, Parker still refused to talk about the matter even in Sunkhaze. When he first returned, a sense of chagrin at his discomfiture along with reasons that have been mentioned kept him silent, it is true, but now, with complete victory in his hands, he was sincerely affected by the misfortune that had overtaken his enemy.

The "Swamp Swogon," now that it was running on its own rails and was hauling building materials along the crooked railroad, was renicknamed "The Stump Dodger." Parker's chief pride in the road was necessarily based on the fact that it had been constructed without exceeding the appropriation, a fact that excused many curves.

Late in June the last rails were laid and the ballasting, such as it was, was well under way.

The "terminal stations," as the engineer jocosely called them, were neat little structures of logs, and there was a log roundhouse, where the Stump Dodger retired in smutty and smoky seclusion when its day's toil was finished.

So the engineer prepared for the day of opening, and requested the state railroad commissioners to make their final inspection of the road. The three officials gravely travelled from end to end of the line in the secondhand P. K. & R. coach, the only passenger-car of the road, and after some jocular remarks, issued a certificate empowering the Poquette Carry Road to convey passengers and collect fares. Then, after a telegraphic conference with his employers, Parker announced the day for the formal opening of the road.

At first he had not intended to make any event of this. His idea had been that, after the commissioners authorized traffic, he would merely arrange a time-table instead of the irregular service of the construction days, and would start his trains, observing the care that had been promised in seasons of drought.

But his foreman of construction—none other than Big Dan Connick, who had chosen railroad work under Parker instead of the usual summer labor on the drive—came to him at the head of a group of men.

"Mr. Parker," he said, "we represent the men who have been building this road. We represent also our old friends of the West Branch drivin' crew of a hundred men, who are twenty miles up-river and are hankerin' for a celebration. We represent all the guides between Sunkhaze and Chamberlain, and every man of 'em is glad that this carry has been opened up. The whole crowd respectfully insists that seein' as how this is our first woods railroad up here, it's proper to have a celebration. If ye don't have the official opening we shall take it as meanin' we ain't worth noticin'."

There was no denying such earnestness as that nor gainsaying the propriety of the demand. Parker made his principals understand the situation. And the result was that they themselves set the opening date, and promised to be on hand with a party of friends.

The rolling-stock of the Poquette Railroad consisted of the Stump Dodger, four flat cars designed especially for the transportation of canoes and bateaux, three box cars for camp supplies and general freight, and the coach transplanted from the P. K. & R. narrow-gage.

Parker announced that on the opening day no fares would be collected, that the train would make hourly trips, and that all might ride who could get aboard.

Not to be outdone in generosity, the crew through big Dan Connick, declaring that they proposed to make all the preparations for the celebration free of charge—that is, they would accept no wages for their work.

They built benches on the platform cars and fitted up the box cars in similar fashion. They trimmed the Stump Dodger with spruce fronds till the locomotive looked like a moving wood-lot. Every flag in Sunkhaze was borrowed for the decoration of the coach, and then, in a final burst of enthusiasm, the men subscribed a sum sufficient to hire the best brass band in that part of the state.

"It took us some little time to wake up enough to know how much we needed a railroad acrost here," said Dan, "but now that we're awake we propose to let folks know it. Them whose hearin' is sensitive had better take to the tall timber that day."

Parker met his party at Sunkhaze station on the morning of the great occasion. They came in the P. K. & R. president's private car, that was run upon a siding to remain during the week the railroad men entertained their friends at their new Kennemagon Lake camp.

"I expect," said Parker, as the little steamer puffed across sunlit Spinnaker toward Poquette, "that the men have arranged a rather rugged celebration for to-day; but I know them well, gentlemen, and I want to assure you that all they do is meant in the best spirit."

As the steamer approached the wharf, tooting its whistle, there was an explosion ashore that made the little craft appear to hop out of the water. All the anvils of the construction crew had been stuffed with powder, and all were fired simultaneously with a battery current!

With a yell the shore crowd rushed to the side of the steamer. Dan was leading, his broad face glowing with good humor. Groups of cheering men clutched the squirming, protesting railroad owners and their friends, and bore them on sturdy shoulders to the waiting train. The band from its station on a platform car boomed "Hail to the Chief," the engine whistle screaming an obligato.

Then the men swarmed upon the cars, crowding every corner, occupying every foothold—but with the thoughtful deference of the woods not venturing to encroach upon the privacy of the coach after they had deposited their guests there.

On the "half-way horseback," so-called, Parker ordered the train halted, for he wished to show Mr. Jerrard an experiment in culvert construction, in which he took an originator's pride. The band kept on playing and the men roared choruses.

