846 
American Agriculturist, A]oril 14,1923 
\ 
The Valley of the Giants-sy pcter b. Kyne 
T he Colonel puffed thoughtfully for a while—for which the Mayor was grate¬ 
ful, since it provided time in which to organize himself. Suddenly, however, 
Pennington turned toward his guest. 
“I hadn’t anticipated discussing this matter with you, Poundstone, and you 
must forgive me for it; but the fact is I am very greatly interested in this 
proposed railroad.” 
“Indeed! Financially?” 
“Yes, but not in the financial way you think. If that railroad is built, it will 
have a very disastrous effect on my finances.” 
“I am amazed. Colonel.” 
“You wouldn’t be if you had given the subject very close consideration. When 
my own timber is logged out, I will want other business for my road, and if the 
N. C. O. parallels it, I will be left with two streaks of rust on my hands.” 
“Ah, I perceive.” 
“You agree with me, then, Poundstone, that the N. C. 0. is not designed to 
foster the best interests of the community.” 
“Well, Colonel, you are quite right.” 
“Of course I am right. I take it, therefore, that when the N. C. O. applies 
for its franchise to run through Sequoia, neither you nor your city council will 
consider the proposition at all.” 
“I cannot, of course, speak for the city council-” Poundstone began, but 
Pennington’s cold, amused smile froze further utterance. 
Poundstone studied the pattern of 
the rug, and Pennington, watching him 
sharply, saw that the man was dis¬ 
tressed. Then suddenly one of those 
brilliant inspirations which had helped 
so materially to fashion Pennington 
into a captain of industry, came to 
him. 
“Let’s not beat about the bush, 
Poundstone,” he said with the air of a 
father patiently striving to induce his 
child to tell the truth, and save himself 
from the parental wrath. “You’ve been 
doing business with Ogilvy; I know it 
and you might as well admit it.” 
Poundstone looked up, red and em¬ 
barrassed. “If I had known-” he 
began. 
“Certainly, certainly! I realize you 
acted in perfect good faith. You’re like 
the majority of people in Sequoia. You’re 
all so crazy for rail-connection with the 
outside world that you jump at the 
first plan that seems to promise you 
one. Have you promised Ogilvy a 
franchise?” 
T here was no dodging that ques¬ 
tion. Poundstone could not guess 
just how much the Colonel really k^new, 
and it would not do to lie to him. 
Poundstone only knew that Ogilvy could 
never be to him such a powerful enemy 
as Colonel Seth Pennington; so he 
chose the lesser of two evils. 
“The city council has already granted 
a temporary franchise,” he confessed. 
Pennington sprang furiously to his 
feet. “Dammit,” he snarled, why did 
you do that without consulting me?” 
“Didn’t know you were remotely 
interested.” Now that the ice was 
broken, Poundstone felt relieved and 
was prepared to defend his act vigor¬ 
ously. “And we did not commit our¬ 
selves irrevocably,” he continued. “The 
temporary franchise will expire in 
twenty-eight days—and in that short 
time the N. C. O. cannot even get 
started.” 
“Have you any understanding as to 
an extension of that temporary fran¬ 
chise, in case the N. C. 0. desires it?” 
“Well, yes—^not in writing, however. 
I gave Ogilvy to understand that an 
extension could readily be arranged.” 
“Any witnesses?” 
“I am not such a fool, sir,” Pound¬ 
stone declared with asperity. “I had 
a notion—I might as well admit it— 
that you would have serious objection 
to having your tracks cut by a jump¬ 
crossing at B and Water streets.” And 
to justify himself and inculcate in 
Pennington an impression that the 
latter was dealing with a crafty mayor, 
Poundstone smiled knowingly. “I 
repeat,” he said, “that I did not put it 
in writing.” He leaned back nonchal¬ 
antly and blew smoke at the ceiling. 
“You oily rascal!” Pennington solilo¬ 
quized. “You’re a smarter man than 
I thought. You’re trying to play both 
ends against the middle.” He recalled 
the report of his private detective and 
the incident of Ogilvy’s visit to young 
Henry Poundstone’s office with a small 
leather bag; he was more than ever 
convinced that this bag had contained 
the bribe, in gold coin. 
“Ogilvy did business with you through 
your son Henry,” he challenged. Pound¬ 
stone started violently. “How much did 
Henry get out of it?” Pennington con¬ 
tinued brutally. 
“Two hundred and fifty dollars re¬ 
tainer, and not a cent more,” Pound- 
i 
stone protested virtuously — and 
truthfully. 
“Two hundred and fifty dollars! 
Poundstone, you’re funny. Upon my 
word, you’re a scream.” And the Col¬ 
onel gave himself up to a sincerely 
hearty laugh. “You call it a retainer,” 
he continued presently, “but a grand 
jury might call it something else. How¬ 
ever,” he went on after a slight pause, 
“let’s get down to brass tacks. How 
much do you want to deny the N. C. O. 
not only an extension of that tempor¬ 
ary franchise but also a permanent one 
when they apply for it?” 
