322 
American Agriculturist, April 7,1923 
The Valley of the Giants-sy b. Kyne 
T he dictograph for Shirley arrived on the regular passenger-steamer Thursday, 
and Bryce called her up to ask when she desired it sent over. 
“Good morning, Mr. Cardigan,” she greeted him cheerily. “How do you feel 
this morning? Any the worse for having permitted yourself to be human 
last night?” 
“Why, I feel pretty fine, Shirley. I think it did me a lot of good to crawl out 
of my shell last night.” 
“You feel encouraged to go on living, eh?” 
“Yes.” 
“And fighting?” 
“By all means.” 
“Then something has occurred to give you new courage?” 
“Oh, many things. Didn’t I give an ejchibition of my courage in accepting 
Ogilvy’s invitation to dinner, knowing you were going to be there?” 
She did not like that. “You carry your frankness to extremes, my friend,” 
she retorted. “I’m sure I’ve always been much nicer to you than you deserve.” 
“Nevertheless there wasn’t any reason why I should tantalize myself last 
night. 
“Then why did you come?” He had a suspicion that she was laughing silently 
at him. 
“Partly to please Ogilvy, who has fallen head over heels in love with Moira; 
partly to please Moira, who wanted me to meet you; but mostly to please myself, 
because, while I dreaded it, nevertheless I wanted to see you again. I comforted 
myself with the thought that for the sake of appearances we dared not quarrel 
in the presence of Moira and my friend Ogilvy. At any rate, I have seldom had 
more enjoyment when partaking of a meal with an enemy.” 
“Please do not say, that,” she an¬ 
swered. “I am your opponent, but not 
your enemy.” 
“That’s nice of you. By the way, 
Shirley, you may inform your uncle at 
breakfast Friday morning about my 
connection with the N. C. 0. In fact, 
I think it would be far better for you 
if you made it a point to do so.” 
“Why?” 
“Because both Ogilvy and myself have 
a very strong suspicion that your uncle 
has a detective or two on our trails. 
There was a strange man around him 
all day yesterday, and I noticed a fel¬ 
low following my car last night. I 
communicated my suspicions to Ogilvy, 
and this morning he spent two hours 
trying to shake the same man off his 
trail—and couldn’t. So I judge your 
uncle will learn to-day that you dined 
with us last night.” 
“Oh, dear! That’s terrible.” 
“Ashamed of having been seen in my 
company, eh?” 
“Please don’t. Are you quite seri¬ 
ous?” 
“Quite.” 
“Uncle Seth will think it so—so 
strange.” 
“He’ll probably tell you about it. 
Better beat him to the issue by ’fessing 
up, Shirley. Doubtless his suspicions 
are already aroused, and if you inform 
him that I am the real builder of the 
N. C. 0., he’ll think you’ve been doing 
a little private gum-shoe work on be¬ 
half of the Laguna Grande Lumber 
Company.” 
“Which is exactly what I have been 
doing,” she reminded him. 
“I know. But then. I’m not afraid 
of you, Shirley—that is, any more. 
And after Friday morning I’ll not be 
afraid of your uncle.” 
“Oh, dear! I feel as if I were a 
conspirator.” 
“I believe you are one. Your dicto¬ 
graph has arrived. Shall I send George 
Sea Otter over with it? And have you 
somebody to install it?” 
“Oh, bother! Does it have to be in¬ 
stalled?” 
“It does. You hide the contraption 
in the room where the conspirators 
conspire; then you run wires from it 
into another room where the detectives 
listen in on the receivers.” 
“Could George Sea Otter install it?” 
“I think he could.” 
“Will he tell anybody?” 
“Not if you ask him not to.” 
“Very well, then. Please send him 
over. Thank you so much, Bryce Cardi¬ 
gan. You’re an awful good old sort, 
after all. Really, it hurts me to have 
to oppose you.” 
“Let us not argue the question, Shir¬ 
ley. Good-bye.” 
H e had scarcely finished telephoning 
George Sea Otter, when Buck Ogilvy 
strolled into the office and tossed a docu¬ 
ment on his desk. “There’s your little 
old tempoi’ary franchise, old thing,” he 
announced; and with many a hearty 
laugh he related to Bryce the ingenious 
means by which he had obtained it. 
“And now if you will phone your log- 
gingeamp and instruct , the woods-bo.ss 
to lay off about fifty men to rest for 
the day, pending a hard night’s work, 
and arrange to send them down on the 
last log-train to-day, I’ll drop around 
after dinner and we’ll fiy to that jump¬ 
crossing. Here’s a list of the tools we’ll 
need.” 
“I’ll telephone Colonel Pennington’s 
manager and ask him to kick a switch- 
engine in on the Laurel Creek spur and 
snake those flat-cars with my rails 
aboard out to the junction with the 
main line,” Bryce replied. And he 
called up—only to be informed by Colo¬ 
nel Pennington himself that it would 
be impossible to send the switch-engine 
in until the following afternoon. The 
Colonel was sorry, but the switch-en¬ 
gine was in the shop having the brick 
in her fire-box renewed, while the mogul 
that hauled the log trains would not 
have time to attend to the matter. 
