THE BLAZED TRAIL

By Stewart Edward White

TO MY FATHER--From whose early pioneer life are drawn many of HarryThorpe's experiences. 

CONTENTS

 PART I: THE FOREST

 PART II: THE LANDLOOKER

 PART III: THE BLAZING OF THE TRAIL

 PART IV: THORPE'S DREAM GIRL

 PART V: THE FOLLOWING OF THE TRAIL

PART I: THE FOREST

Chapter I

When history has granted him the justice of perspective, we shall knowthe American Pioneer as one of the most picturesque of her many figures. Resourceful, self-reliant, bold; adapting himself with fluidity todiverse circumstances and conditions; meeting with equal cheerfulness ofconfidence and completeness of capability both unknown dangers and theperils by which he has been educated; seizing the useful in the livesof the beasts and men nearest him, and assimilating it with marvellousrapidity; he presents to the world a picture of complete adequacy whichit would be difficult to match in any other walk of life. He is a strongman, with a strong man's virtues and a strong man's vices. In him thepassions are elemental, the dramas epic, for he lives in the age whenmen are close to nature, and draw from her their forces. He satisfieshis needs direct from the earth. Stripped of all the towns can givehim, he merely resorts to a facile substitution. It becomes an affair ofrawhide for leather, buckskin for cloth, venison for canned tomatoes. We feel that his steps are planted on solid earth, for civilizationsmay crumble without disturbing his magnificent self-poise. In him weperceive dimly his environment. He has something about him whichother men do not possess--a frank clearness of the eye, a swing of theshoulder, a carriage of the hips, a tilt of the hat, an air of muscularwell-being which marks him as belonging to the advance guard, whether hewears buckskin, mackinaw, sombrero, or broadcloth. The woods are there, the plains, the rivers. Snow is there, and the line of the prairie. Mountain peaks and still pine forests have impressed themselves subtly;so that when we turn to admire his unconsciously graceful swing, we seemto hear the ax biting the pine, or the prospector's pick tapping therock. And in his eye is the capability of quiet humor, which is just thequality that the surmounting of many difficulties will give a man. 

Like the nature he has fought until he understands, his disposition isat once kindly and terrible. Outside the subtleties of his calling, hesees only red. Relieved of the strenuousness of his occupation, he turnsall the force of the wonderful energies that have carried him far whereother men would have halted, to channels in which a gentle currentmakes flood enough. It is the mountain torrent and the canal. Insteadof pleasure, he seeks orgies. He runs to wild excesses of drinking, fighting, and carousing--which would frighten most men to sobriety--witha happy, reckless spirit that carries him beyond the limits of even hisextraordinary forces. 

This is not the moment to judge him. And yet one cannot help admiringthe magnificently picturesque spectacle of such energies running riot. The power is still in evidence, though beyond its proper application. 

Chapter II

In the network of streams draining the eastern portion of Michigan andknown as the Saginaw waters, the great firm of Morrison & Daly had formany years carried on extensive logging operations in the wilderness. The number of their camps was legion, of their employees a multitude. Each spring they had gathered in their capacious booms from thirty tofifty million feet of pine logs. 

Now at last, in the early eighties, they reached the end of theirholdings. Another winter would finish the cut. Two summers would seethe great mills at Beeson Lake dismantled or sold, while Mr. Daly, the"woods partner" of the combination, would flit away to the scenes of newand perhaps more extensive operations. At this juncture Mr. Daly calledto him John Radway, a man whom he knew to possess extensive experience, a little capital, and a desire for more of both. 

"Radway, " said he, when the two found themselves alone in the milloffice, "we expect to cut this year some fifty millions, which willfinish our pine holdings in the Saginaw waters. Most of this timberlies over in the Crooked Lake district, and that we expect to put inourselves. We own, however, five million on the Cass Branch which wewould like to log on contract. Would you care to take the job?"

"How much a thousand do you give?" asked Radway. 

"Four dollars, " replied the lumberman. 

"I'll look at it, " replied the jobber. 

So Radway got the "descriptions" and a little map divided intotownships, sections, and quarter sections; and went out to look at it. He searched until he found a "blaze" on a tree, the marking on whichindicated it as the corner of a section. From this corner the boundarylines were blazed at right angles in either direction. Radway followedthe blazed lines. Thus he was able accurately to locate isolated"forties" (forty acres), "eighties, " quarter sections, and sections in aprimeval wilderness. The feat, however, required considerable woodcraft, an exact sense of direction, and a pocket compass. 

These resources were still further drawn upon for the next task. Radwaytramped the woods, hills, and valleys to determine the most practicalroute over which to build a logging road from the standing timber to theshores of Cass Branch. He found it to be an affair of some puzzlement. The pines stood on a country rolling with hills, deep with pot-holes. It became necessary to dodge in and out, here and there, between theknolls, around or through the swamps, still keeping, however, the samegeneral direction, and preserving always the requisite level or downgrade. Radway had no vantage point from which to survey the country. A city man would promptly have lost himself in the tangle; but thewoodsman emerged at last on the banks of the stream, leaving behind hima meandering trail of clipped trees that wound, twisted, doubled, andturned, but kept ever to a country without steep hills. From the mainroad he purposed arteries to tap the most distant parts. 

"I'll take it, " said he to Daly. 

Now Radway happened to be in his way a peculiar character. He wasacutely sensitive to the human side of those with whom he had dealings. In fact, he was more inclined to take their point of view than to holdhis own. For that reason, the subtler disputes were likely to go againsthim. His desire to avoid coming into direct collision of opinion withthe other man, veiled whatever of justice might reside in his owncontention. Consequently it was difficult for him to combat sophistryor a plausible appearance of right. Daly was perfectly aware of Radway'speculiarities, and so proceeded to drive a sharp bargain with him. 

Customarily a jobber is paid a certain proportion of the agreed price aseach stage of the work is completed--so much when the timber is cut;so much when it is skidded, or piled; so much when it is stacked at theriver, or banked; so much when the "drive" down the waters of the riveris finished. Daly objected to this method of procedure. 

"You see, Radway, " he explained, "it is our last season in the country. When this lot is in, we want to pull up stakes, so we can't take anychances on not getting that timber in. If you don't finish your Job, itkeeps us here another season. There can be no doubt, therefore, that youfinish your job. In other words, we can't take any chances. If you startthe thing, you've got to carry it 'way through. "

"I think I can, Mr. Daly, " the jobber assured him. 

"For that reason, " went on Daly, "we object to paying you as the workprogresses. We've got to have a guarantee that you don't quit on us, andthat those logs will be driven down the branch as far as the river intime to catch our drive. Therefore I'm going to make you a good priceper thousand, but payable only when the logs are delivered to ourrivermen. "

Radway, with his usual mental attitude of one anxious to justify theother man, ended by seeing only his employer's argument. He did notperceive that the latter's proposition introduced into the transactiona gambling element. It became possible for Morrison & Daly to get acertain amount of work, short of absolute completion, done for nothing. 

"How much does the timber estimate?" he inquired finally. 

"About five millions. "

"I'd need a camp of forty or fifty men then. I don't see how I can runsuch a camp without borrowing. "

"You have some money, haven't you?"

"Yes; a little. But I have a family, too. "

"That's all right. Now look here. " Daly drew towards him a sheet ofpaper and began to set down figures showing how the financing couldbe done. Finally it was agreed. Radway was permitted to draw on theCompany's warehouse for what provisions he would need. Daly let him feelit as a concession. 

All this was in August. Radway, who was a good practical woodsman, setabout the job immediately. He gathered a crew, established his camp, andbegan at once to cut roads through the country he had already blazed onhis former trip. 

Those of us who have ever paused to watch a group of farmers workingout their road taxes, must have gathered a formidable impression ofroad-clearing. And the few of us who, besides, have experienced theadventure of a drive over the same highway after the tax has beenpronounced liquidated, must have indulged in varied reflections as tothe inadequacy of the result. 

Radway's task was not merely to level out and ballast the six feet ofa road-bed already constructed, but to cut a way for five miles throughthe unbroken wilderness. The way had moreover to be not less thantwenty-five feet wide, needed to be absolutely level and free from anykind of obstructions, and required in the swamps liberal ballasting withpoles, called corduroys. To one who will take the trouble to recallthe variety of woods, thickets, and jungles that go to make up a woodedcountry--especially in the creek bottoms where a logging road findsoften its levelest way--and the piles of windfalls, vines, bushes, andscrubs that choke the thickets with a discouraging and inextricabletangle, the clearing of five miles to street width will look like analmost hopeless undertaking. Not only must the growth be removed, butthe roots must be cut out, and the inequalities of the ground levelledor filled up. Reflect further that Radway had but a brief time at hisdisposal, --but a few months at most, --and you will then be in a positionto gauge the first difficulties of those the American pioneer expectsto encounter as a matter of course. The cutting of the road was a mereincident in the battle with the wilderness. 

The jobber, of course, pushed his roads as rapidly as possible, but wasgreatly handicapped by lack of men. Winter set in early and surprisedhim with several of the smaller branches yet to finish. The main line, however, was done. 

At intervals squares were cut out alongside. In them two long timbers, or skids, were laid andiron-wise for the reception of the piles of logswhich would be dragged from the fallen trees. They were called skidways. Then finally the season's cut began. 

The men who were to fell the trees, Radway distributed along oneboundary of a "forty. " They were instructed to move forward across theforty in a straight line, felling every pine tree over eight inches indiameter. While the "saw-gangs, " three in number, prepared to fellthe first trees, other men, called "swampers, " were busy cutting andclearing of roots narrow little trails down through the forest from thepine to the skidway at the edge of the logging road. The trails wereperhaps three feet wide, and marvels of smoothness, although no attemptwas made to level mere inequalities of the ground. They were calledtravoy roads (French "travois"). Down them the logs would be dragged andhauled, either by means of heavy steel tongs or a short sledge on whichone end of the timber would be chained. 

Meantime the sawyers were busy. Each pair of men selected a tree, thefirst they encountered over the blazed line of their "forty. " Afterdetermining in which direction it was to fall, they set to work to chopa deep gash in that side of the trunk. 

Tom Broadhead and Henry Paul picked out a tremendous pine which theydetermined to throw across a little open space in proximity to thetravoy road. One stood to right, the other to left, and alternatelytheir axes bit deep. It was a beautiful sight this, of experts wieldingtheir tools. The craft of the woodsman means incidentally such a freeswing of the shoulders and hips, such a directness of stroke as theblade of one sinks accurately in the gash made by the other, that onenever tires of watching the grace of it. Tom glanced up as a sailorlooks aloft. 

"She'll do, Hank, " he said. 

The two then with a dozen half clips of the ax, removed the inequalitiesof the bark from the saw's path. The long, flexible ribbon of steelbegan to sing, bending so adaptably to the hands and motions of themen manipulating, that it did not seem possible so mobile an instrumentcould cut the rough pine. In a moment the song changed timbre. Withouta word the men straightened their backs. Tom flirted along the bladea thin stream of kerosene oil from a bottle in his hip pocket, and thesawyers again bent to their work, swaying back and forth rhythmically, their muscles rippling under the texture of their woolens like those ofa panther under its skin. The outer edge of the saw-blade disappeared. 

"Better wedge her, Tom, " advised Hank. 

They paused while, with a heavy sledge, Tom drove a triangle of steelinto the crack made by the sawing. This prevented the weight of the treefrom pinching the saw, which is a ruin at once to the instrument and thetemper of the filer. Then the rhythmical z-z-z! z-z-z! again took up itssong. 

When the trunk was nearly severed, Tom drove another and thicker wedge. 

"Timber!" hallooed Hank in a long-drawn melodious call that meltedthrough the woods into the distance. The swampers ceased work andwithdrew to safety. 

But the tree stood obstinately upright. So the saw leaped back and fortha few strokes more. 

"Crack!" called the tree. 

Hank coolly unhooked his saw handle, and Tom drew the blade through andout the other side. 

The tree shivered, then leaded ever so slightly from the perpendicular, then fell, at first gently, afterwards with a crescendo rush, tearingthrough the branches of other trees, bending the small timber, breakingthe smallest, and at last hitting with a tremendous crash and bang whichfilled the air with a fog of small twigs, needles, and the powder ofsnow, that settled but slowly. There is nothing more impressive thanthis rush of a pine top, excepting it be a charge of cavalry or the fallof Niagara. Old woodsmen sometimes shout aloud with the mere excitementinto which it lifts them. 

Then the swampers, who had by now finished the travoy road, trimmed theprostrate trunk clear of all protuberances. It required fairly skillfulax work. The branches had to be shaved close and clear, and at the sametime the trunk must not be gashed. And often a man was forced to wieldhis instrument from a constrained position. 

The chopped branches and limbs had now to be dragged clear and piled. While this was being finished, Tom and Hank marked off and sawed the loglengths, paying due attention to the necessity of avoiding knots, forks, and rotten places. Thus some of the logs were eighteen, some sixteen, orfourteen, and some only twelve feet in length. 

Next appeared the teamsters with their little wooden sledges, theirsteel chains, and their tongs. They had been helping the skidders toplace the parallel and level beams, or skids, on which the logs were tobe piled by the side of the road. The tree which Tom and Hank had justfelled lay up a gentle slope from the new travoy road, so little FabianLaveque, the teamster, clamped the bite of his tongs to the end of thelargest, or butt, log. 

"Allez, Molly!" he cried. 

The horse, huge, elephantine, her head down, nose close to her chest, intelligently spying her steps, moved. The log half rolled over, slidthree feet, and menaced a stump. 

"Gee!" cried Laveque. 

Molly stepped twice directly sideways, planted her fore foot on a rootshe had seen, and pulled sharply. The end of the log slid around thestump. 

"Allez!" commanded Laveque. 

And Molly started gingerly down the hill. She pulled the timber, heavyas an iron safe, here and there through the brush, missing no steps, making no false moves, backing, and finally getting out of the way ofan unexpected roll with the ease and intelligence of Laveque himself. Infive minutes the burden lay by the travoy road. In two minutes moreone end of it had been rolled on the little flat wooden sledge and, theother end dragging, it was winding majestically down through the ancientforest. The little Frenchman stood high on the forward end. Mollystepped ahead carefully, with the strange intelligence of the logger'shorse. Through the tall, straight, decorative trunks of trees the littleconvoy moved with the massive pomp of a dead warrior's cortege. Andlittle Fabian Laveque, singing, a midget in the vastness, typified theindomitable spirit of these conquerors of a wilderness. 

When Molly and Fabian had travoyed the log to the skidway, they drewit with a bump across the two parallel skids, and left it there to berolled to the top of the pile. 

Then Mike McGovern and Bob Stratton and Jim Gladys took charge of it. Mike and Bob were running the cant-hooks, while Jim stood on top of thegreat pile of logs already decked. A slender, pliable steel chain, likea gray snake, ran over the top of the pile and disappeared through apulley to an invisible horse, --Jenny, the mate of Molly. Jim threwthe end of this chain down. Bob passed it over and under the log andreturned it to Jim, who reached down after it with the hook of hisimplement. Thus the stick of timber rested in a long loop, one end ofwhich led to the invisible horse, and the other Jim made fast to the topof the pile. He did so by jamming into another log the steel swamp-hookwith which the chain was armed. When all was made fast, the horsestarted. 

"She's a bumper!" said Bob. "Look out, Mike!"

The log slid to the foot of the two parallel poles laid slanting up theface of the pile. Then it trembled on the ascent. But one end stuckfor an instant, and at once the log took on a dangerous slant. Quick aslight Bob and Mike sprang forward, gripped the hooks of the cant-hooks, like great thumbs and forefingers, and, while one held with all hispower, the other gave a sharp twist upward. The log straightened. It wasa master feat of power, and the knack of applying strength justly. 

At the top of the little incline, the timber hovered for a second. 

"One more!" sang out Jim to the driver. He poised, stepped lightly upand over, and avoided by the safe hair's breadth being crushed when thelog rolled. But it did not lie quite straight and even. So Mike cut ashort thick block, and all three stirred the heavy timber sufficientlyto admit of the billet's insertion. 

Then the chain was thrown down for another. 

Jenny, harnessed only to a straight short bar with a hook in it, leanedto her collar and dug in her hoofs at the word of command. The driver, close to her tail, held fast the slender steel chain by an ingenioushitch about the ever-useful swamp-hook. When Jim shouted "whoa!"from the top of the skidway, the driver did not trouble to stop thehorse, --he merely let go the hook. So the power was shut off suddenly, as is meet and proper in such ticklish business. He turned and walkedback, and Jenny, like a dog, without the necessity of command, followedhim in slow patience. 

Now came Dyer, the scaler, rapidly down the logging road, a smallslender man with a little, turned-up mustache. The men disliked himbecause of his affectation of a city smartness, and because he never atewith them, even when there was plenty of room. Radway had confidence inhim because he lived in the same shanty with him. This one fact a gooddeal explains Radway's character. The scaler's duty at present was tomeasure the diameter of the logs in each skidway, and so compute thenumber of board feet. At the office he tended van, kept the books, andlooked after supplies. 

He approached the skidway swiftly, laid his flexible rule across theface of each log, made a mark on his pine tablets in the column to whichthe log belonged, thrust the tablet in the pocket of his coat, seizeda blue crayon, in a long holder, with which he made an 8 as indicationthat the log had been scaled, and finally tapped several times stronglywith a sledge hammer. On the face of the hammer in relief was an Minside of a delta. This was the Company's brand, and so the log wasbranded as belonging to them. He swarmed all over the skidway, rapidand absorbed, in strange contrast of activity to the slower power of theactual skidding. In a moment he moved on to the next scene of operationswithout having said a word to any of the men. 

"A fine t'ing!" said Mike, spitting. 

So day after day the work went on. Radway spent his time trampingthrough the woods, figuring on new work, showing the men how to dothings better or differently, discussing minute expedients with theblacksmith, the carpenter, the cook. 

He was not without his troubles. First he had not enough men; the snowlacked, and then came too abundantly; horses fell sick of colic orcaulked themselves; supplies ran low unexpectedly; trees turned out"punk"; a certain bit of ground proved soft for travoying, and so on. Atelection-time, of course, a number of the men went out. 

And one evening, two days after election-time, another and importantcharacter entered the North woods and our story. 

Chapter III

On the evening in question, some thirty or forty miles southeast ofRadway's camp, a train was crawling over a badly laid track which ledtowards the Saginaw Valley. The whole affair was very crude. To theedge of the right-of-way pushed the dense swamp, like a black curtainshutting the virgin country from the view of civilization. Evenby daylight the sight could have penetrated but a few feet. Theright-of-way itself was rough with upturned stumps, blackened by fire, and gouged by many and varied furrows. Across the snow were tracks ofanimals. 

The train consisted of a string of freight cars, one coach dividedhalf and half between baggage and smoker, and a day car occupied by twosilent, awkward women and a child. In the smoker lounged a dozen men. They were of various sizes and descriptions, but they all wore heavyblanket mackinaw coats, rubber shoes, and thick German socks tied at theknee. This constituted, as it were, a sort of uniform. The air was sothick with smoke that the men had difficulty in distinguishing objectsacross the length of the car. 

The passengers sprawled in various attitudes. Some hung their legs overthe arms of the seats; others perched their feet on the backs of theseats in front; still others slouched in corners, half reclining. Their occupations were as diverse. Three nearest the baggage-roomdoor attempted to sing, but without much success. A man in the cornerbreathed softly through a mouth organ, to the music of which his seatmate, leaning his head sideways, gave close attention. One big fellowwith a square beard swaggered back and forth down the aisle offering toeveryone refreshment from a quart bottle. It was rarely refused. Of thedozen, probably three quarters were more or less drunk. 

After a time the smoke became too dense. A short, thick-set fellowwith an evil dark face coolly thrust his heel through a window. Theconductor, who, with the brakeman and baggage master, was seated in thebaggage van, heard the jingle of glass. He arose. 

"Guess I'll take up tickets, " he remarked. "Perhaps it will quiet theboys down a little. "

The conductor was a big man, raw-boned and broad, with a hawk face. Hisevery motion showed lean, quick, panther-like power. 

"Let her went, " replied the brakeman, rising as a matter of course tofollow his chief. 

The brakeman was stocky, short, and long armed. In the old fightingdays Michigan railroads chose their train officials with an eye to theirsuperior deltoids. A conductor who could not throw an undesirable farethrough a car window lived a short official life. The two men loomed onthe noisy smoking compartment. 

"Tickets, please!" clicked the conductor sharply. 

Most of the men began to fumble about in their pockets, but the threesingers and the one who had been offering the quart bottle did not stir. 

"Ticket, Jack!" repeated the conductor, "come on, now. "

The big bearded man leaned uncertainly against the seat. 

"Now look here, Bud, " he urged in wheedling tones, "I ain't gotno ticket. You know how it is, Bud. I blows my stake. " He fisheduncertainly in his pocket and produced the quart bottle, nearly empty, "Have a drink?"

"No, " said the conductor sharply. 

"A' right, " replied Jack, amiably, "take one myself. " He tipped thebottle, emptied it, and hurled it through a window. The conductor paidno apparent attention to the breaking of the glass. 

"If you haven't any ticket, you'll have to get off, " said he. 

The big man straightened up. 

"You go to hell!" he snorted, and with the sole of his spiked bootdelivered a mighty kick at the conductor's thigh. 

The official, agile as a wild cat, leaped back, then forward, andknocked the man half the length of the car. You see, he was used to it. Before Jack could regain his feet the official stood over him. 

The three men in the corner had also risen, and were staggering downthe aisle intent on battle. The conductor took in the chances withprofessional rapidity. 

"Get at 'em, Jimmy, " said he. 

And as the big man finally swayed to his feet, he was seized by thecollar and trousers in the grip known to "bouncers" everywhere, hustledto the door, which someone obligingly opened, and hurled from the movingtrain into the snow. The conductor did not care a straw whether theobstreperous Jack lit on his head or his feet, hit a snowbank or apile of ties. Those were rough days, and the preservation of authoritydemanded harsh measures. 

Jimmy had got at 'em in a method of his own. He gathered himself into aball of potential trouble, and hurled himself bodily at the legs of hisopponents which he gathered in a mighty bear hug. It would have beenpoor fighting had Jimmy to carry the affair to a finish by himself, butconsidered as an expedient to gain time for the ejectment proceedings, it was admirable. The conductor returned to find a kicking, rolling, gouging mass of kinetic energy knocking the varnish off all one end ofthe car. A head appearing, he coolly batted it three times against acorner of the seat arm, after which he pulled the contestant out by thehair and threw him into a seat where he lay limp. Then it could be seenthat Jimmy had clasped tight in his embrace a leg each of the other two. He hugged them close to his breast, and jammed his face down againstthem to protect his features. They could pound the top of his head andwelcome. The only thing he really feared was a kick in the side, and forthat there was hardly room. 

The conductor stood over the heap, at a manifest advantage. 

"You lumber-jacks had enough, or do you want to catch it plenty?"

The men, drunk though they were, realized their helplessness. Theysignified they had had enough. Jimmy thereupon released them and stoodup, brushing down his tousled hair with his stubby fingers. 

"Now is it ticket or bounce?" inquired the conductor. 

After some difficulty and grumbling, the two paid their fare and that ofthe third, who was still dazed. In return the conductor gave them slips. Then he picked his lantern from the overhead rack whither he had tossedit, slung it on his left arm, and sauntered on down the aisle punchingtickets. Behind him followed Jimmy. When he came to the door he swungacross the platform with the easy lurch of the trainman, and entered theother car, where he took the tickets of the two women and the boy. One sitting in the second car would have been unable to guess from thebearing or manner of the two officials that anything had gone wrong. 

The interested spectators of the little drama included two men near thewater-cooler who were perfectly sober. One of them was perhaps a littlepast the best of life, but still straight and vigorous. His lean facewas leather-brown in contrast to a long mustache and heavy eyebrowsbleached nearly white, his eyes were a clear steady blue, and his framewas slender but wiry. He wore the regulation mackinaw blanket coat, apeaked cap with an extraordinarily high crown, and buckskin moccasinsover long stockings. 

The other was younger, not more than twenty-six perhaps, with theclean-cut, regular features we have come to consider typically American. Eyebrows that curved far down along the temples, and eyelashes of adarkness in contrast to the prevailing note of his complexion combinedto lend him a rather brooding, soft, and melancholy air which a verycursory second examination showed to be fictitious. His eyes, like thewoodsman's, were steady, but inquiring. His jaw was square and settled, his mouth straight. One would be likely to sum him up as a man whoseactions would be little influenced by glamour or even by the sentiments. And yet, equally, it was difficult to rid the mind of the impressionproduced by his eyes. Unlike the other inmates of the car, he wore anordinary business suit, somewhat worn, but of good cut, and a style thatshowed even over the soft flannel shirt. The trousers were, however, bound inside the usual socks and rubbers. 

The two seat mates had occupied their time each in his own fashion. To the elder the journey was an evil to be endured with the patiencelearned in watching deer runways, so he stared straight before him, and spat with a certain periodicity into the centre of the aisle. Theyounger stretched back lazily in an attitude of ease which spoke of thehabit of travelling. Sometimes he smoked a pipe. Thrice he read over aletter. It was from his sister, and announced her arrival at the littlerural village in which he had made arrangements for her to stay. "Itis interesting, --now, " she wrote, "though the resources do not look asthough they would wear well. I am learning under Mrs. Renwick to sweepand dust and bake and stew and do a multitude of other things which Ialways vaguely supposed came ready-made. I like it; but after I havelearned it all, I do not believe the practise will appeal to me much. However, I can stand it well enough for a year or two or three, for I amyoung; and then you will have made your everlasting fortune, of course. "

Harry Thorpe experienced a glow of pride each time he read this part ofthe letter. He liked the frankness of the lack of pretence; he admiredthe penetration and self-analysis which had taught her the truth that, although learning a new thing is always interesting, the practising ofan old one is monotonous. And her pluck appealed to him. It is not easyfor a girl to step from the position of mistress of servants to that ofhelping about the housework of a small family in a small town for thesake of the home to be found in it. 

"She's a trump!" said Thorpe to himself, "and she shall have hereverlasting fortune, if there's such a thing in the country. "

He jingled the three dollars and sixty cents in his pocket, and smiled. That was the extent of his everlasting fortune at present. 

The letter had been answered from Detroit. 

"I am glad you are settled, " he wrote. "At least I know you have enoughto eat and a roof over you. I hope sincerely that you will do your bestto fit yourself to your new conditions. I know it is hard, but with mylack of experience and my ignorance as to where to take hold, it may bea good many years before we can do any better. "

When Helen Thorpe read this, she cried. Things had gone wrong thatmorning, and an encouraging word would have helped her. The somber toneof her brother's communication threw her into a fit of the blues fromwhich, for the first time, she saw her surroundings in a depressing anddistasteful light. And yet he had written as he did with the kindestpossible motives. 

Thorpe had the misfortune to be one of those individuals who, thoughcareless of what people in general may think of them, are in acorresponding degree sensitive to the opinion of the few they love. Thisfeeling was further exaggerated by a constitutional shrinking from anyoutward manifestation of the emotions. As a natural result, he wasoften thought indifferent or discouraging when in reality his naturalaffections were at their liveliest. A failure to procure for a friendcertain favors or pleasures dejected him, not only because of thatfriend's disappointment, but because, also, he imagined the failureearned him a certain blame. Blame from his heart's intimates he shrankfrom. His life outside the inner circles of his affections was apt tobe so militant and so divorced from considerations of amity, that asa matter of natural reaction he became inclined to exaggerate theimportance of small objections, little reproaches, slight criticismsfrom his real friends. Such criticisms seemed to bring into a spherehe would have liked to keep solely for the mutual reliance of lovingkindness, something of the hard utilitarianism of the world at large. Inconsequence he gradually came to choose the line of least resistance, to avoid instinctively even the slightly disagreeable. Perhaps for thisreason he was never entirely sincere with those he loved. He showedenthusiasm over any plan suggested by them, for the reason that he neverdared offer a merely problematical anticipation. The affair had to beabsolutely certain in his own mind before he ventured to admit anyone tothe pleasure of looking forward to it, --and simply because he so fearedthe disappointment in case anything should go wrong. He did not realizethat not only is the pleasure of anticipation often the best, butthat even disappointment, provided it happen through excusable causes, strengthens the bonds of affection through sympathy. We do not wantmerely results from a friend--merely finished products. We like to be inat the making, even though the product spoil. 

This unfortunate tendency, together with his reserve, lent him the falseattitude of a rather cold, self-centered man, discouraging suggestionsat first only to adopt them later in the most inexplicable fashion, and conferring favors in a ready-made impersonal manner which destroyedutterly their quality as favors. In reality his heart hungered for theaffection which this false attitude generally repelled. He threw thewet blanket of doubt over warm young enthusiasms because his mind workedwith a certain deliberateness which did not at once permit him to seethe practicability of the scheme. Later he would approve. But by thattime, probably, the wet blanket had effectually extinguished the glow. You cannot always savor your pleasures cold. 

So after the disgrace of his father, Harry Thorpe did a great deal ofthinking and planning which he kept carefully to himself. He consideredin turn the different occupations to which he could turn his hand, andnegatived them one by one. Few business firms would care to employ theson of as shrewd an embezzler as Henry Thorpe. Finally he came to adecision. He communicated this decision to his sister. It would havecommended itself more logically to her had she been able to follow stepby step the considerations that had led her brother to it. As the eventturned, she was forced to accept it blindly. She knew that her brotherintended going West, but as to his hopes and plans she was in ignorance. A little sympathy, a little mutual understanding would have meant agreat deal to her, for a girl whose mother she but dimly remembers, turns naturally to her next of kin. Helen Thorpe had always admired herbrother, but had never before needed him. She had looked upon him asstrong, self-contained, a little moody. Now the tone of his lettercaused her to wonder whether he were not also a trifle hard and cold. So she wept on receiving it, and the tears watered the ground fordiscontent. 

At the beginning of the row in the smoking car, Thorpe laid aside hisletter and watched with keen appreciation the direct practicality ofthe trainmen's method. When the bearded man fell before the conductor'sblow, he turned to the individual at his side. 

"He knows how to hit, doesn't he!" he observed. "That fellow was knockedwell off his feet. "

"He does, " agreed the other dryly. 

They fell into a desultory conversation of fits and starts. Woodsmen ofthe genuine sort are never talkative; and Thorpe, as has been explained, was constitutionally reticent. In the course of their disjointedremarks Thorpe explained that he was looking for work in the woods, andintended, first of all, to try the Morrison & Daly camps at Beeson Lake. 

"Know anything about logging?" inquired the stranger. 

"Nothing, " Thorpe confessed. 

"Ain't much show for anything but lumber-jacks. What did you think ofdoing?"

"I don't know, " said Thorpe, doubtfully. "I have driven horses a gooddeal; I thought I might drive team. "

The woodsman turned slowly and looked Thorpe over with a quizzical eye. Then he faced to the front again and spat. 

"Quite like, " he replied still more dryly. 

The boy's remark had amused him, and he had showed it, as much as heever showed anything. Excepting always the riverman, the driver of ateam commands the highest wages among out-of-door workers. He has tobe able to guide his horses by little steps over, through, and aroundslippery and bristling difficulties. He must acquire the knack of facingthem square about in their tracks. He must hold them under a controlthat will throw into their collars, at command, from five pounds totheir full power of pull, lasting from five seconds to five minutes. And above all, he must be able to keep them out of the way of tremendousloads of logs on a road which constant sprinkling has rendered smoothand glassy, at the same time preventing the long tongue from sweepingthem bodily against leg-breaking debris when a curve in the road isreached. It is easier to drive a fire engine than a logging team. 

But in spite of the naivete of the remark, the woodsman had seensomething in Thorpe he liked. Such men become rather expert in thereading of character, and often in a log shanty you will hear opinionsof a shrewdness to surprise you. He revised his first intention to letthe conversation drop. 

"I think M. & D. Is rather full up just now, " he remarked. "I'mwalkin'-boss there. The roads is about all made, and road-making is whata greenhorn tackles first. They's more chance earlier in the year. Butif the OLD Fellow" (he strongly accented the first word) "h'aint nothin'for you, just ask for Tim Shearer, an' I'll try to put you on the trailfor some jobber's camp. "

The whistle of the locomotive blew, and the conductor appeared in thedoorway. 

"Where's that fellow's turkey?" he inquired. 

Several men looked toward Thorpe, who, not understanding this argot ofthe camps, was a little bewildered. Shearer reached over his head andtook from the rack a heavy canvas bag, which he handed to the conductor. 

"That's the 'turkey'--" he explained, "his war bag. Bud'll throw it offat Scott's, and Jack'll get it there. "

"How far back is he?" asked Thorpe. 

"About ten mile. He'll hoof it in all right. "

A number of men descended at Scott's. The three who had come intocollision with Jimmy and Bud were getting noisier. They had produced astone jug, and had collected the remainder of the passengers, --with theexception of Shearer and Thorpe, --and now were passing the jug rapidlyfrom hand to hand. Soon they became musical, striking up one of theweird long-drawn-out chants so popular with the shanty boy. Thorpeshrewdly guessed his companion to be a man of weight, and did nothesitate to ascribe his immunity from annoyance to the other's presence. 

"It's a bad thing, " said the walking-boss, "I used to be at it myself, and I know. When I wanted whisky, I needed it worse than a scalded pupdoes a snow bank. The first year I had a hundred and fifty dollars, and I blew her all in six days. Next year I had a little more, but shelasted me three weeks. That was better. Next year, I says to myself, I'll just save fifty of that stake, and blow the rest. So I did. Afterthat I got to be scaler, and sort've quit. I just made a deal with theOld Fellow to leave my stake with headquarters no matter whether I callfor it or not. I got quite a lot coming, now. "

"Bees'n Lake!" cried Jimmy fiercely through an aperture of the door. 

"You'll find th' boardin'-house just across over the track, " said thewoodsman, holding out his hand, "so long. See you again if you don'tfind a job with the Old Fellow. My name's Shearer. "

"Mine is Thorpe, " replied the other. "Thank you. "

The woodsman stepped forward past the carousers to the baggagecompartment, where he disappeared. The revellers stumbled out the otherdoor. 

Thorpe followed and found himself on the frozen platform of a littledark railway station. As he walked, the boards shrieked under his feetand the sharp air nipped at his face and caught his lungs. Beyond thefence-rail protection to the side of the platform he thought he saw thesuggestion of a broad reach of snow, a distant lurking forest, a fewshadowy buildings looming mysterious in the night. The air was twinklingwith frost and the brilliant stars of the north country. 

Directly across the track from the railway station, a single buildingwas picked from the dark by a solitary lamp in a lower-story room. The four who had descended before Thorpe made over toward this light, stumbling and laughing uncertainly, so he knew it was probably in theboarding-house, and prepared to follow them. Shearer and the stationagent, --an individual much muffled, --turned to the disposition of somelight freight that had been dropped from the baggage car. 

The five were met at the steps by the proprietor of the boarding-house. This man was short and stout, with a harelip and cleft palate, which atonce gave him the well-known slurring speech of persons so afflicted, and imparted also to the timbre of his voice a peculiarly hollow, resonant, trumpet-like note. He stumped about energetically on a woodenleg of home manufacture. It was a cumbersome instrument, heavy, withdeep pine socket for the stump, and a projecting brace which passedunder a leather belt around the man's waist. This instrument he usedwith the dexterity of a third hand. As Thorpe watched him, he drove in aprojecting nail, kicked two "turkeys" dexterously inside the open door, and stuck the armed end of his peg-leg through the top and bottom of thewhisky jug that one of the new arrivals had set down near the door. Thewhisky promptly ran out. At this the cripple flirted the impaled jugfrom the wooden leg far out over the rail of the verandah into the snow. 

A growl went up. 

"What'n hell's that for I!" snarled one of the owners of the whiskythreateningly. 

"Don't allow no whisky here, " snuffed the harelip. 

The men were very angry. They advanced toward the cripple, who retreatedwith astonishing agility to the lighted room. There he bent the woodenleg behind him, slipped the end of the brace from beneath the leatherbelt, seized the other, peg end in his right hand, and so becamepossessed of a murderous bludgeon. This he brandished, hopping at thesame time back and forth in such perfect poise and yet with so ludicrousan effect of popping corn, that the men were surprised into laughing. 

"Bully for you, peg-leg!" they cried. 

"Rules 'n regerlations, boys, " replied the latter, without, however, ashade of compromising in his tones. "Had supper?"

On receiving a reply in the affirmative, he caught up the lamp, and, having resumed his artificial leg in one deft motion, led the way tonarrow little rooms. 

Chapter IV

Thorpe was awakened a long time before daylight by the ringing of anoisy bell. He dressed, shivering, and stumbled down stairs to a roundstove, big as a boiler, into which the cripple dumped huge logs of woodfrom time to time. After breakfast Thorpe returned to this stove and sathalf dozing for what seemed to him untold ages. The cold of the northcountry was initiating him. 

Men came in, smoked a brief pipe, and went out. Shearer was one of them. The woodsman nodded curtly to the young man, his cordiality quite gone. Thorpe vaguely wondered why. After a time he himself put on his overcoatand ventured out into the town. It seemed to Thorpe a meager affair, built of lumber, mostly unpainted, with always the dark, menacing fringeof the forest behind. The great saw mill, with its tall stacks and itsrow of water-barrels--protection against fire--on top, was the dominantnote. Near the mill crouched a little red-painted structure from whosestovepipe a column of white smoke rose, attesting the cold, a clearhundred feet straight upward, and to whose door a number of men weredirecting their steps through the snow. Over the door Thorpe coulddistinguish the word "Office. " He followed and entered. 

In a narrow aisle railed off from the main part of the room waitedThorpe's companions of the night before. The remainder of the officegave accommodation to three clerks. One of these glanced up inquiringlyas Thorpe came in. 

"I am looking for work, " said Thorpe. 

"Wait there, " briefly commanded the clerk. 

In a few moments the door of the inner room opened, and Shearer cameout. A man's head peered from within. 

"Come on, boys, " said he. 

The five applicants shuffled through. Thorpe found himself in thepresence of a man whom he felt to be the natural leader of these wild, independent spirits. He was already a little past middle life, and hisform had lost the elastic vigor of youth. But his eye was keen, clear, and wrinkled to a certain dry facetiousness; and his figure was of thatbulk which gives an impression of a subtler weight and power than themerely physical. This peculiarity impresses us in the portraits of suchmen as Daniel Webster and others of the old jurists. The manner ofthe man was easy, good-natured, perhaps a little facetious, butthese qualities were worn rather as garments than exhibited ascharacteristics. He could afford them, not because he had fewerdifficulties to overcome or battles to fight than another, but becausehis strength was so sufficient to them that mere battles or difficultiescould not affect the deliberateness of his humor. You felt hissuperiority even when he was most comradely with you. This man Thorpewas to meet under other conditions, wherein the steel hand would moreplainly clink the metal. 

He was now seated in a worn office chair before a littered desk. Inthe close air hung the smell of stale cigars and the clear fragrance ofpine. 

"What is it, Dennis?" he asked the first of the men. 

"I've been out, " replied the lumberman. "Have you got anything for me, Mr. Daly?"

The mill-owner laughed. 

"I guess so. Report to Shearer. Did you vote for the right man, Denny?"

The lumberman grinned sheepishly. "I don't know, sir. I didn't get thatfar. "

"Better let it alone. I suppose you and Bill want to come back, too?" headded, turning to the next two in the line. "All right, report to Tim. Do you want work?" he inquired of the last of the quartette, a bigbashful man with the shoulders of a Hercules. 

"Yes, sir, " answered the latter uncomfortably. 

"What do you do?"

"I'm a cant-hook man, sir. "

"Where have you worked?"

"I had a job with Morgan & Stebbins on the Clear River last winter. "

"All right, we need cant-hook men. Report at 'seven, ' and if they don'twant you there, go to 'thirteen. '"

Daly looked directly at the man with an air of finality. The lumbermanstill lingered uneasily, twisting his cap in his hands. 

"Anything you want?" asked Daly at last. 

"Yes, sir, " blurted the big man. "If I come down here and tell you Iwant three days off and fifty dollars to bury my mother, I wish you'dtell me to go to hell! I buried her three times last winter!"

Daly chuckled a little. 

"All right, Bub, " said he, "to hell it is. "

The man went out. Daly turned to Thorpe with the last flickers ofamusement in his eyes. 

"What can I do for you?" he inquired in a little crisper tones. Thorpefelt that he was not treated with the same careless familiarity, because, potentially, he might be more of a force to deal with. Heunderwent, too, the man's keen scrutiny, and knew that every detail ofhis appearance had found its comment in the other's experienced brain. 

"I am looking for work, " Thorpe replied. 

"What kind of work?"

"Any kind, so I can learn something about the lumber business. "

The older man studied him keenly for a few moments. 

"Have you had any other business experience?"

"None. "

"What have you been doing?"

"Nothing. "

The lumberman's eyes hardened. 

"We are a very busy firm here, " he said with a certain deliberation; "wedo not carry a big force of men in any one department, and eachof those men has to fill his place and slop some over the sides. We donot pretend or attempt to teach here. If you want to be a lumberman, youmust learn the lumber business more directly than through the windows ofa bookkeeper's office. Go into the woods. Learn a few first principles. Find out the difference between Norway and white pine, anyway. "

Daly, being what is termed a self-made man, entertained a prejudiceagainst youths of the leisure class. He did not believe in theirearnestness of purpose, their capacity for knowledge, nor theirperseverance in anything. That a man of twenty-six should be looking forhis first situation was incomprehensible to him. He made no effort toconceal his prejudice, because the class to which the young man hadbelonged enjoyed his hearty contempt. 

The truth is, he had taken Thorpe's ignorance a little too much forgranted. Before leaving his home, and while the project of emigrationwas still in the air, the young fellow had, with the quiet enthusiasm ofmen of his habit of mind, applied himself to the mastering of whateverthe books could teach. That is not much. The literature on lumberingseems to be singularly limited. Still he knew the trees, and hadsketched an outline into which to paint experience. He said nothing ofthis to the man before him, because of that strange streak in his naturewhich prompted him to conceal what he felt most strongly; to leave toothers the task of guessing out his attitude; to stand on appearanceswithout attempting to justify them, no matter how simple thejustification might be. A moment's frank, straightforward talk mighthave caught Daly's attention, for the lumberman was, after all, a shrewdreader of character where his prejudices were not concerned. Then eventswould have turned out very differently. 

After his speech the business man had whirled back to his desk. 

"Have you anything for me to do in the woods, then?" the other askedquietly. 

"No, " said Daly over his shoulder. 

Thorpe went out. 

Before leaving Detroit he had, on the advice of friends, visited thecity office of Morrison & Daly. There he had been told positively thatthe firm were hiring men. Now, without five dollars in his pocket, hemade the elementary discovery that even in chopping wood skilled laborcounts. He did not know where to turn next, and he would not have hadthe money to go far in any case. So, although Shearer's brusque greetingthat morning had argued a lack of cordiality, he resolved to remind theriverman of his promised assistance. 

That noon he carried out his resolve. To his surprise Shearer wascordial--in his way. He came afterward to appreciate the subtle nuancesof manner and treatment by which a boss retains his moral supremacy ina lumber country, --repels that too great familiarity which breedscontempt, without imperiling the trust and comradeship which breedswillingness. In the morning Thorpe had been a prospective employee ofthe firm, and so a possible subordinate of Shearer himself. Now he wasShearer's equal. 

"Go up and tackle Radway. He's jobbing for us on the Cass Branch. Heneeds men for roadin', I know, because he's behind. You'll get a jobthere. "

"Where is it?" asked Thorpe. 

"Ten miles from here. She's blazed, but you better wait for th' supplyteam, Friday. If you try to make her yourself, you'll get lost on someof th' old loggin' roads. "

Thorpe considered. 

"I'm busted, " he said at last frankly. 

"Oh, that's all right, " replied the walking-boss. "Marshall, come here!"

The peg-legged boarding-house keeper stumped in. 

"What is it?" he trumpeted snufflingly. 

"This boy wants a job till Friday. Then he's going up to Radway's withthe supply team. Now quit your hollerin' for a chore-boy for a fewdays. "

"All right, " snorted Marshall, "take that ax and split some dry woodthat you'll find behind the house. "

"I'm very much obliged to you, " began Thorpe to the walking-boss, "and--"

"That's all right, " interrupted the latter, "some day you can give me ajob. "

Chapter V

For five days Thorpe cut wood, made fires, drew water, swept floors, andran errands. Sometimes he would look across the broad stump-dotted plainto the distant forest. He had imagination. No business man succeedswithout it. With him the great struggle to wrest from an impassive andaloof nature what she has so long held securely as her own, took on theproportions of a battle. The distant forest was the front. To it wentthe new bands of fighters. From it came the caissons for food, thatammunition of the frontier; messengers bringing tidings of defeat orvictory; sometimes men groaning on their litters from the twisting andcrushing and breaking inflicted on them by the calm, ruthless enemy;once a dead man bearing still on his chest the mark of the tree that hadkilled him. Here at headquarters sat the general, map in hand, issuinghis orders, directing his forces. 

And out of the forest came mystery. Hunters brought deer on sledges. Indians, observant and grave, swung silently across the reaches on theirsnowshoes, and silently back again carrying their meager purchases. Inthe daytime ravens wheeled and croaked about the outskirts of the town, bearing the shadow of the woods on their plumes and of the north-windin the somber quality of their voices; rare eagles wheeled gracefullyto and fro; snow squalls coquetted with the landscape. At night themany creatures of the forest ventured out across the plains in searchof food, --weasels; big white hares; deer, planting daintily their littlesharp hoofs where the frozen turnips were most plentiful; porcupines inquest of anything they could get their keen teeth into;--and often thebig timber wolves would send shivering across the waste a long whininghowl. And in the morning their tracks would embroider the snow with manystories. 

The talk about the great stove in the boarding-house office alsopossessed the charm of balsam fragrance. One told the other occult factsabout the "Southeast of the southwest of eight. " The second in turnvouchsafed information about another point of the compass. Thorpe heardof many curious practical expedients. He learned that one can preventawkward air-holes in lakes by "tapping" the ice with an ax, --for theair must get out, naturally or artificially; that the top log on a loadshould not be large because of the probability, when one side has dumpedwith a rush, of its falling straight down from its original height, sobreaking the sleigh; that a thin slice of salt pork well peppered isgood when tied about a sore throat; that choking a horse will cause himto swell up and float on the top of the water, thus rendering it easyto slide him out on the ice from a hole he may have broken into; thata tree lodged against another may be brought to the ground by fellinga third against it; that snowshoes made of caribou hide do notbecome baggy, because caribou shrinks when wet, whereas other rawhidestretches. These, and many other things too complicated to elaboratehere, he heard discussed by expert opinion. Gradually he acquired anenthusiasm for the woods, just as a boy conceives a longing for theout-of-door life of which he hears in the conversation of his eldersabout the winter fire. He became eager to get away to the front, tostand among the pines, to grapple with the difficulties of thicket, hill, snow, and cold that nature silently interposes between the man andhis task. 

At the end of the week he received four dollars from his employer;dumped his valise into a low bobsleigh driven by a man muffled in afur coat; assisted in loading the sleigh with a variety of things, fromSpearhead plug to raisins; and turned his face at last toward the landof his hopes and desires. 

The long drive to camp was at once a delight and a misery to him. Itsmiles stretched longer and longer as time went on; and the miles of aroute new to a man are always one and a half at least. The forest, somysterious and inviting from afar, drew within itself coldly when Thorpeentered it. He was as yet a stranger. The snow became the prevailingnote. The white was everywhere, concealing jealously beneath roundeduniformity the secrets of the woods. And it was cold. First Thorpe'sfeet became numb, then his hands, then his nose was nipped, and finallyhis warm clothes were lifted from him by invisible hands, and he wasleft naked to shivers and tremblings. He found it torture to sit stillon the top of the bale of hay; and yet he could not bear to contemplatethe cold shock of jumping from the sleigh to the ground, --of touchingfoot to the chilling snow. The driver pulled up to breathe his horses atthe top of a hill, and to fasten under one runner a heavy chain, which, grinding into the snow, would act as a brake on the descent. 

"You're dressed pretty light, " he advised; "better hoof it a ways andget warm. "

The words tipped the balance of Thorpe's decision. He descended stiffly, conscious of a disagreeable shock from a six-inch jump. 

In ten minutes, the wallowing, slipping, and leaping after the tailof the sled had sent his blood tingling to the last of his protestingmembers. Cold withdrew. He saw now that the pines were beautiful andsolemn and still; and that in the temple of their columns dwelt winterenthroned. Across the carpet of the snow wandered the trails of hercreatures, --the stately regular prints of the partridge; the series ofpairs made by the squirrel; those of the weasel and mink, just like thesquirrels' except that the prints were not quite side by side, andthat between every other pair stretched the mark of the animal's long, slender body; the delicate tracery of the deer mouse; the fan of therabbit; the print of a baby's hand that the raccoon left; the broad padof a lynx; the dog-like trail of wolves;--these, and a dozen others, all equally unknown, gave Thorpe the impression of a great mysteriousmultitude of living things which moved about him invisible. In a thicketof cedar and scrub willow near the bed of a stream, he encountered oneof those strangely assorted bands of woods-creatures which are alwayscruising it through the country. He heard the cheerful little chickadee;he saw the grave nuthatch with its appearance of a total lack of humor;he glimpsed a black-and-white woodpecker or so, and was reviled by aribald blue jay. Already the wilderness was taking its character to him. 

After a little while, they arrived by way of a hill, over which theyplunged into the middle of the camp. Thorpe saw three large buildings, backed end to end, and two smaller ones, all built of heavy logs, roofedwith plank, and lighted sparsely through one or two windows apiece. Thedriver pulled up opposite the space between two of the larger buildings, and began to unload his provisions. Thorpe set about aiding him, and sofound himself for the first time in a "cook camp. "

It was a commodious building, --Thorpe had no idea a log structure evercontained so much room. One end furnished space for two cooking rangesand two bunks placed one over the other. Along one side ran a broadtable-shelf, with other shelves over it and numerous barrels underneath, all filled with cans, loaves of bread, cookies, and pies. The center wasoccupied by four long bench-flanked tables, down whose middle straggledutensils containing sugar, apple-butter, condiments, and sauces, andwhose edges were set with tin dishes for about forty men. The cook, arather thin-faced man with a mustache, directed where the provisionswere to be stowed; and the "cookee, " a hulking youth, assisted Thorpeand the driver to carry them in. During the course of the work Thorpemade a mistake. 

"That stuff doesn't come here, " objected the cookee, indicating a box oftobacco the newcomer was carrying. "She goes to the 'van. '"

Thorpe did not know what the "van" might be, but he replaced thetobacco on the sleigh. In a few moments the task was finished, with theexception of a half dozen other cases, which the driver designated asalso for the "van. " The horses were unhitched, and stabled in the thirdof the big log buildings. The driver indicated the second. 

"Better go into the men's camp and sit down 'till th' boss gets in, " headvised. 

Thorpe entered a dim, over-heated structure, lined on two sides by adouble tier of large bunks partitioned from one another like cabins ofboats, and centered by a huge stove over which hung slender poles. Thelatter were to dry clothes on. Just outside the bunks ran a straighthard bench. Thorpe stood at the entrance trying to accustom his eyes tothe dimness. 

"Set down, " said a voice, "on th' floor if you want to; but I'd preferth' deacon seat. "

Thorpe obediently took position on the bench, or "deacon seat. " Hiseyes, more used to the light, could make out a thin, tall, bent old man, with bare cranium, two visible teeth, and a three days' stubble of whitebeard over his meager, twisted face. 

He caught, perhaps, Thorpe's surprised expression. 

"You think th' old man's no good, do you?" he cackled, without theslightest malice, "looks is deceivin'!" He sprang up swiftly, seized thetoe of his right foot in his left hand, and jumped his left foot throughthe loop thus formed. Then he sat down again, and laughed at Thorpe'sastonishment. 

"Old Jackson's still purty smart, " said he. "I'm barn-boss. They ain't aman in th' country knows as much about hosses as I do. We ain't had buttwo sick this fall, an' between you an' me, they's a skate lot. You're agreenhorn, ain't you?"

"Yes, " confessed Thorpe. 

"Well, " said Jackson, reflectively but rapidly, "Le Fabian, he's quietbut bad; and O'Grady, he talks loud but you can bluff him; and Perry, he's only bad when he gets full of red likker; and Norton he's bad whenhe gets mad like, and will use axes. "

Thorpe did not know he was getting valuable points on the camp bullies. The old man hitched nearer and peered in his face. 

"They don't bluff you a bit, " he said, "unless you likes them, and thenthey can back you way off the skidway. "

Thorpe smiled at the old fellow's volubility. He did not know how nearto the truth the woodsman's shrewdness had hit; for to himself, as tomost strong characters, his peculiarities were the normal, and thereforethe unnoticed. His habit of thought in respect to other people wasrather objective than subjective. He inquired so impersonally thesignificance of whatever was before him, that it lost the human qualityboth as to itself and himself. To him men were things. This attituderelieved him of self-consciousness. He never bothered his head as towhat the other man thought of him, his ignorance, or his awkwardness, simply because to him the other man was nothing but an element in hisproblem. So in such circumstances he learned fast. Once introduce thehuman element, however, and his absurdly sensitive self-consciousnessasserted itself. He was, as Jackson expressed it, backed off theskidway. 

At dark the old man lit two lamps, which served dimly to gloze theshadows, and thrust logs of wood into the cast-iron stove. Soonafter, the men came in. They were a queer, mixed lot. Some carried theindisputable stamp of the frontiersman in their bearing and glance;others looked to be mere day-laborers, capable of performing whatevertask they were set to, and of finding the trail home again. There wereactive, clean-built, precise Frenchmen, with small hands and feet, and apeculiarly trim way of wearing their rough garments; typical native-bornAmerican lumber-jacks powerful in frame, rakish in air, reckless inmanner; big blonde Scandinavians and Swedes, strong men at the sawing;an Indian or so, strangely in contrast to the rest; and a variety ofIrishmen, Englishmen, and Canadians. These men tramped in without aword, and set busily to work at various tasks. Some sat on the "deaconseat" and began to take off their socks and rubbers; others washed ata little wooden sink; still others selected and lit lanterns from apendant row near the window, and followed old Jackson out of doors. Theywere the teamsters. 

"You'll find the old man in the office, " said Jackson. 

Thorpe made his way across to the small log cabin indicated as theoffice, and pushed open the door. He found himself in a little roomcontaining two bunks, a stove, a counter and desk, and a number ofshelves full of supplies. About the walls hung firearms, snowshoes, anda variety of clothes. 

A man sat at the desk placing figures on a sheet of paper. He obtainedthe figures from statistics pencilled on three thin leaves of beech-woodriveted together. In a chair by the stove lounged a bulkier figure, which Thorpe concluded to be that of the "old man. "

"I was sent here by Shearer, " said Thorpe directly; "he said you mightgive me some work. "

So long a silence fell that the applicant began to wonder if hisquestion had been heard. 

"I might, " replied the man drily at last. 

"Well, will you?" Thorpe inquired, the humor of the situation overcominghim. 

"Have you ever worked in the woods?"

"No. "

The man smoked silently. 

"I'll put you on the road in the morning, " he concluded, as though thiswere the deciding qualification. 

One of the men entered abruptly and approached the counter. The writerat the desk laid aside his tablets. 

"What is it, Albert?" he added. 

"Jot of chewin', " was the reply. 

The scaler took from the shelf a long plug of tobacco and cut off twoinches. 

"Ain't hitting the van much, are you, Albert?" he commented, puttingthe man's name and the amount in a little book. Thorpe went out, afterleaving his name for the time book, enlightened as to the method ofobtaining supplies. He promised himself some warm clothing from the van, when he should have worked out the necessary credit. 

At supper he learned something else, --that he must not talk at table. A moment's reflection taught him the common-sense of the rule. For onething, supper was a much briefer affair than it would have been hadevery man felt privileged to take his will in conversation; not to speakof the absence of noise and the presence of peace. Each man asked forwhat he wanted. 

"Please pass the beans, " he said with the deliberate intonation of a manwho does not expect that his request will be granted. 

Besides the beans were fried salt pork, boiled potatoes, canned corn, mince pie, a variety of cookies and doughnuts, and strong green tea. Thorpe found himself eating ravenously of the crude fare. 

That evening he underwent a catechism, a few practical jokes, which hetook good-naturedly, and a vast deal of chaffing. At nine the lightswere all out. By daylight he and a dozen other men were at work, hewinga road that had to be as smooth and level as a New York boulevard. 

Chapter VI

Thorpe and four others were set to work on this road, which was to becut through a creek bottom leading, he was told, to "seventeen. " Thefigures meant nothing to him. Later, each number came to possess anindividuality of its own. He learned to use a double-bitted ax. 

Thorpe's intelligence was of the practical sort that wonderfully helpsexperience. He watched closely one of the older men, and analyzed therelation borne by each one of his movements to the object in view. In ashort time he perceived that one hand and arm are mere continuations ofthe helve, attaching the blade of the ax to the shoulder of the wielder;and that the other hand directs the stroke. He acquired the knack thusof throwing the bit of steel into the gash as though it were a baseballon the end of a string; and so accomplished power. By experiment helearned just when to slide the guiding hand down the helve; and sogained accuracy. He suffered none of those accidents so common to newchoppers. His ax did not twist itself from his hands, nor glance to cuthis foot. He attained the method of the double bit, and how to knockroots by alternate employment of the edge and flat. In a few days hishands became hard and used to the cold. 

From shortly after daylight he worked. Four other men bore him company, and twice Radway himself came by, watched their operations for a moment, and moved on without comment. After Thorpe had caught his second wind, he enjoyed his task, proving a certain pleasure in the ease with whichhe handled his tool. 

At the end of an interminable period, a faint, musical halloo swelled, echoed, and died through the forest, beautiful as a spirit. It was takenup by another voice and repeated. Then by another. Now near at hand, now far away it rang as hollow as a bell. The sawyers, the swampers, theskidders, and the team men turned and put on their heavy blanket coats. 

Down on the road Thorpe heard it too, and wondered what it might be. 

"Come on, Bub! she means chew!" explained old man Heath kindly. Old manHeath was a veteran woodsman who had come to swamping in his old age. He knew the game thoroughly, but could never save his "stake" when PatMcGinnis, the saloon man, enticed him in. Throughout the morning he hadkept an eye on the newcomer, and was secretly pleased in his heart ofthe professional at the readiness with which the young fellow learned. 

Thorpe resumed his coat, and fell in behind the little procession. Aftera short time he came upon a horse and sledge. Beyond it the cookeehad built a little camp fire, around and over which he had grouped bigfifty-pound lard-tins, half full of hot things to eat. Each man, as heapproached, picked up a tin plate and cup from a pile near at hand. 

The cookee was plainly master of the situation. He issued peremptoryorders. When Erickson, the blonde Swede, attempted surreptitiously toappropriate a doughnut, the youth turned on him savagely. 

"Get out of that, you big tow-head!" he cried with an oath. 

A dozen Canada jays, fluffy, impatient, perched near by or made littleshort circles over and back. They awaited the remains of the dinner. BobStratton and a devil-may-care giant by the name of Nolan constructed ajoke wherewith to amuse the interim. They cut a long pole, and placed itacross a log and through a bush, so that one extremity projected beyondthe bush. Then diplomacy won a piece of meat from the cookee. This theynailed to the end of the pole by means of a pine sliver. The Canada jaysgazed on the morsel with covetous eyes. When the men had retired, theyswooped. One big fellow arrived first, and lit in defiance of the rest. 

"Give it to 'im!" whispered Nolan, who had been watching. 

Bob hit the other end of the pole a mighty whack with his ax. Theastonished jay, projected straight upward by the shock, gave a startledsquawk and cut a hole through the air for the tall timber. Stratton andNolan went into convulsions of laughter. 

"Get at it!" cried the cookee, as though setting a pack of dogs on theirprey. 

The men ate, perched in various attitudes and places. Thorpe found itdifficult to keep warm. The violent exercise had heated him through, andnow the north country cold penetrated to his bones. He huddled close tothe fire, and drank hot tea, but it did not do him very much good. Inhis secret mind he resolved to buy one of the blanket mackinaws thatvery evening. He began to see that the costumes of each country havetheir origin in practicality. 

That evening he picked out one of the best. As he was about to inquirethe price, Radway drew the van book toward him, inquiring, "Let's see; what's the name?"

In an instant Thorpe was charged on the book with three dollars and ahalf, although his work that day had earned him less than a dollar. Onhis way back to the men's shanty he could not help thinking how easy itwould be for him to leave the next morning two dollars and a half ahead. He wondered if this method of procedure obtained in all the camps. 

