THE HEART QP
MIGHT WING*
A STORY OF THE GREAT NORTH WEST
Oy vingie e. pm
ILLUSTRATIONS 6y CjArs/U^':
COPY/P/C/iT OY DODO. MPAD AND COMPANY ' 1 * '
CHAPTER I
Out of the Vine Maples.
Siletz sat, her knees drawn up to
her chin, on the flat top of a fir
stump. Beside her lay Coosnah. heavy
muzzle on huge paws, his eyes as pale
as the girl's were dark. They were
hill-bred both. Perhaps that account
ed for the delight both found in the
solitude of this aerie, where they !
could look down toward the west on
the feathery, green sea of close-packed
pine and lir, of spruce and hemlock— ■
and toward the east on the narrow
strip of tide-water slough and the un
painted shacks of the lumber camp
huddled above its rollway. It was
the magnificent timber country of the
great Northwest.
Siletz was wondering, as she always
did, how far the mountains ran to the
south, how far it was to that 'Frisco
of which she had heard so much from
the tramp loggers who came and went
with the seasons, their "turkeys” on
their backs and the joyous liberty of
the irresponsible forever tugging at
their eccentric souls.
Over the facing ridge she knew
that the cold Pacific roared and
coaxed on the ships, to play with them
in the hell of Vancouver coast. She
could hear it sometimes when the
pines were still; yet she had never
seen it.
She had pictures of it in her mind
many pictures. She knew well how
it would look when she should see
it—a gray floor, a world of it, shot
through with the reds and purples of
a tardy sun. Of the cities she had
no clear pictures. They were artificial,
man-made, therefore alien to her, who
knew only nature, though she had
listened intently to roamors from ev
ery corner of the globe; for Daily's
lumber camp had seen a queer lot.
It all resolved itself into these
dreams when she sat on the edge of
a fir stump, or, better yet, in tlie ex
alted cloud high airiness of the very
apex of the Hog Back.
There had been no sun, neither to
day nor for many days; and yet there
was as surely prescience of approach
ing night as if shadows forewarn*^}
Siletz had hoped for a break, one of
those short pageants when the sun
should shoot for a moment into the
gloom, transfiguring the world. Now,
as she scanned the west, the dog sud
denly rose from beside her, peering
down with his huge head thrust for
ward, his pendulous ears swaying. A
hundred feet below in a tangle of vine
maple something was laboring. Pres
ently the slim trees parted and out
of their tangle struggled a horse, a
magnificent black beast with flaring
nostrils and full, excited eyes. After
every few steps it turned its head to
right or left with the instinct of the
mountain breed to zigzag, and as often
the man in the saddle pulled it sharp
ly back.
With the first sight of the intruders i
the girl on the high stump had sprung j
up, leaning forward, a growing excite
ment in her face. It was the horse j
that caused it. Something was stir
ring within her all suddenly and her !
heart beat hard. She gripped her j
braids tight in both hands and swal
lowed.
“Blunderer,” she said aloud. "Oh.
the blunderer!”
Then she cupped her hands at her
lips and called down: “Let him alone!
He knows how to climb! Let him
alone!”
The man looked up startled, and
tightened his grip on the rein. The
gallant animal went down upon its
side, rolling completely over, to lodge
feet downward, against a stone. The
man swung sidewise out of the saddle,
saving himself with a splendid quick
ness. Before he could gather him
self for action the girl tore d(jwn upon
him.
“What have you done?” she cried
wildly, “what have you done to it?”
She dropped on her knees and her
hands went fluttering over the black
head in a very passion of pity, touch
ing the white star on the forehead,
smoothing the quivering nostrils.
“Why didn't you let him climb his
own way? He knew—he's a bunch
grasser. Nothing could go straight
up!”
She raised her eyes to him and ho
saw they were burning behind a film
of tears. He saw also what gave him
a strange feeling of shock—a faint,
blue tracery extending from the left
corner of her lips downward nearly
to the point of the chin, a sharply
broken fragment of a tattooed design.
Her eyes were very dark and her hair,
partod after the first fashion of wom
an. was straight and very dark also.
Th accusing words irritated him.
