The Man in the Twilight by Ridgwell Cullum

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"I just can't rightly say," he demurred. "Maybe he is, an' maybe he
ain't. But," he added reflectively "he's just one hell of a good man.
Makes me laff sometimes. Sometimes it makes me want to cry like a kid
when I think of the things he's up against. He's out for the boys. He's
out to hand 'em dope to make 'em better. Oh, it ain't Sunday School
dope. No. He's the kind o' missioner who does things. He don't tell 'em
they're a bum lot o' toughs who oughter to be in penitentiary. But he
makes 'em feel that way--the way he acts. He's just a lone creature,
sort of livin' in twilight, who comes along, an' we don't know when he's
comin'. He passes out like a shadow in the forests, an' we don't see him
again till he fancies. He's after the boys the whole darn time. It don't
matter if they're sick in body or mind. He helps 'em the way he knows.
An', mam, they just love him to death. There's just one man in these
forests I wouldn't dare blaspheme, if I felt like it--which I don't. No,
mam, my life wouldn't be worth a two seconds buy if I blasphemed--Father
Adam. He's one of God's good men, an' I'd be mighty thankful to be like
him--some. Gee, and I owe him a piece myself."

"How?"

Nancy's interest was consuming.

"Why, only he jumped in once when I was being scrapped to death. He
jumped right in, when he looked like gettin' killed for it. And," he
laughed cynically, "he gave me a few more years of the dog's life of the
forest."

The girl moved away from her support.

"I want to thank you, Mr. Laval, for the trouble you've taken, and the
time you've given up to me." The hazel eyes were smiling up into the
man's hard face. "I don't agree with some of the things you've just been
telling me; I should hate to, anyway. I don't even believe you feel the
way you say about your men. Still, that's no account in the matters I
came about. The things I've got to say when I get back are all to your
credit. I'm going over now to talk to--Father Adam. And you needn't come
along with me. You see, you've fired my curiosity. Yes, I want to hear
the stuff I fancy about the--boys. So I'll go and talk to your--shepherd
of souls. Good-bye."

Nancy's eyes were bright and smiling as she gazed up into the lean,
ascetic face of the man in the black, semi-clerical coat. His garments
were worn and almost threadbare. At close quarters she realised an even
deeper interest in the man whose presence had wrought such a magical
change in the harsh tones of the camp-boss. He was in the heyday of
middle life, surely. His hair was long and black. His beard was of a
similar hue, and it covered his mouth and chin in a long, but patchy
mass. His eyes were keen but gentle. They, too, were very dark, and the
whole cast of his pale face was curiously reminiscent.

"I just had to come along over, sir," she said. "I was with Mr. Laval,
and he told me of the work--the great work you do in these camps. Maybe
you'll forgive me intruding. But you see, I've come from our
headquarters on business, and the folk of these camps interest me. I
kind of feel the life the boys live around these forests is a pretty
mean life. There's nothing much to it but work. And it seems to me that
those employing them ought to be made to realise they've a greater
responsibility than just handing them out a wage for work done. So when
I saw you come out of the forest and stand here, and Mr. Laval told me
about you, I made up my mind right away to come along and--speak to you.
My name's McDonald--Nancy McDonald."

It was all a little hasty, a little timidly spoken. The dark eyes
thoughtfully regarding the wonder of red hair under the close fitting
hat were disconcerting, for all there was cordiality in their depths.

At Nancy's mention of her name, Father Adam instantly averted his gaze,
and dropped the hand which he had taken possession of in greeting. It
was almost as if the pronouncement had caused him to start. But the
change, the movement, were unobserved by the girl.

"And you are--Father Adam?" she asked.

The man's gaze came quickly back.

"That's how I'm known. It--was kind of you to come along over."

In a moment all the girl's timidity was gone. If the man had been
startled when she had announced her name, he displayed perfect ease now.

"Do you know," Nancy went on, with a happy laugh, "I almost got mad with
Laval for his cynicism at the expense of the poor boys who work under
his orders. But I think I understand him. He's a product of a life that
moulds in pretty harsh form. He doesn't mean half he says."

"I'd say few of us do--when we let our feelings go." Father Adam smiled
back into the eyes which seemed to hold him fascinated. "You see,
Laval's much what we all are. He's got a tough job to put through, and
he does his utmost. He's a big man, a brave man, a--yes, perhaps--a
harsh man. But he couldn't do his job as he's paid to do it if he
weren't all those things." He shook his head. "No, I guess we can't play
with fire long without getting a heap of scars." He shrugged. "But after
all I suppose it's just--life. We've got to eat, and we want to live. We
don't need to judge too harshly."