The newcomer's first day of hard work had tired him completely. He wasready for nothing so much as his bunk. But he had forgotten that it wasSaturday night. His status was still to assure. 

They began with a few mild tricks. Shuffle the Brogan followed Hot Back. Thorpe took all of it good-naturedly. Finally a tall individual witha thin white face, a reptilian forehead, reddish hair, and long baboonarms, suggested tossing in a blanket. Thorpe looked at the low ceiling, and declined. 

"I'm with the game as long as you say, boys, " said he, "and I'll have asmuch fun as anybody, but that's going too far for a tired man. "

The reptilian gentleman let out a string of oaths whose meaning might betranslated, "We'll see about that!"

Thorpe was a good boxer, but he knew by now the lumber-jack's methodof fighting, --anything to hurt the other fellow. And in a genuineold-fashioned knock-down-and-drag-out rough-and-tumble your woodsman isabout the toughest customer to handle you will be likely to meet. Heis brought up on fighting. Nothing pleases him better than to get drunkand, with a few companions, to embark on an earnest effort to "cleanout" a rival town. And he will accept cheerfully punishment enough tokill three ordinary men. It takes one of his kind really to hurt him. 

Thorpe, at the first hostile movement, sprang back to the door, seizedone of the three-foot billets of hardwood intended for the stove, andfaced his opponents. 

"I don't know which of you boys is coming first, " said he quietly, "buthe's going to get it good and plenty. "

If the affair had been serious, these men would never have recoiledbefore the mere danger of a stick of hardwood. The American woodsman isafraid of nothing human. But this was a good-natured bit of foolery, a test of nerve, and there was no object in getting a broken head forthat. The reptilian gentleman alone grumbled at the abandonment of theattack, mumbling something profane. 

"If you hanker for trouble so much, " drawled the unexpected voice of oldJackson from the corner, "mebbe you could put on th' gloves. "

The idea was acclaimed. Somebody tossed out a dirty torn old set ofbuckskin boxing gloves. 

The rest was farce. Thorpe was built on the true athletic lines, broad, straight shoulders, narrow flanks, long, clean, smooth muscles. He possessed, besides, that hereditary toughness and bulk which nogymnasium training will ever quite supply. The other man, while powerfuland ugly in his rushes, was clumsy and did not use his head. Thorpeplanted his hard straight blows at will. In this game he was asmanifestly superior as his opponent would probably have been had therules permitted kicking, gouging, and wrestling. Finally he saw hisopening and let out with a swinging pivot blow. The other picked himselfout of a corner, and drew off the gloves. Thorpe's status was assured. 

A Frenchman took down his fiddle and began to squeak. In the course ofthe dance old Jackson and old Heath found themselves together, smokingtheir pipes of Peerless. 

"The young feller's all right, " observed Heath; "he cuffed Ben up to apeak all right. "

"Went down like a peck of wet fish-nets, " replied Jackson tranquilly. 

Chapter VII

In the office shanty one evening about a week later, Radway and hisscaler happened to be talking over the situation. The scaler, whosename was Dyer, slouched back in the shadow, watching his great honestsuperior as a crafty, dainty cat might watch the blunderings of a St. Bernard. When he spoke, it was with a mockery so subtle as quite toescape the perceptions of the lumberman. Dyer had a precise littleblack mustache whose ends he was constantly twisting into points, blackeyebrows, and long effeminate black lashes. You would have expected hisdress in the city to be just a trifle flashy, not enough so to be loud, but sinning as to the trifles of good taste. The two men conversed inshort elliptical sentences, using many technical terms. 

"That 'seventeen' white pine is going to underrun, " said Dyer. "It won'tskid over three hundred thousand. "

"It's small stuff, " agreed Radway, "and so much the worse for us; butthe Company'll stand in on it because small stuff like that alwaysover-runs on the mill-cut. "

The scaler nodded comprehension. 

"When you going to dray-haul that Norway across Pike Lake?"

"To-morrow. She's springy, but the books say five inches of ice willhold a team, and there's more than that. How much are we putting in aday, now?"

"About forty thousand. "

Radway fell silent. 

"That's mighty little for such a crew, " he observed at last, doubtfully. 

"I always said you were too easy with them. You got to drive them more. "

"Well, it's a rough country, " apologized Radway, trying, as was hiscustom, to find excuses for the other party as soon as he was agreedwith in his blame, "there's any amount of potholes; and, then, we've hadso much snow the ground ain't really froze underneath. It gets prettysoft in some of them swamps. Can't figure on putting up as much in thiscountry as we used to down on the Muskegon. "

The scaler smiled a thin smile all to himself behind the stove. Big JohnRadway depended so much on the moral effect of approval or disapprovalby those with whom he lived. It amused Dyer to withhold the timely word, so leaving the jobber to flounder between his easy nature and his senseof what should be done. 

Dyer knew perfectly well that the work was behind, and he knew thereason. For some time the men had been relaxing their efforts. They hadworked honestly enough, but a certain snap and vim had lacked. This wasbecause Radway had been too easy on them. 

Your true lumber-jack adores of all things in creation a man whom hefeels to be stronger than himself. If his employer is big enough todrive him, then he is willing to be driven to the last ounce of hisstrength. But once he gets the notion that his "boss" is afraid of, orfor, him or his feelings or his health, he loses interest in working forthat man. So a little effort to lighten or expedite his work, a littleleniency in excusing the dilatory finishing of a job, a little easing-upunder stress of weather, are taken as so many indications of a desire toconciliate. And conciliation means weakness every time. Your lumber-jacklikes to be met front to front, one strong man to another. As you valueyour authority, the love of your men, and the completion of your work, keep a bluff brow and an unbending singleness of purpose. 

Radway's peculiar temperament rendered him liable to just this mistake. It was so much easier for him to do the thing himself than to be harshto the point of forcing another to it, that he was inclined to take theline of least resistance when it came to a question of even ordinarydiligence. He sought often in his own mind excuses for dereliction infavor of a man who would not have dreamed of seeking them for himself. Agood many people would call this kindness of heart. Perhaps it was; thequestion is a little puzzling. But the facts were as stated. 

Thorpe had already commented on the feeling among the men, though, owingto his inexperience, he was not able to estimate its full value. Themen were inclined to a semi-apologetic air when they spoke of theirconnection with the camp. Instead of being honored as one of a series ofjobs, this seemed to be considered as merely a temporary halting-placein which they took no pride, and from which they looked forward inanticipation or back in memory to better things. 

"Old Shearer, he's the bully boy, " said Bob Stratton. "I remember whenhe was foremap for M. & D. At Camp 0. Say, we did hustle them saw-logsin! I should rise to remark! Out in th' woods by first streak o' day. Irecall one mornin' she was pretty cold, an' the boys grumbled some aboutturnin' out. 'Cold, ' says Tim, 'you sons of guns! You got your ch'ice. It may be too cold for you in the woods, but it's a damm sight too hotfer you in hell, an' you're going to one or the other!' And he meant ittoo. Them was great days! Forty million a year, and not a hitch. "

One man said nothing in the general discussion. It was his first winterin the woods, and plainly in the eyes of the veterans this experiencedid not count. It was a "faute de mieux, " in which one would give anhonest day's work, and no more. 

As has been hinted, even the inexperienced newcomer noticed the lack ofenthusiasm, of unity. Had he known the loyalty, devotion, and adorationthat a thoroughly competent man wins from his "hands, " the state ofaffairs would have seemed even more surprising. The lumber-jack willwork sixteen, eighteen hours a day, sometimes up to the waist in waterfull of floating ice; sleep wet on the ground by a little fire; and thennext morning will spring to work at daylight with an "Oh, no, nottired; just a little stiff, sir!" in cheerful reply to his master'sinquiry, --for the right man! Only it must be a strong man, --with thestrength of the wilderness in his eye. 

The next morning Radway transferred Molly and Jenny, with little FabianLaveque and two of the younger men, to Pike Lake. There, earlier in theseason, a number of pines had been felled out on the ice, cut in logs, and left in expectation of ice thick enough to bear the travoy"dray. " Owing to the fact that the shores of Pike Lake were extremelyprecipitous, it had been impossible to travoy the logs up over the hill. 

Radway had sounded carefully the thickness of the ice with an ax. Although the weather had of late been sufficiently cold for the timeof year, the snow, as often happens, had fallen before the temperature. Under the warm white blanket, the actual freezing had been slight. However, there seemed to be at least eight inches of clear ice, whichwould suffice. 

Some of the logs in question were found to be half imbedded in the ice. It became necessary first of all to free them. Young Henrys cut a strongbar six or eight feet long, while Pat McGuire chopped a hole alongsidethe log. Then one end of the bar was thrust into the hole, the loggingchain fastened to the other; and, behold, a monster lever, whose fulcrumwas the ice and whose power was applied by Molly, hitched to the end ofthe chain. In this simple manner a task was accomplished in five minuteswhich would have taken a dozen men an hour. When the log had beencat-a-cornered from its bed, the chain was fastened around one end bymeans of the ever-useful steel swamp-hook, and it was yanked across thedray. Then the travoy took its careful way across the ice to where a dipin the shore gave access to a skidway. 

Four logs had thus been safely hauled. The fifth was on its journeyacross the lake. Suddenly without warning, and with scarcely a sound, both horses sank through the ice, which bubbled up around them and overtheir backs in irregular rotted pieces. Little Fabian Laveque shouted, and jumped down from his log. Pat McGuire and young Henrys came running. 

The horses had broken through an air-hole, about which the ice wasstrong. Fabian had already seized Molly by the bit, and was holding herhead easily above water. 

"Kitch Jenny by dat he't!" he cried to Pat. 

Thus the two men, without exertion, sustained the noses of the teamabove the surface. The position demanded absolutely no haste, for itcould have been maintained for a good half hour. Molly and Jenny, theirsoft eyes full of the intelligence of the situation, rested easily infull confidence. But Pat and Henrys, new to this sort of emergency, werebadly frightened and excited. To them the affair had come to a deadlock. 

"Oh, Lord!" cried Pat, clinging desperately to Jenny's headpiece. "Whatwill we'z be doin'? We can't niver haul them two horses on the ice. "

"Tak' de log-chain, " said Fabian to Henrys, "an' tie him around de nec'of Jenny. "

Henrys, after much difficulty and nervous fumbling, managed to loosenthe swamp-hook; and after much more difficulty and nervous fumblingsucceeded in making it fast about the gray mare's neck. Fabian intendedwith this to choke the animal to that peculiar state when she wouldfloat like a balloon on the water, and two men could with ease draw herover the edge of the ice. Then the unexpected happened. 

The instant Henrys had passed the end of the chain through the knot, Pat, possessed by some Hibernian notion that now all was fast, let goof the bit. Jenny's head at once went under, and the end of the loggingchain glided over the ice and fell plump in the hole. 

Immediately all was confusion. Jenny kicked and struggled, churning thewater, throwing it about, kicking out in every direction. Once a horse'shead dips strongly, the game is over. No animal drowns more quickly. Thetwo young boys scrambled away, and French oaths could not induce themto approach. Molly, still upheld by Fabian, looked at him piteously withher strange intelligent eyes, holding herself motionless and rigid withcomplete confidence in this master who had never failed her before. Fabian dug his heels into the ice, but could not hang on. The drowninghorse was more than a dead weight. Presently it became a question ofletting go or being dragged into the lake on top of the animals. With asob the little Frenchman relinquished his hold. The water seemed slowlyto rise and over-film the troubled look of pleading in Molly's eyes. 

"Assassins!" hissed Laveque at the two unfortunate youths. That was all. 

When the surface of the waters had again mirrored the clouds, theyhauled the carcasses out on the ice and stripped the harness. Then theyrolled the log from the dray, piled the tools on it, and took their wayto camp. In the blue of the winter's sky was a single speck. 

The speck grew. Soon it swooped. With a hoarse croak it lit on the snowat a wary distance, and began to strut back and forth. Presently, itssuspicions at rest, the raven advanced, and with eager beak began itsdreadful meal. By this time another, which had seen the first one'sswoop, was in view through the ether; then another; then another. In anhour the brotherhood of ravens, thus telegraphically notified, was atfeast. 

Chapter VIII

Fabian Laveque elaborated the details of the catastrophe withvolubility. 

"Hee's not fonny dat she bre'ks t'rough, " he said. "I 'ave see dem bre'kt'rough two, t'ree tam in de day, but nevaire dat she get drown! W'endose dam-fool can't t'ink wit' hees haid--sacre Dieu! eet is so easy, tochok' dat cheval--she make me cry wit' de eye!"

"I suppose it was a good deal my fault, " commented Radway, doubtfullyshaking his head, after Laveque had left the office. "I ought to havebeen surer about the ice. "

"Eight inches is a little light, with so much snow atop, " remarked thescaler carelessly. 

By virtue of that same careless remark, however, Radway was so confirmedin his belief as to his own culpability that he quite overlookedFabian's just contention--that the mere thinness of the ice was inreality no excuse for the losing of the horses. So Pat and Henrys werenot discharged--were not instructed to "get their time. " Fabian Lavequepromptly demanded his. 

"Sacre bleu!" said he to old Jackson. "I no work wid dat dam-fool dat not'ink wit' hees haid. "

This deprived the camp at once of a teamster and a team. When youreflect that one pair of horses takes care of the exertions of a crewof sawyers, several swampers, and three or four cant-hook men, youwill readily see what a serious derangement their loss would cause. Andbesides, the animals themselves are difficult to replace. They arebig strong beasts, selected for their power, staying qualities, andintelligence, worth anywhere from three to six hundred dollars a pair. They must be shipped in from a distance. And, finally, they requirea very careful and patient training before they are of value inco-operating with the nicely adjusted efforts necessary to place thesawlog where it belongs. Ready-trained horses are never for sale duringthe season. 

Radway did his best. He took three days to search out a big team offarm horses. Then it became necessary to find a driver. After somedeliberation he decided to advance Bob Stratton to the post, that"decker" having had more or less experience the year before. Erickson, the Swede, while not a star cant-hook man, was nevertheless sure andreliable. Radway placed him in Stratton's place. But now he must find aswamper. He remembered Thorpe. 

So the young man received his first promotion toward the ranks ofskilled labor. He gained at last a field of application for the accuracyhe had so intelligently acquired while road-making, for now a falsestroke marred a saw-log; and besides, what was more to his taste, hefound himself near the actual scene of operation, at the front, asit were. He had under his very eyes the process as far as it had beencarried. 

In his experience here he made use of the same searching analyticalobservation that had so quickly taught him the secret of the ax-swing. He knew that each of the things he saw, no matter how trivial, waseither premeditated or the product of chance. If premeditated, he triedto find out its reason for being. If fortuitous, he wished to knowthe fact, and always attempted to figure out the possibility of itselimination. 

So he learned why and when the sawyers threw a tree up or down hill;how much small standing timber they tried to fell it through; whatconsideration held for the cutting of different lengths of log; how thetimber was skilfully decked on the skids in such a manner that the pileshould not bulge and fall, and so that the scaler could easily determinethe opposite ends of the same log;--in short, a thousand and one littledetails which ordinarily a man learns only as the exigencies arise tocall in experience. Here, too, he first realized he was in the firingline. 

Thorpe had assigned him as bunk mate the young fellow who assistedTom Broadhead in the felling. Henry Paul was a fresh-complexioned, clear-eyed, quick-mannered young fellow with an air of steadyresponsibility about him. He came from the southern part of the State, where, during the summer, he worked on a little homestead farm of hisown. After a few days he told Thorpe that he was married, and after afew days more he showed his bunk mate the photograph of a sweet-facedyoung woman who looked trustingly out of the picture. 

"She's waitin' down there for me, and it ain't so very long tillspring, " said Paul wistfully. "She's the best little woman a man everhad, and there ain't nothin' too good for her, chummy!"

Thorpe, soul-sick after his recent experiences with the charity of theworld, discovered a real pleasure in this fresh, clear passion. As hecontemplated the abounding health, the upright carriage, the sparkling, bubbling spirits of the young woodsman, he could easily imagine theyoung girl and the young happiness, too big for a little backwoods farm. 

Three days after the newcomer had started in at the swamping, Paul, during their early morning walk from camp to the scene of theiroperations, confided in him further. 

"Got another letter, chummy, " said he, "come in yesterday. She tellsme, " he hesitated with a blush, and then a happy laugh, "that they ain'tgoing to be only two of us at the farm next year. "

"You mean!" queried Thorpe. 

"Yes, " laughed Paul, "and if it's a girl she gets named after hermother, you bet. "

The men separated. In a moment Thorpe found himself waist-deep in thepitchy aromatic top of an old bull-sap, clipping away at the projectingbranches. After a time he heard Paul's gay halloo. 

"TimBER!" came the cry, and then the swish-sh-sh, --CRASH of the tree'sfall. 

Thorpe knew that now either Hank or Tom must be climbing with the longmeasuring pole along the prostrate trunk, marking by means of shallowax-clips where the saw was to divide the logs. Then Tom shoutedsomething unintelligible. The other men seemed to understand, however, for they dropped their work and ran hastily in the direction of thevoice. Thorpe, after a moment's indecision, did the same. He arrived tofind a group about a prostrate man. The man was Paul. 

Two of the older woodsmen, kneeling, were conducting coolly a hastyexamination. At the front every man is more or less of a surgeon. 

"Is he hurt badly?" asked Thorpe; "what is it?"

"He's dead, " answered one of the other men soberly. 

With the skill of ghastly practice some of them wove a litter on whichthe body was placed. The pathetic little procession moved in the solemn, inscrutable forest. 

When the tree had fallen it had crashed through the top of another, leaving suspended in the branches of the latter a long heavy limb. Aslight breeze dislodged it. Henry Paul was impaled as by a javelin. 

This is the chief of the many perils of the woods. Like crouching pumasthe instruments of a man's destruction poise on the spring, sometimesfor days. Then swiftly, silently, the leap is made. It is a dangerunavoidable, terrible, ever-present. Thorpe was destined in time tosee men crushed and mangled in a hundred ingenious ways by the saw log, knocked into space and a violent death by the butts of trees, ground topowder in the mill of a jam, but never would he be more deeply impressedthan by this ruthless silent taking of a life. The forces of nature areso tame, so simple, so obedient; and in the next instant so absolutelybeyond human control or direction, so whirlingly contemptuous of punyhuman effort, that in time the wilderness shrouds itself to our eyes inthe same impenetrable mystery as the sea. 

That evening the camp was unusually quiet. Tellier let his fiddle hang. After supper Thorpe was approached by Purdy, the reptilian red-head withwhom he had had the row some evenings before. 

"You in, chummy?" he asked in a quiet voice. "It's a five apiece forHank's woman. "

"Yes, " said Thorpe. 

The men were earning from twenty to thirty dollars a month. They had, most of them, never seen Hank Paul before this autumn. He had not, mainly because of his modest disposition, enjoyed any extraordinarydegree of popularity. Yet these strangers cheerfully, as a matter ofcourse, gave up the proceeds of a week's hard work, and that withoutexpecting the slightest personal credit. The money was sent "from theboys. " Thorpe later read a heart-broken letter of thanks to the unknownbenefactors. It touched him deeply, and he suspected the other men ofthe same emotions, but by that time they had regained the independent, self-contained poise of the frontiersman. They read it with unmovedfaces, and tossed it aside with a more than ordinarily rough jokeor oath. Thorpe understood their reticence. It was a part of his ownnature. He felt more than ever akin to these men. 

As swamper he had more or less to do with a cant-hook in helping theteamsters roll the end of the log on the little "dray. " He soon caughtthe knack. Towards Christmas he had become a fairly efficient cant-hookman, and was helping roll the great sticks of timber up the slantingskids. Thus always intelligence counts, especially that rareintelligence which resolves into the analytical and the minutelyobserving. 

On Sundays Thorpe fell into the habit of accompanying old Jackson Hineson his hunting expeditions. The ancient had been raised in the woods. He seemed to know by instinct the haunts and habits of all the wildanimals, just as he seemed to know by instinct when one of his horseswas likely to be troubled by the colic. His woodcraft was reallyremarkable. 

So the two would stand for hours in the early morning and late eveningwaiting for deer on the edges of the swamps. They haunted the runwaysduring the middle of the day. On soft moccasined feet they stole aboutin the evening with a bull's-eye lantern fastened on the head of one ofthem for a "jack. " Several times they surprised the wolves, and shonethe animals' eyes like the scattered embers of a camp fire. 

Thorpe learned to shoot at a deer's shoulders rather than his heart, how to tell when the animal had sustained a mortal hurt from the way itleaped and the white of its tail. He even made progress in the difficultart of still hunting, where the man matches his senses against those ofthe creatures of the forest, --and sometimes wins. He soon knew betterthan to cut the animal's throat, and learned from Hines that a singlestab at a certain point of the chest was much better for the purposes ofbleeding. And, what is more, he learned not to over-shoot down hill. 

Besides these things Jackson taught him many other, minor, details ofwoodcraft. Soon the young man could interpret the thousands of signs, soinsignificant in appearance and so important in reality, which tell thehistory of the woods. He acquired the knack of winter fishing. 

These Sundays were perhaps the most nearly perfect of any of the days ofthat winter. In them the young man drew more directly face to face withthe wilderness. He called a truce with the enemy; and in return thatgreat inscrutable power poured into his heart a portion of her grandeur. His ambition grew; and, as always with him, his determination became thegreater and the more secret. In proportion as his ideas increased, hetook greater pains to shut them in from expression. For failure in greatthings would bring keener disappointment than failure in little. 

He was getting just the experience and the knowledge he needed; but thatwas about all. His wages were twenty-five dollars a month, which his vanbill would reduce to the double eagle. At the end of the winter he wouldhave but a little over a hundred dollars to show for his season's work, and this could mean at most only fifty dollars for Helen. But the futurewas his. He saw now more plainly what he had dimly perceived before, that for the man who buys timber, and logs it well, a sure future iswaiting. And in this camp he was beginning to learn from failure theconditions of success. 

Chapter IX

They finished cutting on section seventeen during Thorpe's second week. It became necessary to begin on section fourteen, which lay two milesto the east. In that direction the character of the country changedsomewhat. 

The pine there grew thick on isolated "islands" of not more than an acreor so in extent, --little knolls rising from the level of a marsh. Inordinary conditions nothing would have been easier than to have ploughedroads across the frozen surface of this marsh. The peculiar state of theweather interposed tremendous difficulties. 

The early part of autumn had been characterized by a heavy snow-fallimmediately after a series of mild days. A warm blanket of somethickness thus overlaid the earth, effectually preventing the freezingwhich subsequent cold weather would have caused. All the season Radwayhad contended with this condition. Even in the woods, muddy swamp andspring-holes caused endless difficulty and necessitated a great deal of"corduroying, " or the laying of poles side by side to form an artificialbottom. Here in the open some six inches of water and unlimited mudawaited the first horse that should break through the layer of snow andthin ice. Between each pair of islands a road had to be "tramped. "

Thorpe and the rest were put at this disagreeable job. All day long theyhad to walk mechanically back and forth on diagonals between the marksset by Radway with his snowshoes. Early in the morning their feet werewet by icy water, for even the light weight of a man sometimes broke thefrozen skin of the marsh. By night a road of trampled snow, of greateror less length, was marked out across the expanse. Thus the blanket wasthrown back from the warm earth, and thus the cold was given a chance atthe water beneath. In a day or so the road would bear a horse. A bridgeof ice had been artificially constructed, on either side of which layunsounded depths. This road was indicated by a row of firs stuck in thesnow on either side. 

It was very cold. All day long the restless wind swept across theshivering surface of the plains, and tore around the corners of theislands. The big woods are as good as an overcoat. The overcoat had beentaken away. 

When the lunch-sleigh arrived, the men huddled shivering in the lee ofone of the knolls, and tried to eat with benumbed fingers before a firethat was but a mockery. Often it was nearly dark before their work hadwarmed them again. All of the skidways had to be placed on the edges ofthe islands themselves, and the logs had to be travoyed over the steeplittle knolls. A single misstep out on to the plain meant a mired horse. Three times heavy snows obliterated the roads, so that they had to beploughed out before the men could go to work again. It was a struggle. 

Radway was evidently worried. He often paused before a gang to inquirehow they were "making it. " He seemed afraid they might wish to quit, which was indeed the case, but he should never have taken before themany attitude but that of absolute confidence in their intentions. Hisanxiety was natural, however. He realized the absolute necessity ofskidding and hauling this job before the heavy choking snows of thelatter part of January should make it impossible to keep the roads open. So insistent was this necessity that he had seized the first respite inthe phenomenal snow-fall of the early autumn to begin work. The cuttingin the woods could wait. 

Left to themselves probably the men would never have dreamed ofobjecting to whatever privations the task carried with it. Radway'sanxiety for their comfort, however, caused them finally to imagine thatperhaps they might have some just grounds for complaint after all. Thatis a great trait of the lumber-jack. 

But Dyer, the scaler, finally caused the outbreak. Dyer was an efficientenough man in his way, but he loved his own ease. His habit was to stayin his bunk of mornings until well after daylight. To this there couldbe no objection--except on the part of the cook, who was supposed toattend to his business himself--for the scaler was active in his work, when once he began it, and could keep up with the skidding. But now hedisplayed a strong antipathy to the north wind on the plains. Of coursehe could not very well shirk the work entirely, but he did a good dealof talking on the very cold mornings. 

"I don't pose for no tough son-of-a-gun, " said he to Radway, "andI've got some respect for my ears and feet. She'll warm up a little byto-morrow, and perhaps the wind'll die. I can catch up on you fellowsby hustling a little, so I guess I'll stay in and work on the booksto-day. "

"All right, " Radway assented, a little doubtfully. 

This happened perhaps two days out of the week. Finally Dyer hung out athermometer, which he used to consult. The men saw it, and consulted ittoo. At once they felt much colder. 

"She was stan' ten below, " sputtered Baptiste Tellier, the Frenchman whoplayed the fiddle. "He freeze t'rou to hees eenside. Dat is too cole formak de work. "

"Them plains is sure a holy fright, " assented Purdy. 

"Th' old man knows it himself, " agreed big Nolan; "did you see himrammin' around yesterday askin' us if we found her too cold? He knowsdamn well he ought not to keep a man out that sort o' weather. "

"You'd shiver like a dog in a briar path on a warm day in July, " saidJackson Hines contemptuously. 

"Shut up!" said they. "You're barn-boss. You don't have to be out in th'cold. "

This was true. So Jackson's intervention went for a little worse thannothing. 

"It ain't lak' he has nuttin' besides, " went on Baptiste. "He can mak'de cut in de meedle of de fores'. "

"That's right, " agreed Bob Stratton, "they's the west half of eightain't been cut yet. "

So they sent a delegation to Radway. Big Nolan was the spokesman. 

"Boss, " said he bluntly, "she's too cold to work on them plains to-day. She's the coldest day we had. "

Radway was too old a hand at the business to make any promises on thespot. 

"I'll see, boys, " said he. 

When the breakfast was over the crew were set to making skidways andtravoy roads on eight. This was a precedent. In time the work on theplains was grumblingly done in any weather. However, as to this Radwayproved firm enough. He was a good fighter when he knew he was beingimposed on. A man could never cheat or defy him openly withoutcollecting a little war that left him surprised at the jobber'sbelligerency. The doubtful cases, those on the subtle line ofindecision, found him weak. He could be so easily persuaded that he wasin the wrong. At times it even seemed that he was anxious to be provedat fault, so eager was he to catch fairly the justice of the other man'sattitude. He held his men inexorably and firmly to their work on theindisputably comfortable days; but gave in often when an able-bodiedwoodsman should have seen in the weather no inconvenience, even. Asthe days slipped by, however, he tightened the reins. Christmas wasapproaching. An easy mathematical computation reduced the question ofcompleting his contract with Morrison & Daly to a certain weekly quota. In fact he was surprised at the size of it. He would have to workdiligently and steadily during the rest of the winter. 

Having thus a definite task to accomplish in a definite number of days, Radway grew to be more of a taskmaster. His anxiety as to the completionof the work overlaid his morbidly sympathetic human interest. Thushe regained to a small degree the respect of his men. Then he lost itagain. 

One morning he came in from a talk with the supply-teamster, and wokeDyer, who was not yet up. 

"I'm going down home for two or three weeks, " he announced to Dyer, "youknow my address. You'll have to take charge, and I guess you'd betterlet the scaling go. We can get the tally at the banking grounds when webegin to haul. Now we ain't got all the time there is, so you want tokeep the boys at it pretty well. "

Dyer twisted the little points of his mustache. "All right, sir, " saidhe with his smile so inscrutably insolent that Radway never saw theinsolence at all. He thought this a poor year for a man in Radway'sposition to spend Christmas with his family, but it was none of hisbusiness. 

"Do as much as you can in the marsh, Dyer, " went on the jobber. "I don'tbelieve it's really necessary to lay off any more there on account ofthe weather. We've simply got to get that job in before the big snows. "

"All right, sir, " repeated Dyer. 

The scaler did what he considered his duty. All day long he tramped backand forth from one gang of men to the other, keeping a sharp eye on thedetails of the work. His practical experience was sufficient to solvereadily such problems of broken tackle, extra expedients, or facilitywhich the days brought forth. The fact that in him was vested the powerto discharge kept the men at work. 

Dyer was in the habit of starting for the marsh an hour or so aftersunrise. The crew, of course, were at work by daylight. Dyer heard themoften through his doze, just as he heard the chore-boy come in to buildthe fire and fill the water pail afresh. After a time the fire, built ofkerosene and pitchy jack pine, would get so hot that in self-defense hewould arise and dress. Then he would breakfast leisurely. 

Thus he incurred the enmity of the cook and cookee. Those individualshave to prepare food three times a day for a half hundred heavy eaters;besides which, on sleigh-haul, they are supposed to serve a breakfastat three o'clock for the loaders and a variety of lunches up to midnightfor the sprinkler men. As a consequence, they resent infractions of thelittle system they may have been able to introduce. 

Now the business of a foreman is to be up as soon as anybody. He doesnone of the work himself, but he must see that somebody else doesit, and does it well. For this he needs actual experience at the workitself, but above all zeal and constant presence. He must know how athing ought to be done, and he must be on hand unexpectedly to see howits accomplishment is progressing. Dyer should have been out of bed atfirst horn-blow. 

One morning he slept until nearly ten o'clock. It was inexplicable!He hurried from his bunk, made a hasty toilet, and started for thedining-room to get some sort of a lunch to do him until dinner time. As he stepped from the door of the office he caught sight of two menhurrying from the cook camp to the men's camp. He thought he heard thehum of conversation in the latter building. The cookee set hot coffeebefore him. For the rest, he took what he could find cold on the table. 

On an inverted cracker box the cook sat reading an old copy of thePolice Gazette. Various fifty-pound lard tins were bubbling and steamingon the range. The cookee divided his time between them and the task ofsticking on the log walls pleasing patterns made of illustrationsfrom cheap papers and the gaudy labels of canned goods. Dyer sat down, feeling, for the first time, a little guilty. This was not because of asense of a dereliction in duty, but because he feared the strong man'scontempt for inefficiency. 

"I sort of pounded my ear a little long this morning, " he remarked withan unwonted air of bonhomie. 

The cook creased his paper with one hand and went on reading; the littleaction indicating at the same time that he had heard, but intended tovouchsafe no attention. The cookee continued his occupations. 

"I suppose the men got out to the marsh on time, " suggested Dyer, stilleasily. 

The cook laid aside his paper and looked the scaler in the eye. 

"You're the foreman; I'm the cook, " said he. "You ought to know. "

The cookee had paused, the paste brush in his hand. 

Dyer was no weakling. The problem presenting, he rose to the emergency. Without another word he pushed back his coffee cup and crossed thenarrow open passage to the men's camp

When he opened the door a silence fell. He could see dimly that the roomwas full of lounging and smoking lumbermen. As a matter of fact, not aman had stirred out that morning. This was more for the sake of givingDyer a lesson than of actually shirking the work, for a lumber-jack ishonest in giving his time when it is paid for. 

"How's this, men!" cried Dyer sharply; "why aren't you out on themarsh?"

No one answered for a minute. Then Baptiste:

"He mak' too tam cole for de marsh. Meester Radway he spik dat we kipoff dat marsh w'en he mak' cole. "

Dyer knew that the precedent was indisputable. 

"Why didn't you cut on eight then?" he asked, still in peremptory tones. 

"Didn't have no one to show us where to begin, " drawled a voice in thecorner. 

Dyer turned sharp on his heel and went out. 

"Sore as a boil, ain't he!" commented old Jackson Hines with a chuckle. 

In the cook camp Dyer was saying to the cook, "Well, anyway, we'll havedinner early and get a good start for this afternoon. "

The cook again laid down his paper. "I'm tending to this job of cook, "said he, "and I'm getting the meals on time. Dinner will be on timeto-day not a minute early, and not a minute late. "

Then he resumed his perusal of the adventures of ladies to whom theillustrations accorded magnificent calf-development. 

The crew worked on the marsh that afternoon, and the subsequent daysof the week. They labored conscientiously but not zealously. There is adeal of difference, and the lumber-jack's unaided conscience islikely to allow him a certain amount of conversation from the decks ofskidways. The work moved slowly. At Christmas a number of the men "wentout. " Most of them were back again after four or five days, for, whilemen were not plenty, neither was work. The equilibrium was nearly exact. 

But the convivial souls had lost to Dyer the days of their debauch, and until their thirst for recuperative "Pain Killer, " "Hinckley" andJamaica Ginger was appeased, they were not much good. Instead of keepingup to fifty thousand a day, as Radway had figured was necessary, thescale would not have exceeded thirty. 

Dyer saw all this plainly enough, but was not able to remedy it. Thatwas not entirely his fault. He did not dare give the delinquents theirtime, for he would not have known where to fill their places. This layin Radway's experience. Dyer felt that responsibilities a little toogreat had been forced on him, which was partly true. In a few days theyoung man's facile conscience had covered all his shortcomings with theblanket excuse. He conceived that he had a grievance against Radway!

Chapter X

Radway returned to camp by the 6th of January. He went on snowshoes overthe entire job; and then sat silently in the office smoking "Peerless"in his battered old pipe. Dyer watched him amusedly, secure in hisgrievance in case blame should be attached to him. The jobber lookedolder. The lines of dry good-humor about his eyes had subtly changed toan expression of pathetic anxiety. He attached no blame to anybody, butrose the next morning at horn-blow, and the men found they had a newmaster over them. 

And now the struggle with the wilderness came to grapples. Radway was asone possessed by a burning fever. He seemed everywhere at once, alwayshelping with his own shoulder and arm, hurrying eagerly. For once luckseemed with him. The marsh was cut over; the "eighty" on section eightwas skidded without a break. The weather held cold and clear. 

Now it became necessary to put the roads in shape for hauling. Allwinter the blacksmith, between his tasks of shoeing and mending, hadoccupied his time in fitting the iron-work on eight log-sleighswhich the carpenter had hewed from solid sticks of timber. They weretremendous affairs, these sleighs, with runners six feet apart, andbunks nine feet in width for the reception of logs. The bunks were soconnected by two loosely-coupled rods that, when emptied, they could beswung parallel with the road, so reducing the width of the sleigh. Thecarpenter had also built two immense tanks on runners, holding each someseventy barrels of water, and with holes so arranged in the bottom andrear that on the withdrawal of plugs the water would flood the entirewidth of the road. These sprinklers were filled by horse power. A chain, running through blocks attached to a solid upper framework, like theopen belfry of an Italian monastery, dragged a barrel up a wooden trackfrom the water hole to the opening in the sprinkler. When in action thisformidable machine weighed nearly two tons and resembled a moving house. Other men had felled two big hemlocks, from which they had hewed beamsfor a V plow. 

The V plow was now put in action. Six horses drew it down the road, each pair superintended by a driver. The machine was weighted down bya number of logs laid across the arms. Men guided it by levers, andby throwing their weight against the fans of the plow. It was a gay, animated scene this, full of the spirit of winter--the plodding, straining horses, the brilliantly dressed, struggling men, thesullen-yielding snow thrown to either side, the shouts, warnings, andcommands. To right and left grew white banks of snow. Behind stretched abroad white path in which a scant inch hid the bare earth. 

For some distance the way led along comparatively high ground. Then, skirting the edge of a lake, it plunged into a deep creek bottom betweenhills. Here, earlier in the year, eleven bridges had been constructed, each a labor of accuracy; and perhaps as many swampy places had been"corduroyed" by carpeting them with long parallel poles. Now the firstdifficulty began. 

Some of the bridges had sunk below the level, and the approaches had tobe corduroyed to a practicable grade. Others again were humped up liketom-cats, and had to be pulled apart entirely. In spots the "corduroy"had spread, so that the horses thrust their hoofs far down intoleg-breaking holes. The experienced animals were never caught, however. As soon as they felt the ground giving way beneath one foot, they threwtheir weight on the other. 

Still, that sort of thing was to be expected. A gang of men who followedthe plow carried axes and cant-hooks for the purpose of repairingextemporaneously just such defects, which never would have beendiscovered otherwise than by the practical experience. Radway himselfaccompanied the plow. Thorpe, who went along as one of the "roadmonkeys, " saw now why such care had been required of him in smoothingthe way of stubs, knots, and hummocks. 

Down the creek an accident occurred on this account. The plow hadencountered a drift. Three times the horses had plunged at it, and threetimes had been brought to a stand, not so much by the drag of the V plowas by the wallowing they themselves had to do in the drift. 

"No use, break her through, boys, " said Radway. So a dozen men hurledtheir bodies through, making an opening for the horses. 

"Hi! YUP!" shouted the three teamsters, gathering up their reins. 

The horses put their heads down and plunged. The whole apparatus movedwith a rush, men clinging, animals digging their hoofs in, snow flying. Suddenly there came a check, then a CRACK, and then the plow shotforward so suddenly and easily that the horses all but fell on theirnoses. The flanging arms of the V, forced in a place too narrow, hadcaught between heavy stubs. One of the arms had broken square off. 

There was nothing for it but to fell another hemlock and hew out anotherbeam, which meant a day lost. Radway occupied his men with shovels inclearing the edge of the road, and started one of his sprinklers overthe place already cleared. Water holes of suitable size had been blownin the creek bank by dynamite. There the machines were filled. It wasa slow process. Stratton attached his horse to the chain and drove himback and forth, hauling the barrel up and down the slideway. At thebottom it was capsized and filled by means of a long pole shackled toits bottom and manipulated by old man Heath. At the top it turned overby its own weight. Thus seventy odd times. 

Then Fred Green hitched his team on and the four horses drew thecreaking, cumbrous vehicle spouting down the road. Water gushed in fansfrom the openings on either side and beneath; and in streams from twoholes behind. Not for an instant as long as the flow continued daredthe teamsters breathe their horses, for a pause would freeze the runnerstight to the ground. A tongue at either end obviated the necessity ofturning around. 

While the other men hewed at the required beam for the broken V plow, Heath, Stratton, and Green went over the cleared road-length once. To doso required three sprinklerfuls. When the road should be quite free, and both sprinklers running, they would have to keep at it until aftermidnight. 

And then silently the wilderness stretched forth her hand and pushedthese struggling atoms back to their place. 

That night it turned warmer. The change was heralded by a shift of wind. Then some blue jays appeared from nowhere and began to scream at theirmore silent brothers, the whisky jacks. 

"She's goin' to rain, " said old Jackson. "The air is kind o' holler. "

"Hollow?" said Thorpe, laughing. "How is that?"

"I don' no, " confessed Hines, "but she is. She jest feels that way. "

In the morning the icicles dripped from the roof, and although the snowdid not appreciably melt, it shrank into itself and became pock-markedon the surface. 

Radway was down looking at the road. 

"She's holdin' her own, " said he, "but there ain't any use putting morewater on her. She ain't freezing a mite. We'll plow her out. "

So they finished the job, and plowed her out, leaving exposed the wet, marshy surface of the creek-bottom, on which at night a thin crustformed. Across the marsh the old tramped road held up the horses, andthe plow swept clear a little wider swath. 

"She'll freeze a little to-night, " said Radway hopefully. "You sprinklerboys get at her and wet her down. "

Until two o'clock in the morning the four teams and the six men creakedback and forth spilling hardly-gathered water--weird, unearthly, in theflickering light of their torches. Then they crept in and ate sleepilythe food that a sleepy cookee set out for them. 

By morning the mere surface of this sprinkled water had frozen, theremainder beneath had drained away, and so Radway found in his roadconsiderable patches of shell ice, useless, crumbling. He looked indespair at the sky. Dimly through the gray he caught the tint of blue. 

The sun came out. Nut-hatches and wood-peckers ran gayly up the warmingtrunks of the trees. Blue jays fluffed and perked and screamed in thehard-wood tops. A covey of grouse ventured from the swamp and struttedvainly, a pause of contemplation between each step. Radway, walking outon the tramped road of the marsh, cracked the artificial skin and thrusthis foot through into icy water. That night the sprinklers stayed in. 

The devil seemed in it. If the thaw would only cease before the icebottom so laboriously constructed was destroyed! Radway vibrated betweenthe office and the road. Men were lying idle; teams were doing the same. Nothing went on but the days of the year; and four of them had alreadyticked off the calendar. The deep snow of the unusually cold autumn hadnow disappeared from the tops of the stumps. Down in the swamp the coveyof partridges were beginning to hope that in a few days more they mightdiscover a bare spot in the burnings. It even stopped freezing duringthe night. At times Dyer's little thermometer marked as high as fortydegrees. 

"I often heard this was a sort 'v summer resort, " observed TomBroadhead, "but danged if I knew it was a summer resort all the year'round. "

The weather got to be the only topic of conversation. Each had hissay, his prediction. It became maddening. Towards evening the chill ofmelting snow would deceive many into the belief that a cold snap wasbeginning. 

"She'll freeze before morning, sure, " was the hopeful comment. 

And then in the morning the air would be more balmily insulting thanever. 

"Old man is as blue as a whetstone, " commented Jackson Hines, "an' Idon't blame him. This weather'd make a man mad enough to eat the devilwith his horns left on. "

By and by it got to be a case of looking on the bright side of theaffair from pure reaction. 

"I don't know, " said Radway, "it won't be so bad after all. A couple ofdays of zero weather, with all this water lying around, would fix thingsup in pretty good shape. If she only freezes tight, we'll have a goodsolid bottom to build on, and that'll be quite a good rig out there onthe marsh. "

The inscrutable goddess of the wilderness smiled, and calmly, relentlessly, moved her next pawn. 

It was all so unutterably simple, and yet so effective. Something therewas in it of the calm inevitability of fate. It snowed. 

All night and all day the great flakes zig-zagged softly down throughthe air. Radway plowed away two feet of it. The surface was promptlycovered by a second storm. Radway doggedly plowed it out again. 

This time the goddess seemed to relent. The ground froze solid. Thesprinklers became assiduous in their labor. Two days later the road wasready for the first sleigh, its surface of thick, glassy ice, beautifulto behold; the ruts cut deep and true; the grades sanded, or sprinkledwith retarding hay on the descents. At the river the banking groundproved solid. Radway breathed again, then sighed. Spring was eight daysnearer. He was eight days more behind. 

Chapter XI

As soon as loading began, the cook served breakfast at three o'clock. The men worked by the light of torches, which were often merely catsupjugs with wicking in the necks. Nothing could be more picturesque thana teamster conducting one of his great pyramidical loads over the littleinequalities of the road, in the ticklish places standing atop with thebent knee of the Roman charioteer, spying and forestalling the chancesof the way with a fixed eye and an intense concentration that relaxednot one inch in the miles of the haul. Thorpe had become a full-fledgedcant-hook man. 

He liked the work. There is about it a skill that fascinates. A mangrips suddenly with the hook of his strong instrument, stopping one endthat the other may slide; he thrusts the short, strong stock between thelog and the skid, allowing it to be overrun; he stops the roll witha sudden sure grasp applied at just the right moment to be effective. Sometimes he allows himself to be carried up bodily, clinging to thecant-hook like an acrobat to a bar, until the log has rolled once; when, his weapon loosened, he drops lightly, easily to the ground. And it isexciting to pile the logs on the sleigh, first a layer of five, say;then one of six smaller; of but three; of two; until, at the very apex, the last is dragged slowly up the skids, poised, and, just as it isabout to plunge down the other side, is gripped and held inexorably bythe little men in blue flannel shirts. 

Chains bind the loads. And if ever, during the loading, or afterwardswhen the sleigh is in motion, the weight of the logs causes the pyramidto break down and squash out;--then woe to the driver, or whoeverhappens to be near! A saw log does not make a great deal of fuss whilefalling, but it falls through anything that happens in its way, and aman who gets mixed up in a load of twenty-five or thirty of them obeyingthe laws of gravitation from a height of some fifteen to twenty feet, can be crushed into strange shapes and fragments. For this reason theloaders are picked and careful men. 

At the banking grounds, which lie in and about the bed of the river, thelogs are piled in a gigantic skidway to await the spring freshets, whichwill carry them down stream to the "boom. " In that enclosure they remainuntil sawed in the mill. 

Such is the drama of the saw log, a story of grit, resourcefulness, adaptability, fortitude and ingenuity hard to match. Conditions neverrepeat themselves in the woods as they do in the factory. The wildernessoffers ever new complications to solve, difficulties to overcome. A manmust think of everything, figure on everything, from the grand sweep ofthe country at large to the pressure on a king-bolt. And where anotherpossesses the boundless resources of a great city, he has to rely on thematerial stored in one corner of a shed. It is easy to build a palacewith men and tools; it is difficult to build a log cabin with nothingbut an ax. His wits must help him where his experience fails; and hisexperience must push him mechanically along the track of habit whensuccessive buffetings have beaten his wits out of his head. In a dayhe must construct elaborate engines, roads, and implements which oldcivilization considers the works of leisure. Without a thought ofexpense he must abandon as temporary, property which other industriescry out at being compelled to acquire as permanent. For this reasonhe becomes in time different from his fellows. The wilderness leavessomething of her mystery in his eyes, that mystery of hidden, unknownbut guessed, power. Men look after him on the street, as they would lookafter any other pioneer, in vague admiration of a scope more virile thantheir own. 

Thorpe, in common with the other men, had thought Radway's vacation atChristmas time a mistake. He could not but admire the feverish animationthat now characterized the jobber. Every mischance was as quicklyrepaired as aroused expedient could do the work. 

The marsh received first attention. There the restless snow drifteduneasily before the wind. Nearly every day the road had to be plowed, and the sprinklers followed the teams almost constantly. Often it wasbitter cold, but no one dared to suggest to the determined jobber thatit might be better to remain indoors. The men knew as well as he thatthe heavy February snows would block traffic beyond hope of extrication. 

As it was, several times an especially heavy fall clogged the way. Thesnow-plow, even with extra teams, could hardly force its path through. Men with shovels helped. Often but a few loads a day, and they small, could be forced to the banks by the utmost exertions of the entire crew. Esprit de corps awoke. The men sprang to their tasks with alacrity, gavemore than an hour's exertion to each of the twenty-four, took a pride inrepulsing the assaults of the great enemy, whom they personified underthe generic "She. " Mike McGovern raked up a saint somewhere whom heapostrophized in a personal and familiar manner. 

He hit his head against an overhanging branch. 

"You're a nice wan, now ain't ye?" he cried angrily at the unfortunateguardian of his soul. "Dom if Oi don't quit ye! Ye see!"

"Be the gate of Hivin!" he shouted, when he opened the door of morningsand discovered another six inches of snow, "Ye're a burrd! If Oicouldn't make out to be more of a saint than that, Oi'd quit thebiznis! Move yor pull, an' get us some dacint weather! Ye awt t' be roadmonkeyin' on th' golden streets, thot's what ye awt to be doin'!"

Jackson Hines was righteously indignant, but with the shrewdness of theold man, put the blame partly where it belonged. 

"I ain't sayin', " he observed judicially, "that this weather ain't hell. It's hell and repeat. But a man sort've got to expec' weather. He looksfor it, and he oughta be ready for it. The trouble is we got behindChristmas. It's that Dyer. He's about as mean as they make 'em. The onlyreason he didn't die long ago is becuz th' Devil's thought him too meanto pay any 'tention to. If ever he should die an' go to Heaven he'd pryup th' golden streets an' use the infernal pit for a smelter. "

With this magnificent bit of invective, Jackson seized a lantern andstumped out to see that the teamsters fed their horses properly. 

"Didn't know you were a miner, Jackson, " called Thorpe, laughing. 

"Young feller, " replied Jackson at the door, "it's a lot easier to tellwhat I AIN'T been. "

So floundering, battling, making a little progress every day, the strifecontinued. 

One morning in February, Thorpe was helping load a big butt log. He wasengaged in "sending up"; that is, he was one of the two men who standat either side of the skids to help the ascending log keep straight andtrue to its bed on the pile. His assistant's end caught on a sliver, ground for a second, and slipped back. Thus the log ran slanting acrossthe skids instead of perpendicular to them. To rectify the fault, Thorpedug his cant-hook into the timber and threw his weight on the stock. Hehoped in this manner to check correspondingly the ascent of his end. Inother words, he took the place, on his side, of the preventing sliver, so equalizing the pressure and forcing the timber to its properposition. Instead of rolling, the log slid. The stock of the cant-hookwas jerked from his hands. He fell back, and the cant-hook, afterclinging for a moment to the rough bark, snapped down and hit him acrushing blow on the top of the head. 

Had a less experienced man than Jim Gladys been stationed at the otherend, Thorpe's life would have ended there. A shout of surprise or horrorwould have stopped the horse pulling on the decking chain; the heavystick would have slid back on the prostrate young man, who would havethereupon been ground to atoms as he lay. With the utmost coolnessGladys swarmed the slanting face of the load; interposed the length ofhis cant-hook stock between the log and it; held it exactly long enoughto straighten the timber, but not so long as to crush his own head andarm; and ducked, just as the great piece of wood rumbled over the end ofthe skids and dropped with a thud into the place Norton, the "top" man, had prepared for it. 

It was a fine deed, quickly thought, quickly dared. No one saw it. JimGladys was a hero, but a hero without an audience. 

They took Thorpe up and carried him in, just as they had carried HankPaul before. Men who had not spoken a dozen words to him in as many daysgathered his few belongings and stuffed them awkwardly into his satchel. Jackson Hines prepared the bed of straw and warm blankets in the bottomof the sleigh that was to take him out. 

"He would have made a good boss, " said the old fellow. "He's a hard manto nick. "

Thorpe was carried in from the front, and the battle went on withouthim. 

Chapter XII

Thorpe never knew how carefully he was carried to camp, nor how tenderlythe tote teamster drove his hay-couched burden to Beeson Lake. He had noconsciousness of the jolting train, in the baggage car of which Jimmy, the little brakeman, and Bud, and the baggage man spread blankets, andaltogether put themselves to a great deal of trouble. When finally hecame to himself, he was in a long, bright, clean room, and the sunsetwas throwing splashes of light on the ceiling over his head. 

He watched them idly for a time; then turned on his pillow. At once heperceived a long, double row of clean white-painted iron beds, on whichlay or sat figures of men. Other figures, of women, glided here andthere noiselessly. They wore long, spreading dove-gray clothes, with astarched white kerchief drawn over the shoulders and across the breast. Their heads were quaintly white-garbed in stiff winglike coifs, fittingclose about the oval of the face. Then Thorpe sighed comfortably, andclosed his eyes and blessed the chance that he had bought a hospitalticket of the agent who had visited camp the month before. For thesewere Sisters, and the young man lay in the Hospital of St. Mary. 

Time was when the lumber-jack who had the misfortune to fall sick or tomeet with an accident was in a sorry plight indeed. If he possessed a"stake, " he would receive some sort of unskilled attention in one of thenumerous and fearful lumberman's boarding-houses, --just so long as hismoney lasted, not one instant more. Then he was bundled brutally intothe street, no matter what his condition might be. Penniless, withoutfriends, sick, he drifted naturally to the county poorhouse. There hewas patched up quickly and sent out half-cured. The authorities werenot so much to blame. With the slender appropriations at their disposal, they found difficulty in taking care of those who came legitimatelyunder their jurisdiction. It was hardly to be expected that theywould welcome with open arms a vast army of crippled and diseased mentemporarily from the woods. The poor lumber-jack was often left brokenin mind and body from causes which a little intelligent care would haverendered unimportant. 

With the establishment of the first St. Mary's hospital, I think at BayCity, all this was changed. Now, in it and a half dozen others conductedon the same principles, the woodsman receives the best of medicines, nursing, and medical attendance. From one of the numerous agents whoperiodically visit the camps, he purchases for eight dollars a ticketwhich admits him at any time during the year to the hospital, where heis privileged to remain free of further charge until convalescent. Sovaluable are these institutions, and so excellently are they maintainedby the Sisters, that a hospital agent is always welcome, even inthose camps from which ordinary peddlers and insurance men are rigidlyexcluded. Like a great many other charities built on a common-senseself-supporting rational basis, the woods hospitals are under the RomanCatholic Church. 

In one of these hospitals Thorpe lay for six weeks suffering from asevere concussion of the brain. At the end of the fourth, his fever hadbroken, but he was pronounced as yet too weak to be moved. 

His nurse was a red-cheeked, blue-eyed, homely little Irish girl, brimming with motherly good-humor. When Thorpe found strength to talk, the two became friends. Through her influence he was moved to a bedabout ten feet from the window. Thence his privileges were three roofsand a glimpse of the distant river. 

The roofs were covered with snow. One day Thorpe saw it sink into itselfand gradually run away. The tinkle tinkle tank tank of drops soundedfrom his own eaves. Down the far-off river, sluggish reaches of icedrifted. Then in a night the blue disappeared from the stream. It becamea menacing gray, and even from his distance Thorpe could catch the swirlof its rising waters. A day or two later dark masses drifted or shotacross the field of his vision, and twice he thought he distinguishedmen standing upright and bold on single logs as they rushed down thecurrent. 

"What is the date?" he asked of the Sister. 

"The eleventh of March. "

"Isn't it early for the thaw?"

"Listen to 'im!" exclaimed the Sister delightedly. "Early is it! Sureth' freshet co't thim all. Look, darlint, ye kin see th' drive fromhere. "

"I see, " said Thorpe wearily, "when can I get out?"

"Not for wan week, " replied the Sister decidedly. 

At the end of the week Thorpe said good-by to his attendant, whoappeared as sorry to see him go as though the same partings did not cometo her a dozen times a year; he took two days of tramping the littletown to regain the use of his legs, and boarded the morning train forBeeson Lake. He did not pause in the village, but bent his steps to theriver trail. 

Chapter XIII

Thorpe found the woods very different from when he had first traversedthem. They were full of patches of wet earth and of sunshine; of darkpine, looking suddenly worn, and of fresh green shoots of needles, looking deliciously springlike. This was the contrast everywhere--stern, earnest, purposeful winter, and gay, laughing, careless spring. It wasimpossible not to draw in fresh spirits with every step. 

He followed the trail by the river. Butterballs and scoters paddledup at his approach. Bits of rotten ice occasionally swirled down thediminishing stream. The sunshine was clear and bright, but silveryrather than golden, as though a little of the winter's snow, --a lastethereal incarnation, --had lingered in its substance. Around every bendThorpe looked for some of Radway's crew "driving" the logs down thecurrent. He knew from chance encounters with several of the men in BayCity that Radway was still in camp; which meant, of course, that thelast of the season's operations were not yet finished. Five milesfurther Thorpe began to wonder whether this last conclusion might not beerroneous. The Cass Branch had shrunken almost to its original limits. Only here and there a little bayou or marsh attested recent freshets. The drive must have been finished, even this early, for the stream inits present condition would hardly float saw logs, certainly not inquantity. 

Thorpe, puzzled, walked on. At the banking ground he found empty skids. Evidently the drive was over. And yet even to Thorpe's ignorance, itseemed incredible that the remaining million and a half of logs had beenhauled, banked and driven during the short time he had lain in the BayCity hospital. More to solve the problem than in any hope of work, heset out up the logging road. 

Another three miles brought him to camp. It looked strangely wet andsodden and deserted. In fact, Thorpe found a bare half dozen peoplein it, --Radway, the cook, and four men who were helping to pack up themovables, and who later would drive out the wagons containing them. Thejobber showed strong traces of the strain he had undergone, but greetedThorpe almost jovially. He seemed able to show more of his real naturenow that the necessity of authority had been definitely removed. 

"Hullo, young man, " he shouted at Thorpe's mud-splashed figure, "comeback to view, the remains? All well again, heigh? That's good!"

He strode down to grip the young fellow heartily by the hand. It wasimpossible not to be charmed by the sincere cordiality of his manner. 

"I didn't know you were through, " explained Thorpe, "I came to see if Icould get a job. "

"Well now I AM sorry!" cried Radway, "you can turn in and help though, if you want to. "

Thorpe greeted the cook and old Jackson Hines, the only two whom heknew, and set to work to tie up bundles of blankets, and to collectaxes, peavies, and tools of all descriptions. This was evidently thelast wagon-trip, for little remained to be done. 

"I ought by rights to take the lumber of the roofs and floors, " observedRadway thoughtfully, "but I guess she don't matter. "

Thorpe had never seen him in better spirits. He ascribed the older man'shilarity to relief over the completion of a difficult task. That eveningthe seven dined together at one end of the long table. The big roomexhaled already the atmosphere of desertion. 

"Not much like old times, is she?" laughed Radway. "Can't you just shutyour eyes and hear Baptiste say, 'Mak' heem de soup one tam more forme'? She's pretty empty now. "

Jackson Hines looked whimsically down the bare board. "More room thanGod made for geese in Ireland, " was his comment. 

After supper they even sat outside for a little time to smoke theirpipes, chair-tilted against the logs of the cabins, but soon the chillof melting snow drove them indoors. The four teamsters played seven-upin the cook camp by the light of a barn lantern, while Thorpe and thecook wrote letters. Thorpe's was to his sister. 

"I have been in the hospital for about a month, " he wrote. "Nothingserious--a crack on the head, which is all right now. But I cannot gethome this summer, nor, I am afraid, can we arrange about the school thisyear. I am about seventy dollars ahead of where I was last fall, so yousee it is slow business. This summer I am going into a mill, but thewages for green labor are not very high there either, " and so on. 

When Miss Helen Thorpe, aged seventeen, received this document shestamped her foot almost angrily. "You'd think he was a day-laborer!"she cried. "Why doesn't he try for a clerkship or something in the citywhere he'd have a chance to use his brains!"

The thought of her big, strong, tanned brother chained to a desk rose toher, and she smiled a little sadly. 

"I know, " she went on to herself, "he'd rather be a common laborerin the woods than railroad manager in the office. He loves hisout-of-doors. "

"Helen!" called a voice from below, "if you're through up there, I wishyou'd come down and help me carry this rug out. "

The girl's eyes cleared with a snap. 

"So do I!" she cried defiantly, "so do I love out-of-doors! I likethe woods and the fields and the trees just as much as he does, onlydifferently; but I don't get out!"

And thus she came to feeling rebelliously that her brother had been alittle selfish in his choice of an occupation, that he sacrificed herinclinations to his own. She did not guess, --how could she?--his dreamsfor her. She did not see the future through his thoughts, but throughhis words. A negative hopelessness settled down on her, which soon herstrong spirit, worthy counterpart of her brother's, changed to morepositive rebellion. Thorpe had aroused antagonism where he craved onlylove. The knowledge of that fact would have surprised and hurt him, forhe was entirely without suspicion of it. He lived subjectively to sogreat a degree that his thoughts and aims took on a certain tangibleobjectivity, --they became so real to him that he quite overlooked thenecessity of communication to make them as real to others. He assumedunquestioningly that the other must know. So entirely had he thrownhimself into his ambition of making a suitable position for Helen, socontinually had he dwelt on it in his thoughts, so earnestly had hestriven for it in every step of the great game he was beginning to play, that it never occurred to him he should also concede a definite outwardmanifestation of his feeling in order to assure its acceptance. Thorpebelieved that he had sacrificed every thought and effort to his sister. Helen was becoming convinced that he had considered only himself. 

After finishing the letter which gave occasion to this train of thought, Thorpe lit his pipe and strolled out into the darkness. Opposite thelittle office he stopped amazed. 

Through the narrow window he could see Radway seated in front of thestove. Every attitude of the man denoted the most profound dejection. Hehad sunk down into his chair until he rested on almost the small of hisback, his legs were struck straight out in front of him, his chin restedon his breast, and his two arms hung listless at his side, a pipe halffalling from the fingers of one hand. All the facetious lines had turnedto pathos. In his face sorrowed the anxious, questing, wistful look ofthe St. Bernard that does not understand. 

