The Law-Breakers Part 70

Those who accompanied him were Danny Jarvis and "fighting" Mike. They were entirely after his own heart, and, perhaps, if opportunity ever chanced to offer, after his pocket as well. They accompanied him because he insisted upon it, and with a more than tacit protest. As yet they had not sufficiently slept off the fumes of their overnight indulgence in rye whisky. But O'Brien, when it suited him, was quite irresistible to his customers.

Having roused these two inebriates from their drunken slumbers on the hay in his barn with a healthy kick, he proceeded to herd them out into the daylight with a whole-hearted enthusiasm.

"Out you get, you lousy souses," he enjoined them. "There's a big play up at the old tree goin' to happen right away. Guess that old crow bait, Ma Day'll need all the youth an' beauty o' Rocky Springs around to get eyes on her glory. I can't say either o' you boys fit in with these things, but if you don't git too near hoss soap and cold water mebbe you'll pa.s.s for the picturesque."

After a brief interval of blasphemous upbraiding and protest, after these two men had exhausted their complimentary vocabulary on the subject of the charms of the lumber merchant's wife, to all of which O'Brien turned a more or less deaf ear, the three set out for the scene of action, and took up an obscure position whence they could watch every detail of the proceedings without, themselves, being too closely observed.

As...o...b..ien looked out upon the preparations already made, and while his two friends stood chewing the silent cud of angry discontent, with a diluting of black plug tobacco, he had to admit that the moment certainly was a moment, and the scene had a.s.sumed a fascination which even contrived to take possession of his now somewhat rusty imagination.

There, in the center of all, stood the villainous old pine, clothed in all its atmosphere of unconscionable evil. It stood out quite by itself in the midst of a clearing, which had been carefully prepared.

Every tree and every bush had been cut away, so that nothing should interfere with the impressive fall of the aged giant.

O'Brien studied the position closely. His eye was measuring, and he was forced to admit that the setting was impressive. More than that, he felt constrained to appreciate the imagination of Mrs. John Day.

With a view to possibilities the approximate height of the tree had been taken, and a corresponding radius had been cleared of all lesser growths. This was excellent. But--and he contrived to find one objection--the old Meeting House was well within the radius. It was the preparation for its defense to which he took exception. He scorned the surrounding of lesser trees which had been left to guard it from the crushing impact should the tree fall that way. Nor was he slow to air his opinions.

He eyed the discontented features of his companions, and snorted violently.

"Say," he cried, forcefully. "Look at that, you two bokays o' beauty."

He pointed at the Meeting House. "There--right there. If that darnation stack o' kindlin' was to fall that aways, why, I guess them vegetables wouldn't amount to a mush o' cabbige."

Fighting Mike deliberately spat.

"An' who in h.e.l.l cares?" he snarled.

O'Brien turned on the other for a sign of interest. But Danny's stomach was in bad case.

"Oh, h.e.l.l!" he cried, and promptly turned his gaze in another direction.

O'Brien looked from one to the other, torn by feelings of pity and anger, with a desire for bodily a.s.sault uppermost.

"You sure are bright boys," he said at last, a sort of sardonic humor getting the better of his harsher feelings.

He had no intention of having his enjoyment spoiled by what he termed "bad bile," so he yielded his full attention to the tree itself. It certainly was a magnificent piece of Nature's handiwork. Somehow he regretted that he had never studied it carefully before. From the tree he turned to a mild appreciation of the other preparations for its fall. Long guide ropes had been set in place, high up the vast, bare trunk. These, four of them in number, had been secured at the four points of the compa.s.s to other trees of stout growth on the fringe of the clearing. They were new ropes provided for the purpose. Then again, a heavy cable chain had been girded about the lower trunk, and to this, well out of range of the fall of the tree, were hitched two teams of heavy draught horses. It was obvious that they were to haul as the tree, steadied by the guides, began to fall.

He summed up the result of his observations for the benefit of his companions, in a pleasantly conversational manner.

"Makes a dandy picture," he said doubtfully, "but I guess there's a whole heap o' things women don't understand. Hand 'em a baby, an' they got men beat a mile, an' they most gener'ly don't forget to say so.

That's all right, an' we ain't kickin' a thing. Guess we ain't yearnin' to share that glory--none of us. But babies and fellin' trees ain't got a spark o' resemblance far as I kin see, 'cep' it is an axe is a mighty useful thing dealing with 'em when they ain't needed. What I was comin' to was this old sawdust bag, Ma Day'll have a h.e.l.l of a mouthful to chew when that tree gets busy. These guides ain't a circ.u.mstance. They won't hold nothin'. An' I guess I don't get a step nearer things than I am now."

Mike gazed around on the speaker with billious scorn.

"Don't guess that'll hurt nothin'," he sneered.

Danny was beginning to revive.

"Ain't you goin' to hand the leddy compliments?" he inquired sarcastically. "You got an elegant tank o' hot air laid on."

O'Brien remained quite unruffled.

