Part 95 (2/2)

”They've changed the rules of the game!” said California John impressively, ”and now they want to go back thirty year and hold these fellows to account for what they did under the old rules. It don't look to me like it's fair.”

He thought a moment.

”I suppose,” he remarked reflectively, going off on one of his strange tangents, and lapsing once more into his customary picturesque speech, ”that these old boys that burned those Salem witches was pretty well thought of in Salem--deacons in the church, and all such; p'ticular elect, and held up to the kids for high moral examples? had the plumb universal approval in those torchlight efforts of theirn?”

”So I believe,” said Bob.

”Well,” drawled California John, stretching his lank frame, ”suppose one of those old bucks had lived to now--of course, he couldn't, but suppose he did--and was enjoying himself and being a good citizen. And suppose some day the sheriff touched him on the shoulder and says: 'Old boy, we're rounding up all the murderers. I've just got Saleratus Bill for scragging Franklin. You come along, too. Don't you know that burnin'

witches is murder?'” California John spat with vigour. ”Oh, h.e.l.l!” said he.

”Now, Baker,” he went on, after a moment, ”is Saleratus Bill because he knows he's agin what the people knows is the law; and the other fellows is old Salem because they lived like they were told to. Even old Salem would know that he couldn't burn no witches nowadays. These old timers ain't the ones trying to steal land now, you notice. They're too d.a.m.n honest. You don't need to tell me that you believe for one minute when he took up this Wolverine land, that your father did anything that he, _or anybody else_, courts included, thought was off-colour.”

”My father!” cried Bob.

”Why, yes,” said California John, looking at him curiously; ”you don't mean to say you didn't know he is the Wolverine Company!”

XXII

”Well,” said California John, after a pause, ”after you've made your jump there ain't much use in trying to turn back. If you didn't know it, why it was evident you wasn't intended to know it. But I was in the country when your father bought the land, so I happened to know about it.”

Bob stared at the old man so long that the latter felt called upon to rea.s.sure him.

”I wouldn't take it so hard, if I was you, son,” said he. ”I really don't think all these bluffs of Baker's amount to much. The findings of that commission ain't never been acted on, which would seem to show that it didn't come to nothing at the time; and I don't have the slightest notion in the world but what the whole thing will blow up in smoke.”

”As far as that is concerned, I haven't either,” said Bob; ”though you never can tell, and defending such a suit is always an expensive matter.

But here's the trouble; my father is Congressman from Michigan, he's been in several pretty heavy fights this last year, and has some powerful enemies; he is up for reelection this fall.”

”Suffering cats!” whistled California John.

”A lot could be made of a suit of that nature,” said Bob, ”whether it had any basis, or not.”

”I've run for County Supervisor in my time,” said California John simply.

”Well, what is your advice?” asked Bob.

”Son, I ain't got none,” replied the old man.

That very evening a messenger rode over from the mill bringing a summons from Welton. Bob saddled up at once. He found the lumberman, not in the comfortable sitting room at his private sleeping camp, but watching the lamp alone in the office. As Bob entered, his former a.s.sociate turned a troubled face toward the young man.

”Bob,” said he at once, ”they've got the old man cinched, unless you'll help out.”

”How's that?”

<script>