"What's the matter with the boss, anyway?" asked Thorpe in a low voiceof Jackson Hines, when the seven-up game was finished. 

"H'aint ye heard?" inquired the old man in surprise. 

"Why, no. What?"

"Busted, " said the old man sententiously. 

"How? What do you mean?"

"What I say. He's busted. That freshet caught him too quick. They'smore'n a million and a half logs left in the woods that can't be got outthis year, and as his contract calls for a finished job, he don't getnothin' for what he's done. "

"That's a queer rig, " commented Thorpe. "He's done a lot of valuablework here, --the timber's cut and skidded, anyway; and he's delivereda good deal of it to the main drive. The M. & D. Outfit get all theadvantage of that. "

"They do, my son. When old Daly's hand gets near anything, it cramps. I don't know how the old man come to make such a contrac', but he did. Result is, he's out his expenses and time. "

To understand exactly the catastrophe that had occurred, it is necessaryto follow briefly an outline of the process after the logs have beenpiled on the banks. There they remain until the break-up attendanton spring shall flood the stream to a freshet. The rollways are thenbroken, and the saw logs floated down the river to the mill where theyare to be cut into lumber. 

If for any reason this transportation by water is delayed until theflood goes down, the logs are stranded or left in pools. Consequentlyevery logger puts into the two or three weeks of freshet water afeverish activity which shall carry his product through before the ebb. 

The exceptionally early break-up of this spring, combined with the factthat, owing to the series of incidents and accidents already sketched, the actual cutting and skidding had fallen so far behind, caught Radwayunawares. He saw his rollways breaking out while his teams were stillhauling in the woods. In order to deliver to the mouth of the CassBranch the three million already banked, he was forced to dropeverything else and attend strictly to the drive. This left still, ashas been stated, a million and a half on skidways, which Radway knew hewould be unable to get out that year. 

In spite of the jobber's certainty that his claim was thus annulled, andthat he might as well abandon the enterprise entirely for all he wouldever get out of it, he finished the "drive" conscientiously and saved tothe Company the logs already banked. Then he had interviewed Daly. Thelatter refused to pay him one cent. Nothing remained but to breakcamp and grin as best he might over the loss of his winter's work andexpenses. 

The next day Radway and Thorpe walked the ten miles of the river trailtogether, while the teamsters and the cook drove down the five teams. Under the influence of the solitude and a certain sympathy which Thorpemanifested, Radway talked--a very little. 

"I got behind; that's all there is to it, " he said. "I s'pose I oughtto have driven the men a little; but still, I don't know. It gets prettycold on the plains. I guess I bit off more than I could chew. "

His eye followed listlessly a frenzied squirrel swinging from the topsof poplars. 

"I wouldn't 'a done it for myself, " he went on. "I don't like theconfounded responsibility. They's too much worry connected with it all. I had a good snug little stake--mighty nigh six thousand. She's all gonenow. That'd have been enough for me--I ain't a drinkin' man. But thenthere was the woman and the kid. This ain't no country for woman-folks, and I wanted t' take little Lida out o' here. I had lots of experiencein the woods, and I've seen men make big money time and again, whodidn't know as much about it as I do. But they got there, somehow. SaysI, I'll make a stake this year--I'd a had twelve thousand in th' bank, if things'd have gone right--and then we'll jest move down aroundDetroit an' I'll put Lida in school. "

Thorpe noticed a break in the man's voice, and glancing suddenlytoward him was astounded to catch his eyes brimming with tears. Radwayperceived the surprise. 

"You know when I left Christmas?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"I was gone two weeks, and them two weeks done me. We was going slowenough before, God knows, but even with the rank weather and all, Ithink we'd have won out, if we could have held the same gait. "

Radway paused. Thorpe was silent. 

"The boys thought it was a mighty poor rig, my leaving that way. "

He paused again in evident expectation of a reply. Again Thorpe wassilent. 

"Didn't they?" Radway insisted. 

"Yes, they did, " answered Thorpe. 

The older man sighed. "I thought so, " he went on. "Well, I didn't go tospend Christmas. I went because Jimmy brought me a telegram that Lidawas sick with diphtheria. I sat up nights with her for 'leven days. "

"No bad after-effects, I hope?" inquired Thorpe. 

"She died, " said Radway simply. 

The two men tramped stolidly on. This was too great an affair for Thorpeto approach except on the knees of his spirit. After a long interval, during which the waters had time to still, the young man changed thesubject. 

"Aren't you going to get anything out of M. & D. ?" he asked. 

"No. Didn't earn nothing. I left a lot of their saw logs hung up in thewoods, where they'll deteriorate from rot and worms. This is their lastseason in this district. "

"Got anything left?"

"Not a cent. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Do!" cried the old woodsman, the fire springing to his eye. "Do! I'mgoing into the woods, by God! I'm going to work with my hands, and behappy! I'm going to do other men's work for them and take other men'spay. Let them do the figuring and worrying. I'll boss their gangs andmake their roads and see to their logging for 'em, but it's got to beTHEIRS. No! I'm going to be a free man by the G. Jumping Moses!"

Chapter XIV

Thorpe dedicated a musing instant to the incongruity of rejoicing over afreedom gained by ceasing to be master and becoming servant. 

"Radway, " said he suddenly, "I need money and I need it bad. I thinkyou ought to get something out of this job of the M. & D. --not much, butsomething. Will you give me a share of what I can collect from them?"

"Sure!" agreed the jobber readily, with a laugh. "Sure! But you won'tget anything. I'll give you ten per cent quick. "

"Good enough!" cried Thorpe. 

"But don't be too sure you'll earn day wages doing it, " warned theother. "I saw Daly when I was down here last week. "

"My time's not valuable, " replied Thorpe. "Now when we get to town Iwant your power of attorney and a few figures, after which I will notbother you again. "

The next day the young man called for the second time at the littlered-painted office under the shadow of the mill, and for the second timestood before the bulky power of the junior member of the firm. 

"Well, young man, what can I do for you?" asked the latter. 

"I have been informed, " said Thorpe without preliminary, "that youintend to pay John Radway nothing for the work done on the Cass Branchthis winter. Is that true?"

Daly studied his antagonist meditatively. "If it is true, what is it toyou?" he asked at length. 

"I am acting in Mr. Radway's interest. "

"You are one of Radway's men?"

"Yes. "

"In what capacity have you been working for him?"

"Cant-hook man, " replied Thorpe briefly. 

"I see, " said Daly slowly. Then suddenly, with an intensity of energythat startled Thorpe, he cried: "Now you get out of here! Right off!Quick!"

The younger man recognized the compelling and autocratic boss addressinga member of the crew. 

"I shall do nothing of the kind!" he replied with a flash of fire. 

The mill-owner leaped to his feet every inch a leader of men. Thorpe didnot wish to bring about an actual scene of violence. He had attained hisobject, which was to fluster the other out of his judicial calm. 

"I have Radway's power of attorney, " he added. 

Daly sat down, controlled himself with an effort, and growled out, "Whydidn't you say so?"

"Now I would like to know your position, " went on Thorpe. "I am not hereto make trouble, but as an associate of Mr. Radway, I have a rightto understand the case. Of course I have his side of the story, " hesuggested, as though convinced that a detailing of the other side mightchange his views. 

Daly considered carefully, fixing his flint-blue eyes unswervingly onThorpe's face. Evidently his scrutiny advised him that the young man wasa force to be reckoned with. 

"It's like this, " said he abruptly, "we contracted last fall with thisman Radway to put in five million feet of our timber, delivered tothe main drive at the mouth of the Cass Branch. In this he was to actindependently except as to the matter of provisions. Those he drew fromour van, and was debited with the amount of the same. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, " replied Thorpe. 

"In return we were to pay him, merchantable scale, four dollars athousand. If, however, he failed to put in the whole job, the contractwas void. "

"That's how I understand it, " commented Thorpe. "Well?"

"Well, he didn't get in the five million. There's a million and a halfhung up in the woods. "

"But you have in your hands three million and a half, which under thepresent arrangement you get free of any charge whatever. "

"And we ought to get it, " cried Daly. "Great guns! Here we intend to sawthis summer and quit. We want to get in every stick of timber we own soas to be able to clear out of here for good and all at the close of theseason; and now this condigned jobber ties us up for a million and ahalf. "

"It is exceedingly annoying, " conceded Thorpe, "and it is a good deal ofRadway's fault, I am willing to admit, but it's your fault too. "

"To be sure, " replied Daly with the accent of sarcasm. 

"You had no business entering into any such contract. It gave him noshow. "

"I suppose that was mainly his lookout, wasn't it? And as I already toldyou, we had to protect ourselves. "

"You should have demanded security for the completion of the work. Underyour present agreement, if Radway got in the timber, you were to pay hima fair price. If he didn't, you appropriated everything he had alreadydone. In other words, you made him a bet. "

"I don't care what you call it, " answered Daly, who had recovered hisgood-humor in contemplation of the security of his position. "The factstands all right. "

"It does, " replied Thorpe unexpectedly, "and I'm glad of it. Now let'sexamine a few figures. You owned five million feet of timber, whichat the price of stumpage" (standing trees) "was worth ten thousanddollars. "

"Well. "

"You come out at the end of the season with three million and a half ofsaw logs, which with the four dollars' worth of logging added, are worthtwenty-one thousand dollars. "

"Hold on!" cried Daly, "we paid Radway four dollars; we could have doneit ourselves for less. "

"You could not have done it for one cent less than four-twenty in thatcountry, " replied Thorpe, "as any expert will testify. "

"Why did we give it to Radway at four, then?"

"You saved the expense of a salaried overseer, and yourselves somebother, " replied Thorpe. "Radway could do it for less, because, for somestrange reason which you yourself do not understand, a jobber can alwayslog for less than a company. "

"We could have done it for four, " insisted Daly stubbornly, "but get on. What are you driving at? My time's valuable. "

"Well, put her at four, then, " agreed Thorpe. "That makes your saw logsworth over twenty thousand dollars. Of this value Radway added thirteenthousand. You have appropriated that much of his without paying him onecent. "

Daly seemed amused. "How about the million and a half feet of ours HEappropriated?" he asked quietly. 

"I'm coming to that. Now for your losses. At the stumpage rate yourmillion and a half which Radway 'appropriated' would be only threethousand. But for the sake of argument, we'll take the actual sum you'dhave received for saw logs. Even then the million and a half would onlyhave been worth between eight and nine thousand. Deducting this purelytheoretical loss Radway has occasioned you, from the amount he hasgained for you, you are still some four or five thousand ahead of thegame. For that you paid him nothing. "

"That's Radway's lookout. "

"In justice you should pay him that amount. He is a poor man. He hassunk all he owned in this venture, some twelve thousand dollars, and hehas nothing to live on. Even if you pay him five thousand, he has lostconsiderable, while you have gained. "

"How have we gained by this bit of philanthropy?"

"Because you originally paid in cash for all that timber on the stumpjust ten thousand dollars and you get from Radway saw logs to the valueof twenty, " replied Thorpe sharply. "Besides you still own the millionand a half which, if you do not care to put them in yourself, you cansell for something on the skids. "

"Don't you know, young man, that white pine logs on skids will spoilutterly in a summer? Worms get into em. "

"I do, " replied Thorpe, "unless you bark them; which process willcost you about one dollar a thousand. You can find any amount of smallpurchasers at reduced price. You can sell them easily at three dollars. That nets you for your million and a half a little over four thousanddollars more. Under the circumstances, I do not think that my requestfor five thousand is at all exorbitant. "

Daly laughed. "You are a shrewd figurer, and your remarks areinteresting, " said he. 

"Will you give five thousand dollars?" asked Thorpe. 

"I will not, " replied Daly, then with a sudden change of humor, "and nowI'll do a little talking. I've listened to you just as long as I'm goingto. I have Radway's contract in that safe and I live up to it. I'llthank you to go plumb to hell!"

"That's your last word, is it?" asked Thorpe, rising. 

"It is. "

"Then, " said he slowly and distinctly, "I'll tell you what I'll do. I intend to collect in full the four dollars a thousand for the threemillion and a half Mr. Radway has delivered to you. In return Mr. Radwaywill purchase of you at the stumpage rates of two dollars a thousand themillion and a half he failed to put in. That makes a bill against you, if my figuring is correct, of just eleven thousand dollars. You will paythat bill, and I will tell you why: your contract will be classed inany court as a gambling contract for lack of consideration. You have nolegal standing in the world. I call your bluff, Mr. Daly, and I'll fightyou from the drop of the hat through every court in Christendom. "

"Fight ahead, " advised Daly sweetly, who knew perfectly well thatThorpe's law was faulty. As a matter of fact the young man could havecollected on other grounds, but neither was aware of that. 

"Furthermore, " pursued Thorpe in addition, "I'll repeat my offer beforewitnesses; and if I win the first suit, I'll sue you for the money wecould have made by purchasing the extra million and a half before it hada chance to spoil. "

This statement had its effect, for it forced an immediate settlementbefore the pine on the skids should deteriorate. Daly lounged back witha little more deadly carelessness. 

"And, lastly, " concluded Thorpe, playing his trump card, "the suitfrom start to finish will be published in every important paper in thiscountry. If you do not believe I have the influence to do this, you areat liberty to doubt the fact. "

Daly was cogitating many things. He knew that publicity was the lastthing to be desired. Thorpe's statement had been made in view of thefact that much of the business of a lumber firm is done on credit. Hethought that perhaps a rumor of a big suit going against the firm mightweaken confidence. As a matter of fact, this consideration had no weightwhatever with the older man, although the threat of publicity actuallygained for Thorpe what he demanded. The lumberman feared the noise of aninvestigation solely and simply because his firm, like so many others, was engaged at the time in stealing government timber in the upperpeninsula. He did not call it stealing; but that was what it amountedto. Thorpe's shot in the air hit full. 

"I think we can arrange a basis of settlement, " he said finally. "Behere to-morrow morning at ten with Radway. "

"Very well, " said Thorpe. 

"By the way, " remarked Daly, "I don't believe I know your name?"

"Thorpe, " was the reply. 

"Well, Mr. Thorpe, " said the lumberman with cold anger, "if at any timethere is anything within my power or influence that you want--I'll seethat you don't get it. "

Chapter XV

The whole affair was finally compromised for nine thousand dollars. Radway, grateful beyond expression, insisted on Thorpe's acceptanceof an even thousand of it. With this money in hand, the latter feltjustified in taking a vacation for the purpose of visiting his sister, so in two days after the signing of the check he walked up the straightgarden path that led to Renwick's home. 

It was a little painted frame house, back from the street, fronted bya precise bit of lawn, with a willow bush at one corner. A white picketfence effectually separated it from a broad, shaded, not unpleasingstreet. An osage hedge and a board fence respectively bounded the sideand back. 

Under the low porch Thorpe rang the bell at a door flanked by two long, narrow strips of imitation stained glass. He entered then a little darkhall from which the stairs rose almost directly at the door, containingwith difficulty a hat-rack and a table on which rested a card tray withcards. In the course of greeting an elderly woman, he stepped into theparlor. This was a small square apartment carpeted in dark Brussels, and stuffily glorified in the bourgeois manner by a white marblemantel-piece, several pieces of mahogany furniture upholstered inhaircloth, a table on which reposed a number of gift books in celluloidand other fancy bindings, an old-fashioned piano with a doily and abit of china statuary, a cabinet or so containing such things as orespecimens, dried seaweed and coins, and a spindle-legged table or twoupholding glass cases garnished with stuffed birds and wax flowers. Theceiling was so low that the heavy window hangings depended almost fromthe angle of it and the walls. 

Thorpe, by some strange freak of psychology, suddenly recalled a wild, windy day in the forest. He had stood on the top of a height. He sawagain the sharp puffs of snow, exactly like the smoke from burstingshells, where a fierce swoop of the storm struck the laden tops ofpines; the dense swirl, again exactly like smoke but now of a greatfire, that marked the lakes. The picture super-imposed itself silentlyover this stuffy bourgeois respectability, like the shadow of a dream. He heard plainly enough the commonplace drawl of the woman before himoffering him the platitudes of her kind. 

"You are lookin' real well, Mr. Thorpe, " she was saying, "an' I justknow Helen will be glad to see you. She had a hull afternoon out to-dayand won't be back to tea. Dew set and tell me about what you've beena-doin' and how you're a-gettin' along. "

"No, thank you, Mrs. Renwick, " he replied, "I'll come back later. How isHelen?"

"She's purty well; and sech a nice girL I think she's getting righthandsome. "

"Can you tell me where she went?"

But Mrs. Renwick did not know. So Thorpe wandered about the maple-shadedstreets of the little town. 

For the purposes he had in view five hundred dollars would be nonetoo much. The remaining five hundred he had resolved to invest in hissister's comfort and happiness. He had thought the matter over and cometo his decision in that secretive, careful fashion so typical of him, working over every logical step of his induction so thoroughly thatit ended by becoming part of his mental fiber. So when he reached theconclusion it had already become to him an axiom. In presenting it assuch to his sister, he never realized that she had not followed withhim the logical steps, and so could hardly be expected to accept theconclusion out-of-hand. 

Thorpe wished to give his sister the best education possible in thecircumstances. She was now nearly eighteen years old. He knew likewisethat he would probably experience a great deal of difficulty in findinganother family which would afford the young girl quite the same equalitycoupled with so few disadvantages. Admitted that its level of intellectand taste was not high, Mrs. Renwick was on the whole a good influence. Helen had not in the least the position of servant, but of a daughter. She helped around the house; and in return she was fed, lodged andclothed for nothing. 

So though the money might have enabled Helen to live independently in amodest way for a year or so, Thorpe preferred that she remain where shewas. His game was too much a game of chance. He might find himself atthe end of the year without further means. Above all things he wishedto assure Helen's material safety until such time as he should be quitecertain of himself. 

In pursuance of this idea he had gradually evolved what seemed to him anexcellent plan. He had already perfected it by correspondence with Mrs. Renwick. It was, briefly, this: he, Thorpe, would at once hire a servantgirl, who would make anything but supervision unnecessary in so small ahousehold. The remainder of the money he had already paid for a year'stuition in the Seminary of the town. Thus Helen gained her leisureand an opportunity for study; and still retained her home in case ofreverse. 

Thorpe found his sister already a young lady. After the first delight ofmeeting had passed, they sat side by side on the haircloth sofa and tookstock of each other. 

Helen had developed from the school child to the woman. She was ahandsome girl, possessed of a slender, well-rounded form, deep hazeleyes with the level gaze of her brother, a clean-cut patrician face, and a thorough-bred neatness of carriage that advertised her good blood. Altogether a figure rather aloof, a face rather impassive; but with thepossibility of passion and emotion, and a will to back them. 

"Oh, but you're tanned and--and BIG!" she cried, kissing her brother. "You've had such a strange winter, haven't you?"

"Yes, " he replied absently. 

Another man would have struck her young imagination with the wild, freethrill of the wilderness. Thus he would have gained her sympathy andunderstanding. Thorpe was too much in earnest. 

"Things came a little better than I thought they were going to, towardthe last, " said he, "and I made a little money. "

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she cried. "Was it much?"

"No, not much, " he answered. The actual figures would have been so muchbetter! "I've made arrangements with Mrs. Renwick to hire a servantgirl, so you will have all your time free; and I have paid a year'stuition for you in the Seminary. "

"Oh!" said the girl, and fell silent. 

After a time, "Thank you very much, Harry dear. " Then after anotherinterval, "I think I'll go get ready for supper. "

Instead of getting ready for supper, she paced excitedly up and down herroom. 

"Oh, why DIDN'T he say what he was about?" she cried to herself. "Whydidn't he! Why didn't he!"

Next morning she opened the subject again. 

"Harry, dear, " said she, "I have a little scheme, and I want to see ifit is not feasible. How much will the girl and the Seminary cost?"

"About four hundred dollars. "

"Well now, see, dear. With four hundred dollars I can live for a yearvery nicely by boarding with some girls I know who live in a sort ofa club; and I could learn much more by going to the High School andcontinuing with some other classes I am interested in now. Why see, Harry!" she cried, all interest. "We have Professor Carghill come twicea week to teach us English, and Professor Johns, who teaches us history, and we hope to get one or two more this winter. If I go to the Seminary, I'll have to miss all that. And Harry, really I don't want to go to theSeminary. I don't think I should like it. I KNOW I shouldn't. "

"But why not live here, Helen?" he asked. 

"Because I'm TIRED of it!" she cried; "sick to the soul of thestuffiness, and the glass cases, and the--the GOODNESS of it!"

Thorpe remembered his vision of the wild, wind-tossed pines, andsighed. He wanted very, very much to act in accordance with his sister'sdesires, although he winced under the sharp hurt pang of the sensitiveman whose intended kindness is not appreciated. The impossibility ofcomplying, however, reacted to shut his real ideas and emotions the moreinscrutably within him. 

"I'm afraid you would not find the girls' boarding-club scheme a goodone, Helen, " said he. "You'd find it would work better in theory than inpractice. "

"But it has worked with the other girls!" she cried. 

"I think you would be better off here. "

Helen bravely choked back her disappointment. 

"I might live here, but let the Seminary drop, anyway. That would savea good deal, " she begged. "I'd get quite as much good out of my workoutside, and then we'd have all that money besides. "

"I don't know; I'll see, " replied Thorpe. "The mental discipline ofclass-room work might be a good thing. "

He had already thought of this modification himself, but with hischaracteristic caution, threw cold water on the scheme until he couldascertain definitely whether or not it was practicable. He had alreadypaid the tuition for the year, and was in doubt as to its repayment. Asa matter of fact, the negotiation took about two weeks. 

During that time Helen Thorpe went through her disappointment andemerged on the other side. Her nature was at once strong and adaptable. One by one she grappled with the different aspects of the case, andturned them the other way. By a tour de force she actually persuadedherself that her own plan was not really attractive to her. But whatheart-breaks and tears this cost her, only those who in their youth haveencountered such absolute negations of cherished ideas can guess. 

Then Thorpe told her. 

"I've fixed it, Helen, " said he. "You can attend the High School and theclasses, if you please. I have put the two hundred and fifty dollars outat interest for you. "

"Oh, Harry!" she cried reproachfully. "Why didn't you tell me before!"

He did not understand; but the pleasure of it had all faded. She nolonger felt enthusiasm, nor gratitude, nor anything except a dullfeeling that she had been unnecessarily discouraged. And on his side, Thorpe was vaguely wounded. 

The days, however, passed in the main pleasurably for them both. Theywere fond of one another. The barrier slowly rising between them was notyet cemented by lack of affection on either side, but rather by lack ofbelief in the other's affection. Helen imagined Thorpe's interest inher becoming daily more perfunctory. Thorpe fancied his sister cold, unreasoning, and ungrateful. As yet this was but the vague dust of acloud. They could not forget that, but for each other, they were alonein the world. Thorpe delayed his departure from day to day, making allthe preparations he possibly could at home. 

Finally Helen came on him busily unpacking a box which a dray had leftat the door. He unwound and laid one side a Winchester rifle, a varietyof fishing tackle, and some other miscellanies of the woodsman. Helenwas struck by the beauty of the sporting implements. 

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, "aren't they fine! What are you going to do withthem?"

"Going camping, " replied Thorpe, his head in the excelsior. 

"When?"

"This summer. "

Helen's eyes lit up with a fire of delight. "How nice! May I go withyou?" she cried. 

Thorpe shook his head. 

"I'm afraid not, little girl. It's going to be a hard trip a long waysfrom anywhere. You couldn't stand it. "

"I'm sure I could. Try me. "

"No, " replied Thorpe. "I know you couldn't. We'll be sleeping on theground and going on foot through much extremely difficult country. "

"I wish you'd take me somewhere, " pursued Helen. "I can't get away thissummer unless you do. Why don't you camp somewhere nearer home, so I cango?"

Thorpe arose and kissed her tenderly. He was extremely sorry that hecould not spend the summer with his sister, but he believed likewisethat their future depended to a great extent on this very trip. But hedid not say so. 

"I can't, little girl; that's all. We've got our way to make. "

She understood that he considered the trip too expensive for them both. At this moment a paper fluttered from the excelsior. She picked it up. Aglance showed her a total of figures that made her gasp. 

"Here is your bill, " she said with a strange choke in her voice, andleft the room. 

"He can spend sixty dollars on his old guns; but he can't afford to letme leave this hateful house, " she complained to the apple tree. "Hecan go 'way off camping somewhere to have a good time, but he leaves mesweltering in this miserable little town all summer. I don't care if heIS supporting me. He ought to. He's my brother. Oh, I wish I were a man;I wish I were dead!"

Three days later Thorpe left for the north. He was reluctant to go. Whenthe time came, he attempted to kiss Helen good-by. She caught sight ofthe rifle in its new leather and canvas case, and on a sudden impulsewhich she could not explain to herself, she turned away her face andran into the house. Thorpe, vaguely hurt, a little resentful, as thegenuinely misunderstood are apt to be, hesitated a moment, then trudgeddown the street. Helen too paused at the door, choking back her grief. 

"Harry! Harry!" she cried wildly; but it was too late. 

Both felt themselves to be in the right. Each realized this fact in theother. Each recognized the impossibility of imposing his own point ofview over the other's. 

PART II. THE LANDLOOKER

Chapter XVI

In every direction the woods. Not an opening of any kind offeredthe mind a breathing place under the free sky. Sometimes the pinegroves, --vast, solemn, grand, with the patrician aloofness of thetruly great; sometimes the hardwood, --bright, mysterious, full of life;sometimes the swamps, --dark, dank, speaking with the voices of theshyer creatures; sometimes the spruce and balsam thickets, --aromatic, enticing. But never the clear, open sky. 

And always the woods creatures, in startling abundance and tameness. Thesolitary man with the packstraps across his forehead and shoulders hadnever seen so many of them. They withdrew silently before him ashe advanced. They accompanied him on either side, watching him withintelligent, bright eyes. They followed him stealthily for a littledistance, as though escorting him out of their own particular territory. Dozens of times a day the traveller glimpsed the flaunting white flagsof deer. Often the creatures would take but a few hasty jumps, and thenwould wheel, the beautiful embodiments of the picture deer, to snort andpaw the leaves. Hundreds of birds, of which he did not know the name, stooped to his inspection, whirred away at his approach, or went abouttheir business with hardy indifference under his very eyes. Blaseporcupines trundled superbly from his path. Once a mother-partridgesimulated a broken wing, fluttering painfully. Early one morning thetraveller ran plump on a fat lolling bear, taking his ease from the newsun, and his meal from a panic stricken army of ants. As beseemed twoinnocent wayfarers they honored each other with a salute of surprise, and went their way. And all about and through, weaving, watching, movinglike spirits, were the forest multitudes which the young man never saw, but which he divined, and of whose movements he sometimes caught for asingle instant the faintest patter or rustle. It constituted the mysteryof the forest, that great fascinating, lovable mystery which, once itsteals into the heart of a man, has always a hearing and a longing whenit makes its voice heard. 

The young man's equipment was simple in the extreme. Attached to a heavyleather belt of cartridges hung a two-pound ax and a sheath knife. Inhis pocket reposed a compass, an air-tight tin of matches, and a mapdrawn on oiled paper of a district divided into sections. Some few ofthe sections were colored, which indicated that they belonged to privateparties. All the rest was State or Government land. He carried in hishand a repeating rifle. The pack, if opened, would have been found tocontain a woolen and a rubber blanket, fishing tackle, twenty pounds orso of flour, a package of tea, sugar, a slab of bacon carefully wrappedin oiled cloth, salt, a suit of underwear, and several extra pairs ofthick stockings. To the outside of the pack had been strapped a fryingpan, a tin pail, and a cup. 

For more than a week Thorpe had journeyed through the forest withoutmeeting a human being, or seeing any indications of man, exceptingalways the old blaze of the government survey. Many years before, officials had run careless lines through the country along thesection-boundaries. At this time the blazes were so weather-beaten thatThorpe often found difficulty in deciphering the indications markedon them. These latter stated always the section, the township, and therange east or west by number. All Thorpe had to do was to find the samefigures on his map. He knew just where he was. By means of his compasshe could lay his course to any point that suited his convenience. 

The map he had procured at the United States Land Office in Detroit. Hehad set out with the scanty equipment just described for the purpose of"looking" a suitable bunch of pine in the northern peninsula, which, atthat time, was practically untouched. Access to its interior could beobtained only on foot or by river. The South Shore Railroad was alreadyengaged in pushing a way through the virgin forest, but it had as yetpenetrated only as far as Seney; and after all, had been projected morewith the idea of establishing a direct route to Duluth and the copperdistricts than to aid the lumber industry. Marquette, Menominee, and afew smaller places along the coast were lumbering near at home; but theyshipped entirely by water. Although the rest of the peninsula also wasfinely wooded, a general impression obtained among the craft that itwould prove too inaccessible for successful operation. 

Furthermore, at that period, a great deal of talk was believed as to theinexhaustibility of Michigan pine. Men in a position to know what theywere talking about stated dogmatically that the forests of the southernpeninsula would be adequate for a great many years to come. Furthermore, the magnificent timber of the Saginaw, Muskegon, and Grand River valleysin the southern peninsula occupied entire attention. No one caredto bother about property at so great a distance from home. As aconsequence, few as yet knew even the extent of the resources so farnorth. 

Thorpe, however, with the far-sightedness of the born pioneer, hadperceived that the exploitation of the upper country was an affair of afew years only. 

The forests of southern Michigan were vast, but not limitless, and theyhad all passed into private ownership. The north, on the other hand, would not prove as inaccessible as it now seemed, for the carryingtrade would some day realize that the entire waterway of the Great Lakesoffered an unrivalled outlet. With that elementary discovery would begina rush to the new country. Tiring of a profitless employment furthersouth he resolved to anticipate it, and by acquiring his holdings beforegeneral attention should be turned that way, to obtain of the best. 

He was without money, and practically without friends; while Governmentand State lands cost respectively two dollars and a half and a dollarand a quarter an acre, cash down. But he relied on the good sense ofcapitalists to perceive, from the statistics which his explorationswould furnish, the wonderful advantage of logging a new country with thechain of Great Lakes as shipping outlet at its very door. In return forhis information, he would expect a half interest in the enterprise. Thisis the usual method of procedure adopted by landlookers everywhere. 

We have said that the country was quite new to logging, but thestatement is not strictly accurate. Thorpe was by no means the first tosee the money in northern pine. Outside the big mill districts alreadynamed, cuttings of considerable size were already under way, the logsfrom which were usually sold to the mills of Marquette or Menominee. Here and there along the best streams, men had already begun operations. 

But they worked on a small scale and with an eye to the immediatepresent only; bending their efforts to as large a cut as possible eachseason rather than to the acquisition of holdings for future operations. This they accomplished naively by purchasing one forty and cutting adozen. Thorpe's map showed often near the forks of an important stream asection whose coloring indicated private possession. Legally the ownershad the right only to the pine included in the marked sections; but ifanyone had taken the trouble to visit the district, he would have foundoperations going on for miles up and down stream. The colored squareswould prove to be nothing but so many excuses for being on the ground. The bulk of the pine of any season's cut he would discover had beenstolen from unbought State or Government land. 

This in the old days was a common enough trick. One man, at present awealthy and respected citizen, cut for six years, and owned just oneforty-acres! Another logged nearly fifty million feet from an eighty! Inthe State to-day live prominent business men, looked upon as models inevery way, good fellows, good citizens, with sons and daughters proudof their social position, who, nevertheless, made the bulk of theirfortunes by stealing Government pine. 

"What you want to-day, old man?" inquired a wholesale lumber dealer ofan individual whose name now stands for domestic and civic virtue. 

"I'll have five or six million saw logs to sell you in the spring, and Iwant to know what you'll give for them. "

"Go on!" expostulated the dealer with a laugh, "ain't you got that fortyall cut yet?"

"She holds out pretty well, " replied the other with a grin. 

An official, called the Inspector, is supposed to report such stealings, after which another official is to prosecute. Aside from the fact thatthe danger of discovery is practically zero in so wild and distant acountry, it is fairly well established that the old-time logger foundthese two individuals susceptible to the gentle art of "sugaring. "The officials, as well as the lumberman, became rich. If worst cameto worst, and investigation seemed imminent, the operator could stillpurchase the land at legal rates, and so escape trouble. But theintention to appropriate was there, and, to confess the truth, thewhitewashing by purchase needed but rarely to be employed. I have timeand again heard landlookers assert that the old Land Offices were rarely"on the square, " but as to that I cannot, of course, venture an opinion. 

Thorpe was perfectly conversant with this state of affairs. He knew, also, that in all probability many of the colored districts on his maprepresented firms engaged in steals of greater or less magnitude. He wasfurther aware that most of the concerns stole the timber because it wascheaper to steal than to buy; but that they would buy readily enoughif forced to do so in order to prevent its acquisition by another. Thisother might be himself. In his exploration, therefore, he decided toemploy the utmost circumspection. As much as possible he purposed toavoid other men; but if meetings became inevitable, he hoped to mask hisreal intentions. He would pose as a hunter and fisherman. 

During the course of his week in the woods, he discovered that hewould be forced eventually to resort to this expedient. He encounteredquantities of fine timber in the country through which he travelled, andsome day it would be logged, but at present the difficulties were toogreat. The streams were shallow, or they did not empty into a goodshipping port. Investors would naturally look first for holdings alongthe more practicable routes. 

A cursory glance sufficed to show that on such waters the little redsquares had already blocked a foothold for other owners. Thorpe surmisedthat he would undoubtedly discover fine unbought timber along theirbanks, but that the men already engaged in stealing it would hardly belikely to allow him peaceful acquisition. 

For a week, then, he journeyed through magnificent timber withoutfinding what he sought, working always more and more to the north, untilfinally he stood on the shores of Superior. Up to now the streams hadnot suited him. He resolved to follow the shore west to the mouth of afairly large river called the Ossawinamakee. * It showed, in common withmost streams of its size, land already taken, but Thorpe hoped to findgood timber nearer the mouth. After several days' hard walking with thisobject in view, he found himself directly north of a bend in the river;so, without troubling to hunt for its outlet into Superior, he turnedthrough the woods due south, with the intention of striking in on thestream. This he succeeded in accomplishing some twenty miles inland, where also he discovered a well-defined and recently used trail leadingup the river. Thorpe camped one night at the bend, and then set out tofollow the trail. 

 * Accent the last syllable. 

It led him for upwards of ten miles nearly due south, sometimesapproaching, sometimes leaving the river, but keeping always in itsdirection. The country in general was rolling. Low parallel ridges ofgentle declivity glided constantly across his way, their valleys slopingto the river. Thorpe had never seen a grander forest of pine than thatwhich clothed them. 

For almost three miles, after the young man had passed through apreliminary jungle of birch, cedar, spruce, and hemlock, it ran withouta break, clear, clean, of cloud-sweeping altitude, without underbrush. Most of it was good bull-sap, which is known by the fineness ofthe bark, though often in the hollows it shaded gradually into therough-skinned cork pine. In those days few people paid any attention tothe Norway, and hemlock was not even thought of. With every foot of theway Thorpe became more and more impressed. 

At first the grandeur, the remoteness, the solemnity of the virginforest fell on his spirit with a kind of awe. The tall, straight trunkslifted directly upwards to the vaulted screen through which the skyseemed as remote as the ceiling of a Roman church. Ravens wheeled andcroaked in the blue, but infinitely far away. Some lesser noises woveinto the stillness without breaking the web of its splendor, for thepine silence laid soft, hushing fingers on the lips of those who mightwaken the sleeping sunlight. 

Then the spirit of the pioneer stirred within his soul. The wildernesssent forth its old-time challenge to the hardy. In him awoke thatinstinct which, without itself perceiving the end on which it is bent, clears the way for the civilization that has been ripening in old-worldhot-houses during a thousand years. Men must eat; and so the soil mustbe made productive. We regret, each after his manner, the passing ofthe Indian, the buffalo, the great pine forests, for they are of thepicturesque; but we live gladly on the product of the farms that havetaken their places. Southern Michigan was once a pine forest: now thetwisted stump-fences about the most fertile farms of the north alonebreak the expanse of prairie and of trim "wood-lots. "

Thorpe knew little of this, and cared less. These feathered trees, standing close-ranked and yet each isolate in the dignity and gravityof a sphinx of stone set to dancing his blood of the frontiersman. He spread out his map to make sure that so valuable a clump of timberremained still unclaimed. A few sections lying near the headwaters wereall he found marked as sold. He resumed his tramp light-heartedly. 

At the ten-mile point he came upon a dam. It was a crude dam, --built oflogs, --whose face consisted of strong buttresses slanted up-stream, andwhose sheer was made of unbarked timbers laid smoothly side by side atthe required angle. At present its gate was open. Thorpe could seethat it was an unusually large gate, with a powerful apparatus for theraising and the lowering of it. 

The purpose of the dam in this new country did not puzzle him in theleast, but its presence bewildered him. Such constructions are oftenthrown across logging streams at proper intervals in order that theoperator may be independent of the spring freshets. When he wishes to"drive" his logs to the mouth of the stream, he first accumulates a headof water behind his dams, and then, by lifting the gates, creates anartificial freshet sufficient to float his timber to the pool formed bythe next dam below. The device is common enough; but it is expensive. People do not build dams except in the certainty of some years oflogging, and quite extensive logging at that. If the stream happens tobe navigable, the promoter must first get an Improvement Charter from aboard of control appointed by the State. So Thorpe knew that he had todeal, not with a hand-to-mouth-timber-thief, but with a great companypreparing to log the country on a big scale. 

He continued his journey. At noon he came to another and similarstructure. The pine forest had yielded to knolls of hardwood separatedby swamp-holes of blackthorn. Here he left his pack and pushed aheadin light marching order. About eight miles above the first dam, andeighteen from the bend of the river, he ran into a "slashing" of theyear before. The decapitated stumps were already beginning to turn brownwith weather, the tangle of tops and limbs was partially concealed bypoplar growths and wild raspberry vines. Parenthetically, it may beremarked that the promptitude with which these growths succeed thecutting of the pine is an inexplicable marvel. Clear forty acres atrandom in the very center of a pine forest, without a tract of poplarwithin an hundred miles; the next season will bring up the fresh shoots. Some claim that blue jays bring the seeds in their crops. Others inclineto the theory that the creative elements lie dormant in the soil, needing only the sun to start them to life. Final speculation isimpossible, but the fact stands. 

To Thorpe this particular clearing became at once of the greatestinterest. He scrambled over and through the ugly debris which for ayear or two after logging operations cumbers the ground. By a ratherprolonged search he found what he sought, --the "section corners" ofthe tract, on which the government surveyor had long ago marked the"descriptions. " A glance at the map confirmed his suspicions. Theslashing lay some two miles north of the sections designated asbelonging to private parties. It was Government land. 

Thorpe sat down, lit a pipe, and did a little thinking. 

As an axiom it may be premised that the shorter the distance logs haveto be transported, the less it costs to get them in. Now Thorpe had thatvery morning passed through beautiful timber lying much nearer the mouthof the river than either this, or the sections further south. Why hadthese men deliberately ascended the stream? Why had they stolen timbereighteen miles from the bend, when they could equally well have stolenjust as good fourteen miles nearer the terminus of their drive?

Thorpe ruminated for some time without hitting upon a solution. Thensuddenly he remembered the two dams, and his idea that the men in chargeof the river must be wealthy and must intend operating on a large scale. He thought he glimpsed it. After another pipe, he felt sure. 

The Unknowns were indeed going in on a large scale. They intendedeventually to log the whole of the Ossawinamakee basin. For this reasonthey had made their first purchase, planted their first foot-hold, nearthe headwaters. Furthermore, located as they were far from a present oran immediately future civilization, they had felt safe in leaving forthe moment their holdings represented by the three sections alreadydescribed. Some day they would buy all the standing Government pinein the basin; but in the meantime they would steal all they could at asufficient distance from the lake to minimize the danger of discovery. They had not dared to appropriate the three mile tract Thorpe had passedthrough, because in that locality the theft would probably be remarked, so they intended eventually to buy it. Until that should becomenecessary, however, every stick cut meant so much less to purchase. 

"They're going to cut, and keep on cutting, working down river as fastas they can, " argued Thorpe. "If anything happens so they have to, they'll buy in the pine that is left; but if things go well with them, they'll take what they can for nothing. They're getting this stuff outup-river first, because they can steal safer while the country isstill unsettled; and even when it does fill up, there will not be muchlikelihood of an investigation so far in-country, --at least until afterthey have folded their tents. "

It seems to us who are accustomed to the accurate policing of ourtwentieth century, almost incredible that such wholesale robberiesshould have gone on with so little danger of detection. Certainlydetection was a matter of sufficient simplicity. Someone happens along, like Thorpe, carrying a Government map in his pocket. He runs across aparcel of unclaimed land already cut over. It would seem easy to lodge acomplaint, institute a prosecution against the men known to have put inthe timber. BUT IT IS ALMOST NEVER DONE. 

Thorpe knew that men occupied in so precarious a business would bekeenly on the watch. At the first hint of rivalry, they would buy in thetimber they had selected. But the situation had set his fighting bloodto racing. The very fact that these men were thieves on so big ascale made him the more obstinately determined to thwart them. Theyundoubtedly wanted the tract down river. Well, so did he!

He purposed to look it over carefully, to ascertain its exact boundariesand what sections it would be necessary to buy in order to include it, and perhaps even to estimate it in a rough way. In the accomplishment ofthis he would have to spend the summer, and perhaps part of the fall, in that district. He could hardly expect to escape notice. By theindications on the river, he judged that a crew of men had shortlybefore taken out a drive of logs. After the timber had been rafted andtowed to Marquette, they would return. He might be able to hide inthe forest, but sooner or later, he was sure, one of the company'slandlookers or hunters would stumble on his camp. Then his veryconcealment would tell them what he was after. The risk was too great. For above all things Thorpe needed time. He had, as has been said, toascertain what he could offer. Then he had to offer it. He would beforced to interest capital, and that is a matter of persuasion andleisure. 

Finally his shrewd, intuitive good-sense flashed the solution on him. He returned rapidly to his pack, assumed the straps, and arrived at thefirst dam about dark of the long summer day. 

There he looked carefully about him. Some fifty feet from the water'sedge a birch knoll supported, besides the birches, a single big hemlock. With his belt ax, Thorpe cleared away the little white trees. He stuckthe sharpened end of one of them in the bark of the shaggy hemlock, fastened the other end in a crotch eight or ten feet distant, slantedthe rest of the saplings along one side of this ridge pole, and turnedin, after a hasty supper, leaving the completion of his permanent campto the morrow. 

Chapter XVII

In the morning he thatched smooth the roof of the shelter, using forthe purpose the thick branches of hemlocks; placed two green spruce logsside by side as cooking range; slung his pot on a rod across two forkedsticks; cut and split a quantity of wood; spread his blankets; andcalled himself established. His beard was already well grown, and hisclothes had become worn by the brush and faded by the sun and rain. In the course of the morning he lay in wait very patiently near a spotoverflowed by the river, where, the day before, he had noticed lily-padsgrowing. After a time a doe and a spotted fawn came and stood ankle-deepin the water, and ate of the lily-pads. Thorpe lurked motionless behindhis screen of leaves; and as he had taken the precaution so to stationhimself that his hiding-place lay downwind, the beautiful animals wereunaware of his presence. 

By and by a prong-buck joined them. He was a two-year-old, young, tender, with the velvet just off his antlers. Thorpe aimed at hisshoulder, six inches above the belly-line, and pressed the trigger. Asthough by enchantment the three woods creatures disappeared. But thehunter had noticed that, whereas the doe and fawn flourished bravely thebroad white flags of their tails, the buck had seemed but a streak ofbrown. By this he knew he had hit. 

Sure enough, after two hundred yards of following the prints of sharphoofs and occasional gobbets of blood on the leaves, he came upon hisprey dead. It became necessary to transport the animal to camp. Thorpestuck his hunting knife deep into the front of the deer's chest, wherethe neck joins, which allowed most of the blood to drain away. Then hefastened wild grape vines about the antlers, and, with a little exertiondrew the body after him as though it had been a toboggan. 

It slid more easily than one would imagine, along the grain; but not aseasily as by some other methods with which Thorpe was unfamiliar. 

At camp he skinned the deer, cut most of the meat into thin strips whichhe salted and placed in the sun to dry, and hung the remainder in a coolarbor of boughs. The hide he suspended over a pole. 

All these things he did hastily, as though he might be in a hurry; asindeed he was. 

At noon he cooked himself a venison steak and some tea. Then with hishatchet he cut several small pine poles, which he fashioned roughly ina number of shapes and put aside for the future. The brains of the deer, saved for the purpose, he boiled with water in his tin pail, wishing itwere larger. With the liquor thus obtained he intended later to removethe hair and grain from the deer hide. Toward evening he caught a dozentrout in the pool below the dam. These he ate for supper. 

Next day he spread the buck's hide out on the ground and drenched itliberally with the product of deer-brains. Later the hide was soaked inthe river, after which, by means of a rough two-handled spatula, Thorpewas enabled after much labor to scrape away entirely the hair and grain. He cut from the edge of the hide a number of long strips of raw-hide, but anointed the body of the skin liberally with the brain liquor. 

"Glad I don't have to do that every day!" he commented, wiping his browwith the back of his wrist. 

As the skin dried he worked and kneaded it to softness. The result wasa fair quality of white buckskin, the first Thorpe had ever made. Ifwetted, it would harden dry and stiff. Thorough smoking in the fumes ofpunk maple would obviate this, but that detail Thorpe left until later. 

"I don't know whether it's all necessary, " he said to himselfdoubtfully, "but if you're going to assume a disguise, let it be a goodone. "

In the meantime, he had bound together with his rawhide thongs severalof the oddly shaped pine timbers to form a species of dead-fall trap. Itwas slow work, for Thorpe's knowledge of such things was theoretical. Hehad learned his theory well, however, and in the end arrived. 

All this time he had made no effort to look over the pine, nor did heintend to begin until he could be sure of doing so in safety. His objectnow was to give his knoll the appearances of a trapper's camp. 

Towards the end of the week he received his first visit. Evening wasdrawing on, and Thorpe was busily engaged in cooking a panful of trout, resting the frying pan across the two green spruce logs between whichglowed the coals. Suddenly he became aware of a presence at his side. How it had reached the spot he could not imagine, for he had heard noapproach. He looked up quickly. 

"How do, " greeted the newcomer gravely. 

The man was an Indian, silent, solemn, with the straight, unwinking gazeof his race. 

"How do, " replied Thorpe. 

The Indian without further ceremony threw his pack to the ground, and, squatting on his heels, watched the white man's preparations. When themeal was cooked, he coolly produced a knife, selected a clean bit ofhemlock bark, and helped himself. Then he lit a pipe, and gazed keenlyabout him. The buckskin interested him. 

"No good, " said he, feeling of its texture. 

Thorpe laughed. "Not very, " he confessed. 

"Good, " continued the Indian, touching lightly his own moccasins. 

"What you do?" he inquired after a long silence, punctuated by the puffsof tobacco. 

"Hunt; trap; fish, " replied Thorpe with equal sententiousness. 

"Good, " concluded the Indian, after a ruminative pause. 

That night he slept on the ground. Next day he made a better shelterthan Thorpe's in less than half the time; and was off hunting beforethe sun was an hour high. He was armed with an old-fashioned smooth-boremuzzle-loader; and Thorpe was astonished, after he had become betteracquainted with his new companion's methods, to find that he hunted deerwith fine bird shot. The Indian never expected to kill or even mortallywound his game; but he would follow for miles the blood drops caused byhis little wounds, until the animals in sheer exhaustion allowed him toapproach close enough for a dispatching blow. At two o'clock he returnedwith a small buck, tied scientifically together for toting, with thewaste parts cut away, but every ounce of utility retained. 

"I show, " said the Indian:--and he did. Thorpe learned the Indian tan;of what use are the hollow shank bones; how the spinal cord is thetoughest, softest, and most pliable sewing-thread known. 

The Indian appeared to intend making the birch-knoll his permanentheadquarters. Thorpe was at first a little suspicious of his newcompanion, but the man appeared scrupulously honest, was neverintrusive, and even seemed genuinely desirous of teaching the whitelittle tricks of the woods brought to their perfection by the Indianalone. He ended by liking him. The two rarely spoke. They merely satnear each other, and smoked. One evening the Indian suddenly remarked:

"You look 'um tree. "

"What's that?" cried Thorpe, startled. 

"You no hunter, no trapper. You look 'um tree, for make 'um lumber. "

The white had not begun as yet his explorations. He did not dare untilthe return of the logging crew or the passing of someone in authority atthe up-river camp, for he wished first to establish in their minds theinnocence of his intentions. 

"What makes you think that, Charley?" he asked. 

"You good man in woods, " replied Injin Charley sententiously, "I tell byway you look at him pine. "

Thorpe ruminated. 

"Charley, " said he, "why are you staying here with me?"

"Big frien', " replied the Indian promptly. 

"Why are you my friend? What have I ever done for you?"

"You gottum chief's eye, " replied his companion with simplicity. 

Thorpe looked at the Indian again. There seemed to be only one course. 

"Yes, I'm a lumberman, " he confessed, "and I'm looking for pine. But, Charley, the men up the river must not know what I'm after. "

"They gettum pine, " interjected the Indian like a flash. 

"Exactly, " replied Thorpe, surprised afresh at the other's perspicacity. 

"Good!" ejaculated Injin Charley, and fell silent. 

With this, the longest conversation the two had attempted in theirpeculiar acquaintance, Thorpe was forced to be content. He was, however, ill at ease over the incident. It added an element of uncertainty to analready precarious position. 

Three days later he was intensely thankful the conversation had takenplace. 

After the noon meal he lay on his blanket under the hemlock shelter, smoking and lazily watching Injin Charley busy at the side of the trail. The Indian had terminated a long two days' search by toting from theforest a number of strips of the outer bark of white birch, in its greenstate pliable as cotton, thick as leather, and light as air. Thesehe had cut into arbitrary patterns known only to himself, and was nowsewing as a long shapeless sort of bag or sac to a slender beech-woodoval. Later it was to become a birch-bark canoe, and the beech-wood ovalwould be the gunwale. 

So idly intent was Thorpe on this piece of construction that he didnot notice the approach of two men from the down-stream side. They wereshort, alert men, plodding along with the knee-bent persistency of thewoods-walker, dressed in broad hats, flannel shirts, coarse trouserstucked in high laced "cruisers "; and carrying each a bulging meal sacklooped by a cord across the shoulders and chest. Both were armed withlong slender scaler's rules. The first intimation Thorpe received of thepresence of these two men was the sound of their voices addressing InjinCharley. 

"Hullo Charley, " said one of them, "what you doing here? Ain't seen yousince th' Sturgeon district. "

"Mak' 'um canoe, " replied Charley rather obviously. 

"So I see. But what you expect to get in this Godforsaken country?"

"Beaver, muskrat, mink, otter. "

"Trapping, eh?" The man gazed keenly at Thorpe's recumbent figure. 

"Who's the other fellow?"

Thorpe held his breath; then exhaled it in a long sigh of relief. 

"Him white man, " Injin Charley was replying, "him hunt too. He mak' 'umbuckskin. "

The landlooker arose lazily and sauntered toward the group. It was partof his plan to be well recognized so that in the future he might arouseno suspicions. 

"Howdy, " he drawled, "got any smokin'?"

"How are you, " replied one of the scalers, eying him sharply, andtendering his pouch. Thorpe filled his pipe deliberately, and returnedit with a heavy-lidded glance of thanks. To all appearances he was oneof the lazy, shiftless white hunters of the backwoods. Seized with aninspiration, he said, "What sort of chances is they at your camp for alittle flour? Me and Charley's about out. I'll bring you meat; or I'llmake you boys moccasins. I got some good buckskin. "

It was the usual proposition. 

"Pretty good, I guess. Come up and see, " advised the scaler. "The crew'sright behind us. "

"I'll send up Charley, " drawled Thorpe, "I'm busy now makin' traps, " hewaved his pipe, calling attention to the pine and rawhide dead-falls. 

They chatted a few moments, practically and with an eye to the strictutility of things about them, as became woodsmen. Then two wagonscreaked lurching by, followed by fifteen or twenty men. Thelast of these, evidently the foreman, was joined by the two scalers. 

"What's that outfit?" he inquired with the sharpness of suspicion. 

"Old Injin Charley--you remember, the old boy that tanned that buck foryou down on Cedar Creek. "

"Yes, but the other fellow. "

"Oh, a hunter, " replied the scaler carelessly. 

"Sure?"

The man laughed. "Couldn't be nothin' else, " he asserted withconfidence. "Regular old backwoods mossback. "

At the same time Injin Charley was setting about the splitting of acedar log. 

"You see, " he remarked, "I big frien'. "

Chapter XVIII

In the days that followed, Thorpe cruised about the great woods. It wasslow business, but fascinating. He knew that when he should embarkon his attempt to enlist considerable capital in an "unsight unseen"investment, he would have to be well supplied with statistics. True, hewas not much of a timber estimator, nor did he know the methods usuallyemployed, but his experience, observation, and reading had developed alatent sixth sense by which he could appreciate quality, difficulties oflogging, and such kindred practical matters. 

First of all he walked over the country at large, to find where the besttimber lay. This was a matter of tramping; though often on an elevationhe succeeded in climbing a tall tree whence he caught bird's-eye viewsof the country at large. He always carried his gun with him, and wasprepared at a moment's notice to seem engaged in hunting, --either forgame or for spots in which later to set his traps. The expedient was, however, unnecessary. 

Next he ascertained the geographical location of the different clumpsand forests, entering the sections, the quarter-sections, even theseparate forties in his note-book; taking in only the "descriptions"containing the best pine. 

Finally he wrote accurate notes concerning the topography of each andevery pine district, --the lay of the land; the hills, ravines, swamps, and valleys; the distance from the river; the character of the soil. Inshort, he accumulated all the information he could by which the cost oflogging might be estimated. 

The work went much quicker than he had anticipated, mainly because hecould give his entire attention to it. Injin Charley attended to thecommissary, with a delight in the process that removed it from thecategory of work. When it rained, an infrequent occurrence, the two hungThorpe's rubber blankets before the opening of the driest shelter, and waited philosophically for the weather to clear. Injin Charley hadfinished the first canoe, and was now leisurely at work on another. Thorpe had filled his note-book with the class of statistics justdescribed. He decided now to attempt an estimate of the timber. 

For this he had really too little experience. He knew it, but determinedto do his best. The weak point of his whole scheme lay in that it wasgoing to be impossible for him to allow the prospective purchaser achance of examining the pine. That difficulty Thorpe hoped to overcomeby inspiring personal confidence in himself. If he failed to do so, hemight return with a landlooker whom the investor trusted, and the twocould re-enact the comedy of this summer. Thorpe hoped, however, toavoid the necessity. It would be too dangerous. He set about a roughestimate of the timber. 

Injin Charley intended evidently to work up a trade in buckskin duringthe coming winter. Although the skins were in poor condition at thistime of the year, he tanned three more, and smoked them. In the day-timehe looked the country over as carefully as did Thorpe. But he ignoredthe pines, and paid attention only to the hardwood and the beds oflittle creeks. Injin Charley was in reality a trapper, and he intendedto get many fine skins in this promising district. He worked on histanning and his canoe-making late in the afternoon. 

One evening just at sunset Thorpe was helping the Indian shape hiscraft. The loose sac of birch-bark sewed to the long beech oval wasslung between two tripods. Injin Charley had fashioned a number of thin, flexible cedar strips of certain arbitrary lengths and widths. Beginningwith the smallest of these, Thorpe and his companion were catching oneend under the beech oval, bending the strip bow-shape inside the sac, and catching again the other side of the oval. Thus the spring of thebent cedar, pressing against the inside of the birch-bark sac, distendedit tightly. The cut of the sac and the length of the cedar strips gaveto the canoe its graceful shape. 

The two men bent there at their task, the dull glow of evening fallingupon them. Behind them the knoll stood out in picturesque relief againstthe darker pine, the little shelters, the fire-places of green spruce, the blankets, the guns, a deer's carcass suspended by the feet from across pole, the drying buckskin on either side. The river rushed by witha never-ending roar and turmoil. Through its shouting one perceived, asthrough a mist, the still lofty peace of evening. 

A young fellow, hardly more than a boy, exclaimed with keen delight ofthe picturesque as his canoe shot around the bend into sight of it. 

The canoe was large and powerful, but well filled. An Indian knelt inthe stern; amidships was well laden with duffle of all descriptions;then the young fellow sat in the bow. He was a bright-faced, eager-eyed, curly-haired young fellow, all enthusiasm and fire. His figure was trimand clean, but rather slender; and his movements were quick but nervous. When he stepped carefully out on the flat rock to which his guidebrought the canoe with a swirl of the paddle, one initiated would haveseen that his clothes, while strong and serviceable, had been boughtfrom a sporting catalogue. There was a trimness, a neatness, about them. 

"This is a good place, " he said to the guide, "we'll camp here. " Then heturned up the steep bank without looking back. 

"Hullo!" he called in a cheerful, unembarrassed fashion to Thorpe andCharley. "How are you? Care if I camp here? What you making? By Jove!I never saw a canoe made before. I'm going to watch you. Keep right atit. "

He sat on one of the outcropping boulders and took off his hat. 

"Say! you've got a great place here! You here all summer? Hullo! you'vegot a deer hanging up. Are there many of 'em around here? I'd like tokill a deer first rate. I never have. It's sort of out of season now, isn't it?"

"We only kill the bucks, " replied Thorpe. 

"I like fishing, too, " went on the boy; "are there any here? In thepool? John, " he called to his guide, "bring me my fishing tackle. "

In a few moments he was whipping the pool with long, graceful drops ofthe fly. He proved to be adept. Thorpe and Injin Charley stopped workto watch him. At first the Indian's stolid countenance seemed a trifledoubtful. After a time it cleared. 

"Good! he grunted. 

"You do that well, " Thorpe remarked. "Is it difficult?"

"It takes practice, " replied the boy. "See that riffle?" He whipped thefly lightly within six inches of a little suction hole; a fish at oncerose and struck. 

The others had been little fellows and easily handled. At the end offifteen minutes the newcomer landed a fine two-pounder. 

"That must be fun, " commented Thorpe. "I never happened to get in withfly-fishing. I'd like to try it sometime. "

"Try it now!" urged the boy, enchanted that he could teach a woodsmananything. 

"No, " Thorpe declined, "not to-night, to-morrow perhaps. "

The other Indian had by now finished the erection of a tent, and hadbegun to cook supper over a little sheet-iron camp stove. Thorpe andCharley could smell ham. 

"You've got quite a pantry, " remarked Thorpe. 

"Won't you eat with me?" proffered the boy hospitably. 

But Thorpe declined. He could, however, see canned goods, hard tack, andcondensed milk. 

In the course of the evening the boy approached the older man's camp, and, with a charming diffidence, asked permission to sit awhile at theirfire. 

He was full of delight over everything that savored of the woods, orwoodscraft. The most trivial and everyday affairs of the life interestedhim. His eager questions, so frankly proffered, aroused even thetaciturn Charley to eloquence. The construction of the shelter, the cutof a deer's hide, the simple process of "jerking" venison, --all theseawakened his enthusiasm. 

"It must be good to live in the woods, " he said with a sigh, "to do allthings for yourself. It's so free!"

The men's moccasins interested him. He asked a dozen questions aboutthem, --how they were cut, whether they did not hurt the feet, how longthey would wear. He seemed surprised to learn that they are excellent incold weather. 

"I thought ANY leather would wet through in the snow!" he cried. "I wishI could get a pair somewhere!" he exclaimed. "You don't know where Icould buy any, do you?" he asked of Thorpe. 

"I don't know, " answered he, "perhaps Charley here will make you apair. "

"WILL you, Charley?" cried the boy. 

"I mak' him, " replied the Indian stolidly. 

The many-voiced night of the woods descended close about the littlecamp fire, and its soft breezes wafted stray sparks here and therelike errant stars. The newcomer, with shining eyes, breathed deep insatisfaction. He was keenly alive to the romance, the grandeur, themystery, the beauty of the littlest things, seeming to derive a deep andsolid contentment from the mere contemplation of the woods and its waysand creatures. 

"I just DO love this!" he cried again and again. "Oh, it's great, afterall that fuss down there!" and he cried it so fervently that the othermen present smiled; but so genuinely that the smile had in it nothingbut kindliness. 

"I came out for a month, " said he suddenly, "and I guess I'll stay therest of it right here. You'll let me go with you sometimes hunting, won't you?" he appealed to them with the sudden open-heartedness of achild. "I'd like first rate to kill a deer. "

"Sure, " said Thorpe, "glad to have you. "

"My name is Wallace Carpenter, " said the boy with a sudden unmistakableair of good-breeding. 

