One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, ch 48 by Wayne Fowler |
In the last part Ben’s escort was captured and tied up in the back-room of the Ram tavern. The Bull of a man and his cohorts also caught Ben. For the first time in his life, Ben prayed for strength. God answered his prayer and showed the bad men a sight that made them run. Ben rescued his bound friend. Then Ben assisted with a 56-horse team pulling trolley car cable. “’Scuse me, Sir?” He was a youth approaching Ben as he was about to step onto a wooden box designed to hold bottles. “Are you Ben Persons?” Acknowledging the youth, Ben learned that Henry Halleck, his attorney friend needed to see him. Ben headed for his law office at as quick a clip as pedestrian traffic allowed. “Hey Ben. Glad we could find you. Wasn’t sure where to send my man. Hope you didn’t tip him. I pay him to run errands and courier paperwork.” Ben smiled, not responding to the question in his greeting. He had given the boy a nickel, wishing he’d had a dime. “There’s something going on up in the north woods, up across the gate.” Ben knew that Henry was referring to the Golden Gate inlet to the bay. “Some kids have chained themselves to some redwood trees and they’re preventing the cutters from timbering them. Pretty smart kids, it would seem; they’ve managed with only a couple dozen of them to effectively stop them cold.” Ben looked at Henry with questioning eyes. “So, one of them is the daughter of one of my clients, a good friend.” “And you want me to go up and talk some sense into the kids?” “Well, that was my first thought. Then I realized that I know you pretty well enough by now to know better than to tell you how to conduct the Lord’s business.” Ben smiled. “You would like to ask if I would go up there and see what God would have me do?” “Couldn’t have said it better. My client will…” Ben held up his hand as in stopping Henry from offering money. “Just tell me the girl’s name. Do you know the company that’s timbering?” “T and C has been controlling most all cutting locally, as far as I know. But if you take the ferry, there’s a livery that will rent you a horse. You know something about horses, I hear.” Henry offered Ben a conspiratorial grin indicating he heard about Ben’s exploit with the cable company’s 56-horse team. They both chuckled. “Somewhere up the road an hour or two is a valley called Big Coyote, or Coyote Hollow, or something like that. There’s a big dairy homestead. Anyway, you’ll see the cutters and where the big trees start. She’s a tall blond and will probably be wearing britches, her father said.” “I’ll head up there now,” Ben replied. “Better take some food with you. Don’t know how hospitable folks’ll be. Oh, her name’s Isabelle, Isabelle Davisson.” Ben nodded and left, praying every step of the way to the ferry. +++ “Afternoon, Mister. Could you point me to the boss?” Ben saw a group of men standing in a line, shoulder-to-shoulder, two-man crosscut saws and axes in hand. “One with the ax ‘bout ta cut dat boy’s hand off,” one said, pointing up hill. “He’d’a done it this mornin’, but he run to the crapper. Been in there ‘til just now.” Ben thanked God for his mysterious ways. Just as Ben zeroed in on the man with the ax, some hundred feet up the slope, he heard a shrill scream, piercing the air. The man with the ax stayed his swing, turning toward where Ben figured the scream to come from. Ben sprang toward the ax wielder at a fast walk. He was restrained by only a semblance of an attempt by one of the timbermen. “Yo, the woodman!” Ben shouted as he climbed the slope to where the axman was already in front of a blond girl wearing britches. “Who’re you?” the man with the ax shouted back. “The one that’s going to save you from a long prison sentence.” The man let his ax rest on his shoulder, as he let his chin drop to his shoulder. Ben reached out to take the ax, but accepted the man’s handshake instead. “Ben Walters.” “Ben Persons.” “Well, that gives us a place to start, anyway.” The teenager girl began to speak, but was immediately stopped by Ben’s outstretched hand, earning him, Ben, the axman’s, respect. “We took away their water an’ food yesterday. Figured they’d be done by now.” “How old you figure this one is?” Ben asked, straining his neck to look to the top of the tree. “This one’s most likely over two thousand years. That’n over there 2500.” “Must be what, two-three hundred feet tall?” The axman looked up. “Three thirty’s my guess. Build a real nice house with this one tree.” Ben quickly replied, “And in two thousand years you can build another one.” The timberman