ndin' behind watchful. And right in the
middle of a sentence he didn't hesitate to butt in and hand Mr. Runyon a
glass of what looked like thin whitewash. Marcus T. would take a sip
obedient and then go on with his talk. At last he asks if there's
anything special he can do for Mr. Ellins.

"Why, yes," says Old Hickory, settin' his jaw. "You might call off your
highwaymen on that Manitou terminal lease, Runyon. That is, unless you
mean to take all of our mining profits."

Marcus T.'s eyes brighten up. They almost twinkle.

"Bixby," says he, "what about that? Has there been an increase in the
tonnage rate to the Corrugated?"

"I think so, sir," says Bixby. "I can look it up, sir."

"Ah!" says Runyon. "Bixby will look it up."

"He needn't," says Old Hickory. "It's been doubled, that's all. We had
the notice last week. Torchy, did you----"

"Yep!" says I, shootin' the letter at him.

"Well, well!" says Runyon, after he's gazed at it. "There must have been
some well founded cause for such an advance. Bixby, you must----"

"It's because you think you've got us in a hole," breaks in Old Hickory.
"We've got to load our boats and you control the docks."

"Oh, yes!" chuckles Marcus T. "An unfortunate situation--for you. But I
presume there are other dockage facilities available."

"If there were," says Mr. Ellins sarcastic, "do you think we would be
paying you from three to five millions a year?"

"Bixby, I fear you must explain our position more fully," goes on Mr.
Runyon.

"Oh, certainly," says Bixby. "I will have a full report prepared
and----"

"Suppose you tell it to my secretary now," insists Old Hickory, glarin'
menacin' at him.

"Do so, Bixby," says Marcus T.

"Why--er--you see," says Bixby, turnin' to me, "as I understand the
case, the only outlet you have to deep water is over our tracks to----"

"What about them docks at Three Harbors?" I cuts in.

"Three Harbors?" repeats Bixby, starin' vague.

"Precisely," says Marcus T. "As the young man suggests, there is plenty
of unemployed dockage at that point. But your ore tracks do not connect
with that port."

"They would if we laid forty miles of rails, branchin' off at Tamarack
Junction," says I. "That spur has all been surveyed and the right of way
cleared."

"Ah!" exclaims Bixby, comin' to life again. "I remember now. Tamarack
Junction. We hold a charter for a railroad from there to Three Harbors."

"You mean you did hold it," says I.

"I b