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American Agriculturist, January 13, 1923 
The Valley of the Giants — By Peter B. Kyne 
W HEN Bryce Cardigan, son of a pioneer in the redwoods country, comes home to Sequoia from 
college, he finds his father, now almost blind, engaged in a struggle against an aggressive 
newcomer. Colonel Pennington. Bryce, who has started a friendship with the Colonel s niece, 
Shirley Sumner, vows to rescue his father’s business and especially to preserve the v alley ol 
the Giants, a magnificent grove where his mother is buried, and which, because it blocks the 
Colonel’s holdings, is menaced by the new operator. ,, 
On his first visit to the Valley ol the Giants, he discovers that the noblest tree has been 
wantonly cut down for the burl, and that in falling, it has destroyed his mother s grave. An 
envelope with the name of Jules Rondeau proves that Pennington’s woods-boss was the vandal. 
At Shirley’s invitation Bryce has dinner with her and the Colonel, and conveys to the latter 
that he knows who stole the burl. The next morning Bryce goes to the Colonel s logging camp 
and just as he has whipped Rondeau till he confesses, Pennington appears and sets the woods- 
erew of twenty on young Cardigan. 
A MAN of that indiscriminate mixture of Spaniard and Indian kno-wn in Cal¬ 
ifornia as cholo swept the circle of men with an alert and kno-wing glance. His 
name was Flavio Artelan, but his straight black hair, dark complexion, beady eyes, 
and hawk nose gave him such a resemblance to a fowl that he was Ijaown among 
his fellows as the Black Minorca, regardless of the fact that his sobriquet was 
scarcely fair to a very excellent breed of chicken. “That offer’s good enough for 
me,” he remarked in businesslike tones. “Come on—everybody. A month’s pay 
for five minutes’ work, I wouldn’t tackle the job with six men, but there are twenty 
of us here.” , 
“Hurry,” the Colonel urged them. 
Shirley Sumner’s flashing glance rested upon the Black Minorca. Dont you 
dare!” she cried. “Twenty to one! For shame!” _ * , t, x i • > 
“For a month’s pay,” he replied impudently, and grinned evilly. And I m takin 
orders from my boss,” He started on a dog-trot for the timber, a dozen men 
^^^hirley'turned helplessly on her uncle, seized his arm and shook it frantically. 
“Call them back! Call them back!” she pleaded. i- 
Her uncle got uncertainly to his feet. “Not on your life!” he growled, and in his 
cold gray eyes there danced the lights of a thousand devils. “I told you the fellow 
was a ruffian. Now, perhaps, you’ll believe me. We’ll hold him until Rondeau 
revives, and then-” 
Shirley guessed the rest, and she 
realized that it was useless to plead— 
that she was only wasting time. 
“Bryce! Bryce!” she called. “Run! 
They’re after you. Twenty of them! 
Run, run—for my sake!” 
His voice answered her from the tim¬ 
ber: “Run? From those cattle? Not 
from man or de'vil,” A silence. Then: 
“So you’ve changed your mind, have 
you? You’ve spoken to me again!” 
There was triumph, exultation in his 
voice. “The timber’s too thick, Shirley. 
I couldn’t get away anyhow—so I’m 
coming back.” , . . . 
She saw him burst through a thicket ' 
of aider saplings into the clearing, 
saw half a dozen of her uncle’s men 
close in around him like wolves around 
a sick steer; and at the shock of their 
contact, she moaned and hid her face 
in her trembling hands. 
Half man and half tiger that he was, 
the Black Minorca, as self-appointed 
leader, reached Bryce first. The cholo 
was a squat, powerful little man, with 
more bounce to him than a rubber ball; 
leading his men by a dozen yards, he 
hesitated not an instant but dodged 
under the blow Bryce lashed out at him 
and came up inside the latter’s guard, 
feeling for Bryce’s throat. Instead he 
met Bryce’s knee in his abdomen, and 
forthwith he folded up like an accordion. 