"No. That's how I feel about the boys--he so condemned."

The girl turned away gazing pensively over the forest. Father Adam was
free to regard her without restraint. With her turning the whole
expression of his eyes had changed. Incredulous amazement had replaced
his smiling ease.

"Would you care to come along through the woods to my shanty, Miss
McDonald?" he said, almost diffidently, at last. "Maybe I've a cup of
coffee there. And I'd say coffee's the most welcome thing on earth in
these forests. It's a pretty humble shanty but, if you feel like
talking things, why, I guess we can sit around there awhile."

The girl snatched at the invitation.

"I was just hoping you'd say something that way," she laughed readily.
"I'd give worlds for a cup of coffee, and I guess the folks in the
forests of Quebec know more about coffee in half a second than we city
folk know in a year. Which way?"

"It's only a few yards. You'd best follow me."

* * * * *

The girl stood amazed. She was even horrified. She was gazing in through
the opening of the merest shelter, a shelter built of green boughs with
roof and sides of interlaced foliage. True it was densely interlaced,
but no sort of distorted imagination could have translated the result
into anything but a shelter. Habitation was out of the question. She
stared at the primitive, less than aboriginal home, of the priestly man.
She stared round her at the undergrowth upon which were spread his brown
coarse blankets airing. She looked down at the smouldering fire between
two granite stones upon which a tin of coffee was simmering and emitting
its pleasant aroma upon the woodland air. It was too crude, too utterly
lacking in comfort and even the bare necessites of existence.

The man emerged from the interior bearing two enamelled tin cups. He
realised the amazement with which Nancy was regarding his home, and
shook his head with a pleasant laugh as he indicated two upturned boxes
beside the fire.

"You'd best sit, and I'll tell you about it," he said. "It's not exactly
a swell hotel, is it? But it's sufficient."

The girl silently took her seat on one of the boxes. Father Adam took
the other. Then he poured out two cups of coffee, and passed a tin of
preserved milk across to the girl. There was a spoon in it. After that
he produced a small tin of sugar and offered that.

"You see, it's all I need," he said, in simple explanation. "When the
rain comes I mostly get wet, except at nights when I get under my rubber
sheet. But, anyway, there's plenty of sun to dry me. Oh, winter's
different. I cut out a dug-out then, and burrow like the rest of the
forest creatures. But, you see, this thing suits me well. I'm never long
in one place. I've been here two weeks, and I pull out to-morrow."

"You pull out? Where to?"

"Why, I just pass on to some other camp. The boys are pretty widely
scattered in these forests. You'd never guess the distances I sometimes
make. Even Labrador. But it doesn't much matter. I've a good smattering
of physic, and the boys are always getting hurt one way and another. I'd
hate to feel I couldn't go to them wherever they are. Maybe if I built a
better house I'd not want to leave it. It would be hard getting on the
move. You see, I get their call any old time. Maybe it comes along on
the forest breezes," he said whimsically. "Then I have to be quick to
locate it, and read it right."

The girl had helped herself to milk and sugar, and sipped the steaming
coffee. But she was listening with all her ears and thinking feverishly.
This strange creature, with his deprecating manner, and smiling, sane
eyes, filled her with a sense of shame at his utter selflessness.

She nodded.

"You mean they--always want help?"

"Sure. Same as we all do."

Father Adam sipped his coffee appreciatively.

"But tell me," he said. "It's kind of new the Skandinavia sending a
woman along up here. It's your first trip?"

Nancy set her cup down.

"Yes."

"They're a great firm," Father Adam went on, reflectively. "I mean
the--extent of their operations."

Nancy smiled.

"I like the distinction. Yes, they're big. You don't like
their--methods?"

It was the man's turn for a smiling retort.

"Their methods?" he shook his head. "I don't know, I guess they pay
well. And their boys are no worse treated than in other camps. They
employ thousands. And that's all to the good."

"But you don't like them," Nancy persisted. "I can hear it in your
voice. It's in your smile. Few people like the Skandinavia," she added
regretfully.

"Do you?"

Like a shot the challenge came, and Nancy found herself replying almost
before she was aware of it.

