150 
J 
American Agriculturist, February 17,1923 
The Valley of the 
Giants —By Peter B. Kyne 
N ot the least of the trials which formed Shirley Sumner’s character was pride. 
Hers was the pride of lineage, of womanhood, of an assured station in life, 
combined with that other pride which is perhaps best expressed in the terse 
phrase “a dead game sport.” Unlike her precious relative, Shirdey had a won¬ 
derfully balanced sense of the eternal fitness of things, her code of honor re¬ 
sembled that of a very gallant gentleman. She could love well and hate well. 
A careful analysis of Shirley’s feelings toward Bryce Cardigan after the inci¬ 
dent in Pennington’s woods, had showed her that under more propitious cir¬ 
cumstances she might have fallen in love with that tempestuous young man of 
many lovable and manly qualities.' As an offset to the ci’edit side, however, there 
appeared certain debits in the consideration of which Shirley always lost her 
temper and was immediately quite certain she loathed the unfortunate man. 
He had been an honored and (for aught Shirley knew to the contrary) welcome 
guest in the Pennington home one night, and the following day had assaulted his 
host, committed bodily injuries upon the latter’s employees for little or no reason, 
declared his unfaltering emmity to her nearest and best-loved relative, and in the 
next breath had had the insolence to prate of his respect and admiration for her. 
Indeed, Shirley recalled that the extraordinary fellow had been forced rather abruptly 
to check himself in order to avoid a fervid declaration of love! And all of this under 
the protection of a double-bitted axe, one eye on her and the other on his enemies. 
However, all of these grave crimes 
were really insignificant compared with 
his crowning offense. Shirley had in¬ 
formed Bryce that she loathed him— 
whereat he had looked her over cooly, 
grinned a little, and declined to believe 
her! Then fate had decreed Bryce 
Cardigan an opportunity to save her 
and her uncle from certain and horri¬ 
ble death, thus placing upon Shirley 
an obligation as irritating to acknowl¬ 
edge as it was futile to attempt to 
reciprocate. 
That was where the shoe pinched. 
Forced to acknowledge her indebted¬ 
ness, she had telephoned him and pur¬ 
posely left ajar the door to their former 
friendly relations. . 
Monstrous! He had seen the open 
door and deliberately slammed it in 
her face. Luckily she had heard, un¬ 
suspected by him, the soliloquy wherein 
he showed the distress with which he 
abdicated—which knowledge was all 
that deterred her from despising him 
with the fervor of a woman scorned. 
The fascination which a lighted can¬ 
dle holds for a moth is well known. 
In yielding one day to a desire to visit 
the Valley of the Giants, Shirley had 
been thinking of a. certain blackberry 
pie, which naturally induced reflection 
on Bryce Cardigan and reminded Shir¬ 
ley of her first visit to the Giants under 
the escort of a boy in knickerbockers. 
She wondered if the years had changed 
it all and decided that there could not 
possibly be any harm in indulging^ a 
very natural curiosity to' visit and in¬ 
vestigate. 
Her meeting with Moira McTavish 
that day, and’ the subsequent friend¬ 
ship, renewed all her old apprehen¬ 
sions. On the assumption that Shirley 
and Bryce were practically strangers 
to each other, Moira did not hesitate 
to mention Bryce very frequently. To 
her he was the one human being in the 
world utterly worth while. Moira de¬ 
scribed Bryce in minute detail and re¬ 
lated little unconscious acts of kind¬ 
ness, thoughtfulness, or humor per¬ 
formed by Bryce—his devotion to his 
father, to the Cardigan employees, his 
ability, his industry, his marvellous 
taste in neckwear. And presently, lit¬ 
tle by little, Shirley’s resentment faded, 
and in her heart was born a hope that 
some day she would meet Bryce Cardi¬ 
gan on the street and that he would 
pause, lift his hat, smile at her his 
compelling smile, and forthwith pro¬ 
ceed to bully her into being friendly 
and forgiving. 