After the young engineer had bellowed his explanation in Jerrard's ear, and Jerrard had howled back some warm compliments, striving to make himself heard above the uproar, the two climbed the embankment and approached the coach. The band was quiet now.

"Speech!" cried some one, as Jerrard mounted the steps. He smiled and shook his head.

"Speech! Speech!" The manager turned to enter his car, still smiling, tolerant but disregarding. At a sudden command from Connick, men reached out on both sides of the train and clutched the branches of sturdy undergrowth that the haste of the construction work had not permitted the crews to clear entirely away.

"Hang on, my hearties!" shouted Dan.

Parker, when he mounted the steps, had given the signal to start, but when the engineer opened his throttle, the wheels of the little engine whirled in a vain attempt at progress. With a grade, a heavy load, and the determined grip of all these brawny hands to contend against, the panting Stump Dodger was beaten. Sparks streamed and the smokestack quivered, but the train did not start.

"Speech! Speech!" the men howled. "We won't let go till we hear a speech."

Entreaties had no effect. First Jerrard, then Whittaker, then Parker, and after them all the guests were compelled to come out on the car platform and satisfy the truly American passion for a speech. And not until the last man had responded did the woodsmen release their hold on the trees.

"Who ever heard of a railroad being formally opened and dedicated without speeches?" cried Connick, as he gave the word to let go. "We know the style, an' we want everything."

The guides served a lunch at the West Branch end of the line that afternoon, and while the railroad party was lounging in happy restfulness awaiting the repast, a big bateau came sweeping down the river, driven by a half dozen oarsmen. Several passengers disembarked at the end of the carry road, and were received respectfully yet uproariously by the woodsmen who had just arrived in a fresh train-load from the Spinnaker end.

Connick came elbowing through the press that surrounded them.

"Mr. Shayne," he cried, "she's come, after all, hasn't she? Are you and your friends goin' to ride back on her across the carry? I tell you she beats a buckboard!"

The man whom he addressed smiled with some constraint, and exchanged glances with his companions.

"I guess we'll stick to our own tote-team as usual, Connick," said another in the party, jerking his thumb at the muddy buckboard that was waiting.

"Oh say, now, ye've got to meet these here railroad fellers. They're your style—all business!" bawled Connick. "We ain't fit to entertain 'em up here, but you rich fellers are. Just come along. They'll be glad to see you. Bring 'em along, boys."

The crowd obediently hustled the new arrivals toward Whittaker and his friends, disregarding the surly protests.

"Here's some of the kings of the spruce country, gentlemen!" big Dan cried, by way of introduction. "Here's Mr. Shayne, the great timber operator on the Seboois waters. Here's Mr. Barber of the Upper Chamberlain, an'—"

Several of the new arrivals began to deprecate this unceremonious manner of introduction, but the railroad men, recognizing their peers in the business world in these sturdy land barons, came forward with a hearty welcome.

Ten minutes later the timber kings were eating lunch, although with some embarrassment. Occasionally they eyed the railroad men, wondering if the memory of the stubborn legislative battle still lingered. But the railroad men constantly grew more affable.

"Gentlemen," said Whittaker, at last, "we are not affected in this case by any interstate commerce regulations. Therefore, on behalf of myself and my associates, I should like to tender you annual passes over our new road. Of course the courtesy is a trifling one, but it will indicate that we shall appreciate your cooperation in turning your freight business our way. We'll save you at least two-thirds of the expense on the haul across Poquette."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN—THE PACT THAT OPENED RODNEY PARKER'S PROFESSIONAL FUTURE

When one understood all that had gone before, the moment was an electric one for the future of the Poquette region.

In this apparently trivial offer the railroad king had formally offered the olive branch. He gazed at the lumber barons eagerly yet shrewdly.

It was evident that they had silently fixed on Shayne to reply.

After a moment Shayne began his answer, and as he had glanced from one to another of his companions, he evidently understood from their eyes that he had permission to speak for all. "Mr. Whittaker," he said, with hearty frankness, "on behalf of myself and my associates I am going to make an earnest apology to you for the obstacles we threw in your way at the outset of this enterprise. But you must take into account the isolation of our lumbering interests and the jealousy we felt at the intrusion of outside men and capital. We feared what it might lead to. We have been doing business as our fathers did it, and we probably needed this awakening that the new railroad has given us. For now that it is built, we, as business men, see that the advantages it will afford us are desirable in every way. I speak for my friends here when I say that we are heartily glad you have beaten us."

His tone was jocose yet sincere.

