Chapter II: Young Todhunter

Some hundred miles south of Piper's Glen, and across an international boundary into the bargain, young James Todhunter had just heard the news that college was out of the question; that his father's health had broken down, and that it was most decidedly up to him to do something in the way of earning a living.

"I can give you a small stake, Jim," his father said, "but it won't be very much. It is going to take a lot to take mother and me West and I'll be out of things a long while, I am afraid. How about it?"

James Todhunter came of a family of sportsmen--his father and his favorite uncle had been big game hunters in their day--and he received the news as a sportsman would; and, to his credit, with never a thought of all that his prep. school prowess at athletics had been going to mean to him at college.

"Fine," he said. "I'll manage," with all the conviction in the world and a total lack of ideas.

It was not till that night that the big idea came. He'd always wanted to go North to the logging country--North to the region where his uncle had so often hunted and fished and felt the lure of the big timber. Why not go North and get a job? His parents would be away, he'd have a little money, and all the thoughtfully chosen kit he had inherited from his uncle the year before. The poor man had died possessed of little else but guns of the best makes, equipment of every known manufacture and sort for life in the wilds of every continent. It had been his passion, and he had spared no expense in making his outfit perfect from a sportsman's point of view. Much of the assortment had never been used, but there it was, perfect in every detail.

"I'd better take everything he had of his northern camping stuff," said young Todhunter to himself. "You never know your luck."

His own luck seemed pretty fair, for the first man he interviewed--an old friend of both his father and his uncle--knew the timber country well; had camped and surveyed all over it, and was acquainted with numerous guides, trappers, prospectors, and lumbermen. He, in turn, had a friend who thought young Todhunter might do worse than go to Millbrook.

Millbrook was in the heart of the wilderness, thought of which appealed most to young Jim Todhunter, and there also seemed to be a business opportunity there. A Mr. Hammond carried on a business in timber and supplies at this pioneer outpost, where, according to his uncle's friend, there were moose, caribou, deer, and bear right at the door. No doubt Hammond would welcome as assistant a young American with a little capital, which might eventually be invested in the business, although, of course, salary would be meager to start with.

A rapid interchange of letters took place, and it ended in Hammond's writing to say he'd find a place for a young chap with some capital of his own--Jim's modest hundreds would go quite a way in the timber country. James's uncle's friend didn't know much of Hammond himself, but "splendid fellows, all of them, in those virgin lands: big hearted, big souled," he assured young Todhunter genially, and betook himself to his own affairs.

Thus it was that one September day young James Todhunter found himself being lurched along in the single passenger car of a single track railway, eventually to reach Covered Bridge, the end of iron of that particular system of transportation.

His baggage consisted of the pick of his late uncle's assortment and certainly impressed the station-master at Covered Bridge. Here was a picnic-basket, as large as a cabin-trunk and as full of ingenious complications as a lady's dressing-bag. Here was a collapsible bath and an Arctic sleeping-bag. Rifle and gun each reposed in a large case of hard, yellow leather. Here were boots for every phase of life in the North as imagined and experienced by his uncle, a trunkful of them. Here were fishing-rods in canvas cases--a rod for each of every size and variety of finny gamester, from the tarpoon to the sardine. The other necessities of life--clothing, sheath-knives, cases of razors, field-glasses, a photographic outfit, revolvers, a spirit-lamp, and so on--were contained in three large trunks and two smaller cases, also of leather.

The station-master, who was also the telegraph operator, was a busy young man. He had very little time to devote to Jim even after the engine had been reversed on a turntable and had gone away, pushing cars of sawn lumber and cord-wood before it. He walked around the pyramid of Jim's baggage on the open platform seven times, only to retire each time, without a word, to the little red shack that was evidently his office.

Jim sat on one of his boxes and waited for Mr. Hammond. He smoked cigarettes and surveyed the scene. The September sun shone bright upon the wooded hills, the rapid brown river, the narrow fields and the gray bridge. The foliage of maples and birches among the dark green and purple of the forests was showing patches and dashes of red and yellow. There was a pleasant tang in the air suggestive of wood-smoke and sun-steeped balsam and running water and frost-nipped ferns.

The station-master came out of his shack for the eighth time. Again he walked around the formidable pile of baggage. Then he paused and looked Jim in the eye.

