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Updated: June 11, 2025
If Jules Rondeau had stolen that burl to present it to Colonel Pennington, his employer, then the finished article must be in Pennington's home! And Bryce had been invited to that home for dinner the following Thursday by the Colonel's niece. "I'll go, after all," he told himself. "I'll go and I'll see what I shall see."
"I'll try anything once," Bryce retorted with equal good nature. "However, I don't want to steal him from you. I want to ascertain from him where he procured this burl. There may be more of the same in the neighbourhood where he got this." "He wouldn't tell you." "He might. I'm a persuasive little cuss when I choose to exert myself." "Rondeau is not communicative. He requires lots of persuading."
Inquiry had been made of all three of the outfits if any ranch had been sighted on the Beaver while crossing that creek, but the only recollection among the forty-odd men was that of Burl Van Vedder, who contended that a dim trail, over which horses had passed that summer, ran down on the south side of the stream. With this meagre information Lovell and my brother started.
At the point where Bryce paused a malignant growth had developed on the trunk of the tree, for all the world like a tremendous wart. This was the burl, so prized for table-tops and panelling because of the fact that the twisted, wavy, helter-skelter grain lends to the wood an extraordinary beauty when polished.
Hence, if Rondeau had superintended the task of felling the tree, it must have been at the behest of a superior; and since a woods-boss acknowledges no superior save the creator of the pay-roll, the recipient of that stolen burl must have been Colonel Pennington. Suddenly he thrilled.
"This dining room is Uncle Seth's particular delight, Mr. Cardigan," she explained. "It is very beautiful, Miss Sumner. And your uncle has worked wonders in the matter of having it polished. Those panels are positively the largest and most beautiful specimens of redwood burl ever turned out in this country.
Presently, smothering his emotion, he walked the length of the dead giant, and where the top tapered off to a size that would permit of his stepping across it, he retraced his steps on the other side of the tree until he had reached a point some fifty feet from the butt when the vandal's reason for felling the monster became apparent. It was a burl tree.
Burl pulled out a pocket-book, and began to turn over the leaves in search of the damning details, when Drake interrupted him. 'You don't expect me to discuss the man's private life? 'My dear Drake, do be practical. It's no use being finicking. The essential thing is to win the seat. 'Whatever the price?
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