"She'll hand herself all the compliments she's yearnin' for. Women like her can't do without bokays, an' they don't care a cuss how they get 'em. Say----"

He gazed up at the tattered crest of the tree. But the immensity of its height, looking so directly up, turned him dizzy, and he was glad to bring his gaze back to the unattractive faces of his companions.

"----I'm gettin' clear on to higher ground. You boys stop right ther'.

If the old tree gets busy your ways it won't matter nothin'. Guess your score's overrun down at the saloon, but I lose that without a kick. You're too bright for me."

He turned away, and, moving up the hill, took up a fresh position.

Here he had a better view. He had abandoned the pleasure of listening to any speeches which he felt sure would be made, but his safety more than compensated him. Without the distractions of his companions'

society he was better able to concentrate his attention upon details.

He observed that the tree was already sawn more than half way through, and he congratulated himself that he had not discovered it before.

Also he saw a number of huge, hardwood wedges lying on the ground, and beside them two heavy wooden mauls.

Their purpose was obvious, and he wondered who were the men who would handle them. And, wondering, he cast an interested eye up at the sky with the thought of wind in his mind. The possibility of such a tragedy as the sudden rising of a breeze to upset calculations, and, incidentally, the half-sawn tree, had no effect upon him. He was out of range. Those gathering about the tree in the open were welcome to their belief in the strength of the guide ropes.

In a few moments all his interest was centered about the gathering of the villagers. He knew them all, and watched them with the keenest interest. He could hear the babel of tongues from his security. Nor could he help feeling how much these people resembled a flock of silly, curious sheep.

His eyes quickly searched for those whom he felt were really the more important in the concern of the tree. Where were Charlie Bryant, and those men who were concerned in his exploits? His eyes scanned every face, and then, when his search was completed, something like excitement took possession of him.

Charlie Bryant was absent. So were his a.s.sociates, Kid Blaney, Stormy Longton, Holy d.i.c.k, and Cranky Herefer. Where were Pete Clancy and Nick Devereux, Kate Seton's hired men? They were all absent. So was Kate herself. Ah, yes, he had heard she had gone to Myrtle. Anyway, her sister, Helen, was there--with Mrs. John Day. Where was her beau--Charlie Bryant's brother?

His excitement rose. The coincidence of these absences suggested possibilities. The possibilities brought a fresh train of thought. He suddenly realized that not a single policeman was present. This, of course, might easily be accounted for on the score of duty. But their absence, taken in conjunction with the absence of the others, certainly was remarkable.

But now the ceremony was beginning. Mrs. John Day had a.s.sumed command, and, surrounded by her select bodyguard, she was haranguing the villagers, and enjoying herself tremendously. Yes, there was no manner of doubt about her enjoyment. O'Brien's maliciously humorous eyes watched her expression of smiling self-satisfaction, and estimated it at its true worth. Her face was very red, and her arms swung about like flails, beating the air in her efforts to carry conviction upon an indifferent audience. He felt that the glory of that moment was something she must have lived for for days, and a feeling of awful antic.i.p.ation swept over him as he considered her possible verbal and physical antics at such time as the new church should be opened. He felt that it would really be necessary to take a holiday on that occasion.

However, the speech terminated, as speeches sometimes do, and a chorus of applause dutifully followed, as such choruses generally do. And now the great interest of the day was to begin.

Menfolk began to press the crowd back beyond the safety line, and two of Mrs. Day's lumbermen, evidently sent down for the occasion by her husband from his camp, picked up the two wooden mauls. At the same time a man took his place at each guide rope.

O'Brien rubbed his hands. Now for the fun, and he thought of the old legend. He wondered which of those silly-looking sheep, gazing in open-mouthed expectation, were to be the victims of the old Indian curse. And curiously enough, hard-headed, callous as he was, O'Brien was convinced someone was to pay the penalty.

The great wedges were placed in position, and the heavy stroke of one of the mauls resounded through the valley. A second wedge was placed, and a second stroke fell. Then several strokes in swift succession, and the men stood clear, and gazed upward with measuring eye.

O'Brien, too, looked up. The tree had begun to lean, and two of the guides were straining taut. He wondered. He wondered if the men at the guides were used to the work. Now, for the first time, he realized that the crest of the tree had a vast overhang of foliage on one side, and mighty misshapen limbs. He regarded it speculatively.

Then he glanced at the lumbermen. They were still looking up at the lean of the tree. Suddenly he found himself expressing his opinions aloud, as he ominously shook his head.

"They're raw hands, or--jest mill hands," he muttered. "They sure ain't sawyers."

And again his eyes lifted to the ominous overhang.

A further scrutiny enlightened him. They were endeavoring to fell the tree so that its crest should drop somewhere on or near the trail toward the new church. This made its fall in the direction of, but to the south of, the old Meeting House. This was obviously for the purpose of simplifying haulage. Good enough--if all went well.

The lumbermen seemed satisfied and turned again to their wedges. As they did so a gleam of smiling irony began to grow in O'Brien's eyes.

He had detected a slight swing in the overhang of the crest, and the strain on the two guides was unequally distributed. The greater strain was on the _wrong_ guide.

The swing of the tree was slightly out of its calculated direction, and inclining a degree or two nearer the direction of the Meeting House.