T O this state of mind had Shirley 
Sumner attained at the time old John 
Cardigan decided to sell his Valley of 
the Giants. 
Shirley had learned frqm the (Colo¬ 
nel the history of old man Cardigan 
and his Valley of the Giants, or as the 
townspeople called it, Cardigan’s Red¬ 
woods. Therefore she was familiar 
with its importance to the Laguna 
Grande Lumber Company, since, while 
that quarter-section remained the 
property of John Cardigan, two thou¬ 
sand five hundred acres of splendid 
timber were rendered inaccessible. Her 
uncle had explained that ultimately 
this would mean the tying up of some 
two million dollars, and inasmuch as 
the Colonel never figured less than five 
per cent i-eturn on anything, he was 
in this instance facing a net loss of one 
hundred thousand dollars for each year 
obstinate John Cardigan retained that 
quarter-section. 
“I’d gladly give him a hundred thou¬ 
sand and let him keep a couple of acres 
surrounding his wife’s grave,” the Colo¬ 
nel had complained bitterly to her. 
“I’ve offered him that price a score of 
times, and he tells me blandly the prop¬ 
erty isn’t for sale. Well, he who laughs 
last laughs best, and if I can’t get that 
quarter-section by paying more than 
ten times what it’s worth in the open 
market. I’ll get it some other way, if it 
costs me a million.” 
“How?” Shirley had queried at the 
time. 
“Never mind, my dear,” he had 
answered darkly. “You wouldn’t un¬ 
derstand if I told you. I’ll have to, put 
up a deal of money, one way or another, 
but in the end I’ll get it all back with 
interest—and Cardigan’s Redwoods! I 
expect to do business with his exeFutor 
or his receiver within a year.” 
Shirley had been present the night 
John Cardigan, brought to bay at last, 
had telephoned Pennington. The cruel 
triumph in the Colonel’s handsome face 
had been too apparent for the girl to 
mistake; recalling her conversation 
with him, she realized now that a crisis 
had come in the affairs of the Cardi¬ 
gans, and across her vision there flashed 
again the vision of Bryce Cardigan’s 
homecoming—of a tall old man with 
his trembling arms clasped around his 
boy, with grizzled cheek laid against 
his son’s, as one who, seeking comfort 
through bitter years, at length had 
found it. 
P RESENTLY another thought came 
to Shirley. She had given Bryce his 
opportunity to be friendly, and he had 
chosen to ignore her though sorely 
against his will. In Sequoia, Bryce 
Cardigan was regarded as the heir to 
the first timber-king, but Shirley knew 
now that, Bryce Cardigan bade fair to 
wear a tinsel crown. Was it this 
knowledge that had led him to avoid 
her? 
“I wonder,” she mused. “He’s proud. 
Perhaps if he were secure in his busi¬ 
ness affairs- Ah, yes! Poor boy! 
He was desperate for fifty thousand 
dollars!” Her heart swelled. “Oh, 
Bryce,” she murmured, “I .think I’m 
beginning to understand some of your 
fury that day in the woods. It’s all a 
great mystery, but I’m sure you didn’t 
intend to be so—so terrible. Oh, my 
dear, if we had only continued to be 
good friends, perhaps you’d let md help 
you now. For what good is money if 
one cannot help one’s friends in dis¬ 
tress? Still, I know you wouldn’t let 
me help you, for men of your stamp 
cannot borrow from a woman, no mat¬ 
ter how desperate their need. And yet 
—a paltry fifty thousand dollars!” 
In the morning she telephoned Moira 
McTavish and invited the latter to 
lunch with her that noon. When Moira 
came, Shirley saw that she had been 
weeping. 
“My poor Moira!” she said, putting 
her arms around her visitor. “What 
has happened to distress you? There, 
there, dear! Tell me all about it.” 
Moira laid her head on Shirley’s 
shoulder and sobbed. Then, “It’s Mr. 
Bryce,” she wailed. “He’s so unhappy. 
