254 
American Agriculturist, March 17,1923 
The Valley of the 
Giants —By Peter B. Kyne 
‘‘"DUCK, you’re a wonder.” 
XJ “Not at all. I’ve merely been through all this before and have profited by 
my experience. Now, then, will the city council grant you a franchise to enter the 
city and jump Pennington’s tracks?” 
“I’m sure I don’t know. Buck. You’ll have to ask them—sound them out. The 
city council meets Saturday morning.” 
“They’ll meet this evening—in the private dining room of the Hotel Sequoia,” 
Buck Ogilvy declared emphatically. “I’m going to have them all up for dinner 
and talk the matter over. I’m not exactly aged, Bryce, but I’ve handled about 
fifteen city councils and county boards of supervisors, not to mention Mexican 
and Central American governors and presidents, in my day, and I know the breed. 
Following a preliminary conference. I’ll let you know whether you’re going to get 
that franchise without difficulty or whether somebody’s itchy palm will have to 
be crossed with silver first.” 
“Two of the five councilmen are for sale; two are honest men—and one is an 
uncertain quantity. The mayor is a politician. I’ve known them all since boy¬ 
hood, and if I dared come out in the open, I think that even the crooks have senti¬ 
ment enough for the Cardigans to decline to hold me up.” 
“Then why not come out in the open 
and save trouble and expense?” 
“I am not ready to have a lot of 
notes called on me,” Bryce replied 
dryly. “Neither am I desirous of hav¬ 
ing the Laguna Grande Lumber Com¬ 
pany start a riot cutting prices. Neith¬ 
er do I desire to have trees felled across 
the right of way of Pennington’s road 
after his trainloads of logs have gone 
through and before mine have started. 
I don’t want my log-landings jammed 
until I can’t move, and I don’t want 
Pennington’s engineer to take a curve 
in such a hurry that he’ll whip my load¬ 
ed logging-trucks off into a canon and 
leave me hung up for lack of rolling- 
stock.” 
“Hum-m-m! Slimy old beggar, isn’t 
he? I dare say he wouldn’t hesitate to 
buy the city council to block you, 
would he?” 
“I know he’ll lie and steal. I dare 
say he’d corrupt a public official.” 
Buck Ogilvy rose and stretched him¬ 
self. “I’ve got my work cut out for me, 
haven’t I?” he declared with a yawn. 
Bryce pressed the buzzer on his desk, 
and a moment later Moira entered. 
“Permit me, Moira, to present Mr. 
Oglivy. Mr. Ogilvy, Miss McTavish” 
The introduction having been asknowl- 
edged, Bryce continued: “Mr. Ogilvy 
will have frequent need to inter¬ 
view me at this office, Moira, but 
it is our joint desire that his visits here 
shall remain a profound secret. To 
that end he will hereafter call at night. 
You have an extra key to the office, 
Moira. I wish you would give it to 
Mr. Ogilvy.” 
The girl nodded. “Mr. Ogilvy will 
have to take pains to avoid our watch¬ 
man,” she suggested. 
“That is a point well taken, Moira. 
Buck, when you call, arrive here 
promptly on the hour. The watchman 
will be down in the mill then, punching 
the time-clock.” 
A gain Moira inclined her dark head 
and withdrew. Mr. Buck Ogilvy 
groaned. “God speed the day when 
I’ll be permitted to call during office 
hours,” he murmured. He picked up 
his hat and withdrew. Half an hour 
later, Bryce looked out and saw him 
draped over the counter, engaged in 
animated conversation with Moira Mc¬ 
Tavish. Before Ogilvy left, he had 
managed to impress Moira Hvith a 
sense of the disadvantage under which 
he labored through being forced, to 
abandon all hope of seeing her at the 
office—at least for some time to come. 
Then he spoke feelingly of the unmiti¬ 
gated horror of being a stranger in a 
strange town, forced to sit around 
hotel lobbies with drummers and 
other lost souls, and drew from Moira 
the assurance that it wasn’t more 
distressing than having to sit- around 
a boarding-house night after night 
watching old women tat and tattle.. 
This was the opening Buck Ogilvy 
had sparred for. Fixing Moira with 
his bright? blue eyes, he grinned boldly 
and said: “Suppose, Miss McTavish, 
we start a league for the dispersion of 
gloom. You be the president, and I’ll 
be the financial secretary.” 
“How would the league operate?” 
Moira demanded cautiously. 
“Wdl, it might begin by giving a 
dinner to all the members, followed by 
a little motor-trip into the country next 
Saturday afternoon,” Buck suggested. 
Moira’s Madonna glance appraised 
him steadily. “I haven’t known you 
very long, Mr. Ogilvy,” she reminded 
him. 
“Oh. I’m easy to get acquainted 
with,” he retorted lightly. He pondered 
for a moment. Then: “I’ll tell you 
what. Miss McTavish. Suppose we 
put it up to Bryce Cardigan. If he 
says it’s all right we’ll pull off the 
party. If he says it’s all wrong. I’ll 
go out and drown myself—and fairer 
words than them has no man spoke.” 
