1 
174 
The Valley 
American Agriculturist, February 24,1923 
the Giants —By Peter B. Kyne 
U PON his return from the office that night, Bryce Cardigan found his father 
had left his bed and was seated before the library fire. 
“Feeling a whole lot better to-day, eh, pal?” his son queried. 
John Cardigan smiled. “Yes, son,” he replied plaintively. “I guess Fll manage 
to live tin next spring.” 
“Oh, I knew there was nothing wrong with you, John Cardigan, that a healthy 
check wouldn’t cure. Pennington rather jolted you, though, didn’t he?” 
“He did, Bryce. I never doubted but that Pennington would snap up the 
property the instant I offered to sell. Hence his refusal, in the face of our 
desperate need for money, almost floored your old man.” 
“Well, this gives us a fighting chance, partner. And after dinner you and I 
will start brewing powerful bad medicine for the Colonel.” 
“Son, I’ve been sitting here simmering all day.” There was a note of the old 
fighting John Cardigan in his voice. “Even if I must sit on the bench and root, 
I’ve not reached the point where my years have begun to affect my thinking 
ability.” He touched his leonine head. “I’m as right as a fox up-stairs, 
Bryce.” 
“Right- 0 , Johnny. We’ll buck the line together.” 
Accordingly, dinner disposed of, father and son sat down together to prepare 
the plan of campaign. The old man spoke first. 
“We’ll have to fight him in the dark.” 
“Why?” 
“Because if Pennington knows, or 
even suspects who is going to parallel 
his railroad, he will throw all the 
weight of his capable mind, his wealth 
and his ruthlessness against you—and 
you will be smashed. You must do 
more than spend money. You will have 
to outthink him, outwork him, out- 
game him. You have one advantage 
starting out. The Colonel doesn’t think 
you have the courage to parallel his 
road. He knows you haven’t the 
money; and he is morally certain you 
cannot borrow it, because you haven’t 
any collateral to secure your note. 
“We are mortgaged now to the limit, 
and our floating indebtedness is very 
large; on the face of things, we’re 
helpless; and unless the lumber-market 
stiffens very materially this year, by 
the time our hauling-contract with Pen¬ 
nington’s road expires, we’ll be back 
where we were before we sold the 
Giants. So, all things considered, the 
Colonel, will be slow to suspect us of 
having an acre, but, by jinks, we have 
it, and we’re going to play it.” 
“No,” said Bryce, “we’re going to let 
somebody else play it for us. The point 
you make—that we must remain abso¬ 
lutely in the background — is well 
taken.” 
“Very well,” agreed the old man. 
“Now let us proceed to the next point. 
You must engage some reliable engneer 
to look over the proposed route of the 
road and give us an estimate of the 
cost of construction.” 
“For the sake of argument we will 
consider that done, and that the esti¬ 
mate comes within the sum Gregory is 
willing to advance us.” 
“Your third step, then, will be to 
incorporate a railroad company under 
the laws of the State of California.” 
THINK I’ll favor the fair State of 
J. New Jersey with our trade,” Bryce 
suggested dryly. “When Pennington 
bought out Henderson, he incorporated 
the Laguna Grande Lumber Company 
under the laws of the State of New 
Jersey, home of the trusts. There must 
be some advantage connected with such 
a course.” 
“Have it your own way, boy. _What’s 
good enough for the Colonel is good 
enough for us.' Now, then, you are go¬ 
to incorporate a company to build a 
road twelve miles long—and a private 
road, at that. That would be fatal. 
Pennington would know somebody was 
going to build a logging-road, and re¬ 
gardless of who the builders were, he 
would have to fight them in self-protec¬ 
tion. How are you going to cover your 
trail, my son?” 
Bryce pondered. “My road cannot 
be private; it must be a common car¬ 
rier, and that’s where the shoe pinches. 
Common carriers are subject to the 
rules and regulations of the Railroad 
Commission.” 
“They are wise and just rulers,” com¬ 
mented the old man, “expensive to obey 
at times, but quite necessary. Objec¬ 
tion overruled.” 
“Well, then, since we must be a com¬ 
mon carrier, we might as well incorpor¬ 
ate for the purpose of building a road 
from Sequoia to Grant’s Pass, Oregon, 
there to connect wth the Southern 
Pacific.” 
John Cardigan smiled. “The_ old 
dream revived, eh? Well, the old jokes 
always bring a hearty laugh People 
will laugh at your company, because 
folks up this way realize that the con¬ 
struction cost is prohibitive, not to men¬ 
tion the cost of maintenance, which 
would be out of all proportion to the 
freight area tapped.” 
“Well, since we’re not going to build 
more than twelve miles of our road 
during the next year, and probably not 
more than ten miles additional during 
the present century, we won’t worry 
over it. It doesn’t cost a cent more to 
procure a franchise to build a road 
from here to the moon. If we fail to 
build to Grant’s Pass, our franchise to 
build the uncompleted portion lapses 
and we hold that portion which we have 
constructed. That’s all we want to 
hold.” 
