The purchase of that timber didn't even dent his
bank-roll. He's what they call in England a tinned-goods
manufacturer--purveyor to His Majesty the King, and all that. But he
would like to sell his timber, and being Scotch, naturally he desires
to sell it at a profit. In order to create a market for it, however,
he has to have an outlet to that market. We supply the outlet--with
his help; and what happens? Why, timber that cost him fifty and
seventy-five cents per thousand feet stumpage--and the actual timber
will overrun the cruiser's estimate every time--will be worth two
dollars and fifty cents--perhaps more."
The elder Cardigan turned slowly in his chair and bent his sightless
gaze upon his son. "Well, well," he cried impatiently.
"He loans us the money to build our road. We build it--on through our
timber and into his. The collateral security which we put up will be
a twenty-five-years contract to haul his logs to tidewater on
Humboldt Bay, at a base freight-rate of one dollar and fifty cents,
with an increase of twenty-five cents per thousand every five years
thereafter, and an option for a renewal of the contract upon
expiration, at the rate of freight last paid. We also grant him
perpetual booming-space for his logs in the slough which we own and
where we now store our logs until needed at the mill.
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