our counsel, who had a talk with Bevan. When we were up at the
lake, you remember something that Rotre said about the timber-land
owners not especially hankering for a railroad at the carry. Well, Bevan
says the land there is owned by a man named Ward--Col, Gideon Ward, one
of the big lumber operators of that section. From Bevan's account, Ward
must be something like a cross between a bull moose and a Bengal tiger,
Bevan went up to see him. He thought he could make a deal for the
right of way, and thus would not be obliged to bother with condemnation
proceedings and stir up talk and all that. Devan declares that getting a
charter is one thing but the building of that road will be another."

"We've got the law--"

"Law gets very thin when you step over the line into an unorganized
timber township. They tell me that old Ward comes pretty near making his
own laws, and makes them with his fists or a club or else through his
gang that they call 'The Gideonites' in that country."

"Your Parker, is he--"

"I've got him out in my room. I've been talking with him. Better have
him step in here."

The president pushed his desk button, and the messenger hastened on his
errand.

"Parker," explained the traffic manager, "doesn't look any more savage
than a house cat. But he's the man who went down into the camp of
those Italians at the Fall's cut-off when they were having their bread
squabble, and he backed the whole gang into the camp and made them sit
down at the table. Of course, we hope we shall need only an engineer and
not a warrior at Poquette, and we trust that Ward will be tractable and
all that; but, Whittaker, if we're going to build that road, and are not
to be backed down in such a way that we'll never dare to show our faces
before the grinning natives at Sunkhaze then we need to send along a
chap like--"

"Mr. Parker!" opportunely announced the boy, at the door.

Parker seemed tall and angular and rather awkward. The brown of
out-of-doors was upon his skin. His eyelids dropped at the corners in
rather a listless way, but the eyes beneath were gray and steady. He was
young, not more than twenty-five, so Whittaker judged at his first sharp
glance.

"Do you think you can build that road that Jerrard has been telling you
about?" asked the president, briskly.

"I think so, sir." Parker spoke with a drawl.

"You understand what the plan is?"

"Mr. Jerrard has explained quite fully."

"Are you afraid of bears