We would have the comforting knowledge
that we owned it and paid taxes on it but couldn't do a dad-burned
thing with it!"
"Right you are! The thing to do, then, as I viewed the situation,
Bryce, was to acquire a body of timber NORTH of Sequoia and be
prepared for either eventuality. And this I did."
Silence again descended upon them; and Bryce, gazing into the open
fireplace, recalled an event in that period of his father's
activities: Old Bill Henderson had come up to their house to dinner
one night, and quite suddenly, in the midst of his soup, the old fox
had glared across at his host and bellowed:
"John, I hear you've bought six thousand acres up in Township Nine."
John Cardigan had merely nodded, and Henderson had continued:
"Going to log it or hold it for investment?"
"It was a good buy," Cardigan had replied enigmatically; "so I
thought I'd better take it at the price. I suppose Bryce will log it
some day."
"Then I wish Bryce wasn't such a boy, John. See here, now, neighbour.
I'll 'fess up. I took that money Pennington gave me for my Squaw
Creek timber and put it back into redwood in Township Nine, slam-bang
up against your holdings there. John, I'd build a mill on tidewater
if you'd sell me a site, and I'd log my timber if--"
"I'll sell you a mill-site, Bill, and I won't stab you to the heart,
either.
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