sked Orde, although he knew well
enough.

Taylor glanced up at his dull eyes with commiseration.

"They simply won't lend good money on an uncertainty," said he.

"Frank," said Orde, rousing himself with an effort, "I've got to be
here. I couldn't get away this winter if my life depended on it. And I
won't even have time to pay much attention to it from here. I want you
to go to California and look after those interests for me. Never mind
your practice, man," as Taylor tried to interrupt him. "Make what
arrangements you please; but go. It'll be like a sort of vacation to
you. You need one. And I'll make it worth your while. Take Clara
with you. She'll like California. Now don't say no. It's important.
Straighten it out as quick as you can: and the minute it IS straight
borrow that money on it, and send it on p.d.q."

Taylor thoughtfully tapped his palm with the edge of his eye-glasses.

"All right," he said at last.

"Good!" cried Orde, rising and holding out his hand.

He descended the dark stairs to the street, where he turned down toward
the river. There he sat on a pile for nearly an hour, quite oblivious to
the keen wind of latter November which swept up over the scum ice from
the Lake. At length he hopped down and made his way to the office of the
Welton Lumber Co.

"Look here, Welton," he demanded abruptly when he had reached that
operator's private office, "how much of a cut are you going to make this
year?"

"About twenty million," replied Welton. "Why?"

"Just figuring on the drive," said Orde, nodding a farewell.

He had the team harnessed, and, assuming his buffalo-fur coat, drove to
the offices of all the men owning timber up and down the river. When he
had collected his statistics, he returned to his desk, where he filled
the backs of several envelopes with his characteristically minute
figures. At the close of his calculations he nodded his head vigorously
several times.

"Joe," he called across to his partner, "I'm going to cut that whole
forty million we have left."

Newmark did not turn. After a moment his dry expressionless voice came
back.

"I thought that we figured that as a two-years' job."

"We did, but I'm going to clean up the whole thing this year."

"Do you think you can do it?"

"Sure thing," replied Orde. Then under his breath, and quite to himself,
he added: "I've got to!"

XXXVII

The duel had now come to grapples. Orde was fighting for his very life.
The