“are such riggings very expensive?” inquired ted of the foreman, after they had watched the donkey pay out cables and haul in and load other logs.
“that depends on your idea of expense,” returned steve. “the cables alone are worth close to a thousand dollars for each engine and the en—”
“you need not say any more,” broke in the boy. “we couldn’t even buy the cables.”
“why should you want to? think of starting in the logging business?”
“hardly, but we are going to take up a homestead and, as we shall be obliged to clear it, i wondered how much a rigging like this would cost.”
the announcement of the boys’ purpose surprised and interested steve.
“you don’t say!” he exclaimed. “ever had any experience farming?”
“no.”
“then, if i were you, i’d tackle something else. it’s no easy job clearing land, and when you’ve got it cleared, like as not the soil will be so dry you’ll have to irrigate it. i’ve seen a lot of farmers, good ones too, who came out here thinking they’d get rich in a few years. but when they found there was a mighty sight of difference between doing and thinking, before the time came when they could ‘commute,’ they’d quit.”
“why?” asked phil.
“too hard work, that and the cost of getting started.”
“we expect to work hard; we realized that we should be obliged to before we came out here.”
“you sure will, especially as you don’t know anything about clearing ground or planting. why not take something easy—a job with me, say?”
“you call this work felling and sawing trees ‘easy’?” asked ted.
“no, i didn’t mean that. i want some men to keep books—one in camp here and one at peleg’s store. his accounts are in a terrible mess. understand, i don’t mean he’s dishonest, but they are so mixed up it’s an awful job to find out how much a man owes the company. jonson was owing six dollars when i discharged him, but until i looked up the records to close his account, i didn’t know it. what do you say? i couldn’t offer you more than fifty a month and board, but there’s no place where you can spend anything in these woods.”
“much obliged, but we can’t do it,” replied phil, after looking at his brother.
“why not? you boys ain’t got the slightest idea of the work and trouble of taking up a homestead. when men brought up on farms give it up, what show have you? just talk with the jacks when they come in for grub. every other one of them, almost, has sunk all he had on a claim and then woke up and got into logging, where there is real money. i can tell you of—”
“there’s no need,” interrupted ted. “we came out here to take up a homestead and we shall do it. because others quit is no sign that we shall. besides, our case is different.” and on account of the kind interest the foreman had evinced, the boy told him of the little mother ill at home.
“you’ve sure got pluck,” commented steve, when the story was finished. “but what made you come to chikau? if i’d been you, i’d have gone into canada. there you can get what they call ‘a ready-made home.’ the government, after looking you up and finding you o. k., not only gives you a quarter section, but builds a house and barn on it for you, and will loan you from five hundred to five thousand dollars with which to equip, stock, and get your farm started.”
“the united states is good enough for us,” returned phil. “but i should think our government would do the same for its settlers.”
“it’s beginning to. so many families that entered claims in this country have left them and crossed the line, it had to do something. at present, however, the few ‘ready-made homes’ in the united states are controlled by private interests, and the rates they charge are so high a man can hardly pay when crops are good. when they are not, he can’t. as i asked before, how’d you come to pick out chikau?”
“a friend of ours heard that it was a promising region,” said phil.
“and andy—i mean mr. howe—says he knows a fine place. he’s gone to talk with mr. hopkins about showing us where it is.”
“he has, eh?” exclaimed the foreman, in surprise. “h’m! reckon i know where it is.”
“where?” asked both boys, eagerly.
“i’ll let andy tell you. but if you get it and si says the word. i’ll bring over one of my riggings and clear what you want.”
“will you really? how much will it cost?” queried ted.
“not a cent; that is, i’ll take my pay in logs and you can sell my company the rest.”
“that will be splendid. you’re mighty kind, mr. anderson!” exclaimed both young homesteaders.
“don’t ‘mister’ me, or anybody else out here! we aren’t used to it. you boys have the heart, i saw that when you faced the swede last night. that’s what counts with me. so you can bank on my doing all i can to help you.”
this promise revived the boys’ spirits, which had sunk to a low ebb as they had listened to the foreman’s statements concerning men who had given up their struggle with the wild land, and they passed the rest of the day tramping about the tract with steve, entirely forgetful of their letter of credit, picking up all the points they could and asking countless questions.