“I’ll think it over,” said Moira. 
“By all means. Never decide such 
an important matter in a hurry. Just 
tell me your home telephone-number, 
and I’ll ring up at seven this evening 
for your decision.” 
M oira gave him the number. She 
was not at all prejudiced against 
this carroty stranger—in fact, she had 
a suspicion that he was a sure cure for 
the blues, an ailment which she suf¬ 
fered from all too frequently; and, 
moreover, his voice, his manner, his 
alert eyes, and his wonderful clothing 
were all rather alluring. Womanlike, 
she was flattered at being noticed— 
particularly by a man like Ogilvy, who 
was vastly superior to any male in 
Sequoia, with the sole exception of 
Bryce Cardigan. The flutter of a 
great adventure was in Moira’s heart, 
and the flush of a thousand roses in 
her cheeks when. Buck Ogilvy having 
at length departed, she went into 
Bryce’s private office to get his opinion 
as to the propriety of accepting the 
invitation. 
“By all means, accept,” he counselled 
her. “Buck Ogilvy is one of the finest 
gentlemen you’ll ever meet. You’ll find 
him vastly amusing, Moira, and he 
does know how to order a dinner.” 
“Don’t you think I ought to have a 
chaperon?” 
“Well, it isn’t necessary, although 
it’s good form in a small town like 
Sequoia, where everybody knows every¬ 
body else.” 
“I thought so” Moira murmured 
thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Miss Sumner to 
come with us. Mr. Ogilvy won’t mind 
the extra expense, I’m sure.” 
“He’ll be delighted,” Bryce assured 
her maliciously. “Ask Miss Sumner, 
by all means.” 
When Moira had left him, Bryce 
sighed. “Gosh!” he murmured. “I 
wish I could go, too.” 
He was roused presently by the ring¬ 
ing of the telephone. To his amazement 
Shirley Sumner was calling him! 
“You’re a wee bit surprised, aren’t 
you, Mr. Cardigan?” she said teasingly. 
“I am,” he answered honestly. 
“I suppose you’re wondering why I 
have telephoned to you?” 
“No, I haven’t had time. Why did 
you ring up?” 
“I wanted some advice. Suppose you 
wanted very, very much to know what 
two people were talking about, but 
couldn’t eavesdrop. What would you 
do?” 
“I wouldn’t eavesdrop,” he told, her 
severely. “That isn’t a nice thing to 
do, and I didn’t think you would con¬ 
template anything that isn’t nice.” 
“I wouldn’t ordinarily. But I have 
every moral, ethical, and financial right 
to be a party to that conversation, 
only—well ” 
“With you present there would be 
no conversation—is that it?” 
“Exactly, Mr. Cardigan.” 
“Yes.” 
“And you do not intend to use your 
knowledge of this conversation, when 
gained, for an illegal or unethical pur¬ 
pose?” 
“I do not. On the contrary, if I am 
aware of what is being planned, I can 
prevent others from doing something 
illegal and unethical.” 
“In that event, Shirley, I should say 
you are quite justified in eavesdrop¬ 
ping.” 
“But how? I can’t hide in a closet 
and listen.” 
“Buy a dictograph and have it hidden 
in the room where the conversation 
takes place.” 
“Where can I buy one?” 
“In San Francisco.” 
“Will you telephone to your San 
Francisco office and have them buy one 
for me and ship it to you, together with 
directions for using? George Sea Otter 
can bring it over to me when it ar¬ 
rives.” 
. “Shirley, this is most extraordinary.” 
“I quite realize that. May I depend 
upon you?” 
“Certainly. But why pick on me, of 
all persons?” 
“I can trust you to forget about it.” 
“Thank you. I think you may safely 
trust me. And I shall attend to the 
matter immediately.” 
“You are very kind, Mr. Cardigan. 
How is your dear old father? Moira 
told me sometime ago that he was ill.” 
“He’s quite well again, thank you. 
By the way, Moira doesn’t know that 
you and I have ever met. Why don’t 
you tell her?” 
. “I can’t answer that question—now. 
Perhaps some day I may be in a posi¬ 
tion to do so.” 
“It’s too bad the circumstances are 
such that we see so little of each other, 
Shirley.” 
“Indeed, it is. However, it’s all your 
fault. I have told you once how you 
can obviate that distressing situation. 
But you’re so stubborn, Mr. Cardigan.” 
“I haven’t got to the point where I 
like crawling on my hands and knees,” 
he flared back at her. “Even for your 
sake, I decline to simulate friendship 
or tolerance for your uncle; hence I 
must be content to let matters stand 
as they are between us.” 
She laughed lightly. “So you are 
still uncompromisingly belligerent— 
still after Uncle Seth’s scalp?” 
“Yes; and I think I’m going to get 
it. At any rate, he isn’t going to get 
mine.” 
“Don’t you think you’re rather un¬ 
just to make me suffer for the sins of 
my relative, Bryce?” she demanded. 
She had called him by his first name. 