The men of business—railroad officials and lumber kings—broke out into a hearty laugh, the laugh of amity and comradeship. Shayne went on, more at his ease after that:

"Now we are going to afford you a proof that we mean what we say. We—this party right here—control fifty miles or more of timber country, reaching from here up to the West Branch on both sides, and extending as far inland. The river is broken by rapids and falls along this stretch. Our drives from up-country are sometimes held up a whole season when a bad jam forms in dry times. Every year in dynamiting these jams thousands of feet of logs are shattered. More are split on the ledges. We have agreed that we need a railroad. Considering our losses, we can afford to pay well for having our logs hauled to the smooth water. If you and your friends will finance and build such a road, we'll give you free right of way, turn over to you annually twenty million feet of timber for your log trains, and give you the haul of all our crews and camp supplies. Further than that, with spur tracks to lots now inaccessible by water, you can quadruple the value of our holdings and your own business at the same time. And this will be only the first link of a railroad system that we need all through the region. The thing has come to us in its right light at last, and we're ready to meet you half-way in everything." He smiled. "We want the right sort of men behind the scheme, and you have plainly showed us that you are the right sort of men."

President Whittaker thought a little.

"Gentlemen," he said, at last, "I cannot give you a conclusive answer to-day, of course, but I can guarantee that no such offer as that is going to be refused by my associates and myself. Bring forward your proposition in writing. We'll come half-way, too, and be glad of the chance. If men and money can accomplish it, a standard gage road will be ready for your season's haul next year."

He turned and touched Parker's shoulder.

"This young man," he said, "will be our representative, with full powers to treat with you. Parker, are you ready for two years more in the wilderness? It's a big project, and your financial encouragement will be correspondingly big. I haven't said yet how thoroughly I appreciate your energy and loyalty and self-reliance in the matter of this little plaything of the past winter. I do not need to say anything, do I, except to urge you to take this new responsibility, and to add that your acceptance will encourage me to go ahead at once?"

Parker reached out his brown hand to meet the one extended to him.

"We also want to say to Mr. Parker," went on Shayne, "that on our part we'll do more to assist him than we'd do for any other man you could place here. We have a little explanation to make to him and—"

"No explanations for me—if it's along the lines I apprehend, Mr. Shayne!" cried the young man, jokingly yet meaningly. He bent a significant look on the lumber king as he went forward to take his hand.

"Hush!" he murmured. "I keep my own counsels in business matters when I can do so without betraying the interests of my employers, and when they don't want to be bothered by my personal affairs."

Shayne gave the engineer a long stare of honest admiration.

"Parker," he gasped, "you never said a word? You're a—— Here, give me you hand again!"



A half hour later the lumbermen went across the Poquette Carry in a train made up of the engine and the coach—"the first real special train over the road," Parker said.

Before the young engineer left for his summer vacation, he made a long canoe journey up into the Moxie section, ostensibly on a fishing expedition. He was gone ten days, a longer period than he had predicted to his assistant manager.

When he came down the West Branch one afternoon he helped Joshua Ward to lift a crippled man out of their canoe, and he carefully directed the helpers who carried the unfortunate person to the coach.

"I'm afraid the trip across the carry in a buckboard after the old manner would have been too rough for you, Colonel Ward," remarked Parker, as the train clanked along under the big trees. "I think I was never more glad to offer modern conveniences to any traveller across this carry. You understand how deep my sincerity is in this, I am positive."

"I understand everything better than I did, Parker," returned Colonel Ward, feelingly, turning away wet eyes.

The astonishment in Sunkhaze settlement when the doughty ex-tyrant was borne through to the "down-country" train, accompanied by Parker and Joshua, was so intense that only the postmaster recovered himself in season to put a few leading questions. After the train had gone he announced the results of his findings to the crowd that clustered about him on the station platform.

"Near's I can find out," he said, "that young Parker has been way up into the Moxie region an' found old Gid, and spent a week gettin' round him and coaxin' him to go 'long with him and Josh to the city, and be fitted to new hands and feet, that, so they tell me, is so ingenious a fellow can walk round and cut his own victuals and all that. Well, that will help old Gid a little. If the blamed old sanup could only be fitted out with a new disposition at the same time, we folks round here would be more pleased to see him, come back."

"Postmaster," cried Dan Connick, who had been one of those who bore the colonel from the landing in a chair, "don't you ever worry any more about a new disposition for Gid Ward. Those things come from the hand of God, and Colonel Gid has already been fitted out with the heart and soul of a man!"

"Then," declared Dodge, gazing to where the smoke wreaths from the departing locomotive hung above the distant treetops, "I reckon we've just seen in bodily shape the passin' of the old in this section as well as the comin' of the new."

THE END