“You're right,” he said coldly, "noth
ing could—in such a country. Stan I
back, please. ’
Slletz looked up at him and instinc
tively rose to her feet, though h •
slim body was alert with an unron
scions readiness for prevention of
something.
But the man onlv stepped lo the
black s head, tightened the rein a bit
and clucked encouragingly.
"Come up, ’ he said sharply, "up,
boy!”
The horse stretched its head tor |
ward. arched its nerk. gathered its i
feet and lurched mightily upward
finding difficulty and floundering a j
little by reason of the stone which hart
saved it from rolling down the moun
tain. It placed its feet gingerly, brae
ing against the declivity, shook itself
vigorously, drew a good, long breath
and turned its soft nose to investigate
the girl. With a little gurgling cry
her hands went out again to caress
it, hungrily, forgetful of the man. her i
face alight with the joy of its escape
from injury. She smiled and passed
her hands along the high neck, over
the shoulder, down to the knee, bend j
ing to finger with a deft swiftness the !
fetlock and pastern.
When she looked up again she j
smiled at the mail frankly, her anger i
gone.
"He's all right, hut you want to give
him the rein. He knows how to go
up all right. All Oregon uorses can
limb if you give them their time and
way.”
He slipped the bridle over his arm :
“I’m looking for Daily's lumber I
camp. Can you tell me how to get ;
there and how near I am?”
“It's right over the ridge. Y’oul)
see it from the top!”
“Thanks," he said, lifted his soft,
gray h^t perfunctorily and turned up
the slope.
He took the ascent straight, with a
certain grimness of purpose. Soon ho
felt a slight pull on the reins toward
the left, which slackened immediately
to repeat itself to the right. The black
was trying to zigzag in the narrow
play of the confining ,ridle. After an
interval that tried him severely in
muscle and breath the stranger
reached the sharp crest of the ridge
Ilelow him lay the valley, the wind
ing slough, the yellow huddle of the
camp, the toy railway, with its tmv
engine, the donkey whose puffing rose !
in a white spiral, the roliways and
the huge log trail winding up the
other slope like a giant serpent Even I
as he looked there came the staccato
toots of the whistle-bob whose invis
ible line crept away into the hills
B
“Blunderer!" She Said Alcud.
above the cables, the engine got down
to work with a volley of coughs, the
spools screamed and the great steel
rope lifted heavily along the trail.
Presently a long, gray shape, ghost
ly and sinister, came creeping over the
lower ridge, gliding down the face of
the hills, silent, relentless, a veritable
thing of life. He leaned forward,
watching it come to rest above the
rollway. Malt a little while the antlike
men darted here and there, and then
roll sidewise into position against the
stays.
When the small play of the woods
was over, just ns he started down he
glanced involuntarily back along the
way he had come.
The girl still stood by the bowlder
looking up, her face illumined by that
light he had noticed, and he was quick
enough to comprehend that it was pas
sionate longing for the big black be
hind him. She lmd forgotten his pres
ence. Out of the ferns had crept the
mammoth mongrel. They two stood
together in a subtle comradeship
which struck him by its isolated suffi
ciency.
CHAPTER II.
An Amazing Arrival.
It was quitting time—quitting time
in the coast country, which means
whatever time the light fades. Pres
ently the loggers came creeping down
the trail, sturdy men in spiked noots
laced to the knee, blue llaunel shirts,
and. for the most part corduroys
They trooped down to the rook shack,
a long building of unpainted pine, its
two side doors leading, the one into
the dining room, the other sheltered
by a rude porch, into I he kitchen.
Inside, “Ma" Daily, a white-haired
general of meals and men in their or
dor, croaked heavily trom oven to
pine sink her piacid face flaming with
the heat of the great steel range.
The eating room was long and nar
row, its pine floor innocent of cover
ing. From end to end ran two jong
tables, neat in white oilcloth, with in
tervals of catchup bottles, pepper
sauce, sugar Dowls, cream pitchers
and solidly built receptacles for salt
and pepper. Along both edges stood
an army of white earthenware plates,
flanked by bone-handled knives and
forks and tin spoons.
At the west, beside an open door,
was a high pine desk littered with pa
pers, a telephone hung at one side A
small table stood before a window,
with a rocking chair in proximity—
one of those low, old fashioned rock
ing chairs that old women use, and
that invariably hold a patchwork
cushion with green fringe, and a white
knitted tidy. That rocker wras part of
Daily's camp. It had followed the
march of progress as the camp cut its
way into the hills.