T he next instant Bryce had stooped, 
caught him by the slack of the trous¬ 
ers and the scruff of the neck and thrown 
him, as he had thrown Rondeau, into 
the midst of the men advancing to his 
aid. Three of them went down back¬ 
ward; and Bryce, charging over them, 
stretched two more with well-placed 
blows from left and right, and con¬ 
tinued on across the clearing, running 
at top speed, for he realized that f^w 
all the losses already inflicted on his 
assailants, the odds against him were 
insurmountable. 
Seeing him running away, the La¬ 
guna Grande woodsmen took heart and 
pursued him. Straight for the loading 
donkey at the log-landing Bryce ran. 
Beside the donkey stood a neat tier of 
firewood; in the chopping block, where 
the fireman had driven it prior to aban¬ 
doning his post, was a double-bitted axe. 
Bryce jerked it loose, swung it, whirled 
on his pursuers, and rushed them. Like 
turkeys scattering before the raid of a 
coyote they fled and from a safe distance 
turned to gaze apprehensively upon 
this demon they had been ordered to 
bring in. 
Bryce lowered the axe, removed his 
hat, and mopped his moist brow. From 
the center of the clearing men were 
crawling or staggering to safety— 
with the exception of the Black Min¬ 
orca, who lay moaning softly. Colonel 
Pennington, seeing his fondest hopes 
expire, lost his head completely. 
“Get off my property, you savage, 
he shrilled. 
“I’ll get off—when I get good and 
ready, and not a second sooner,” 
Bryce returned soothingly. “In fact, 
I was trying to get off as rapidly as 
I could when you sent your men to 
bring me back. Colonel.” 
He started toward Pennington, who 
backed hastily away. Shirley stood 
her ground, bending upon Bryce, a 
cold and disapproving glance. “I’ll 
get you yet,” the Colonel declared 
from the shelter of an old stump be¬ 
hind which he had taken refuge. 
“Barking dogs never bite, Colonel. 
And that reminds me: One more 
cheep out of you, my friend, and I’ll 
go up to my own logging-camp, re¬ 
turn here with a crew of bluenoses 
and wild Irish and run your wops, 
bohunks and cholos out of the county. 
I don’t fancy the class of labor you’re 
importing into this county, ^ anyhow.” 
The Colonel, evidently deciding that 
discretion was the better part of 
valour, promptly subsided. 
The demon Cardigan halted beside 
Shirley and stood gazing down at her. 
He was smiling at her whimsically. 
She met his glance for a few seconds; 
then her lids were lowered and she bit 
her lip with vexation. 
“Shirley,” he said. 
“You are presumptuous,” she quav¬ 
ered. 
“You set me an example,” he retort¬ 
ed good humoredly. “Did you not call 
me by my first name a minute ago?” 
He glanced toward Colonel Penning¬ 
ton and observed the latter with his 
neck craned across his protecting 
stump. He was all ears. Bryce 
pointed sternly across the clearing, 
and the Colonel promptly abandoned 
his refuge and retreated hastily in the 
direction indicated. 
The heir to Cardigan’s Redwoods 
bent over the girl. “You spoke to 
me—after your promise not to, Shir¬ 
ley,” he said gently. ‘-You will al¬ 
ways speak to me.” 
S HE commenced to cry softly. “I 
loathe you,” she sobbed. 
“For you I have the utmost respect 
and admiration,” he replied. 
“No, you haven’t. If you had, you 
wouldn’t hurt my uncle—the only hu¬ 
man being in all this world who is 
dear to me.” 
“Gosh!” he murmured plaintively. 
“I’m jealous of that man! However, 
I’m sorry I hurt him. He is no longer 
young, while I—well, I forgot the 
chivalry my daddy taught me. I give 
you my word I came here to fight 
fairly-” 
“He merely tried to stop you from 
fighting.” 
“No, he didn’t, Shirley. He inter¬ 
fered and fouled me. Still, if I had 
known you were a spectator I think 
I should have controlled myself. I 
shall never cease to regret that I sub¬ 
jected you to such a distressing spec¬ 
tacle. I do hope, however, that you 
will believe me when I tell you I_aBi 
not a bully, although when there is a 
fight worth while, I never dodge it. 
