Chapter XIX: The Unmasking of Slue Foot Magee

Connie Morgan did not leave the train at Dogfish Spur, but kept on to the county seat. In the morning he hunted up the sheriff, a bluff woodsman who, until his election to office, had operated as an independent stumpage contractor.

"Did you arrest three I. W. W.'s in Mike Gillum's camp on Willow River a while back?" he asked, when the sheriff had offered him a chair in his office in the little court-house.

"D'you mean those two-legged skunks that tried to brain Hurley when he was bringin' 'em in fer tryin' to burn out his camp?"

"Those are the ones."

"They're here. An' by the time they got here they know'd they hadn't be'n on no Sunday-school picnic, too. Doc swore out the warrants, an' I deputized Limber Bill Bradley, an' Blinky Hoy to go an' fetch 'em in. 'Treat 'em kind,' I tells 'em when they started. But, judgin' by looks when they got 'em out here, they didn't. You see, them boys was brought up rough. Limber Bill mixed it up with a bear one time, an' killed him with a four-inch jack-knife, an' Blinky Hoy--they say he eats buzz-saws fer breakfast. So here they be, an' here they'll stay 'til June court. They started hollerin' fer a p'liminary hearin', soon as they got here, but I know'd Hurley was strainin' hisself fer a good showin' this year, an' wouldn't want to stop an' come down to testify, so I worked a technicality on 'em to prevent the hearin'."

"A technicality?"

"Yeh, I shuck my fist in under their nose an' told 'em if they demanded a hearing, they'd git it. But it would be helt up in Hurley's camp, an' Limber Bill, an' Blinky Hoy would chaperoon 'em up, an' provided they was enough left of 'em to bother with after the hearin' them same two would fetch 'em back. So they changed their minds about a hearin', and withdraw'd the demand."

Connie laughed: "I'm Hurley's clerk, and I just dropped down to tell you that if those fellows should happen to ask you how you got wind of where they were hiding, you might tell them that Slue Foot Magee tipped them off."

"If they'd happen to ask!" exclaimed the sheriff. "They've b'en tryin' every which way they know'd how to horn it out of me, ever since they got out here. What about Slue Foot? I never did trust that bird--never got nothin' on him--but always livin' in hopes."

"I happen to know that Slue Foot is an I. W. W., and if these fellows think he doubled-crossed them, they might loosen up with some interesting dope, just to even things up. You see, it was Slue Foot who advised them to go to Willow River."

"O-ho, so that's it!" grinned the sheriff. "Well, mebbe, now they'll find that they _kin_ pump me a little after all."

"And while I'm here I may as well swear out a couple of more warrants, too. You are a friend of Hurley's, and you want to see him make good."

"You bet yer life I do! There's a man! He's played in hard luck all his life, an' if he's got a chanct to make good--I'm for him."

"Then hold off serving these warrants 'til just before the break-up. When the thaw comes, you hurry up to Hurley's camp, and nab Slue Foot." The sheriff nodded, and Connie continued: "First I want him arrested for conspiring with the Syndicate in the theft of thirty-four thousand dollars' worth of logs during April and May of last year."

"With the Syndicate--stealin' logs!"

"Yes, if it hadn't been for that, Hurley would have made good last year."

The sheriff's lips tightened: "If we can only rope in Heinie Metzger! He ruined me on a dirty deal. I had stumpage contracts with him. Then he tried to beat me with his money for sheriff, but he found out that John Grey had more friends in the woods than the Syndicate had. Go on."

"Then, for conspiring to defraud certain sawyers by shading their cut. Then, for the theft of three thousand, five hundred dollars from Denny O'Sullivan. And, last, for conspiracy with the Syndicate to steal some three million feet of logs this year."

The sheriff looked at the boy in open-eyed astonishment. "D'you mean you kin _proove_ all this?"

"I think so. I can prove the theft of the money, and the shading the cut--when it comes to the timber stealing, with the Syndicate's money back of 'em, we'll have a harder time. But I've got the evidence."

