The high-ceilinged room in which Longarm found himself was surprisingly well appointed for being in a lumber camp. A thick rug was spread out on the puncheon floor. To the right was a fireplace with an overstuffed divan in front of it, to the left a big hardwood table that evidently served not only for meals but also as a desk for Aurora Mcentire. Papers were spread out on one end of it where a chair was drawn up to the table. A door on the other side of the table led into what were probably Aurora's sleeping quarters. The windows had oilcloth in them instead of glass, but they were covered with fancy curtains anyway.
Aurora gestured at the table and said, "Have a seat, Marshal Long. You too, Mr. Flint. Would you like a drink, Marshal?"
Longarm smiled. "Don't reckon you'd have any Maryland rye?"
Aurora returned the smile and shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I can offer you some brandy, or there's a pot of coffee on the stove."
"Coffee'll do fine," Longarm told her. "Maybe with a dollop of that brandy in it, if it's not too much trouble."
"No trouble at all," she assured him. "Mr. Flint?"
"No, thank you, ma'am," replied the foreman. He looked as if the very idea of his boss offering him a drink made him uncomfortable, even if she was a woman.
Aurora went to the cast-iron stove in the corner and poured two cups of coffee from the pot. She took a bottle from a cabinet and added a splash of brandy to each cup, then brought them over to the table. Longarm had liked her on sight, and the fact that she took brandy in her coffee made him admire her that much more. She was utterly feminine, yet clearly she didn't go in for the pretenses that a lot of women did. Of course, for a woman to run a lumber camp and be successful at it, she would have to be pretty forthright.
She sipped her coffee and then said, "In case you're wondering, Marshal, my late husband founded the Mcentire Timber Company. When Angus passed away a couple of years ago, I took over the business."
"So you're the A. J. Mcentire who got in touch with the Justice Department and asked for help with your troubles here," said Longarm.
"That's right. I don't hide the fact that I'm a woman, but I don't always advertise it either. In this case, I don't think it would have mattered. The government has a stake in our problems. Our contract to supply lumber for government construction projects involves hundreds of thousands of dollars, and unnecessary delays on delivery cost not only the Mcentire Timber Company, they cost the federal treasury as well."
"That's why I'm here," Longarm pointed out. He lifted the cup to his lips. The coffee was black and strong, just the way he liked it, with a little added wallop from the brandy.
Aurora looked down at the table. "Like I said, I wish they had sent more than one man. No offense, Marshal Long, but it may take quite a bit of manpower to wipe out those troublemaking ranchers."
Longarm leaned back in his chair and held up a hand. "Hold on a minute, ma'am. Let's eat this apple one bite at a time. Nobody said anything about wiping out anybody."
"It was just a... figure of speech," said Aurora, shaking her head. "I suppose I'm just so frustrated by all the trouble..."
Jared Flint spoke up. "If you ask me, wiping 'em out is a good idea, Miz Mcentire. Then they wouldn't kill any more honest loggers."
Longarm ignored the angry tone of the foreman's voice. He drank a little more coffee, then said to Aurora, "Tell me exactly what all has happened."
She sighed. "It started when a pulley rope snapped and dropped one of our toppers about a hundred and fifty feet. The poor boy never regained consciousness before he died. Accidents happen, of course, but when we checked the rope that broke, it looked like it had been partially cut."
"That'd make it murder, all right," admitted Longarm.
"A few days later, an ax blade flew off its handle while it was being swung and hit another cutter in the leg. The rest of the crew kept him from bleeding to death, but he'll never be able to work again. The injury was so bad he lost the use of his leg."
"Damn near cut it off," muttered Flint.
"Again it was something that could have been an accident," Aurora went on, "but I think the head of that ax was deliberately loosened."
"Any way of proving it?" asked Longarm.
Aurora shook her head. "Not really. The axes are kept in the tool shed at the back of the mess hall, so anybody could have gotten in there fairly easily. After that, I ordered that all axes be checked first thing in the morning before the men go to work."
"Seems like a sensible precaution," said Longarm. "What else?"
"Someone tried to burn down the mill. We were just lucky that Mr. Flint saw the flames in time to rouse the men, and they were able to put out the blaze before it did too much damage. If the mill had been destroyed, that would have been a catastrophe."
"Again, you're sure it was deliberate?" Flint said, "I saw some bastard--beggin' your pardon, ma'am--in a cowboy hat skulking around over there just after dusk that day, and not five minutes later, flames were shooting up along the wall. After we formed a bucket brigade and put out the fire, you could still smell the kerosene that somebody had splashed around."
That was pretty damning evidence, thought Longarm, but not completely conclusive. "Anything else?" he asked.
"The worst loss of life occurred a couple of weeks ago," said Aurora. "One of the donkey engines we use to haul logs down to the stream overheated and blew up. Four men working on the boom next to the bank were killed in the explosion. The safety valve had been tied closed. We know that because we found part of it with some charred cord still attached to it."
"Anything happen since then?"
"No... but it's only a matter of time until Kinsman and his men try again."
Longarm rasped a thumbnail along the line of his jaw and frowned in thought. "I heard about Matt Kinsman in Timber City. Why would he or any other rancher want to put you out of business?"
Aurora waved a slender hand in disgust. "They say that what we're doing is going to ruin the range further down the mountains and in the foothills. They say that without the trees we're cutting down to slow it down, the runoff from the rains will wash away the best soil and foul their water supply."
"Any truth to that?" asked Longarm.
Aurora hesitated, then said, "In some cases, there might be. Some logging operations clear-cut the trees and don't leave anything behind when they're through. But the Mcentire Timber Company doesn't. Angus learned when he was a young man in Scotland how to cut selectively so that the forest isn't ruined, and I've carried on with that as best I can." Her voice became more fervent as she added, "I intend for my descendants to still be logging on these slopes a hundred years from now."
That was an admirable goal, thought Longarm, but he wasn't sure how sincere she was about it. He asked, "Has anybody ever bothered explaining this to Kinsman? Maybe he'd listen to reason."
Flint snorted in contempt. "That stiff-necked bastard would never believe anything good about loggers." This time he didn't bother apologizing for his language.
"I told Kinsman he was wrong about us," said Aurora, "and he told me the only reason he wouldn't call me a liar to my face is because I'm a woman." She shook her head. "He thinks what he wants to think, Marshal, and won't be budged by explanations."
"Well, I ain't saying I'm convinced he's to blame for your troubles, but if he is, he can't go around killing people because of some mistaken notion he's got."
Flint took a watch from the pocket of his trousers and flipped it open. As he closed it, he scraped his chair back. "I got to be getting back to the men, Miz Mcentire. You and the marshal need me anymore?"
"No, you go ahead, Mr. Flint. Thank you for helping me explain to Marshal Long about what's been happening."
Flint looked hard at Longarm. "if you want to put a stop to this, Marshal, you're liable to have to put Kinsman in jail. Either that, or kill him. And if you don't-"