Joan of Arc of the North Woods | Page 6

try to sell anything," acknowledged the attorney. "Craig, let
me ask you, are you moving along the lines of the law we have behind
us in those special acts I steered through?"
"Sure thing!" asserted the field director, boldly.
"We've got to ask for more from the next legislature," stated the lawyer.
The president came in with a warning. "Credit is touchy these days, Mr.
Craig. We're going into the market for big money for further
development. It's easy for reports to be made very hurtful."
"I'm achieving results up there," insisted Craig, doggedly.

"We're very much pleased with conditions," agreed the president.
"We're able to show capital a constantly widening control of properties
and natural advantages. But remember Achilles's heel, Mr. Craig."
"I haven't been able to fight 'em with feathers all the time," confessed
the field director. "There wasn't much law operating up there when I
grabbed in. I have done the best I could, and if I have been obliged to
use a club once in a while I have made the fight turn something for the
corporation." He exhibited the pride of the man who had accomplished.
The attorney warned Craig again. "We can't afford to have any uproar
started till we get our legislation properly cinched. Tomah seems to be
attended to. But we need some pretty drastic special acts before we can
go over the watershed and control the Noda waters and pull old Flagg
into line. He's the last, isn't he?--the king-pin, according to what I
hear."
"I'll attend to his case all right," declared Craig, with confidence. "I'll
tackle the Noda basin next. Flagg must be licked before he'll sell. He's
that sort. A half lunatic on this independent thing. I reckon you'll leave
it to me, won't you?"
"We'll leave all the details of operation in the field to you, Craig,"
promised the president. "But you must play safe."
"I'll take full responsibility," affirmed Craig, whose pride had been
touched.
"Then we shall continue to value you as our right bower in the north,"
said Marlow. "The man on the ground understands the details. We don't
try to follow them here in the home office."
Craig walked out with Dawes.
"That talk has put the thing up to you square-edged, Craig."
Craig had been heartened and fortified by the president's compliments.
"Leave it to me!"

CHAPTER THREE
Latisan had eaten his breakfast in the grill of a big hotel with a vague
idea that such an environment would tune him up to meet the magnates
of the Comas company.
In his present and humbler state of mind, hungry again, he went into a
cafeteria.
Waiting at the counter for his meat stew and tea--familiar woods
provender which appealed to his homesickness--he became aware of a
young woman at his elbow; she was having difficulty in managing her
tray and her belongings. There was an autumn drizzle outside and Ward
had stalked along unprotected, with a woodman's stoicism in regard to
wetness. The young woman had her umbrella, a small bag, and a parcel,
and she was clinging to all of them, impressed by the "Not
Responsible" signs which sprinkled the walls of the place. When her
tray tipped at an alarming slant, as she elbowed her way from the
crowded counter, Ward caught at its edge and saved a spill.
The girl smiled gratefully.
"If you don't mind," he apologized; his own tray was ready. He took
that in his free hand. He gently pulled her tray from her unsteady grasp.
"I'll carry it to a table."
The table section was as crowded as the counter space. He did not offer
to sit opposite her at the one vacant table he found; he lingered,
however, casting about himself for another seat.
"May I not exchange my hospitality for your courtesy?" inquired the
girl. She nodded toward the unoccupied chair and he sat down and
thanked her.
She was an extremely self-possessed young woman, who surveyed him
frankly with level gaze from her gray eyes.
"You performed very nicely, getting through that crush as you did

without spilling anything," she commended.
"I've had plenty of practice."
She opened her eyes on him by way of a question. "Not as a waiter," he
proceeded. "But with those trays in my hand it was like being on the
drive, ramming my way through the gang that was charging the cook
tent."
"The drive!" she repeated. He was surprised by the sudden interest he
roused in her. "Are you from the north country?" Her color heightened
with her interest. She leaned forward.
Latisan, in his infrequent experiences, had never been at ease in the
presence of pretty girls, even when their notice of him was merely
cursory. In the region where he had toiled there were few females,