your former prospect, John Cardigan. He needs that timber; he has to
have it--and one of these days he'll pay me two dollars for it."

Bill Henderson raised an admonitory finger and shook it under the
Colonel's nose. "Hear me, stranger," he warned. "When you know John
Cardigan as well as I do, you'll change your tune. He doesn't bluff."

"He doesn't?" The Colonel laughed derisively. "Why, that move of his
over to the San Hedrin was the most monumental bluff ever pulled off
in this country."

"All right, sir. You wait and see."

"I've seen already. I know."

"How do you know?"

"Well, for one thing, Henderson, I noticed Cardigan has carefully
housed his rolling-stock--and he hasn't scrapped his five miles of
logging railroad and three miles of spurs."

Old Bill Henderson chewed his quid of tobacco reflectively and spat
at a crack in the sidewalk. "No," he replied, "I'll admit he ain't
started scrappin' it yet, but I happen to know he's sold the rollin'-
stock an' rails to the Freshwater Lumber Company, so I reckon they'll
be scrappin' that railroad for him before long."

The Colonel was visibly moved. "If your information is authentic," he
said slowly, "I suppose I'll have to build a mill on tidewater and
log the timber."