And this time I fought for the honor 
of the House of Cardigan.” 
“If you want me to believe that, you 
will beg my uncle’s pardon.” 
“I can’t do that. He is my enemy 
and I shall hate him forever; I shall 
fight him and his way of doing busi¬ 
ness until he reforms or I am ex¬ 
hausted.” 
She looked up at him, showing a 
Jace in which resentment, outraged, 
and wistfulness were mirrored. “You 
realize, of course, what your insistence 
on that plan means, Mr. Cardigan?” 
“Call me Bryce,” he pleaded. “You’re 
going to call me that some day anyhow, 
so why not start now?” 
“You are altogether insufferable, sir. 
Please go away and never presume to 
address me again.” 
He shook his head. “I do not give 
up that readily, Shirley. _ I didn’t know 
how dear—what your friendship meant 
to me, until you sent me away; I didn’t 
think there was any hope until you 
warned me those dogs were hunting 
me—and called me Bryce.” He held 
out his hand. “And I’ll be a good 
friend to you, Shirley Sumner, until I 
have earned the right to be something 
more. Won’t you shake hands with 
me? Remember, this fight to-day is 
only the first skirmish in a war to the 
finish—and I am leading a forlorn 
hope. If I lose—well, this will be 
good-bye.” 
“I have you,” she answered drearily. 
“All our fine friendship—smashed— 
and you growing stupidly sentimental. 
I didn’t think it of you. Please go 
away. You are distressing me.” 
He smiled at her tenderly, forgiv¬ 
ingly, wistfully, but she did not see it. 
“Then it is really good-bye,” he mur¬ 
mured with mock dolorousness. 
She nodded her bowed head. “Yes,” 
she whispered. “After all, I have some 
pride, you know.” 
“As you will it, Shirley.” He turned 
away. “I’ll send your axe back with 
the first trainload of logs from my 
camp. Colonel,” he called to Pen¬ 
nington. 
O NCE more he strode away into the 
timber. Shirley watched him pass out 
of her life, and gloried in what she 
conceived to be his agony, for she had 
both temper and spirit, and Bryce Car¬ 
digan calmly, rather stupidly (she 
thought) had presumed on brief ac¬ 
quaintance. Her uncle was right. He 
was not of their kind, and it was well 
she had discovered this. It was true 
he possessed certain manly virtues, but 
his crudities by far outweighed these. 
The Colonel’s voice broke in upon her 
bitter reflections. “That fellow Cardi¬ 
gan is a hard nut to crack—I’ll say 
that for. him.” He had crossed the 
clearing and was addressing her with 
his customary air of expansiveness. “I 
think, my dear, you had better go back 
into the caboose, away from the prying 
eyes of these rough fellows. I’m sorry 
you came, Shirley. If I had thought—- 
but how could I know that scoundrel 
was coming here to raise a disturb¬ 
ance? And only last night he was at 
our house for dinner!” 
“That’s just what makes it so terri¬ 
ble, Uncle Seth,” she quavered. 
“It is hard to believe that a man of 
young Cardigan’s evident intelligence 
and advantages could be such a boor, 
Shirley. However, I, for one, am not 
surprised. You will recall that ^I 
warned you he might be his father s 
son.” 
“I wonder what could have occurred 
to make such a madman of him?” the 
girl queried wonderingly. “He acted 
more like a demon than a human 
being.” 
“Just like his old father,” the Colo¬ 
nel purred benevolently. “When he 
can’t get what he wants, he sulks. I’ll 
tell you you what got on his confound¬ 
ed nerves. I’ve been freighting logs 
for the senior Cardigan over my rail¬ 
road; the contract for hauling them 
was a heritage from old Bill Hender¬ 
son, from whom I bought the mill and 
timber-lands; and of course as his as¬ 
signee it was incumbent upon me to 
fulfill Henderson’s contract with Cardi¬ 
gan, even though the freight-rate was 
ruinous. 
