"You see," he turned to Rod, with a deprecating sort of smile, "men are born different. Some have a beak and claws to rend and tear, and they do rend and tear with the best. Some are bound to kick and gouge their way to the top of the dollar pile. For them that's the real object in life. Others have great foresight to grasp a great opportunity whenever it comes within reach. I imagine the first Norquay was that kind of man. And finally there's the fellow like me; more a dreamer than a doer; inclined to be contemplative rather than actively constructive--or destructive; more apt to take pleasure in seeing a tree grow than in cutting it down; able to work and plan and think clearly in respect of his individual acts, but somehow incapable of herding and driving and compelling other men to function for him. That's me. I pioneered in logging here on the coast. I was one of the first to introduce powerful machinery to handle this big timber. I made a little for myself now and then. But mostly I made money for some one else. And I got tired of going ahead under full steam. My wants are simple. My family's wants are simple. A reasonable amount of leisure. A reasonable amount of security. A chance to read and think. Freedom from hurry and worry. That seemed good enough for me. And this," he waved his hand toward the timber banked thick on the slopes behind his house, "has given it to me for several years. Each season I cut a few hundred dollars' worth of cedar,--without making a dent in the total. Each year the value of the stand increases. There's twenty-two million feet on my ground. When I choose to sell, it will bring me enough for a decent living as long as I'm likely to live, and something left over for Mary. That's good enough." Half an hour later Rod heard the _Haida_ whistle far down channel. The tide had gone slack. He rowed back, a little keen to see Phil. And as he crossed he looked back at Oliver Thorn's timber and thought to himself that Thorn was doing precisely what the earlier Norquays had done. He had shrewdly based his material security on possession of a natural resource. There was no accident in Oliver Thorn's ownership. The man had a sound design that differed in scope but not in kind from the design whereby the Norquays had become what they were and held what they had. This was the man Norquay senior had termed a dreamy-eyed incompetent. Rod smiled. It wasn't like his father to make blunders in estimating men. Then he fell to thinking of Grove,--and he was not so sure of the paternal judgment. Or, was it that his own distaste for his elder brother blinded him to excellent qualities and abilities easily visible to a father's eye? CHAPTER VI "When I went away you were talking about going on your own," Rod said. "What kind of a twist have things taken here? You seem to be pretty much the whole works now."