"Waitin' for someone?" he asked.

"Yes, for Mr. Hammond of Millbrook," answered Jim.

"Amos Hammond?"

"Yes."

"My name's Harvey White."

"Mine is James Todhunter."

"Ye're an American?"

"You bet."

"Had yer dinner?"

Jim hadn't, and he said so: and White invited him into the red shack, where there was a stove with a fire in it. The kettle was singing. White made tea, set the table, brought a crock of baked beans from the oven and an apple pie from the pantry and pushed a chair against the back of Jim's legs.

"We can keep a look-out for Hammond through the window," he said.

Jim was hungry and the food vanished swiftly.

"Goin' into the woods from Millbrook?" asked White.

"Yes, I expect to, of course," replied Jim.

"Who's yer guide? The Ducats up to Piper's Glen are slick men in the woods, but it ain't always that any of 'em will take a sport into their country."

Young Todhunter started to explain, then stopped.

"Well, ye're after moose, I guess, ain't you?" added White.

"I hope to go after moose, of course, and whatever other game you have here--but my chief reason for coming is to work for Mr. Hammond," answered Jim.

The section of pie which White was raising to his mouth fell from the blade of his knife. He stared for a moment, then lowered his glance and his knife and resumed his interrupted consumption of pie.

"Why not?" asked Jim, who had two perfectly good eyes in his head.

"D'ye know him?" returned the other.

"I've never met him."

"Are you in business with him?"

"Not exactly. Not yet, I mean to say: I'm to learn the business and then I might invest something in it."

"Good wages?"

"Oh, nothing to speak of. I'm new to business and the country, I can't expect much to start. I shall work with Mr. Hammond and get a practical knowledge of the business and the conditions under which it is carried on."

"Hell!"

"Say, what's wrong with Hammond?"

"You'll soon find out more'n I know, I guess. Work's worth wages in this country. You don't look so darned green, neither. Do you play cards?";

"Cards? Yes, I know a few games. But about Hammond? What sort of person is he?"

"What sort would he be, to bring a lad like you up here to work for him for almost nothing? But it ain't no affair of mine! D'ye know black-jack?"

"Well, I've heard of it."

"All right."

White piled the dishes on a corner of the table and dealt from a pack of cards very much the worse for wear. Jim produced his cigarette case, opened it and extended it.

Both young men were intent on the game when it was disturbed by the opening of the door. The air was blue with smoke, and Harvey White was the first to look up from his hand. Then Jim turned and saw the intruder standing silent on the threshold. Jim glanced back at his host and was puzzled by the mixed expressions of chagrin and amusement and defiance on the other's face.

"I'm lookin' for James Todhunter," said the stranger.

"That's my name," said Jim, standing up. "Have you been sent for me by Mr. Hammond of Millbrook?"

"Sent for ye? I'm Amos Hammond," returned the man at the door.

"Oh! I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Jim, and Harvey White sniggered.

"We'll move right along," said Hammond abruptly. "We're late now."

A little core of heat began to glow in Jim's heart.

"Very well, but if we're late it's your fault," he said.

The tanned skin above Hammond's dark beared grayed for an instant, then reddened, and the close eyes narrowed, and the lips twisted. If ever a man looked like swearing and didn't, it was Amos Hammond at that moment. He turned in silence and stepped out into the sunshine.

Young Todhunter shook hands cordially with White, thanked him for the dinner and the entertainment, and followed the man from Millbrook to where a heavy wagon and a team of big grays stood beside the platform.

"Which is your belongin's?" asked Hammond harshly, pausing beside the imposing mound of baggage.

"All this stuff is mine," replied Jim casually.

"All yours?" cried Hammond, with a change of voice and eyes. "If they're filled with anything more valuable nor bricks, then they must be worth a power of money. You are blessed with a considerable share of this world's goods, James Todhunter--but a humble and a contrite heart is worth more than gold."

Jim felt embarrassed.

"I'm not rich, as you must know already, Mr. Hammond," he replied. "These trunks and things contain nothing but my personal belongings--clothing and that sort of things."