“andy wants you to go right down to the station,” shrilled jennie from the steps of the store where she had been watching for them, as she beheld phil and ted climbing off the engine. “i thought you never was coming. pap ’lowed you mought of got hurted. hurry back. i’ll have supper ready.”
“why should andy send for us?” mused phil, as the engine started again.
“station’s the only place to talk where peleg won’t be listening,” smiled steve. “evidently andy has something important to say.”
“why, we have for—” began ted, only to be interrupted by the engineer.
“bet peleg’s snooping down there now,” chuckled jim.
“yes, there he is,” cried steve, pointing to a figure gliding among the trees, as they neared the freight-car station.
“oh, you peleg! better get back to the store,” shouted the foreman. “andy said he’d duck you in the water tank if he caught you snooping—and you know you don’t like water.”
never a word did the storekeeper reply, but the others all laughed as they saw him turn and go back.
“aren’t hurt, are you?” called andy, anxiously, as he caught sight of the boys. “you’ve been gone so long, i was getting uneasy. never supposed any one would forget to meet a train that was bringing him money.”
at the agent’s words the boys looked at one another in dismay.
“our letter of credit!” they cried together.
“exactly,” returned andy. “it didn’t seem natural that two ki—er—strangers should not be on hand to meet the train that was bringing them so important a document. first, i thought you were late. then, as time went on and you did not appear, i decided you must have been injured. i couldn’t believe you would forget a—”
“oh, cut the lecture, andy,” steve broke in. “i don’t know what you are talking about, but if there’s any blame coming, put it on me. i asked ted and phil to go to camp with me and tried to make them have a good time.”
“which you evidently succeeded in doing,” the agent commented drily.
so serious was andy that the boys felt something must have happened.
“wouldn’t the man on the train give it to you?” asked phil, in alarm.
during this scene, which they did not in the least understand, steve and jim had glanced about the station, noticed the agent’s rifle lying across a box, while at his side hung his pistol holster.
“what’s up? never saw you packing a gun before,” commented the engineer.
“i want you to see me pass this money to phil and ted.”
“money for us?” exclaimed the boys, in surprise.
“exactly.”
“but we haven’t any coming,” said phil.
“yes, you have. five hundred and forty dollars.”
“from whom?” demanded ted.
“si hopkins. he sent it to cash your letter of credit. said there wasn’t any bank short of waterfield and that you’d need it to fit out with.”
“but we haven’t the letter yet,” returned phil.
“wrong again. i’ve got it. express messenger on 64 gave it to me. here it is, with the money.” and the agent lifted the box and took from beneath it the recovered letter of credit and a pile of bills. “count them, please. then sign this draft. it’s to si. if you act lively, i can send it back on 17; she’s whistling now.”
quickly both young homesteaders went to the table and affixed their signatures to the draft which would reimburse mr. hopkins for the money he had sent.
“have we time to write a letter?” asked phil.
“no. andy’s flagging 17 now,” returned steve.
“i’ve written ‘thank you very much. more later,’” said ted. “hurry and sign it, phil.”
“got your names down?” demanded the agent, poking his head through the door. “good! put the draft in the envelope i’ve addressed to si and the letter of credit with it. that’s the stuff. give it here, lively!”
and with a bound andy started for the cab of the engine, which had just stopped, handing the envelope to the engineer with instructions to deliver it to the agent at avon if he valued his job.
“now perhaps you’ll act like a sane man and tell us what this is all about,” said steve, as andy returned to his station.
“i wanted to get that letter back to si tonight, i told him i would.”
“what about the ‘beaut’ section?” asked ted.
“it’s yours. we’ll go to it tomorrow. si’s coming over himself by and by to see how you are getting along.”
“you boys have sure landed on your feet,” declared the foreman. “what else did si say, andy?”
“a lot.”
“then let’s hear it. jim and me got to go back to camp.”
“there’s nothing more to hear. what else si said was just for andy howe’s ears.” and he bustled about, so full of importance that the others laughed.
“quit fussing round and come up to supper,” ordered steve.
“can’t. got to wait for 18.”
“why, we don’t expect any cars tonight,” declared jim.
“but i do.”
“what have you got coming—airship?” grinned steve.
“no. horses.”
“horses? in chikau?” gasped the engineer.
“that’s what i said.”
“what for?”
“phil and ted and me. si’s lending them.”
“going to start a livery stable?” grinned jim.
“not much. these horses are for the boys and me to ride about on. we have too much ground to cover to walk.”