"Well, " laughed Thorpe, "two old woods loafers like us haven't got muchuse for names. Charley here is called Geezigut, and mine's nearly asbad; but I guess plain Charley and Harry will do. "

"All right, Harry, " replied Wallace. 

After the young fellow had crawled into the sleeping bag which his guidehad spread for him over a fragrant layer of hemlock and balsam, Thorpeand his companion smoked one more pipe. The whip-poor-wills called backand forth across the river. Down in the thicket, fine, clear, beautiful, like the silver thread of a dream, came the notes of thewhite-throat--the nightingale of the North. Injin Charley knocked thelast ashes from his pipe. 

"Him nice boy!" said he. 

Chapter XIX

The young fellow stayed three weeks, and was a constant joy to Thorpe. His enthusiasms were so whole-souled; his delight so perpetual; hisinterest so fresh! The most trivial expedients of woods lore seemedto him wonderful. A dozen times a day he exclaimed in admiration orsurprise over some bit of woodcraft practiced by Thorpe or one of theIndians. 

"Do you mean to say you have lived here six weeks and only brought inwhat you could carry on your backs!" he cried. 

"Sure, " Thorpe replied. 

"Harry, you're wonderful! I've got a whole canoe load, and imagined Iwas travelling light and roughing it. You beat Robinson Crusoe! He had awhole ship to draw from. "

"My man Friday helps me out, " answered Thorpe, laughingly indicatingInjin Charley. 

Nearly a week passed before Wallace managed to kill a deer. The animalswere plenty enough; but the young man's volatile and eager attentionstole his patience. And what few running shots offered, he missed, mainly because of buck fever. Finally, by a lucky chance, he brokea four-year-old's neck, dropping him in his tracks. The hunter wasdelighted. He insisted on doing everything for himself--cruel hard workit was too--including the toting and skinning. Even the tanning he hada share in. At first he wanted the hide cured, "with the hair on. " InjinCharley explained that the fur would drop out. It was the wrong seasonof the year for pelts. 

"Then we'll have buckskin and I'll get a buckskin shirt out of it, "suggested Wallace. 

Injin Charley agreed. One day Wallace returned from fishing in the poolto find that the Indian had cut out the garment, and was already sewingit together. 

"Oh!" he cried, a little disappointed, "I wanted to see it done!"

Injin Charley merely grunted. To make a buckskin shirt requires thehides of three deer. Charley had supplied the other two, and wished tokeep the young man from finding it out. 

Wallace assumed the woods life as a man would assume an unaccustomedgarment. It sat him well, and he learned fast, but he was alwaysconscious of it. He liked to wear moccasins, and a deer knife; he likedto cook his own supper, or pluck the fragrant hemlock browse for hispillow. Always he seemed to be trying to realize and to savor fully thecharm, the picturesqueness, the romance of all that he was doing andseeing. To Thorpe these things were a part of everyday life; mattersof expedient or necessity. He enjoyed them, but subconsciously, as oneenjoys an environment. Wallace trailed the cloak of his glories in frankadmiration of their splendor. 

This double point of view brought the men very close together. Thorpeliked the boy because he was open-hearted, free from affectation, assumptive of no superiority, --in short, because he was direct andsincere, although in a manner totally different from Thorpe's owndirectness and sincerity. Wallace, on his part, adored in Thorpe thefree, open-air life, the adventurous quality, the quiet hidden power, the resourcefulness and self-sufficiency of the pioneer. He was tooyoung as yet to go behind the picturesque or romantic; so he neverthought to inquire of himself what Thorpe did there in the wilderness, or indeed if he did anything at all. He accepted Thorpe for what hethought him to be, rather than for what he might think him to be. Thushe reposed unbounded confidence in him. 

After a while, observing the absolute ingenuousness of the boy, Thorpeused to take him from time to time on some of his daily trips to thepines. Necessarily he explained partially his position and the needof secrecy. Wallace was immensely excited and important at learning asecret of such moment, and deeply flattered at being entrusted with it. 

Some may think that here, considering the magnitude of the interestsinvolved, Thorpe committed an indiscretion. It may be; but if so, it waspractically an inevitable indiscretion. Strong, reticent characterslike Thorpe's prove the need from time to time of violating their ownnatures, of running counter to their ordinary habits of mind and deed. It is a necessary relaxation of the strenuous, a debauch of the soul. Its analogy in the lower plane is to be found in the dissipations ofmen of genius; or still lower in the orgies of fighters out of training. Sooner or later Thorpe was sure to emerge for a brief space from thatiron-bound silence of the spirit, of which he himself was the leastaware. It was not so much a hunger for affection, as the desire of astrong man temporarily to get away from his strength. Wallace Carpenterbecame in his case the exception to prove the rule. 

Little by little the eager questionings of the youth extracted a fullstatement of the situation. He learned of the timber-thieves up theriver, of their present operations; and their probable plans; of thevaluable pine lying still unclaimed; of Thorpe's stealthy raid intothe enemy's country. It looked big to him, epic!--These were tremendousforces in motion, here was intrigue, here was direct practicalapplication of the powers he had been playing with. 

"Why, it's great! It's better than any book I ever read!"

He wanted to know what he could do to help. 

"Nothing except keep quiet, " replied Thorpe, already uneasy, not lestthe boy should prove unreliable, but lest his very eagerness to seemunconcerned should arouse suspicion. "You mustn't try to act anydifferent. If the men from up-river come by, be just as cordial to themas you can, and don't act mysterious and important. "

"All right, " agreed Wallace, bubbling with excitement. "And then what doyou do--after you get the timber estimated?"

"I'll go South and try, quietly, to raise some money. That will bedifficult, because, you see, people don't know me; and I am not in aposition to let them look over the timber. Of course it will be merelya question of my judgment. They can go themselves to the Land Office andpay their money. There won't be any chance of my making way with that. The investors will become possessed of certain 'descriptions' lyingin this country, all right enough. The rub is, will they have enoughconfidence in me and my judgment to believe the timber to be what Irepresent it?"

"I see, " commented Wallace, suddenly grave. 

That evening Injin Charley went on with his canoe building. He meltedtogether in a pot, resin and pitch. The proportion he determined byexperiment, for the mixture had to be neither hard enough to crack norsoft enough to melt in the sun. Then he daubed the mess over all theseams. Wallace superintended the operation for a time in silence. 

"Harry, " he said suddenly with a crisp decision new to his voice, "willyou take a little walk with me down by the dam. I want to talk withyou. "

They strolled to the edge of the bank and stood for a moment looking atthe swirling waters. 

"I want you to tell me all about logging, " began Wallace. "Start fromthe beginning. Suppose, for instance, you had bought this pine here wewere talking about, --what would be your first move?"

They sat side by side on a log, and Thorpe explained. He told of thebuilding of the camps, the making of the roads; the cutting, swamping, travoying, skidding; the banking and driving. Unconsciously a littleof the battle clang crept into his narrative. It became a struggle, agasping tug and heave for supremacy between the man and the wilderness. The excitement of war was in it. When he had finished, Wallace drew adeep breath. 

"When I am home, " said he simply, "I live in a big house on the LakeShore Drive. It is heated by steam and lighted by electricity. I touch abutton or turn a screw, and at once I am lighted and warmed. At certainhours meals are served me. I don't know how they are cooked, or wherethe materials come from. Since leaving college I have spent a littletime down town every day; and then I've played golf or tennis or riddena horse in the park. The only real thing left is the sailing. The windblows just as hard and the waves mount just as high to-day as they didwhen Drake sailed. All the rest is tame. We do little imitations of thereal thing with blue ribbons tied to them, and think we are campingor roughing it. This life of yours is glorious, is vital, it meanssomething in the march of the world;--and I doubt whether ours does. Youare subduing the wilderness, extending the frontier. After you will comethe backwoods farmer to pull up the stumps, and after him the big farmerand the cities. "

The young follow spoke with unexpected swiftness and earnestness. Thorpelooked at him in surprise. 

"I know what you are thinking, " said the boy, flushing. "You aresurprised that I can be in earnest about anything. I'm out of school uphere. Let me shout and play with the rest of the children. "

Thorpe watched him with sympathetic eyes, but with lips that obstinatelyrefused to say one word. A woman would have felt rebuffed. The boy'sadmiration, however, rested on the foundation of the more manlyqualities he had already seen in his friend. Perhaps this veryaloofness, this very silent, steady-eyed power appealed to him. 

"I left college at nineteen because my father died, " said he. "I am nowjust twenty-one. A large estate descended to me, and I have had to carefor its investments all alone. I have one sister, that is all. "

"So have I, " cried Thorpe, and stopped. 

"The estates have not suffered, " went on the boy simply. "I have donewell with them. But, " he cried fiercely, "I HATE it! It is petty andmean and worrying and nagging! That's why I was so glad to get out inthe woods. "

He paused. 

"Have some tobacco, " said Thorpe. 

Wallace accepted with a nod. 

"Now, Harry, I have a proposal to make to you. It is this; you needthirty thousand dollars to buy your land. Let me supply it, and come inas half partner. "

An expression of doubt crossed the landlooker's face. 

"Oh PLEASE!" cried the boy, "I do want to get in something real! It willbe the making of me!"

"Now see here, " interposed Thorpe suddenly, "you don't even know myname. "

"I know YOU, " replied the boy. 

"My name is Harry Thorpe, " pursued the other. "My father was HenryThorpe, an embezzler. "

"Harry, " replied Wallace soberly, "I am sorry I made you say that. Ido not care for your name--except perhaps to put it in the articles ofpartnership, --and I have no concern with your ancestry. I tell you itis a favor to let me in on this deal. I don't know anything aboutlumbering, but I've got eyes. I can see that big timber standing upthick and tall, and I know people make profits in the business. It isn'ta question of the raw material surely, and you have experience. "

"Not so much as you think, " interposed Thorpe. 

"There remains, " went on Wallace without attention to Thorpe's remark, "only the question of--"

"My honesty, " interjected Thorpe grimly. 

"No!" cried the boy hotly, "of your letting me in on a good thing!"

Thorpe considered a few moments in silence. 

"Wallace, " he said gravely at last, "I honestly do think that whoevergoes into this deal with me will make money. Of course there's alwayschances against it. But I am going to do my best. I've seen other menfail at it, and the reason they've failed is because they did not demandsuccess of others and of themselves. That's it; success! When a generalcommanding troops receives a report on something he's ordered done, hedoes not trouble himself with excuses;--he merely asks whether or notthe thing was accomplished. Difficulties don't count. It is a soldier'sduty to perform the impossible. Well, that's the way it ought to be withus. A man has no right to come to me and say, 'I failed because such andsuch things happened. ' Either he should succeed in spite of it all; orhe should step up and take his medicine without whining. Well, I'm goingto succeed!"

The man's accustomed aloofness had gone. His eye flashed, his browfrowned, the muscles of his cheeks contracted under his beard. In thebronze light of evening he looked like a fire-breathing statue to thatgreat ruthless god he had himself invoked, --Success. 

Wallace gazed at him with fascinated admiration. 

"Then you will?" he asked tremulously. 

"Wallace, " he replied again, "they'll say you have been the victim of anadventurer, but the result will prove them wrong. If I weren't perfectlysure of this, I wouldn't think of it, for I like you, and I know youwant to go into this more out of friendship for me and because yourimagination is touched, than from any business sense. But I'll accept, gladly. And I'll do my best!"

"Hooray!" cried the boy, throwing his cap up in the air. "We'll do 'emup in the first round!"

At last when Wallace Carpenter reluctantly quitted his friends on theOssawinamakee, he insisted on leaving with them a variety of the thingshe had brought. 

"I'm through with them, " said he. "Next time I come up here we'll have acamp of our own, won't we, Harry? And I do feel that I am awfully in youfellows' debt. You've given me the best time I have ever had in my life, and you've refused payment for the moccasins and things you've made forme. I'd feel much better if you'd accept them, --just as keepsakes. "

"All right, Wallace, " replied Thorpe, "and much obliged. "

"Don't forget to come straight to me when you get through estimating, now, will you? Come to the house and stay. Our compact holds now, honestInjin; doesn't it?" asked the boy anxiously. 

"Honest Injin, " laughed Thorpe. "Good-by. "

The little canoe shot away down the current. The last Injin Charley andThorpe saw of the boy was as he turned the curve. His hat was off andwaving in his hand, his curls were blowing in the breeze, his eyessparkled with bright good-will, and his lips parted in a cheery hallooof farewell. 

"Him nice boy, " repeated Injin Charley, turning to his canoe. 

Chapter XX

Thus Thorpe and the Indian unexpectedly found themselves in thepossession of luxury. The outfit had not meant much to WallaceCarpenter, for he had bought it in the city, where such things areabundant and excite no remark; but to the woodsman each articlepossessed a separate and particular value. The tent, an iron kettle, aside of bacon, oatmeal, tea, matches, sugar, some canned goods, a boxof hard-tack, --these, in the woods, represented wealth. Wallace'srifle chambered the . 38 Winchester cartridge, which was unfortunate, forThorpe's . 44 had barely a magazineful left. 

The two men settled again into their customary ways of life. Things wentmuch as before, except that the flies and mosquitoes became thick. To men as hardened as Thorpe and the Indian, these pests were not asformidable as they would have been to anyone directly from the city, butthey were sufficiently annoying. Thorpe's old tin pail was pressed intoservice as a smudge-kettle. Every evening about dusk, when the insectsfirst began to emerge from the dark swamps, Charley would build a tinysmoky fire in the bottom of the pail, feeding it with peat, damp moss, punk maple, and other inflammable smoky fuel. This censer swung twice orthrice about the tent, effectually cleared it. Besides, both men earlyestablished on their cheeks an invulnerable glaze of a decoction of pinetar, oil, and a pungent herb. Towards the close of July, however, theinsects began sensibly to diminish, both in numbers and persistency. 

Up to the present Thorpe had enjoyed a clear field. Now two men camedown from above and established a temporary camp in the woods half amile below the dam. Thorpe soon satisfied himself that they were pickingout a route for the logging road. Plenty which could be cut and travoyeddirectly to the banking ground lay exactly along the bank of the stream;but every logger possessed of a tract of timber tries each year to getin some that is easy to handle and some that is difficult. Thus theaverage of expense is maintained. 

The two men, of course, did not bother themselves with the timber to betravoyed, but gave their entire attention to that lying further back. Thorpe was enabled thus to avoid them entirely. He simply transferredhis estimating to the forest by the stream. Once he met one of the men;but was fortunately in a country that lent itself to his pose of hunter. The other he did not see at all. 

But one day he heard him. The two up-river men were following carefullybut noisily the bed of a little creek. Thorpe happened to be on theside-hill, so he seated himself quietly until they should have movedon down. One of the men shouted to the other, who, crashing through athicket, did not hear. "Ho-o-o! DYER!" the first repeated. "Here's thatinfernal comer; over here!"

"Yop!" assented the other. "Coming!"

Thorpe recognized the voice instantly as that of Radway's scaler. Hishand crisped in a gesture of disgust. The man had always been obnoxiousto him. 

Two days later he stumbled on their camp. He paused in wonder at what hesaw. 

The packs lay open, their contents scattered in every direction. Thefire had been hastily extinguished with a bucket of water, and a fryingpan lay where it had been overturned. If the thing had been possible, Thorpe would have guessed at a hasty and unpremeditated flight. 

He was about to withdraw carefully lest he be discovered, when he wasstartled by a touch on his elbow. It was Injin Charley. 

"Dey go up river, " he said. "I come see what de row. "

The Indian examined rapidly the condition of the little camp. 

"Dey look for somethin', " said he, making his hand revolve as thoughrummaging, and indicating the packs. 

"I t'ink dey see you in de woods, " he concluded. "Dey go camp gettumboss. Boss he gone on river trail two t'ree hour. "

"You're right, Charley, " replied Thorpe, who had been drawing his ownconclusions. "One of them knows me. They've been looking in their packsfor their note-books with the descriptions of these sections in them. Then they piled out for the boss. If I know anything at all, the boss'llmake tracks for Detroit. "

"W'ot you do?" asked Injin Charley curiously. 

"I got to get to Detroit before they do; that's all. "

Instantly the Indian became all action. 

"You come, " he ordered, and set out at a rapid pace for camp. 

There, with incredible deftness, he packed together about twelve poundsof the jerked venison and a pair of blankets, thrust Thorpe's waterproofmatch safe in his pocket, and turned eagerly to the young man. 

"You come, " he repeated. 

Thorpe hastily unearthed his "descriptions" and wrapped them up. TheIndian, in silence, rearranged the displaced articles in such a manneras to relieve the camp of its abandoned air. 

It was nearly sundown. Without a word the two men struck off into theforest, the Indian in the lead. Their course was southeast, but Thorpeasked no questions. He followed blindly. Soon he found that if he dideven that adequately, he would have little attention left for anythingelse. The Indian walked with long, swift strides, his knees alwaysslightly bent, even at the finish of the step, his back hollowed, hisshoulders and head thrust forward. His gait had a queer sag in it, upand down in a long curve from one rise to the other. After a time Thorpebecame fascinated in watching before him this easy, untiring lope, hourafter hour, without the variation of a second's fraction in speed nor aninch in length. It was as though the Indian were made of steel springs. He never appeared to hurry; but neither did he ever rest. 

At first Thorpe followed him with comparative ease, but at the end ofthree hours he was compelled to put forth decided efforts to keep pace. His walking was no longer mechanical, but conscious. When it becomesso, a man soon tires. Thorpe resented the inequalities, the stones, theroots, the patches of soft ground which lay in his way. He felt dullythat they were not fair. He could negotiate the distance; but anythingelse was a gratuitous insult. 

Then suddenly he gained his second wind. He felt better and stronger andmoved freer. For second wind is only to a very small degree a questionof the breathing power. It is rather the response of the vital forces toa will that refuses to heed their first grumbling protests. Like dogs bythe fire they do their utmost to convince their master that the limit offreshness is reached; but at last, under the whip, spring to their work. 

At midnight Injin Charley called a halt. He spread his blanket; leanedon one elbow long enough to eat strip of dried meat, and fell asleep. Thorpe imitated his example. Three hours later the Indian roused hiscompanion, and the two set out again. 

Thorpe had walked a leisurely ten days through the woods far to thenorth. In that journey he had encountered many difficulties. Sometimeshe had been tangled for hours at a time in a dense and almostimpenetrable thicket. Again he had spent a half day in crossing atreacherous swamp. Or there had interposed in his trail abattises ofdown timber a quarter of a mile wide over which it had been necessary topick a precarious way eight or ten feet from the ground. 

This journey was in comparison easy. Most of the time the travellerswalked along high beech ridges or through the hardwood forests. Occasionally they were forced to pass into the lowlands, but alwayslittle saving spits of highland reaching out towards each other abridgedthe necessary wallowing. Twice they swam rivers. 

At first Thorpe thought this was because the country was more open; butas he gave better attention to their route, he learned to ascribe itentirely to the skill of his companion. The Indian seemed by a speciesof instinct to select the most practicable routes. He seemed to know howthe land ought to lie, so that he was never deceived by appearancesinto entering a cul de sac. His beech ridges always led to other beechridges; his hardwood never petered out into the terrible black swamps. Sometimes Thorpe became sensible that they had commenced a long detour;but it was never an abrupt detour, unforeseen and blind. 

From three o'clock until eight they walked continually without a pause, without an instant's breathing spell. Then they rested a half hour, atea little venison, and smoked a pipe. 

An hour after noon they repeated the rest. Thorpe rose with a certainphysical reluctance. The Indian seemed as fresh--or as tired--as whenhe started. At sunset they took an hour. Then forward again by the dimintermittent light of the moon and stars through the ghostly hauntedforest, until Thorpe thought he would drop with weariness, and wasmentally incapable of contemplating more than a hundred steps inadvance. 

"When I get to that square patch of light, I'll quit, " he would say tohimself, and struggle painfully the required twenty rods. 

"No, I won't quit here, " he would continue, "I'll make it that birch. Then I'll lie down and die. "

And so on. To the actual physical exhaustion of Thorpe's muscles wasadded that immense mental weariness which uncertainty of the time anddistance inflicts on a man. The journey might last a week, for all heknew. In the presence of an emergency these men of action had actuallynot exchanged a dozen words. The Indian led; Thorpe followed. 

When the halt was called, Thorpe fell into his blanket too weary even toeat. Next morning sharp, shooting pains, like the stabs of swords, ranthrough his groin. 

"You come, " repeated the Indian, stolid as ever. 

When the sun was an hour high the travellers suddenly ran into a trail, which as suddenly dived into a spruce thicket. On the other side of itThorpe unexpectedly found himself in an extensive clearing, dotted withthe blackened stumps of pines. Athwart the distance he could perceivethe wide blue horizon of Lake Michigan. He had crossed the UpperPeninsula on foot!

"Boat come by to-day, " said Injin Charley, indicating the tall stacks ofa mill. "Him no stop. You mak' him stop take you with him. You get trainMackinaw City tonight. Dose men, dey on dat train. "

Thorpe calculated rapidly. The enemy would require, even with theirteams, a day to cover the thirty miles to the fishing village ofMunising, whence the stage ran each morning to Seney, the presentterminal of the South Shore Railroad. He, Thorpe, on foot and threehours behind, could never have caught the stage. But from Seney only onetrain a day was despatched to connect at Mackinaw City with the MichiganCentral, and on that one train, due to leave this very morning, theup-river man was just about pulling out. He would arrive at MackinawCity at four o'clock of the afternoon, where he would be forced to waituntil eight in the evening. By catching a boat at the mill to whichInjin Charley had led him, Thorpe could still make the same train. Thusthe start in the race for Detroit's Land Office would be fair. 

"All right, " he cried, all his energy returning to him. "Here goes!We'll beat him out yet!"

"You come back?" inquired the Indian, peering with a certain anxietyinto his companion's eyes. 

"Come back!" cried Thorpe. "You bet your hat!"

"I wait, " replied the Indian, and was gone. 

"Oh, Charley!" shouted Thorpe in surprise. "Come on and get a squaremeal, anyway. "

But the Indian was already on his way back to the distant Ossawinamakee. 

Thorpe hesitated in two minds whether to follow and attempt furtherpersuasion, for he felt keenly the interest the other had displayed. Then he saw, over the headland to the east, a dense trail of blacksmoke. He set off on a stumbling run towards the mill. 

Chapter XXI

He arrived out of breath in a typical little mill town consisting of theusual unpainted houses, the saloons, mill, office, and general store. Tothe latter he addressed himself for information. 

The proprietor, still sleepy, was mopping out the place. 

"Does that boat stop here?" shouted Thorpe across the suds. 

"Sometimes, " replied the man somnolently. 

"Not always?"

"Only when there's freight for her. "

"Doesn't she stop for passengers?"

"Nope. "

"How does she know when there's freight?"

"Oh, they signal her from the mill--" but Thorpe was gone. 

At the mill Thorpe dove for the engine room. He knew that elsewhere theclang of machinery and the hurry of business would leave scant attentionfor him. And besides, from the engine room the signals would be given. He found, as is often the case in north-country sawmills, a Scotchman incharge. 

"Does the boat stop here this morning?" he inquired. 

"Weel, " replied the engineer with fearful deliberation, "I canna say. But I hae received na orders to that effect. "

"Can't you whistle her in for me?" asked Thorpe. 

"I canna, " answered the engineer, promptly enough this time. 

"Why not?"

"Ye're na what a body might call freight. "

"No other way out of it?"

"Na. "

Thorpe was seized with an idea. 

"Here!" he cried. "See that boulder over there? I want to ship that toMackinaw City by freight on this boat. "

The Scotchman's eyes twinkled appreciatively. 

"I'm dootin' ye hae th' freight-bill from the office, " he objectedsimply. 

"See here, " replied Thorpe, "I've just got to get that boat. It's worthtwenty dollars to me, and I'll square it with the captain. There's yourtwenty. "

The Scotchman deliberated, looking aslant at the ground and thoughtfullyoiling a cylinder with a greasy rag. 

"It'll na be a matter of life and death?" he asked hopefully. "She ayestops for life and death. "

"No, " replied Thorpe reluctantly. Then with an explosion, "Yes, by God, it is! If I don't make that boat, I'll kill YOU. "

The Scotchman chuckled and pocketed the money. "I'm dootin' that's inorder, " he replied. "I'll no be party to any such proceedin's. I'm goin'noo for a fresh pail of watter, " he remarked, pausing at the door, "butas a wee item of information: yander's th' wheestle rope; and a monwheestles one short and one long for th' boat. "

He disappeared. Thorpe seized the cord and gave the signal. Then heran hastily to the end of the long lumber docks, and peered with greateagerness in the direction of the black smoke. 

The steamer was as yet concealed behind a low spit of land which ran outfrom the west to form one side of the harbor. In a moment, however, herbows appeared, headed directly down towards the Straits of Mackinaw. When opposite the little bay Thorpe confidently looked to see her turnin, but to his consternation she held her course. He began to doubtwhether his signal had been heard. Fresh black smoke poured from thefunnel; the craft seemed to gather speed as she approached the easternpoint. Thorpe saw his hopes sailing away. He wanted to stand up absurdlyand wave his arms to attract attention at that impossible distance. Hewanted to sink to the planks in apathy. Finally he sat down, and withdull eyes watched the distance widen between himself and his aims. 

And then with a grand free sweep she turned and headed directly for him. 

Other men might have wept or shouted. Thorpe merely became himself, imperturbable, commanding, apparently cold. He negotiated briefly withthe captain, paid twenty dollars more for speed and the privilege oflanding at Mackinaw City. Then he slept for eight hours on end and wasawakened in time to drop into a small boat which deposited him on thebroad sand beach of the lower peninsula. 

Chapter XXII

The train was just leisurely making up for departure. Thorpe, dressed ashe was in old "pepper and salt" garments patched with buckskin, his hata flopping travesty on headgear, his moccasins, worn and dirty, his facebearded and bronzed, tried as much as possible to avoid attention. Hesent an instant telegram to Wallace Carpenter conceived as follows:

"Wire thirty thousand my order care Land Office, Detroit, before nineo'clock to-morrow morning. Do it if you have to rustle all night. Important. "

Then he took a seat in the baggage car on a pile of boxes andphilosophically waited for the train to start. He knew that sooner orlater the man, provided he were on the train, would stroll throughthe car, and he wanted to be out of the way. The baggage man provedfriendly, so Thorpe chatted with him until after bedtime. Then heentered the smoking car and waited patiently for morning. 

So far the affair had gone very well. It had depended on personalexertions, and he had made it go. Now he was forced to rely on outwardcircumstances. He argued that the up-river man would have first to makehis financial arrangements before he could buy in the land, and thiswould give the landlooker a chance to get in ahead at the office. Therewould probably be no difficulty about that. The man suspected nothing. But Thorpe had to confess himself fearfully uneasy about his ownfinancial arrangements. That was the rub. Wallace Carpenter had beensincere enough in his informal striking of partnership, but had heretained his enthusiasm? Had second thought convicted him of folly? Hadconservative business friends dissuaded him? Had the glow faded inthe reality of his accustomed life? And even if his good-will remainedunimpaired, would he be able, at such short notice, to raise so large asum? Would he realize from Thorpe's telegram the absolute necessity ofhaste?

At the last thought, Thorpe decided to send a second message from thenext station. He did so. It read: "Another buyer of timber on same trainwith me. Must have money at nine o'clock or lose land. " He paid dayrates on it to insure immediate delivery. Suppose the boy should be awayfrom home!

Everything depended on Wallace Carpenter; and Thorpe could not butconfess the chance slender. One other thought made the night seem long. Thorpe had but thirty dollars left. 

Morning came at last, and the train drew in and stopped. Thorpe, beingin the smoking car, dropped off first and stationed himself near theexit where he could look over the passengers without being seen. Theyfiled past. Two only he could accord the role of master lumbermen--therest were plainly drummers or hayseeds. And in these two Thorperecognized Daly and Morrison themselves. They passed within ten feet ofhim, talking earnestly together. At the curb they hailed a cab and droveaway. Thorpe with satisfaction heard them call the name of a hotel. 

It was still two hours before the Land Office would be open. Thorpeate breakfast at the depot and wandered slowly up Jefferson Avenueto Woodward, a strange piece of our country's medievalism in modernsurroundings. He was so occupied with his own thoughts that for sometime he remained unconscious of the attention he was attracting. Then, with a start, he felt that everyone was staring at him. The hour wasearly, so that few besides the working classes were abroad, but hepassed one lady driving leisurely to an early train whose frank scrutinybrought him to himself. He became conscious that his broad hat wasweather-soiled and limp, that his flannel shirt was faded, that his"pepper and salt" trousers were patched, that moccasins must seem asanachronistic as chain mail. It abashed him. He could not know thatit was all wild and picturesque, that his straight and muscular figuremoved with a grace quite its own and the woods', that the bronze of hisskin contrasted splendidly with the clearness of his eye, that his wholebearing expressed the serene power that comes only from the confidenceof battle. The woman in the carriage saw it, however. 

"He is magnificent!" she cried. "I thought such men had died withCooper!"

Thorpe whirled sharp on his heel and returned at once to aboarding-house off Fort Street, where he had "outfitted" three monthsbefore. There he reclaimed his valise, shaved, clothed himself in linenand cheviot once more, and sauntered slowly over to the Land Office toawait its opening. 

Chapter XXIII

At nine o'clock neither of the partners had appeared. Thorpe entered theoffice and approached the desk. 

"Is there a telegram here for Harry Thorpe?" he inquired. 

The clerk to whom he addressed himself merely motioned with his headtoward a young fellow behind the railing in a corner. The latter, without awaiting the question, shifted comfortably and replied:

"No. "

At the same instant steps were heard in the corridor, the door opened, and Mr. Morrison appeared on the sill. Then Thorpe showed the stuff ofwhich he was made. 

"Is this the desk for buying Government lands?" he asked hurriedly. 

"Yes, " replied the clerk. 

"I have some descriptions I wish to buy in. "

"Very well, " replied the clerk, "what township?"

Thorpe detailed the figures, which he knew by heart, the clerk took froma cabinet the three books containing them, and spread them out on thecounter. At this moment the bland voice of Mr. Morrison made itselfheard at Thorpe's elbow. 

"Good morning, Mr. Smithers, " it said with the deliberation of theconsciously great man. "I have a few descriptions I would like to buy inthe northern peninsula. "

"Good morning, Mr. Morrison. Archie there will attend to you. Archie, see what Mr. Morrison wishes. "

The lumberman and the other clerk consulted in a low voice, after whichthe official turned to fumble among the records. Not finding what hewanted, he approached Smithers. A whispered consultation ensued betweenthese two. Then Smithers called:

"Take a seat, Mr. Morrison. This gentleman is looking over thesetownships, and will have finished in a few minutes. "

Morrison's eye suddenly became uneasy. 

"I am somewhat busy this morning, " he objected with a shade of commandin his voice. 

"If this gentleman--?" suggested the clerk delicately. 

"I am sorry, " put in Thorpe with brevity, "my time, too, is valuable. "

Morrison looked at him sharply. 

"My deal is a big one, " he snapped. "I can probably arrange with thisgentleman to let him have his farm. "

"I claim precedence, " replied Thorpe calmly. 

"Well, " said Morrison swift as light, "I'll tell you, Smithers. I'llleave my list of descriptions and a check with you. Give me a receipt, and mark my lands off after you've finished with this gentleman. "

Now Government and State lands are the property of the man who paysfor them. Although the clerk's receipt might not give Morrison a validclaim; nevertheless it would afford basis for a lawsuit. Thorpe saw thetrap, and interposed. 

"Hold on, " he interrupted, "I claim precedence. You can give no receiptfor any land in these townships until after my business is transacted. Ihave reason to believe that this gentleman and myself are both after thesame descriptions. "

"What!" shouted Morrison, assuming surprise. 

"You will have to await your turn, Mr. Morrison, " said the clerk, virtuous before so many witnesses. 

The business man was in a white rage of excitement. 

"I insist on my application being filed at once!" he cried waving hischeck. "I have the money right here to pay for every acre of it; and ifI know the law, the first man to pay takes the land. "

He slapped the check down on the rail, and hit it a number of times withthe flat of his hand. Thorpe turned and faced him with a steel look inhis level eyes. 

"Mr. Morrison, " he said, "you are quite right. The first man who paysgets the land; but I have won the first chance to pay. You will kindlystep one side until I finish my business with Mr. Smithers here. "

"I suppose you have the amount actually with you, " said the clerk, quiterespectfully, "because if you have not, Mr. Morrison's claim will takeprecedence. "

"I would hardly have any business in a land office, if I did not knowthat, " replied Thorpe, and began his dictation of the description ascalmly as though his inside pocket contained the required amount in bankbills. 

Thorpe's hopes had sunk to zero. After all, looking at the matterdispassionately, why should he expect Carpenter to trust him, astranger, with so large a sum? It had been madness. Only the blindconfidence of the fighting man led him further into the struggle. Another would have given up, would have stepped aside from the path ofthis bona-fide purchaser with the money in his hand. 

But Thorpe was of the kind that hangs on until the last possible second, not so much in the expectation of winning, as in sheer reluctance toyield. Such men shoot their last cartridge before surrendering, swim thelast ounce of strength from their arms before throwing them up tosink, search coolly until the latest moment for a way from the burningbuilding, --and sometimes come face to face with miracles. 

Thorpe's descriptions were contained in the battered little note-bookhe had carried with him in the woods. For each piece of land first therecame the township described by latitude and east-and-west range. Afterthis generic description followed another figure representing thesection of that particular district. So 49--17 W--8, meant section 8, of the township on range 49 north, 17 west. If Thorpe wished to purchasethe whole section, that description would suffice. On the other hand, if he wished to buy only one forty, he described its position in thequarter-section. Thus SW--NW 49--17--8, meant the southwest forty of thenorthwest quarter of section 8 in the township already described. 

The clerk marked across each square of his map as Thorpe read them, thedate and the purchaser's name. 

In his note-book Thorpe had, of course, entered the briefest descriptionpossible. Now, in dictating to the clerk, he conceived the idea ofspecifying each subdivision. This gained some time. Instead of sayingsimply, "Northwest quarter of section 8, " he made of it four separatedescriptions, as follows:--Northwest quarter of northwest quarter;northeast of northwest quarter; southwest of northwest quarter; andsoutheast of northwest quarter. 

He was not so foolish as to read the descriptions in succession, but soscattered them that the clerk, putting down the figures mechanically, had no idea of the amount of unnecessary work he was doing. The minutehands of the clock dragged around. Thorpe droned down the long column. The clerk scratched industriously, repeating in a half voice eachdescription as it was transcribed. 

At length the task was finished. It became necessary to type duplicatelists of the descriptions. While the somnolent youth finished this task, Thorpe listened for the messenger boy on the stairs. 

A faint slam was heard outside the rickety old building. Hasty stepssounded along the corridor. The landlooker merely stopped the drummingof his fingers on the broad arm of the chair. The door flew open, andWallace Carpenter walked quickly to him. 

Thorpe's face lighted up as he rose to greet his partner. The boy hadnot forgotten their compact after all. 

"Then it's all right?" queried the latter breathlessly. 

"Sure, " answered Thorpe heartily, "got 'em in good shape. "

At the same time he was drawing the youth beyond the vigilantwatchfulness of Mr. Morrison. 

"You're just in time, " he said in an undertone. "Never had so close asqueak. I suppose you have cash or a certified check: that's all they'lltake here. "

"What do you mean?" asked Carpenter blankly. 

"Haven't you that money?" returned Thorpe quick as a hawk. 

"For Heaven's sake, isn't it here?" cried Wallace in consternation. "Iwired Duncan, my banker, here last night, and received a reply from him. He answered that he'd see to it. Haven't you seen him?"

"No, " repeated Thorpe in his turn. 

"What can we do?"

"Can you get your check certified here near at hand?"

"Yes. "

"Well, go do it. And get a move on you. You have precisely until thatboy there finishes clicking that machine. Not a second longer. "

"Can't you get them to wait a few minutes?"

"Wallace, " said Thorpe, "do you see that white whiskered old lynx in thecorner? That's Morrison, the man who wants to get our land. If I fail toplank down the cash the very instant it is demanded, he gets his chance. And he'll take it. Now, go. Don't hurry until you get beyond the door:then FLY!"

Thorpe sat down again in his broad-armed chair and resumed his drumming. The nearest bank was six blocks away. He counted over in his mind thesteps of Carpenter's progress; now to the door, now in the next block, now so far beyond. He had just escorted him to the door of the bank, when the clerk's voice broke in on him. 

"Now, " Smithers was saying, "I'll give you a receipt for the amount, andlater will send to your address the title deeds of the descriptions. "

Carpenter had yet to find the proper official, to identify himself, tocertify the check, and to return. It was hopeless. Thorpe dropped hishands in surrender. 

Then he saw the boy lay the two typed lists before his principal, anddimly he perceived that the youth, shamefacedly, was holding somethingbulky toward himself. 

"Wh--what is it?" he stammered, drawing his hand back as though from ared-hot iron. 

"You asked me for a telegram, " said the boy stubbornly, as though tryingto excuse himself, "and I didn't just catch the name, anyway. When I sawit on those lists I had to copy, I thought of this here. "

"Where'd you get it?" asked Thorpe breathlessly. 

"A fellow came here early and left it for you while I was sweeping out, "explained the boy. "Said he had to catch a train. It's yours all right, ain't it?"

"Oh, yes, " replied Thorpe. 

He took the envelope and walked uncertainly to the tall window. Helooked out at the chimneys. After a moment he tore open the envelope. 

"I hope there's no bad news, sir?" said the clerk, startled at thepaleness of the face Thorpe turned to the desk. 

"No, " replied the landlooker. "Give me a receipt. There's a certifiedcheck for your money!"

Chapter XXIV

Now that the strain was over, Thorpe experienced a great weariness. Thelong journey through the forest, his sleepless night on the train, the mental alertness of playing the game with shrewd foes all thesestretched his fibers out one by one and left them limp. He acceptedstupidly the clerk's congratulations on his success, left the name ofthe little hotel off Fort Street as the address to which to send thedeeds, and dragged himself off with infinite fatigue to his bed-room. There he fell at once into profound unconsciousness. 

He was awakened late in the afternoon by the sensation of a strong pairof young arms around his shoulders, and the sound of Wallace Carpenter'sfresh voice crying in his ears:

"Wake up, wake up! you Indian! You've been asleep all day, and I've beenwaiting here all that time. I want to hear about it. Wake up, I say!"

Thorpe rolled to a sitting posture on the edge of the bed, and smileduncertainly. Then as the sleep drained from his brain, he reached outhis hand. 

"You bet we did 'em, Wallace, " said he, "but it looked like a hardproposition for a while. "

"How was it? Tell me about it!" insisted the boy eagerly. "You don'tknow how impatient I've been. The clerk at the Land Office merely toldme it was all right. How did you fix it?"

While Thorpe washed and shaved and leisurely freshened himself, hedetailed his experiences of the last week. 

"And, " he concluded gravely, "there's only one man I know or ever heardof to whom I would have considered it worth while even to think ofsending that telegram, and you are he. Somehow I knew you'd come to thescratch. "

"It's the most exciting thing I ever heard of, " sighed Wallace drawing afull breath, "and I wasn't in it! It's the sort of thing I long for. IfI'd only waited another two weeks before coming down!"

"In that case we couldn't have gotten hold of the money, remember, "smiled Thorpe. 

"That's so. " Wallace brightened. "I did count, didn't I?"

"I thought so about ten o'clock this morning, " Thorpe replied. 

"Suppose you hadn't stumbled on their camp; suppose Injin Charley hadn'tseen them go up-river; suppose you hadn't struck that little mill townJUST at the time you did!" marvelled Wallace. 

"That's always the way, " philosophized Thorpe in reply. "It's the oldstory of 'if the horse-shoe nail hadn't been lost, ' you know. But we gotthere; and that's the important thing. "

"We did!" cried the boy, his enthusiasm rekindling, "and to-night we'llcelebrate with the best dinner we ran buy in town!"

Thorpe was tempted, but remembered the thirty dollars in his pocket, andlooked doubtful. 

Carpenter possessed, as part of his volatile enthusiastic temperament, keen intuitions. 

"Don't refuse!" he begged. "I've set my heart on giving my seniorpartner a dinner. Surely you won't refuse to be my guest here, as I wasyours in the woods!"

"Wallace, " said Thorpe, "I'll go you. I'd like to dine with you; butmoreover, I'll confess, I should like to eat a good dinner again. It'sbeen more than a year since I've seen a salad, or heard of after-dinnercoffee. "

"Come on then, " cried Wallace. 

Together they sauntered through the lengthening shadows to a certainsmall restaurant near Woodward Avenue, then much in vogue amongDetroit's epicures. It contained only a half dozen tables, but wasspotlessly clean, and its cuisine was unrivalled. A large fireplace nearthe center of the room robbed it of half its restaurant air; and a thickcarpet on the floor took the rest. The walls were decorated in darkcolors after the German style. Several easy chairs grouped before thefireplace, and a light wicker table heaped with magazines and papersinvited the guests to lounge while their orders were being prepared. 

Thorpe was not in the least Sybaritic in his tastes, but he couldnot stifle a sigh of satisfaction at sinking so naturally into theunobtrusive little comforts which the ornamental life offers to itsvotaries. They rose up around him and pillowed him, and were grateful tothe tired fibers of his being. His remoter past had enjoyed these thingsas a matter of course. They had framed the background to his dailyhabit. Now that the background had again slid into place on noiselessgrooves, Thorpe for the first time became conscious that his strenuouslife had indeed been in the open air, and that the winds of earnestendeavor, while bracing, had chilled. Wallace Carpenter, with the poet'sinsight and sympathy, saw and understood this feeling. 

"I want you to order this dinner, " said he, handing over to Thorpe thecard which an impossibly correct waiter presented him. "And I want it agood one. I want you to begin at the beginning and skip nothing. Pretendyou are ordering just the dinner you would like to offer your sister, "he suggested on a sudden inspiration. "I assure you I'll try to be justas critical and exigent as she would be. "

Thorpe took up the card dreamily. 

"There are no oysters and clams now, " said he, "so we'll pass right onto the soup. It seems to me a desecration to pretend to replace them. We'll have a bisque, " he told the waiter, "rich and creamy. Then plankedwhitefish, and have them just a light crisp, brown. You can bring somecelery, too, if you have it fresh and good. And for entree tell yourcook to make some macaroni au gratin, but the inside must be soft andvery creamy, and the outside very crisp. I know it's a queer dish for aformal dinner like ours, " he addressed Wallace with a little laugh, "butit's very, very good. We'll have roast beef, rare and juicy;--if youbring it any way but a cooked red, I'll send it back;--and potatoesroasted with the meat and brown gravy. Then the breast of chicken withthe salad, in the French fashion. And I'll make the dressing. We'll havean ice and some fruit for dessert. Black coffee. "

"Yes, sir, " replied the waiter, his pencil poised. "And the wines?"

Thorpe ruminated sleepily. 

"A rich red Burgundy, " he decided, "for all the dinner. If your cellarcontains a very good smooth Beaune, we'll have that. "

"Yes, sir, " answered the waiter, and departed. 

Thorpe sat and gazed moodily into the wood fire, Wallace respected hissilence. It was yet too early for the fashionable world, so the twofriends had the place to themselves. Gradually the twilight fell;strange shadows leaped and died on the wall. A boy dressed all in whiteturned on the lights. By and by the waiter announced that their repastawaited them. 

Thorpe ate, his eyes half closed, in somnolent satisfaction. Occasionally he smiled contentedly across at Wallace, who smiled inresponse. After the coffee he had the waiter bring cigars. They wentback between the tables to a little upholstered smoking room, wherethey sank into the depths of leather chairs, and blew the gray cloudsof smoke towards the ceiling. About nine o'clock Thorpe spoke the firstword. 

"I'm stupid this evening, I'm afraid, " said he, shaking himself. "Don'tthink on that account I am not enjoying your dinner. I believe, " heasserted earnestly, "that I never had such an altogether comfortable, happy evening before in my life. "

"I know, " replied Wallace sympathetically. 

"It seems just now, " went on Thorpe, sinking more luxuriously intohis armchair, "that this alone is living--to exist in an environmentexquisitely toned; to eat, to drink, to smoke the best, not like agormand, but delicately as an artist would. It is the flower of ourcivilization. "

Wallace remembered the turmoil of the wilderness brook; the little birchknoll, yellow in the evening glow; the mellow voice of the summer nightcrooning through the pines. But he had the rare tact to say nothing. 

"Did it ever occur to you that what you needed, when sort of tired outthis way, " he said abruptly after a moment, "is a woman to understandand sympathize? Wouldn't it have made this evening perfect to have seenopposite you a being whom you loved, who understood your moments ofweariness, as well as your moments of strength?"

"No, " replied Thorpe, stretching his arms over his head, "a woman wouldhave talked. It takes a friend and a man, to know when to keep silentfor three straight hours. "

The waiter brought the bill on a tray, and Carpenter paid it. 

"Wallace, " said Thorpe suddenly after a long interval, "we'll borrowenough by mortgaging our land to supply the working expenses. I supposecapital will have to investigate, and that'll take time; but I can beginto pick up a crew and make arrangements for transportation and supplies. You can let me have a thousand dollars on the new Company's note forinitial expenses. We'll draw up articles of partnership to-morrow. "

Chapter XXV

Next day the articles of partnership were drawn; and Carpenter gavehis note for the necessary expenses. Then in answer to a pencilled cardwhich Mr. Morrison had evidently left at Thorpe's hotel in person, bothyoung men called at the lumberman's place of business. They were usheredimmediately into the private office. 

Mr. Morrison was a smart little man with an ingratiating manner and afishy eye. He greeted Thorpe with marked geniality. 

"My opponent of yesterday!" he cried jocularly. "Sit down, Mr. Thorpe!Although you did me out of some land I had made every preparation topurchase, I can't but admire your grit and resourcefulness. How did youget here ahead of us?"

"I walked across the upper peninsula, and caught a boat, " replied Thorpebriefly. 

"Indeed, INDEED!" replied Mr. Morrison, placing the tips of his fingerstogether. "Extraordinary! Well, Mr. Thorpe, you overreached us nicely;and I suppose we must pay for our carelessness. We must have that pine, even though we pay stumpage on it. Now what would you consider a fairprice for it?"

"It is not for sale, " answered Thorpe. 

"We'll waive all that. Of course it is to your interest to makedifficulties and run the price up as high as you can. But my time issomewhat occupied just at present, so I would be very glad to hear yourtop price--we will come to an agreement afterwards. "

"You do not understand me, Mr. Morrison. I told you the pine is not forsale, and I mean it. "

"But surely--What did you buy it for, then?" cried Mr. Morrison, withevidences of a growing excitement. 

"We intend to manufacture it. "

Mr. Morrison's fishy eyes nearly popped out of his head. He controlledhimself with an effort. 

"Mr. Thorpe, " said he, "let us try to be reasonable. Our case standsthis way. We have gone to a great deal of expense on the Ossawinamakeein expectation of undertaking very extensive operations there. To thatend we have cleared the stream, built three dams, and have laid thefoundations of a harbor and boom. This has been very expensive. Now yourpurchase includes most of what we had meant to log. You have, roughlyspeaking, about three hundred millions in your holding, in addition towhich there are several millions scattering near it, which would paynobody but yourself to get in. Our holdings are further up stream, andcomprise only about the equal of yours. "

"Three hundred millions are not to be sneezed at, " replied Thorpe. 

"Certainly not, " agreed Morrison, suavely, gaining confidence from thesound of his own voice. "Not in this country. But you must remember thata man goes into the northern peninsula only because he can get somethingbetter there than here. When the firm of Morrison & Daly establishesitself now, it must be for the last time. We want enough timber to do usfor the rest of the time we are in business. "

"In that case, you will have to hunt up another locality, " repliedThorpe calmly. 

Morrison's eyes flashed. But he retained his appearance of geniality, and appealed to Wallace Carpenter. 

"Then you will retain the advantage of our dams and improvements, " saidhe. "Is that fair?"

"No, not on the face of it, " admitted Thorpe. "But you did your workin a navigable stream for private purposes, without the consent of theBoard of Control. Your presence on the river is illegal. You shouldhave taken out a charter as an Improvement Company. Then as long as you'tended to business and kept the concern in repair, we'd have paid you atoll per thousand feet. As soon as you let it slide, however, the workswould revert to the State. I won't hinder your doing that yet; althoughI might. Take out your charter and fix your rate of toll. "

"In other words, you force us to stay there and run a little two-by-fourImprovement Company for your benefit, or else lose the value of ourimprovements?"

"Suit yourself, " answered Thorpe carelessly. "You can always log yourpresent holdings. "

"Very well, " cried Morrison, so suddenly in a passion that Wallacestarted back. "It's war! And let me tell you this, young man; you're anew concern and we're an old one. We'll crush you like THAT!" He crispedan envelope vindictively, and threw it in the waste-basket. 

"Crush ahead, " replied Thorpe with great good humor. "Good-day, Mr. Morrison, " and the two went out. 

Wallace was sputtering and trembling with nervous excitement. His wasone of those temperaments which require action to relieve the stress ofa stormy interview. He was brave enough, but he would always tremble inthe presence of danger until the moment for striking arrived. He wantedto do something at once. 

"Hadn't we better see a lawyer?" he asked. "Oughtn't we to look out thatthey don't take some of our pine? Oughtn't we--"

"You just leave all that to me, " replied Thorpe. "The first thing wewant to do is to rustle some money. "

"And you can leave THAT to ME, " echoed Wallace. "I know a little of suchthings, and I have business connections who know more. You just get thecamp running. "

"I'll start for Bay City to-night, " submitted Thorpe. "There ought to bea good lot of lumber-jacks lying around idle at this time of year; andit's a good place to outfit from because we can probably get freightrates direct by boat. We'll be a little late in starting, but we'll getin SOME logs this winter, anyway. "

PART III. THE BLAZING OF THE TRAIL

Chapter XXVI

A lumbering town after the drive is a fearful thing. Men just offthe river draw a deep breath, and plunge into the wildest reactionarydissipation. In droves they invade the cities, --wild, picturesque, lawless. As long as the money lasts, they blow it in. 

"Hot money!" is the cry. "She's burnt holes in all my pockets already!"

The saloons are full, the gambling houses overflow, all the places ofamusement or crime run full blast. A chip rests lightly on everyone'sshoulder. Fights are as common as raspberries in August. Often one ofthese formidable men, his muscles toughened and quickened by the active, strenuous river work, will set out to "take the town apart. " For a timehe leaves rack and ruin, black eyes and broken teeth behind him, untilhe meets a more redoubtable "knocker" and is pounded and kicked intounconsciousness. Organized gangs go from house to house forcing thepeaceful inmates to drink from their bottles. Others take possession ofcertain sections of the street and resist "a l'outrance" the attempts ofothers to pass. Inoffensive citizens are stood on their heads, or shakenupside down until the contents of their pockets rattle on the street. Parenthetically, these contents are invariably returned to their owners. The riverman's object is fun, not robbery. 

And if rip-roaring, swashbuckling, drunken glory is what he is after, he gets it. The only trouble is, that a whole winter's hard work goes intwo or three weeks. The only redeeming feature is, that he is never, inor out of his cups, afraid of anything that walks the earth. 

A man comes out of the woods or off the drive with two or three hundreddollars, which he is only too anxious to throw away by the doublehandful. It follows naturally that a crew of sharpers are on hand tofind out who gets it. They are a hard lot. Bold, unprincipled men, theytoo are afraid of nothing; not even a drunken lumber-jack, which is oneof the dangerous wild animals of the American fauna. Their business isto relieve the man of his money as soon as possible. They are experts attheir business. 

The towns of Bay City and Saginaw alone in 1878 supported over fourteenhundred tough characters. Block after block was devoted entirely tosaloons. In a radius of three hundred feet from the famous old Catacombscould be numbered forty saloons, where drinks were sold by from threeto ten "pretty waiter girls. " When the boys struck town, the proprietorsand waitresses stood in their doorways to welcome them. 

"Why, Jack!" one would cry, "when did you drift in? Tickled to death tosee you! Come in an' have a drink. That your chum? Come in, old man, andhave a drink. Never mind the pay; that's all right. "

And after the first drink, Jack, of course, had to treat, and then thechum. 

Or if Jack resisted temptation and walked resolutely on, one of thegirls would remark audibly to another. 

"He ain't no lumber-jack! You can see that easy 'nuff! He's jest off th'hay-trail!"

Ten to one that brought him, for the woodsman is above all things proudand jealous of his craft. 

In the center of this whirlpool of iniquity stood the Catacombs as thehub from which lesser spokes in the wheel radiated. Any old logger ofthe Saginaw Valley can tell you of the Catacombs, just as any old loggerof any other valley will tell you of the "Pen, " the "White Row, " the"Water Streets" of Alpena, Port Huron, Ludington, Muskegon, and a dozenother lumber towns. 

The Catacombs was a three-story building. In the basement were vile, ill-smelling, ill-lighted dens, small, isolated, dangerous. The shantyboy with a small stake, far gone in drunkenness, there tasted the lastdrop of wickedness, and thence was flung unconscious and penniless onthe streets. A trap-door directly into the river accommodated those whowere inconsiderate enough to succumb under rough treatment. 

The second story was given over to drinking. Polly Dickson there reignedsupreme, an anomaly. She was as pretty and fresh and pure-looking asa child; and at the same time was one of the most ruthless andunscrupulous of the gang. She could at will exercise a fascinationthe more terrible in that it appealed at once to her victim's noblerinstincts of reverence, his capacity for what might be called aestheticfascination, as well as his passions. When she finally held him, shecrushed him as calmly as she would a fly. 

Four bars supplied the drinkables. Dozens of "pretty waiter girls"served the customers. A force of professional fighters was maintained bythe establishment to preserve that degree of peace which should look tothe preservation of mirrors and glassware. 

The third story contained a dance hall and a theater. The character ofboth would better be left to the imagination. 

Night after night during the season, this den ran at top-steam. 

By midnight, when the orgy was at its height, the windows brilliantlyilluminated, the various bursts of music, laughing, cursing, singing, shouting, fighting, breaking in turn or all together from its openwindows, it was, as Jackson Hines once expressed it to me, like hell letout for noon. 

The respectable elements of the towns were powerless. They couldnot control the elections. Their police would only have risked totalannihilation by attempting a raid. At the first sign of trouble theywalked straightly in the paths of their own affairs, awaiting the timesoon to come when, his stake "blown-in, " the last bitter dregs of hispleasure gulped down, the shanty boy would again start for the woods. 

Chapter XXVII

Now in August, however, the first turmoil had died. The "jam" hadboiled into town, "taken it apart, " and left the inhabitants to pieceit together again as they could; the "rear" had not yet arrived. As aconsequence, Thorpe found the city comparatively quiet. 

Here and there swaggered a strapping riverman, his small felt hat cockedaggressively over one eye, its brim curled up behind; a cigar stumpprotruding at an angle from beneath his sweeping moustache; his handsthrust into the pockets of his trousers, "stagged" off at the knee;the spikes of his river boots cutting little triangular pieces from thewooden sidewalk. His eye was aggressively humorous, and the smile of hisface was a challenge. 

For in the last month he had faced almost certain death a dozen times aday. He had ridden logs down the rapids where a loss of balance meantin one instant a ducking and in the next a blow on the back from somefollowing battering-ram; he had tugged and strained and jerked with hispeavey under a sheer wall of tangled timber twenty feet high, --behindwhich pressed the full power of the freshet, --only to jump with theagility of a cat from one bit of unstable footing to another when thefirst sharp CRACK warned him that he had done his work, and that thewhole mass was about to break down on him like a wave on the shore; hehad worked fourteen hours a day in ice-water, and had slept damp; he hadpried at the key log in the rollways on the bank until the whole pilehad begun to rattle down into the river like a cascade, and had jumped, or ridden, or even dived out of danger at the last second. In a hundredpasses he had juggled with death as a child plays with a rubber balloon. No wonder that he has brought to the town and his vices a little of thelofty bearing of an heroic age. No wonder that he fears no man, sincenature's most terrible forces of the flood have hurled a thousandweapons at him in vain. His muscles have been hardened, his eye is quietand sure, his courage is undaunted, and his movements are as quickand accurate as a panther's. Probably nowhere in the world is a moredangerous man of his hands than the riverman. He would rather fight thaneat, especially when he is drunk, as, like the cow-boy, he usually iswhen he gets into town. A history could be written of the feuds, thewars, the raids instituted by one camp or one town against another. 

The men would go in force sometimes to another city with the avowedpurpose of cleaning it out. One battle I know of lasted nearly allnight. Deadly weapons were almost never resorted to, unless indeed ahundred and eighty pounds of muscle behind a fist hard as iron might beconsidered a deadly weapon. A man hard pressed by numbers often resortedto a billiard cue, or an ax, or anything else that happened to behandy, but that was an expedient called out by necessity. Knives orsix-shooters implied a certain premeditation which was discountenanced. 

On the other hand, the code of fair fighting obtained hardly at all. The long spikes of river-boots made an admirable weapon in the straightkick. I have seen men whose faces were punctured as thickly as thoughby small-pox, where the steel points had penetrated. In a free-for-allknock-down-and-drag-out, kicking, gouging, and biting are alllegitimate. Anything to injure the other man, provided always you donot knife him. And when you take a half dozen of these enduring, active, muscular, and fiery men, not one entertaining in his innermost heartthe faintest hesitation or fear, and set them at each other with thelightning tirelessness of so many wild-cats, you get as hard a fight asyou could desire. And they seem to like it. 

One old fellow, a good deal of a character in his way, used to be on the"drive" for a firm lumbering near Six Lakes. He was intensely loyal tohis "Old Fellows, " and every time he got a little "budge" in him, heinstituted a raid on the town owned by a rival firm. So frequent and sosevere did these battles become that finally the men were informed thatanother such expedition would mean instant discharge. The rule had itseffect. The raids ceased. 

But one day old Dan visited the saloon once too often. He became verywarlike. The other men merely laughed, for they were strong enoughthemselves to recognize firmness in others, and it never occurred tothem that they could disobey so absolute a command. So finally Danstarted out quite alone. 

He invaded the enemy's camp, attempted to clean out the saloon with abilliard cue single handed, was knocked down, and would have been kickedto death as he lay on the floor if he had not succeeded in rolling underthe billiard table where the men's boots could not reach him. As it was, his clothes were literally torn to ribbons, one eye was blacked, hisnose broken, one ear hung to its place by a mere shred of skin, and hisface and flesh were ripped and torn everywhere by the "corks" on theboots. Any but a riverman would have qualified for the hospital. Danrolled to the other side of the table, made a sudden break, and escaped. 

But his fighting blood was not all spilled. He raided the butcher-shop, seized the big carving knife, and returned to the battle field. 

The enemy decamped--rapidly--some of them through the window. Danmanaged to get in but one blow. He ripped the coat down the man's backas neatly as though it had been done with shears, one clean straight cutfrom collar to bottom seam. A quarter of an inch nearer would have splitthe fellow's backbone. As it was, he escaped without even a scratch. 

Dan commandeered two bottles of whisky, and, gory and wounded as he was, took up the six-mile tramp home, bearing the knife over his shoulder asa banner of triumph. 

Next morning, weak from the combined effects of war and whisky, hereported to headquarters. 

"What is it, Dan?" asked the Old Fellow without turning. 

"I come to get my time, " replied the riverman humbly. 

"What for?" inquired the lumberman. 

"I have been over to Howard City, " confessed Dan. 

The owner turned and looked him over. 

"They sort of got ahead of me a little, " explained Dan sheepishly. 

The lumberman took stock of the old man's cuts and bruises, and turnedaway to hide a smile. 

"I guess I'll let you off this trip, " said he. "Go to work--when youcan. I don't believe you'll go back there again. "

"No, sir, " replied Dan humbly. 

And so the life of alternate work and pleasure, both full of personaldanger, develops in time a class of men whose like is to be found onlyamong the cowboys, scouts, trappers, and Indian fighters of our otherfrontiers. The moralists will always hold up the hands of horror at suchtypes; the philosopher will admire them as the last incarnation of theheroic age, when the man is bigger than his work. Soon the factories, the machines, the mechanical structures and constructions, the variousbranches of co-operation will produce quasi-automatically institutionsevidently more important than the genius or force of any one humanbeing. The personal element will have become nearly eliminated. In thewoods and on the frontier still are many whose powers are greater thantheir works; whose fame is greater than their deeds. They are men, powerful, virile, even brutal at times; but magnificent with thestrength of courage and resource. 