Poundstone rose with great dignity. 
“Colonel Pennington,” he said, “you 
insult me.” 
“Sit down. You’ve been insulted that 
•vtay before now. Shall we say one 
thousand dollars per each for your three 
good councilmen and true, and for your¬ 
self that sedan of my niece’s? It’s a 
good car. Last year’s model, but only 
run about four thousand miles and in 
tiptop condition. It’s always had the 
best of care, and I imagine it will please 
Mrs. P. immensely. Of course, I will 
not give it to you. I’ll sell it to you— 
five hundred down upon the signing of 
the agreement, and in lieu of the cash, 
I will take over that jitney. Then I 
will employ your son Henry as the 
attorney for the Laguna Grande Lum¬ 
ber Company and give him a retainer 
of twenty-five hundred dollars for one 
year. I will leave it to you to get this 
twenty-five hundred dollars from Henry 
and pay my niece cash for the car.” 
For the space of a minute the Mayor 
weighed his son’s future as a corpora¬ 
tion attorney against his own future as 
mayor of Sequoia—and Henry lost. 
“It might be arranged, Colonel,” he 
murmured in a low voice—the voice of 
shame. 
“It is already arranged,” the Colonel 
replied cheerfully. “Leave your jit at 
the front gate and drive home in 
Shirley’s car. I’ll arrange matters with 
her.” 
R iding home that night in Shirley 
Sumner’s car Mrs. Poundstone leaned 
suddenly toward her husband, threw a 
fat arm around his neck and kissed him. 
“Oh, Henry, you darling!” she purred. 
“Oh, go to the devil!” he roared 
angrily. “Shut up and take your arm 
away. Do you want me to wreck the 
car before we’ve had it an hour?” 
Colonel Pennington had little diffi¬ 
culty in explaining the deal to Shirley, 
who was sleepy and not at all inter¬ 
ested. The Poundstones had bored her 
to extinction, and upon her uncle’s 
assurance that she would have a new 
car within a week, she thanked him and 
retired. Shortly thereafter the Colonel 
sought his own virtuous couch and pre¬ 
pared to surrender himself to the first 
good sleep in three weeks. “Luckily I 
blocked the young beggar from getting 
those rails out of the Laurel Creek 
spur,” he mused, “or he’d have had his 
jump-crossing in overnight—and then 
where would I have been?” 
He was dozing off, when a sound 
smote upon his ears. Instantly he was 
wide awake, listening intently. 
Suddenly, out of the deep, rumbling 
diapason he heard a sharp click—then 
another and another. He counted them 
—six in all. 
“A locomotive and two flat-cars!” 
he murmured. “And they just passed 
over the switch leading from the main¬ 
line tracks out to my log-dump. That 
means the train is going down Water 
Street to the switch into Cardigan’s 
yard.” 
With the agility of a boy he sprang 
into his clothes, raced downstairs, and 
leaped into Mayor Poundstone’s jitney, 
standing in the darkness at the front 
gate. 
CHAPTER XXVI 
HE success of Bryce Cardigan’s 
plan for getting his rails down from 
Laurel Creek depended entirely upon 
the crew of the big mogul. Should the 
engineer and fireman decide to leave 
the locomotive at the logging-camp for 
the night, Bryce’s task would be simple. 
On the other hand, should they run 
back to Sequoia with the engine, he 
and Ogilvy faced the alternative of 
“borrowing” it. 
Throughout the afternoon, after hav¬ 
ing sent his orders in writing to the 
woods-boss, via George Sea Otter (for 
he dared not trust to the telephone), 
he waited in his office for a call from 
the logging-camp. Finally, at a quar¬ 
ter of six, Curtis, his woods-boss, 
rang in. 
“They’re staying here all night, sir,” 
he reported. 
“House them as far from the log¬ 
landing as possible and organize a 
poker-game to keep them busy in case 
they don’t go to bed before eight 
o’clock,” Bryce ordered. “In the mean¬ 
time, send a man you can trust down 
to the locomotive to keep steam up 
until I arrive.” 
He had scarcely hung up, when 
Buck Ogilvy came into the office. 
“Well?” he queried casually. 
“Safe- 0 , Buck!” replied Bryce. “How 
about your end of the contract?” 
“Crowbars, picks, shovels, hack-saws 
to cut the rails, lanterns to work by, 
and men to do the work will be cached 
in your lumber-yard by nine o’clock.” 
Bryce nodded his approval. “Then I 
suppose there’s nothing to do but get 
a bite of dinner and proceed to busi¬ 
ness.” 
Buck insisted on keeping an engage¬ 
ment to dine with Moira, and Bryce 
agreed to call for him. Then Bryce 
went home to dine with his father. Old 
Cardigan was happier than his son had 
seen him since his return. 
“Well, sonny. I’ve had a mighty 
pleasant afternoon,” he declared as 
Bryce led him to the dining-table. “I’ve 
been up to the Valley of the Giants.” 