Something’s happened; they’re going to 
sell Cardigan’s Redwoods. Just before 
I left the office, Mr. Bryce came in— 
and stood a moment looking—at me— 
SQ tragically I—I asked him what had 
happened. Then he said ‘Poor Moii’a! 
Never any luck!’ and went into his— 
private office. I waited a little, and 
then I went in too; and—oh. Miss Sum¬ 
ner, he had his head down on his desk, 
and he reached up and took my hand 
and—and laid his cheek against it— 
and oh, his cheek was wet. It’s cruel 
—to make him—unhappy. He’s good 
—too good. And—oh, I love him so. 
Miss Shirley, I love him so—and he’ll 
never, never know. I’m just one of his 
—responsibilities, you know; and I 
shouldn’t presume. But nobody—has 
ever been kind to me but Mr. Bryce— 
and you.” 
T he hysterical outburst over, Shirley 
led the girl to her cozy sitting-room 
upstairs. Moira’s story—her confes¬ 
sion of love, so tragic because so hope¬ 
less—had stirred Shirley deeply. 
“Of course, dear,” she said, “you 
couldn’t possibly see anybody you loved 
suffer so and not feel dreadfully about 
it. And when a man like Bryce Cardi¬ 
gan is struck down, he’s apt to present 
rather a tragic and helpless figure. He 
wanted sympathy, Moira—woman’s 
sympathy, and it was dear of you to 
give it to him.” 
“I’d gladly die for him,” Moira an¬ 
swered simply. “Oh, Miss Shirley, 
you don’t know him the way we who 
work for him do. If you did, you’d love 
him, too. You couldn’t help it. Miss 
Shirley.” 
“Perhaps he loves you, too, Moira.” 
The words came with difficulty. 
Moira ' shook her head hopelessly. 
“No, Miss Shirley. I’m only one of his 
many problems, and "he just won’t go 
back on me, for old sake’s sake. "We 
played together ten years ago, when he 
used to spend his vacations at our house 
in Cardigan’s woods, when my father 
was woods-boss. He’s Bryce Cardigan 
—and I—I used to work in the kitchen 
of his logging-camp.” 
“Never mind, Moira. He may love 
you, even though you do not suspect it. 
Tell me about his trouble, Maira.” 
“I think it’s money. I’m afraid 
things aren’t going right with the busi¬ 
ness. It hurts them terribly to have 
to sell the Valley of the Giants, but 
they have to; Colonel Pennington is 
the only one who would consider buy¬ 
ing it; they don’t want him to have it— 
and still they have to sell to him.” 
“I happen to know, Moira, that he 
isn’t going to buy it.” 
“Yes, he is—but not at a price that 
will do them any good. They have al¬ 
ways thought he would be eager to buy 
whenever they decided to sell, and now 
he says he doesn’t want it, and old Mr. 
Cardigan is ill over it all. Mr. Bryce 
says his father has lost his courage at 
last; and oh, dear, things are in such 
a mess. Mr. Bryce started to tell me all 
about it—and then he stopped suddenly 
and wouldn’t say another word.” 
Shirley smiled. She thought she un¬ 
derstood the reason for that. However, 
the crying need of the present was the 
distribution of a ray of sunshine to 
broken-hearted Moira. 
“Silly,” she chided, “how needlessly 
you are grieving! You say my uncle 
has declined to buy the Valley of the 
Giants?” 
Moira nodded. 
“Moira, I’ll see that he does buy it. 
What price are the Cardigans asking 
for it now?” 
“Well, Colonel Pennington has offered 
them a hundred thousand dollars for 
it time and again, but last night he 
withdrew that offer. Then they named 
a price of fifty thousand, and he said 
he didn’t want it at all.” 
“He needs it, and it’s worth eVery 
cent of a hundred thousand tn him, 
Moira. Don’t worry, dear. He’ll buy 
it, because I’ll make him, and he’ll buy 
it immediately; only you must promise 
me not to mention a single word of 
what I’m telling you to Bryce Cardi¬ 
gan, or in fact, to anybody. Do you 
promise?” 