All this may seem a digression from the thread of our tale, but as amatter of fact it is necessary that you understand the conditions ofthe time and place in which Harry Thorpe had set himself the duty ofsuccess. 

He had seen too much of incompetent labor to be satisfied with anythingbut the best. Although his ideas were not as yet formulated, he hopedto be able to pick up a crew of first-class men from those who had comedown with the advance, or "jam, " of the spring's drive. They shouldhave finished their orgies by now, and, empty of pocket, should befound hanging about the boarding-houses and the quieter saloons. Thorpeintended to offer good wages for good men. He would not need more thantwenty at first, for during the approaching winter he purposed to log ona very small scale indeed. The time for expansion would come later. 

With this object in view he set out from his hotel about half-past sevenon the day of his arrival, to cruise about in the lumber-jack districtalready described. The hotel clerk had obligingly given him the namesof a number of the quieter saloons, where the boys "hung out" betweenbursts of prosperity. In the first of these Thorpe was helped materiallyin his vague and uncertain quest by encountering an old acquaintance. 

From the sidewalk he heard the vigorous sounds of a one-sidedaltercation punctuated by frequent bursts of quickly silenced laughter. Evidently some one was very angry, and the rest amused. After a momentThorpe imagined he recognized the excited voice. So he pushed open theswinging screen door and entered. 

The place was typical. Across one side ran the hard-wood bar withfoot-rest and little towels hung in metal clasps under its edge. Behindit was a long mirror, a symmetrical pile of glasses, a number of plainor ornamental bottles, and a miniature keg or so of porcelain containingthe finer whiskys and brandies. The bar-keeper drew beer from two pumpsimmediately in front of him, and rinsed glasses in some sort of a sinkunder the edge of the bar. The center of the room was occupied by atremendous stove capable of burning whole logs of cordwood. A stovepipeled from the stove here and there in wire suspension to a final exitnear the other corner. On the wall were two sporting chromos, and a goodvariety of lithographed calendars and illuminated tin signs advertisingbeers and spirits. The floor was liberally sprinkled with damp sawdust, and was occupied, besides the stove, by a number of wooden chairs and asingle round table. 

The latter, a clumsy heavy affair beyond the strength of an ordinaryman, was being deftly interposed between himself and the attacks ofthe possessor of the angry voice by a gigantic young riverman in theconventional stagged (i. E. , chopped off) trousers, "cork" shoes, andbroad belt typical of his craft. In the aggressor Thorpe recognized oldJackson Hines. 

"Damn you!" cried the old man, qualifying the oath, "let me get at you, you great big sock-stealer, I'll make you hop high! I'll snatch youbald-headed so quick that you'll think you never had any hair!"

"I'll settle with you in the morning, Jackson, " laughed the riverman. 

"You want to eat a good breakfast, then, because you won't have noappetite for dinner. "

The men roared, with encouraging calls. The riverman put on a ludicrousappearance of offended dignity. 

"Oh, you needn't swell up like a poisoned pup!" cried old Jacksonplaintively, ceasing his attacks from sheer weariness. "You know you'reas safe as a cow tied to a brick wall behind that table. "

Thorpe seized the opportunity to approach. 

"Hello, Jackson, " said he. 

The old man peered at him out of the blur of his excitement. 

"Don't you know me?" inquired Thorpe. 

"Them lamps gives 'bout as much light as a piece of chalk, " complainedJackson testily. "Knows you? You bet I do! How are you, Harry? Whereyou been keepin' yourself? You look 'bout as fat as a stall-fed knittin'needle. "

"I've been landlooking in the upper peninsula, " explained Thorpe, "onthe Ossawinamakee, up in the Marquette country. "

"Sho'" commented Jackson in wonder, "way up there where the moonchanges!"

"It's a fine country, " went on Thorpe so everyone could hear, "with agreat cutting of white pine. It runs as high as twelve hundred thousandto the forty sometimes. "

"Trees clean an' free of limbs?" asked Jackson. 

"They're as good as the stuff over on seventeen; you remember that. "

"Clean as a baby's leg, " agreed Jackson. 

"Have a glass of beer?" asked Thorpe. 

"Dry as a tobacco box, " confessed Hines. 

"Have something, the rest of you?" invited Thorpe. 

So they all drank. 

On a sudden inspiration Thorpe resolved to ask the old man's advice asto crew and horses. It might not be good for much, but it would do noharm. 

Jackson listened attentively to the other's brief recital. 

"Why don't you see Tim Shearer? He ain't doin' nothin' since the jamcame down, " was his comment. 

"Isn't he with the M. & D. People?" asked Thorpe. 

"Nope. Quit. "

"How's that?"

"'Count of Morrison. Morrison he comes up to run things some. He does. Tim he's getting the drive in shape, and he don't want to be bothered, but old Morrison he's as busy as hell beatin' tan-bark. Finally Tim, hecalls him. "'Look here, Mr. Morrison, ' says he, 'I'm runnin' this drive. If I don't get her there, all right; you can give me my time. 'Till thenyou ain't got nothin' to say. '

"Well, that makes the Old Fellow as sore as a scalded pup. He's usedto bossin' clerks and such things, and don't have much of an idea oflumber-jacks. He has big ideas of respect, so he 'calls' Tim dignifiedlike. 

"Tim didn't hit him; but I guess he felt like th' man who met the bearwithout any weapon, --even a newspaper would 'a' come handy. He hands inhis time t' once and quits. Sence then he's been as mad as a bar-keepwith a lead quarter, which ain't usual for Tim. He's been filin' histeeth for M. & D. Right along. Somethin's behind it all, I reckon. "

"Where'll I find him?" asked Thorpe. 

Jackson gave the name of a small boarding-house. Shortly after, Thorpeleft him to amuse the others with his unique conversation, and hunted upShearer's stopping-place. 

Chapter XXVIII

The boarding-house proved to be of the typical lumber-jack class, anarrow "stoop, " a hall-way and stairs in the center, and an office andbar on either side. Shearer and a half dozen other men about his own agesat, their chairs on two legs and their "cork" boots on the rounds ofthe chairs, smoking placidly in the tepid evening air. The light camefrom inside the building, so that while Thorpe was in plain view, hecould not make out which of the dark figures on the piazza was the manhe wanted. He approached, and attempted an identifying scrutiny. Themen, with the taciturnity of their class in the presence of a stranger, said nothing. 

"Well, bub, " finally drawled a voice from the corner, "blowed that stakeyou made out of Radway, yet?"

"That you, Shearer?" inquired Thorpe advancing. "You're the man I'mlooking for. "

"You've found me, " replied the old man dryly. 

Thorpe was requested elaborately to "shake hands" with the owners ofsix names. Then he had a chance to intimate quietly to Shearer that hewanted a word with him alone. The riverman rose silently and led the wayup the straight, uncarpeted stairs, along a narrow, uncarpeted hall, toa square, uncarpeted bedroom. The walls and ceiling of this apartmentwere of unpainted planed pine. It contained a cheap bureau, one chair, and a bed and washstand to match the bureau. Shearer lit the lamp andsat on the bed. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"I have a little pine up in the northern peninsula within walkingdistance of Marquette, " said Thorpe, "and I want to get a crew of abouttwenty men. It occurred to me that you might be willing to help me. "

The riverman frowned steadily at his interlocutor from under his bushybrows. 

"How much pine you got?" he asked finally. 

"About three hundred millions, " replied Thorpe quietly. 

The old man's blue eyes fixed themselves with unwavering steadiness onThorpe's face. 

"You're jobbing some of it, eh?" he submitted finally as the onlyprobable conclusion. "Do you think you know enough about it? Who does itbelong to?"

"It belongs to a man named Carpenter and myself. "

The riverman pondered this slowly for an appreciable interval, and thenshot out another question. 

"How'd you get it?"

Thorpe told him simply, omitting nothing except the name of the firmup-river. When he had finished, Shearer evinced no astonishment norapproval. 

"You done well, " he commented finally. Then after another interval:

"Have you found out who was the men stealin' the pine?"

"Yes, " replied Thorpe quietly, "it was Morrison & Daly. "

The old man flickered not an eyelid. He slowly filled his pipe and litit. 

"I'll get you a crew of men, " said he, "if you'll take me as foreman. "

"But it's a little job at first, " protested Thorpe. "I only want a campof twenty. It wouldn't be worth your while. "

"That's my look-out. I'll take th' job, " replied the logger grimly. "Yougot three hundred million there, ain't you? And you're goin' to cut it?It ain't such a small job. "

Thorpe could hardly believe his good-fortune in having gained soimportant a recruit. With a practical man as foreman, his mind would berelieved of a great deal of worry over unfamiliar detail. He saw at oncethat he would himself be able to perform all the duties of scaler, keep in touch with the needs of the camp, and supervise the campaign. Nevertheless he answered the older man's glance with one as keen, andsaid:

"Look here, Shearer, if you take this job, we may as well understandeach other at the start. This is going to be my camp, and I'm going tobe boss. I don't know much about logging, and I shall want you to takecharge of all that, but I shall want to know just why you do each thing, and if my judgment advises otherwise, my judgment goes. If I want todischarge a man, he WALKS without any question. I know about what Ishall expect of each man; and I intend to get it out of him. And inquestions of policy mine is the say-so every trip. Now I know you'rea good man, one of the best there is, and I presume I shall find yourjudgment the best, but I don't want any mistakes to start with. If youwant to be my foreman on those terms, just say so, and I'll be tickledto death to have you. "

For the first time the lumberman's face lost, during a single instant, its mask of immobility. His steel-blue eyes flashed, his mouth twitchedwith some strong emotion. For the first time, too, he spoke without hiscontemplative pause of preparation. 

"That's th' way to talk!" he cried. "Go with you? Well I should rise toremark! You're the boss; and I always said it. I'll get you a gang ofbully boys that will roll logs till there's skating in hell!"

Thorpe left, after making an appointment at his own hotel for thefollowing day, more than pleased with his luck. Although he had by nowfairly good and practical ideas in regard to the logging of a bunch ofpine, he felt himself to be very deficient in the details. In fact, heanticipated his next step with shaky confidence. He would now be calledupon to buy four or five teams of horses, and enough feed to last themthe entire winter; he would have to arrange for provisions in abundanceand variety for his men; he would have to figure on blankets, harness, cook-camp utensils, stoves, blacksmith tools, iron, axes, chains, cant-hooks, van-goods, pails, lamps, oil, matches, all sorts ofhardware, --in short, all the thousand and one things, from needles tocourt-plaster, of which a self-sufficing community might come in need. And he would have to figure out his requirements for the entire winter. After navigation closed, he could import nothing more. 

How could he know what to buy, --how many barrels of flour, how muchcoffee, raisins, baking powder, soda, pork, beans, dried apples, sugar, nutmeg, pepper, salt, crackers, molasses, ginger, lard, tea, cornedbeef, catsup, mustard, --to last twenty men five or six months? How couldhe be expected to think of each item of a list of two hundred, thelack of which meant measureless bother, and the desirability of whichsuggested itself only when the necessity arose? It is easy, when themind is occupied with multitudinous detail, to forget simple things, like brooms or iron shovels. With Tim Shearer to help his inexperience, he felt easy. He knew he could attend to advantageous buying, and tomaking arrangements with the steamship line to Marquette for the landingof his goods at the mouth of the Ossawinamakee. 

Deep in these thoughts, he wandered on at random. He suddenly came tohimself in the toughest quarter of Bay City. 

Through the summer night shrilled the sound of cachinations painted tothe colors of mirth. A cheap piano rattled and thumped through anopen window. Men's and women's voices mingled in rising and fallinggradations of harshness. Lights streamed irregularly across the dark. 

Thorpe became aware of a figure crouched in the door-way almost at hisfeet. The sill lay in shadow so the bulk was lost, but the flickeringrays of a distant street lamp threw into relief the high-lights of aviolin, and a head. The face upturned to him was thin and white andwolfish under a broad white brow. Dark eyes gleamed at him with theexpression of a fierce animal. Across the forehead ran a long butshallow cut from which blood dripped. The creature clasped both armsaround a violin. He crouched there and stared up at Thorpe, who stareddown at him. 

"What's the matter?" asked the latter finally. 

The creature made no reply, but drew his arms closer about hisinstrument, and blinked his wolf eyes. 

Moved by some strange, half-tolerant whim of compassion, Thorpe made asign to the unknown to rise. 

"Come with me, " said he, "and I'll have your forehead attended to. "

The wolf eyes gleamed into his with a sudden savage concentration. Thentheir owner obediently arose. 

Thorpe now saw that the body before him was of a cripple, short-legged, hunch-backed, long-armed, pigeon-breasted. The large head sat strangelytop-heavy between even the broad shoulders. It confirmed the hopelessbut sullen despair that brooded on the white countenance. 

At the hotel Thorpe, examining the cut, found it more serious inappearance than in reality. With a few pieces of sticking plaster hedrew its edges together. 

Then he attempted to interrogate his find. 

"What is your name?" he asked. 

"Phil. "

"Phil what?"

Silence. 

"How did you get hurt?"

No reply. 

"Were you playing your fiddle in one of those houses?"

The cripple nodded slowly. 

"Are you hungry?" asked Thorpe, with a sudden thoughtfulness. 

"Yes, " replied the cripple, with a lightning gleam in his wolf eyes. 

Thorpe rang the bell. To the boy who answered it he said:

"Bring me half a dozen beef sandwiches and a glass of milk, and be quickabout it. "

"Do you play the fiddle much?" continued Thorpe. 

The cripple nodded again. 

"Let's hear what you can do. "

"They cut my strings!" cried Phil with a passionate wail. 

The cry came from the heart, and Thorpe was touched by it. The price ofstrings was evidently a big sum. 

"I'll get you more in the morning, " said he. "Would you like to leaveBay City?"

"Yes" cried the boy with passion. 

"You would have to work. You would have to be chore-boy in a lumbercamp, and play fiddle for the men when they wanted you to. "

"I'll do it, " said the cripple. 

"Are you sure you could? You will have to split all the wood for themen, the cook, and the office; you will have to draw the water, and fillthe lamps, and keep the camps clean. You will be paid for it, but itis quite a job. And you would have to do it well. If you did not do itwell, I would discharge you. "

"I will do it!" repeated the cripple with a shade more earnestness. 

"All right, then I'll take you, " replied Thorpe. 

The cripple said nothing, nor moved a muscle of his face, but the gleamof the wolf faded to give place to the soft, affectionate glow seen inthe eyes of a setter dog. Thorpe was startled at the change. 

A knock announced the sandwiches and milk. The cripple fell upon themwith both hands in a sudden ecstacy of hunger. When he had finished, helooked again at Thorpe, and this time there were tears in his eyes. 

A little later Thorpe interviewed the proprietor of the hotel. 

"I wish you'd give this boy a good cheap room and charge his keep tome, " said he. "He's going north with me. "

Phil was led away by the irreverent porter, hugging tightly his unstrungviolin to his bosom. 

Thorpe lay awake for some time after retiring. Phil claimed a share ofhis thoughts. 

Thorpe's winter in the woods had impressed upon him that a good cook anda fiddler will do more to keep men contented than high wages and easywork. So his protection of the cripple was not entirely disinterested. But his imagination persisted in occupying itself with the boy. Whatterrible life of want and vicious associates had he led in this terribletown? What treatment could have lit that wolf-gleam in his eyes? Whathell had he inhabited that he was so eager to get away? In an hour or sohe dozed. He dreamed that the cripple had grown to enormous proportionsand was overshadowing his life. A slight noise outside his bed-room doorbrought him to his feet. 

He opened the door and found that in the stillness of the night the poordeformed creature had taken the blankets from his bed and had spreadthem across the door-sill of the man who had befriended him. 

Chapter XXIX

Three weeks later the steam barge Pole Star sailed down the reach ofSaginaw Bay. 

Thorpe had received letters from Carpenter advising him of a credit tohim at a Marquette bank, and inclosing a draft sufficient for currentexpenses. Tim Shearer had helped make out the list of necessaries. Intime everything was loaded, the gang-plank hauled in, and the littleband of Argonauts set their faces toward the point where the Big Dipperswings. 

The weather was beautiful. Each morning the sun rose out of the frostyblue lake water, and set in a sea of deep purple. The moon, once againat the full, drew broad paths across the pathless waste. From thesoutheast blew daily the lake trades, to die at sunset, and thento return in the soft still nights from the west. A more propitiousbeginning for the adventure could not be imagined. 

The ten horses in the hold munched their hay and oats as peaceably asthough at home in their own stables. Jackson Hines had helped selectthem from the stock of firms changing locality or going out of business. His judgment in such matters was infallible, but he had resolutelyrefused to take the position of barn-boss which Thorpe offered him. 

"No, " said he, "she's too far north. I'm gettin' old, and the rheumaticsain't what you might call abandonin' of me. Up there it's colder thanhell on a stoker's holiday. "

So Shearer had picked out a barn-boss of his own. This man wasimportant, for the horses are the mainstay of logging operations. Hehad selected also, a blacksmith, a cook, four teamsters, half a dozencant-hook men, and as many handy with ax or saw. 

"The blacksmith is also a good wood-butcher (carpenter), " explainedShearer. "Four teams is all we ought to keep going at a clip. If weneed a few axmen, we can pick 'em up at Marquette. I think this gang'llstick. I picked 'em. "

There was not a young man in the lot. They were most of them in theprime of middle life, between thirty and forty, rugged in appearance, "cocky" in manner, with the swagger and the oath of so many buccaneers, hard as nails. Altogether Thorpe thought them about as rough a set ofcustomers as he had ever seen. Throughout the day they played cardson deck, and spat tobacco juice abroad, and swore incessantly. Towardhimself and Shearer their manner was an odd mixture of independentequality and a slight deference. It was as much as to say, "You're theboss, but I'm as good a man as you any day. " They would be a rough, turbulent, unruly mob to handle, but under a strong man they mightaccomplish wonders. 

Constituting the elite of the profession, as it were, --whose swaggerevery lad new to the woods and river tried to emulate, to whomlesser lights looked up as heroes and models, and whose lofty, half-contemptuous scorn of everything and everybody outside their circleof "bully boys" was truly the aristocracy of class, --Thorpe mighthave wondered at their consenting to work for an obscure little campbelonging to a greenhorn. Loyalty to and pride in the firm for which heworks is a strong characteristic of the lumber-jack. He will fight atthe drop of a hat on behalf of his "Old Fellows"; brag loud and longof the season's cut, the big loads, the smart methods of his camps;and even after he has been discharged for some flagrant debauch, hecherishes no rancor, but speaks with a soft reminiscence to the endof his days concerning "that winter in '81 when the Old Fellows put insixty million on Flat River. "

For this reason he feels that he owes it to his reputation to allyhimself only with firms of creditable size and efficiency. The smallcamps are for the youngsters. Occasionally you will see two or threeof the veterans in such a camp, but it is generally a case of lackingsomething better. 

The truth is, Shearer had managed to inspire in the minds of his croniesan idea that they were about to participate in a fight. He re-toldThorpe's story artistically, shading the yellows and the reds. Hedetailed the situation as it existed. The men agreed that the "youngfellow had sand enough for a lake front. " After that there needed but alittle skillful maneuvering to inspire them with the idea that it wouldbe a great thing to take a hand, to "make a camp" in spite of the bigconcern up-river. 

Shearer knew that this attitude was tentative. Everything depended onhow well Thorpe lived up to his reputation at the outset, --how good afirst impression of force and virility he would manage to convey, --forthe first impression possessed the power of transmuting the presentrather ill-defined enthusiasm into loyalty or dissatisfaction. But Timhimself believed in Thorpe blindly. So he had no fears. 

A little incident at the beginning of the voyage did much to reassurehim. It was on the old question of whisky. 

Thorpe had given orders that no whisky was to be brought aboard, as heintended to tolerate no high-sea orgies. Soon after leaving dock hesaw one of the teamsters drinking from a pint flask. Without a word hestepped briskly forward, snatched the bottle from the man's lips, andthrew it overboard. Then he turned sharp on his heel and walked away, without troubling himself as to how the fellow was going to take it. 

The occurrence pleased the men, for it showed them they had made nomistake. But it meant little else. The chief danger really was lest theybecome too settled in the protective attitude. As they took it, theywere about, good-naturedly, to help along a worthy greenhorn. This theyconsidered exceedingly generous on their part, and in their own mindsthey were inclined to look on Thorpe much as a grown man would look ona child. There needed an occasion for him to prove himself bigger thanthey. 

Fine weather followed them up the long blue reach of Lake Huron; intothe noble breadth of the Detour Passage, past the opening through theThousand Islands of the Georgian Bay; into the St. Mary's River. Theywere locked through after some delay on account of the grain barges fromDuluth, and at last turned their prow westward in the Big Sea Water, beyond which lay Hiawatha's Po-ne-mah, the Land of the Hereafter. 

Thorpe was about late that night, drinking in the mystic beauty of thescene. Northern lights, pale and dim, stretched their arc across beneaththe Dipper. The air, soft as the dead leaves of spring, fanned hischeek. By and by the moon, like a red fire at sea, lifted itself fromthe waves. Thorpe made his way to the stern, beyond the square deckhouse, where he intended to lean on the rail in silent contemplation ofthe moon-path. 

He found another before him. Phil, the little cripple, was peering intothe wonderful east, its light in his eyes. He did not look at Thorpewhen the latter approached, but seemed aware of his presence, for hemoved swiftly to give room. 

"It is very beautiful; isn't it, Phil?" said Thorpe after a moment. 

"It is the Heart Song of the Sea, " replied the cripple in a hushedvoice. 

Thorpe looked down surprised. 

"Who told you that?" he asked. 

But the cripple, repeating the words of a chance preacher, could explainhimself no farther. In a dim way the ready-made phrase had expressedthe smothered poetic craving of his heart, --the belief that the sea, thesky, the woods, the men and women, you, I, all have our Heart Songs, theSong which is most beautiful. 

"The Heart Song of the Sea, " he repeated gropingly. "I don't know ... Iplay it, " and he made the motion of drawing a bow across strings, "verystill and low. " And this was all Thorpe's question could elicit. 

Thorpe fell silent in the spell of the night, and pondered over thechances of life which had cast on the shores of the deep as driftwoodthe soul of a poet. 

"Your Song, " said the cripple timidly, "some day I will hear it. Notyet. That night in Bay City, when you took me in, I heard it very dim. But I cannot play it yet on my violin. "

"Has your violin a song of its own?" queried the man. 

"I cannot hear it. It tries to sing, but there is something in the way. I cannot. Some day I will hear it and play it, but--" and he drew nearerThorpe and touched his arm--"that day will be very bad for me. I losesomething. " His eyes of the wistful dog were big and wondering. 

"Queer little Phil!" cried Thorpe laughing whimsically. "Who tells youthese things?"

"Nobody, " said the cripple dreamily, "they come when it is liketo-night. In Bay City they do not come. "

At this moment a third voice broke in on them. 

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Thorpe, " said the captain of the vessel. "Thought itwas some of them lumber-jacks, and I was going to fire 'em below. Finenight. "

"It is that, " answered Thorpe, again the cold, unresponsive man ofreticence. "When do you expect to get in, Captain?"

"About to-morrow noon, " replied the captain, moving away. Thorpefollowed him a short distance, discussing the landing. The cripple stoodall night, his bright, luminous eyes gazing clear and unwinking at themoonlight, listening to his Heart Song of the Sea. 

Chapter XXX

Next morning continued the traditions of its calm predecessors. Therefore by daybreak every man was at work. The hatches were opened, and soon between-decks was cumbered with boxes, packing cases, barrels, and crates. In their improvised stalls, the patient horses seemed tocatch a hint of shore-going and whinnied. By ten o'clock there loomedagainst the strange coast line of the Pictured Rocks, a shallow bay andwhat looked to be a dock distorted by the northern mirage. 

"That's her, " said the captain. 

Two hours later the steamboat swept a wide curve, slid between theyellow waters of two outlying reefs, and, with slackened speed, movedslowly toward the wharf of log cribs filled with stone. 

The bay or the dock Thorpe had never seen. He took them on the captain'ssay-so. He knew very well that the structure had been erected by andbelonged to Morrison & Daly, but the young man had had the foresight topurchase the land lying on the deep water side of the bay. He thereforeanticipated no trouble in unloading; for while Morrison & Daly owned thepier itself, the land on which it abutted belonged to him. 

From the arms of the bay he could make out a dozen figures standing nearthe end of the wharf. When, with propeller reversed, the Pole Star boreslowly down towards her moorings, Thorpe recognized Dyer at the head ofeight or ten woodsmen. The sight of Radway's old scaler somehow filledhim with a quiet but dangerous anger, especially since that official, on whom rested a portion at least of the responsibility of the jobber'sfailure, was now found in the employ of the very company which hadattempted that failure. It looked suspicious. 

"Catch this line!" sung out the mate, hurling the coil of a handline onthe wharf. 

No one moved, and the little rope, after a moment, slid overboard with asplash. 

The captain, with a curse, signalled full speed astern. 

"Captain Morse!" cried Dyer, stepping forward. "My orders are that youare to land here nothing but M. & D. Merchandise. "

"I have a right to land, " answered Thorpe. "The shore belongs to me. "

"This dock doesn't, " retorted the other sharply, "and you can't set footon her. "

"You have no legal status. You had no business building in the firstplace--" began Thorpe, and then stopped with a choke of anger at thefutility of arguing legality in such a case. 

The men had gathered interestedly in the waist of the ship, cool, impartial, severely critical. The vessel, gathering speed astern, butnot yet obeying her reversed helm, swung her bow in towards the dock. Thorpe ran swiftly forward, and during the instant of rubbing contact, leaped. 

He alighted squarely upon his feet. Without an instant's hesitation, hot with angry energy at finding his enemy within reach of his hand, herushed on Dyer, and with one full, clean in-blow stretched him stunnedon the dock. For a moment there was a pause of astonishment. Then thewoodsmen closed upon him. 

During that instant Thorpe had become possessed of a weapon It camehurling through the air from above to fall at his feet. Shearer, withthe cool calculation of the pioneer whom no excitement can distractfrom the main issue, had seen that it would be impossible to follow hischief, and so had done the next best thing, --thrown him a heavy ironbelaying pin. 

Thorpe was active, alert, and strong. The men could come at him only infront. As offset, he could not give ground, even for one step. Still, in the hands of a powerful man, the belaying pin is by no means adespicable weapon. Thorpe hit with all his strength and quickness. Hewas conscious once of being on the point of defeat. Then he had cleareda little space for himself. Then the men were on him again more savagelythan ever. One fellow even succeeded in hitting him a glancing blow onthe shoulder. 

Then came a sudden crash. Thorpe was nearly thrown from his feet. Thenext instant a score of yelling men leaped behind and all around him. There ensued a moment's scuffle, the sound of dull blows; and the dockwas clear of all but Dyer and three others who were, like himself, unconscious. The captain, yielding to the excitement, had run his prowplump against the wharf. 

Some of the crew received the mooring lines. All was ready fordisembarkation. 

Bryan Moloney, a strapping Irish-American of the big-boned, red-cheekedtype, threw some water over the four stunned combatants. Slowly theycame to life. They were promptly yanked to their feet by the iraterivermen, who commenced at once to bestow sundry vigorous kicks andshakings by way of punishment. Thorpe interposed. 

"Quit it!" he commanded. "Let them go!"

The men grumbled. One or two were inclined to be openly rebellious. 

"If I hear another peep out of you, " said Thorpe to these latter, "youcan climb right aboard and take the return trip. " He looked them inthe eye until they muttered, and then went on: "Now, we've got to getunloaded and our goods ashore before those fellows report to camp. Getright moving, and hustle!"

If the men expected any comment, approval, or familiarity from theirleader on account of their little fracas, they were disappointed. This was a good thing. The lumber-jack demands in his boss a certainfundamental unapproachability, whatever surface bonhomie he may evince. 

So Dyer and his men picked themselves out of the trouble sullenly anddeparted. The ex-scaler had nothing to say as long as he was withinreach, but when he had gained the shore, he turned. 

"You won't think this is so funny when you get in the law-courts!" heshouted. 

Thorpe made no reply. "I guess we'll keep even, " he muttered. 

"By the jumping Moses, " snarled Scotty Parsons turning in threat. 

"Scotty!" said Thorpe sharply. 

Scotty turned back to his task, which was to help the blacksmith puttogether the wagon, the component parts of which the others had trundledout. 

With thirty men at the job it does not take a great while to move asmall cargo thirty or forty feet. By three o'clock the Pole Star wasready to continue her journey. Thorpe climbed aboard, leaving Shearer incharge. 

"Keep the men at it, Tim, " said he. "Put up the walls of the warehousegood and strong, and move the stuff in. If it rains, you can spread thetent over the roof, and camp in with the provisions. If you get throughbefore I return, you might take a scout up the river and fix on a campsite. I'll bring back the lumber for roofs, floors, and trimmings withme, and will try to pick up a few axmen for swamping. Above all things, have a good man or so always in charge. Those fellows won't bother usany more for the present, I think; but it pays to be on deck. So long. "

In Marquette, Thorpe arranged for the cashing of his time checks andorders; bought lumber at the mills; talked contract with old Harvey, the mill-owner and prospective buyer of the young man's cut; and engagedfour axmen whom he found loafing about, waiting for the season to open. 

When he returned to the bay he found the warehouse complete except forthe roofs and gables. These, with their reinforcement of tar-paper, were nailed on in short order. Shearer and Andrews, the surveyor, werescouting up the river. 

"No trouble from above, boys?" asked Thorpe. 

"Nary trouble, " they replied. 

The warehouse was secured by padlocks, the wagon loaded with the tentand the necessaries of life and work. Early in the morning the littleprocession laughing, joking, skylarking with the high spirits of men inthe woods took its way up the river-trail. Late that evening, tired, butstill inclined to mischief, they came to the first dam, where Shearerand Andrews met them. 

"How do you like it, Tim?" asked Thorpe that evening. 

"She's all right, " replied the riverman with emphasis; which, for him, was putting it strong. 

At noon of the following day the party arrived at the second dam. HereShearer had decided to build the permanent camp. Injin Charley wasconstructing one of his endless series of birch-bark canoes. Later hewould paddle the whole string to Marquette, where he would sell them toa hardware dealer for two dollars and a half apiece. 

To Thorpe, who had walked on ahead with his foreman, it seemed that hehad never been away. There was the knoll; the rude camp with the deerhides; the venison hanging suspended from the pole; the endless broiland tumult of the clear north-country stream; the yellow glow overthe hill opposite. Yet he had gone a nearly penniless adventurer; hereturned at the head of an enterprise. 

Injin Charley looked up and grunted as Thorpe approached. 

"How are you, Charley?" greeted Thorpe reticently. 

"You gettum pine? Good!" replied Charley in the same tone. 

That was all; for strong men never talk freely of what is in theirhearts. There is no need; they understand. 

Chapter XXXI

Two months passed away. Winter set in. The camp was built and inhabited. Routine had established itself, and all was going well. 

The first move of the M. & D. Company had been one of conciliation. Thorpe was approached by the walking-boss of the camps up-river. The manmade no reference to or excuse for what had occurred, nor did he pretendto any hypocritical friendship for the younger firm. His proposition wasentirely one of mutual advantage. The Company had gone to considerableexpense in constructing the pier of stone cribs. It would be impossiblefor the steamer to land at any other point. Thorpe had undisputedpossession of the shore, but the Company could as indisputably removethe dock. Let it stay where it was. Both companies could then use it fortheir mutual convenience. 

To this Thorpe agreed. Baker, the walking-boss, tried to get him to signa contract to that effect. Thorpe refused. 

"Leave your dock where it is and use it when you want to, " said he. "I'll agree not to interfere as long as you people behave yourselves. "

The actual logging was opening up well. Both Shearer and Thorpe agreedthat it would not do to be too ambitious the first year. They set aboutclearing their banking ground about a half mile below the first dam; andduring the six weeks before snow-fall cut three short roads of halfa mile each. Approximately two million feet would be put in fromthese--roads which could be extended in years to come--while anothermillion could be travoyed directly to the landing from its immediatevicinity. 

"We won't skid them, " said Tim. "We'll haul from the stump to the bank. And we'll tackle only a snowroad proposition:--we ain't got time tomonkey with buildin' sprinklers and plows this year. We'll make a littlestake ahead, and then next year we'll do it right and get in twentymillion. That railroad'll get along a ways by then, and men'll be moreplenty. "

Through the lengthening evenings they sat crouched on wooden boxeseither side of the stove, conversing rarely, gazing at one spot witha steady persistency which was only an outward indication of thepersistency with which their minds held to the work in hand. Tim, theolder at the business, showed this trait more strongly than Thorpe. Theold man thought of nothing but logging. From the stump to the bank, fromthe bank to the camp, from the camp to the stump again, his restlessintelligence travelled tirelessly, picking up, turning over, examiningthe littlest details with an ever-fresh curiosity and interest. Nothingwas too small to escape this deliberate scrutiny. Nothing was in soperfect a state that it did not bear one more inspection. He played thelogging as a chess player his game. One by one he adopted the variouspossibilities, remote and otherwise, as hypotheses, and thought out tothe uttermost copper rivet what would be the best method of procedure incase that possibility should confront him. 

Occasionally Thorpe would introduce some other topic of conversation. The old man would listen to his remark with the attention of courtesy;would allow a decent period of silence to intervene; and then, revertingto the old subject without comment on the new, would emit one of histerse practical suggestions, result of a long spell of figuring. That ishow success is made. 

In the men's camp the crew lounged, smoked, danced, or played cards. Inthose days no one thought of forbidding gambling. One evening Thorpe, who had been too busy to remember Phil's violin, --although he noticed, as he did every other detail of the camp, the cripple's industry, andthe precision with which he performed his duties, --strolled overand looked through the window. A dance was in progress. The men werewaltzing, whirling solemnly round and round, gripping firmly eachother's loose sleeves just above the elbow. At every third step of thewaltz they stamped one foot. 

Perched on a cracker box sat Phil. His head was thrust forward almostaggressively over his instrument, and his eyes glared at the dancing menwith the old wolf-like gleam. As he played, he drew the bow across witha swift jerk, thrust it back with another, threw his shoulders from oneside to the other in abrupt time to the music. And the music! Thorpeunconsciously shuddered; then sighed in pity. It was atrocious. It wasnot even in tune. Two out of three of the notes were either sharp orflat, not so flagrantly as to produce absolute disharmony, but justenough to set the teeth on edge. And the rendition was as colorless asthat of a poor hand-organ. 

The performer seemed to grind out his fearful stuff with a fiercedelight, in which appeared little of the esthetic pleasure of theartist. Thorpe was at a loss to define it. 

"Poor Phil, " he said to himself. "He has the musical soul without eventhe musical ear!"

Next day, while passing out of the cook camp he addressed one of themen:

"Well, Billy, " he inquired, "how do you like your fiddler?"

"All RIGHT!" replied Billy with emphasis. "She's got some go to her. "

In the woods the work proceeded finely. From the travoy sledges and theshort roads a constant stream of logs emptied itself on the bank. There long parallel skidways had been laid the whole width of the rivervalley. Each log as it came was dragged across those monster andironsand rolled to the bank of the river. The cant-hook men dug theirimplements into the rough bark, leaned, lifted, or clung to theprojecting stocks until slowly the log moved, rolling with graduallyincreasing momentum. Then they attacked it with fury lest the momentumbe lost. Whenever it began to deviate from the straight rollingnecessary to keep it on the center of the skids, one of the workersthrust the shoe of his cant-hook under one end of the log. That endpromptly stopped; the other, still rolling, soon caught up; and the logmoved on evenly, as was fitting. 

At the end of the rollway the log collided with other logs and stoppedwith the impact of one bowling ball against another. The men knewthat being caught between the two meant death or crippling for life. Nevertheless they escaped from the narrowing interval at the latestpossible moment, for it is easier to keep a log rolling than to startit. 

Then other men piled them by means of long steel chains and horses, justas they would have skidded them in the woods. Only now the logs mountedup and up until the skidways were thirty or forty feet high. Eventuallythe pile of logs would fill the banking ground utterly, burying thelanding under a nearly continuous carpet of timber as thick as atwo-story house is tall. The work is dangerous. A saw log containingsix hundred board feet weighs about one ton. This is the weight of anordinary iron safe. When one of them rolls or falls from even a moderateheight, its force is irresistible. But when twenty or thirty cascadedown the bold front of a skidway, carrying a man or so with them, theaffair becomes a catastrophe. 

Thorpe's men, however, were all old-timers, and nothing of the sortoccurred. At first it made him catch his breath to see the apparentchances they took; but after a little he perceived that seeming luck wasin reality a coolness of judgment and a long experience in the peculiarways of that most erratic of inanimate cussedness--the pine log. Thebanks grew daily. Everybody was safe and sound. 

The young lumberman had sense enough to know that, while a crew suchas his is supremely effective, it requires careful handling to keep itgood-humored and willing. He knew every man by his first name, and eachday made it a point to talk with him for a moment or so. The subject wasinvariably some phase of the work. Thorpe never permitted himself thefamiliarity of introducing any other topic. By this course hepreserved the nice balance between too great reserve, which chillsthe lumber-jack's rather independent enthusiasm, and the too greatfamiliarity, which loses his respect. He never replied directly to anobjection or a request, but listened to it non-committally; and later, without explanation or reasoning, acted as his judgment dictated. EvenShearer, with whom he was in most intimate contact, respected this traitin him. Gradually he came to feel that he was making a way with his men. It was a status, not assured as yet nor even very firm, but a status forall that. 

Then one day one of the best men, a teamster, came in to make someobjection to the cooking. As a matter of fact, the cooking was perfectlygood. It generally is, in a well-conducted camp, but the lumber-jack isa great hand to growl, and he usually begins with his food. 

Thorpe listened to his vague objections in silence. 

"All right, " he remarked simply. 

Next day he touched the man on the shoulder just as he was starting towork. 

"Step into the office and get your time, " said he. 

"What's the matter?" asked the man. 

"I don't need you any longer. "

The two entered the little office. Thorpe looked through the ledger andvan book, and finally handed the man his slip. 

"Where do I get this?" asked the teamster, looking at it uncertainly. 

"At the bank in Marquette, " replied Thorpe without glancing around. 

"Have I got to go 'way up to Marquette?"

"Certainly, " replied Thorpe briefly. 

"Who's going to pay my fare south?"

"You are. You can get work at Marquette. "

"That ain't a fair shake, " cried the man excitedly. 

"I'll have no growlers in this camp, " said Thorpe with decision. 

"By God!" cried the man, "you damned--"

"You get out of here!" cried Thorpe with a concentrated blaze ofenergetic passion that made the fellow step back. 

"I ain't goin' to get on the wrong side of the law by foolin' with thisoffice, " cried the other at the door, "but if I had you outside for aminute--"

"Leave this office!" shouted Thorpe. 

"S'pose you make me!" challenged the man insolently. 

In a moment the defiance had come, endangering the careful structureThorpe had reared with such pains. The young man was suddenly angryin exactly the same blind, unreasoning manner as when he had leapedsingle-handed to tackle Dyer's crew. 

Without a word he sprang across the shack, seized a two-bladed ax fromthe pile behind the door, swung it around his head and cast it full atthe now frightened teamster. The latter dodged, and the swirling steelburied itself in the snowbank beyond. Without an instant's hesitationThorpe reached back for another. The man took to his heels. 

"I don't want to see you around here again!" shouted Thorpe after him. 

Then in a moment he returned to the office and sat down overcome withcontrition. 

"It might have been murder!" he told himself, awe-stricken. 

But, as it happened, nothing could have turned out better. 

Thorpe had instinctively seized the only method by which these strongmen could be impressed. A rough-and-tumble attempt at ejectment wouldhave been useless. Now the entire crew looked with vast admiration ontheir boss as a man who intended to have his own way no matter whatdifficulties or consequences might tend to deter him. And that is thekind of man they liked. This one deed was more effective in cementingtheir loyalty than any increase of wages would have been. 

Thorpe knew that their restless spirits would soon tire of the monotonyof work without ultimate interest. Ordinarily the hope of a big cut issufficient to keep men of the right sort working for a record. But thesemen had no such hope--the camp was too small, and they were too few. Thorpe adopted the expedient, now quite common, of posting the resultsof each day's work in the men's shanty. 

Three teams were engaged in travoying, and two in skidding the logs, either on the banking ground, or along the road. Thorpe divided hiscamp into four sections, which he distinguished by the names of theteamsters. Roughly speaking, each of the three hauling teams had itsown gang of sawyers and skidders to supply it with logs and to take themfrom it, for of the skidding teams, one was split;--the horses were bigenough so that one of them to a skidway sufficed. Thus three gangs ofmen were performing each day practically the same work. Thorpe scaledthe results, and placed them conspicuously for comparison. 

Red Jacket, the teamster of the sorrels, one day was credited with11, 000 feet; while Long Pine Jim and Rollway Charley had put in but10, 500 and 10, 250 respectively. That evening all the sawyers, swampers, and skidders belonging to Red Jacket's outfit were considerably elated;while the others said little and prepared for business on the morrow. 

Once Long Pine Jim lurked at the bottom for three days. Thorpe happenedby the skidway just as Long Pine arrived with a log. The young fellowglanced solicitously at the splendid buckskins, the best horses in camp. 

"I'm afraid I didn't give you a very good team, Jimmy, " said he, andpassed on. 

That was all; but men of the rival gangs had heard. In camp Long PineJim and his crew received chaffing with balefully red glares. Nextday they stood at the top by a good margin, and always after werecompetitors to be feared. 

Injin Charley, silent and enigmatical as ever, had constructed a logshack near a little creek over in the hardwood. There he attendeddiligently to the business of trapping. Thorpe had brought him a deerknife from Detroit; a beautiful instrument made of the best tool steel, in one long piece extending through the buck-horn handle. One could evenbreak bones with it. He had also lent the Indian the assistance of twoof his Marquette men in erecting the shanty; and had given him a barrelof flour for the winter. From time to time Injin Charley brought infresh meat, for which he was paid. This with his trapping, and hismanufacture of moccasins, snowshoes and birch canoes, made him a veryprosperous Indian indeed. Thorpe rarely found time to visit him, buthe often glided into the office, smoked a pipeful of the white man'stobacco in friendly fashion by the stove, and glided out again withouthaving spoken a dozen words. 

Wallace made one visit before the big snows came, and was charmed. Heate with gusto of the "salt-horse, " baked beans, stewed prunes, mincepie, and cakes. He tramped around gaily in his moccasins or on the fancysnowshoes he promptly purchased of Injin Charley. There was nothing newto report in regard to financial matters. The loan had been negotiatedeasily on the basis of a mortgage guaranteed by Carpenter's personalsignature. Nothing had been heard from Morrison & Daly. 

When he departed, he left behind him four little long-eared, short-legged beagle hounds. They were solemn animals, who took lifeseriously. Never a smile appeared in their questioning eyes. Whereverone went, the others followed, pattering gravely along in serried ranks. Soon they discovered that the swamp over the knoll contained big whitehares. Their mission in life was evident. Thereafter from the earliestpeep of daylight until the men quit work at night they chased rabbits. The quest was hopeless, but they kept obstinately at it, wallowing withcontained excitement over a hundred paces of snow before they would getnear enough to scare their quarry to another jump. It used to amuse thehares. All day long the mellow bell-tones echoed over the knoll. It camein time to be part of the color of the camp, just as were the pinesand birches, or the cold northern sky. At the fall of night, exhausted, trailing their long ears almost to the ground, they returned to thecook, who fed them and made much of them. Next morning they were at itas hard as ever. To them it was the quest for the Grail, --hopeless, butglorious. 

Little Phil, entrusted with the alarm clock, was the first up in themorning In the fearful biting cold of an extinct camp, he lighted hislantern and with numb hands raked the ashes from the stove. A few sticksof dried pine topped by split wood of birch or maple, all well dashedwith kerosene, took the flame eagerly. Then he awakened the cook, andstole silently into the office, where Thorpe and Shearer and Andrews, the surveyor, lay asleep. There quietly he built another fire, andfilled the water-pail afresh. By the time this task was finished, thecook sounded many times a conch, and the sleeping camp awoke. 

Later Phil drew water for the other shanties, swept out all three, splitwood and carried it in to the cook and to the living-camps, filled andtrimmed the lamps, perhaps helped the cook. About half the remainderof the day he wielded an ax, saw and wedge in the hardwood, collectingpainfully--for his strength was not great--material for the constantfires it was his duty to maintain. Often he would stand motionless inthe vast frozen, creaking forest, listening with awe to the voices whichspoke to him alone. There was something uncanny in the misshapendwarf with the fixed marble white face and the expressive changingeyes, --something uncanny, and something indefinably beautiful. 

He seemed to possess an instinct which warned him of the approach ofwild animals. Long before a white man, or even an Indian, would havesuspected the presence of game, little Phil would lift his head with apeculiar listening toss. Soon, stepping daintily through the snow nearthe swamp edge, would come a deer; or pat-apat-patting on his broadhairy paws, a lynx would steal by. Except Injin Charley, Phil was theonly man in that country who ever saw a beaver in the open daylight. 

At camp sometimes when all the men were away and his own work was done, he would crouch like a raccoon in the far corner of his deep square bunkwith the board ends that made of it a sort of little cabin, and play tohimself softly on his violin. No one ever heard him. After supper he wasdocilely ready to fiddle to the men's dancing. Always then he graduallyworked himself to a certain pitch of excitement. His eyes glared withthe wolf-gleam, and the music was vulgarly atrocious and out of tune. 

As Christmas drew near, the weather increased in severity. Blindingsnow-squalls swept whirling from the northeast, accompanied by a highwind. The air was full of it, --fine, dry, powdery, like the dust ofglass. The men worked covered with it as a tree is covered after asleet. Sometimes it was impossible to work at all for hours at a time, but Thorpe did not allow a bad morning to spoil a good afternoon. Theinstant a lull fell on the storm, he was out with his scaling rule, and he expected the men to give him something to scale. He grappled thefierce winter by the throat, and shook from it the price of success. 

Then came a succession of bright cold days and clear cold nights. The aurora gleamed so brilliantly that the forest was as bright as bymoonlight. In the strange weird shadow cast by its waverings the wolvesstole silently, or broke into wild ululations as they struck the trailof game. Except for these weird invaders, the silence of death fellon the wilderness. Deer left the country. Partridges crouched trailingunder the snow. All the weak and timid creatures of the woods shrankinto concealment and silence before these fierce woods-marauders withthe glaring famine-struck eyes. 

Injin Charley found his traps robbed. In return he constructeddeadfalls, and dried several scalps. When spring came, he would sendthem out for the bounty In the night, from time to time, the horseswould awake trembling at an unknown terror. Then the long weird howlwould shiver across the starlight near at hand, and the chattering manwho rose hastily to quiet the horses' frantic kicking, would catch aglimpse of gaunt forms skirting the edge of the forest. 

And the little beagles were disconsolate, for their quarry had fled. In place of the fan-shaped triangular trail for which they sought, theycame upon dog-like prints. These they sniffed at curiously, and thendeparted growling, the hair on their backbones erect and stiff. 

Chapter XXXII

By the end of the winter some four million feet of logs were piled inthe bed or upon the banks of the stream. To understand what thatmeans, you must imagine a pile of solid timber a mile in length. Thistremendous mass lay directly in the course of the stream. When thewinter broke up, it had to be separated and floated piecemeal down thecurrent. The process is an interesting and dangerous one, and one ofgreat delicacy. It requires for its successful completion picked men ofskill, and demands as toll its yearly quota of crippled and dead. Whileon the drive, men work fourteen hours a day, up to their waists in waterfilled with floating ice. 

On the Ossawinamakee, as has been stated, three dams had been erectedto simplify the process of driving. When the logs were in rightdistribution, the gates were raised, and the proper head of waterfloated them down. 

Now the river being navigable, Thorpe was possessed of certain rights onit. Technically he was entitled to a normal head of water, whenever heneeded it; or a special head, according to agreement with the partiesowning the dam. Early in the drive, he found that Morrison & Dalyintended to cause him trouble. It began in a narrows of the riverbetween high, rocky banks. Thorpe's drive was floating throughclose-packed. The situation was ticklish. Men with spiked boots ran hereand there from one bobbing log to another, pushing with their peaveys, hurrying one log, retarding another, working like beavers to keep thewhole mass straight. The entire surface of the water was practicallycovered with the floating timbers. A moment's reflection will show theimportance of preserving a full head of water. The moment the streamshould drop an inch or so, its surface would contract, the logs wouldthen be drawn close together in the narrow space; and, unless animmediate rise should lift them up and apart from each other, a jamwould form, behind which the water, rapidly damming, would press toentangle it the more. 

This is exactly what happened. In a moment, as though by magic, theloose wooden carpet ground together. A log in the advance up-ended;another thrust under it. The whole mass ground together, stopped, andbegan rapidly to pile up. The men escaped to the shore in a marvellousmanner of their own. 

Tim Shearer found that the gate at the dam above had been closed. Theman in charge had simply obeyed orders. He supposed M. & D. Wished toback up the water for their own logs. 

Tim indulged in some picturesque language. 

"You ain't got no right to close off more'n enough to leave us th'nat'ral flow unless by agreement, " he concluded, and opened the gates. 

Then it was a question of breaking the jam. This had to be done bypulling out or chopping through certain "key" logs which locked thewhole mass. Men stood under the face of imminent ruin--over them afrowning sheer wall of bristling logs, behind which pressed the weightof the rising waters--and hacked and tugged calmly until the mass beganto stir. Then they escaped. A moment later, with a roar, the jam vomiteddown on the spot where they had stood. It was dangerous work. Just onehalf day later it had to be done again, and for the same reason. 

This time Thorpe went back with Shearer. No one was at the dam, but thegates were closed. The two opened them again. 

That very evening a man rode up on horseback inquiring for Mr. Thorpe. 

"I'm he, " said the young fellow. 

The man thereupon dismounted and served a paper. It proved to be aninjunction issued by Judge Sherman enjoining Thorpe against interferingwith the property of Morrison & Daly, --to wit, certain dams erected atdesignated points on the Ossawinamakee. There had not elapsed sufficienttime since the commission of the offense for the other firm to securethe issuance of this interesting document, so it was at once evidentthat the whole affair had been pre-arranged by the up-river firm for thepurpose of blocking off Thorpe's drive. After serving the injunction, the official rode away. 

Thorpe called his foreman. The latter read the injunction attentivelythrough a pair of steel-bowed spectacles. 

"Well, what you going to do?" he asked. 

"Of all the consummate gall!" exploded Thorpe. "Trying to enjoin me fromtouching a dam when they're refusing me the natural flow! They must havebribed that fool judge. Why, his injunction isn't worth the powder toblow it up!"

"Then you're all right, ain't ye?" inquired Tim. 

"It'll be the middle of summer before we get a hearing in court, " saidhe. "Oh, they're a cute layout! They expect to hang me up until it's toolate to do anything with the season's cut!"

He arose and began to pace back and forth. 

"Tim, " said he, "is there a man in the crew who's afraid of nothing andwill obey orders?"

"A dozen, " replied Tim promptly. 

"Who's the best?"

"Scotty Parsons. "

"Ask him to step here. "

In a moment the man entered the office. 

"Scotty, " said Thorpe, "I want you to understand that I standresponsible for whatever I order you to do. "

"All right, sir, " replied the man. 

"In the morning, " said Thorpe, "you take two men and build some sortof a shack right over the sluice-gate of that second dam, --nothing veryfancy, but good enough to camp in. I want you to live there day andnight. Never leave it, not even for a minute. The cookee will bring yougrub. Take this Winchester. If any of the men from up-river try to goout on the dam, you warn them off. If they persist, you shoot near them. If they keep coming, you shoot at them. Understand?"

"You bet, " answered Scotty with enthusiasm. 

"All right, " concluded Thorpe. 

Next day Scotty established himself, as had been agreed. He did not needto shoot anybody. Daly himself came down to investigate the state ofaffairs, when his men reported to him the occupancy of the dam. Heattempted to parley, but Scotty would have none of it. 

"Get out!" was his first and last word. 

Daly knew men. He was at the wrong end of the whip. Thorpe's game wasdesperate, but so was his need, and this was a backwoods country a longways from the little technicalities of the law. It was one thing toserve an injunction; another to enforce it. Thorpe finished his drivewith no more of the difficulties than ordinarily bother a riverman. 

At the mouth of the river, booms of logs chained together at the endshad been prepared. Into the enclosure the drive was floated and stopped. Then a raft was formed by passing new manila ropes over the logs, toeach one of which the line was fastened by a hardwood forked pin drivenastride of it. A tug dragged the raft to Marquette. 

Now Thorpe was summoned legally on two counts. First, Judge Shermancited him for contempt of court. Second, Morrison & Daly sued himfor alleged damages in obstructing their drive by holding open thedam-sluice beyond the legal head of water. 

Such is a brief but true account of the coup-de-force actually carriedout by Thorpe's lumbering firm in northern Michigan. It is better knownto the craft than to the public at large, because eventually the affairwas compromised. The manner of that compromise is to follow. 

Chapter XXXIII

Pending the call of trial, Thorpe took a three weeks' vacation to visithis sister. Time, filled with excitement and responsibility, had erasedfrom his mind the bitterness of their parting. He had before beentoo busy, too grimly in earnest, to allow himself the luxury ofanticipation. Now he found himself so impatient that he could hardlywait to get there. He pictured their meeting, the things they would sayto each other. 

As formerly, he learned on his arrival that she was not at home. It wasthe penalty of an attempted surprise. Mrs. Renwick proved not nearly socordial as the year before; but Thorpe, absorbed in his eagerness, didnot notice it. If he had, he might have guessed the truth: that the longpropinquity of the fine and the commonplace, however safe at first fromthe insulation of breeding and natural kindliness, was at last beginningto generate sparks. 

No, Mrs. Renwick did not know where Helen was: thought she had gone overto the Hughes's. The Hughes live two blocks down the street and three tothe right, in a brown house back from the street. Very well, then; shewould expect Mr. Thorpe to spend the night. 

The latter wandered slowly down the charming driveways of the littlewestern town. The broad dusty street was brown with sprinkling fromnumberless garden hose. A double row of big soft maples met over it, andshaded the sidewalk and part of the wide lawns. The grass was fresh andgreen. Houses with capacious verandas on which were glimpsed easy chairsand hammocks, sent forth a mild glow from a silk-shaded lamp or two. Across the evening air floated the sounds of light conversation andlaughter from these verandas, the tinkle of a banjo, the thrum of aguitar. Automatic sprinklers whirled and hummed here and there. Theirdelicious artificial coolness struck refreshingly against the cheek. 

Thorpe found the Hughes residence without difficulty, and turned up thestraight walk to the veranda. On the steps of the latter a rug had beenspread. A dozen youths and maidens lounged in well-bred ease on itssoft surface. The gleam of white summer dresses, of variegated outingclothes, the rustle o frocks, the tinkle of low, well-bred laughterconfused Thorpe, so that, as he approached the light from a tall lampjust inside the hall, he hesitated, vainly trying to make out thefigures before him. 

So it was that Helen Thorpe saw him first, and came fluttering to meethim. 

"Oh, Harry! What a surprise!" she cried, and flung her arms about hisneck to kiss him. 

"How do you do, Helen, " he replied sedately. 

This was the meeting he had anticipated so long. The presence of othersbrought out in him, irresistibly, the repression of public display whichwas so strong an element of his character. 

A little chilled, Helen turned to introduce him to her friends. In thecold light of her commonplace reception she noticed what in a warmereffusion of feelings she would never have seen, --that her brother'sclothes were out of date and worn; and that, though his carriage wasnotably strong and graceful, the trifling constraint and dignity ofhis younger days had become almost an awkwardness after two years amonguncultivated men. It occurred to Helen to be just a little ashamed ofhim. 

He took a place on the steps and sat without saying a word all theevening. There was nothing for him to say. These young people talkedthoughtlessly, as young people do, of the affairs belonging to their ownlittle circle. Thorpe knew nothing of the cotillion, or the brake ride, or of the girl who visited Alice Southerland; all of which gave occasionfor so much lively comment. Nor was the situation improved when some ofthem, in a noble effort at politeness, turned the conversation into moregeneral channels. The topics of the day's light talk were absolutelyunknown to him. The plays, the new books, the latest popular songs, jokes depending for their point on an intimate knowledge of theprevailing vaudeville mode, were as unfamiliar to him as Miss AliceSoutherland's guest. He had thought pine and forest and the trail solong, that he found these square-elbowed subjects refusing to be jostledaside by any trivialities. 

So he sat there silent in the semi-darkness. This man, whose lightestexperience would have aroused the eager attention of the entire party, held his peace because he thought he had nothing to say. 

He took Helen back to Mrs. Renwick's about ten o'clock. They walkedslowly beneath the broad-leaved maples, whose shadows danced under thetall electric lights, --and talked. 

Helen was an affectionate, warm-hearted girl. Ordinarily she would havebeen blind to everything except the delight of having her brother oncemore with her. But his apparently cold reception had first chilled, then thrown her violently into a critical mood. His subsequent socialinadequacy had settled her into the common-sense level of everyday life. 

"How have you done, Harry?" she inquired anxiously. "Your letters havebeen so vague. "

"Pretty well, " he replied. "If things go right, I hope some day to havea better place for you than this. "

Her heart contracted suddenly. It was all she could do to keep frombursting into tears. One would have to realize perfectly her youth, thelife to which she had been accustomed, the lack of encouragement shehad labored under, the distastefulness of her surroundings, the pent-updogged patience she had displayed during the last two years, thehopeless feeling of battering against a brick wall she alwaysexperienced when she received the replies to her attempts on Harry'sconfidence, to appreciate how the indefiniteness of his answerexasperated her and filled her with sullen despair. She said nothing fortwenty steps. Then:

"Harry, " she said quietly, "can't you take me away from Mrs. Renwick'sthis year?"

"I don't know, Helen. I can't tell yet. Not just now, at any rate. "

"Harry, " she cried, "you don't know what you're doing. I tell you Ican't STAND Mrs. Renwick any longer. " She calmed herself with an effort, and went on more quietly. "Really, Harry, she's awfully disagreeable. Ifyou can't afford to keep me anywhere else--" she glanced timidly at hisface and for the first time saw the strong lines about the jaw and thetiny furrows between the eyebrows. "I know you've worked hard, Harrydear, " she said with a sudden sympathy, "and that you'd give me more, if you could. But so have I worked hard. Now we ought to change this insome way. I can get a position as teacher, or some other work somewhere. Won't you let me do that?"

Thorpe was thinking that it would be easy enough to obtain WallaceCarpenter's consent to his taking a thousand dollars from the profitsof the year. But he knew also that the struggle in the courts might needevery cent the new company could spare. It would look much better werehe to wait until after the verdict. If favorable, there would be nodifficulty about sparing the money. If adverse, there would be no moneyto spare. The latter contingency he did not seriously anticipate, butstill it had to be considered. And so, until the thing was absolutelycertain, he hesitated to explain the situation to Helen for fear ofdisappointing her!

"I think you'd better wait, Helen, " said he. "There'll be time enoughfor all that later when it becomes necessary. You are very young yet, and it will not hurt you a bit to continue your education for a littlewhile longer. "

"And in the meantime stay with Mrs. Renwick?" flashed Helen. 

"Yes. I hope it will not have to be for very long. "

"How long do you think, Harry?" pleaded the girl. 

"That depends on circumstances, " replied Thorpe

"Oh!" she cried indignantly. 

"Harry, " she ventured after a time, "why not write to Uncle Amos?"

Thorpe stopped and looked at her searchingly. 

"You can't mean that, Helen, " he said, drawing a long breath. 

"But why not?" she persisted. 

"You ought to know. "

"Who would have done any different? If you had a brother and discoveredthat he had--appropriated--most all the money of a concern of which youwere president, wouldn't you think it your duty to have him arrested?"

"No!" cried Thorpe suddenly excited. "Never! If he was my brother, I'dhelp him, even if he'd committed murder!"

"We differ there, " replied the girl coldly. "I consider that UncleAmos was a strong man who did his duty as he saw it, in spite of hisfeelings. That he had father arrested is nothing against him in my eyes. And his wanting us to come to him since, seems to me very generous. I amgoing to write to him. "

"You will do nothing of the kind, " commanded Thorpe sternly. "AmosThorpe is an unscrupulous man who became unscrupulously rich. Hedeliberately used our father as a tool, and then destroyed him. Iconsider that anyone of our family who would have anything to do withhim is a traitor!"

The girl did not reply. 

