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Updated: June 25, 2025
"By the way," said the chief, after his subordinate had finished his regular report, "Mr. Jerrard wishes to see you." Jerrard was general traffic manager and chief executive. The young engineer went slowly down the long corridor, apprehension gnawing at his heart. He huskily muttered his name to the clerk at the grilled door and was admitted.
There were boys with strangely simple names, simple for such criminals Barton, Jerrard, Watson, West, Underbill who were old-established hands at their own especial games, and they saw no reason at all for disturbance. "Young Westcott had better not come meddling here," they muttered darkly, having discerned already a tendency on his part to show disapproval.
Up to this time Jerrard had kept his negotiations with young Parker a private matter between the two of them, even as he had kept some of the annoying legislative details away from his superior. "What engineer can you send down there and handle the thing for us?" asked President Whittaker, when Jerrard informed him that all the legal details had been settled.
In the end, late in March, Whittaker and Jerrard found themselves with a charter and a location approved by the state railroad commissioners, permitting them to build a six-mile railroad across Poquette Carry; to carry passengers, baggage, express and freight, but with the limitation that when the state land-agent should think the condition of drought dangerous and should so notify the company, the road should cease to run any trains until rain wet down the woods.
The driver, a French-Canadian turned and displayed an appreciative grin. "Eet ban de ro'd vat you saw de re," he explained, pointing his whip to the thoroughfare they were pursuing. "This a road?" demanded Jerrard, with indignation. "Oui, eet ban a tote-road."
A New England general passenger-agent whom he had met at a convention told him about that wilderness gem, and lauded it with a certain attractiveness of detail that made Jerrard anxious to test the veracity of New England railroad men, whose "fishin'-story" folders he had always doubted with professional scepticism.
"Here's a brand-new thing in transportation ideas, Jerrard!" cried the president of the P. K. &R. "Nothing strange about our side of it," said the prospector. "The people I work for own more than a million acres of timber land for feeding their pulp-mills, and the more city sports there are hanging round on the tracts and building fires, the more danger of a big blaze catching somewhere.
Then there's the sportsman traffic, which could be built up indefinitely if there were suitable transportation conveniences here. Say, Jerrard, do you know there's a fine place for a six-mile narrow-gage railroad right there on Poquette Carry? You and I didn't come down here looking up railroad possibilities, but really this thing strikes me favorably.
"Do you think you can build that road that Jerrard has been telling you about?" asked the president, briskly. "I think so, sir." Parker spoke with a drawl. "You understand what the plan is?" "Mr. Jerrard has explained quite fully." "Are you afraid of bears and owls?" The president spoke jocosely, but there was a significant tone in his voice.
And the resolve that was thereupon made at secret conclave of the timber men to fight that first encroachment on their old-time domains and rights was a stern and a bitter resolve. The knowledge of it would have mightily astonished might have daunted effectually a certain young engineer who was just then learning from Manager Jerrard the details of his new commission.
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