The sheriff grinned: "Well, when Slue Foot let go, he let go all holts, didn't he? If you've got the evidence to back you up, like you say you have, Slue Foot'll be usin' a number instead of a name fer the next lifetime er so."

Shortly after noon of the tenth day, following his departure from camp, Connie stepped off the train at Dogfish Spur, to find Frenchy waiting for him with the tote-team. "Hurley say, 'you go long an' git de kid. She gon' for com' today--tomor'--sure, an' I ain' wan' heem git all tire out walkin' in.' Hurley lak you fine an' Saginaw lak you, but Slue Foot, she roar an' growl w'en you ain' here. Bye-m-bye, Hurley tell heem 'shut oop de mout', who's runnin' de camp?' an Slue Foot gon' back to Camp Two mad lak tondaire."

The trip up was uneventful. Frenchy's "gran' team" was in fine fettle, and just as the men were filing into the cook's camp for supper, he swung the team into the clearing with a magnificent whoop and flourish.

After supper, in the office, Lon Camden began to shuffle his reports, arranging them day by day for the boy's convenience. Saginaw and Hurley filled their pipes, and the former, with a vast assumption of nonchalance, removed his boots and cocked his heels upon the edge of his bunk. Hurley hitched his chair about until it faced the boy, and for a space of seconds glared at him through narrowed eyes.

"Ye made a mistake to come back! Ye dhirty little thayfe! An' me offerin' to lind ye money!" The blood left Connie's face to rush back to it in a surge of red, and his lips tightened. "Oh, ye don't nade to pertind ye're insulted," the huge man's voice trembled with suppressed rage. "Ye had me fooled. Oi'd of soon caught wan av me own b'ys in a dhirty game--Oi thought that well av ye. But whin Slue Foot com' ragin' down whin he heer'd ye'd gon' for a wake er so, Oi misthrusted there was a rayson, so Oi tuk a luk at th' books, an' ut didn't take me long to find out yer dhirty cut-shadin' scheme."

Connie met the glare eye for eye. "Yes," he answered, "it is a dirty deal, isn't it? I don't blame you fer bein' mad. I was, too, when I threw in with it--so mad I came near spilling the beans."

Hurley was staring open mouthed. "Well, av all th' nerve!" he choked out the words.

"But I held onto myself," continued the boy, "and now we've got the goods on Slue Foot--four ways from the jack. You noticed I kept a record of just how much has been shaved off from each man's cut? If I hadn't you would never have tumbled to the deal, no matter how long you studied the books. We are going to return that money to the sawyers who have it coming--but not yet. We want those false vouchers issued first. By the way, how much do you figure we've got on the landings, now?"

"Eight million, seven hundred thousan'--and clost to three hundred thousan' layin' down. Th' thaw's right now in th' air--'an we're t'rough cuttin'. Tomorrow all hands wor-rks gittin' the logs to the rollways. But what's that to ye? An' what d'ye mane settin' there ca'm as a lake on a shtill noight, an' admittin' ye wuz in on a low-down swindle? An-ny wan 'ud think ye wuz accused av shwoipin' a doughnut off the cook!"

"I'll come to that directly," answered the boy. "First, I wish you'd sign this contract. Saginaw or Lon will witness the signature. And we can get it into the mail tomorrow."

"Contrack!" roared Hurley, snatching the paper from the boy's hand. The boss's eyes ran rapidly over the typewritten page, and with a low exclamation he moved the chair to the light. For ten minutes there was tense silence in the little office. Then Hurley looked up. "Fifty dollars a thousan'!" he gasped. "Fer an-nything from eight to tin million! Tin dollars a thousan', fer an-nything less nor eight million! From th' Syndicate!" With a bellow of rage the big boss leaped from his chair and stood over the boy. "Niver Oi've wanted to paste a man so bad!" he foamed. "Oi said ye wuz shmar-rt--an' ye ar-re. But ye ain't shmar-rt enough to put this over on me--ye an' Slue Fut--yer game is bushted!" He shook the paper under the boy's nose. "Somehow, ye figger on soide-thrackin' enough av thim logs to turn in less thin eight million--an the Syndicate gits the cut fer tin dollars a thousan'--an' ye an' Slue Fut divoides up the price av the logs that's missin'."