“Well, this morning young Cardigan 
came to my office, reminded me that 
the contract would expire next year 
and asked me to renew it at the same 
k 
rate. I offered to renew at a higher 
freight-rate, and explained that I could 
not continue to haul his logs at a loss 
Well, right away he flew into a rage 
and called me a robber; whereupon I 
informed him that since he thought 
me a robber, perhaps we had better not 
attempt to have any business dealings 
with each other—that I really didn’t 
want his contract at any price, having 
scarcely sufficient rolling-stock to han¬ 
dle my own logs. That made him calm 
down, but in a little while he lost his 
head again and grew snarly and abu¬ 
sive—to such an extent, indeed, that 
finally I was forced to ask him to leave 
my office.” 
“Nevertheless, Uncle-Seth, I cannot 
understand why he should make such a 
furious attack upon your employee.” 
T he Colonel laughed with a fair imi¬ 
tation of sincerity and tolerant 
amusement. My dear, that is no mystery 
to me. There are men who, finding it im¬ 
possible to make a physical attack upon 
their enemy, find satisfaction in poison¬ 
ing his favorite dog, burning his house, 
or beating up one of his faithful em¬ 
ployees. Cardigan picked on Rondeau 
for the reason that a few days ago he 
tried to hire Rondeau away from me— 
offered him twenty five dollars a m.onth 
more than I was paying him, by 
George! Of course, I promptly met 
Cardigan’s bid and retained Rondeau; 
consequently Cardigan took the earliest 
opportunity to vent his spite on us.” 
The Colonel sighed and brushed the 
dirt and leaves from his tweeds. 
“Thunder,” he continued philosophic¬ 
ally, “it’s all in the game, so why worry 
over it?” 
A groan from the black Minorca 
challenged her attention. “I think 
that man is badly hurt. Uncle,” she 
suggested. 
“Serves him right,” he returned 
coldly. “He tackled that cyclone full 
twenty feet in advance of the others; 
if they’d all closed in together, they 
would have pulled him down. I’ll have 
that cholo and Rondeau sent down with 
the next trainload of logs to the com¬ 
pany hospital. They’re a poor lot and 
deserve manhandling-” 
They paused, facing toward the tim¬ 
ber, from which came a voice, power¬ 
ful, sweetly resonant, raised in song. 
Shirley knew that half-trained baritone, 
for she had heard it the night before 
when Bryce Cardigan had sung for her 
a number of expurgated lumberjack 
ballads, the lunatic humor of which had 
delighted her exceedingly. She mar¬ 
velled now at his choice, for the melody 
was hauntingly plaintive—^the words 
Eugene Field’s poem of childhood, 
“Little Boy Blue.” 
The little toy dog is covered with dust, 
But sturdy and stanch he stands; 
And the little toy soldier is red with rust, 
And his musket molds in his hands. 
Time was when the little toy dog was new. 
And the soldier was passing fair; 
And that was the time when our little Boy 
Blue, 
Kissed them and put them there. 
“Light-hearted, isn’t he?” the Colo¬ 
nel commented. “And his voice isn’t 
half bad. Singing to be defiant, I 
suppose.” 
Shirley did not answer. But a few 
minutes previously she had seen the 
singer a raging fury, brandishing an 
axe and driving men before him. She 
could not understand. And presently 
the song grew faint among the timber 
and died away entirely. 
» Her uncle took her gently by the arm 
and steered her toward the caboose. 
“Well, what do you think of your com¬ 
pany now?” he demanded gayly. 
“I think,” she answered soberly, 
“that you have gained an enemy and 
that it behooves you not to underesti¬ 
mate him.” 
CHAPTER XVII 
T hrough, the green timber Bryce 
Cardigan strode, and there was a 
lilt in his heart now. Already he had 
forgotten the desperate situation from 
which he had just escaped; he thought 
only of Shirley Sumner’s face, tear- 
stained with terror; and because in his 
ears there still sounded her frantic 
warning, he realized that however 
stern her decree of banishment had 
{Continued on page 35) 