“How about rights of way?” 
“They will cost little, if anything 
Most of the landowners along the pro¬ 
posed route will give us rights of way 
free gratis for nothing, just to encour¬ 
age the lunatics. Without a railroad 
the land is valueless; and as a common 
carrier they know we can condemn 
rights of way. Moreover, deeds can be 
drawn with a time-limit, after which 
they revert to the original owners.” 
strategy, son! And certainly 
vJT as a common carrier we will be 
welcomed by the farmers and cattle¬ 
men along our short line. We can 
handle their freight without much an¬ 
noyance and perhaps at a slight profit.” 
“Well, that about completes the rough 
outline of our plan. The next thing to 
do is to start and keep right on moving. 
We have a year in which to build our 
road; if we do not hurry, the mill will 
,have to shut down for lack of logs, 
when our contract with Pennington 
expires.” 
“You forget the manager for our 
new corporation—^the vice-president 
and general manager. The man we en¬ 
gage must be the fastest and most con¬ 
vincing talker in California. And he 
must talk in millions, look millions, and 
act as if a million dollars were equiva¬ 
lent in value to a redwood stump. In 
addition, he must be a man of real 
ability and a person you can trust im¬ 
plicitly.” 
“I have the man. His name is Buck 
Ogilvy and only this very day I re¬ 
ceived a letter from him begging me 
for a small loan. I have Buck on ice 
in a fifth-class San Francisco hotel.” 
‘Tell me about him, Bryce.” 
“Don’t have to. You’ve just told 
me about him. However, I’ll read you 
his letter. I claim there is more char¬ 
acter in a letter than in a face.” 
Here Bryce read aloud: 
“Golden Gate Hotel—Rooms fifty cents 
—and up. 
“San Francisco, California, 
“August fifteenth.” 
“My Dear Cardigan: Hark to the 
voice of one crying in the wilderness; 
then picture to yourself the unlovely 
spectacle of a strong man crying. 
“Let us assume that you have duly 
considered. Now wind up your wrist 
and send me a rectangular piece of 
white, blue, green, or pink paper bear¬ 
ing in the lower right-hand corner the 
magic words ‘Bryce Cardigan ’—with 
the little-up-and-down hook and flour¬ 
ish whch lends value to otherwise 
worthless paper. Five dollars would 
make me chirk up; ten would start a 
slight smile; twenty would put a beam 
in mine eye; fifty would cause me to 
utter cries of joy, and a hundred would 
inspire me to actions like unto those of a 
whirling dervish. 
“I am so flat busted my arches make 
hollow sounds as I tread the hard pave¬ 
ments of a great city, seeking a job. On 
the brink of despair, I think of old 
times and happier days and particularly 
of that pink-and-white midget of a 
girl who tended the soda-fountain at 
Princeton. You stole that damsel from 
me, and I never thanked you. Then I 
remembered you were a timber-king 
with a kind heart; so I looked in the 
telephone book and found the address 
of the San Francisco office of the Car¬ 
digan Redwood Company. You have 
a mean man in charge there. I called 
on him, told him I was an old college 
pal of yours, and tried to borrow a 
dollar. While he was abusing me, I 
stole from his desk the stamped envel¬ 
ope which bears to you these tidings of 
great woe; and while awaiting your re¬ 
ply, be advised that I subsist on the 
bitter cud of reflection, fresh air, and 
water. 
“When you knew me last, I was a 
prosperous young contractor. Alas! I 
put all my eggs in one basket and pro¬ 
duced an omelet. Took a contract to 
build a railroad in Honduras. Hondu¬ 
ras got to fighting with Nicaragua; the 
Nicaraguan army recruited all my la¬ 
borers and mounted them on my mules 
and horses, swiped all my grub, and 
told me to go home. I went. Why 
stay? Moreover, I had an incentive 
consisting of about an inch of_ bayonet 
—^fortunately not applied in a vital spot. 
“Hurry, my dear Cardigan. I fin¬ 
ished eating my overcoat the day be¬ 
fore yesterday. 
“Make it a hundred, and when I get 
it, I’ll come to Sequoia and kiss you. 
I’ll pay you back sometime—of course. 
“Wistfully thine— Buck Ogilvy. 
“P. S.—Delays are dangerous, and 
procrastination is the thief of time. 
— B.’ ” 
John Cardigan chuckled. “I’d take 
Buck Ogilvy, Bryce. He’ll do. Is he 
honest?” 
“He was, the last time I saw him.” 
“Then wire him a hundred. Don’t 
wait for the mail.” 
“I have already wired him the hun¬ 
dred. In all probability he is now out 
whirling like a dervish.” 
“Good boy! Well, you’d better leave 
for San Francisco to-morrow and close 
your deal with Gregory. Hire a good 
lawyer to draw up the agreement be¬ 
tween you; be sure you’re right, and 
then go ahead—full speed. When you 
return to Sequoia, I’ll have a few more 
points to give you. I’ll mull them over 
in the meantime.” 