"Well, that's somethin'," returned Hammond. "When I was yer age, James, a quart measure would of held all of my personal clothin' I didn't happen to be wearin' at the time. You'd of done better to of kep' yer money till you got here an' let me lay it out for you in trade--but property is property."

The high wagon was soon loaded. The load was secured with heavy ropes. Hammond and Jim took their places side by side on the board which served as a seat, and the big grays settled into their padded collars, straightened out the steel traces with a jangle and pulled away from the platform. Jim looked back over his shoulder and saw the station-master watching through the window of the red shack.

The road dipped to the covered bridge. The bridge was a long tunnel of soft gloom and golden, dusty twilight. The hoofs boomed on the plank flooring; the roof showed a few pinpoints of sunshine and long shafts of light slanted through cracks between the weather-warped boards of the walls. Amos Hammond looked as agreeable as his peculiar cast of countenance permitted. The road went up steeply a distance of fifty yards or so, reached a level and swung along it to the right, and ran northward between the brown river and the wooded hillside.

"I spoke short when I first met you, James," said Hammond, giving young Todhunter a swift glance and a crooked smile. "I was right glad to see you an' welcome you to Racket River--but I ain't no dissembler. A plain, downright man, rough, but honest: that's me an' that's how ye'll always find me, my friend. My anger flared when I seen yer company an' yer occupation, James, but I ain't one to condemn a young feller on sight. Many a good man has been tempted. Aye, an' many a godly man has played about the brink of the Pit of Everlastin' Damnation in the days of his unregenerate youth."

This was language new to young Todhunter. His first thought was that it was a joke in a style of humor peculiar to Racket River, but a glance at his companion's profile convinced him of the fact that it was not an intentional joke, at least. Then what was it?

"Ah--I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't follow you," he said.

"What would yer pa say if he knew?" asked Hammond.

"My father? What about?"

"You were playin' cards with Harvey White: gamblin' with the devil, riskin' everlastin' life for a few minutes of ungodly amusement."

"Oh, hold on. White seems a good sort. And as for gambling, there wasn't even a nickel in sight."

"James, how were you riz?"

"Ah--I beg your pardon?"

"Rizzed? Brought up?"

"Why, just like most fellows, I guess."

"Were you raised in the fear of the Lord?"

"I guess so. Yes, of course."

"An' yet you risk yer immortal soul for a game of cards!"

Jim stared.

"Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I was brought up in what I suppose you call the fear of the Lord, but what have cards to do with it? I was taught not to lie, not to let down another fellow, not to cheat, never to fight a smaller man than myself, or hit a man when he's down. I was also brought up to respect my elders--but I really must ask you to mind your own business, Mr. Hammond."

"Hah!" exclaimed Hammond, twitching with astonishment. "What's that you said?"

"You heard me, I think," returned Jim calmly.

Hammond looked at him with an expression in his dark, close-set eyes that was at once angry and calculating.

"It ain't neither civil nor wise to talk to me like that," he said.

"If you expect civility from me you must practice it," replied Jim, deliberately meeting and returning the stare.

Hammond's eyes were small, black, and set close together. One contained a suggestion of a squint. Jim's eyes were of normal size and varying hues and shades and set wide. They were gray now. Their look was peculiarly direct. Hammond's were the first to waver and slip aside.

The narrow road dipped and rose. The woods sloped down to it on the left, and on the right the wooded bank dipped steeply to the river. The big grays trotted wherever the road was level.

For twenty minutes after the battle of eyes, Amos Hammond drove in silence, looking straight ahead, and James Todhunter sat in silence beside him and studied the landscape with interest and appreciation. At last Hammond began to hum a lugubrious tune. From that he passed to a livelier one. He ceased humming suddenly and took to whistling. He dropped that as suddenly and sighed profoundly.

"After all's said an' done, a man is only young once," he said.

Jim brightened and smiled.

"What about second childhood?" he returned.

Hammond laughed and smote his knee. His laugh was broken, abrupt, like the yapping of a dog. But it was quite evident to Jim that he was trying to be agreeable.

Wild pastures were passed, and miles of forests, and occasional cultivated and inhabited clearings. Hammond had little to say, but he continued to be as agreeable as his mood and nature permitted. The last mile of the fifteen winding between Covered Bridge and Millbrook was taken by the big grays at a thumping trot.