Next morning Thorpe felt uneasily repentant for his strong language. After all, the girl did lead a monotonous life, and he could not blameher for rebelling against it from time to time. Her remarks had beenborn of the rebellion; they had meant nothing in themselves. He couldnot doubt for a moment her loyalty to the family. 

But he did not tell her so. That is not the way of men of his stamp. Rather he cast about to see what he could do. 

Injin Charley had, during the winter just past, occupied odd moments inembroidering with beads and porcupine quills a wonderful outfit ofsoft buckskin gauntlets, a shirt of the same material, and moccasins ofmoose-hide. They were beautifully worked, and Thorpe, on receiving them, had at once conceived the idea of giving them to his sister. To this endhe had consulted another Indian near Marquette, to whom he had confidedthe task of reducing the gloves and moccasins. The shirt would do as itwas, for it was intended to be worn as a sort of belted blouse. As hasbeen said, all were thickly beaded, and represented a vast quantity ofwork. Probably fifty dollars could not have bought them, even in thenorth country. 

Thorpe tendered this as a peace offering. Not understanding women in theleast, he was surprised to see his gift received by a burst of tears anda sudden exit from the room. Helen thought he had bought the things;and she was still sore from the pinch of the poverty she had touchedthe evening before. Nothing will exasperate a woman more than to bepresented with something expensive for which she does not particularlycare, after being denied, on the ground of economy, something she wantsvery much. 

Thorpe stared after her in hurt astonishment. Mrs. Renwick sniffed. 

That afternoon the latter estimable lady attempted to reprove MissHelen, and was snubbed; she persisted, and an open quarrel ensued. 

"I will not be dictated to by you, Mrs. Renwick, " said Helen, "and Idon't intend to have you interfere in any way with my family affairs. "

"They won't stand MUCH investigation, " replied Mrs. Renwick, goaded outof her placidity. 

Thorpe entered to hear the last two speeches. He said nothing, but thatnight he wrote to Wallace Carpenter for a thousand dollars. Every strokeof the pen hurt him. But of course Helen could not stay here now. 

"And to think, just to THINK that he let that woman insult me so, anddidn't say a word!" cried Helen to herself. 

Her method would have been to have acted irrevocably on the spot, andsought ways and means afterwards. Thorpe's, however, was to perfect allhis plans before making the first step. 

Wallace Carpenter was not in town. Before the letter had followed himto his new address, and the answer had returned, a week had passed. Ofcourse the money was gladly put at Thorpe's disposal. The latter at onceinterviewed his sister. 

"Helen, " he said, "I have made arrangements for some money. What wouldyou like to do this year?"

She raised her head and looked at him with clear bright gaze. If hecould so easily raise the money, why had he not done so before? Heknew how much she wanted it. Her happiness did not count. Only when hisquixotic ideas of family honor were attacked did he bestir himself. 

"I am going to Uncle Amos's, " she replied distinctly. 

"What?" asked Thorpe incredulously. 

For answer she pointed to a letter lying open on the table. Thorpe tookit and read:

"My dear Niece:

"Both Mrs. Thorpe and myself more than rejoice that time and reflectionhave removed that, I must confess, natural prejudice which theunfortunate family affair, to which I will not allude, raised in yourmind against us. As we said long ago, our home is your's when youmay wish to make it so. You state your present readiness to comeimmediately. Unless you wire to the contrary, we shall expect you nextTuesday evening on the four-forty train. I shall be at the CentralStation myself to meet you. If your brother is now with you, I should bepleased to see him also, and will be most happy to give him a positionwith the firm. 

"Aff. Your uncle, "Amos Thorpe. 

"New York, June 6, 1883. "

On finishing the last paragraph the reader crumpled the letter and threwit into the grate. 

"I am sorry you did that, Helen, " said he, "but I don't blame you, andit can't be helped. We won't need to take advantage of his 'kind offer'now. "

"I intend to do so, however, " replied the girl coldly. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, " she cried, "that I am sick of waiting on your good pleasure. Iwaited, and slaved, and stood unbearable things for two years. I didit cheerfully. And in return I don't get a civil word, not a decentexplanation, not even a--caress, " she fairly sobbed out the last word. "I can't stand it any longer. I have tried and tried and tried, and thenwhen I've come to you for the littlest word of encouragement, you havepecked at me with those stingy little kisses, and have told me I wasyoung and ought to finish my education. You put me in uncongenialsurroundings, and go off into the woods camping yourself. You refuseme money enough to live in a three-dollar boarding-house, and you buyexpensive rifles and fishing tackle for yourself. You can't afford tosend me away somewhere for the summer, but you bring me back gee-gawsyou have happened to fancy, worth a month's board in the country. Youhaven't a cent when it is a question of what I want; but you raise moneyquick enough when your old family is insulted. Isn't it my family too?And then you blame me because, after waiting in vain two years for youto do something, I start out to do the best I can for myself. I'm not ofage but you're not my guardian!"

During this long speech Thorpe had stood motionless, growing paler andpaler. Like most noble natures, when absolutely in the right, he wasincapable of defending himself against misunderstandings. He was toowounded; he was hurt to the soul. 

"You know that is not true, Helen, " he replied, almost sternly. 

"It IS true!" she asseverated, "and I'm THROUGH!"

"It's a little hard, " said Thorpe passing his hand wearily before hiseyes, "to work hard this way for years, and then--"

She laughed with a hard little note of scorn. 

"Helen, " said Thorpe with new energy, "I forbid you to have anything todo with Amos Thorpe. I think he is a scoundrel and a sneak. "

"What grounds have you to think so?"

"None, " he confessed, "that is, nothing definite. But I know men; andI know his type. Some day I shall be able to prove something. I do notwish you to have anything to do with him. "

"I shall do as I please, " she replied, crossing her hands behind her. 

Thorpe's eyes darkened. 

"We have talked this over a great many times, " he warned, "and you'vealways agreed with me. Remember, you owe something to the family. "

"Most of the family seem to owe something, " she replied with a flippantlaugh. "I'm sure I didn't choose the family. If I had, I'd have pickedout a better one!"

The flippancy was only a weapon which she used unconsciously, blindly, in her struggle. The man could not know this. His face hardened, and hisvoice grew cold. 

"You may take your choice, Helen, " he said formally. "If you go intothe household of Amos Thorpe, if you deliberately prefer your comfort toyour honor, we will have nothing more in common. "

They faced each other with the cool, deadly glance of the race, sosimilar in appearance but so unlike in nature. 

"I, too, offer you a home, such as it is, " repeated the man. "Choose!"

At the mention of the home for which means were so quickly forthcomingwhen Thorpe, not she, considered it needful, the girl's eyes flashed. She stooped and dragged violently from beneath the bed a flat steamertrunk, the lid of which she threw open. A dress lay on the bed. With afine dramatic gesture she folded the garment and laid it in the bottomof the trunk. Then she knelt, and without vouchsafing another glance ather brother standing rigid by the door, she began feverishly to arrangethe folds. 

The choice was made. He turned and went out. 

Chapter XXXIV

With Thorpe there could be no half-way measure. He saw that the rupturewith his sister was final, and the thrust attained him in one of his fewunprotected points. It was not as though he felt either himself or hissister consciously in the wrong. He acquitted her of all fault, exceptas to the deadly one of misreading and misunderstanding. The fact arguednot a perversion but a lack in her character. She was other than he hadthought her. 

As for himself, he had schemed, worked, lived only for her. He had cometo her from the battle expecting rest and refreshment. To the world hehad shown the hard, unyielding front of the unemotional; he had lookedever keenly outward; he had braced his muscles in the constant tensionof endeavor. So much the more reason why, in the hearts of the few heloved, he, the man of action, should find repose; the man of sternness, should discover that absolute peace of the spirit in which not theslightest motion of the will is necessary, the man of repression shouldbe permitted affectionate, care-free expansion of the natural affection, of the full sympathy which will understand and not mistake for weakness. Instead of this, he was forced into refusing where he would rather havegiven; into denying where he would rather have assented; and finallyinto commanding where he longed most ardently to lay aside the cloak ofauthority. His motives were misread; his intentions misjudged; his lovedoubted. 

But worst of all, Thorpe's mind could see no possibility of anexplanation. If she could not see of her own accord how much he lovedher, surely it was a hopeless task to attempt an explanation throughmere words. If, after all, she was capable of misconceiving the entireset of his motives during the past two years, expostulation would befutile. In his thoughts of her he fell into a great spiritual dumbness. Never, even in his moments of most theoretical imaginings, did he seehimself setting before her fully and calmly the hopes and ambitions ofwhich she had been the mainspring. And before a reconciliation, manysuch rehearsals must take place in the secret recesses of a man's being. 

Thorpe did not cry out, nor confide in a friend, nor do anything evenso mild as pacing the floor. The only outward and visible sign a closeobserver might have noted was a certain dumb pain lurking in the depthsof his eyes like those of a wounded spaniel. He was hurt, but did notunderstand. He suffered in silence, but without anger. This is at oncethe noblest and the most pathetic of human suffering. 

At first the spring of his life seemed broken. He did not care formoney; and at present disappointment had numbed his interest in thegame. It seemed hardly worth the candle. 

Then in a few days, after his thoughts had ceased to dwell constantly onthe one subject, he began to look about him mentally. Beneath his otherinterests he still felt constantly a dull ache, something unpleasant, uncomfortable. Strangely enough it was almost identical in quality withthe uneasiness that always underlay his surface-thoughts when he wasworried about some detail of his business. Unconsciously, --again as inhis business, --the combative instinct aroused. In lack of other objecton which to expend itself, Thorpe's fighting spirit turned with energyto the subject of the lawsuit. 

Under the unwonted stress of the psychological condition just described, he thought at white heat. His ideas were clear, and followed each otherquickly, almost feverishly. 

After his sister left the Renwicks, Thorpe himself went to Detroit, where he interviewed at once Northrop, the brilliant young lawyer whomthe firm had engaged to defend its case. 

"I'm afraid we have no show, " he replied to Thorpe's question. "You see, you fellows were on the wrong side of the fence in trying to enforce thelaw yourselves. Of course you may well say that justice was all on yourside. That does not count. The only recourse recognized for injusticelies in the law courts. I'm afraid you are due to lose your case. "

"Well, " said Thorpe, "they can't prove much damage. "

"I don't expect that they will be able to procure a very heavyjudgment, " replied Northrop. "The facts I shall be able to adduce willcut down damages. But the costs will be very heavy. "

"Yes, " agreed Thorpe. 

"And, " then pursued Northrop with a dry smile, "they practically ownSherman. You may be in for contempt of court at their instigation. As Iunderstand it, they are trying rather to injure you than to get anythingout of it themselves. "

"That's it, " nodded Thorpe. 

"In other words, it's a case for compromise. "

"Just what I wanted to get at, " said Thorpe with satisfaction. "Nowanswer me a question. Suppose a man injures Government or State land bytrespass. The land is afterwards bought by another party. Has thelatter any claim for damage against the trespasser? Understand me, thepurchaser bought AFTER the trespass was committed. "

"Certainly, " answered Northrop without hesitation. 

"Provided suit is brought within six years of the time the trespass wascommitted. "

"Good! Now see here. These M. & D. People stole about a section ofGovernment pine up on that river, and I don't believe they've everbought in the land it stood on. In fact I don't believe they suspectthat anyone knows they've been stealing. How would it do, if I were tobuy that section at the Land Office, and threaten to sue them for thevalue of the pine that originally stood on it?"

The lawyer's eyes glimmered behind the lenses of his pince-nez; but, with the caution of the professional man he made no other sign ofsatisfaction. 

"It would do very well indeed, " he replied, "but you'd have to provethey did the cutting, and you'll have to pay experts to estimate theprobable amount of the timber. Have you the description of the section?"

"No, " responded Thorpe, "but I can get it; and I can pick up witnessesfrom the woodsmen as to the cutting. "

"The more the better. It is rather easy to discredit the testimony ofone or two. How much, on a broad guess, would you estimate the timber tocome to?"

"There ought to be about eight or ten million, " guessed Thorpe after aninstant's silence, "worth in the stump anywhere from sixteen to twentythousand dollars. It would cost me only eight hundred to buy it. "

"Do so, by all means. Get your documents and evidence all in shape, andlet me have them. I'll see that the suit is discontinued then. Will yousue them?"

"No, I think not, " replied Thorpe. "I'll just hold it back as a sort ofclub to keep them in line. "

The next day, he took the train north. He had something definite andurgent to do, and, as always with practical affairs demanding attentionand resource, he threw himself whole-souled into the accomplishmentof it. By the time he had bought the sixteen forties constituting thesection, searched out a dozen witnesses to the theft, and spent a weekwith the Marquette expert in looking over the ground, he had fallen intothe swing of work again. His experience still ached; but dully. 

Only now he possessed no interests outside of those in the new country;no affections save the half-protecting, good-natured comradeship withWallace, the mutual self-reliant respect that subsisted between TimShearer and himself, and the dumb, unreasoning dog-liking he shared withInjin Charley. His eye became clearer and steadier; his methods moresimple and direct. The taciturnity of his mood redoubled in thickness. He was less charitable to failure on the part of subordinates. And thenew firm on the Ossawinamakee prospered. 

Chapter XXXV

Five years passed. 

In that time Thorpe had succeeded in cutting a hundred million feetof pine. The money received for this had all been turned back into theCompany's funds. From a single camp of twenty-five men with ten horsesand a short haul of half a mile, the concern had increased to six large, well-equipped communities of eighty to a hundred men apiece, usingnearly two hundred horses, and hauling as far as eight or nine miles. 

Near the port stood a mammoth sawmill capable of taking care oftwenty-two million feet a year, about which a lumber town had sprung up. Lake schooners lay in a long row during the summer months, while busyloaders passed the planks from one to the other into the deep holds. Besides its original holding, the company had acquired about a hundredand fifty million more, back near the headwaters of tributaries to theOssawinamakee. In the spring and early summer months, the drive was awonderful affair. 

During the four years in which the Morrison & Daly Company sharedthe stream with Thorpe, the two firms lived in complete amity andunderstanding. Northrop had played his cards skillfully. The oldercapitalists had withdrawn suit. Afterwards they kept scrupulously withintheir rights, and saw to it that no more careless openings were left forThorpe's shrewdness. They were keen enough business men, but had madethe mistake, common enough to established power, of underrating thestrength of an apparently insignificant opponent. Once they understoodThorpe's capacity, that young man had no more chance to catch themnapping. 

And as the younger man, on his side, never attempted to overstep his ownrights, the interests of the rival firms rarely clashed. As to the fewdisputes that did arise, Thorpe found Mr. Daly singularly anxious toplease. In the desire was no friendliness, however. Thorpe was watchfulfor treachery, and could hardly believe the affair finished when at theend of the fourth year the M. & D. Sold out the remainder of its pine toa firm from Manistee, and transferred its operations to another stream afew miles east, where it had acquired more considerable holdings. 

"They're altogether too confounded anxious to help us on that freight, Wallace, " said Thorpe wrinkling his brow uneasily. "I don't like it. Itisn't natural. "

"No, " laughed Wallace, "neither is it natural for a dog to draw asledge. But he does it--when he has to. They're afraid of you, Harry:that's all. "

Thorpe shook his head, but had to acknowledge that he could evidence nogrounds for his mistrust. 

The conversation took place at Camp One, which was celebrated in threestates. Thorpe had set out to gather around him a band of good woodsmen. Except on a pinch he would employ no others. 

"I don't care if I get in only two thousand feet this winter, and if aboy does that, " he answered Shearer's expostulations, "it's got to be agood boy. "

The result of his policy began to show even in the second year. Men werea little proud to say that they had put in a winter at "Thorpe'sOne. " Those who had worked there during the first year were loyallyenthusiastic over their boss's grit and resourcefulness, their camp'sorder, their cook's good "grub. " As they were authorities, othersperforce had to accept the dictum. There grew a desire among the betterclass to see what Thorpe's "One" might be like. In the autumn Harry hadmore applicants than he knew what to do with. Eighteen of the old menreturned. He took them all, but when it came to distribution, threefound themselves assigned to one or the other of the new camps. Andquietly the rumor gained that these three had shown the least willingspirit during the previous winter. The other fifteen were sobered to theindustry which their importance as veterans might have impaired. 

Tim Shearer was foreman of Camp One; Scotty Parsons was drafted from theveterans to take charge of Two; Thorpe engaged two men known to Tim toboss Three and Four. But in selecting the "push" for Five he displayedmost strikingly his keen appreciation of a man's relation to hisenvironment. He sought out John Radway and induced him to accept thecommission. 

"You can do it, John, " said he, "and I know it. I want you to try; andif you don't make her go, I'll call it nobody's fault but my own. "

"I don't see how you dare risk it, after that Cass Branch deal, Mr. Thorpe, " replied Radway, almost brokenly. "But I would like to tackleit, I'm dead sick of loafing. Sometimes it seems like I'd die, if Idon't get out in the woods again. "

"We'll call it a deal, then, " answered Thorpe. 

The result proved his sagacity. Radway was one of the best foremen inthe outfit. He got more out of his men, he rose better to emergencies, and he accomplished more with the same resources than any of the others, excepting Tim Shearer. As long as the work was done for someone else, hewas capable and efficient. Only when he was called upon to demand on hisown account, did the paralyzing shyness affect him. 

But the one feature that did more to attract the very best elementamong woodsmen, and so make possible the practice of Thorpe's theory ofsuccess, was Camp One. The men's accommodations at the other fivewere no different and but little better than those in a thousand othertypical lumber camps of both peninsulas. They slept in box-like bunksfilled with hay or straw over which blankets were spread; they sat on anarrow hard bench or on the floor; they read by the dim light of a lampfastened against the big cross beam; they warmed themselves at a hugeiron stove in the center of the room around which suspended wires andpoles offered space for the drying of socks; they washed their clotheswhen the mood struck them. It was warm and comparatively clean. But itwas dark, without ornament, cheerless. 

The lumber-jack never expects anything different. In fact, if he werepampered to the extent of ordinary comforts, he would be apt at once toconclude himself indispensable; whereupon he would become worthless. 

Thorpe, however, spent a little money--not much--and transformed CampOne. Every bunk was provided with a tick, which the men could fill withhay, balsam, or hemlock, as suited them. Cheap but attractive curtainson wires at once brightened the room and shut each man's "bedroom"from the main hall. The deacon seat remained but was supplemented bya half-dozen simple and comfortable chairs. In the center of the roomstood a big round table over which glowed two hanging lamps. The tablewas littered with papers and magazines. Home life was still furthersuggested by a canary bird in a gilt cage, a sleepy cat, and two pots ofred geraniums. Thorpe had further imported a washerwoman who dwelt in aseparate little cabin under the hill. She washed the men's belongings attwenty-five cents a week, which amount Thorpe deducted from eachman's wages, whether he had the washing done or not. This encouragedcleanliness. Phil scrubbed out every day, while the men were in thewoods. 

Such was Thorpe's famous Camp One in the days of its splendor. Oldwoodsmen will still tell you about it, with a longing reminiscentglimmer in the corners of their eyes as they recall its glories and themen who worked in it. To have "put in" a winter in Camp One was themark of a master; and the ambition of every raw recruit to the forest. Probably Thorpe's name is remembered to-day more on account of theintrepid, skillful, loyal men his strange genius gathered about it, than for the herculean feat of having carved a great fortune from thewilderness in but five years' time. 

But Camp One was a privilege. A man entered it only after having provedhimself; he remained in it only as long as his efficiency deserved thehonor. Its members were invariably recruited from one of the other fourcamps; never from applicants who had not been in Thorpe's employ. A rawman was sent to Scotty, or Jack Hyland, or Radway, or Kerlie. There hewas given a job, if he happened to suit, and men were needed. By and by, perhaps, when a member of Camp One fell sick or was given his time, TimShearer would send word to one of the other five that he needed an axmanor a sawyer, or a loader, or teamster, as the case might be. The bestman in the other camps was sent up. 

So Shearer was foreman of a picked crew. Probably no finer body of menwas ever gathered at one camp. In them one could study at his bestthe American pioneer. It was said at that time that you had never seenlogging done as it should be until you had visited Thorpe's Camp One onthe Ossawinamakee. 

Of these men Thorpe demanded one thing--success. He tried never to askof them anything he did not believe to be thoroughly possible; but heexpected always that in some manner, by hook or crook, they wouldcarry the affair through. No matter how good the excuse, it was neveraccepted. Accidents would happen, there as elsewhere; a way to arrive inspite of them always exists, if only a man is willing to use his wits, unflagging energy, and time. Bad luck is a reality; but much of what iscalled bad luck is nothing but a want of careful foresight, and Thorpecould better afford to be harsh occasionally to the genuine for the sakeof eliminating the false. If a man failed, he left Camp One. 

The procedure was very simple. Thorpe never explained his reasons evento Shearer. 

"Ask Tom to step in a moment, " he requested of the latter. 

"Tom, " he said to that individual, "I think I can use you better atFour. Report to Kerlie there. "

And strangely enough, few even of these proud and independent men everasked for their time, or preferred to quit rather than to work up againto the glories of their prize camp. 

For while new recruits were never accepted at Camp One, neither was aman ever discharged there. He was merely transferred to one of the otherforemen. 

It is necessary to be thus minute in order that the reader mayunderstand exactly the class of men Thorpe had about his immediateperson. Some of them had the reputation of being the hardest citizens inthree States, others were mild as turtle doves. They were all pioneers. They had the independence, the unabashed eye, the insubordination even, of the man who has drawn his intellectual and moral nourishment at thebreast of a wild nature. They were afraid of nothing alive. From no one, were he chore-boy or president, would they take a single word--with theexception always of Tim Shearer and Thorpe. 

The former they respected because in their picturesque guild he was amaster craftsman. The latter they adored and quoted and fought for indistant saloons, because he represented to them their own ideal, whatthey would be if freed from the heavy gyves of vice and executiveincapacity that weighed them down. 

And they were loyal. It was a point of honor with them to stay "untilthe last dog was hung. " He who deserted in the hour of need was not onlya renegade, but a fool. For he thus earned a magnificent licking if everhe ran up against a member of the "Fighting Forty. " A band of soldiersthey were, ready to attempt anything their commander ordered, devoted, enthusiastically admiring. And, it must be confessed, they were alsosomewhat on the order of a band of pirates. Marquette thought so eachspring after the drive, when, hat-tilted, they surged swearing andshouting down to Denny Hogan's saloon. Denny had to buy new fixtureswhen they went away; but it was worth it. 

Proud! it was no name for it. Boast! the fame of Camp One spread abroadover the land, and was believed in to about twenty per cent of theanecdotes detailed of it--which was near enough the actual truth. Anecdotes disbelieved, the class of men from it would have given it areputation. The latter was varied enough, in truth. Some people thoughtCamp One must be a sort of hell-hole of roaring, fighting devils. Otherssighed and made rapid calculations of the number of logs they could putin, if only they could get hold of help like that. 

Thorpe himself, of course, made his headquarters at Camp One. Thencehe visited at least once a week all the other camps, inspecting theminutest details, not only of the work, but of the everyday life. Forthis purpose he maintained a light box sleigh and pair of bays, thoughoften, when the snow became deep, he was forced to snowshoes. 

During the five years he had never crossed the Straits of Mackinaw. The rupture with his sister had made repugnant to him all the southerncountry. He preferred to remain in the woods. All winter long hewas more than busy at his logging. Summers he spent at the mill. Occasionally he visited Marquette, but always on business. He becameused to seeing only the rough faces of men. The vision of softer gracesand beauties lost its distinctness before this strong, hardy northland, whose gentler moods were like velvet over iron, or like its own summerleaves veiling the eternal darkness of the pines. 

He was happy because he was too busy to be anything else. The insistentneed of success which he had created for himself, absorbed all othersentiments. He demanded it of others rigorously. He could do no lessthan demand it of himself. It had practically become one of his tenetsof belief. The chief end of any man, as he saw it, was to do welland successfully what his life found ready. Anything to further thisfore-ordained activity was good; anything else was bad. These thoughts, aided by a disposition naturally fervent and single in purpose, hereditarily ascetic and conscientious--for his mother was of old NewEngland stock--gave to him in the course of six years' striving a sortof daily and familiar religion to which he conformed his life. 

Success, success, success. Nothing could be of more importance. Itsattainment argued a man's efficiency in the Scheme of Things, his worthyfulfillment of the end for which a divine Providence had placed him onearth. Anything that interfered with it--personal comfort, inclination, affection, desire, love of ease, individual liking, --was bad. 

Luckily for Thorpe's peace of mind, his habit of looking on men asthings helped him keep to this attitude of mind. His lumbermen weretools, --good, sharp, efficient tools, to be sure, but only becausehe had made them so. Their loyalty aroused in his breast no pride norgratitude. He expected loyalty. He would have discharged at once a manwho did not show it. The same with zeal, intelligence, effort--theywere the things he took for granted. As for the admiration and affectionwhich the Fighting Forty displayed for him personally, he gave not athought to it. And the men knew it, and loved him the more from thefact. 

Thorpe cared for just three people, and none of them happened to clashwith his machine. They were Wallace Carpenter, little Phil, and InjinCharley. 

Wallace, for reasons already explained at length, was always personallyagreeable to Thorpe. Latterly, since the erection of the mill, he haddeveloped unexpected acumen in the disposal of the season's cut towholesale dealers in Chicago. Nothing could have been better for thefirm. Thereafter he was often in the woods, both for pleasure and toget his partner's ideas on what the firm would have to offer. The entireresponsibility at the city end of the business was in his hands. 

Injin Charley continued to hunt and trap in the country round about. Between him and Thorpe had grown a friendship the more solid in that itsincrease had been mysteriously without outward cause. Once or twicea month the lumberman would snowshoe down to the little cabin at theforks. Entering, he would nod briefly and seat himself on a cracker-box. 

"How do, Charley, " said he. 

"How do, " replied Charley. 

They filled pipes and smoked. At rare intervals one of them made aremark, tersely, "Catch um three beaver las' week, " remarked Charley. 

"Good haul, " commented Thorpe. 

Or:

"I saw a mink track by the big boulder, " offered Thorpe. 

"H'm!" responded Charley in a long-drawn falsetto whine. 

Yet somehow the men came to know each other better and better; and eachfelt that in an emergency he could depend on the other to the uttermostin spite of the difference in race. 

As for Phil, he was like some strange, shy animal, retaining all itswild instincts, but led by affection to become domestic. He drew thewater, cut the wood, none better. In the evening he played atrociouslyhis violin--none worse--bending his great white brow forward with thewolf-glare in his eyes, swaying his shoulders with a fierce delight inthe subtle dissonances, the swaggering exactitude of time, the vulgarrendition of the horrible tunes he played. And often he went into theforest and gazed wondering through his liquid poet's eyes at occultthings. Above all, he worshipped Thorpe. And in turn the lumbermanaccorded him a good-natured affection. He was as indispensable to CampOne as the beagles. 

And the beagles were most indispensable. No one could have got alongwithout them. In the course of events and natural selection they hadincreased to eleven. At night they slept in the men's camp underneath orvery near the stove. By daylight in the morning they were clamoring atthe door. Never had they caught a hare. Never for a moment did theirhopes sink. The men used sometimes to amuse themselves by refusingthe requested exit. The little dogs agonized. They leaped and yelped, falling over each other like a tangle of angleworms. Then finally, whenthe door at last flung wide, they precipitated themselves eagerly andsilently through the opening. A few moments later a single yelp rose inthe direction of the swamp; the band took up the cry. From then untildark the glade was musical with baying. At supper time they returnedstraggling, their expression pleased, six inches of red tongue hangingfrom the corners of their mouths, ravenously ready for supper. 

Strangely enough the big white hares never left the swamp. Perhaps thesame one was never chased two days in succession. Or it is possible thatthe quarry enjoyed the harmless game as much as did the little dogs. 

Once only while the snow lasted was the hunt abandoned for a few days. Wallace Carpenter announced his intention of joining forces with thediminutive hounds. 

"It's a shame, so it is, doggies!" he laughed at the tried pack. "We'llget one to-morrow. "

So he took his shotgun to the swamp, and after a half hour's wait, succeeded in killing the hare. From that moment he was the hero of thoseecstacized canines. They tangled about him everywhere. He hardly daredtake a step for fear of crushing one of the open faces and expectant, pleading eyes looking up at him. It grew to be a nuisance. Wallacealways claimed his trip was considerably shortened because he could notget away from his admirers. 

Chapter XXXVI

Financially the Company was rated high, and yet was heavily in debt. This condition of affairs by no means constitutes an anomaly in thelumbering business. 

The profits of the first five years had been immediately reinvested inthe business. Thorpe, with the foresight that had originally led himinto this new country, saw farther than the instant's gain. He intendedto establish in a few years more a big plant which would be returningbenefices in proportion not only to the capital originally invested, butalso in ratio to the energy, time, and genius he had himselfexpended. It was not the affair of a moment. It was not the affair ofhalf-measures, of timidity. 

Thorpe knew that he could play safely, cutting a few millions a year, expanding cautiously. By this method he would arrive, but only after along period. 

Or he could do as many other firms have done; start on borrowed money. 

In the latter case he had only one thing to fear, and that was fire. Every cent, and many times over, of his obligations would be representedin the state of raw material. All he had to do was to cut it out by thevery means which the yearly profits of his business would enable him topurchase. For the moment, he owed a great deal; without the shadow of adoubt mere industry would clear his debt, and leave him with substantialacquisitions created, practically, from nothing but his own abilities. The money obtained from his mortgages was a tool which he picked up aninstant, used to fashion one of his own, and laid aside. 

Every autumn the Company found itself suddenly in easy circumstances. Atany moment that Thorpe had chosen to be content with the progress made, he could have, so to speak, declared dividends with his partner. Insteadof undertaking more improvements, for part of which he borrowed somemoney, he could have divided the profits of the season's cut. But thishe was not yet ready to do. 

He had established five more camps, he had acquired over a hundred andfifty million more of timber lying contiguous to his own, he had builtand equipped a modern high-efficiency mill, he had constructed a harborbreak-water and the necessary booms, he had bought a tug, built aboarding-house. All this costs money. He wished now to construct alogging railroad. Then he promised himself and Wallace that they wouldbe ready to commence paying operations. 

The logging railroad was just then beginning to gain recognition. A fewmiles of track, a locomotive, and a number of cars consisting uniquelyof wheels and "bunks, " or cross beams on which to chain the logs, and afairly well-graded right-of-way comprised the outfit. Its use obviatedthe necessity of driving the river--always an expensive operation. Often, too, the decking at the skidways could be dispensed with; and thesleigh hauls, if not entirely superseded for the remote districts, wereentirely so in the country for a half mile on either side of thetrack, and in any case were greatly shortened. There obtained, too, theadditional advantage of being able to cut summer and winter alike. Thus, the plant once established, logging by railroad was not only easier butcheaper. Of late years it has come into almost universal use in big jobsand wherever the nature of the country will permit. The old-fashioned, picturesque ice-road sleigh-haul will last as long as north-woodslumbering, --even in the railroad districts, --but the locomotive now doesthe heavy work. 

With the capital to be obtained from the following winter's product, Thorpe hoped to be able to establish a branch which should run from apoint some two miles behind Camp One, to a "dump" a short distanceabove the mill. For this he had made all the estimates, and even thepreliminary survey. He was therefore the more grievously disappointed, when Wallace Carpenter made it impossible for him to do so. 

He was sitting in the mill-office one day about the middle of July. Herrick, the engineer, had just been in. He could not keep the engine inorder, although Thorpe knew that it could be done. 

"I've sot up nights with her, " said Herrick, "and she's no go. I thinkI can fix her when my head gets all right. I got headachy lately. Andsomehow that last lot of Babbit metal didn't seem to act just right. "

Thorpe looked out of the window, tapping his desk slowly with the end ofa lead pencil. 

"Collins, " said he to the bookkeeper, without raising his voice oraltering his position, "make out Herrick's time. "

The man stood there astonished. 

"But I had hard luck, sir, " he expostulated. "She'll go all right now, Ithink. "

Thorpe turned and looked at him. 

"Herrick, " he said, not unkindly, "this is the second time this summerthe mill has had to close early on account of that engine. We havesupplied you with everything you asked for. If you can't do it, we shallhave to get a man who can. "

"But I had--" began the man once more. 

"I ask every man to succeed in what I give him to do, " interruptedThorpe. "If he has a headache, he must brace up or quit. If his Babbitdoesn't act just right he must doctor it up; or get some more, even ifhe has to steal it. If he has hard luck, he must sit up nights to betterit. It's none of my concern how hard or how easy a time a man has indoing what I tell him to. I EXPECT HIM TO DO IT. If I have to do all aman's thinking for him, I may as well hire Swedes and be done with it. I have too many details to attend to already without bothering aboutexcuses. "

The man stood puzzling over this logic. 

"I ain't got any other job, " he ventured. 

"You can go to piling on the docks, " replied Thorpe, "if you want to. "

Thorpe was thus explicit because he rather liked Herrick. It was hardfor him to discharge the man peremptorily, and he proved the need ofjustifying himself in his own eyes. 

Now he sat back idly in the clean painted little room with the bigsquare desk and the three chairs. Through the door he could see Collins, perched on a high stool before the shelf-like desk. From the open windowcame the clear, musical note of the circular saw, the fresh aromaticsmell of new lumber, the bracing air from Superior sparkling in theoffing. He felt tired. In rare moments such as these, when the musclesof his striving relaxed, his mind turned to the past. Old sorrows rosebefore him and looked at him with their sad eyes; the sorrows that hadhelped to make him what he was. He wondered where his sister was. Shewould be twenty-two years old now. A tenderness, haunting, tearful, invaded his heart. He suffered. At such moments the hard shell of hisrough woods life seemed to rend apart. He longed with a great longingfor sympathy, for love, for the softer influences that cradle evenwarriors between the clangors of the battles. 

The outer door, beyond the cage behind which Collins and his shelfdesk were placed, flew open. Thorpe heard a brief greeting, and WallaceCarpenter stood before him. 

"Why, Wallace, I didn't know you were coming!" began Thorpe, andstopped. The boy, usually so fresh and happily buoyant, looked ten yearsolder. Wrinkles had gathered between his eyes. "Why, what's the matter?"cried Thorpe. 

He rose swiftly and shut the door into the outer office. Wallace seatedhimself mechanically. 

"Everything! everything!" he said in despair. "I've been a fool! I'vebeen blind!"

So bitter was his tone that Thorpe was startled. The lumberman sat downon the other side of the desk. 

"That'll do, Wallace, " he said sharply. "Tell me briefly what is thematter. "

"I've been speculating!" burst out the boy. 

"Ah!" said his partner. 

"At first I bought only dividend-paying stocks outright. Then I boughtfor a rise, but still outright. Then I got in with a fellow who claimedto know all about it. I bought on a margin. There came a slump. I metthe margins because I am sure there will be a rally, but now all myfortune is in the thing. I'm going to be penniless. I'll lose it all. "

"Ah!" said Thorpe. 

"And the name of Carpenter is so old-established, so honorable!" criedthe unhappy boy, "and my sister!"

"Easy!" warned Thorpe. "Being penniless isn't the worst thing that canhappen to a man. "

"No; but I am in debt, " went on the boy more calmly. "I have givennotes. When they come due, I'm a goner. "

"How much?" asked Thorpe laconically. 

"Thirty thousand dollars. "

"Well, you have that amount in this firm. "

"What do you mean?"

"If you want it, you can have it. "

Wallace considered a moment. 

"That would leave me without a cent, " he replied. 

"But it would save your commercial honor. "

"Harry, " cried Wallace suddenly, "couldn't this firm go on my note forthirty thousand more? Its credit is good, and that amount would save mymargins. "

"You are partner, " replied Thorpe, "your signature is as good as mine inthis firm. "

"But you know I wouldn't do it without your consent, " replied Wallacereproachfully. "Oh, Harry!" cried the boy, "when you needed the amount, I let you have it!"

Thorpe smiled. 

"You know you can have it, if it's to be had, Wallace. I wasn'thesitating on that account. I was merely trying to figure out where wecan raise such a sum as sixty thousand dollars. We haven't got it. "

"But you'll never have to pay it, " assured Wallace eagerly. "If I cansave my margins, I'll be all right. "

"A man has to figure on paying whatever he puts his signature to, "asserted Thorpe. "I can give you our note payable at the end of a year. Then I'll hustle in enough timber to make up the amount. It means wedon't get our railroad, that's all. "

"I knew you'd help me out. Now it's all right, " said Wallace, with arelieved air. 

Thorpe shook his head. He was already trying to figure how to increasehis cut to thirty million feet. 

"I'll do it, " he muttered to himself, after Wallace had gone out tovisit the mill. "I've been demanding success of others for a good manyyears; now I'll demand it of myself. "

PART IV. THORPE'S DREAM GIRL

Chapter XXXVII

The moment had struck for the woman. Thorpe did not know it, but it wastrue. A solitary, brooding life in the midst of grand surroundings, anactive, strenuous life among great responsibilities, a starved, hungry life of the affections whence even the sister had withdrawn herlove, --all these had worked unobtrusively towards the formation of asingle psychological condition. Such a moment comes to every man. In ithe realizes the beauties, the powers, the vastnesses which unconsciouslyhis being has absorbed. They rise to the surface as a need, which, being satisfied, is projected into the visible world as an ideal to beworshipped. Then is happiness and misery beside which the mere struggleto dominate men becomes trivial, the petty striving with the forces ofnature seems a little thing. And the woman he at that time meetstakes on the qualities of the dream; she is more than woman, less thangoddess; she is the best of that man made visible. 

Thorpe found himself for the first time filled with the spirit ofrestlessness. His customary iron evenness of temper was gone, so that hewandered quickly from one detail of his work to another, without seemingto penetrate below the surface-need of any one task. Out of the presenthis mind was always escaping to a mystic fourth dimension which he didnot understand. But a week before, he had felt himself absorbed in thecomponent parts of his enterprise, the totality of which arched farover his head, shutting out the sky. Now he was outside of it. He had, without his volition, abandoned the creator's standpoint of the godat the heart of his work. It seemed as important, as great to him, butsomehow it had taken on a strange solidarity, as though he had left ita plastic beginning and returned to find it hardened into the shapes offinality. He acknowledged it admirable, --and wondered how he had everaccomplished it! He confessed that it should be finished as it hadbegun, --and could not discover in himself the Titan who had watched overits inception. 

Thorpe took this state of mind much to heart, and in combating itexpended more energy than would have sufficed to accomplish the work. Inexorably he held himself to the task. He filled his mind full oflumbering. The millions along the bank on section nine must be cut andtravoyed directly to the rollways. It was a shame that the necessityshould arise. From section nine Thorpe had hoped to lighten the expenseswhen finally he should begin operations on the distant and inaccessibleheadwaters of French Creek. Now there was no help for it. The instantnecessity was to get thirty millions of pine logs down the river beforeWallace Carpenter's notes came due. Every other consideration had toyield before that. Fifteen millions more could be cut on seventeen, nineteen, and eleven, --regions hitherto practically untouched, --by themen in the four camps inland. Camp One and Camp Three could attend tosection nine. 

These were details to which Thorpe applied his mind. As he pushedthrough the sun-flecked forest, laying out his roads, placing his travoytrails, spying the difficulties that might supervene to mar the fairface of honest labor, he had always this thought before him, --that hemust apply his mind. By an effort, a tremendous effort, he succeeded indoing so. The effort left him limp. He found himself often standing, or moving gently, his eyes staring sightless, his mind cradled on vaguemisty clouds of absolute inaction, his will chained so softly and yet sofirmly that he felt no strength and hardly the desire to break from thedream that lulled him. Then he was conscious of the physical warmthof the sun, the faint sweet woods smells, the soothing caress of thebreeze, the sleepy cicada-like note of the pine creeper. Through hishalf-closed lashes the tangled sun-beams made soft-tinted rainbows. Hewanted nothing so much as to sit on the pine needles there in thegolden flood of radiance, and dream--dream on--vaguely, comfortably, sweetly--dream of the summer--

Thorpe, with a mighty and impatient effort, snapped the silken cordsasunder. 

"Lord, Lord!" he cried impatiently. "What's coming to me? I must be alittle off my feed!"

And he hurried rapidly to his duties. After an hour of the hardestconcentration he had ever been required to bestow on a trivial subject, he again unconsciously sank by degrees into the old apathy. 

"Glad it isn't the busy season!" he commented to himself. "Here, I mustquit this! Guess it's the warm weather. I'll get down to the mill for aday or two. "

There he found himself incapable of even the most petty routine work. He sat to his desk at eight o'clock and began the perusal of a sheaf ofletters, comprising a certain correspondence, which Collins brought him. The first three he read carefully; the following two rather hurriedly;of the next one he seized only the salient and essential points; theseventh and eighth he skimmed; the remainder of the bundle he thrustaside in uncontrollable impatience. Next day he returned to the woods. 

The incident of the letters had aroused to the full his old fightingspirit, before which no mere instincts could stand. He clamped theiron to his actions and forced them to the way appointed. Once more hismental processes became clear and incisive, his commands direct and tothe point. To all outward appearance Thorpe was as before. 

He opened Camp One, and the Fighting Forty came back from distantdrinking joints. This was in early September, when the raspberries wereentirely done and the blackberries fairly in the way of vanishing. Thatable-bodied and devoted band of men was on hand when needed. Shearer, in some subtle manner of his own, had let them feel that this year meantthirty million or "bust. " They tightened their leather belts and stoodready for commands. Thorpe set them to work near the river, cuttingroads along the lines he had blazed to the inland timber on seventeenand nineteen. After much discussion with Shearer the young man decidedto take out the logs from eleven by driving them down French Creek. 

To this end a gang was put to clearing the creekbed. It was a tremendousjob. Centuries of forest life had choked the little stream nearly tothe level of its banks. Old snags and stumps lay imbedded in the ooze;decayed trunks, moss-grown, blocked the current; leaning tamaracks, fallen timber, tangled vines, dense thickets gave to its course more theappearance of a tropical jungle than of a north country brook-bed. Allthese things had to be removed, one by one, and either piled to oneside or burnt. In the end, however, it would pay. French Creek was nota large stream, but it could be driven during the time of the springfreshets. 

Each night the men returned in the beautiful dreamlike twilight to thecamp. There they sat, after eating, smoking their pipes in the open air. Much of the time they sang, while Phil, crouching wolf-like over hisviolin, rasped out an accompaniment of dissonances. From a distance itsoftened and fitted pleasantly into the framework of the wilderness. The men's voices lent themselves well to the weird minor strains of thechanteys. These times--when the men sang, and the night-wind rose anddied in the hemlock tops--were Thorpe's worst moments. His soul, tiredwith the day's iron struggle, fell to brooding. Strange thoughts came tohim, strange visions. He wanted something he knew not what; he longed, and thrilled, and aspired to a greater glory than that of brave deeds, asofter comfort than his old foster mother, the wilderness, could bestow. 

The men were singing in a mighty chorus, swaying their heads in unison, and bringing out with a roar the emphatic words of the crude dittieswritten by some genius from their own ranks. 

 "Come all ye sons of freedom throughout old Michigan, Come all ye gallant lumbermen, list to a shanty man. On the banks of the Muskegon, where the rapid waters flow, OH!--we'll range the wild woods o'er while a-lumbering we go. "

Here was the bold unabashed front of the pioneer, here was absolutecertainty in the superiority of his calling, --absolute scorn of allothers. Thorpe passed his hand across his brow. The same spirit was oncefully and freely his. 

 "The music of our burnished ax shall make the woods resound, And many a lofty ancient pine will tumble to the ground. At night around our shanty fire we'll sing while rude winds blow, OH!--we'll range the wild woods o'er while a-lumbering we go!"

That was what he was here for. Things were going right. It would bepitiful to fail merely on account of this idiotic lassitude, thisunmanly weakness, this boyish impatience and desire for play. He awoodsman! He a fellow with these big strong men!

A single voice, clear and high, struck into a quick measure:

 "I am a jolly shanty boy, As you will soon discover; To all the dodges I am fly, A hustling pine-woods rover. A peavey-hook it is my pride, An ax I well can handle. To fell a tree or punch a bull, Get rattling Danny Randall. "

And then with a rattle and crash the whole Fighting Forty shrieked outthe chorus:

 "Bung yer eye! bung yer eye!"

Active, alert, prepared for any emergency that might arise; hearty, ready for everything, from punching bulls to felling trees--that wassomething like! Thorpe despised himself. The song went on. 

 "I love a girl in Saginaw, She lives with her mother. I defy all Michigan To find such another. She's tall and slim, her hair is red, Her face is plump and pretty. She's my daisy Sunday best-day girl, And her front name stands for Kitty. "

And again as before the Fighting Forty howled truculently:

"Bung yer eye! bung yer eye!"

The words were vulgar, the air a mere minor chant. Yet Thorpe's mind wasstilled. His aroused subconsciousness had been engaged in reconstructingthese men entire as their songs voiced rudely the inner characteristicsof their beings. Now his spirit halted, finger on lip. Their bravery, pride of caste, resource, bravado, boastfulness, --all these he hadchecked off approvingly. Here now was the idea of the Mate. Somewherefor each of them was a "Kitty, " a "daisy Sunday best-day girl"; theeternal feminine; the softer side; the tenderness, beauty, glory of evenso harsh a world as they were compelled to inhabit. At the present orin the past these woods roisterers, this Fighting Forty, had known love. Thorpe arose abruptly and turned at random into the forest. The songpursued him as he went, but he heard only the clear sweet tones, notthe words. And yet even the words would have spelled to his awakenedsensibilities another idea, --would have symbolized however rudely, companionship and the human delight of acting a part before a woman. 

 "I took her to a dance one night, A mossback gave the bidding-- Silver Jack bossed the shebang, and Big Dan played the fiddle. We danced and drank the livelong night With fights between the dancing, Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch And sent the mossbacks prancing. "

And with the increasing war and turmoil of the quick water the lastshout of the Fighting Forty mingled faintly and was lost. 

 "Bung yer eye! bung yer eye!"

Thorpe found himself at the edge of the woods facing a little glade intowhich streamed the radiance of a full moon. 

Chapter XXXVIII

There he stood and looked silently, not understanding, not caring toinquire. Across the way a white-throat was singing, clear, beautiful, like the shadow of a dream. The girl stood listening. 

Her small fair head was inclined ever so little sideways and her fingerwas on her lips as though she wished to still the very hush of night, towhich impression the inclination of her supple body lent its grace. Themoonlight shone full upon her countenance. A little white face it was, with wide clear eyes and a sensitive, proud mouth that now half partedlike a child's. Here eyebrows arched from her straight nose in thepeculiarly graceful curve that falls just short of pride on the one sideand of power on the other, to fill the eyes with a pathos of trust andinnocence. The man watching could catch the poise of her long white neckand the molten moon-fire from her tumbled hair, --the color of corn-silk, but finer. 

And yet these words meant nothing. A painter might have caught hercharm, but he must needs be a poet as well, --and a great poet, onecapable of grandeurs and subtleties. 

To the young man standing there rapt in the spell of vague desire, ofawakened vision, she seemed most like a flower or a mist. He tried tofind words to formulate her to himself, but did not succeed. Always itcame back to the same idea--the flower and the mist. Like the petals ofa flower most delicate was her questioning, upturned face; like the bendof a flower most rare the stalk of her graceful throat; like the poiseof a flower most dainty the attitude of her beautiful, perfect bodysheathed in a garment that outlined each movement, for the instant insuspense. Like a mist the glimmering of her skin, the shining of herhair, the elusive moonlike quality of her whole personality as she stoodthere in the ghost-like clearing listening, her fingers on her lips. 

Behind her lurked the low, even shadow of the forest where the moon wasnot, a band of velvet against which the girl and the light-touchedtwigs and bushes and grass blades were etched like frost against a blackwindow pane. There was something, too, of the frost-work's evanescentspiritual quality in the scene, --as though at any moment, with a puffof the balmy summer wind, the radiant glade, the hovering figure, thefilagreed silver of the entire setting would melt into the accustomedstern and menacing forest of the northland, with its wolves, and itswild deer, and the voices of its sterner calling. 

Thorpe held his breath and waited. Again the white-throat lifted hisclear, spiritual note across the brightness, slow, trembling with. Thegirl never moved. She stood in the moonlight like a beautiful emblem ofsilence, half real, half fancy, part woman, wholly divine, listening tothe little bird's message. 

For the third time the song shivered across the night, then Thorpe witha soft sob, dropped his face in his hands and looked no more. 

He did not feel the earth beneath his knees, nor the whip of the sumachacross his face; he did not see the moon shadows creep slowly along thefallen birch; nor did he notice that the white-throat had hushed itssong. His inmost spirit was shaken. Something had entered his soul andfilled it to the brim, so that he dared no longer stand in the faceof radiance until he had accounted with himself. Another drop wouldoverflow the cup. 

Ah, sweet God, the beauty of it, the beauty of it! That questing, childlike starry gaze, seeking so purely to the stars themselves! Thatflower face, those drooping, half parted lips! That inexpressible, unseizable something they had meant! Thorpe searchedhumbly--eagerly--then with agony through his troubled spirit, and inits furthermost depths saw the mystery as beautifully remote as ever. Itapproached and swept over him and left him gasping passion-racked. Ah, sweet God, the beauty of it! the beauty of it! the vision! the dream!

He trembled and sobbed with his desire to seize it, with his impotenceto express it, with his failure even to appreciate it as his heart toldhim it should be appreciated. 

He dared not look. At length he turned and stumbled back through themoonlit forest crying on his old gods in vain. 

At the banks of the river he came to a halt. There in the velvet pinesthe moonlight slept calmly, and the shadows rested quietly under thebreezeless sky. Near at hand the river shouted as ever its cry ofjoy over the vitality of life, like a spirited boy before the face ofinscrutable nature. All else was silence. Then from the waste boomeda strange, hollow note, rising, dying, rising again, instinct with thespirit of the wilds. It fell, and far away sounded a heavy but distantcrash. The cry lifted again. It was the first bull moose calling acrossthe wilderness to his mate. 

And then, faint but clear down the current of a chance breeze driftedthe chorus of the Fighting Forty. 

 "The forests so brown at our stroke go down, And cities spring up where they fell; While logs well run and work well done Is the story the shanty boys tell. "

Thorpe turned from the river with a thrust forward of his head. He wasnot a religious man, and in his six years' woods experience had neverbeen to church. Now he looked up over the tops of the pines to where thePleiades glittered faintly among the brighter stars. 

"Thanks, God, " said he briefly. 

Chapter XXXIX

For several days this impression satisfied him completely. Hediscovered, strangely enough, that his restlessness had left him, that once more he was able to give to his work his former energy andinterest. It was as though some power had raised its finger and a stormhad stilled, leaving calm, unruffled skies. 

He did not attempt to analyze this; he did not even make an effort tocontemplate it. His critical faculty was stricken dumb and it asked noquestions of him. At a touch his entire life had changed. Reality orvision, he had caught a glimpse of something so entirely different fromanything his imagination or experience had ever suggested to him, thatat first he could do no more than permit passively its influences toadjust themselves to his being. 

Curiosity, speculation, longing, --all the more active emotions remainedin abeyance while outwardly, for three days, Harry Thorpe occupiedhimself only with the needs of the Fighting Forty at Camp One. 

In the early morning he went out with the gang. While they chopped orheaved, he stood by serene. Little questions of expediency he solved. Dilemmas he discussed leisurely with Tim Shearer. Occasionally he lent ashoulder when the peaveys lacked of prying a stubborn log from its bed. Not once did he glance at the nooning sun. His patience was quiet andsure. When evening came he smoked placidly outside the office, listeningto the conversation and laughter of the men, caressing one of thebeagles, while the rest slumbered about his feet, watching dreamily thenight shadows and the bats. At about nine o'clock he went to bed, andslept soundly. He was vaguely conscious of a great peace within him, agreat stillness of the spirit, against which the metallic events of hiscraft clicked sharply in vivid relief. It was the peace and stillness ofa river before it leaps. 

Little by little the condition changed. The man felt vague stirrings ofcuriosity. He speculated aimlessly as to whether or not the glade, the moonlight, the girl, had been real or merely the figments ofimagination. Almost immediately the answer leaped at him from his heart. Since she was so certainly flesh and blood, whence did she come? whatwas she doing there in the wilderness? His mind pushed the query asideas unimportant, rushing eagerly to the essential point: When could hesee her again? How find for the second time the vision before which hisheart felt the instant need of prostrating itself. His placidity hadgone. That morning he made some vague excuse to Shearer and set outblindly down the river. 

He did not know where he was going, any more than did the bull mooseplunging through the trackless wilderness to his mate. Instinct, the instinct of all wild natural creatures, led him. And so, withoutthought, without clear intention even, --most would say by accident, --hesaw her again. It was near the "pole trail"; which was less like a trailthan a rail-fence. 

For when the snows are deep and snowshoes not the property of every manwho cares to journey, the old-fashioned "pole trail" comes into use. Itis merely a series of horses built of timber across which thick Norwaylogs are laid, about four feet from the ground, to form a continuouspathway. A man must be a tight-rope walker to stick to the pole trailwhen ice and snow have sheathed its logs. If he makes a misstep, heis precipitated ludicrously into feathery depths through which he mustflounder to the nearest timber horse before he can remount. In summer, as has been said, it resembles nothing so much as a thick one-rail fenceof considerable height, around which a fringe of light brush has grown. 

Thorpe reached the fringe of bushes, and was about to dodge under thefence, when he saw her. So he stopped short, concealed by the leaves andthe timber horse. 

She stood on a knoll in the middle of a grove of monster pines. Therewas something of the cathedral in the spot. A hush dwelt in the dusk, the long columns lifted grandly to the Roman arches of the frond, faintmurmurings stole here and there like whispering acolytes. The girl stoodtall and straight among the tall, straight pines like a figure on anancient tapestry. She was doing nothing--just standing there--but theawe of the forest was in her wide, clear eyes. 

The great sweet feeling clutched the young man's throat again. Butwhile the other, --the vision of the frost-work glade and the spirit-likefigure of silence, --had been unreal and phantasmagoric, this was of theearth. He looked, and looked, and looked again. He saw the full purecurve of her cheek's contour, neither oval nor round, but like theoutline of a certain kind of plum. He appreciated the half-patheticdownward droop of the corners of her mouth, --her red mouth in dazzling, bewitching contrast to the milk-whiteness of her skin. He caught thefineness of her nose, straight as a Grecian's, but with some faintsuggestion about the nostrils that hinted at piquance. And the wavingcorn silk of her altogether charming and unruly hair, the superb columnof her long neck on which her little head poised proudly like a flower, her supple body, whose curves had the long undulating grace of thecurrent in a swift river, her slender white hand with the pointedfingers--all these he saw one after the other, and his soul shoutedwithin him at the sight. He wrestled with the emotions that choked him. "Ah, God! Ah, God!" he cried softly to himself like one in pain. He, the man of iron frame, of iron nerve, hardened by a hundred emergencies, trembled in every muscle before a straight, slender girl, clad all inbrown, standing alone in the middle of the ancient forest. 

In a moment she stirred slightly, and turned. Drawing herself to herfull height, she extended her hands over her head palm outward, and, with an indescribably graceful gesture, half mockingly bowed aceremonious adieu to the solemn trees. Then with a little laugh shemoved away in the direction of the river. 

At once Thorpe proved a great need of seeing her again. In his presentmood there was nothing of the awe-stricken peace he had experiencedafter the moonlight adventure. He wanted the sight of her as he hadnever wanted anything before. He must have it, and he looked about himfiercely as though to challenge any force in Heaven or Hell that woulddeprive him of it. His eyes desired to follow the soft white curve ofher cheek, to dance with the light of her corn-silk hair, to delight inthe poetic movements of her tall, slim body, to trace the full outlineof her chin, to wonder at the carmine of her lips, red as a blood-spoton the snow. These things must be at once. The strong man desired it. And finding it impossible, he raged inwardly and tore the tranquillitiesof his heart, as on the shores of the distant Lake of Stars, thebull-moose trampled down the bushes in his passion. 

So it happened that he ate hardly at all that day, and slept ill, anddiscovered the greatest difficulty in preserving the outward semblanceof ease which the presence of Tim Shearer and the Fighting Fortydemanded. 

And next day he saw her again, and the next, because the need of hisheart demanded it, and because, simply enough, she came every afternoonto the clump of pines by the old pole trail. 

Now had Thorpe taken the trouble to inquire, he could have learnedeasily enough all there was to be known of the affair. But he didnot take the trouble. His consciousness was receiving too many newimpressions, so that in a manner it became bewildered. At first, as hasbeen seen, the mere effect of the vision was enough; then the sightof the girl sufficed him. But now curiosity awoke and a desire forsomething more. He must speak to her, touch her hand, look into hereyes. He resolved to approach her, and the mere thought choked him andsent him weak. 

When he saw her again from the shelter of the pole trail, he dared not, and so stood there prey to a novel sensation, --that of being baffled inan intention. It awoke within him a vast passion compounded part of rageat himself, part of longing for that which he could not take, but mostof love for the girl. As he hesitated in one mind but in two decisions, he saw that she was walking slowly in his direction. 

Perhaps a hundred paces separated the two. She took them deliberately, pausing now and again to listen, to pluck a leaf, to smell the fragrantbalsam and fir tops as she passed them. Her progression was a seriesof poses, the one of which melted imperceptibly into the other withoutappreciable pause of transition. So subtly did her grace appeal to thesense of sight, that out of mere sympathy the other senses respondedwith fictions of their own. Almost could the young man behind the trailsavor a faint fragrance, a faint music that surrounded and preceded herlike the shadows of phantoms. He knew it as an illusion, born of hisdesire, and yet it was a noble illusion, for it had its origin in her. 

In a moment she had reached the fringe of brush about the pole trail. They stood face to face. 

She gave a little start of surprise, and her hand leaped to her breast, where it caught and stayed. Her childlike down-drooping mouth parteda little more, and the breath quickened through it. But her eyes, herwide, trusting, innocent eyes, sought his and rested. 

He did not move. The eagerness, the desire, the long years of ceaselessstruggle, the thirst for affection, the sob of awe at the moonlitglade, the love, --all these flamed in his eyes and fixed his gaze in anunconscious ardor that had nothing to do with convention or timidity. One on either side of the spike-marked old Norway log of the trailthey stood, and for an appreciable interval the duel of their glanceslasted, --he masterful, passionate, exigent; she proud, cool, defensivein the aloofness of her beauty. Then at last his prevailed. A faintcolor rose from her neck, deepened, and spread over her face andforehead. In a moment she dropped her eyes. 

"Don't you think you stare a little rudely--Mr. Thorpe?" she asked. 

Chapter XL

The vision was over, but the beauty remained. The spoken words ofprotest made her a woman. Never again would she, nor any other creatureof the earth, appear to Thorpe as she had in the silver glade or thecloistered pines. He had had his moment of insight. The deeps had twiceopened to permit him to look within. Now they had closed again. But outof them had fluttered a great love and the priestess of it. Always, solong as life should be with him, Thorpe was destined to see in this tallgraceful girl with the red lips and the white skin and the corn-silkhair, more beauty, more of the great mysterious spiritual beauty whichis eternal, than her father or her mother or her dearest and best. Forto them the vision had not been vouchsafed, while he had seen her as thehighest symbol of God's splendor. 

Now she stood before him, her head turned half away, a faint flushstill tingeing the chalk-white of her skin, watching him with a dim, half-pleading smile in expectation of his reply. 

"Ah, moon of my soul! light of my life!" he cried, but he cried itwithin him, though it almost escaped his vigilance to his lips. What hereally said sounded almost harsh in consequence. 

"How did you know my name?" he asked. 

She planted both elbows on the Norway and framed her little facedeliciously with her long pointed hands. 

"If Mr. Harry Thorpe can ask that question, " she replied, "he is notquite so impolite as I had thought him. "

"If you don't stop pouting your lips, I shall kiss them!" criedHarry--to himself. 

"How is that?" he inquired breathlessly. 

"Don't you know who I am?" she asked in return. 

"A goddess, a beautiful woman!" he answered ridiculously enough. 

She looked straight at him. This time his gaze dropped. 

"I am a friend of Elizabeth Carpenter, who is Wallace Carpenter'ssister, who I believe is Mr. Harry Thorpe's partner. "

She paused as though for comment. The young man opposite was occupiedin many other more important directions. Some moments later the wordstrickled into his brain, and some moments after that he realized theirmeaning. 

"We wrote Mr. Harry Thorpe that we were about to descend on his districtwith wagons and tents and Indians and things, and asked him to come andsee us. "

"Ah, heart o' mine, what clear, pure eyes she has! How they look at aman to drown his soul!"

Which, even had it been spoken, was hardly the comment one would haveexpected. 