Connie laughed. "You've hit the idea pretty well, boss--only you've got the wrong boot on the wrong foot."

"What d'ye mane wid yer boots and futs? Oi see yer game, an' Oi know now ut it wuz Slue Fut had a hand in the lasht year's loosin'. Wait 'til Oi git me hands on thot dhirty cur! Wait--" In his wrath the man hurled the paper to the floor, and reached for his mackinaw with one hand, and his peavy with the other.

Lon Camden sat looking on with bulging eyes, and beyond the stove Saginaw Ed shook with silent mirth as he wriggled his toes in his thick woollen socks.

"Hold on, Hurley," said Connie, as he rescued the precious contract from the floor. "Just sit down a minute and let's get this thing straight. As soon as the thaw sets in, John Grey will be up to tend to Slue Foot. I swore out three or four warrants against him, besides what the I. W. W.'s are going to spill."

"John Grey--warrants--I. W. W.'s." The man stood as one bewildered. "An' the kid ca'm as butter, flashin' contracks aroun' th' office, an' ownin' up he's a thayfe--an' Saginaw a-laughin' to hisself." He passed a rough hand across his forehead as the peavy crashed to the floor. "Mebbe, ut's all here," he babbled weakly. "Mebbe thim I. W. W.'s give me wan crack too many--an' me brain's let go."

"Your brain's all right," said Connie. "Just sit down and light your pipe, and forget you're mad, and listen while I explain."

Hurley sank slowly into his chair: "Sure, jist fergit Oi'm mad. Jist set by quiet an' let ye ate th' doughnut ye shwoiped off th' cook. Don't say nawthin' whoilst ye an' Slue Fut an' the Syndicate steals th' whole outfit. Mebbe if Oi'd take a little nap, ut wid be handier fer yez." The man's words rolled in ponderous sarcasm. Lon Camden arose and fumbled in his turkey. A moment later he tendered the boss a small screw-corked flask.

"I know it's again' orders in the woods, boss. But I ain't a drinkin' man--only keep this in case of accident. Mebbe a little nip now would straighten you out."

Hurley waved the flask aside: "No, Oi'm off thot stuff fer good! Ut done me har-rm in me younger days--but ut kin do me no more. Av Oi ain't going crazy, Oi don't nade ut. Av Oi am, ut's betther to be crazy an' sober, thin crazy an' drunk. Go on, b'y. Ye was goin' to mention somethin', Oi believe--an' av me name's Jake Hurley, ut betther be a chinful. In the first place, what business ye got wid contracks, an' warrants, an-nyhow?"

"In the first place," grinned the boy, "I'm a partner of Waseche Bill, and one of the owners of this outfit. Here are the papers to show it." While Hurley studied the papers, Connie proceeded: "We got your report, and then a letter from Mike Gillum saying that you were in the pay of the Syndicate----"

Hurley leaped to his feet: "Moike Gillum says Oi wuz in the pay of th' Syndicate! He's a dhirty----"

