AFTER the fashion of any prisoner, Parker's initial impulse was to examine the place in which he was confined. At first, escape was in his mind. The more he pondered on the lawless performance of the old timber baron and on the wilful destruction of the company's property, the more eager he was to get to a telegraph instrument.

Nothing had been taken from his person. He had his huge, sharp, jack-knife. The door was strong and thick but he believed that if he attacked the wood vigorously he might be able to whittle out the lock.

There were wooden bars on the windows outside and within, rude protection against thieves who might want to ransack the stock of the wangan store. His stout knife would take care of them, too.

But after whittling vigorously at a bar for a few moments he stopped suddenly, shut his knife and rammed it into his pocket with an exclamation of sudden resolve.

He reflected that even if he got out of the camp that night, he was more than fifty miles from Poquette, the only point in that wilderness whose location was known to him. He was without food for a journey and had his weary way to make through Gideon Ward's own country.

“He has brought me here to bluster at me and frighten me into running away out of the section,” he reflected. “I'll stay and disappoint him.”

His own respect for law and order was still so strong within him that he feared no extreme measures. His honest belief was that the colonel, like most men who find they have picked up a brick too hot for them, would drop him in good time and allow him to return to his work.

In order to force the old man to this issue he determined to put on a bold front, defy his captor still more doggedly and in the end accept release under conditions of his own making. He felt that Ward was compromised and now to a certain extent in his power.

It was a decidedly comforting reflection, that, for a prisoner, and he tucked himself into the blankets of his bunk and went to sleep with his mind eased.

The cook's shrill morning call woke him and without rising he listened to the bustle of men preparing for the day's work. He heard the continuous rattle of tin dishes, the mellow rasp of axes on turning grindstones, the squeak of footsteps departing over the crisp snow and the squealing of the runners of sleds. And when all were gone, there was as yet only the faintest glimmering of the dawn against the window of the wangan camp.

The engineer was up and dressed when the key rattled in the door. Colonel Ward came first, “sipping” his tongue against his teeth in a manner that showed he had just finished breakfast. The morning light showed redly on his face as he came ill, and in that glow he seemed to be in more gracious spirit than on the evening before.

The man who had previously accompanied him, the man of the hatchet visage, followed at his heels bearing several tin dishes that contained breakfast.

“There ain't no intention here to starve ye nor use ye in any ways contrary to gen'ral regulations—that is, so fur as we can help,” began the colonel. “Of course, if you were a little more reasonable and bus'ness-like we could use you better. Hackett, set down the breakfast! Fall to, young man, and eat hearty jest as tho ye relished your vittles.”

It was evident that Colonel Ward was making desperate attempts to appear cordial.

He even endeavored to force a smile but it was hardly more than a ridging of his cheek muscles under his bristly beard. Parker imagined that he could hear the skin crackling at this unaccustomed facial twist. The struggle to appear cheerful was so grim that the engineer dreaded his antagonist in this new guise more than he did when he was brutally open in his warfare.

“Sit down, Hackett,” commanded the colonel. “Hackett's a friend o' mine—that is, in so far as I have friends, and he might as well be here to listen to what I have to say to you and what you have to say to me. There's northin' like a witness of transactions, Mr. Parker. Now you and me ain't got together right up to now. I'm allus pretty much fussed up by my bus'ness and kept cross-grained all the time by havin' to handle so many blasted fool woodsmen, and the man that meets me for the first time might natch-rally think I was uglier'n a Injun devil in fly-time—which I ain't, Parker, No, I ain't I want you and me should be good friends and bus'ness men together, which we ain't been so far, all on account of a misunderstandin'. Now, you're goin' to find me square and honest and open.”

Ward looked at the young man eagerly and waited as tho for some encouraging word.

“Even under the circumstances in which you have placed me, not only on my personal account but with my employers, by destroying their property,” said Parker, after pondering a moment, “I am ready to talk business with you if you are now ready to talk it.”

“Well, let's say that we can talk it all nice and friendly. Won't you say that you'll talk it all nice and friendly?” He had Hackett in the corner of his eye, as tho soliciting that individual to take careful note of the conversation.

“The fact is, Colonel Ward,” replied the engineer, “human nature isn't to be driven to and fro quite like an ox team. What I mean by that is, I might say, 'Go to, now! Be friends!'—say that to myself. But that wouldn't make me feel friendly—not in present circumstances. But I'm going to say to you that I'd like to be friends, and if you will start in now and show me some reason why we should be friends I'll give you my word to come more than half way.”

“Wal, that sounds reasonable and as much as any one can expect on short notice,” broke in Hackett, who sat straining his attention.