"It’s my one comfort." Ma was wont
to say, “though land knows 1 don t
get to set in it more’n a quarter what
l’d like.”
As the loggers slid noisily on to the
benches, their caulks giving up the
mud they had held purposely for the
swept floor, Siletz came and went, set
ting the substantial viands in the
open spaces left in the expanse of
white oilcloth. She exchanged a word
here and there, always a sensible
word, something of the work, the day.
or the men themselves. She was put
ting a plate of cookies, sugar sanded. '
with currants on top, between Jim
Amvorthy and a black-haired Pole,
when a foot struck the step at the
west door. There was something in
the sound that drew every head
around at once. A stranger stood
against the misty darkness between
the jambs.
He was young, apparently about
twenty-five or six. well set up. with
straight shoulders above narrow hips
and a poise that claimed instant at
tention. He removed his soft hat,
holding it in his hand, while his
bright, blue eyes looked impersonally
over the room. Over his shoulder a
pair of big dark ones peered anxious
ly, while a black muzzle with a small,
white pat'h nosed his elbow aside.
"John Daily?”
It was a call that demanded, not a
question.
From the head of the nearest table
a giant of a man, easy natured, lax
featured, loose joints banded together
by steel sinews, rose lumberingly.
"I'm him,’ he said.
The man in the door brought his
eyes sharply to focus on his face, read
ing it with lightning rapidity.
"I’m the Diilingworth Dumber com
pany—or most of it. he said clearly,
"and I’ve come to stay. Where shall
1 put my horse?”
There was a startled silence after
these amazing words. An unexpressed
ejaculation went from face to face up
and down the tables. Then John Daily
showed why he w7as the best foreman
in that region. He got himself loose
from the end bench and walked over
to the door.
"All right, Mr.—?”
He waited easily, as If it was per
fectly natural for strangers to drop
from a hilltop and announce them
selves the ruling power of the country,
or more strictly speaking one of the
ruling powers, for there were two.
"Sandry,” finished the other, "Wal
ter Sandry—from New York."
"Come in, Mr. Sandry—you're just
in time.”
Daily turned back to the lighted
room.
•‘Siletz, give Mr. Sand^y my place
Harrison, I'll have to take yqur filing
shed for tonight. Tomorrow we ll fix
things in better shape.”
The saw-filer, an important parson
age and one to be conciliated, frowned
in his plate, but the foreman had lost
sight of him. He reached out a huge,
hard hand and took the bridle-reiu
from the newcomer.
Already this man was standing in
side the rude building, with a high
headed air of force, of personality that
made itself felt in the most stolid na
ture present. He glanced down the
double line of faces and for a second,
just a fractional, fleeting moment,
seemed to hesitate. Then he laid his
hat on the small table, walked round
to Daily s empty seat, swung a leather
puttee and a well built shoe over the
bench and sat down. He was in place,
and a vague feeling ot adjustment of
solidity, accompanied him, as it he
was there, as he said, to stay. Every
man in the room felt it; and one of
those strange sensations of portent
communicated itselt to them, as when
the everyday affairs of life come to
a turn in the road.
Daily's was on the eve of a change.
The gir! was putting a thick white
plate, hot from boiling water, before
him deftly laying the simple cutlery,
pushing back an intruding dish.
There was an air of detachment about
her. No portion of her garments
touched him. She was always so,
aloof in a quiet way. Now. as she
tended the stranger silently, one of
her long braids slipped over her shoul
der and fell across his hand. He drew
away from the contact sharply and a
dozen pairs ol eyes saw the action
“Hell!' murmured a man at the
other side in mild amazement.
But not even the Importance of the
arrival of the Dillingworlh Humber
company could keep silent this hunch
ot men from the ends ot the earth
They were free lances, following
wherever fancy and the lumner camps
led them through the mountains and
the big woods, contented in this place
or moving on. bound by no rules, as in
dependent and unhoidable as the very
birds ot the air.
In three minutes the laughter was
sweeping gustily again, accompanied
by the solid clink ot cook-shack dishes,
the clatter of knives for the most part
used as very adequate shovels, and
Walter Sandry was forgotten or
passed over.
