Joan of Arc of the North Woods | Page 4

went into the woods and was glad to
be there, at the head of affairs.
The operations on the old tracts, thinned by many cuttings, had been
keeping him closely on the job, because there were problems to be
solved if profits were to be handled.

His stroke in getting hold of the Walpole tract promised profits without
problems; there were just so many trees to cut down--and the river was
handy!
In spite of his weariness, Ward sat till midnight on the porch with his
father, going over their plans. The young man surveyed the Latisan mill
and the houses of the village while he talked; the moon lighted all and
the mill loomed importantly, reflected in the still water of the pond. If
Craig prevailed, the mill and the homes must be left to rot, empty, idle,
and worthless. As Ward viewed it, the honor of the Latisans was at
stake; the spirit of old John blazed in the grandson; but he declared his
intention to fight man fashion, if the fight were forced on him. He
would go to the Comas headquarters in New York, he said, not to ask
for odds or beg for favors, but to explain the situation and to demand
that Craig be required to confine himself to the tactics of square
business rivalry.
"And my course in engineering was a good investment; I can talk
turkey to them about our dams and the flowage rights. I don't believe
they're backing up Craig's piracy!"
Garry Latisan agreed fully with his son and expressed the wistful wish,
as he did regularly in their conferences, that he could be of more real
help.
"Your sympathy and your praise are help enough, father," Ward
declared, with enthusiasm. "We're sure of our cut; all I'm asking from
the Comas is gangway for our logs. There must be square men at the
head of that big corporation!"
CHAPTER TWO
In New York young Latisan plunged straight at his business.
The home office of the Comas Consolidated Company was in a
towering structure in the metropolis's financial district. On the
translucent glass of many doors there was a big C with two smaller C's
nested. In the north country everybody called the corporation The

Three C's.
After a fashion, the sight of the portentous monogram made Ward feel
more at home. Up where he lived the letters were familiar. Those
nested C's stood for wide-flung ownership along the rivers of the north.
The monogram was daubed in blue paint on the ends of countless logs;
it marked the boxes and barrels and sacks of mountains of supplies
along the tote roads; it designated as the property of the Comas
Company all sorts of possessions from log camps down to the cant dog
in the hands of the humblest Polack toiler. Those nested C's were
dominant, assertive, and the folks of the north were awed by the
everlasting reduplication along the rivers and in the forests.
Ward, indignantly seeking justice, resolved not to be awed in the castle
of the giant. He presented himself at a gate and asked to see the
president. The president could not be seen except by appointment,
Latisan learned.
What was the caller's business? Latisan attempted to explain, but he
was halted by the declaration that all details in the timber country were
left to Rufus Craig, field manager!
When Ward insisted that his previous talks with Craig had only made
matters worse for all concerned, and when he pleaded for an
opportunity to talk with somebody--anybody--at headquarters, he
finally won his way to the presence of a sallow man who filmed his
hard eyes and listened with an air of silent protest. He also referred
Latisan back to Craig. "We don't interfere with his management of
details in the north."
Evidently Mr. Craig had been attending to his defenses in the home
office.
Ward's temper was touched by the listener's slighting apathy. "I've
come here to protest against unfair methods. Our men are tampered
with--told that the Latisans are on their last legs. We are losing from
our crews right along. We have been able to hire more men to take the
places of those who have been taken away from us. But right now we

are up against persistent reports that we shall not be able to get down
our cut in the spring. Sawmill owners are demanding bonds from us to
assure delivery; otherwise they will cancel their orders."
"Do you know any good reason why you can't deliver?" probed the
Comas man, showing a bit of interest.
"Your Mr. Craig seems to know. I blame him for these stories."
"I'm afraid you're laboring under a delusion, Mr. Latisan. Why don't
you sell out to our company? Most of the other independents have
found it