406 
American Agriculturist, May 5,1923 
The Valley of the Giants —By Peter B. Kyne 
^<TTTELL Rondeau,” Bryce hailed the woods-boss cheerfully, “I see you have 
VV quite recovered. No hard feelings, I trust.” 
“By gar, she don’ pay for have hard feelings wiz you, M’sieur,” Rondeau ans¬ 
wered bluntly. “We have one fine fight, but”—he shrugged—“I don’ want some 
more.” 
“Yes, by gar, an’ she don’ pay for cut other people’s trees, M’sieur,” Bryce 
mimicked him. “I shouldn’t wonder if I took the value of that tree out of your 
hide.” 
“I t’enk so, M’sieur.” He approached Bryce and lowered his voice. “For one 
month I am no good all ze tarn. We don’ fight some more, M’sieur. And I feel 
ashame’ for dose Black Minorca. Always eet is ze knife or ze club — and now ze 
rifle. Cochon! W’en I fight, I fight wiz what le bon Dieu give me.” 
“You appear to have a certain code, after all,” Bryce laughed. “You’re sporty 
in your way, you tremendous scoundrel!” 
“Mebbeso,” Rondeau suggested hopefuly, “M’sieur likes me for woods-boss?” 
“Why what’s the matter with Pennington?” 
The color mounted slowly to the woods bully ^ swarthy cheek. “Mademoiselle 
Summnair, he’s tell me pretty soon be boss an’ stop all thees fight. An’ then good¬ 
bye Jules Rondeau. Thees country — I like him. I feel sad, M’sieur, to leave 
dose beeg trees.” He paused, looking rather wistfully at Bryce. “I am fine woods- 
boss for somebody,” he suggested hopefully. 
“Youi think Miss Sumner dislikes 
you then, R 9 ndeau?” 
“I don’ theenk. I know.” He sighed. 
“I am out of zee good luck now,” he 
murmured bitterly. “Everybody, she 
hate Jules Rondeau. Colonel—she hate 
because I don’ keel M’sieur Cardigan; 
Madamoiselle, he hate because I try 
to keel M’sieur Cardigan; M’sieur Sex¬ 
ton, she hate because I tell her thees 
morhin’ she is one fool for fight 
M’sieur Cardigan.” 
Again he sighed. “Dose beeg trees! 
In zee woods, M’sieur, I feel—here!” 
And he laid his great calloused, hairy 
hand over his heart. 
“That infernal gorilla of a man is a 
poet,” Buck Ogilvy declared. “I’d 
think twice before I let him get out of 
the country, Bryce.” 
“ ‘Whose salt he eats, his song he 
sings,’ ” quoth Bryce. “I forgive you. 
Rondeau, and when I need a woods- 
boss like you. I’ll send for you.” 
CHAPTER XXXI 
A t eleven o’clock Saturday night 
•the deputy United States marshal 
arrived in Sequoia. Upon the advice 
of Buck Ogilvy, however, he made no 
attempt to service that night. At eight 
o’clock Sunday morning, however, 
BryCe Cardigan drove him down to the 
crossing. Buck Ogilvy was already 
there with his men, superintending the 
erection of a huge derrick close to the 
heap of obstructions on the crossing. 
Sexton was watching him uneasily, and 
flushed as Ogilvy pointed him out to 
the marshal. 
“There’s your meat. Marshal,” he 
announced. The marshal approached 
and extended toward Sexton a copy of 
the restraining order. The latter 
struck it aside whereupon the deputy 
marshal tapped him on the shoulder 
with it. “Tag! You’re out of the game, 
my friend,” he said pleasantly. 
As the document fluttered to Sex¬ 
ton’s feet, the latter turned to Jules 
Rondeau. “I can no longer take charge 
here. Rondeau,” he explained. “I am 
forbidden to interfere.” 
“Jules Rondeau can do ze job,” the 
woods-boss replied easily. “Ze law, she 
have not restrain’ me.” 