"Yes. Why shouldn't I? They've been good to me. More than good, when
those who had a right to be completely deserted me. No. I mustn't say
just that," she hurried on in some contrition. "They provided for me,
but cut me out of their lives. Maybe you won't understand what that
means to a girl. It meant so much to me that I wouldn't accept their
charity. I wouldn't accept a thing. I'd make my own way with the small
powers Providence handed me. So I went to the Skandinavia who have only
shown me the best of kindness. Well, I'm frankly out for the Skandinavia
and all their schemes and methods in consequence. It's not for me to
look into the things that make folks hate them. That's theirs. My
loyalty and gratitude are all for them for the thing they've done for
me. Isn't that right?"

"Surely," the man concurred. "But your coffee. It's getting cold," he
added.

Nancy hastily picked up her cup.

"Why am I telling you all this?" she laughed. "We were going to talk of
the--boys."

"We surely were." Father Adam laughed responsively. "But personal
interest I guess doesn't figure to be denied for long. We sort of get
the notion we can shut it out. But we can't. We try to guess there's
other things. Things more important. Things that matter a whole lot
more." He shook his head. "It's no use. There aren't. I guess it doesn't
matter where we look. Self's pushing out at every angle, and won't be
denied. It would be hypocrisy to deny it, wouldn't it? It's the biggest
thing in life. It's the whole thing."

"And it's such a pity," Nancy agreed slyly. "Just think," she went on,
"I've got a hundred notions for the good of the world. These boys for
instance. I'd like to make their lives what they ought to be. Full of
comfort and security and--and everything to make it worth while. Instead
of that my first and whole concern is to make good for Nancy McDonald.
To do all those things for her. It's dreadful when you think of it,
isn't it?" She sighed. "I want to do good to the--the 'underdog,' and
all the time I'm planning for myself. I want to fight all the time for
those who hold opportunity out to me. It doesn't really matter to me why
the Skandinavia is disliked. They give me opportunity. I reckon they've
been good to me. So I'm their slave to fight for them, and work for
them, whatever their methods. Yes. It's too bad," she laughed frankly.
"I can't deny it. I'd like to, but--I can't."

"No."

Father Adam set down his empty cup, and sat with his arms resting on his
parted knees. His hands were clasped.

"You remind me of someone," he said, in his simple disarming fashion.
"Queerly enough it's a man. A strong, hard, kindly, good-natured man. I
found him without a thought but to make good. And I knew he would make
good. Then it came my way to show him how. I offered him a notion. The
notion was fine. Oh, yes--though I say it. It was the sort of thing if
it were carried to success would hand the fellow working it down to
posterity as one of his country's benefactors. The notion appealed to
him. It stirred something in him, and set fire to his enthusiasm. He
jumped for it. Why? Was it the thought of doing a great act for his
country? Was it for that something that was all good stirring in him?
No. I guess it was because he was a strong, physical, and spiritual, and
mental force concentrated on big things, primarily inspired by Self.
Personal achievement. It seems to me the good man always does what's
real and worth while in the way of helping himself."

"Yes. I think I understand." The girl nodded. "And this strong physical,
and spiritual, and mental force? Have I heard of him? Is he known? Has
he achieved?"

"He's carrying on. Oh, yes." Father Adam paused. Then he went on
quickly. "You don't know him yet. But I think you will. He's out on the
coast of Labrador. He's driving his great purpose with all his force
through the agency of a groundwood mill that would fill your Skandinavia
folk with envy and alarm if they saw it. He's master of forests such as
would break your heart when compared with these of your Skandinavia. His
name's Sternford. Bull Sternford, of Sachigo."

At the mention of Sachigo, Nancy's eyes widened. Then she laughed. It
was a laugh of real amusement.

"Why, that's queer. It's--I'm going right on there from here. I'm going
to meet this very man, Sternford. They tell me I've just time to get
there and pull out again for home before winter freezes them up solid.
So he is this great man, with this great--notion. Tell me, what is he
like?"

"Oh, he's a big, strong man, as ready to laugh as to fight."

Father Adam smiled, and stooped over the fire to push the attenuated
sticks of it together.

"May I ask why you're going to Sachigo?" he asked, without looking up.

Just for a moment Nancy hesitated. Then she laughed happily.

"I don't see why you shouldn't," she cried. "There's no secret.
Skandinavia intends to buy him, or crush him."

The man sat up.

"And you--a girl--are the emissary?"

Incredulity robbed the man of the even calmness of' his manner.

"Yes. Why not?"

The challenge in the girls's eyes was unmistakable.

