Chapter XI: Bob Lowe’s Revenge

As Ludwig was taken to jail Dan looked out onto the bay. Here was a sign to gladden the heart of any logger. Scores of ponderous cedar logs were floating about and a fleet of tugs and gasboats were towing them to the Lowe booms. Even the tide was helping.

He stopped at the Lowe home. Dorothy was gone. He left a note:

DOROTHY:

I must leave for British Columbia tomorrow. Won’t
be able to return for at least a month. Will you
go with me?
As ever,
DAN.

P.S. Am returning to the forks to start north fork
in its proper channel. Your logs are all in the bay.
Black Lake is empty.

An hour later Dorothy Lowe found it, and as she read it Bob came in, dripping from his ride to town. He looked over her shoulder and read the contents at a glance.

“Gosh, Sis, do you really love that long drink of water? Huh! He’s not good enough for you. Huh! Women are sure queer. And you used to have good sense!” He stalked from the room, but returned. “You know I’ve got something to say about this. I’m the only male member of the family. A bride has to be given away, and I’m going to do any giving that’s to be done in this case.”

“Bob, don’t be unpleasant,” she pleaded.

“I feel that way,” he answered and walked leisurely to his room, leaving a trail of water behind him. In the distance he saw Dan Todd, riding Chinook. “I wonder where I can find that bird when I want him. Some of the boys should know!”

And while he was pondering on this angle of the situation “that bird” was galloping to the forks. There was much to be done and little time in which to do it. In ones and twos, victors and vanquished were making their way back down the railroad tracks and trails.

Here and there he found a foreman or straw boss and to each he gave orders as to his course for the next several weeks. A few sticks of powder were sufficient to blow an opening in the slide—the stream did the rest.

He worked late, slept in one of the camps and fretted most of the following day because there was so much to be done and the line to town was down. A logger should be used to that, but there are times when little things prove annoying to a man in love.

Toward evening the break was repaired and a few minutes later an excited voice demanded Dan Todd. “Better get down here, Dorothy Lowe’s been kidnaped!”

Dan swore, then collected his wits. “Is Ludwig out of jail?”

“No!”

“I figured he might have escaped and got his revenge. I’ll be right down!”

He saddled Chinook and galloped down a trail intended only for a slow pace.

As he rode, his bitterness toward Bob increased. He remembered the threats Bob had made. But the threats had been against him, not the girl.

He smiled softly some time later. Here was the spot she had found him and here, Maple Creek cabin, where she had nursed him after the beating.

Chinook snorted and a man leaped for his bridle. Other men, at least a dozen of them, swarmed over Dan Todd. His struggles were futile and a voice shouted. “We’ve got him, Bob!” Then a light came on in the cabin.

The men released their victim and he looked around. All were masked except Bob Lowe. He stood alone, smiling in triumph. “I’m giving orders, Todd,” he said, “and you’re obeying them. You’re leaving the country to-night. Get off those clothes and put on these!”

To Dan Todd’s amazement he was given the full evening dress he had worn at college. “Not this stuff, boys,” he pleaded, “I can’t go wandering around to-morrow in this outfit.”

“Get ’em on and shut up!” Lowe ordered. “If you don’t, the boys will put ’em on for you, won’t you boys?”

Their growling response indicated they would enjoy carrying out Lowe’s suggestion.

He dressed slowly, taking considerable care while his active mind searched for a way of escape. “Tell me this, Bob, is Dorothy safe?” he asked. “They phoned me she had been kidnaped.”

“She’s in good hands, if that’s what you want to know. Later she’ll be turned over to a party I think can handle her. She’s headstrong, you know, and it will take a strong man to handle her. But remember this, what I do is for her own good.”

“You think it is,” Dan snapped.

“And my thinking it, is good enough—for me.”

Later Dan was blindfolded, placed on Chinook’s back, taken some distance and then transferred to a car. After a brief ride he stepped out to find the rough planks of a dock under his feet. “Step down,” Lowe ordered.

Dan obeyed. A great log, afloat, sagged beneath his feet. Murder? The thought came to his mind. They must have expected resistance, for they held him tightly. He decided to take somebody into the water with him when the rough stuff started.

The bandage was jerked from his eyes and he blinked at several lights. An orchestra struck up the wedding march. Dan gazed around. He was standing alone on a mighty cedar, except for a minister. The mill pond log boom was covered with friends. Coming towards him was Dorothy on the arm of Bob Lowe, who was likewise dressed in evening clothes.

Bob was very solemn and as he drew near, growled, “Not a word out of you, Todd. I’m running this wedding. I’m giving the bride away and I’m best man.” He almost grinned, but checked this sharply. “Another thing, don’t drop the ring into the bay.”

And Dan who had battled his way through to victory now obeyed with the utmost meekness. He seemed dazed at the unexpected turn in affairs. Only the minister’s words, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” convinced him he was married.

He seemed to wonder what to do next until the voice of a big undercutter shouted, “Well—go ahead and do it!”

Belatedly Dan kissed the bride. Then Bob Lowe thrust forth his hand. “Put her there, old boy, if you care to. I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself. I stick to my friends and it was hard to believe Ludwig wasn’t a friend.

“Then the other day, fighting side by side with you, changed me. After that I was as strong for you.”

“Bob, old scout, you did the job up brown. And—there’s nothing to forgive. You’re on the job—stay on it. With a few old heads to help you along you’ll make good. And—”

The undercutter’s voice broke in, “Say, my wife’s romantic. She claims you don’t know how to kiss a bride. Go ahead, Dan, and kiss her like they do in the movies. That’s it—take your time, lad, take your time.”

“Heck,” Dan growled, “I suppose I’ve got to do it.”

The girl smiled up. “And don’t you want to, Dan?” she whispered.

“Darned tootin’ I do,” he answered and did.

As they shifted their position slightly the log wallowed with unexpected violence. Quick work saved Dan and his bride from going into the bay, but there was a splash nevertheless, then the log steadied.

“What happened, Dan?”

“The best man just fell into the bay,” he answered, “and they’re fishing him out.”

High above, the Chinook lazed its northward course, its breath as gentle as the girl’s, its caress as tender as the man’s.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in Argosy, All-Story Weekly Magazine, September 22, 1928. It is believed to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]