The girl looked at him for a moment steadily, then smiled. The change ofcountenance brought Thorpe to himself, and at the same moment the wordsshe had spoken reached his comprehension. 

"But I never received the letter. I'm so sorry, " said he. "It must be atthe mill. You see, I've been up in the woods for nearly a month. "

"Then we'll have to forgive you. "

"But I should think they would have done something for you at themill--"

"Oh, we didn't come by way of your mill. We drove from Marquette. "

"I see, " cried Thorpe, enlightened. "But I'm sorry I didn't know. I'msorry you didn't let me know. I suppose you thought I was still at themill. How did you get along? Is Wallace with you?"

"No, " she replied, dropping her hands and straightening her erectfigure. "It's horrid. He was coming, and then some business came upand he couldn't get away. We are having the loveliest time though. I doadore the woods. Come, " she cried impatiently, sweeping aside to leave away clear, "you shall meet my friends. "

Thorpe imagined she referred to the rest of the tenting party. Hehesitated. 

"I am hardly in fit condition, " he objected. 

She laughed, parting her red lips. "You are extremely picturesque justas you are, " she said with rather embarrassing directness. "I wouldn'thave you any different for the world. But my friends don't mind. Theyare used to it. " She laughed again. 

Thorpe crossed the pole trail, and for the first time found himself byher side. The warm summer odors were in the air, a dozen livelylittle birds sang in the brush along the rail, the sunlight danced andflickered through the openings. 

Then suddenly they were among the pines, and the air was cool, the vistadim, and the bird songs inconceivably far away. 

The girl walked directly to the foot of a pine three feet through, andsoaring up an inconceivable distance through the still twilight. 

"This is Jimmy, " said she gravely. "He is a dear good old rough bearwhen you don't know him, but he likes me. If you put your ear closeagainst him, " she confided, suiting the action to the word, "you canhear him talking to himself. This little fellow is Tommy. I don't careso much for Tommy because he's sticky. Still, I like him pretty well, and here's Dick, and that's Bob, and the one just beyond is Jack. "

"Where is Harry?" asked Thorpe. 

"I thought one in a woods was quite sufficient, " she replied with theleast little air of impertinence. 

"Why do you name them such common, everyday names?" he inquired. 

"I'll tell you. It's because they are so big and grand themselves, that it did not seem to me they needed high-sounding names. What do youthink?" she begged with an appearance of the utmost anxiety. 

Thorpe expressed himself as in agreement. As the half-quizzicalconversation progressed, he found their relations adjusting themselveswith increasing rapidity. He had been successively the mystic devoteebefore his vision, the worshipper before his goddess; now he wasunconsciously assuming the attitude of the lover before his mistress. It needs always this humanizing touch to render the greatest of allpassions livable. 

And as the human element developed, he proved at the same time greaterand greater difficulty in repressing himself and greater and greaterfear of the results in case he should not do so. He trembled with thedesire to touch her long slender hand, and as soon as his imaginationhad permitted him that much he had already crushed her to him and hadkissed passionately her starry face. Words hovered on his lipslonging for flight. He withheld them by an effort that left him almostincoherent, for he feared with a deadly fear lest he lose forever whatthe vision had seemed to offer to his hand. 

So he said little, and that lamely, for he dreaded to say too much. Toher playful sallies he had no riposte. And in consequence he fell moresilent with another boding--that he was losing his cause outright forlack of a ready word. 

He need not have been alarmed. A woman in such a case hits as surely asa man misses. Her very daintiness and preciosity of speech indicated it. For where a man becomes stupid and silent, a woman covers her emotionswith words and a clever speech. Not in vain is a proud-spirited girlstared down in such a contest of looks; brave deeds simply told bya friend are potent to win interest in advance; a straight, muscularfigure, a brown skin, a clear, direct eye, a carriage of power andacknowledged authority, strike hard at a young imagination; a mightypassion sweeps aside the barriers of the heart. Such a victory, such afriend, such a passion had Thorpe. 

And so the last spoken exchange between them meant nothing; but if eachcould have read the unsaid words that quivered on the other's heart, Thorpe would have returned to the Fighting Forty more tranquilly, whileshe would probably not have returned to the camping party at all for anumber of hours. 

"I do not think you had better come with me, " she said. "Make your calland be forgiven on your own account. I don't want to drag you in at mychariot wheels. "

"All right. I'll come this afternoon, " Thorpe had replied. 

"I love her, I must have her. I must go--at once, " his soul had cried, "quick--now--before I kiss her!"

"How strong he is, " she said to herself, "how brave-looking; how honest!He is different from the other men. He is magnificent. "

Chapter XLI

That afternoon Thorpe met the other members of the party, offered hisapologies and explanations, and was graciously forgiven. He found thepersonnel to consist of, first of all, Mrs. Cary, the chaperone, a veryyoung married woman of twenty-two or thereabouts; her husband, a youthof three years older, clean-shaven, light-haired, quiet-mannered; MissElizabeth Carpenter, who resembled her brother in the characteristics ofgood-looks, vivacious disposition and curly hair; an attendant satelliteof the masculine persuasion called Morton; and last of all the girl whomThorpe had already so variously encountered and whom he now met as MissHilda Farrand. Besides these were Ginger, a squab negro built to fit thegalley of a yacht; and three Indian guides. They inhabited tents, whichmade quite a little encampment. 

Thorpe was received with enthusiasm. Wallace Carpenter's stories of hiswoods partner, while never doing more than justice to the truth, hadbeen of a warm color tone. One and all owned a lively curiosity to seewhat a real woodsman might be like. When he proved to be handsome andwell mannered, as well as picturesque, his reception was no longer indoubt. 

Nothing could exceed his solicitude as to their comfort and amusement. He inspected personally the arrangement of the tents, and suggested oneor two changes conducive to the littler comforts. This was not much likeordinary woods-camping. The largest wall-tent contained threefolding cots for the women, over which, in the daytime, were flungbright-colored Navajo blankets. Another was spread on the ground. Thorpelater, however, sent over two bear skins, which were acknowledgedly animprovement. To the tent pole a mirror of size was nailed, and below itstood a portable washstand. The second tent, devoted to the two men, was not quite so luxurious; but still boasted of little conveniences thetrue woodsman would never consider worth the bother of transporting. Thethird, equally large, was the dining tent. The other three, smaller, andon the A tent order, served respectively as sleeping rooms for Gingerand the Indians, and as a general store-house for provisions andimpedimenta. 

Thorpe sent an Indian to Camp One for the bearskins, put the rest todigging a trench around the sleeping tents in order that a rain stormmight not cause a flood, and ordered Ginger to excavate a square holesome feet deep which he intended to utilize as a larder. 

Then he gave Morton and Cary hints as to the deer they wished tocapture, pointed out the best trout pools, and issued advice as to thecompassing of certain blackberries, not far distant. 

Simple things enough they were to do--it was as though a city man wereto direct a newcomer to Central Park, or impart to him a test for thedestinations of trolley lines--yet Thorpe's new friends were profoundlyimpressed with his knowledge of occult things. The forest was to them, as to most, more or less of a mystery, unfathomable except to thefavored of genius. A man who could interpret it, even a little, into thespeech of everyday comfort and expediency possessed a strong claim totheir imaginations. When he had finished these practical affairs, theywanted him to sit down and tell them more things, to dine with them, tosmoke about their camp fire in the evening. But here they encountereda decided check. Thorpe became silent, almost morose. He talked inmonosyllables, and soon went away. They did not know what to make ofhim, and so were, of course, the more profoundly interested. The truthwas, his habitual reticence would not have permitted a great degree ofexpansion in any case, but now the presence of Hilda made any but anattitude of hushed waiting for her words utterly impossible to him. Hewished well to them all. If there was anything he could do for them, he would gladly undertake it. But he would not act the lion nor tell ofhis, to them, interesting adventures. 

However, when he discovered that Hilda had ceased visiting the clumpof pines near the pole trail, his desire forced him back among thesepeople. He used to walk in swiftly at almost any time of day, castingquick glances here and there in search of his divinity. 

"How do, Mrs. Cary, " he would say. "Nice weather. Enjoying yourself?"

On receiving the reply he would answer heartily, "That's good!" andlapse into silence. When Hilda was about he followed every movement ofhers with his eyes, so that his strange conduct lacked no explanationnor interpretation, in the minds of the women at least. Thrice heredeemed his reputation for being an interesting character by conductingthe party on little expeditions here and there about the country. Thenhis woodcraft and resourcefulness spoke for him. They asked him aboutthe lumbering operations, but he seemed indifferent. 

"Nothing to interest you, " he affirmed. "We're just cutting roads now. You ought to be here for the drive. "

To him there was really nothing interesting in the cutting of roads northe clearing of streams. It was all in a day's work. 

Once he took them over to see Camp One. They were immensely pleased, andwere correspondingly loud in exclamations. Thorpe's comments were briefand dry. After the noon dinner he had the unfortunate idea of commendingthe singing of one of the men. 

"Oh, I'd like to hear him, " cried Elizabeth Carpenter. "Can't you gethim to sing for us, Mr. Thorpe?"

Thorpe went to the men's camp, where he singled out the unfortunatelumber-jack in question. 

"Come on, Archie, " he said. "The ladies want to hear you sing. "

The man objected, refused, pleaded, and finally obeyed what amounted toa command. Thorpe reentered the office with triumph, his victim in tow. 

"This is Archie Harris, " he announced heartily. "He's our best singerjust now. Take a chair, Archie. "

The man perched on the edge of the chair and looked straight out beforehim. 

"Do sing for us, won't you, Mr. Harris?" requested Mrs. Cary in hersweetest tones. 

The man said nothing, nor moved a muscle, but turned a brick-red. Anembarrassed silence of expectation ensued. 

"Hit her up, Archie, " encouraged Thorpe. 

"I ain't much in practice no how, " objected the man in a little voice, without moving. 

"I'm sure you'll find us very appreciative, " said Elizabeth Carpenter. 

"Give us a song, Archie, let her go, " urged Thorpe impatiently. 

"All right, " replied the man very meekly. 

Another silence fell. It got to be a little awful. The poor woodsman, pilloried before the regards of this polite circle, out of his element, suffering cruelly, nevertheless made no sign nor movement one way or theother. At last when the situation had almost reached the breaking pointof hysteria, he began. 

His voice ordinarily was rather a good tenor. Now he pitched it toohigh; and went on straining at the high notes to the very end. Insteadof offering one of the typical woods chanteys, he conceived that beforeso grand an audience he should give something fancy. He therefore struckinto a sentimental song of the cheap music-hall type. There were nineverses, and he drawled through them all, hanging whiningly on thenasal notes in the fashion of the untrained singer. Instead of beinga performance typical of the strange woods genius, it was merely anatrocious bit of cheap sentimentalism, badly rendered. 

The audience listened politely. When the song was finished it murmuredfaint thanks. 

"Oh, give us 'Jack Haggerty, ' Archie, " urged Thorpe. 

But the woodsman rose, nodded his head awkwardly, and made his escape. He entered the men's camp, swearing, and for the remainder of the daymade none but blasphemous remarks. 

The beagles, however, were a complete success. They tumbled about, andlolled their tongues, and laughed up out of a tangle of themselves in afascinating manner. Altogether the visit to Camp One was a success, themore so in that on the way back, for the first time, Thorpe found thatchance--and Mrs. Cary--had allotted Hilda to his care. 

A hundred yards down the trail they encountered Phil. The dwarf stoppedshort, looked attentively at the girl, and then softly approached. Whenquite near to her he again stopped, gazing at her with his soul in hisliquid eyes. 

"You are more beautiful than the sea at night, " he said directly. 

The others laughed. "There's sincerity for you, Miss Hilda, " said youngMr. Morton. 

"Who is he?" asked the girl after they had moved

"Our chore-boy, " answered Thorpe with great brevity, for he was thinkingof something much more important. 

After the rest of the party had gone ahead, leaving them sauntering moreslowly down the trail, he gave it voice. 

"Why don't you come to the pine grove any more?" he asked bluntly. 

"Why?" countered Hilda in the manner of women. 

"I want to see you there. I want to talk with you. I can't talk with allthat crowd around. "

"I'll come to-morrow, " she said--then with a little mischievous laugh, "if that'll make you talk. "

"You must think I'm awfully stupid, " agreed Thorpe bitterly. 

"Ah, no! Ah, no!" she protested softly. "You must not say that. "

She was looking at him very tenderly, if he had only known it, but hedid not, for his face was set in discontented lines straight before him. 

"It is true, " he replied. 

They walked on in silence, while gradually the dangerous fascination ofthe woods crept down on them. Just before sunset a hush falls on nature. The wind has died, the birds have not yet begun their evening songs, thelight itself seems to have left off sparkling and to lie still acrossthe landscape. Such a hush now lay on their spirits. Over the way acreeper was droning sleepily a little chant, --the only voice in thewilderness. In the heart of the man, too, a little voice raised itselfalone. 

"Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart!" it breathed over and over again. After a while he said it gently in a half voice. 

"No, no, hush!" said the girl, and she laid the soft, warm fingers ofone hand across his lips, and looked at him from a height of superiorsoft-eyed tenderness as a woman might look at a child. "You must not. Itis not right. "

Then he kissed the fingers very gently before they were withdrawn, andshe said nothing at all in rebuke, but looked straight before her withtroubled eyes. 

The voices of evening began to raise their jubilant notes. From atree nearby the olive thrush sang like clockwork; over beyond carolledeagerly a black-throat, a myrtle warbler, a dozen song sparrows, and ahundred vireos and creepers. Down deep in the blackness of the ancientwoods a hermit thrush uttered his solemn bell note, like the tolling ofthe spirit of peace. And in Thorpe's heart a thousand tumultuous voicesthat had suddenly roused to clamor, died into nothingness at the musicof her softly protesting voice. 

Chapter XLII

Thorpe returned to Camp One shortly after dark. He found there ScottyParsons, who had come up to take charge of the crew engaged in clearingFrench Creek. The man brought him a number of letters sent on byCollins, among which was one from Wallace Carpenter. 

After commending the camping party to his companion's care, and givingminute directions as to how and where to meet it, the young fellow wenton to say that affairs were going badly on the Board. 

"Some interest that I haven't been able to make out yet has beenhammering our stocks down day after day, " he wrote. "I don't understandit, for the stocks are good--they rest on a solid foundation of valueand intrinsically are worth more than is bid for them right now. Somepowerful concern is beating them down for a purpose of its own. Sooneror later they will let up, and then we'll get things back in good shape. I am amply protected now, thanks to you, and am not at all afraid oflosing my holdings. The only difficulty is that I am unable to predictexactly when the other fellows will decide that they have accomplishedwhatever they are about, and let up. It may not be before next year. Inthat case I couldn't help you out on those notes when they come due. Soput in your best licks, old man. You may have to pony up for a littlewhile, though of course sooner or later I can put it all back. Then, you bet your life, I keep out of it. Lumbering's good enough for yourstruly. 

"By the way, you might shine up to Hilda Farrand and join the rest ofthe fortune-hunters. She's got it to throw to the birds, and in her ownright. Seriously, old fellow, don't put yourself into a false positionthrough ignorance. Not that there is any danger to a hardened oldwoodsman like you. "

Thorpe went to the group of pines by the pole trail the followingafternoon because he had said he would, but with a new attitude ofmind. He had come into contact with the artificiality of conventionalrelations, and it stiffened him. No wonder she had made him keep silencethe afternoon before! She had done it gently and nicely, to be sure, butthat was part of her good-breeding. Hilda found him formal, reserved, polite; and marvelled at it. In her was no coquetry. She was asstraightforward and sincere as the look of her eyes. 

They sat down on a log. Hilda turned to him with her graceful air ofconfidence. 

"Now talk to me, " said she. 

"Certainly, " replied Thorpe in a practical tone of voice, "what do youwant me to talk about?"

She shot a swift, troubled glance at him, concluded herself mistaken, and said:

"Tell me about what you do up here--your life--all about it. "

"Well--" replied Thorpe formally, "we haven't much to interest a girllike you. It is a question of saw logs with us"--and he went on in hisdryest, most technical manner to detail the process of manufacture. Itmight as well have been bricks. 

The girl did not understand. She was hurt. As surely as the sun tangledin the distant pine frond, she had seen in his eyes a great passion. Nowit was coldly withdrawn. 

"What has happened to you?" she asked finally out of her greatsincerity. 

"Me? Nothing, " replied Thorpe. 

A forced silence fell upon him. Hilda seemed gradually to lose herselfin reverie. After a time she said softly. 

"Don't you love this woods?"

"It's an excellent bunch of pine, " replied Thorpe bluntly. "It'll cutthree million at least. "

"Oh!" she cried drawing back, her hands pressed against the log eitherside of her, her eyes wide. 

After a moment she caught her breath convulsively, and Thorpe becameconscious that she was studying him furtively with a quickening doubt. 

After that, by the mercy of God, there was no more talk between them. She was too hurt and shocked and disillusioned to make the necessaryeffort to go away. He was too proud to put an end to the position. They sat there apparently absorbed in thought, while all about themthe accustomed life of the woods drew nearer and nearer to them, as thesplash of their entrance into it died away. 

A red squirrel poised thirty feet above them, leaped, and clung swayingto a sapling-top a dozen yards from the tree he had quitted. Twochickadees upside down uttering liquid undertones, searched busilyfor insects next their heads. Wilson's warblers, pine creepers, black-throats, myrtle and magnolia warblers, oven birds, peewits, bluejays, purple finches, passed silently or noisily, each according to hiskind. Once a lone spruce hen dusted herself in a stray patch of sunlightuntil it shimmered on a tree trunk, raised upward, and disappeared, togive place to long level dusty shafts that shot here and there throughthe pines laying the spell of sunset on the noisy woods brawlers. 

Unconsciously the first strain of opposition and of hurt surprise hadrelaxed. Each thought vaguely his thoughts. Then in the depths of theforest, perhaps near at hand, perhaps far away, a single hermit thrushbegan to sing. His song was of three solemn deep liquid notes;followed by a slight rhetorical pause as of contemplation; and then, deliberately, three notes more on a different key--and so on withouthaste and without pause. It is the most dignified, the most spiritual, the holiest of woods utterances. Combined with the evening shadowsand the warm soft air, it offered to the heart an almost irresistibleappeal. The man's artificial antagonism modified; the woman'sdisenchantment began to seem unreal. 

Then subtly over and through the bird-song another sound became audible. At first it merely repeated the three notes faintly, like an echo, butwith a rich, sad undertone that brought tears. Then, timidly and stillsoftly, it elaborated the theme, weaving in and out through the originalthree the glitter and shimmer of a splendid web of sound, spreadingbefore the awakened imagination a broad river of woods-imagery thatreflected on its surface all the subtler moods of the forest. The pineshadows, the calls of the wild creatures, the flow of the brook, thesplashes of sunlight through the trees, the sigh of the wind, the shoutof the rapid, --all these were there, distinctly to be felt in their mostethereal and beautiful forms. And yet it was all slight and tenuousas though the crack of a twig would break it through--so that over itcontinually like a grand full organ-tone repeated the notes of the birditself. 

With the first sigh of the wonder-music the girl had started and caughther breath in the exquisite pleasure of it. As it went on they bothforgot everything but the harmony and each other. 

"Ah, beautiful!" she murmured. 

"What is it?" he whispered marvelling. 

"A violin, --played by a master. "

The bird suddenly hushed, and at once the strain abandoned thewoods-note and took another motif. At first it played softly in thehigher notes, a tinkling, lightsome little melody that stirred a kindlysurface-smile over a full heart. Then suddenly, without transition, itdropped to the lower register, and began to sob and wail in the fullvibrating power of a great passion. 

And the theme it treated was love. It spoke solemnly, fearfully of thegreatness of it, the glory. These as abstractions it amplified in finefull-breathed chords that swept the spirit up and up as on the wavesof a mighty organ. Then one by one the voices of other things wereheard, --the tinkling of laughter, the roar of a city, the sob of agrief, a cry of pain suddenly shooting across the sound, the clank of amachine, the tumult of a river, the puff of a steamboat, the murmuringof a vast crowd, --and one by one, without seeming in the least to changetheir character, they merged imperceptibly into, and were part of thegrand-breathed chords, so that at last all the fames and ambitions andpassions of the world came, in their apotheosis, to be only parts of themaster-passion of them all. 

And while the echoes of the greater glory still swept beneath theiruplifted souls like ebbing waves, so that they still sat rigid andstaring with the majesty of it, the violin softly began to whisper. Beautiful it was as a spirit, beautiful beyond words, beautiful beyondthought. Its beauty struck sharp at the heart. And they two sat therehand in hand dreaming--dreaming--dreaming--

At last the poignant ecstacy seemed slowly, slowly to die. Fainter andfainter ebbed the music. Through it as through a mist the solemn aloofforest began to show to the consciousness of the two. They sought eachother's eyes gently smiling. The music was very soft and dim and sad. They leaned to each other with a sob. Their lips met. The music ceased. 

Alone in the forest side by side they looked out together for a momentinto that eternal vision which lovers only are permitted to see. Theshadows fell. About them brooded the inscrutable pines stretching acanopy over them enthroned. A single last shaft of the sun struckfull upon them, a single light-spot in the gathering gloom. They werebeautiful. 

And over behind the trees, out of the light and the love and the beauty, little Phil huddled, his great shaggy head bowed in his arms. Besidehim lay his violin, and beside that his bow, broken. He had snapped itacross his knee. That day he had heard at last the Heart Song of theViolin, and uttering it, had bestowed love. But in accordance with hisprophecy he had that day lost what he cared for most in all the world, his friend. 

Chapter XLIII

That was the moon of delight. The days passed through the hazy forestlike stately figures from an old masque. In the pine grove on the knollthe man and the woman had erected a temple to love, and love showed themone to the other. 

In Hilda Farrand was no guile, no coquetry, no deceit. So perfect washer naturalism that often by those who knew her least she was consideredaffected. Her trust in whomever she found herself with attained sodirectly its reward; her unconsciousness of pose was so rhythmicallygraceful; her ignorance and innocence so triumphantly effective, thatthe mind with difficulty rid itself of the belief that it was allcarefully studied. This was not true. She honestly did not know that shewas beautiful; was unaware of her grace; did not realize the potency ofher wealth. 

This absolute lack of self-consciousness was most potent in overcomingThorpe's natural reticence. He expanded to her. She came to idolize himin a manner at once inspiring and touching in so beautiful a creature. In him she saw reflected all the lofty attractions of character whichshe herself possessed, but of which she was entirely unaware. Throughhis words she saw to an ideal. His most trivial actions were ascribedto motives of a dignity which would have been ridiculous, if it hadnot been a little pathetic. The woods-life, the striving of the pioneerkindled her imagination. She seized upon the great facts of them andfitted those facts with reasons of her own. Her insight perceived theadventurous spirit, the battle-courage, the indomitable steadfastnesswhich always in reality lie back of these men of the frontier tourge them into the life; and of them constructed conscious motivesof conduct. To her fancy the lumbermen, of whom Thorpe was one, wereself-conscious agents of advance. They chose hardship, loneliness, the strenuous life because they wished to clear the way for a highercivilization. To her it seemed a great and noble sacrifice. She did notperceive that while all this is true, it is under the surface, the realspur is a desire to get on, and a hope of making money. For, strangelyenough, she differentiated sharply the life and the reasons for it. An existence in subduing the forest was to her ideal; the making ofa fortune through a lumbering firm she did not consider in the leastimportant. That this distinction was most potent, the sequel will show. 

In all of it she was absolutely sincere, and not at all stupid. She hadalways had all she could spend, without question. Money meant nothing toher, one way or the other. If need was, she might have experienced somedifficulty in learning how to economize, but none at all in adjustingherself to the necessity of it. The material had become, in allsincerity, a basis for the spiritual. She recognized but two sorts ofmotives; of which the ideal, comprising the poetic, the daring, thebeautiful, were good; and the material, meaning the sordid and selfish, were bad. With her the mere money-getting would have to be allied withsome great and poetic excuse. 

That is the only sort of aristocracy, in the popular sense of the word, which is real; the only scorn of money which can be respected. 

There are some faces which symbolize to the beholder many subtletiesof soul-beauty which by no other method could gain expression. Thosesubtleties may not, probably do not, exist in the possessor of the face. The power of such a countenance lies not so much in what it actuallyrepresents, as in the suggestion it holds out to another. So often it iswith a beautiful character. Analyze it carefully, and you will reduceit generally to absolute simplicity and absolute purity--two elementscommon enough in adulteration; but place it face to face with a morecomplex personality, and mirror-like it will take on a hundred delicateshades of ethical beauty, while at the same time preserving its ownlofty spirituality. 

Thus Hilda Farrand reflected Thorpe. In the clear mirror of her hearthis image rested transfigured. It was as though the glass were magic, so that the gross and material was absorbed and lost, while the morespiritual qualities reflected back. So the image was retained in itsentirety, but etherealized, refined. It is necessary to attempt, eventhus faintly and inadequately, a sketch of Hilda's love, for a partialunderstanding of it is necessary to the comprehension of what followedthe moon of delight. 

That moon saw a variety of changes. 

The bed of French Creek was cleared. Three of the roads were finished, and the last begun. So much for the work of it. 

Morton and Cary shot four deer between them, which was unpardonablyagainst the law, caught fish in plenty, smoked two and a half pounds oftobacco, and read half of one novel. Mrs. Cary and Miss Carpenter walkeda total of over a hundred miles, bought twelve pounds of Indian work ofall sorts, embroidered the circle of two embroidery frames, learned topaddle a birch-bark canoe, picked fifteen quarts of berries, and gainedsix pounds in weight. All the party together accomplished five picnics, four explorations, and thirty excellent campfires in the evening. Somuch for the fun of it. 

Little Phil disappeared utterly, taking with him his violin, but leavinghis broken bow. Thorpe has it even to this day. The lumberman causedsearch and inquiry on all sides. The cripple was never heard of again. He had lived his brief hour, taken his subtle artist's vengeance ofmisplayed notes on the crude appreciation of men too coarse-fibered torecognize it, brought together by the might of sacrifice and consummategenius two hearts on the brink of misunderstanding;--now there was nofurther need for him, he had gone. So much for the tragedy of it. 

"I saw you long ago, " said Hilda to Thorpe. "Long, long ago, when I wasquite a young girl. I had been visiting in Detroit, and was on my wayall alone to catch an early train. You stood on the corner thinking, tall and straight and brown, with a weather-beaten old hat and aweather-beaten old coat and weather-beaten old moccasins, and such aproud, clear, undaunted look on your face. I have remembered you eversince. "

And then he told her of the race to the Land Office, while her eyes grewbrighter and brighter with the epic splendor of the story. She told himthat she had loved him from that moment--and believed her telling; whilehe, the unsentimental leader of men, persuaded himself and her that hehad always in some mysterious manner carried her image prophetically inhis heart. So much for the love of it. 

In the last days of the month of delight Thorpe received a second letterfrom his partner, which to some extent awakened him to the realities. 

"My dear Harry, " it ran. "I have made a startling discovery. The otherfellow is Morrison. I have been a blind, stupid dolt, and am caughtnicely. You can't call me any more names than I have already calledmyself. Morrison has been in it from the start. By an accident I learnedhe was behind the fellow who induced me to invest, and it is he who hasbeen hammering the stock down ever since. They couldn't lick you at yourgame, so they tackled me at mine. I'm not the man you are, Harry, andI've made a mess of it. Of course their scheme is plain enough on theface of it. They're going to involve me so deeply that I will drag thefirm down with me. 

"If you can fix it to meet those notes, they can't do it. I have amplemargin to cover any more declines they may be able to bring about. Don'tfret about that. Just as sure as you can pay that sixty thousand, justso sure we'll be ahead of the game at this time next year. For God'ssake get a move on you, old man. If you don't--good Lord! The firm'llbust because she can't pay; I'll bust because I'll have to let my stockgo on margins--it'll be an awful smash. But you'll get there, so weneedn't worry. I've been an awful fool, and I've no right to do thegetting into trouble and leave you to the hard work of getting outagain. But as partner I'm going to insist on your having a salary--etc. "

The news aroused all Thorpe's martial spirit. Now at last the mysterysurrounding Morrison & Daly's unnatural complaisance was riven. It hadcome to grapples again. He was glad of it. Meet those notes? Well Iguess so! He'd show them what sort of a proposition they had tackled. Sneaking, underhanded scoundrels! taking advantage of a mere boy. Meetthose notes? You bet he would; and then he'd go down there and boostthose stocks until M. & D. Looked like a last year's bird's nest. Hethrust the letter in his pocket and walked buoyantly to the pines. 

The two lovers sat there all the afternoon drinking in half sadly thejoy of the forest and of being near each other, for the moon of delightwas almost done. In a week the camping party would be breaking up, andHilda must return to the city. It was uncertain when they would be ableto see each other again, though there was talk of getting up a winterparty to visit Camp One in January. The affair would be unique. 

Suddenly the girl broke off and put her fingers to her lips. For sometime, dimly, an intermittent and faint sound had been felt, rather thanactually heard, like the irregular muffled beating of a heart. Graduallyit had insisted on the attention. Now at last it broke through the filmof consciousness. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

Thorpe listened. Then his face lit mightily with the joy of battle. 

"My axmen, " he cried. "They are cutting the road. "

A faint call echoed. Then without warning, nearer at hand the sharp ringof an ax sounded through the forest. 

PART V. THE FOLLOWING OF THE TRAIL

Chapter XLIV

For a moment they sat listening to the clear staccato knocking of thedistant blows, and the more forceful thuds of the man nearer at hand. Abird or so darted from the direction of the sound and shot silently intothe thicket behind them. 

"What are they doing? Are they cutting lumber?" asked Hilda. 

"No, " answered Thorpe, "we do not cut saw logs at this time of year. They are clearing out a road. "

"Where does it go to?"

"Well, nowhere in particular. That is, it is a logging road that startsat the river and wanders up through the woods where the pine is. "

"How clear the axes sound. Can't we go down and watch them a littlewhile?"

"The main gang is a long distance away; sound carries very clearlyin this still air. As for that fellow you hear so plainly, he is onlyclearing out small stuff to get ready for the others. You wouldn't seeanything different from your Indian chopping the cordwood for your campfire. He won't chop out any big trees. "

"Let's not go, then, " said Hilda submissively. 

"When you come up in the winter, " he pursued, "you will see any amountof big timber felled. "

"I would like to know more about it, " she sighed, a quaint little air ofchildish petulance graving two lines between her eyebrows. "Do you know, Harry, you are a singularly uncommunicative sort of being. I have toguess that your life is interesting and picturesque, --that is, " sheamended, "I should have to do so if Wallace Carpenter had not told mea little something about it. Sometimes I think you are not nearly poetenough for the life you are living. Why, you are wonderful, you menof the north, and you let us ordinary mortals who have not the gift ofdivination imagine you entirely occupied with how many pounds of ironchain you are going to need during the winter. " She said these thingslightly as one who speaks things not for serious belief. 

"It is something that way, " he agreed with a laugh. 

"Do you know, sir, " she persisted, "that I really don't know anythingat all about the life you lead here? From what I have seen, you mightbe perpetually occupied in eating things in a log cabin, and indisappearing to perform some mysterious rites in the forest. " Shelooked at him with a smiling mouth but tender eyes, her head tilted backslightly. 

"It's a good deal that way, too, " he agreed again. "We use a barrel offlour in Camp One every two and a half days!"

She shook her head in a faint negation that only half understood what hewas saying, her whole heart in her tender gaze. 

"Sit there, " she breathed very softly, pointing to the dried needles onwhich her feet rested, but without altering the position of her head orthe steadfastness of her look. 

He obeyed. 

"Now tell me, " she breathed, still in the fascinated monotone. 

"What?" he inquired. 

"Your life; what you do; all about it. You must tell me a story. "

Thorpe settled himself more lazily, and laughed with quiet enjoyment. Never had he felt the expansion of a similar mood. The barrier betweenhimself and self-expression had faded, leaving not the smallest debrisof the old stubborn feeling. 

"The story of the woods, " he began, "the story of the saw log. It wouldtake a bigger man than I to tell it. I doubt if any one man ever wouldbe big enough. It is a drama, a struggle, a battle. Those men youhear there are only the skirmishers extending the firing line. We arefighting always with Time. I'll have to hurry now to get those roadsdone and a certain creek cleared before the snow. Then we'll have tokeep on the keen move to finish our cutting before the deep snow; tohaul our logs before the spring thaws; to float them down the riverwhile the freshet water lasts. When we gain a day we have scored avictory; when the wilderness puts us back an hour, we have suffered adefeat. Our ammunition is Time; our small shot the minutes, our heavyordnance the hours!"

The girl placed her hand on his shoulder. He covered it with his own. 

"But we win!" he cried. "We win!"

"That is what I like, " she said softly, "the strong spirit that wins!"She hesitated, then went on gently, "But the battlefields, Harry; tome they are dreadful. I went walking yesterday morning, before you cameover, and after a while I found myself in the most awful place. Thestumps of trees, the dead branches, the trunks lying all about, and theglaring hot sun over everything! Harry, there was not a single bird inall that waste, a single green thing. You don't know how it affected meso early in the morning. I saw just one lonesome pine tree that had beenleft for some reason or another, standing there like a sentinel. I couldshut my eyes and see all the others standing, and almost hear the birdssinging and the wind in the branches, just as it is here. " She seizedhis fingers in her other hand. "Harry, " she said earnestly, "I don'tbelieve I can ever forget that experience, any more than I could haveforgotten a battlefield, were I to see one. I can shut my eyes now, andcan see this place our dear little wooded knoll wasted and blackened asthat was. "

The man twisted his shoulder uneasily and withdrew his hand. 

"Harry, " she said again, after a pause, "you must promise to leave thiswoods until the very last. I suppose it must all be cut down some day, but I do not want to be here to see after it is all over. "

Thorpe remained silent. 

"Men do not care much for keepsakes, do they, Harry?--they don't saveletters and flowers as we girls do--but even a man can feel the valueof a great beautiful keepsake such as this, can't he, dear? Ourmeeting-place--do you remember how I found you down there by the oldpole trail, staring as though you had seen a ghost?--and that beautiful, beautiful music! It must always be our most sacred memory. Promise meyou will save it until the very, very last. "

Thorpe said nothing because he could not rally his faculties. Thesentimental association connected with the grove had actually neveroccurred to him. His keepsakes were impressions which he carefullyguarded in his memory. To the natural masculine indifference towardmaterial bits of sentiment he had added the instinct of the strictlyportable early developed in the rover. He had never even possessed aphotograph of his sister. Now this sudden discovery that such thingsmight be part of the woof of another person's spiritual garment came tohim ready-grown to the proportions of a problem. 

In selecting the districts for the season's cut, he had included in hisestimates this very grove. Since then he had seen no reason for changinghis decision. The operations would not commence until winter. By thattime the lovers would no longer care to use it as at present. Nowrapidly he passed in review a dozen expedients by which his plan mightbe modified to permit of the grove's exclusion. His practical minddiscovered flaws in every one. Other bodies of timber promising a returnof ten thousand dollars were not to be found near the river, and timenow lacked for the cutting of roads to more distant forties. 

"Hilda, " he broke in abruptly at last, "the men you hear are clearing aroad to this very timber. "

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"This timber is marked for cutting this very winter. "

She had not a suspicion of the true state of affairs. "Isn't it luckyI spoke of it!" she exclaimed. "How could you have forgotten tocountermand the order! You must see to it to-day; now!"

She sprang up impulsively and stood waiting for him. He arose moreslowly. Even before he spoke her eyes dilated with the shock from herquick intuitions. 

"Hilda, I cannot, " he said. 

She stood very still for some seconds. 

"Why not?" she asked quietly. 

"Because I have not time to cut a road through to another bunch of pine. It is this or nothing. "

"Why not nothing, then?"

"I want the money this will bring. "

His choice of a verb was unfortunate. The employment of that one littleword opened the girl's mind to a flood of old suspicions which the frankcharm of the northland had thrust outside. Hilda Farrand was an heiressand a beautiful girl. She had been constantly reminded of the one factby the attempts of men to use flattery of the other as a key to herheart and her fortune. From early girlhood she had been sought by thebrilliant impecunious of two continents. The continued experiencehad varnished her self-esteem with a glaze of cynicism sufficientlyconsistent to protect it against any but the strongest attack. Shebelieved in no man's protestations. She distrusted every man'smotives as far as herself was concerned. This attitude of mind was notunbecoming in her for the simple reason that it destroyed none of hergraciousness as regards other human relations besides that of love. Thatmen should seek her in matrimony from a selfish motive was as much to beexpected as that flies should seek the sugar bowl. She accepted thefact as one of nature's laws, annoying enough but inevitable; a thing toguard against, but not one of sufficient moment to grieve over. 

With Thorpe, however, her suspicions had been lulled. There is somethingvirile and genuine about the woods and the men who inhabit them thatstrongly predisposes the mind to accept as proved in their entirety allthe other virtues. Hilda had fallen into this state of mind. She endowedeach of the men whom she encountered with all the robust qualitiesshe had no difficulty in recognizing as part of nature's charm in thewilderness. Now at a word her eyes were opened to what she had done. Shesaw that she had assumed unquestioningly that her lover possessed thequalities of his environment. 

Not for a moment did she doubt the reality of her love. She hadconceived one of those deep, uplifting passions possible only to a younggirl. But her cynical experience warned her that the reality of thatpassion's object was not proven by any test besides the fallible oneof her own poetizing imagination. The reality of the ideal she hadconstructed might be a vanishable quantity even though the love of itwas not. So to the interview that ensued she brought, not the partialityof a loving heart, nor even the impartiality of one sitting in judgment, but rather the perverted prejudice of one who actually fears the truth. 

"Will you tell me for what you want the money?" she asked. 

The young man caught the note of distrust. At once, instinctively, hisown confidence vanished. He drew within himself, again beyond the powerof justifying himself with the needed word. 

"The firm needs it in the business, " said he. 

Her next question countered instantaneously. 

"Does the firm need the money more than you do me?"

They stared at each other in the silence of the situation that had sosuddenly developed. It had come into being without their volition, as adust cloud springs up on a plain. 

"You do not mean that, Hilda, " said Thorpe quietly. "It hardly comes tothat. "

"Indeed it does, " she replied, every nerve of her fine organizationstrung to excitement. "I should be more to you than any firm. "

"Sometimes it is necessary to look after the bread and butter, " Thorpereminded her gently, although he knew that was not the real reason atall. 

"If your firm can't supply it, I can, " she answered. "It seems strangethat you won't grant my first request of you, merely because of a littlemoney. "

"It isn't a little money, " he objected, catching manlike at thepractical question. "You don't realize what an amount a clump of pinelike this stands for. Just in saw logs, before it is made into lumber, it will be worth about thirty thousand dollars, --of course there's theexpense of logging to pay out of that, " he added, out of his accuratebusiness conservatism, "but there's ten thousand dollars' profit in it. "

The girl, exasperated by cold details at such a time, blazed out. "Inever heard anything so ridiculous in my life!" she cried. "Either youare not at all the man I thought you, or you have some better reasonthan you have given. Tell me, Harry; tell me at once. You don't knowwhat you are doing. "

"The firm needs it, Hilda, " said Thorpe, "in order to succeed. If we donot cut this pine, we may fail. "

In that he stated his religion. The duty of success was to him one ofthe loftiest of abstractions, for it measured the degree of a man'sefficiency in the station to which God had called him. The money, assuch, was nothing to him. 

Unfortunately the girl had learned a different language. She knewnothing of the hardships, the struggles, the delight of winning for thesake of victory rather than the sake of spoils. To her, success meantgetting a lot of money. The name by which Thorpe labelled his mostsacred principle, to her represented something base and sordid. Shehad more money herself than she knew. It hurt her to the soul that thecondition of a small money-making machine, as she considered the lumberfirm, should be weighed even for an instant against her love. It was agreat deal Thorpe's fault that she so saw the firm. He might easily haveshown her the great forces and principles for which it stood. 

"If I were a man, " she said, and her voice was tense, "if I were a manand loved a woman, I would be ready to give up everything for her. Myriches, my pride, my life, my honor, my soul even, --they would be asnothing, as less than nothing to me, --if I loved. Harry, don't let methink I am mistaken. Let this miserable firm of yours fail, if failit must for lack of my poor little temple of dreams, " she held out herhands with a tender gesture of appeal. The affair had gone beyond thepreservation of a few trees. It had become the question of an ideal. Gradually, in spite of herself, the conviction was forcing itself uponher that the man she had loved was no different from the rest; that thegreed of the dollar had corrupted him too. By the mere yielding to herwishes, she wanted to prove the suspicion wrong. 

Now the strange part of the whole situation was, that in two wordsThorpe could have cleared it. If he had explained that he needed the tenthousand dollars to help pay a note given to save from ruin a foolishfriend, he would have supplied to the affair just the higher motivethe girl's clear spirituality demanded. Then she would have sharedenthusiastically in the sacrifice, and been the more loving andrepentant from her momentary doubt. All she needed was that the manshould prove himself actuated by a noble, instead of a sordid, motive. The young man did not say the two words, because in all honesty hethought them unimportant. It seemed to him quite natural that he shouldgo on Wallace Carpenter's note. That fact altered not a bit themain necessity of success. It was a man's duty to make the best ofhimself, --it was Thorpe's duty to prove himself supremely efficient inhis chosen calling; the mere coincidence that his partner's troublesworked along the same lines meant nothing to the logic of the situation. In stating baldly that he needed the money to assure the firm'sexistence, he imagined he had adduced the strongest possible reasonfor his attitude. If the girl was not influenced by that, the case washopeless. 

It was the difference of training rather than the difference of ideas. Both clung to unselfishness as the highest reason for human action; buteach expressed the thought in a manner incomprehensible to the other. 

"I cannot, Hilda, " he answered steadily. 

"You sell me for ten thousand dollars! I cannot believe it! Harry!Harry! Must I put it to you as a choice? Don't you love me enough tospare me that?"

He did not reply. As long as it remained a dilemma, he would not reply. He was in the right. 

"Do you need the money more than you do me? more than you do love?"she begged, her soul in her eyes; for she was begging also for herself. "Think, Harry; it is the last chance!"

Once more he was face to face with a vital decision. To his surprisehe discovered in his mind no doubt as to what the answer should be. He experienced no conflict of mind; no hesitation; for the moment, noregret. During all his woods life he had been following diligentlythe trail he had blazed for his conduct. Now his feet carried himunconsciously to the same end. There was no other way out. In the winterof his trouble the clipped trees alone guided him, and at the end ofthem he found his decision. It is in crises of this sort, when a littlereflection or consideration would do wonders to prevent a catastrophe, that all the forgotten deeds, decisions, principles, and thoughts of aman's past life combine solidly into the walls of fatality, so that inspite of himself he finds he must act in accordance with them. In answerto Hilda's question he merely inclined his head. 

"I have seen a vision, " said she simply, and lowered her head to concealher eyes. Then she looked at him again. "There can be nothing betterthan love, " she said. 

"Yes, one thing, " said Thorpe, "the duty of success. "

The man had stated his creed; the woman hers. The one is born perfectenough for love; the other must work, must attain the completeness of afulfilled function, must succeed, to deserve it. 

She left him then, and did not see him again. Four days later thecamping party left. Thorpe sent Tim Shearer over, as his most efficientman, to see that they got off without difficulty, but himself retiredon some excuse to Camp Four. Three weeks gone in October he received amarked newspaper announcing the engagement of Miss Hilda Farrand to Mr. Hildreth Morton of Chicago. 

He had burned his ships, and stood now on an unfriendly shore. The firstsacrifice to his jealous god had been consummated, and now, live or die, he stood pledged to win his fight. 

Chapter XLV

Winter set in early and continued late; which in the end was a goodthing for the year's cut. The season was capricious, hanging for daysat a time at the brink of a thaw, only to stiffen again into severeweather. This was trying on the nerves. For at each of these falsealarms the six camps fell into a feverish haste to get the job finishedbefore the break-up. It was really quite extraordinary how much wasaccomplished under the nagging spur of weather conditions and the cruelrowelling of Thorpe. 

The latter had now no thought beyond his work, and that was the thoughtof a madman. He had been stern and unyielding enough before, goodnessknows, but now he was terrible. His restless energy permeated everymolecule in the economic structure over which he presided, roused itto intense vibration. Not for an instant was there a resting spell. Theveriest chore-boy talked, thought, dreamed of nothing but saw logs. Menwhispered vaguely of a record cut. Teamsters looked upon their successor failure to keep near the top on the day's haul as a signal victoryor a disgraceful defeat. The difficulties of snow, accident, topographywhich an ever-watchful nature threw down before the rolling car of thisindustry, were swept aside like straws. Little time was wasted and noopportunities. It did not matter how smoothly affairs happened to berunning for the moment, every advantage, even the smallest, was eagerlyseized to advance the work. A drop of five degrees during the frequentwarm spells brought out the sprinklers, even in dead of night; anaccident was white-hot in the forge almost before the crack of theiron had ceased to echo. At night the men fell into their bunks likesandbags, and their last conscious thought, if indeed they had any atall, was of eagerness for the morrow in order that they might push thegrand total up another notch. It was madness; but it was the madnessthese men loved. 

For now to his old religion Thorpe had added a fanaticism, and over thefanaticism was gradually creeping a film of doubt. To the conscientiousenergy which a sense of duty supplied, was added the tremendous kineticforce of a love turned into other channels. And in the wild nights whilethe other men slept, Thorpe's half-crazed brain was revolving over andover again the words of the sentence he had heard from Hilda's lips:"There can be nothing better than love. "

His actions, his mind, his very soul vehemently denied the proposition. He clung as ever to his high Puritanic idea of man's purpose. But downdeep in a very tiny, sacred corner of his heart a very small voicesometimes made itself heard when other, more militant voices were still:"It may be; it may be!"

The influence of this voice was practically nothing. It made itselfheard occasionally. Perhaps even, for the time being, its weightcounted on the other side of the scale; for Thorpe took pains to denyit fiercely, both directly and indirectly by increased exertions. Butit persisted; and once in a moon or so, when the conditions were quitefavorable, it attained for an instant a shred of belief. 

Probably never since the Puritan days of New England has a communitylived as sternly as did that winter of 1888 the six camps under Thorpe'smanagement. There was something a little inspiring about it. The menfronted their daily work with the same grim-faced, clear-eyed steadinessof veterans going into battle;--with the same confidence, the same surepatience that disposes effectively of one thing before going on tothe next. There was little merely excitable bustle; there was no rest. Nothing could stand against such a spirit. Nothing did. The skirmisherswhich the wilderness threw out, were brushed away. Even the inevitabledelays seemed not so much stoppages as the instant's pause of a heavyvehicle in a snow drift, succeeded by the momentary acceleration as theplunge carried it through. In the main, and by large, the machine movedsteadily and inexorably. 

And yet one possessed of the finer spiritual intuitions could not haveshaken off the belief in an impending struggle. The feel of it was inthe air. Nature's forces were too mighty to be so slightly overcome; thesplendid energy developed in these camps too vast to be wasted on facilesuccess. Over against each other were two great powers, alike in theircalm confidence, animated with the loftiest and most dignified spiritof enmity. Slowly they were moving toward each other. The air wassurcharged with the electricity of their opposition. Just how thestruggle would begin was uncertain; but its inevitability was as assuredas its magnitude. Thorpe knew it, and shut his teeth, looking keenlyabout him. The Fighting Forty knew it, and longed for the grapple tocome. The other camps knew it, and followed their leader with perfecttrust. The affair was an epitome of the historic combats begun withDavid and Goliath. It was an affair of Titans. The little courageous menwatched their enemy with cat's eyes. 

The last month of hauling was also one of snow. In this conditionwere few severe storms, but each day a little fell. By and by theaccumulation amounted to much. In the woods where the wind could notget at it, it lay deep and soft above the tops of bushes. The grouseate browse from the slender hardwood tips like a lot of goldfinches, orprecipitated themselves headlong down through five feet of snow to reachthe ground. Often Thorpe would come across the irregular holes of theirentrance. Then if he took the trouble to stamp about a little in thevicinity with his snowshoes, the bird would spring unexpectedly from theclear snow, scattering a cloud with its strong wings. The deer, herdedtogether, tramped "yards" where the feed was good. Between the yards rannarrow trails. When the animals went from one yard to another in thesetrails, their ears and antlers alone were visible. On either side of thelogging roads the snow piled so high as to form a kind of rampart. Whenall this water in suspense should begin to flow, and to seek its levelin the water-courses of the district, the logs would have plenty tofloat them, at least. 

So late did the cold weather last that, even with the added plowing todo, the six camps beat all records. On the banks at Camp One were ninemillion feet; the totals of all five amounted to thirty-three million. About ten million of this was on French Creek; the remainder on the mainbanks of the Ossawinamakee. Besides this the firm up-river, Sadler &Smith, had put up some twelve million more. The drive promised to bequite an affair. 

About the fifteenth of April attention became strained. Every day themounting sun made heavy attacks on the snow: every night the temperaturedropped below the freezing point. The river began to show more airholes, occasional open places. About the center the ice looked worn andsoggy. Someone saw a flock of geese high in the air. Then came rain. 

One morning early, Long Pine Jim came into the men's camp bearing a hugechunk of tallow. This he held against the hot stove until its surfacehad softened, when he began to swab liberal quantities of grease on hisspiked river shoes, which he fished out from under his bunk. 

"She's comin', boys, " said he. 

He donned a pair of woolen trousers that had been chopped off at theknee, thick woolen stockings, and the river shoes. Then he tightened hisbroad leather belt about his heavy shirt, cocked his little hat over hisear, and walked over in the corner to select a peavey from the lot theblacksmith had just put in shape. A peavey is like a cant-hook exceptthat it is pointed at the end. Thus it can be used either as a hook ora pike. At the same moment Shearer, similarly attired and equipped, appeared in the doorway. The opening of the portal admitted a roar ofsound. The river was rising. 

"Come on, boys, she's on!" said he sharply. 

Outside, the cook and cookee were stowing articles in the already loadedwanigan. The scow contained tents, blankets, provisions, and a portablestove. It followed the drive, and made a camp wherever expediencydemanded. 

"Lively, boys, lively!" shouted Thorpe. "She'll be down on us before weknow it!"

Above the soft creaking of dead branches in the wind sounded a steadyroar, like the bellowing of a wild beast lashing itself to fury. Thefreshet was abroad, forceful with the strength of a whole winter'saccumulated energy. 

The men heard it and their eyes brightened with the lust of battle. Theycheered. 

Chapter XLVI

At the banks of the river, Thorpe rapidly issued his directions. Theaffair had been all prearranged. During the week previous he and hisforemen had reviewed the situation, examining the state of the ice, theheads of water in the three dams. Immediately above the first rollwayswas Dam Three with its two wide sluices through which a veritable floodcould be loosened at will; then four miles farther lay the rollwaysof Sadler & Smith, the up-river firm; and above them tumbled over aforty-five foot ledge the beautiful Siscoe Falls; these first rollwaysof Thorpe's--spread in the broad marsh flat below the dam--containedabout eight millions; the rest of the season's cut was scattered forthirty miles along the bed of the river. 

Already the ice cementing the logs together had begun to weaken. The icehad wrenched and tugged savagely at the locked timbers until they had, with a mighty effort, snapped asunder the bonds of their hibernation. Now a narrow lane of black rushing water pierced the rollways, to boiland eddy in the consequent jam three miles below. 

To the foremen Thorpe assigned their tasks, calling them to him one byone, as a general calls his aids. 

"Moloney, " said he to the big Irishman, "take your crew and break thatjam. Then scatter your men down to within a mile of the pond at Dam Two, and see that the river runs clear. You can tent for a day or so at WestBend or some other point about half way down; and after that you hadbetter camp at the dam. Just as soon as you get logs enough in the pond, start to sluicing them through the dam. You won't need more than fourmen there, if you keep a good head. You can keep your gates open five orsix hours. And Moloney. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I want you to be careful not to sluice too long. There is a bar justbelow the dam, and if you try to sluice with the water too low, you'llcenter and jam there, as sure as shooting. "

Bryan Moloney turned on his heel and began to pick his way down streamover the solidly banked logs. Without waiting the command, a dozenmen followed him. The little group bobbed away irregularly into thedistance, springing lightly from one timber to the other, holding theirquaintly-fashioned peaveys in the manner of a rope dancer's balancingpole. At the lowermost limit of the rollways, each man pried a loginto the water, and, standing gracefully erect on this unstable craft, floated out down the current to the scene of his dangerous labor. 

"Kerlie, " went on Thorpe, "your crew can break rollways with the restuntil we get the river fairly filled, and then you can move on downstream as fast as you are needed. Scotty, you will have the rear. Timand I will boss the river. "

At once the signal was given to Ellis, the dam watcher. Ellis and hisassistants thereupon began to pry with long iron bars at the ratchetsof the heavy gates. The chore-boy bent attentively over the ratchet-pin, lifting it delicately to permit another inch of raise, dropping itaccurately to enable the men at the bars to seize a fresh purchase. Theriver's roar deepened. Through the wide sluice-ways a torrent foamed andtumbled. Immediately it spread through the brush on either side to thelimits of the freshet banks, and then gathered for its leap against theuneasy rollways. Along the edge of the dark channel the face of the logsseemed to crumble away. Farther in towards the banks where the weight oftimber still outbalanced the weight of the flood, the tiers grumbled andstirred, restless with the stream's calling. Far down the river, whereBryan Moloney and his crew were picking at the jam, the water in eagerstreamlets sought the interstices between the logs, gurgling excitedlylike a mountain brook. 

The jam creaked and groaned in response to the pressure. From its face ahundred jets of water spurted into the lower stream. Logs up-ended hereand there, rising from the bristling surface slowly, like so many armsfrom lower depths. Above, the water eddied back foaming; logs shot downfrom the rollways, paused at the slackwater, and finally hit with ahollow and resounding BOOM! against the tail of the jam. A moment laterthey too up-ended, so becoming an integral part of the "chevaux defrise. "

The crew were working desperately. Down in the heap somewhere, two logswere crossed in such a manner as to lock the whole. They sought thoselogs. 

Thirty feet above the bed of the river six men clamped their peaveysinto the soft pine; jerking, pulling, lifting, sliding the great logsfrom their places. Thirty feet below, under the threatening face, sixother men coolly picked out and set adrift, one by one, the timbersnot inextricably imbedded. From time to time the mass creaked, settled, perhaps even moved a foot or two; but always the practiced rivermen, after a glance, bent more eagerly to their work. 

Outlined against the sky, big Bryan Moloney stood directing the work. Hehad gone at the job on the bias of indirection, picking out a passage ateither side that the center might the more easily "pull. " He knew bythe tenseness of the log he stood on that, behind the jam, power hadgathered sufficient to push the whole tangle down-stream. Now he wasoffering it the chance. 

Suddenly the six men below the jam scattered. Four of them, holdingtheir peaveys across their bodies, jumped lightly from one floating logto another in the zigzag to shore. When they stepped on a small log theyre-leaped immediately, leaving a swirl of foam where the little timberhad sunk under them; when they encountered one larger, they hesitatedfor a barely perceptible instant. Thus their progression was offascinating and graceful irregularity. The other two ran the length oftheir footing, and, overleaping an open of water, landed heavily andfirmly on the very ends of two small floating logs. In this manner theforce of the jump rushed the little timbers end-on through the water. The two men, maintaining marvellously their balance, were thus ferriedto within leaping distance of the other shore. 

In the meantime a barely perceptible motion was communicating itselffrom one particle to another through the center of the jam. A cool andobservant spectator might have imagined that the broad timber carpet waschanging a little its pattern, just as the earth near the windows ofan arrested railroad train seems for a moment to retrogress. The crewredoubled its exertions, clamping its peaveys here and there, apparentlyat random, but in reality with the most definite of purposes. A sharpcrack exploded immediately underneath. There could no longer exist anydoubt as to the motion, although it was as yet sluggish, glacial. Thenin silence a log shifted--in silence and slowly--but with irresistibleforce. Jimmy Powers quietly stepped over it, just as it menaced hisleg. Other logs in all directions up-ended. The jam crew were forcedcontinually to alter their positions, riding the changing timbersbent-kneed, as a circus rider treads his four galloping horses. 

Then all at once down by the face something crashed. The entire streambecame alive. It hissed and roared, it shrieked, groaned and grumbled. At first slowly, then more rapidly, the very forefront of the centermelted inward and forward and downward until it caught the fierce rushof the freshet and shot out from under the jam. Far up-stream, bristlingand formidable, the tons of logs, grinding savagely together, sweptforward. 

The six men and Bryan Moloney--who, it will be remembered, were ontop--worked until the last moment. When the logs began to cave underthem so rapidly that even the expert rivermen found difficulty in"staying on top, " the foreman set the example of hunting safety. 

"She 'pulls, ' boys, " he yelled. 

Then in a manner wonderful to behold, through the smother of foam andspray, through the crash and yell of timbers protesting the flood'shurrying, through the leap of destruction, the drivers zigzagged calmlyand surely to the shore. 

All but Jimmy Powers. He poised tense and eager on the crumbling faceof the jam. Almost immediately he saw what he wanted, and without pausesprang boldly and confidently ten feet straight downward, to alight withaccuracy on a single log floating free in the current. And then in thevery glory and chaos of the jam itself he was swept down-stream. 

After a moment the constant acceleration in speed checked, thencommenced perceptibly to slacken. At once the rest of the crew beganto ride down-stream. Each struck the caulks of his river boots stronglyinto a log, and on such unstable vehicles floated miles with thecurrent. From time to time, as Bryan Moloney indicated, one of them wentashore. There, usually at a bend of the stream where the likelihood ofjamming was great, they took their stands. When necessary, they ranout over the face of the river to separate a congestion likely to causetrouble. The rest of the time they smoked their pipes. 

At noon they ate from little canvas bags which had been filled thatmorning by the cookee. At sunset they rode other logs down the riverto where their camp had been made for them. There they ate hugely, hung their ice-wet garments over a tall framework constructed around amonster fire, and turned in on hemlock branches. 

All night long the logs slipped down the moonlit current, silently, swiftly, yet without haste. The porcupines invaded the sleeping camp. From the whole length of the river rang the hollow BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, oftimbers striking one against the other. 

The drive was on. 

Chapter XLVII

In the meantime the main body of the crew under Thorpe and his foremenwere briskly tumbling the logs into the current. Sometimes under theurging of the peaveys, but a single stick would slide down; or again adouble tier would cascade with the roar of a little Niagara. The men hadcontinually to keep on the tension of an alert, for at any moment theywere called upon to exercise their best judgment and quickness to keepfrom being carried downward with the rush of the logs. Not infrequentlya frowning sheer wall of forty feet would hesitate on the brink ofplunge. Then Shearer himself proved his right to the title of riverman. 

Shearer wore caulks nearly an inch in length. He had been known to rideten miles, without shifting his feet, on a log so small that he couldcarry it without difficulty. For cool nerve he was unexcelled. 

"I don't need you boys here any longer, " he said quietly. 

When the men had all withdrawn, he walked confidently under the frontof the rollway, glancing with practiced eye at the perpendicular wall oflogs over him. Then, as a man pries jack-straws, he clamped his peaveyand tugged sharply. At once the rollway flattened and toppled. A mightysplash, a hurl of flying foam and crushing timbers, and the spot onwhich the riverman had stood was buried beneath twenty feet of solidgreen wood. To Thorpe it seemed that Shearer must have been overwhelmed, but the riverman always mysteriously appeared at one side or the other, nonchalant, urging the men to work before the logs should have ceased tomove. Tradition claimed that only once in a long woods life had Shearerbeen forced to "take water" before a breaking rollway: and then he savedhis peavey. History stated that he had never lost a man on the river, simply and solely because he invariably took the dangerous tasks uponhimself. 

As soon as the logs had caught the current, a dozen men urged themon. With their short peaveys, the drivers were enabled to prevent thetimbers from swirling in the eddies--one of the first causes of a jam. At last, near the foot of the flats, they abandoned them to the stream, confident that Moloney and his crew would see to their passage down theriver. 

In three days the rollways were broken. Now it became necessary to startthe rear. 