He thrilled. “I’m lost in a quagmire of 
debts—I’m helpless now,” he mur¬ 
mured. “I’m not fighting for myself 
alone, but for a thousand dependents— 
for a principle—for an ancient senti¬ 
ment that was my father’s and is now 
mine. You do not understand.” 
“I understand more than you give me 
credit for, and some day you’ll realize 
it. I understand what even my uncle 
doesn’t suspect, and that is that you’re 
the directing genius of the Northern 
California Oregon Railroad and hiding 
behind your friend Ogilvy. Now, listen 
to me, Bryce Cardigan: You’re never 
going to build that road. Do you un¬ 
derstand?” 
T he suddenness of her attack so 
amazed him that he did not take the 
trouble to contradict her. Instead he 
blurted out defiantly: “I’ll build that 
road if it costs me my life—if it costs 
me you. I’m in this fight to win.” 
“You will not build that road,” she 
reiterated. 
“Why?” 
“Because I shall not permit you to. 
I have some financial interest in the 
Laguna Grande Lumber Company, and 
it is not to that financial interest that 
you should build the N.C.O.” 
“How did you find out I was behind 
Ogilvy?” 
“Intuition. Then I accused you of 
it, and you admitted it.” 
“I suppose you’re going to tell your 
uncle now,” he retorted witheringly. 
“On the contrary, I am not. I greatly 
fear I was born with a touch of sport¬ 
ing blood, Mr. Cardigan, so I’m going 
to let you two fight. You can save 
money by surrendering now. 
“I prefer to fight. With your per¬ 
mission this bout will go to a knock¬ 
out.” 
“I’m not so certain I do not like you 
all the more for that decision. And if 
it will comfort you the least bit, you 
have my word of honor that I shall 
not reveal to my uncle the identity of 
the man behind the N. C. 0. I’m not a 
tattletale, you know, and moreover I 
have a great curiosity to get to the end 
of the story.” 
“Can you: remain fair and impartial?” 
“I think I can—even up to the point 
of deciding whether or not you are go¬ 
ing to build that road.” 
“Shirley,” he told her earnestly, 
“listen carefully to what I am about to 
say: I love you. I’ve loved you from 
the day I first met you. I shall always 
love you; and when I get around to it, 
I’m going to ask you to marry me. At 
present, however, that is a right I do 
not possess. However, the day I ac¬ 
quire the right I shall exercise it.” 
“And when will that day be?” Very 
softly, in awesome tones! 
“The day I drive the last spike in 
the N. C. O.” 
Fell a silence. Then: “I’m glad, 
Bryce Cardigan, you’re not a quitter. 
Good-bye, good luck—and don’t forget 
my errand.” She hung up and sat at 
the telephone for a moment, dimpled 
chin in dimpled hand, her glance wan¬ 
dering through the window and far 
away across the roofs of the town to 
where the smokestack of Cardigan’s 
mill cut the sky-line. “How I’d hate 
you if I could handle you!” she mur¬ 
mured. 
F ollow in G the conversation, 
Bryce Cardigan was a distressed 
and badly worried man. 
For an hour he sat slouched in his 
chair, the while he viewed every angle 
of the situation. He found it impos¬ 
sible, however, to dissociate the busi¬ 
ness from the personal aspects of his 
relations with Shirley, and he recalled 
that she had the very best of reasons 
for placing their relations on a business 
basis rather than a sentimental one. 
It was all a profound and disturbing 
mystery, and after an hour of futile 
concentration there came the old child¬ 
ish impulse to go to his father with his 
troubles. 
“He will be able to think without 
having his thoughts blotted out by a 
woman’s face,” Bryce soliloquized. 
Straightway Bryce left the office and 
went home to the old house on the 
knoll. John Cardigan was sitting on 
the veranda, and from a stand beside 
him George Sea Otter entertained him 
with a phonograph selection. As the 
gate clicked, John raised his head; then 
he rose and stood with one hand out¬ 
stretched. He knew his son’s step. 
“What is it, son?” he demanded 
gently as Bryce came up the low steps. 
“George, choke that contraption off.” 
Bryce took his father’s hand. “I’m 
in trouble, John Cardigan,” he said 
simply, “and I’m not big enough to 
handle it alone.” 
The leonine old man smiled, and his 
smile had all the sweetness of a bene¬ 
diction. His boy was in trouble and 
{Continued on page 255) 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE VALLEY OP THE GIANTS 
Buck Ogilvy struck Sequoia, things began to hum. He was 
Bryce Cardigan’s old college friend, but because Buck came to push 
a railroad which Bryce was secretely backing they had to seem unac¬ 
quainted. 
Old Cardigan had been beaten at every turn by the unscrupulous 
Colonel Pennington, but his son sensed a way to make the Cardigan 
timber accessible and defeat the Colonel’s plan to starve them out. 
Things were complicated, however, by the fact that Bryce had fallen in 
love with the Colonel’s niece, Shirley, who unknown to him had bought 
the Cardigan’s Valley of the Giants, checkmating her uncle and giving 
Bryce the necessary funds to wage his fight. 
