VI

The full situation, as far as the wires could tell it, was laid before Jack Orde in Washington.  A detailed letter followed.  Toward evening of that day the mill crews began to come in with the four and six-horse teams provided for their transportation.  They were a dusty but hilarious lot.  The teams drew up underneath the solitary sycamore tree that gave the place its name, and at once went into camp.  Bob strolled down to look them over.

They proved to be fresh-faced, strong farm boys, for the most part, with a fair sprinkling of older mountaineers, and quite a contingent of half and quarter-bred Indians.  All these people worked on ranches or in the towns during the off season when the Sierras were buried under winter snows.  Their skill at woodsmanship might be undoubted, but the intermittent character of their work precluded any development of individual type, like the rivermen and shanty boys of the vanished North.  For a moment Bob experienced a twinge of regret that the old, hard, picturesque days of his Northern logging were indeed gone.  Then the interest of this great new country with its surging life and its new problems gripped him hard.  He left these decent, hard-working, self-respecting ranch boys, these quiet mountaineers, these stolid, inscrutable breeds to their flickering camp fire.  Next morning the many-seated vehicles filled early and started up the road.  But within a mile Welton and Bob in their buckboard came upon old California John square in the middle of the way.  Star stood like a magnificent statue except that slowly over and over, with relish, he turned the wheel of the silver-mounted spade-bit under his tongue.  As the ranger showed no indication of getting out of the way, Welton perforce came to a halt.

“Road closed to trespass by the Wolverine Company,” the ranger stated impassively.

Welton whistled.

“That mean I can’t get to my own property?” he asked.

“My orders are to close this road to the Wolverine Company.”

“Well, you’ve obeyed orders.  Now get out the way.  Tell your chief he can go ahead on a trespass suit.”

But the old man shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand,” he repeated patiently.  “My orders were to close the road to the Company, not just to give notice.”

Without replying Welton picked up his reins and started his horses.  The man seemed barely to shift his position, but from some concealment he produced a worn and shiny Colt’s.  This he laid across the horn of his saddle.

“Stop,” he commanded, and this time his voice had a bite to it.

“Millions for defence,” chuckled Welton, who recognized perfectly the tone, “and how much did you say for tribute?”

“What say?” inquired the old man.

“What sort of a hold-up is this?  We certainly can’t do this road any damage driving over it once.  How much of an inducement does Plant want, anyway?”