"You won't buy him," Father Adam said quietly. "And you certainly won't
crush him."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"Oh, no. I was thinking of the Skandinavia." The man shook his head. "If
I'm a judge of men, the crushing will be done from the other end of the
line."

"This man will crush Skandinavia?"

The idea that Skandinavia could be crushed was quite unthinkable to
Nancy. It was the great monopoly of the country. It was--but she felt
that this lonely creature could have no real understanding of the power
of her people.

"Surely," he returned quietly. "But that," he added, with a return of
his pleasant smile, "is just the notion of one man. I should say it's no
real account. Yes, you go there. You see this man. The battle of your
people with him matters little. It will be good for you to see him.
It--may help you. Who can tell? He's a white man, and a fighter. He's
honest and clean. It's--in the meeting of kindred spirits that the
great events of life are brought about. It should be good for you both."

"I wonder?" Nancy rose from her chair.

The man rose also.

"I think so," he said, very decidedly.

The girl laughed.

"I hope so. But--" She held out her hand. "Thank you, Father," she said.
"I'll never be able to think of the things I'm set on achieving without
remembering our talk--and the man I met in the forest. I wish--but
what's the use? I've got to make good. I must. I must go on, and--do the
thing I see. Good-bye."

Father Adam was holding the small gauntleted hand, and he seemed loth to
release it. His eyes were very gentle, very earnest.

"Don't worry to remember, child. Don't ever think about--this time. It
won't help you. You've set your goal. Make it. You will do the good
things you fancy to do, though maybe not the way you think them. It
seems to me that 'good' mostly has its own way all the time. You can't
drive it. And the best of it is I don't think there's a human creature
so bad in this world, but that in some way God's work has been furthered
through his life. Good-bye."

* * * * *

For some moments the lonely figure stood gazing down the woodland
aisles. The deep, shining light of a great hope was in his eyes. A
wonderful tender smile had dispersed the shadows of his ascetic face. At
length, as the girl's figure became completely swallowed up in the
twilight of it all, he turned away and passed into the foliage shelter
which was his home.

He was squatting on his box, and the small canvas bag containing his
belongings was open beside him. Its contents were strewn about. He was
writing a long letter. There was several pages of it. When he had
finished he read it over carefully. Then he carefully folded it and
placed it in an envelope, and addressed it. It was addressed:

MR. BULL STERNFORD,
Sachigo, Farewell Cove,
Labrador.

CHAPTER VII

THE SKANDINAVIA MOVES

Bat gazed up at the wooded ridge. They were standing in the marshy
bottom of a natural hollow amidst a sparse scattering of pine and
attenuated spruce. Beyond the ridge lay the waters of the cove. And to
the left the broad waters of the river mouth flowed by. It was a
desolate, damp spot, but its significance to the two men studying it was
profound.

Skert Lawton, the chief engineer of Sachigo, tall, loose-limbed,
raw-boned, watched his superior with somewhat mournful, unsmiling eyes.
There was something of deadly earnest in his regard, something anxious.
But that was always his way. Bat had once said of him: "Skert Lawton's
one hell of a good boy. But I won't get no comfort in the grave if I
ain't ever see him grin." There was not the smallest sign of a smile in
him now.

"It's one big notion," Bat said, at last. Then he added doubtfully. "It
comes mighty nigh being too big."

Lawton emitted a curious sound like a snort. It was mainly, however, an
ejaculation of violent impatience. Bat turned with a twinkling grin,
surveying the queer figure. His engineer was always a source of the
profoundest interest for him. Just now, in his hard, rough clothing, he
might have been a lumber-jack, or casual labourer. Anything, in fact,
rather than the college-bred, brilliant engineer he really was.