The deputy marshal handed Ron¬ 
deau a paper, at the same time show¬ 
ing his badge. “You’re out, too, my 
friend,” he laughed. “Don’t be foolish 
and try to buck the law. I have one of 
these little restraining orders for every 
able-bodied man in the Laguna Grande 
Lumber Company’s employ.” 
A gleam of pleasure, not unmixed 
with triumph, lighted the dark eyes of 
the French-Canadian. “I tol’ M’sieur 
Sexton she cannot fight M’sieur Cardi¬ 
gan and win,” he said simply. 
“Shut up,” Sexton roared. Rondeau 
shrugged contemptuously, turned, and 
with a sweep of his great arm indi¬ 
cated to his men that they were to go; 
then, without a backward glance, the 
woods-boss strode away in the direc¬ 
tion of the Laguna Grande mill. Ar¬ 
rived at the mill-office, he entered, took 
down the telephone, and called up Shir¬ 
ley Sumner. 
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “Jules Ron¬ 
deau speaks to you. I have for you ze 
good news. Bryce Cardigan, she puts 
in the crossing to-day. One man of the 
law she comes from San Francisco 
with papers, and M’sieur Sexton say 
to me: ‘Rondeau, we are whip.’ Dees- 
mess your men. So I have deesmess 
doze men, and now I deesmess myself. 
Mebbeso bimeby I go to work for 
M’sieur Cardigan. For Mademoiselle 
I have no weesh to make trouble to fire 
me. I queet. I will not fight dose 
dirty fight some more. Au revoir, mad¬ 
emoiselle. I go.” 
And without further ado he hung up. 
“What’s this,” Sexton demanded. 
“You’re going to quit? Nonsense, Ron¬ 
deau!” 
“I will have my time, M’sieur,” said 
Jules Rondeau. “I go to work for a 
man. Mebbeso I am not woods-boss 
for heem, but—I work.” 
“Then you’ll wait till pay-day for it. 
Rondeau. You know our rules.” 
Jules advanced until he towered over 
the manager. “I tol’ M’sieur I would 
And he did. He proceeded to direct 
operations like the born leader of men 
that he was. With his late employer’s 
gear he fastened to the old castings 
and the boiler, lifted them with the 
derrick on the wrecking-car, and 
swung them up and around onto the 
flat-cars. By the middle of the after¬ 
noon the crossing was clear. Then the 
Cardigan crew fell upon it while Jules 
Rondeau ran the train back to the 
Laguna Grande yards, dismissed his 
crew, returned to the mill-office, and 
released the manager. 
“You’ll pay through the nose for 
this, you scoundrel,” Sexton whim¬ 
pered. 
Rondeau replied imperturbably, “who 
is witness Jules Rondeau tie you up? 
Somebody see you, no? I guess you 
don’ feex me. Sacre! I guess you 
don’ try.” 
CHAPTER XXXII 
OLONEL PENNINGTON’S dis¬ 
covery at San Francisco that 
Bryce Cardigan had stolen his thunder 
was the hardest blow Seth Pennington 
had received throughout thirty-odd 
years. 
On Tuesday he returned to Sequoia. 
Sexton related to him in detail the 
events which had transpired since his 
departure, but elicited nothing more 
than a noncommittal grunt. 
“There is one more matter, sir,” Sex¬ 
ton continued apologetically. “Miss 
Sumner yesterday instructed me to no¬ 
tify the directors of the Laguna 
Grande Company of a special meeting 
ently his glance sought the carpet. 
Shirley continued: 
“You had erected a huge sawmill and 
built and equipped a logging-road be¬ 
fore you discovered you had been 
swindled. So you decided to unload 
your white elephant on somebody else. 
I was the readiest victim.” 
“I had my back to the wall,” he quav¬ 
ered. “I was desperate. You had the 
money—more money than you knew 
what to do with—and with the pro¬ 
ceeds of the sale of those cedar lands, 
I knew I could make an investment in 
California redwood and make big 
money for both of us.” 
“You might have borrowed the money 
from me. You know I have never hesi¬ 
tated to join in your enterprises.” 