“Why not switch back with the mogul 
after the log-train has been hauled out 
on the main line?” Bryce demanded. 
Pennington, however, was not 
trapped. “My dear fellow,” he replied 
patronizingly, “quite impossible, I as¬ 
sure you. That old trestle across the 
creek. While I’d send the light switch- 
engine over it and have no fears-” 
“I happen to know. Colonel, that the 
big mogul kicked those fiats in to load 
the rails!” 
“And what happened? Why, that old 
trestle squeaked and shook and gave 
every evidence of being about to buckle 
in the center. My engineer threatened 
to quit if I sent him in again.” 
“Very well. I suppose I’ll have to 
wait for the switch-engine,” Bryce re¬ 
plied resignedly, and hung up. He 
turned a troubled face to Ogilvy. 
“Checkmated!” he announced. “The 
Colonel is lying. Buck, and I’ve caught 
him. As a matter of fact, the mogul 
didn’t kick those flats in at all. The 
switch-engine did—and I know it. Now 
I’m going to send a man over to snoop 
around Pennington’s roundhouse and 
verify his report about the switch-en¬ 
gine.” 
H alf an hour later the messenger 
returned with the information that 
not only was the switch engine* not in 
the shop but ner fire-box had been over¬ 
hauled the week before and was re¬ 
ported in excellent condition. 
“That settles it,” Buck Ogilvy 
mourned. “He had gum-shoe men on my 
trail, after all; they have reported, and 
the Colonel is as suspicious as a rhino.” 
“Exactly, Buck. He is delaying the 
game until he can learn something defi¬ 
nite.” He drummed idly on his desk for 
several minutes. Then: 
“Buck, can you run a locomotive?” 
“With one hand, old man.” 
“Fine business! Well, I guess we’ll 
put in that crossing to-morrow night. 
The switch-engine will be in the round¬ 
house at Pennington’s mill to-morrow 
night so we can’t steal that; but we 
can steal the mogul. I’ll just send word 
up to my woods-boss not to have his 
train loaded when the mogul comes up 
late to-morrow afternoon to haul it 
down. He will explain to the engineer 
and fireman that our big bull donkey 
went out and we couldn’t get our logs 
down in time to get them loaded. Of 
course, the engine-crew won’t bother to 
run down to Sequoia for the night—that 
is, they won’t run the mogul down. 
They’ll just leave her at our log-land¬ 
ing and put up for the night at our 
camp. However, if they should want 
to return to Sequoia, they’ll borrow my 
track-walker’s velocipede.” 
“But how do you know they will put 
up at your camp all night, Bryce?” 
“My men will make them comfortable, 
and it means they can lie abed until 
seven o’clock instead of having to roll 
out at five o’clock. If they do not stay 
at our logging-camp, the mogul will 
stay there, provided my woods-foreman 
lends them my velocipede. The fireman 
would prefer that to firing that big 
mogul all the way back to Sequoia.” 
“Yes,” Buck agreed, “I think he 
would.” 
“There is a slight grade at our log¬ 
landing. I know that, because the air 
leaked out of the brakes on a log-train 
a short time ago, and the train ran 
away. Now, the engine-crew will set 
the airbrakes on the mogul and leave 
her with steam up all night; they’ll 
not blow her down, for that would mean 
work firing her in the morning. Our 
task. Buck, will be to throw olf the 
airbrakes and let her -glide silently out 
of our log-landing. About a mile down 
the road we’H stop, get up steam, run 
down to the junction with the main line, 
back in on the Laurel Creek spur, couple 
on to those flat-cars and breeze merrily 
down to Sequoia with them. Our men 
will be congregated in our dry-yard 
just off Water Street near B, waiting 
for us to arrive with the rails—and 
bingo—^we go to it. After we drop the 
flats, we’ll run the engine back to the 
woods, leave it where we found it, re¬ 
turn a-flying on the velocipede, if it’s 
there, or in my automobile, if it isn’t 
there. You can get back in ample time 
to superintend the cutting of the 
crossing!” 
“Spoken like a man!” quoth Buck 
Ogilvy. “You’re the one man in this 
world for whom I’d steal a locomotive. 
’At-a boy!” 
Had they known of Pennington’s 
plans to entertain Mayor Poundstone 
on Thursday night, it is probable they 
would not have cheered until those 
flat-cars were out of the woods. 
CHATER XXV 
AYOR Poundstone and his wife ar¬ 
rived at Redwood Boulevard at 
six forty-five Thursday evening. It was 
with a profound feeling of relief that 
His Honor lifted the lady from their 
modest little “flivver,” for once inside 
the Pennington house, he felt, he would 
be free from a persecution inaugurated 
by his wife about three months previ¬ 
ously. Mrs. Poundstone wanted a new 
automobile. * 
“I feel like a perfect fool, calling in 
this filthy little rattletrap,” Mrs. 
Poundstone protested as they passed up 
the cement walk. 