Bat's doubt had been carefully calculated. He knew his man. And just now
as he awaited the explosion he looked for, his thoughts went back to a
scene he had once had with a half drunken machine-minder whom he had had
to pay off. The man had epitomised the chief engineer's qualities and
character, as those who encountered his authority understood them, in a
few lurid, illuminating phrases. "You know," he had said, "that guy
ain't a man. No, sir. He's the mush-fed image of a penitentiary boss. I
guess he'd set the grease box of a driving shaft hot with a look. His
temper 'ud burn holes in sheet iron. As for work--work? Holy Mackinaw!
I've worked hired man to a French Canuk mossback which don't leave a
feller the playtime of a nigger slave, but that hell-hired Scotch
machine boss sets me yearnin' for that mossback's wage like a bull-pup
chasin' offal. I tell you right here if that guy don't quit his notions
there'll be murder done. Bloody murder! An' it's a God's sure thing when
that happens he'll freeze to death in hell. It don't rile me a thing to
be told the things he guesses my mother was. Maybe that's a matter of
opinion, and, anyway, she's mixin' with a crop of angels who don't
figger to have no truck with Scotch machine bosses. I guess a sight of
his flea-bitten features 'ud set 'em seein' things so they wouldn't
rec'nise their harps from frypans, and they'd moult feathers till you
wouldn't know it from a snowfall on Labrador. But when he mixes his
notions of my ma with 'lazy'! Lazy! Lazy! Gee! Why, if I signed in a
half hour late from that bum suttler's canteen, I guess it was only the
time it took me digestin' two quarts of the gut-wash they hand out there
in the hope you won't know it from beer. No, sir, 'lazy son-of-a-bitch'
from that guy is the talk no decent citizen with a bunch of guts is
goin' to stand for."

Skert Lawton was known for a red-hot "burner," a "nigger driver." No
doubt he was all this in addition to his brilliant attainments as an
engineer. But the methods he applied to others he applied to himself.
And the whole of him, brain and body, was for the enterprise they were
all engaged in. Bat had intended to goad the demon of obstinate energy
which possessed the man, and he succeeded.

Skert flung out his hand in a comprehensive gesture.

"Hell!" he cried. "That's no sort of talk anyway. I've been weeks on
this thing. And I've got it to the last fraction. Big notion? Of course
it is. Aren't we mostly concerned with big notions? Here, what are you
asking? An inland boom with capacity for anything over a million cords.
Well? It's damn ridiculous talking the size of the notion. This hollow
is fixed right. Its bed is ten feet below the bed of the river. It's
surrounded with a natural ridge on all sides a hundred and fifty feet
high. There's a quarter mile below the hollow and the river bank, and
the new mill extensions are just to the east of this ridge. It's
well-nigh child's play. Nature's fixed it that way. Two cuttings, and a
race-way on the river. We flood this. Feed it full of lumber in the
summer with surplus from the cut and you've got that reserve for winter,
so you can keep every darn machine grinding its guts out. What's the use
talking? Big notion? Of course it is. We're out for big notions all the
time. That's the whole proposition. Well?"

Bat grinned at the heated disgust in the man's tone.

"Sounds like eatin' pie," he retorted aggravatingly. "The cost? The
labour? Time? You got those things?"

"It's right up at your office now." Skert's eyes widened in surprise at
such a question. "It's not my way to play around."

"No." Bat's eyes refused seriousness.

"Oh, psha! This is no sort of time chewing these details. It's figgered
to the last second, the last man, the last cent. I brought you to see
things. Well, you've seen things. And if you're satisfied we'll quit
right away. I've no spare play time."

There was no pretence of patience in Skert Lawton. He had looked for
appreciation and only found doubt. He moved off.

Bat had done the thing intended. He had no intention of hurting the man.
He understood the driving power of the mood he had stirred.

They moved off together.

"That's all right, Skert," he said kindly. "You've done one big thing.
An' it's the thing Bull and I want--"

"Then why in hell didn't you say it instead of talking--notions?"

For all the sharpness of his retort, Skert was mollified. Bat shook his
head and a shrewd light twinkled in his eyes.

"You're a pretty bright boy, Skert," he said. "But you're brightest when
you're riled."

They had gained the river bank where booms lined the shore, and scores
of men were rafting. They had left the water-logged hollow behind them,
and debouched on the busy world of the mill. Ahead lay the new
extensions where the saws were shrieking the song of their labours upon
the feed for the rumbling grinders. It was a township of buildings of
all sizes crowding about the great central machine house.

They crossed the light footbridge over the "cut in" from the river, and
moved along down the main highway of the northern shore.

Both were pre-occupied. The engineer was listening to the note of his
beloved machinery. Bat was concerned with any and every movement going
on within the range of his vision. They walked briskly, the lean
engineer setting a pace that kept the other stumping hurriedly beside
him.

Abreast of the mill they approached a new-looking, long, low building.
It was single storied and lumber built, with a succession of many
windows down its length. The hour was noon. And men were hurrying
towards its entrance from every direction.

Bat watched interestedly.

"They seem mighty keen for their new playground," he said at last, with
a quick nod in the direction of the recreation house.

The engineer came out of his dream. His mournful eyes turned in the
direction indicated and devoured the scene. Then he glanced down at the
squat figure stumping beside him.

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