CHAPTER XX 
W HEN Bryce Cardigan walked down 
the gangplank in San Francisco, 
the first face he saw was Buck Ogilvy’s. 
Mr. Ogilvy wore his overcoat and a 
joyous smile, proving that all was well; 
he pressed forward and thrust forth a 
great speckled paw for Bryce to shake. 
Bryce ignored it. 
“Why, don’t you remember me?” 
Ogilvy demanded, “I’m Buck Ogilvy.” 
Bryce looked him in the eye and 
favored him with a lightning wink. “I 
have never heard of you Mr. Ogilvy. 
You are mistaking me^or someone else.” 
“Sorry,” Ogilvy murmured. “My 
mistake: Thought you were Bill Ker- 
rick, who used to be a partner of mine. 
I’m expecting him on this boat, and he’s 
the speaking image of you.” 
Bryce nodded and passed on, hailed 
a taxicab, and was driven to the San 
Francisco office of his company. Five 
minutes later the door opened and Buck 
Ogilvy entered. 
“I was a bit puzzled at the dock, 
Bryce,” he ‘ explained as they shook 
hands, “but decided to play safe and 
then follow you to your office. What’s 
up? Have you killed somebody, and 
are the detectives on your trail?’ 
“No, I wasn’t being shadowed. Buck, 
but my principal enemy was coming 
down the gangplank right behind me, 
and-” 
“So was my principal enemy,” 
Ogilvy interrupted. “What does our 
enemy look like?” 
“Like ready money. And if he had 
seen me shaking hands with you, he’d 
have suspected a connection between us 
later on. Buck, you have a good job— 
about five hundred a month.” 
“rpHANKS, old man. I’d work for 
X you for nothing. What are we go¬ 
ing to do?” 
“Build- twelve miles of logging rail¬ 
road and parallel the line of the old 
wolf I spoke of a moment ago.” 
“Good news! We’ll do it. How soon 
do you want it done?” 
“As soon as possible. You’re the vice 
president and general manager.” 
“I accept the nomination. What do 
I do first?” 
“Listen carefully to my story, analyze 
my plan for possible weak spots, and 
then get busy, because after I have 
provided the funds and given the word 
‘Go!’ the rest is up to you. I must not 
be known in the transaction at all, be¬ 
cause that would be fatal.” 
“I listen,” said Buck Ogilvy, and he 
inclined a large speckled ear in Bryce’s 
direction, the while his large speckled 
hand drew a scratch-pad toward him. 
Three hours later Ogilvy was in pos¬ 
session of the most rninute details of 
the situation in Sequoia, had tabu¬ 
lated, indexed, and cross-indexed them 
in his ingenious brain and was ready 
for business—and so announced him¬ 
self. 
“And inasmuch as that hundred you 
sent me has been pretty well scattered,” 
he concluded, “suppose you call in your 
cold-hearted manager, and give him 
orders to honor my sight-drafts. If 
I’m to light in Sequoia looking like 
ready money, I’ve got to have some 
high-class, tailor-made clothes, and a 
shine and a shave and a shampoo and 
a trunk and a private secretary. If 
there was a railroad running into Se¬ 
quoia, I’d insist on a private car.” 
This having been attended to, Mr. 
Ogilvy promptly proceeded to forget 
business and launched forth into a re¬ 
cital of his manifold adventures since 
leaving Princeton; finally the amiable 
and entertaining Buck took his de¬ 
parture with the announcement that he 
would try to buy some good second¬ 
hand grading equipment and a locomo¬ 
tive, in addition to casting an eye over 
the labor situation and sending a few 
wires East for the purpose of sounding 
the market on steel rails. Always an 
enthusiast, in his mind’s eye Mr. Ogilvy 
could already see a long trainload of 
logs coming down the Nothern Cali¬ 
fornia & Oregon Railroad, as he and 
Bryce had decided to christen the 
venture. 
“N. C. & 0.,” Mr. Ogilvy murmured. 
“Sounds brisk and snappy. I like it 
Hope that old hunks Pennington likes 
it, too. He’ll probably feel that N. C. 
& O. stands for Northern Califo'niio> 
Outrage.” 
When Bryce Cardigan returned to 
Sequoia, his agreement wth Gregory 
had been signed, sealed, and delivered; 
the money to build the road had been 
{Continued on page 175) 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN “THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS” 
T he struggle between old John'Cardigan, pioneer in the redwoods 
country, and Colonel Seth Pennington, rival operator, has centered 
around the Valley of the Giants, Cardigan’s favorite grove which block s 
the Colonel’s holdings. , 
It seems as though the feud has descended to young Cardigan ana 
the Colonel’s niece, Shirley Sumner. But the latter, angered by her 
uncle’s unscrupulous methods secretly buys the Valley, planning to 
force peace. She does not know that Bryce is about to parallel 
Pennington’s logging road, as a last desperate measure to save the 
Cardigan fortunes. 