“This was too- big a deal for you, 
Shirley, I had a vision. _ I could see in¬ 
calculable riches in this redwood em¬ 
pire. I dreamed of the control of Cali¬ 
fornia redwood; and if yoy will stand 
by me, Shirley, I shall yet make my 
dream come true—and half of it shall 
be yours. It has always been my inten¬ 
tion to buy back from you secretly and 
at a nice profit to you that Caribou red 
cedar, and with the acquisition of the 
Cardigan properties I would have been 
in position to do so. Why, that Cardi¬ 
gan tract in the San Hedrin which we 
will buy in within a year for half a 
million is worth five'millions at least.” 
She silenced him with a disdainful 
gesture. “You shall not smash the 
Cardigans,” she declared firmly. 
“I shall-” he began, but he paused 
abruptly. 
“You are devoid of mercy, of a sense 
of sportsmanship. Now, then, Uncle 
Seth, listen to me: You have twenty- 
four hours in which to make up your 
mind whether to accept my ultimatum 
or refuse it. If you refuse, I shall 
prosecute you for fraud and a betrayal 
of trust as my father’s executor on 
that red-cedar timber deal.” 
H e brightened a trifle. “I’m afraid 
that would be a long, hard row to 
loe, my dear, and of course, I shall 
lave to defend myself.” 
“In addition,” the girl went on quiet¬ 
ly, “the county grand jury shall be 
furnished with a stenographic report of 
your conversation with Mayor Pound- 
stone. That will not be a long, hard 
row to hoe. Uncle Seth, for in addition 
to the stenographer, I have another 
very reliable witness. Judge Moore. 
Your casual disposal of my sedan will 
be hard to explain in view of the fact 
that Bryce Cardigan managed to 
frighten Mr. Poundstone into return¬ 
ing the sedan while you were away. 
And if that is not sufficient for my pur¬ 
poses, I have the sworn confession of 
the Black Minorca that you gave him 
five hundred dollars to kill Bryce 
Cardigan. Your woods-boss. Rondeau, 
will also swear that you approached 
him with a proposition to do away with 
Bryce Cardigan. I think, therefore, 
that you will not disagree with me 
when I suggest that it would be better 
for you to leave this country.” 
His face had gone gray and hag¬ 
gard. “I can’t,” he murmured, “I can’t 
leave this great business now. With¬ 
out my hand at the helm, things will 
go to smash.” 
“I’ll risk that.”_ 
The Colonel raised his glance. She 
met it with firmness, and the thought 
came to him: “She is a Pennington!” 
Hope died out in his heart. He began 
pleading in maudlin fashion, but the 
girl was obdurate. 
“I am showing you more mercy than 
you deserve—you to whom mercy was, 
ever a sign of weakness. There is a 
gulf between us. Uncle Seth—a gulf 
which, because of my recent discov¬ 
eries, has widened until it can no 
longer be bridged.” 
He wrung his hands in desperation; 
with hypocritical endearments he 
strove to take her hand, but she drew 
away from him. “Don’t touch me,” she 
cried sharply and with a break in her 
voice. “You planned to kill Bi’yce Car¬ 
digan! And for that I shall never for¬ 
give you.” 
She fled from the office, leaving him 
cringing on the floor. “There will te 
no directors’ meeting, Mr. Sexton,” she 
informed the manager as she passed 
{Continued on page 407) 
ANNOUNCING OUR NEXT SERIAL: THE BROWN MOUSE 
W HEN Herbert Quick, from the depths of his experience with rural 
problems and his admiration for the people who are solving them, 
wrote “The Brown Mouse” he laid the scene of his story in a typical 
American rural community and drew upon life for his characters. 
' The result is a story which every farm paper in the country has wanted 
to obtain for its readers. American Agriculturist is therefore extremely 
happy to announce that the first serial release of this now famous story 
will be given through these pages. 
The story will be illustrated by photographs from the moving picture 
made under the supervision of the American Farm Bureau Federation. 
