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Updated: May 17, 2025
There was nothing to do now save watch the wild runaway and pray, for of all the mad runaways in a mad world, a loaded logging-train is by far the worst. For an instant after realizing his predicament, Bryce Cardigan was tempted to jump and take his chance on a few broken bones, before the train could reach a greater speed than twenty miles an hour.
A deafening crash, a splash, a cloud of dust With a protesting squeal, the caboose came to the point where the logging-train had left the right of way, carrying rails and ties with it.
"I'm coming up on the eleven-fifteen train and will talk to him when he comes in for his lunch." At eleven o'clock, and just as the Colonel was leaving to board the eleven-fifteen logging-train bound empty for the woods, Shirley Sumner made her appearance in his office. "Uncle Seth," she complained, "I'm lonesome. The bookkeeper tells me you're going up to the logging-camp. May I go with you?"
He was too wrought up now to sit calmly down in the peace and quietude of the giants, and digest the annual reports Sinclair had given him. He hastened back to the mill-office and sought Sinclair. "At what hour does the logging-train leave the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's yard for our log-landing in Township Nine?" he demanded. "Eight a.m. and one p.m. daily, Bryce."
And to add insult to injury, he spouted a lot of rot about his big trees, how much they meant to him, and the utter artistic horror of running a logging-train through the grove particularly since he planned to bequeath it to Sequoia as a public park. He expects the city to grow up to it during the next twenty years. "My boy, that was the first bad break your father made.
He usually comes in at week-ends." "Look him up immediately, and tell him to keep an eye on Donald, and not to let him out of his sight until the boy boards the logging-train to-morrow night to go back to the woods.
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