A', hour later he stood alone in the
middle of a tiny room at the south
01 the building, looking fixedly at the
yellow flame of a glass hand-lamp on
a stand 1’nder the lamp was a woolly
mat of bright red yarn, a wonderful
creauoii--imder that a thin, white
scar! beautifully clean, the ironed
creases standing out stiffly. Beside
the lamp lay a pink-lipped conch shell
and a Bible.
Sandry looked longest at the Bible
beside the lamp and presently he took
it up curiously, fingering it with a quiz
zical, weary smile.
Its • ages were thin and frayed and
he policed that it was greatly worn.
Walter Sandry smiled and glanced
at random through the cook.
“Motherhood ’ he said nalt aloud,
“Is there nowhere a father?—a dear
old chap ot the earth, a gentle old
man with white tiair? One who has
raised a son- ” As if in answer to the
whimsical words, the fragile leaves j
separated at the tragic record of King
David and tne words ol that ancient
father-heart stared up at him. “Oh.
Absalom, my son, my son:” vita! in !
thc-ir anguish With a snap he closed
\\ - *
It Was a Call That Demanded.
the book, holding it tightly clasped in
his lianas while he stared into the
flame ot the lamp with knit brows and
twitching lips.
It was as it the fateful cry had
touched some sore, spot in his heart,
set throbbing some lialf healed pain
For a moment a shadow as of a vague
remorse darkened his expressive face
Then a resolute strength tightened
his lips and he laid the Bihle gently
down and blew out the light.
It was cold in the little room and
the rain was dripping from the eaves.
CHAPTER ill
The Wondrous Hills at Dawn.
He was awakened next morning: by
the thunder or heavily shod men storm
ing in from the bunlthouse. The smell
ot cooking was in the air and the
crack under liis door showed lamp
light.
The rain was still dripping softly
from the eaves. As Sundry came into
the eating room the old woman of the
kitchen was looking o ei the crowd
ot men as impersonally as he himselt
had done the night before, with a
poise as assured and a subtle force as
strongly indicated.
Her bright, old eyes blue as his
own, met his lifted glance as he hesi
tated.
"Set down in th" idace you had last
night. Mr. Sandry," she said in a rich
voice, ‘‘it’s yours now. John'll move
down a notch."
She wont back into the mysterious
region of pies and doughnuts, and
Sandry was conscious of a slight feel- I
ing of wonder. He was already taken
in as one or' the family in a subtle j
way, and it did not quite suit him to [
De so. it lie missed certain lifelong
attributes of service and surrounding. 1
if he took his place among these
rough men with ail inward tremor of
rebellion, lie made no sign
Again the girl he had met on the
farther side of the mountain tended j
irt silence, a tride more aloof. She
was clad in the same sort of blue flan ;
net shirt the men wore, with a red
tie under the turndown collar and a
rather short blue skirt showing nor
loot laced trimly into miniature boots
The latter were even full ot small
steel caulk„.
It was Btill dark when the loggers
trooped or into tne fine rain.
John Daily came to him.
''.Sow wha would you like, Mr. San
dry?" he asked. "Will you come Into
the bills witn us, ot would you rather
rest around camp? You come a long
ways, i guess.'
"Vos. from New York."
"I was thinkin yesterday mebhv
you d ratliei just, loat around —”
“Yesterday? t>ui you expect me?"
"Oh. yes. I got a letter from Mr
H razor last week. He sanl the com i
pany nacl made a change and I might i
look tor a visit.
I think 1 11 go about." said Sandry.
Outside it was iresh and slightly
cold. A thick white log struck mm in
tne late with an almost palpable
touch it lay close to me earth a
.piggish moiistei spread down in the
valleys as u tor wannth. l’hraugn
its enshrouding whiteness a lanieni
{learned tamti> across in- siougn
Already int little locomotive was
getting up stemu and the donkey
bowed a red throat tor an instant as
AltDouaia shoved in more wood.
From ahead caxne shouts and a
laugh or two as the men straggled up
to the roll way.
