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Updated: June 22, 2025
"I am fine woods-boss for somebody," he suggested hopefully. "You think Miss Sumner dislikes you then, Rondeau?" "I don' theenk. I know." He sighed; his huge body seemed to droop. "I am out of zee good luck now," he murmured bitterly. "Everybody, she hate Jules Rondeau.
"Where did you find that tree?" he repeated innocently. "Rondeau, my woods-boss, knew I was on the lookout for something special something nobody else could get; so he kept his eyes open." "Indeed!" There was just a trace of irony in Bryce's tones as he drew Shirley's chair and held it for her.
"Singly, in pairs, or the whole damned pack!" "Mr. Cardigan!" He turned. Colonel Pennington's breath had been knocked out of his body by the impact of his semi-conscious woods-boss, and he lay inert, gasping like a hooked fish. Beside him Shirley Sumner was kneeling, her hands clasping her uncle's, but with her violet eyes blazing fiercely on Bryce Cardigan. "How dare you?" she cried. "You coward!
And if that is not sufficient for my purposes, I have the sworn confession of the Black Minorca that you gave him five hundred dollars to kill Bryce Cardigan. Your woods-boss, Rondeau, will also swear that you approached him with a proposition to do away with Bryce Cardigan.
"W'en I cut your beeg trees, M'sieur, I feel like hell." "That infernal gorilla of a man is a poet," Buck Ogilvy declared. "I'd think twice before I let him get out of the country, Bryce." "'Whose salt he eats, his song he sings," quoth Bryce. "I forgive you, Rondeau, and when I need a woods-boss like you, I'll send for you."
"Well, Rondeau," Bryce hailed the woods-boss cheerfully, "I see you have quite recovered from that working over I gave you some time ago. No hard feelings, I trust. I shouldn't care to have that job to do over again. You're a tough one." "By gar, she don' pay for have hard feelings wiz you, M'sieur," Rondeau answered bluntly. "We have one fine fight, but" he shrugged "I don' want some more."
I whaled the wadding out of that bucko woods-boss of Pennington's, and as a special compliment to you, John Cardigan, I did an almighty fine job of cleaning. Even went so far as to muss the Colonel up a little." "Wow, wow, Bryce! Bully for you! I wanted that man Rondeau taken apart. He has terrorized our woods-men for a long time. He's king of the mad-train, you know." Bryce was relieved.
"I think I shall go over to your camp and pay the incomparable Jules a brief visit. Really, I have heard so much about that woods-boss of yours, Colonel, that I ache to take him apart and see what makes him go." Again the Colonel assimilated the hint, but preferred to dissemble. "Oh, you can't steal him from me, Cardigan," he laughed. "I warn you in advance so spare yourself the effort."
"My woods-boss, Jules Rondeau, makes them keep the peace," Pennington replied with a small smile. "If there's any fighting to be done, he does it." "You mean among his own crew, of course," Bryce suggested. "No, he's in charge of the mad-train, and whether a fight starts among your men or ours, he takes a hand.
McTavish's glance met the youthful master's for several seconds; then the woods-boss trembled, and his gaze sought the office floor. Bryce knew he had his man whipped at last, and McTavish realized it, too, for quite suddenly he burst into tears. "Dinna fire me, lad," he pleaded. "I'll gae back on the job an' leave whusky alone." "Nothing doing, Mac.
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