But the
market dragged in the doldrums, and Bill Henderson died, and his boys
got discouraged, and--"
A sudden flash of inspiration illumined Bryce Cardigan's brain. "And
they sold out to Colonel Pennington," he cried.
"Exactly. The Colonel took over my contract with Henderson's company,
along with the other assets, and it was incumbent upon him, as
assignee, to fulfill the contract. For the past two years the market
for redwood has been most gratifying, and if I could only have gotten
a maximum supply of logs over Pennington's road, I'd have worked out
of the hole, but--"
"He manages to hold you to a minimum annual haul of twenty-five
million feet, eh?"
John Cardigan nodded. "He claims he's short of rolling-stock--that
wrecks and fires have embarrassed the road. He can always find
excuses for failing to spot in logging-trucks for Cardigan's logs.
Bill Henderson never played the game that way. He gave me what I
wanted and never held me to the minimum haulage when I was prepared
to give him the maximum."
"What does Colonel Pennington want, pard?"
"He wants," said John Cardigan slowly, "my Valley of the Giants and a
right of way through my land from the valley to a log-dump on deep
water."
"And you refused him?"
"Naturally. You know my ideas on that big timber.
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