Mayor Poundstone paused. He had 
reached the breaking-point. 
“In pity’s name,” he growled, “talk 
about something else. Give me one 
night of peace.” 
“I can’t help it,” Mrs. P. retorted 
with asperity. She pointed to Shirley 
Sumner’s car parked under the porte- 
cochere. “If I had a sedan like that, I 
could die happy. It only cost thirty- 
two hundred and fifty dollars.” 
“I paid six hundred and fifty for the 
rattletrap, and I couldn’t afford that,” 
he almost whimpered. “You were 
happy with it until I was elected 
mayor.” 
“You forget our social position, my 
dear,” she purred sweetly. 
“Hang your social position,” he 
gritted savagely. “Social position in a 
sawmill town! Rats!” 
“Sh—sh! Control yourself, Henry!” 
She lifted the huge knocker. 
“You’ll drive me crazy yet,” Pound¬ 
stone gurgled, and subsided. 
The Pennington butler opened the 
door and swept them with a faintly 
disapproving glance. 
The Poundstones entered. At the en¬ 
trance to the living room the butler an¬ 
nounced sonorously: “Mayor Pound¬ 
stone and Mrs. Poundstone.” 
“Glad to see you,” Colonel Penning¬ 
ton boomed with his best air of hearty 
expansiveness. “Well, well,” he con¬ 
tinued, leading Mrs. Poundstone to a 
divan in front of the fire, “this is cer¬ 
tainly delightful. My niece will be 
down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” 
Shirley entered the room; and the 
Colonel, leaving her to entertain the 
guests, went to a small sideboard in 
one corner and brought forth the “ma¬ 
terials,” as he jocularly termed them. 
“To your beautiful eyes, Mrs. Pound¬ 
stone,” was Pennington’s debonair toast 
as he fixed Mrs. P.’s green orbs with 
his own. 
“Dee-licious,” murmured Mrs. Pound¬ 
stone. “Perfectly dee-licious. And not 
a bit strong!” 
“Have another,” her hospitable host 
suggested, and he poured it, quite 
oblivious of the frightened wink which 
the mayor telegraphed his wife. 
They “smoked up,” and Poundstone 
prayed that Mrs. P. would not discuss 
automobiles. 
A LAS! The two cocktails which Mrs. 
.Poundstone had assimilated con¬ 
tained just sufficient “kick” to loosen 
the lady’s tongue. 
“I was telling Henry as we came up 
the walk how greatly I envied you that 
beautiful sedan. Miss Sumner,” she 
gushed. 
Poundstone made one futile attempt 
to head her off. “And I was telling 
Mrs. Poundstone,” he struck in with a 
pathetic attempt to appear humorous, 
“that a little jitney was our gait, and 
that she might as well abandon her 
yearning for a closed car.” 
“Never, my dear.” She shook a coy 
finger at him. “You dear old tightie,” 
she cooed, “you don’t realize what a 
closed car means to a woman.” 
“Heard the McKinnon people had a 
man killed up in their woods yesterday. 
Colonel,” Poundstone remarked, hoping 
against hope to divert the conversation. 
“Yes. The fellow’s own fault,” Pen¬ 
nington replied. “He was warned that 
the logging-cable was weak at that old 
splice and liable to pull out of the 
becket—and sure enough it did.” 
“I hold to the opinion,” Mrs. Pound¬ 
stone interrupted, “that if one wishes 
for a thing hard enough, one is bound 
to get it.” 
“My dear,” said Mr. Poundstone im- 
pressivelyj “if you would only confine 
yourself to wishing, I assure you your 
chances for success would be infinitely 
brighter.” 
There was no mistaking this rebuke. 
Shirley and her uncle saw the Mayor’s 
lady flush slightly; they caught the 
glint of murder in His Honor’s eye; and 
with the nicest tact in the world, Shirley 
adroitly changed the subject, and Mrs. 
Poundstone subsided. 
About nine o’clock, Shirley, in re¬ 
sponse to a glance from her relative, 
convoyed Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, 
leaving her uncle alone with his prey. 
Instantly Pennington got down to busi¬ 
ness. 
“Well,” he queried, apropos of noth¬ 
ing, “what do you hear with reference 
to the Northem-Califomia-Oregon Rail¬ 
road ?” 
{Continued on page 323) 
WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS 
■DRYCE cardigan and Buck Ogilvy are determined that that jump¬ 
crossing shall go in. Colonel Seth is equally determined that it shall 
not. A battle royal is in progress, Bryce and Buck having outwitted Ahe 
Colonel by obtaining a franchise, the Colonel being the stronger, how¬ 
ever, both in finances and because he is utterly unscrupulous. , ' 
Shirley fights fairly, and is just beginning to suspect her rincle’s 
methods in protecting their joint interest. She has managed tb main¬ 
tain her friendship with Bryce and also with Moria MacTav'ish, his 
office aide, with whom redheaded Buck has fallen deliriously, in love. 
Through Bryce, Shirley obtains a dictograph to overhear the secret con¬ 
versation of her uncle and Mayor Poundstone. 