There were five eahins set around
on the edge of the small, sloping
mountain meadow which gave back
ground for Daily’s camp; and in all
the windows lights were gleaming. In
one cabin a door opened and a man
came out. stopping a moment on the
sill to reach up and kiss a woman,
who stood silhouetted against the
light, when the door closed and San
drv could not see the man, though he
could hoar his footsteps. The fore
man swung ahead in the path.
“They's a foot-log here,” he said,
“tidewater slough ’Tain't deep."
They stopped at. the foot of the
ridge where the donkey, the roll way
and the track terminal huddled
against the bold uplift, and Daily in
troduced him to Hastings and Murphy,
the latter of whom hung out of the
window of his diminutive cab and
peered at the stranger out of laugh
ing eyes whose forbears had twinkled
on Donegal's blue hay and Erin’s red
cheeked daughters with impartial joy.
“Ah, Misther Dillingworth,” he said
heartily, "an' phat d'ye t’ink av the
West Coast now?”
"Sandry Murphy,” caught up Daily
easily, yet with a warning note.
“Shure! Sandry ’tis! Excuse me,
Misther Sandry, but ain’t th' scenery
foine?”
‘‘What. I’ve seen, yes, Murphy,” an
swered Sandry after a slight pause.
As he turned after Daily the Irishman
stuck his tongue in the corner of his
lips and drummed a minute on the
sill, the broad smile lessening on his
reckless face.
"An phat d’ye know about thot?”
he asked retrospectively of the f.og.
Out of the near gloom, which was
lightening a bit with dawn, the log
trail rose, an aggressive snakelike
trough climbing uncompromisingly at
on angle of 3t> degrees, its center a
straight pine log sunk to its surface. 1
which was polished like ivory, its
slightly curving sides the same. How
many tapering trunks had gone into
its two miles would be hard to say, for
in some places they had sunk and
been covered—in the dip, say, over the
ridge where the real mountain began,
at the turn where it wound around the
Shoulder.
Before ten minutes Sandry was
breathing heavily, though he said
nothing and kept close at Daily's
heels. Tlie logger strode forward and
upward with an easy, climbing lift
that rippled every muscle in his loose
body, while th*1 man from the cities
strained and heaved in painful labor,
slipping on the wet earth, floundering
in the rotten hark and brush that
lined the way. They climbed beside
the trail, not in it. Ahead of them the
gang of men had long since disap
peared from sight and hearing,
i The forenoon that followed was the
I opening page in a new chapter of his
life, and Sandry bent all his faculties
to a grasp of outlines.
He stood silently watching the work
go forward. They had reached the
cutting. Here, In a wide dip high
above the world, it seemed to the
Easterner, was a huge circle of activ
ity. Close beside the built trail a sec
ond donkey engine fussed and
screamed, reaching out uncannily on
all sides for the great logs, to haul
them in with screech of spool and
strain of cable and turn them over to
the mysterious steel rope that came
constantly crawling back on its trav
eling line. This v.-as called the “yard
ing engine”—the one at the foot of
the trail beside the rollway and the
track being known as the “roader.”
The monotonous song of the cross
cut saws had begun where the buck
ers were converting several hundred
and-fiftv-foot trunks • into handling
sections.
A little below, two foot-wide planks
some five or six feet long had been set
into a giant yellow pine about eight
feet from the ground, one on either
side, and on these two men were stand
ing, their flannel shirts open at the
throat, their sleeves rolled up from
arms of steel and leather, their heads
bare. Sandry v-atehed the bending of
their backs, every muscle outlined
under the clinging shirts, the play of
their knee- the whole easy rippling
of their entire bodies with the regular
give and take of the long saw. The
boardp, known as springboards, rose
and dipped with the even motion.
These men were fullers, and pres
ently they would lay the towering
mor rch of the great woods to the
fraction ot an inch in a given place. ;
ready for the hookers, the hook-tender j
and the cable.
In the meantime the logs already]
down were swiftly stri, ped ot their
limbs, cut into thirty and forty foot
lengths, rolled into the trail with
pea.ey and cant hook and sent, up and
over the ridge to the accompaniment
of shrill toots from tlie whistle-bob's
restless cord, the straining or rigging
and the squeak of fiber on polished
fiber.
The built trail ended here in the
shallow hollow between the first j
ridge and the great mountain beyond '
though up the face of the latter it was
prolonged by a cleared path sharply
defined among the dense , rowth of
the timber.