“You shut up, Hackett,” roared the colonel, who realized Parker's mental reservation better than his man Friday. “I'll show ye all in good time why we should be friends, Parker,” he went on, addressing the engineer. “But first of all I'll show ye how much it is goin' to hurt me to have that railroad built acrost Poquette. And when I show you that, then you'll understand what the trouble was that you and me didn't start in on the basis of good friends. I tell ye, Parker, it's a serious proposition for me and my associates. I can tell ye just why that road can't and mustn't be built.”

The old man straddled his legs, leaned forward and set his right forefinger into his left palm with the confident air of one who is prepared to prove his contentions.

“I say,” he went on, “that the road must not be built, and as a business man—”

“Colonel Ward,” broke in Parker, mildly yet firmly, “if that line of talk is what you are proposing to me I think I'd better tell you at the start that you'll have to take the question of whether the road must or must not be built to my employers. I have no right to enter upon any such discussion. Nothing will be gained. They have sent me to Poquette to build the road. I shall keep on with the work until my first orders are countermanded from our headquarters. And if you want them countermanded you'll be obliged to go to headquarters. It seems to me that ought to be pretty plain to you.”

The old man, his finger still boring his palm, sat for some moments and stared at the engineer. He tried to keep from scowling but his brows twisted into knots in spite of himself.

“You will keep on till orders are countermanded, hey?” he inquired grimly. “Ain't you got no commonsense nor reason to you?”

“It isn't a question of that, Colonel. It's a question of obeying my employers.”

The old man gave him another thorough looking-over and then whirled on Hackett.

“You go 'tend to something else,” he ordered bluffly. And after Hackett had closed the door on himself he again turned to his scrutiny of the young engineer.

“I ain't no great hand to beat about the bush, young feller,” he declared. “Now look at the position you're in. You might say, you're more than half queered already with your company. Your engine and all that collateral has been dumped into the lake—sayin' nothin' about how it happened. The main point is, it's there! And you're here! I ain't makin' any threats—not as yet—but you're here, and you can't gainsay that much. Now the idea is, with your stuff under water and you here, how long do you think it's goin' to be before you git to work ag'in?”

Parker made no reply.

“Needn't answer any question that you can't answer,” continued Ward. “And that's one that you can't answer. You tell me you've got to build that road. You're goin' to tell me that if you don't build it some one else will. Mebbe they will! Mebbe they will!” His eyes grew shrewd. “Mebbe I'll build it myself! I can say this much, that I'd rather build it than have outsiders come in here and git a foothold. There's too big interests in this region and owned by them that's allus lived here, my son, to have outsiders come in now and meddle. It's the very first run of potater bugs that you want to keep out of the garden. And the first run can be handled easier than the settlers after they have set up housekeeping. Now you see the point, I reckon! So the whole thing simmers down to this: I want to discourage them city fellers. It's a long arm they're reachin' down this way, and I won't have to tread on their fingers many times till they'll be mighty glad to pull back. It's only a side issue with them, and they won't let a side issue keep 'em awake too many nights when there's a way to get rid of the bother. When they are discouraged enough to be willin' to sell the charter and the stuff they've got on the spot—and under water,” he added with a wicked grin, “then I'll step in with the cash in my hand. I reckon we can handle our own railroad build-in' down this way. If I ain't got you discouraged already, young man, then I don't understand human natur' as well as I think I do. So now I want to hire you in the discouragin' business—you understand it fairly well. I need an assistant discourager. And here's my proposition! I'll give ye five thousand dollars bonus smack down in your fist and promise you in the name of the Lumbermen's Association a steady job. We're goin' to build three big dams along the West Branch and a four-mile canal cut-off at headwaters. You'll find work enough, if that's what you're lookin' for.”

“And you'll be looking for me to sell out your interests at my first opportunity,” said Parker.

“Ours is a different proposition—a different proposition,” blurted Ward earnestly. “Your men ain't got any right to be here on our own stamping ground—not as bus'ness men. We ain't goin' down where they are to bother them. They hadn't ought to be up here. If you leave 'em and come with us we'll consider that it's showin' that you understand what a square deal in bus'ness matters means. And furthermore,” he said with a certain air as tho he had reserved his trump card, “we'll make our trade in black and white for a ten years' contract at a third more wages than your railroad people are paying and tip you off regular on timber deals where you can make an extry dollar. I don't mind tellin' ye, Parker, that I've had ye looked up and I know that we ain't buyin' any gold brick.” This with a certain cordiality.

“I must say, Colonel Ward, that you have taken a rather peculiar method of getting me interested in your enterprises.” Parker's tone was a bit resentful, but the old man believed he could understand that resentment, and grew more cheerful and confident.

