On his
previous visit to Sequoia he had seen his chance awaiting him in the
gradually decreasing market for redwood lumber and the corresponding
increase of melancholia in the redwood operators; hence he had
returned to Michigan, closed out his business interests there, and
returned to Sequoia on the alert for an investment in redwood timber.
From a chair-warmer on the porch of the Hotel Sequoia, the Colonel
had heard the tale of how stiff-necked old John Cardigan had called
the bluff of equally stiff-necked old Bill Henderson; so for the next
few weeks the Colonel, under pretense of going hunting or fishing on
Squaw Creek, managed to make a fairly accurate cursory cruise of the
Henderson timber--following which he purchased it from the delighted
Bill for a dollar and a quarter per thousand feet stumpage and paid
for it with a certified check. With his check in his hand, Henderson
queried:
"Colonel, how do you purpose logging that timber?"
The Colonel smiled. "Oh, I don't intend to log it. When I log timber,
it has to be more accessible. I'm just going to hold on and outgame
your former prospect, John Cardigan. He needs that timber; he has to
have it--and one of these days he'll pay me two dollars for it."
Bill Henderson raised an admonitory finger and shook it under the
Colonel's nose.
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