gave Ben a quizzical look. “You figure to cut every one of ‘em down? Blot the world of them? Tell me something, Ben, why is it that timberers clear cut instead of culling the mature, money trees?” The timberer looked toward the forest. “Faster. Time’s money.” Ben nodded. “John Muir’s on his way!” The boy who nearly lost his hand shouted. Only a tree away, about twenty feet, Ben asked him, “John Muir, the scientist?” “That and a lot more!” boy yelled. “He don’t own this land, or the trees,” Ben Walters barked. “But he will. Maybe already does.” The boy didn’t shout that time, not wanting to outshout Walters. “Look Ben,” Ben Persons began, “ it’s getting late in the day, maybe too late to get the limbers working, or the tree cut into logs. Why don’t we call a rainout, and see what happens tomorrow?” Ben let the man consider the suggestion. “Why doesn’t your team harvest spruce and fir? Aren’t they harder wood, better building lumber? And aren’t they easier to manage than these…” Ben lifted an arm to the majesty of the giant sequoia. “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” Walters replied. “And once you get the bark off, and then deal with the thick layer of soft wood, a huge percentage is on the ground.” Ben nodded, smiling. “But look at ‘er. The challenge of droppin’ that beast, loggin’ it outta the wood. Ah-hee boy! It’s what a logger lives for!” “I get it, Ben. I do. Like climbing a mountain, standing on the peak.” Walters nodded. “But with the tree, once it’s down, you’ve killed it. Killed a beautiful, living thing. But… your fiftieth greats grandson could see one take its place.” Walters looked at Ben, unsure whether or not to agree with him. Turning to the kids, Ben said, “Why don’t you kids come on down and get something to eat and drink? Maybe find a place to camp?” “Because they’ll put men up here that won’t let us back!” the boy shouted. Walters grinned at Ben, nodding his head. “Ben, how about joining me for a meal? I don’t know what got into me this morning. Never had anything like it in my life. I just couldn’t get off the pot. Now I’m starving!” Ben agreed, knowing exactly what had happened to him – God kept him out of the woods, stopping him from chopping off the boy’s hand, working mysteriously. “Let me check on the kids, like I promised I would, then I’ll be down.” Walters lifted his hand in a mock wave. After Walters was sufficiently distanced, Ben turned to the girl, “Isabelle?” She acknowledged that she was. “Would you come back with me, and let the boys carry on the fight?” “Would you? If it was something you really believed in?” she asked, looking Ben square in the eyes. After a moment, Ben nodded understanding. “I’ll bring you all some water, but I can’t promise food.” As Ben turned to leave, Isabelle offered him her thanks. +++ “Better come out here,” one of Ben Walters’ men shouted into the mess tent, interrupting breakfast. “The kids gone?” Walters shouted as he walked away from his meal. “Walters, is it?” “And who would you be, another do-gooder from San Fran-cisco?” Walters challenged the robust, bearded man. “No, a do-gooder from Sac-ra-men-to! I’m Governor Washington Bartlett; and I’m here to tell you that the land you are about to decimate is California State Park land. And the trees on this land are protected by law. “Now, I’m not saying that you’ve done anything wrong. I’m a businessman, myself. And as Governor, I can promise you 10,000 acres of exclusive rights in Sonoma County just north of here. Spruce, Douglas Fir, Hemlock, Pine, and, of course, Redwood. Have you any questions, Sir?” Walters looked from the Governor and then to Ben, who just shrugged his shoulders, grinning. Bartlett directed an aide to offer Walters a set of maps. “You’re that street preacher, aren’t you?” A man who introduced himself as John Muir approached Ben. He’d been standing alongside the Governor, but hadn’t said anything until then. “I heard of you in San Francisco and in Chicago, too. I was there for a convention, such as it was,” adding the last half under his breath. “And Pastor Lindenmeier of the Frisco Presbyterian Church mentioned you in a couple of his letters. He thinks highly of you, by the way.” “Thank you, Sir. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. And I’ll be sure to convey my regards to Samuel when I return. Today, I hope.” Once returned to San Francisco, Ben learned that a sizeable sum had been deposited into his bank account, allowing him to contribute to the various causes.
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Wayne Fowler
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