"Yes, yes--I know all about that. Slue Foot is the man who is in the pay of the Syndicate--and he borrowed your name." Hurley subsided, somewhat, but his huge fists continued to clench and unclench as the boy talked. "So I came down to see what the trouble was. It didn't take me long, after I had been with you for a while, to find out that you are square as a die--and that Slue Foot is as crooked as the trail of a snake. I pretended to throw in with him, and he let me in on the cut-shading--and later on the big steal--the scheme they worked on you last winter, that turned a twenty-thousand-dollar profit into a fourteen-thousand-dollar loss. When I got onto his game, I asked for a leave of absence and went down and closed the deal with the Syndicate--or rather, I let Heinie Metzger and von Kuhlmann close a deal with me. I had doped it all out that, if Metzger believed Slue Foot could prevent the delivery of part of the logs, he'd offer most anything for the whole eight million, because he knew he would never have to pay it, providing he could get the figure way down on anything less than eight million. So I stuck out for fifty dollars a thousand on the eight million, and he pretended it was just tearing his heart out; at the same time I let him get me down to ten dollars a thousand on the short cut--And we don't care how little he offered for that, because _we're going to deliver the whole cut_!"

Hurley was staring into the boy's face in open-mouthed incredulity. "An' ye mane to say, ye wint to Minneapolis an' hunted up Heinie Metzger hisself, an' let him make a contrack that'll lose him three or foor hundred thousan' dollars? Heinie Metzger--the shrewdest lumberman in the wor-rld. Th' man that's busted more good honest min than he kin count! Th' man that howlds th' big woods in the holler av his hand! An' ye--a b'y, wid no hair on his face, done thot? Done ut deliberate--figgered out befoor hand how to make Heinie Metzger bate hisself--an' thin went down an' _done ut_?"

Connie laughed: "Sure, I did. Honestly, it was so easy it is a shame to take the money. Heinie Metzger ain't shrewd--he just thinks he is--and people have taken him at his own valuation. I told Saginaw the whole thing, before I went down. Didn't I, Saginaw?"

"You sure did. But I didn't think they was any such thing as puttin' it acrost. An' they's a whole lot more yet the kid's did, boss. Fer one thing, he's got them three I. W. W. 's locked in jail. An'----"

Hurley waved his arm weakly: "Thot's enough--an' more thin enough fer wan avenin'. Th' rist Oi'll take in small doses." He struggled into his mackinaw and reached fer the peavy that lay where it had fallen beside the stove.

"Where ye headin', boss?" asked Saginaw.

"Camp Two. Oi've a little conference to howld with the boss up there."

Lon Camden removed his pipe and spat accurately and judiciously into the woodbox. "The kid's right, Hurley," he said. "Let John Grey handle Slue Foot. All reason says so. If anything should happen to you just before the drive, where'd the kid's contract be? He's done his part, givin' the Syndicate the first good wallop it ever got--now it's up to you to do yourn. If you lay Slue Foot out, when John Grey comes he wouldn't have no choist but to take you along--so either way, we'd lose out."

"But," roared Hurley, "s'pose John Grey don't show up befoor the drive? Thin Slue Fut'll be free to plot an' kape us from deliverin' thim logs."

"Slue Foot's done!" cried Connie. "He can't hurt us now. You see, the Syndicate people furnished him with a paint that looks just like the regular branding paint. When the logs have been in the water a short time the paint all comes off--And, last year, with you bossing the rear drive, by the time they got to the mills all the logs they dared to steal were wearing the green triple X."

"An' ye mane he's got thot wash-off stuff on them logs now?"

"On about three million feet of 'em," answered the boy. "All we've got to do is to sit tight until John Grey comes for Slue Foot, and then put a crew to work and brand the logs with regular paint and get 'em into the water." The boy laughed aloud, "And you bet I want to be right at the sorting gap, when old Heinie Metzger sees the sixth, and seventh, and eighth, and ninth million come floating along--with the red block-and-ball bobbing all shiny and wet in the sun! Oh, man! Old Heinie, with his eyeglasses, and his store clothes!"

Hurley banged the peavy down upon the wooden floor. "An' ut's proud Oi'll be to be sthandin' be yer soide whin them logs rolls in. Ut's as ye say, best to let th' law deal with Slue Foot. Yez nade have no fear--from now on 'til John Grey sets fut in th' clearin'--fer all an-ny wan w'd know, me an' Slue Foot could be brother-in-laws."