Moira seized Shirley’s hand and 
kissed it impulsively. “Very well, 
then,” Shirley continued. “That mat¬ 
ter is adjusted, and now we’ll all be 
happy. Here comes Thelma with 
luncheon.” 
When Moira returned to the office, 
Shirley rang for her maid. “Bring 
me my motor-coat and hat, Thelma,” 
she ordered, “and telephone for the li¬ 
mousine.” She seated herself before 
the mirror at her dressing-table and 
dusted her adorable nose with a powder- 
puff. “Mr. Smarty Cardigan,” she 
murmured happily, “you walked rough¬ 
shod over my pride, didn’t you! Placed 
me under an obligation I could never 
hope to meet—and then ignored me— 
didn’t you? Very well, old boy. I’m 
going to make a substantial payment 
on that huge obligation as sure as my 
name is Shirley Sumner. I’ll be put 
to my wit’s end to get it to you with¬ 
out letting you know. And yet you de¬ 
serve it. You’re such an idiot for not 
loving Moira. She’s an angel, and I 
gravely fear I’m just an interfering, 
mischievous, resentful little devil seek¬ 
ing vengeance on-” 
S HE paused suddenly. “No I’ll not do 
that, either,” she soliloquized. “I’ll 
keep it myself—for an investment. I’ll 
show Uncle Seth I’m a business woman, 
after all. He has had his fair chance 
at the Valley of the Giants, and now 
he has deliberately sacrificed that 
chance to be mean and vindictive. I’ll 
buy the Valley but keep my identity 
secret from everybody; then, when 
Uncle Seth finds a stranger in posses¬ 
sion, he’ll have a fit, and perhaps, 
before he recovers, he’ll sell me all his 
Squaw Creek timber’—only he’ll never 
know I’m the buyer. And when I con¬ 
trol the outlet—well, I think that 
Squaw Creek timber will make an ex¬ 
cellent investment if it’s held for a 
few years. Shirley, my dear, I’m 
pleased with you. Really, L never 
knew until now why men could be so 
devoted to business. Won’t it be jolly 
to step in between Uncle Seth and 
Bryce Cardigan, hold up my hand like 
a policeman, and say: ‘Stop it, boys. 
No fighting, if you please. And if any¬ 
body wants to know who’s boss around 
here, start something.’ ” 
And Shirley laid her head upon the 
dressing-table and laughed heartily. 
She had suddenly bethought herself 
of .iSlsop’s fable of the lion and the 
mouse! 
When her uncle came home that 
night, Shirley observed that he was 
preoccupied and disinclined to conversa¬ 
tion. _ 
“I noticed in this evening’s paper, 
she remarked presently, “that Mr. 
Cardigan has sold his Valley of the 
Giants. So you bought it, after all? 
“No such luck!” he almost barked. 
“I’m an idiot. I should be placed in 
charge of a keeper. Now, for heaven’s 
sake, Shirley, don’t discuss that timber 
with me, for if you do. I’ll go plain, 
lunatic crazy. I’ve had a very trying 
day.” , 
“Poor Uncle Seth!” she purred 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN “THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS” 
“T’M just naturally stubborn” said Bryce Cardigan cheerfully. 
A He found his father, lumber pioneer, blind and almost penniless. 
He took on old Cardigan’s fight against Colonel Seth Pennington, un¬ 
scrupulous Eastern operator. 
He made frfends with Shirley Sumner, the Colonel’s niece, and de¬ 
clared his love during a free-for-all fight in Pennington’s woods. After 
whipping her uncle’s woods-boss for cutting down a tree in the Valley 
of the Giants, his father’s grove of redwoods, he saved Shirley and the 
Colonel from a run-away train and then calmly told them he expected 
to fight them both for supremacy. 
He fired old McTavish, his father’s drunken woods-boss and installed 
Moira, his beautiful daughter, in the company office. And he is now 
discussing with old Cardigan how he can hide the fact that he is be¬ 
hind the building of the new logging railroad to parallel Pennington’s 
and open up inaccessible timber property. 