He v/as impressed by the magnitude ,
of the country. On every hand the ,
lifting hills were clothed in trees, close
packed and of such girth and Height
as to seem almost grotesquely impos
sib'e. Humanity was dwarfed to in
significance, like an ant crawling on
a cathedral column.
Sandry looked around. lTp to this
distann the woods were dotted with
cuttings where the great stumps
giowed white amid the vivid green
ana the dehris of slashings and mm
rn trigs wnicii combined with the ern
auu nazei brush and other under
growth to make a perfect tangle. But
beyond, along the new-cut trail, was
nature, dense and untouched, waiting
for the hand of pygmy man to come
and take her lavish treasures.
By nine o’clock the sun was shining
above the peaks and the fog had van
ished from the valleys, and although
it was late fall there was no feeling
of the death of the year. On the con
trary, there wa3 a sense of bustle and
hurry and work beginning with the
advent of the rains. The tidewatei
slough was bank full and mud-brown
with thick grass and water growths
along its edges. The stranger uncon
sciously drew great breatiis of the
sweet air of the high hills and began
to feel dimly something of their
charm.
John Daily was everywhere, looking
at this, lending a hand at that, shout
ing some good-natured instruction
here and there, overseeing with an
eagle eye each minute detail of the
work.
One of the new owner’s first impress
sions was that in this man he had an
object of great value. He was just
thinking this when there came one
long blast from the donkey over the
ridge and the men dropped their tools
in their tracks, the two on the spring
boards jumped down, leaving the saw
just where the call had caught it. far
out on one side, and the foreman came
up to him.
‘‘Dinner time, Mr. Sandry,” he said,
smiling, “I ’spect you’re pretty hun
gry.”
”\Vhat?” cried Sandry, "why, I
hadn’t thought of it! Is it possible
we’ve been here five hours?”
"Sure. Time goes fast in the hills.”
They began to climb the trail, the
men straggling out ahead and behind,
the youngest forging forward in the
eagerness of youth and healthy appe
tites, the older characters, all of them
hardened woodsmen, taking it more
leisurely.
Before they were half way up. how
ever, Sandry was breathing heavily.
“Might i ask.” said Daily, “some
thing about the change in the com
pany?”
“Certainly. There has simply been
an outright saJe of the Interests, all of
which, or nearly at], 1 bought from
Dillingworth & Frazer. A fifth, I be
lieve, is still owned by a Mr. Hakeham,
who is somewhere in South America.
I have come out to take absolute
charge and learn the timber business.”
“1 see. And you've had no experi
ence?”
“None,” said Sandry a little shortly.
“Maryanna Humphrey!—but my feet
is tender!” complained a voice behind.
Sandry glanced quickly back. Throe
lumberjacks were plodding up the
i slope, their seamed arid weathered
faces set intently on dinner. On one.
i t red-headed chap of some thirty-six
1 or eight, powerful and rugged, he set
\ h\B aharp eye*.
“But I’m acquiring it,” he finished,
I "rapidly. Discharge that man.”
I Daily did not turn.
I "I can’t," he said, "he’s Just quit."
CHAPTER IV. iik:
Old Reins in New Hands.
The East and the West had met. It
was apparent in every essential that
had to do with Sandry and his men
in common.
It showed when he sat among them
at the head of the long table, in the
way he used his hands, his knife and
his food. It glared when he spoke, it
paraded in his clothes, and most of all
it stood forth pitilessly when, he sat
He Sto^d Silently Watching the Work
Go Forward.
by himself at night in the plain little
room under the dripping eaves. They
were nearly always dripping, the pane
behind the spotless curtains was al
ways black and glittering, there w»3
nearly always the shut-in silence that
rain imposes—that dense silence, iis
ie.ring and lonesome.
TO TE CONTINUED NEXT ISSUE.
BEFtMENf.es. ' fa,t
In fttainpn for iTum'nrOtl# t*ook
or; HOW TO OdTAIM .i i<( ST LL PATENTS,
\\ In 'i otw-rt will p.iv, 11«• • r i-* w'*m :t p*u1wr,
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PATENT LAWYt JS,
L.303 Seventh .c* Washington, D. C.J