And what is a Brown Mouse ? Read the story and see! 
have my time,” he repeated once more. 
“Is M’sieur deaf in zee ears?” He 
raised his right hand, much as a bear 
raises its paw. 
Without further protest Sexton 
opened the safe, counted out the wages 
due, and took Rondeau’s receipt. 
“Thank you,” M’sieur,” the woods- 
boss growled as he swept the coin into 
his pocket. “Now I work for M’sieur 
Cardigan; so, M’sieur, will have, zee 
switch-engine weeth flat-cars and 
wrecking-car. Doze trash on crossing 
—M’sieur Cardigan does not like, and 
by gar, I take heem away. I am Jules 
Rondeau, and I work for M’sieur Car¬ 
digan. La la, M’sieur!” The great 
hand closed over Sexton’s collar. “Not 
zee pistol—no, not for Jules Rondeau.” 
A S easily as a woman dresses a baby, 
. he gagged Sexton, laid him gently 
on the floor and departed) locking the 
door behind him and taking the key. 
In the round-house he found the 
switch-engine crew waiting for steam 
in the boiler. The withdrawal of both 
locomotives had caused a glut of logs 
at the Laguna Grande landings, and 
Sexton was catching up by sending the 
switch-engine crew out for one train¬ 
load, even though it was Sunday. The 
crew had been used to receiving orders 
from Rondeau; hence at his command 
they ran the switch-engine out of the 
roundhouse, coupled up the two flat¬ 
cars and the wrecking-car, and backed 
down to the crossing. Upon arrival, 
Jules Rondeau leaned out of the cab 
window and hailed Bryce. “M’sieur,” 
he said, “do not bozzer to make zee 
derrick. I have here all you need; 
pretty soon we lift him off zee cross¬ 
ing, eh, Al’sieur Cardigan?” 
Bryce stepped over to the switch- 
engine and looked up at his late enemy. 
“By whose orders is this train here?” 
he queried. ' 
“Mine,” Rondeau answered. “M’sieur 
Sexton I have tie like one leetle pig 
and lock her in her office. I work now 
for M’sieur.” 
of the board, to be held here at two this 
afternoon. In view of the impossi¬ 
bility of communicating with you, I 
conformed to her wishes.” 
“What the devil do you mean, Sex¬ 
ton, by conforming to her wishes? Miss 
Sumner is not a director of this com¬ 
pany.” Pennington’s voice was harsh 
and trembled with apprehension. 
He rose and commenced pacing up 
and down his office. “You fool!” he 
snarled. “Get out of here and leave 
me alone.” 
Sexton departed promptly. It lacked 
five minutes of two. He passed Shir¬ 
ley Sumner in the general office. 
“Shirley,” Pennington began in a 
hoarse voice as she entered his office, 
“what is the meaning of this?” 
“Be seated. Uncle Seth,” the gii'l 
answered quietly. “If you will only be 
quiet and reasonable, perhaps we can 
dispense with this directors’ meeting 
which appears to frighten you so.” 
He sat down promptly, a loqk of 
relief on his face. 
“I scarcely know how to begin. Uncle 
Seth,” Shirley commenced sadly. “It 
hurts me terribly to be forced to hurt 
you, but there doesn’t appear to be any 
other way out of it. I cannot trust 
you to manage my financial affairs in 
the future—this for a number of rea¬ 
sons, the principal one being-” 
“Young Cardigap,” he interrupted 
in a low voice. 
“I suppose so,” she answered, “al¬ 
though I did think until very recently 
that it was those sixteen townships of 
red cedar in British Columbia in which 
you induced me to invest four hundred 
thousand dollars. You will remember 
that you purchased that timber for me 
from the Caribou Timber Company, 
Limited. You said it was an unparal¬ 
leled investment. Quite recently I 
learned—no matter how — that you 
were the principal owner of the Cari¬ 
bou Timber Company, Limited! Smart 
as you are, somebody swindled you with 
that red cedar.” 
She gazed upon him stead'^y; pres¬ 