“You had to be discouraged,” chuckled the colonel. “Didn't I tell you that you had to be discouraged? Why, if you hadn't been shown what kind of a proposition you were up against you might have kept on thinkin' that the P. K. &. R. railroad company was the biggest thing in the world. All young men want to work for the biggest folks. But I reckon by this time you have found out that Gideon Ward and the Lumbermen's Association come pretty near bein' lord of all they survey in this country. There, young man! The cards are down. Look at 'em! I'm pretty rough and I'm pretty tough and I play the game for all that's in me. But when it's over you won't find any cards up my sleeve nor down the back of my neck—and you can't always say that of your smooth city chaps.”

Parker sat with his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor, his forehead wrinkled. He was a pretty sturdy young American in principles and conduct, but at the same time he had all of young America's appreciation of the main chance. And the main chance in these days lies along the road where the dollars are sprinkled thickest. He reflected that the building of the little bob-tail railroad had been tossed at him as a rather silly and secret escapade of two big men who were already half ashamed of the whole business. He realized that in their present frame of mind they would be inclined to close out the whole thing in disgust as soon as they received news of the destruction of the property.

When he got back to town he would simply remind them of a mutual failure to accomplish, and the history of such reminders is that they have been side-tracked in some places where their presence could not remind.

“You know there isn't goin' to be any hurry about your givin' up your present job—not till spring has got well opened and the ice is out of Spinnaker,” said Colonel Ward slyly, breaking in on the young man's meditations. “There's always a right time for re-signin' and we'll discover that time. But your five thousand will be put to your credit in Kenduskeag Bank the next day after you sign our papers, and your salary with us will begin the minute the ink is dry. You'll have double pay for a while, but I reckon you'll be earnin' it.” He chuckled once more.

Parker, surveying his red cheek knobs, his cruel gray eyes narrowed now in evil mirth, recollected with a photographic flash of memory of the details of that story the postmaster at Sunkhaze had told him. This was the same man who had coolly stolen wife and property from his own brother and then had jeered at him, probably with that same expression puckering about his evil, gray eyes. In the sudden revulsion of his feelings Parker wondered if he really had been tempted by the bait held out to him. At least, he had been weighing the chances. He remembered cases where other men who had stopped to weigh advantages had ended in becoming disloyal. He promptly forgot with a mental wrench the bribe that had been offered. It was a coaxing bait and he bravely owned that it had tempted for a moment. He was honest enough to own to himself that, offered by another, it might have won him—and he felt a little quiver of fear at the thought.

But when he pictured himself as the associate of this old harpy who sat leering at him, hands on his knees, and already swelling with a sense of proprietorship, he almost forgot his personal wrongs in the hot flush of his indignation on behalf of the cheated brother.

“That's a proposition that sort of catches ye, hey?” inquired Ward, misunderstanding the nature of the flush that sprung to Parker's cheeks.

“I'm going to be honest enough to say that it did catch me for a moment,” replied the young man.

“Oh, I know all about what temptation is to any men—especially a young man,” said the colonel blandly.

“But I'll bet you a hundred dollars to a toothpick you never knew what it was to resist temptation,” shouted Parker. “And I'm going to tell you now and here that I'd no more accept your offer and take a job with you than I'd poison myself with paris green.” He flung himself back in his chair and glared at his tempter with honest indignation.

For a little while Ward stared at him, open-mouthed. His surprise was greater, for he believed that he had landed his fish.

“And don't you make me any more offers. I've no use for them or for you, either,” cried the young man, his voice trembling.

“I've read about such critters as you be,” said the colonel slowly, “but it was in a dime novel and it was a good many years ago and I didn't believe it. I believe it said in the novel that the young man died young and went to heaven—the only one of his kind. P'raps I'm wrong and he didn't die—went to heaven jest as he stood in his shoes and co't and pants.”

Parker merely scowled back at the biting irony of this rejoinder.

“There's no dime novel or any other kind of a novel to this affair, Colonel Ward. I'm not especially fitted to be the hero of a book. Nor to be one of your hired men, either.”

“Then ye've made up your mind to straddle out your legs and play Branscome's mule, hey?”

“What was his special characteristic?”

The question was drawled coolly.

“He kicked when ye tried to drive him with a whip and he bit and squealed when ye tried to coax him along with sweet apples. So if ye won't neither lead nor drive, then out with it man fashion.”

“I simply demand my liberty.”

“And what be ye goin' to do with it?”

“That is my own affair.”

The two men sat and looked at each other a long time, the old man's choler rising the higher from the fact that it had been so long repressed. The young man's glance did not fall before this furious regard.

At last Ward quivered his fists above his head, stamped around the little room and went to the door.

“You've got a few hours to do a little more thinkin' in, and then you look out for yourself, for it's up to you, you—,” he slammed and locked the door and went away, cursing horribly.