Bryce was amazed. “Why, how 
could you?” he demanded. “The old 
skid-road is impassable.” 
“Not a bit of it,” the old man re¬ 
plied. “Somebody has gone to work 
and planked that old skid-road and put 
up a hand-railing on each side, while 
the trail through the Giants has been 
grubbed and smoothed over.” 
“How did you discover this?” Bryce 
demanded. 
“Judge Moore, representing the new 
owner, called round this morning. He 
said his client knew the property held 
for me a certain sentimental value, 
and so the Judge had been instructed 
to have the skid-road planked and the 
forest trail grubbed out—for me. It 
appears that the Valley is going to be 
a public park, after all, but for the 
present, it is my private park.” 
“This is perfectly amazing, partner.” 
“It’s mighty comforting,” his father 
admitted. “Guess the new owner must 
be one of my old friends. Remember 
the old sugar-pine windfall we used to 
sit on? Well, it’s rotted through, but 
the new owner had a seat put in there 
for me, a lumberjack’s rocking-chair. 
I sat in it, and the Judge left me, and I 
did_ a right smart lot o’ thinking. And 
while it didn’t lead me anywhere, still 
I—er ” 
“You felt better, didn’t you?” his son 
suggested. 
John Cardigan nodded. “I’d like to 
know the name of the owner,” he said 
presently. “I’d like mighty well, to say 
thank you to him.” 
Buck Ogilvy came out of the restau¬ 
rant with Moira, just as Bryce, with 
George Sea Otter at the wheel of the 
Napier, drove up to the curb. They 
left Moira at her boarding-house, and 
rolled noiselessly away. 
At nine o’clock they arrived at Car¬ 
digan’s log-landing and found Jim 
Harding, the bull-donkey engineer, 
placidly smoking his pipe in the cab. 
Bryce hailed him. 
“That you, Jim?” 
“You bet.” 
“Run up to Jabe Curtis’s shanty, and 
tell him we’re here. Have him gather 
his gang and bring two pairs of over¬ 
alls and two jumpersi—large size— 
with him when he comes.” 
Harding vanished into the darkness, 
and Buck Ogilvy climbed up into the 
cab and glanced at the steam-gauge. 
“A hundred and forty,” he announced. 
“Good enough!” 
P RESENTLY the woods-boss, accom¬ 
panied by thirty of his best men, 
came down to the log-landing. They 
clambered aboard the engine and tender, 
hanging on the steps, on the roof of the 
cab, on the cow-catcher—anywhere they 
could find a toe-hold. Harding cast 
aside the two old ties which the engine- 
crew had placed across the tracks as 
additional precaution; Buck Ogilvy cut 
off the air; and the locomotive and 
tender began to glide slowly down the 
almost imperceptible grade. 
At the junction with the main line 
Buck backed briskly up into the Laguna 
Grande woods, and coupled to the two 
loaded flat-cars. The woods-gang 
scrambled aboard the flats, and forty 
minutes later they rumbled down 
Water street and slid to a grinding 
halt at the intersection of B Street. 
From the darkness of Cardigan’s 
drying-yard, twenty picked men of the 
mill-crew now emerged, bearing lan¬ 
terns and tools. Under Ogilvy’s direc¬ 
tion the dirt' promptly began to fly, 
while the woods-crew unloaded the 
rails and piled them close to the side¬ 
walk. 
Suddenly a voice, harsh and strident 
with passion, rose above the thud of 
the picks and the clang of metal. 
“Who’s in charge here, and what in 
blazes do you mean by cutting my 
tracks?” 
Bryce turned in time to behold Colo¬ 
nel Seth Pennington leap from an 
automobile and advance upon Buck 
Ogilvy. Ogilvy held a lantern up to 
the Colonel’s face and surveyed Pen¬ 
nington calmly. 
“Colonel,” he began with exasperat¬ 
ing politeness, “—I presume you are 
Colonel Pennington — my name is 
Buchanan P. Ogilvy, and I am in 
charge of these operations. I am the 
vice-president and general manager of 
the N. C. 0., and I am engaged in the 
task of making a jump-crossing of 
your rails. I had hoped to accomplish 
this without your knowledge or con¬ 
sent, but now that you are here, that 
hope, of course, has died a-bornin’. 
Have a cigar.” And he thrust a per- 
fecto under the Colonel’s nose. Pen¬ 
nington struck it to the ground, and on 
the instant, half a dozen rough rascals 
emptied their shovels over him. He 
was deluged with dirt. 
(Continued on page 347) 
. WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS 
"CDIIYCE CARDIGAN and Buck Ogilvy are determined that that junip- 
crossing shall go in. Colonel Seth is equally determined that it shall 
not. A battle royal is in progress, Bryce and Buck having outwitted the 
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 uncle’s 
methods in protecting their joint interest. She has managed to main¬ 
tain her friendship with Bryce and also with Moria MacTavish, 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. 