For this purpose Billy Camp, the cook, had loaded his cook-stove, aquantity of provisions, and a supply of bedding, aboard a scow. Thescow was built of tremendous hewn timbers, four or five inches thick, to withstand the shock of the logs. At either end were long sweeps todirect its course. The craft was perhaps forty feet long, but rathernarrow, in order that it might pass easily through the chute of a dam. It was called the "wanigan. "

Billy Camp, his cookee, and his crew of two were now doomed totribulation. The huge, unwieldy craft from that moment was to becomepossessed of the devil. Down the white water of rapids it would bump, smashing obstinately against boulders, impervious to the frantic urgingof the long sweeps; against the roots and branches of the streamsideit would scrape with the perverseness of a vicious horse; in the broadreaches it would sulk, refusing to proceed; and when expediency demandedits pause, it would drag Billy Camp and his entire crew at the rope'send, while they tried vainly to snub it against successively uprootedtrees and stumps. When at last the wanigan was moored fast for thenight, --usually a mile or so below the spot planned, --Billy Camp pushedback his battered old brown derby hat, the badge of his office, witha sigh of relief. To be sure he and his men had still to cut wood, construct cooking and camp fires, pitch tents, snip browse, and preparesupper for seventy men; but the hard work of the day was over. BillyCamp did not mind rain or cold--he would cheerfully cook away with thewater dripping from his battered derby to his chubby and cold-purplednose--but he did mind the wanigan. And the worst of it was, he got nosympathy nor aid from the crew. From either bank he and his anxiousstruggling assistants were greeted with ironic cheers and facetiousremarks. The tribulations of the wanigan were as the salt of life to thespectators. 

Billy Camp tried to keep back of the rear in clear water, but when thewanigan so disposed, he found himself jammed close in the logs. Therehe had a chance in his turn to become spectator, and so to repay in kindsome of the irony and facetiousness. 

Along either bank, among the bushes, on sandbars, and in trees, hundredsand hundreds of logs had been stranded when the main drive passed. Theselogs the rear crew were engaged in restoring to the current. 

And as a man had to be able to ride any kind of a log in any water; topropel that log by jumping on it, by rolling it squirrel fashion withthe feet, by punting it as one would a canoe; to be skillful in pushing, prying, and poling other logs from the quarter deck of the same crankycraft; as he must be prepared at any and all times to jump waist deepinto the river, to work in ice-water hours at a stretch; as he wascalled upon to break the most dangerous jams on the river, representing, as they did, the accumulation which the jam crew had left behind them, it was naturally considered the height of glory to belong to the rearcrew. Here were the best of the Fighting Forty, --men with a reputationas "white-water birlers"--men afraid of nothing. 

Every morning the crews were divided into two sections under Kerlie andJack Hyland. Each crew had charge of one side of the river, with thetask of cleaning it thoroughly of all stranded and entangled logs. Scotty Parsons exercised a general supervisory eye over both crews. Shearer and Thorpe traveled back and forth the length of the drive, riding the logs down stream, but taking to a partly submerged pole trailwhen ascending the current. On the surface of the river in the clearwater floated two long graceful boats called bateaux. These were incharge of expert boatmen, --men able to propel their craft swiftlyforwards, backwards and sideways, through all kinds of water. Theycarried in racks a great supply of pike-poles, peaveys, axes, rope anddynamite, for use in various emergencies. Intense rivalry existed as towhich crew "sacked" the farthest down stream in the course of the day. There was no need to urge the men. Some stood upon the logs, pushingmightily with the long pike-poles. Others, waist deep in the water, clamped the jaws of their peaveys into the stubborn timbers, and, shoulder bent, slid them slowly but surely into the swifter waters. Still others, lining up on either side of one of the great brown treetrunks, carried it bodily to its appointed place. From one end of therear to the other, shouts, calls, warnings, and jokes flew back andforth. Once or twice a vast roar of Homeric laughter went up as someunfortunate slipped and soused into the water. When the current slacked, and the logs hesitated in their run, the entire crew hastened, bobbingfrom log to log, down river to see about it. Then they broke the jam, standing surely on the edge of the great darkness, while the ice watersucked in and out of their shoes. 

Behind the rear Big Junko poled his bateau backwards and forwardsexploding dynamite. Many of the bottom tiers of logs in the rollways hadbeen frozen down, and Big Junko had to loosen them from the bed of thestream. He was a big man, this, as his nickname indicated, built of manyawkwardnesses. His cheekbones were high, his nose flat, his lips thickand slobbery. He sported a wide, ferocious straggling mustache and longeye-brows, under which gleamed little fierce eyes. His forehead slopedback like a beast's, but was always hidden by a disreputable felt hat. Big Junko did not know much, and had the passions of a wild animal, buthe was a reckless riverman and devoted to Thorpe. Just now he explodeddynamite. 

The sticks of powder were piled amidships. Big Junko crouched over them, inserting the fuses and caps, closing the openings with soap, finallylighting them, and dropping them into the water alongside, where theyimmediately sank. Then a few strokes of a short paddle took him barelyout of danger. He huddled down in his craft, waiting. One, two, threeseconds passed. Then a hollow boom shook the stream. A cloud of watersprang up, strangely beautiful. After a moment the great brown logs rosesuddenly to the surface from below, one after the other, like leviathansof the deep. And Junko watched, dimly fascinated, in his rudimentaryanimal's brain, by the sight of the power he had evoked to his aid. 

When night came the men rode down stream to where the wanigan hadmade camp. There they slept, often in blankets wetted by the wanigan'seccentricities, to leap to their feet at the first cry in early morning. Some days it rained, in which case they were wet all the time. Almostinvariably there was a jam to break, though strangely enough almostevery one of the old-timers believed implicitly that "in the full of themoon logs will run free at night. "

Thorpe and Tim Shearer nearly always slept in a dog tent at the rear;though occasionally they passed the night at Dam Two, where BryanMoloney and his crew were already engaged in sluicing the logs throughthe chute. 

The affair was simple enough. Long booms arranged in the form of an openV guided the drive to the sluice gate, through which a smooth apronof water rushed to turmoil in an eddying pool below. Two men trampedsteadily backwards and forwards on the booms, urging the logs forwardby means of long pike poles to where the suction could seize them. Belowthe dam, the push of the sluice water forced them several miles downstream, where the rest of Bryan Moloney's crew took them in charge. 

Thus through the wide gate nearly three-quarters of a million feet anhour could be run--a quantity more than sufficient to keep pace with theexertions of the rear. The matter was, of course, more or less delayedby the necessity of breaking out such rollways as they encountered fromtime to time on the banks. At length, however, the last of the logsdrifted into the wide dam pool. The rear had arrived at Dam Two, andThorpe congratulated himself that one stage of his journey had beencompleted. Billy Camp began to worry about shooting the wanigan throughthe sluice-way. 

Chapter XLVIII

The rear had been tenting at the dam for two days, and was about readyto break camp, when Jimmy Powers swung across the trail to tell them ofthe big jam. 

Ten miles along the river bed, the stream dropped over a littlehalf-falls into a narrow, rocky gorge. It was always an anxious spot forthe river drivers. In fact, the plunging of the logs head-on over thefall had so gouged out the soft rock below, that an eddy of great powerhad formed in the basin. Shearer and Thorpe had often discussed theadvisability of constructing an artificial apron of logs to receivethe impact. Here, in spite of all efforts, the jam had formed, first alittle center of a few logs in the middle of the stream, dividing thecurrent, and shunting the logs to right and left; then "wings" growingout from either bank, built up from logs shunted too violently; finallya complete stoppage of the channel, and the consequent rapid pilingup as the pressure of the drive increased. Now the bed was completelyfilled, far above the level of the falls, by a tangle that defied thejam crew's best efforts. 

The rear at once took the trail down the river. Thorpe and Shearer andScotty Parsons looked over the ground. 

"She may 'pull, ' if she gets a good start, " decided Tim. 

Without delay the entire crew was set to work. Nearly a hundred men canpick a great many logs in the course of a day. Several times the jamstarted, but always "plugged" before the motion had become irresistible. This was mainly because the rocky walls narrowed at a slight bend tothe west, so that the drive was throttled, as it were. It was hopedthat perhaps the middle of the jam might burst through here, leaving thewings stranded. The hope was groundless. 

"We'll have to shoot, " Shearer reluctantly decided. 

The men were withdrawn. Scotty Parsons cut a sapling twelve feet long, and trimmed it. Big Junko thawed his dynamite at a little fire, openingthe ends of the packages in order that the steam generated might escape. Otherwise the pressure inside the oiled paper of the package was capableof exploding the whole affair. When the powder was warm, Scotty boundtwenty of the cartridges around the end of the sapling, adjusted a fusein one of them, and soaped the opening to exclude water. Then Big Junkothrust the long javelin down into the depths of the jam, leaving a thinstream of smoke behind him as he turned away. With sinister, evil eye hewatched the smoke for an instant, then zigzagged awkwardly over the jam, the long, ridiculous tails of his brown cutaway coat flopping behind himas he leaped. A scant moment later the hoarse dynamite shouted. 

Great chunks of timber shot to an inconceivable height; entire logslifted bodily into the air with the motion of a fish jumping; a fountainof water gleamed against the sun and showered down in fine rain. The jamshrugged and settled. That was all; the "shot" had failed. 

The men ran forward, examining curiously the great hole in the logformation. 

"We'll have to flood her, " said Thorpe. 

So all the gates of the dam were raised, and the torrent tried its hand. It had no effect. Evidently the affair was not one of violence, but ofpatience. The crew went doggedly to work. 

Day after day the CLANK, CLANK, CLINK of the peaveys sounded with theregularity of machinery. The only practicable method was to pick awaythe flank logs, leaving a long tongue pointing down-stream from thecenter to start when it would. This happened time and again, but alwaysfailed to take with it the main jam. It was cruel hard work; a man whohas lifted his utmost strength into a peavey knows that. Any but theFighting Forty would have grumbled. 

Collins, the bookkeeper, came up to view the tangle. Later aphotographer from Marquette took some views, which, being exhibited, attracted a great deal of attention, so that by the end of the week anumber of curiosity seekers were driving over every day to see the BigJam. A certain Chicago journalist in search of balsam health of lungseven sent to his paper a little item. This, unexpectedly, broughtWallace Carpenter to the spot. Although reassured as to the gravity ofthe situation, he remained to see. 

The place was an amphitheater for such as chose to be spectators. Theycould stand or sit on the summit of the gorge cliffs, overlooking theriver, the fall, and the jam. As the cliff was barely sixty feet high, the view lacked nothing in clearness. 

At last Shearer became angry. 

"We've been monkeying long enough, " said he. "Next time we'll leave acenter that WILL go out. We'll shut the dams down tight and dry-pick outtwo wings that'll start her. "

The dams were first run at full speed, and then shut down. Hardly a dropof water flowed in the bed of the stream. The crews set laboriously towork to pull and roll the logs out in such flat fashion that a head ofwater should send them out. 

This was even harder work than the other, for they had not the floatingpower of water to help them in the lifting. As usual, part of the menworked below, part above. 

Jimmy Powers, curly-haired, laughing-faced, was irrepressible. Hebadgered the others until they threw bark at him and menaced him withtheir peaveys. Always he had at his tongue's end the proper quip for theoccasion, so that in the long run the work was lightened by him. Whenthe men stopped to think at all, they thought of Jimmy Powers with verykindly hearts, for it was known that he had had more trouble than most, and that the coin was not made too small for him to divide with a needycomrade. To those who had seen his mask of whole-souled good-nature fadeinto serious sympathy, Jimmy Powers's poor little jokes were very funnyindeed. 

"Did 'je see th' Swede at the circus las' summer?" he would howl to RedJacket on the top tier. 

"No, " Red Jacket would answer, "was he there?"

"Yes, " Jimmy Powers would reply; then, after a pause--"in a cage!"

It was a poor enough jest, yet if you had been there, you would havefound that somehow the log had in the meantime leaped of its own accordfrom that difficult position. 

Thorpe approved thoroughly of Jimmy Powers; he thought him a goodinfluence. He told Wallace so, standing among the spectators on thecliff-top. 

"He is all right, " said Thorpe. "I wish I had more like him. The othersare good boys, too. "

Five men were at the moment tugging futilely at a reluctant timber. They were attempting to roll one end of it over the side of anotherprojecting log, but were continually foiled, because the other endwas jammed fast. Each bent his knees, inserting his shoulder under theprojecting peavey stock, to straighten in a mighty effort. 

"Hire a boy!" "Get some powder of Junko!" "Have Jimmy talk it out!" "Trythat little one over by the corner, " called the men on top of the jam. 

Everybody laughed, of course. It was a fine spring day, clear-eyed andcrisp, with a hint of new foliage in the thick buds of the trees. The air was so pellucid that one distinguished without difficulty thestraight entrance to the gorge a mile away, and even the West Bend, fully five miles distant. 

Jimmy Powers took off his cap and wiped his forehead. 

"You boys, " he remarked politely, "think you are boring with a mightybig auger. "

"My God!" screamed one of the spectators on top of the cliff. 

At the same instant Wallace Carpenter seized his friend's arm andpointed. 

Down the bed of the stream from the upper bend rushed a solid wallof water several feet high. It flung itself forward with the headlongimpetus of a cascade. Even in the short interval between the visitor'sexclamation and Carpenter's rapid gesture, it had loomed into sight, twisted a dozen trees from the river bank, and foamed into the entranceof the gorge. An instant later it collided with the tail of the jam. 

Even in the railroad rush of those few moments several things happened. Thorpe leaped for a rope. The crew working on top of the jam duckedinstinctively to right and left and began to scramble towards safety. The men below, at first bewildered and not comprehending, finallyunderstood, and ran towards the face of the jam with the intention ofclambering up it. There could be no escape in the narrow canyon below, the walls of which rose sheer. 

Then the flood hit square. It was the impact of resistible power. Agreat sheet of water rose like surf from the tail of the jam; a mightycataract poured down over its surface, lifting the free logs; fromeither wing timbers crunched, split, rose suddenly into wrackedprominence, twisted beyond the semblance of themselves. Here and theresingle logs were even projected bodily upwards, as an apple seed is shotfrom between the thumb and forefinger. Then the jam moved. 

Scotty Parsons, Jack Hyland, Red Jacket, and the forty or fifty top menhad reached the shore. By the wriggling activity which is a riverman'salone, they succeeded in pulling themselves beyond the snap of death'sjaws. It was a narrow thing for most of them, and a miracle for some. 

Jimmy Powers, Archie Harris, Long Pine Jim, Big Nolan, and Mike Moloney, the brother of Bryan, were in worse case. They were, as has been said, engaged in "flattening" part of the jam about eight or ten rods belowthe face of it. When they finally understood that the affair was one ofescape, they ran towards the jam, hoping to climb out. Then the crashcame. They heard the roar of the waters, the wrecking of the timbers, they saw the logs bulge outwards in anticipation of the break. Immediately they turned and fled, they knew not where. 

All but Jimmy Powers. He stopped short in his tracks, and threw hisbattered old felt hat defiantly full into the face of the destructionhanging over him. Then, his bright hair blowing in the wind of death, he turned to the spectators standing helpless and paralyzed, forty feetabove him. 

It was an instant's impression, --the arrested motion seen in the flashof lightning--and yet to the onlookers it had somehow the quality oftime. For perceptible duration it seemed to them they stared at thecontrast between the raging hell above and the yet peaceable river bedbelow. They were destined to remember that picture the rest of theirnatural lives, in such detail that each one of them could almosthave reproduced it photographically by simply closing his eyes. Yetafterwards, when they attempted to recall definitely the impression, they knew it could have lasted but a fraction of a second, for thereason that, clear and distinct in each man's mind, the images ofthe fleeing men retained definite attitudes. It was the instantaneousphotography of events. 

"So long, boys, " they heard Jimmy Powers's voice. Then the rope Thorpehad thrown fell across a caldron of tortured waters and of tossing logs. 

Chapter XLIX

During perhaps ten seconds the survivors watched the end of Thorpe'srope trailing in the flood. Then the young man with a deep sigh began topull it towards him. 

At once a hundred surmises, questions, ejaculations broke out. 

"What happened?" cried Wallace Carpenter. 

"What was that man's name?" asked the Chicago journalist with the eagerinstinct of his profession. 

"This is terrible, terrible, terrible!" a white-haired physician fromMarquette kept repeating over and over. 

A half dozen ran towards the point of the cliff to peer down stream, asthough they could hope to distinguish anything in that waste of floodwater. 

"The dam's gone out, " replied Thorpe. "I don't understand it. Everythingwas in good shape, as far as I could see. It didn't act like an ordinarybreak. The water came too fast. Why, it was as dry as a bone until justas that wave came along. An ordinary break would have eaten throughlittle by little before it burst, and Davis should have been able tostop it. This came all at once, as if the dam had disappeared. I don'tsee. "

His mind of the professional had already began to query causes. 

"How about the men?" asked Wallace. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"You can head a hunt down the river, " answered Thorpe. "I think it isuseless until the water goes down. Poor Jimmy. He was one of the bestmen I had. I wouldn't have had this happen--"

The horror of the scene was at last beginning to filter through numbnessinto Wallace Carpenter's impressionable imagination. 

"No, no!" he cried vehemently. "There is something criminal about it tome! I'd rather lose every log in the river!"

Thorpe looked at him curiously. "It is one of the chances of war, " saidhe, unable to refrain from the utterance of his creed. "We all know it. "

"I'd better divide the crew and take in both banks of the river, "suggested Wallace in his constitutional necessity of doing something. 

"See if you can't get volunteers from this crowd, " suggested Thorpe. "I can let you have two men to show you trails. If you can make it thatway, it will help me out. I need as many of the crew as possible to usethis flood water. "

"Oh, Harry, " cried Carpenter, shocked. "You can't be going to work againto-day after that horrible sight, before we have made the slightesteffort to recover the bodies!"

"If the bodies can be recovered, they shall be, " replied Thorpe quietly. "But the drive will not wait. We have no dams to depend on now, you mustremember, and we shall have to get out on freshet water. "

"Your men won't work. I'd refuse just as they will!" cried Carpenter, his sensibilities still suffering. 

Thorpe smiled proudly. "You do not know them. They are mine. I hold themin the hollow of my hand!"

"By Jove!" cried the journalist in sudden enthusiasm. "By Jove! that ismagnificent!"

The men of the river crew had crouched on their narrow footholds whilethe jam went out. Each had clung to his peavey, as is the habit ofrivermen. Down the current past their feet swept the debris of flood. Soon logs began to swirl by, --at first few, then many from the remainingrollways which the river had automatically broken. In a little timethe eddy caught up some of these logs, and immediately the inception ofanother jam threatened. The rivermen, without hesitation, as calmly asthough catastrophe had not thrown the weight of its moral terror againsttheir stoicism, sprang, peavey in hand, to the insistent work. 

"By Jove!" said the journalist again. "That is magnificent! They areworking over the spot where their comrades died!"

Thorpe's face lit with gratification. He turned to the young man. 

"You see, " he said in proud simplicity. 

With the added danger of freshet water, the work went on. 

At this moment Tim Shearer approached from inland, his clothes drippingwet, but his face retaining its habitual expression of iron calmness. "Anybody caught?" was his first question as he drew near. 

"Five men under the face, " replied Thorpe briefly. 

Shearer cast a glance at the river. He needed to be told no more. 

"I was afraid of it, " said he. "The rollways must be all broken out. It's saved us that much, but the freshet water won't last long. It'sgoing to be a close squeak to get 'em out now. Don't exactly figure onwhat struck the dam. Thought first I'd go right up that way, but then Icame down to see about the boys. "

Carpenter could not understand this apparent callousness on the partof men in whom he had always thought to recognize a fund of rough butgenuine feeling. To him the sacredness of death was incompatible withthe insistence of work. To these others the two, grim necessity, wenthand in hand. 

"Where were you?" asked Thorpe of Shearer. 

"On the pole trail. I got in a little, as you see. "

In reality the foreman had had a close call for his life. Atoughly-rooted basswood alone had saved him. 

"We'd better go up and take a look, " he suggested. "Th' boys has thingsgoing here all right. "

The two men turned towards the brush. 

"Hi, Tim, " called a voice behind them. 

Red Jacket appeared clambering up the cliff. 

"Jack told me to give this to you, " he panted, holding out a chunk ofstrangely twisted wood. 

"Where'd he get this?" inquired Thorpe, quickly. "It's a piece of thedam, " he explained to Wallace, who had drawn near. 

"Picked it out of the current, " replied the man. 

The foreman and his boss bent eagerly over the morsel. Then they staredwith solemnity into each other's eyes. 

"Dynamite, by God!" exclaimed Shearer. 

Chapter L

For a moment the three men stared at each other without speaking. 

"What does it mean?" almost whispered Carpenter. 

"Mean? Foul play!" snarled Thorpe. "Come on, Tim. "

The two struck into the brush, threading the paths with the ease ofwoodsmen. It was necessary to keep to the high inland ridges for thesimple reason that the pole trail had by now become impassable. WallaceCarpenter, attempting to follow them, ran, stumbled, and fell throughbrush that continually whipped his face and garments, continuallytripped his feet. All he could obtain was a vanishing glimpse of hiscompanions' backs. Thorpe and his foreman talked briefly. 

"It's Morrison and Daly, " surmised Shearer. "I left them 'count of atrick like that. They wanted me to take charge of Perkinson's drive andhang her a purpose. I been suspecting something--they've been layin' toolow. "

Thorpe answered nothing. Through the site of the old dam they founda torrent pouring from the narrowed pond, at the end of which thedilapidated wings flapping in the current attested the former structure. Davis stood staring at the current. 

Thorpe strode forward and shook him violently by the shoulder. 

"How did this happen?" he demanded hoarsely. "Speak!"

The man turned to him in a daze. "I don't know, " he answered. 

"You ought to know. How was that 'shot' exploded? How did they get inhere without you seeing them? Answer me!"

"I don't know, " repeated the man. "I jest went over in th' bresh to killa few pa'tridges, and when I come back I found her this way. I wasn'tgoin' to close down for three hours yet, and I thought they was no use ahangin' around here. "

"Were you hired to watch this dam, or weren't you?" demanded the tensevoice of Thorpe. "Answer me, you fool. "

"Yes, I was, " returned the man, a shade of aggression creeping into hisvoice. 

"Well, you've done it well. You've cost me my dam, and you've killedfive men. If the crew finds out about you, you'll go over the falls, sure. You get out of here! Pike! Don't you ever let me see your faceagain!"

The man blanched as he thus learned of his comrades' deaths. Thorpethrust his face at him, lashed by circumstances beyond his habitualself-control. 

"It's men like you who make the trouble, " he stormed. "Damn fools whosay they didn't mean to. It isn't enough not to mean to. They shouldMEAN NOT TO! I don't ask you to think. I just want you to do what I tellyou, and you can't even do that. "

He threw his shoulder into a heavy blow that reached the dam watcher'sface, and followed it immediately by another. Then Shearer caught hisarm, motioning the dazed and bloody victim of the attack to get outof sight. Thorpe shook his foreman off with one impatient motion, and strode away up the river, his head erect, his eyes flashing, hisnostrils distended. 

"I reckon you'd better mosey, " Shearer dryly advised the dam watcher;and followed. 

Late in the afternoon the two men reached Dam Three, or rather the spoton which Dam Three had stood. The same spectacle repeated itself here, except that Ellis, the dam watcher, was nowhere to be seen. 

"The dirty whelps, " cried Thorpe, "they did a good job!"

He thrashed about here and there, and so came across Ellis blindfoldedand tied. When released, the dam watcher was unable to give any accountof his assailants. 

"They came up behind me while I was cooking, " he said. "One of 'emgrabbed me and the other one kivered my eyes. Then I hears the 'shot'and knows there's trouble. "

Thorpe listened in silence. Shearer asked a few questions. After thelow-voiced conversation Thorpe arose abruptly. 

"Where you going?" asked Shearer. 

But the young man did not reply. He swung, with the same long, nervousstride, into the down-river trail. 

Until late that night the three men--for Ellis insisted on accompanyingthem--hurried through the forest. Thorpe walked tirelessly, upheld byhis violent but repressed excitement. When his hat fell from his head, he either did not notice the fact, or did not care to trouble himselffor its recovery, so he glanced through the trees bare-headed, his broadwhite brow gleaming in the moonlight. Shearer noted the fire in hiseyes, and from the coolness of his greater age, counselled moderation. 

"I wouldn't stir the boys up, " he panted, for the pace was very swift. "They'll kill some one over there, it'll be murder on both sides. "

He received no answer. About midnight they came to the camp. 

Two great fires leaped among the trees, and the men, past the idea ofsleep, grouped between them, talking. The lesson of twisted timberswas not lost to their experience, and the evening had brought itsaccumulation of slow anger against the perpetrators of the outrage. These men were not given to oratorical mouthings, but their low-voicedexchanges between the puffings of a pipe led to a steadier purpose thanthat of hysteria. Even as the woodsmen joined their group, they hadreached the intensity of execution. Across their purpose Thorpe threwviolently his personality. 

"You must not go, " he commanded. 

Through their anger they looked at him askance. 

"I forbid it, " Thorpe cried. 

They shrugged their indifference and arose. This was an affair of castebrotherhood; and the blood of their mates cried out to them. 

"The work, " Thorpe shouted hoarsely. "The work! We must get those logsout! We haven't time!"

But the Fighting Forty had not Thorpe's ideal. Success meant a day'swork well done; while vengeance stood for a righting of the realitieswhich had been unrighteously overturned. Thorpe's dry-eyed, burning, almost mad insistence on the importance of the day's task had not itsordinary force. They looked upon him from a standpoint apart, calmly, dispassionately, as one looks on a petulant child. The grim call oftragedy had lifted them above little mundane things. 

Then swiftly between the white, strained face of the madman trying toconvince his heart that his mind had been right, and the fanaticallyexalted rivermen, interposed the sanity of Radway. The old jobber facedthe men calmly, almost humorously, and somehow the very bigness ofthe man commanded attention. When he spoke, his coarse, good-natured, everyday voice fell through the tense situation, clarifying it, restoring it to the normal. 

"You fellows make me sick, " said he. "You haven't got the sense God gavea rooster. Don't you see you're playing right in those fellows' hands?What do you suppose they dynamited them dams for? To kill our boys?Don't you believe it for a minute. They never dreamed we was dry pickin'that jam. They sent some low-lived whelp down there to hang our drive, and by smoke it looks like they was going to succeed, thanks to youmutton-heads. 

"'Spose you go over and take 'em apart; what then? You have a scrap;probably you lick 'em. " The men growled ominously, but did not stir. "You whale daylights out of a lot of men who probably don't know anymore about this here shooting of our dams than a hog does about aruffled shirt. Meanwhile your drive hangs. Well? Well? Do you supposethe men who were back of that shooting, do you suppose Morrison and Dalygive a tinker's dam how many men of theirs you lick? What they want isto hang our drive. If they hang our drive, it's cheap at the price of afew black eyes. "

The speaker paused and grinned good-humoredly at the men's attentivefaces. Then suddenly his own became grave, and he swung into hisargument all the impressiveness of his great bulk, "Do you want to know how to get even?" he asked, shading each word. "Doyou want to know how to make those fellows sing so small you can't hearthem? Well, I'll tell you. TAKE OUT THIS DRIVE! Do it in spite of them!Show them they're no good when they buck up against Thorpe's One!Our boys died doing their duty--the way a riverman ought to. NOW HUMPYOURSELVES! Don't let 'em die in vain!"

The crew stirred uneasily, looking at each other for approval of theconversion each had experienced. Radway, seizing the psychologicalmoment, turned easily toward the blaze. 

"Better turn in, boys, and get some sleep, " he said. "We've got a hardday to-morrow. " He stooped to light his pipe at the fire. When he hadagain straightened his back after rather a prolonged interval, the grouphad already disintegrated. A few minutes later the cookee scattered thebrands of the fire from before a sleeping camp. 

Thorpe had listened non-committally to the colloquy. He had maintainedthe suspended attitude of a man who is willing to allow the trial ofother methods, but who does not therefore relinquish his own. At thefavorable termination of the discussion he turned away without comment. He expected to gain this result. Had he been in a more judicial stateof mind he might have perceived at last the reason, in the complicatedscheme of Providence, for his long connection with John Radway. 

Chapter LI

Before daylight Injin Charley drifted into the camp to find Thorpealready out. With a curt nod the Indian seated himself by the fire, and, producing a square plug of tobacco and a knife, began leisurely to fillhis pipe. Thorpe watched him in silence. Finally Injin Charley spokein the red man's clear-cut, imitative English, a pause between eachsentence. 

"I find trail three men, " said he. "Both dam, three men. One man go downriver. Those men have cork-boot. One man no have cork-boot. He boss. "The Indian suddenly threw his chin out, his head back, half closedhis eyes in a cynical squint. As by a flash Dyer, the scaler, leeredinsolently from behind the Indian's stolid mask. 

"How do you know?" said Thorpe. 

For answer the Indian threw his shoulders forward in Dyer's nervousfashion. 

"He make trail big by the toe, light by the heel. He make trail big oninside. "

Charley arose and walked, after Dyer's springy fashion, illustrating hispoint in the soft wood ashes of the immediate fireside. 

Thorpe looked doubtful. "I believe you are right, Charley, " said he. "But it is mighty little to go on. You can't be sure. "

"I sure, " replied Charley. 

He puffed strongly at the heel of his smoke, then arose, and withoutfarewell disappeared in the forest. 

Thorpe ranged the camp impatiently, glancing often at the sky. At lengthhe laid fresh logs on the fire and aroused the cook. It was bittercold in the early morning. After a time the men turned out of theirown accord, at first yawning with insufficient rest, and then becominggrimly tense as their returned wits reminded them of the situation. 

From that moment began the wonderful struggle against circumstanceswhich has become a by-word among rivermen everywhere. A forty-day drivehad to go out in ten. A freshet had to float out thirty million feet oflogs. It was tremendous; as even the men most deeply buried in the heavyhours of that time dimly realized. It was epic; as the journalist, bynow thoroughly aroused, soon succeeded in convincing his editors and hispublic. Fourteen, sixteen, sometimes eighteen hours a day, the men ofthe driving crew worked like demons. Jams had no chance to form. Thephenomenal activity of the rear crew reduced by half the inevitablesacking. Of course, under the pressure, the lower dam had gone out. Nothing was to be depended on but sheer dogged grit. Far up-river Sadler& Smith had hung their drive for the season. They had stretched heavybooms across the current, and so had resigned themselves to a definitebut not extraordinary loss. Thorpe had at least a clear river. 

Wallace Carpenter could not understand how human flesh and bloodendured. The men themselves had long since reached the point ofpractical exhaustion, but were carried through by the fire of theirleader. Work was dogged until he stormed into sight; then it becamefrenzied. He seemed to impart to those about him a nervous force andexcitability as real as that induced by brandy. When he looked at a manfrom his cavernous, burning eyes, that man jumped. 

It was all willing enough work. Several definite causes, each adequatealone to something extraordinary, focussed to the necessity. His menworshipped Thorpe; the idea of thwarting the purposes of theircomrade's murderers retained its strength; the innate pride of casteand craft--the sturdiest virtue of the riverman--was in these picked menincreased to the dignity of a passion. The great psychological forcesof a successful career gathered and made head against the circumstanceswhich such careers always arouse in polarity. 

Impossibilities were puffed aside like thistles. The men went at themheadlong. They gave way before the rush. Thorpe always led. Not for asingle instant of the day nor for many at night was he at rest. He waslike a man who has taken a deep breath to reach a definite goal, and whocannot exhale until the burst of speed be over. Instinctively he seemedto realize that a let-down would mean collapse. 

After the camp had fallen asleep, he would often lie awake half of thefew hours of their night, every muscle tense, staring at the sky. Hismind saw definitely every detail of the situation as he had last viewedit. In advance his imagination stooped and sweated to the work which hisbody was to accomplish the next morning. Thus he did everything twice. Then at last the tension would relax. He would fall into uneasy sleep. But twice that did not follow. Through the dissolving iron mist of hisstriving, a sharp thought cleaved like an arrow. It was that afterall he did not care. The religion of Success no longer held him as itsdevoutest worshiper. He was throwing the fibers of his life into theengine of toil, not because of moral duty, but because of moral pride. He meant to succeed in order to prove to himself that he had not beenwrong. 

The pain of the arrow-wound always aroused him from his doze with astart. He grimly laughed the thought out of court. To his wakingmoments his religion was sincere, was real. But deep down in hissub-consciousness, below his recognition, the other influence wasgrowing like a weed. Perhaps the vision, not the waking, had been right. Perhaps that far-off beautiful dream of a girl which Thorpe's idealismhad constructed from; the reactionary necessities of Thorpe's harsh lifehad been more real than his forest temples of his ruthless god! Perhapsthere were greater things than to succeed, greater things than success. Perhaps, after all, the Power that put us here demands more that wecleave one to the other in loving-kindness than that we learn to blowthe penny whistles it has tossed us. And then the keen, poignant memoryof the dream girl stole into the young man's mind, and in agony wasimmediately thrust forth. He would not think of her. He had givenher up. He had cast the die. For success he had bartered her, in thenoblest, the loftiest spirit of devotion. He refused to believe thatdevotion fanatical; he refused to believe that he had been wrong. In thestill darkness of the night he would rise and steal to the edge of thedully roaring stream. There, his eyes blinded and his throat choked witha longing more manly than tears, he would reach out and smooth the roundrough coats of the great logs. 

"We'll do it!" he whispered to them--and to himself. "We'll do it! Wecan't be wrong. God would not have let us!"

Chapter LII

Wallace Carpenter's search expedition had proved a failure, as Thorpehad foreseen, but at the end of the week, when the water began torecede, the little beagles ran upon a mass of flesh and bones. The manwas unrecognizable, either as an individual or as a human being. Theremains were wrapped in canvas and sent for interment in the cemetery atMarquette. Three of the others were never found. The last did not cometo light until after the drive had quite finished. 

Down at the booms the jam crew received the drive as fast as it camedown. From one crib to another across the broad extent of the river'smouth, heavy booms were chained end to end effectually to close the exitto Lake Superior. Against these the logs caromed softly in the slackenedcurrent, and stopped. The cribs were very heavy with slanting, insteadof square, tops, in order that the pressure might be downwards insteadof sidewise. This guaranteed their permanency. In a short time thesurface of the lagoon was covered by a brown carpet of logs runningin strange patterns like windrows of fallen grain. Finally, across thestraight middle distance of the river, appeared little agitated specksleaping back and forth. Thus the rear came in sight and the drive wasall but over. 

Up till now the weather had been clear but oppressively hot for thistime of year. The heat had come suddenly and maintained itself well. Ithad searched out with fierce directness all the patches of snow lyingunder the thick firs and balsams of the swamp edge, it had shaken loosethe anchor ice of the marsh bottoms, and so had materially aided thesuccess of the drive by increase of water. The men had worked for themost part in undershirts. They were as much in the water as out of it, for the icy bath had become almost grateful. Hamilton, the journalist, who had attached himself definitely to the drive, distributed bunches ofpapers, in which the men read that the unseasonable condition prevailedall over the country. 

At length, however, it gave signs of breaking. The sky, which hadbeen of a steel blue, harbored great piled thunder-heads. Occasionallyathwart the heat shot a streak of cold air. Towards evening thethunder-heads shifted and finally dissipated, to be sure, but theportent was there. 

Hamilton's papers began to tell of disturbances in the South and West. Awashout in Arkansas derailed a train; a cloud-burst in Texas wiped outa camp; the cities along the Ohio River were enjoying their annual floodwith the usual concomitants of floating houses and boats in the streets. The men wished they had some of that water here. 

So finally the drive approached its end and all concerned began inanticipation to taste the weariness that awaited them. They had hurriedtheir powers. The few remaining tasks still confronting them, all atonce seemed more formidable than what they had accomplished. They couldnot contemplate further exertion. The work for the first time becamedogged, distasteful. Even Thorpe was infected. He, too, wanted morethan anything else to drop on the bed in Mrs. Hathaway's boarding house, there to sponge from his mind all colors but the dead gray of rest. There remained but a few things to do. A mile of sacking would carry thedrive beyond the influence of freshet water. After that there would beno hurry. 

He looked around at the hard, fatigue-worn faces of the men about him, and in the obsession of his wearied mood he suddenly felt a great rushof affection for these comrades who had so unreservedly spent themselvesfor his affair. Their features showed exhaustion, it is true, but theireyes gleamed still with the steady half-humorous purpose of the pioneer. When they caught his glance they grinned good-humoredly. 

All at once Thorpe turned and started for the bank. 

"That'll do, boys, " he said quietly to the nearest group. "She's down!"

It was noon. The sackers looked up in surprise. Behind them, to theirvery feet, rushed the soft smooth slope of Hemlock Rapids. Belowthem flowed a broad, peaceful river. The drive had passed its lastobstruction. To all intents and purposes it was over. 

Calmly, with matter-of-fact directness, as though they had not achievedthe impossible; as though they, a handful, had not cheated nature andpowerful enemies, they shouldered their peaveys and struck into thebroad wagon road. In the middle distance loomed the tall stacks of themill with the little board town about it. Across the eye spun the threadof the railroad. Far away gleamed the broad expanses of Lake Superior. 

The cook had, early that morning, moored the wanigan to the bank. Oneof the teamsters from town had loaded the men's "turkeys" on his heavywagon. The wanigan's crew had thereupon trudged into town. 

The men paired off naturally and fell into a dragging, dogged walk. Thorpe found himself unexpectedly with Big Junko. For a time theyplodded on without conversation. Then the big man ventured a remark. 

"I'm glad she's over, " said he. "I got a good stake comin'. "

"Yes, " replied Thorpe indifferently. 

"I got most six hundred dollars comin', " persisted Junko. 

"Might as well be six hundred cents, " commented Thorpe, "it'd make youjust as drunk. "

Big Junko laughed self-consciously but without the slightest resentment. 

"That's all right, " said he, "but you betcher life I don't blow thisstake. "

"I've heard that talk before, " shrugged Thorpe. 

"Yes, but this is different. I'm goin' to git married on this. How'sTHAT?"

Thorpe, his attention struck at last, stared at his companion. He notedthe man's little twinkling animal eyes, his high cheek bones, his flatnose, his thick and slobbery lips, his straggling, fierce mustache andeyebrows, his grotesque long-tailed cutaway coat. So to him, too, thisprimitive man reaching dully from primordial chaos, the great moment hadyielded its vision. 

"Who is she?" he asked abruptly. 

"She used to wash at Camp Four. "

Thorpe dimly remembered the woman now--an overweighted creature witha certain attraction of elfishly blowing hair, with a certain pleasingfull-cheeked, full-bosomed health. 

The two walked on in re-established silence. Finally the giant, unableto contain himself longer, broke out again. 

"I do like that woman, " said he with a quaintly deliberate seriousness. "That's the finest woman in this district. "

Thorpe felt the quick moisture rush to his eyes. There was somethinginexpressibly touching in those simple words as Big Junko uttered them. 

"And when you are married, " he asked, "what are you going to do? Are yougoing to stay on the river?"

"No, I'm goin' to clear a farm. The woman she says that's the thing todo. I like the river, too. But you bet when Carrie says a thing, that'splenty good enough for Big Junko. "

"Suppose, " suggested Thorpe, irresistibly impelled towards the attempt, "suppose I should offer you two hundred dollars a month to stay on theriver. Would you stay?"

"Carrie don't like it, " replied Junko. 

"Two hundred dollars is big wages, " persisted Thorpe. "It's twice what Igive Radway. "

"I'd like to ask Carrie. "

"No, take it or leave it now. "

"Well, Carrie says she don't like it, " answered the riverman with asigh. 

Thorpe looked at his companion fixedly. Somehow the bestial countenancehad taken on an attraction of its own. He remembered Big Junko as a wildbeast when his passions were aroused, as a man whose honesty had beendoubted. 

"You've changed, Junko, " said he. 

"I know, " said the big man. "I been a scalawag all right. I quit it. Idon't know much, but Carrie she's smart, and I'm goin' to do what shesays. When you get stuck on a good woman like Carrie, Mr. Thorpe, youdon't give much of a damn for anything else. Sure! That's right! It'sthe biggest thing top o' earth!"

Here it was again, the opposing creed. And from such a source. Thorpe'siron will contracted again. 

"A woman is no excuse for a man's neglecting his work, " he snapped. 

"Shorely not, " agreed Junko serenely. "I aim to finish out my time allright, Mr. Thorpe. Don't you worry none about that. I done my bestfor you. And, " went on the riverman in the expansion of this unwontedconfidence with his employer, "I'd like to rise to remark that you'rethe best boss I ever had, and we boys wants to stay with her tillthere's skating in hell!"

"All right, " murmured Thorpe indifferently. 

His momentary interest had left him. Again the reactionary wearinessdragged at his feet. Suddenly the remaining half mile to town seemedvery long indeed. 

Chapter LIII

Wallace Carpenter and Hamilton, the journalist, seated against thesun-warmed bench of Mrs. Hathaway's boarding-house, commented on theband as it stumbled in to the wash-room. 

"Those men don't know how big they are, " remarked the journalist. "That'sthe way with most big men. And that man Thorpe belongs to another age. I'd like to get him to telling his experiences; he'd be a gold mine tome. "

"And would require about as much trouble to 'work, '" laughed Wallace. "He won't talk. "

"That's generally the trouble, confound 'em, " sighed Hamilton. "Thefellows who CAN talk haven't anything to say; and those who havesomething to tell are dumb as oysters. I've got him in though. " Hespread one of a roll of papers on his knees. "I got a set of duplicatesfor you. Thought you might like to keep them. The office tells me, " heconcluded modestly, "that they are attracting lots of attention, but arelooked upon as being a rather clever sort of fiction. "

Wallace picked up the sheet. His eye was at once met by the heading, "'So long, boys, '" in letters a half inch in height, and immediatelyunderneath in smaller type, "said Jimmy Powers, and threw his hat in theface of death. "

"It's all there, " explained the journalist, "--the jam and the break, and all this magnificent struggle afterwards. It makes a great yarn. I feel tempted sometimes to help it out a little--artistically, youknow--but of course that wouldn't do. She'd make a ripping yarn, though, if I could get up some motive outside mere trade rivalry for the blowingup of those dams. That would just round it off. "

Wallace Carpenter was about to reply that such a motive actuallyexisted, when the conversation was interrupted by the approach of Thorpeand Big Junko. The former looked twenty years older after his winter. His eye was dull, his shoulders drooped, his gait was inelastic. Thewhole bearing of the man was that of one weary to the bone. 

"I've got something here to show you, Harry, " cried Wallace Carpenter, waving one of the papers. "It was a great drive and here's something toremember it by. "

"All right, Wallace, by and by, " replied Thorpe dully. "I'm dead. I'mgoing to turn in for a while. I need sleep more than anything else. Ican't think now. "

He passed through the little passage into the "parlor bed-room, " whichMrs. Hathaway always kept in readiness for members of the firm. There hefell heavily asleep almost before his body had met the bed. 

In the long dining room the rivermen consumed a belated dinner. They hadno comments to make. It was over. 

The two on the veranda smoked. To the right, at the end of the sawduststreet, the mill sang its varying and lulling keys. The odor offresh-sawed pine perfumed the air. Not a hundred yards away the riverslipped silently to the distant blue Superior, escaping between theslanting stone-filled cribs which held back the logs. Down the south andwest the huge thunderheads gathered and flashed and grumbled, as theyhad done every afternoon for days previous. 

"Queer thing, " commented Hamilton finally, "these cold streaks in theair. They are just as distinct as though they had partitions aroundthem. "

"Queer climate anyway, " agreed Carpenter. 

Excepting always for the mill, the little settlement appeared asleep. The main booms were quite deserted. Not a single figure, armed withits picturesque pike-pole, loomed athwart the distance. After awhileHamilton noticed something. 

"Look here, Carpenter, " said he, "what's happening out there? Have someof your confounded logs SUNK, or what? There don't seem to be near somany of them somehow. "

"No, it isn't that, " proffered Carpenter after a moment's scrutiny, "there are just as many logs, but they are getting separated a little soyou can see the open water between them. "

"Guess you're right. Say, look here, I believe that the river isrising!"

"Nonsense, we haven't had any rain. "

"She's rising just the same. I'll tell you how I know; you see thatspile over there near the left-hand crib? Well, I sat on the boom thismorning watching the crew, and I whittled the spile with my knife--youcan see the marks from here. I cut the thing about two feet above thewater. Look at it now. "

"She's pretty near the water line, that's right, " admitted Carpenter. 

"I should think that might make the boys hot, " commented Hamilton. "Ifthey'd known this was coming, they needn't have hustled so to get thedrive down. 

"That's so, " Wallace agreed. 

About an hour later the younger man in his turn made a discovery. 

"She's been rising right along, " he submitted. "Your marks are nearerthe water, and, do you know, I believe the logs are beginning to feelit. See, they've closed up the little openings between them, and theyare beginning to crowd down to the lower end of the pond. "

"I don't know anything about this business, " hazarded the journalist, "but by the mere look of the thing I should think there was a good dealof pressure on that same lower end. By Jove, look there! See those logsup-end? I believe you're going to have a jam right here in your ownbooms!"

"I don't know, " hesitated Wallace, "I never heard of its happening. "

"You'd better let someone know. "

"I hate to bother Harry or any of the rivermen. I'll just step down tothe mill. Mason--he's our mill foreman--he'll know. "

Mason came to the edge of the high trestle and took one look. 

"Jumping fish-hooks!" he cried. "Why, the river's up six inches andstill a comin'! Here you, Tom!" he called to one of the yard hands, "youtell Solly to get steam on that tug double quick, and have Dave hustletogether his driver crew. "

"What you going to do?" asked Wallace. 

"I got to strengthen the booms, " explained the mill foreman. "We'lldrive some piles across between the cribs. "

"Is there any danger?"

"Oh, no, the river would have to rise a good deal higher than she is nowto make current enough to hurt. They've had a hard rain up above. Thiswill go down in a few hours. "

After a time the tug puffed up to the booms, escorting the pile driver. The latter towed a little raft of long sharpened piles, which it at oncebegan to drive in such positions as would most effectually strengthenthe booms. In the meantime the thunder-heads had slyly climbed theheavens, so that a sudden deluge of rain surprised the workmen. For anhour it poured down in torrents; then settled to a steady gray beat. Immediately the aspect had changed. The distant rise of land was veiled;the brown expanse of logs became slippery and glistening; the riverbelow the booms was picked into staccato points by the drops; distantSuperior turned lead color and seemed to tumble strangely athwart thehorizon. 

Solly, the tug captain, looked at his mooring hawsers and then at thenearest crib. 

"She's riz two inches in th' las' two hours, " he announced, "andshe's runnin' like a mill race. " Solly was a typical north-country tugcaptain, short and broad, with a brown, clear face, and the steadiestand calmest of steel-blue eyes. "When she begins to feel th' pressurebehind, " he went on, "there's goin' to be trouble. "

Towards dusk she began to feel that pressure. Through the rainy twilightthe logs could be seen raising their ghostly arms of protest. Slowly, without tumult, the jam formed. In the van the logs crossed silently; inthe rear they pressed in, were sucked under in the swift water, and cameto rest at the bottom of the river. The current of the river began toprotest, pressing its hydraulics through the narrowing crevices. Thesituation demanded attention. 

A breeze began to pull off shore in the body of rain. Little by littleit increased, sending the water by in gusts, ruffling the alreadyhurrying river into greater haste, raising far from the shore dimlyperceived white-caps. Between the roaring of the wind, the dash of rain, and the rush of the stream, men had to shout to make themselves heard. 

"Guess you'd better rout out the boss, " screamed Solly to WallaceCarpenter; "this damn water's comin' up an inch an hour right along. When she backs up once, she'll push this jam out sure. "

Wallace ran to the boarding house and roused his partner from a heavysleep. The latter understood the situation at a word. While dressing, heexplained to the younger man wherein lay the danger. 

"If the jam breaks once, " said he, "nothing top of earth can preventit from going out into the Lake, and there it'll scatter, Heaven knowswhere. Once scattered, it is practically a total loss. The salvagewouldn't pay the price of the lumber. "

They felt blindly through the rain in the direction of the lights onthe tug and pile-driver. Shearer, the water dripping from his flaxenmustache, joined them like a shadow. 

"I heard you come in, " he explained to Carpenter. At the river heannounced his opinion. "We can hold her all right, " he assured them. "It'll take a few more piles, but by morning the storm'll be over, andshe'll begin to go down again. "

The three picked their way over the creaking, swaying timber. But whenthey reached the pile-driver, they found trouble afoot. The crew hadmutinied, and refused longer to drive piles under the face of the jam. 

"If she breaks loose, she's going to bury us, " said they. 

"She won't break, " snapped Shearer, "get to work. "

"It's dangerous, " they objected sullenly. 

"By God, you get off this driver, " shouted Solly. "Go over and lie downin a ten-acre lot, and see if you feel safe there!"

He drove them ashore with a storm of profanity and a multitude of kicks, his steel-blue eyes blazing. 

"There's nothing for it but to get the boys out again, " said Tim; "Ikinder hate to do it. "

But when the Fighting Forty, half asleep but dauntless, took charge ofthe driver, a catastrophe made itself known. One of the ejected men hadtripped the lifting chain of the hammer after another had knocked awaythe heavy preventing block, and so the hammer had fallen into the riverand was lost. None other was to be had. The pile driver was useless. 

A dozen men were at once despatched for cables, chains, and wire ropesfrom the supply at the warehouse. 

"I'd like to have those whelps here, " cried Shearer, "I'd throw themunder the jam. "

"It's part of the same trick, " said Thorpe grimly; "those fellows havetheir men everywhere among us. I don't know whom to trust. "

"You think it's Morrison & Daly?" queried Carpenter astonished. 

"Think? I know it. They know as well as you or I that if we save theselogs, we'll win out in the stock exchange; and they're not such fools asto let us save them if it can be helped. I have a score to settle withthose fellows; and when I get through with this thing I'll settle it allright. "

"What are you going to do now?"

"The only thing there is to be done. We'll string heavy booms, chainedtogether, between the cribs, and then trust to heaven they'll hold. Ithink we can hold the jam. The water will begin to flow over the bankbefore long, so there won't be much increase of pressure over what wehave now; and as there won't be any shock to withstand, I think ourheavy booms will do the business. "

He turned to direct the boring of some long boom logs in preparationfor the chains. Suddenly he whirled again to Wallace with so strangean expression in his face that the young man almost cried out. Theuncertain light of the lanterns showed dimly the streaks of rain acrosshis countenance, and, his eye flared with a look almost of panic. 

"I never thought of it!" he said in a low voice. "Fool that I am! Idon't see how I missed it. Wallace, don't you see what those devils willdo next?"

"No, what do you mean?" gasped the younger man. 

"There are twelve million feet of logs up river in Sadler & Smith'sdrive. Don't you see what they'll do?"

"No, I don't believe--"

"Just as soon as they find out that the river is booming, and that weare going to have a hard time to hold our jam, they'll let loosethose twelve million on us. They'll break the jam, or dynamite it, orsomething. And let me tell you, that a very few logs hitting the tailof our jam will start the whole shooting match so that no power on earthcan stop it. "

"I don't imagine they'd think of doing that--" began Wallace by way ofassurance. 

"Think of it! You don't know them. They've thought of everything. Youdon't know that man Daly. Ask Tim, he'll tell you. "

"Well, the--"

"I've got to send a man up there right away. Perhaps we can get there intime to head them off. They have to send their man over--By the way, " hequeried, struck with a new idea, "how long have you been driving piles?"

"Since about three o'clock. "

"Six hours, " computed Thorpe. "I wish you'd come for me sooner. "

He cast his eye rapidly over the men. 

"I don't know just who to send. There isn't a good enough woodsman inthe lot to make Siscoe Falls through the woods a night like this. Theriver trail is too long; and a cut through the woods is blind. Andrewsis the only man I know of who could do it, but I think Billy Mason saidAndrews had gone up on the Gunther track to run lines. Come on; we'llsee. "

With infinite difficulty and caution, they reached the shore. Acrossthe gleaming logs shone dimly the lanterns at the scene of work, ghostlythrough the rain. Beyond, on either side, lay impenetrable drencheddarkness, racked by the wind. 

"I wouldn't want to tackle it, " panted Thorpe. "If it wasn't for thatcursed tote road between Sadler's and Daly's, I wouldn't worry. It'sjust too EASY for them. "

Behind them the jam cracked and shrieked and groaned. Occasionally washeard, beneath the sharper noises, a dull BOOM, as one of the heavytimbers forced by the pressure from its resting place, shot into theair, and fell back on the bristling surface. 

Andrews had left that morning. 

"Tim Shearer might do it, " suggested Thorpe, "but I hate to spare him. "

He picked his rifle from its rack and thrust the magazine full ofcartridges. 

"Come on, Wallace, " said he, "we'll hunt him up. "

They stepped again into the shriek and roar of the storm, bending theirheads to its power, but indifferent in the already drenched conditionof their clothing, to the rain. The saw-dust street was saturated like asponge. They could feel the quick water rise about the pressure at theirfeet. From the invisible houses they heard a steady monotone of flowingfrom the roofs. Far ahead, dim in the mist, sprayed the light oflanterns. 

Suddenly Thorpe felt a touch on his arm. Faintly he perceived at hiselbow the high lights of a face from which the water streamed. 

"Injin Charley!" he cried, "the very man!"

Chapter LIV

Rapidly Thorpe explained what was to be done, and thrust his rifle intothe Indian's hands. The latter listened in silence and stolidity, thenturned, and without a word departed swiftly in the darkness. The twowhite men stood a minute attentive. Nothing was to be heard but thesteady beat of rain and the roaring of the wind. 

Near the bank of the river they encountered a man, visible only as anuncertain black outline against the glow of the lanterns beyond. Thorpe, stopping him, found Big Junko. 

"This is no time to quit, " said Thorpe, sharply. 

"I ain't quittin', " replied Big Junko. 

"Where are you going, then?"

Junko was partially and stammeringly unresponsive. 

"Looks bad, " commented Thorpe. "You'd better get back to your job. "

"Yes, " agreed Junko helplessly. In the momentary slack tide of work, the giant had conceived the idea of searching out the driver crew forpurposes of pugilistic vengeance. Thorpe's suspicions stung him, but hissimple mind could see no direct way to explanation. 

All night long in the chill of a spring rain and windstorm the FightingForty and certain of the mill crew gave themselves to the labor ofconnecting the slanting stone cribs so strongly, by means of heavytimbers chained end to end, that the pressure of a break in the jammight not sweep aside the defenses. Wallace Carpenter, Shorty, thechore-boy, and Anderson, the barn-boss, picked a dangerous passageback and forth carrying pails of red-hot coffee which Mrs. Hathawayconstantly prepared. The cold water numbed the men's hands. Withdifficulty could they manipulate the heavy chains through the augerholes; with pain they twisted knots, bored holes. They did not complain. Behind them the jam quivered, perilously near the bursting point. Fromit shrieked aloud the demons of pressure. Steadily the river rose, aninch an hour. The key might snap at any given moment, they could nottell, --and with the rush they knew very well that themselves, the tug, and the disabled piledriver would be swept from existence. The worst ofit was that the blackness shrouded their experience into uselessness;they were utterly unable to tell by the ordinary visual symptoms hownear the jam might be to collapse. 

However, they persisted, as the old-time riverman always does, so thatwhen dawn appeared the barrier was continuous and assured. Although thepressure of the river had already forced the logs against the defenses, the latter held the strain well. 

The storm had settled into its gait. Overhead the sky was filled withgray, beneath which darker scuds flew across the zenith before a howlingsouthwest wind. Out in the clear river one could hardly stand uprightagainst the gusts. In the fan of many directions furious squalls sweptover the open water below the booms, and an eager boiling current rushedto the lake. 

Thorpe now gave orders that the tug and driver should take shelter. Afew moments later he expressed himself as satisfied. The dripping crew, their harsh faces gray in the half-light, picked their way to the shore. 

In the darkness of that long night's work no man knew his neighbor. Menfrom the river, men from the mill, men from the yard all worked sideby side. Thus no one noticed especially a tall, slender, but well-knitindividual dressed in a faded mackinaw and a limp slouch hat which hewore pulled over his eyes. This young fellow occupied himself with thechains. Against the racing current the crew held the ends of the heavybooms, while he fastened them together. He worked well, but seemedslow. Three times Shearer hustled him on after the others had finished, examining closely the work that had been done. On the third occasion heshrugged his shoulder somewhat impatiently. 

The men straggled to shore, the young fellow just described bringing upthe rear. He walked as though tired out, hanging his head and dragginghis feet. When, however, the boarding-house door had closed on the lastof those who preceded him, and the town lay deserted in the dawn, hesuddenly became transformed. Casting a keen glance right and left to besure of his opportunity, he turned and hurried recklessly back over thelogs to the center booms. There he knelt and busied himself with thechains. 

In his zigzag progression over the jam he so blended with the morningshadows as to seem one of them, and he would have escaped quiteunnoticed had not a sudden shifting of the logs under his feet compelledhim to rise for a moment to his full height. So Wallace Carpenter, passing from his bedroom, along the porch, to the dining room, becameaware of the man on the logs. 

His first thought was that something demanding instant attention hadhappened to the boom. He therefore ran at once to the man's assistance, ready to help him personally or to call other aid as the exigencydemanded. Owing to the precarious nature of the passage, he could notsee beyond his feet until very close to the workman. Then he looked upto find the man, squatted on the boom, contemplating him sardonically. 

"Dyer!" he exclaimed

"Right, my son, " said the other coolly. 

"What are you doing?"

"If you want to know, I am filing this chain. "

Wallace made one step forward and so became aware that at last firearmswere taking a part in this desperate game. 

"You stand still, " commanded Dyer from behind the revolver. "It'sunfortunate for you that you happened along, because now you'll have tocome with me till this little row is over. You won't have to stay long;your logs'll go out in an hour. I'll just trouble you to go into thebrush with me for a while. "

The scaler picked his file from beside the weakened link. 

"What have you against us, anyway, Dyer?" asked Wallace. His quick mindhad conceived a plan. At the moment, he was standing near the outermostedge of the jam, but now as he spoke he stepped quietly to the boom log. 

Dyer's black eyes gleamed at him suspiciously, but the movement appearedwholly natural in view of the return to shore. 

"Nothing, " he replied. "I didn't like your gang particularly, but that'snothing. "

"Why do you take such nervy chances to injure us?" queried Carpenter. 

"Because there's something in it, " snapped the scaler. "Now about face;mosey!"

Like a flash Wallace wheeled and dropped into the river, swimming asfast as possible below water before his breath should give out. Theswift current hurried him away. When at last he rose for air, the spitof Dyer's pistol caused him no uneasiness. A moment later he struck outboldly for shore. 

What Dyer's ultimate plan might be, he could not guess. He had statedconfidently that the jam would break "in an hour. " He might intendto start it with dynamite. Wallace dragged himself from the water andcommenced breathlessly to run toward the boarding-house. 

Dyer had already reached the shore. Wallace raised what was left of hisvoice in a despairing shout. The scaler mockingly waved his hat, thenturned and ran swiftly and easily toward the shelter of the woods. Attheir border he paused again to bow in derision. Carpenter's cry broughtmen to the boarding-house door. From the shadows of the forest two vividflashes cut the dusk. Dyer staggered, turned completely about, seemedpartially to recover, and disappeared. An instant later, across the openspace where the scaler had stood, with rifle a-trail, the Indian leapedin pursuit. 

Chapter LV

"What is it?" "What's the matter?" "What's happened?" burst on Wallacein a volley. 

"It's Dyer, " gasped the young man. "I found him on the boom! He held meup with a gun while he filed the boom chains between the center piers. They're just ready to go. I got away by diving. Hurry and put in a newchain; you haven't much time!"

"He's a gone-er now, " interjected Solly grimly. --"Charley is on histrail--and he is hit. "

Thorpe's intelligence leaped promptly to the practical question. 

"Injin Charley, where'd he come from? I sent him up Sadler & Smith's. It's twenty miles, even through the woods. "

As though by way of colossal answer the whole surface of the jam movedinward and upward, thrusting the logs bristling against the horizon. 

"She's going to break!" shouted Thorpe, starting on a run towards theriver. "A chain, quick!"

The men followed, strung high with excitement. Hamilton, the journalist, paused long enough to glance up-stream. Then he, too, ran after them, screaming that the river above was full of logs. By that they all knewthat Injin Charley's mission had failed, and that something under tenmillion feet of logs were racing down the river like so many batteringrams. 

At the boom the great jam was already a-tremble with eagerness tospring. Indeed a miracle alone seemed to hold the timbers in theirplace. 

"It's death, certain death, to go out on that boom, " muttered BillyMason. 

Tim Shearer stepped forward coolly, ready as always to assume theperilous duty. He was thrust back by Thorpe, who seized the chain, cold-shut and hammer which Scotty Parsons brought, and ran lightly outover the booms, shouting, "Back! back! Don't follow me, on your lives! Keep 'em back, Tim!"

The swift water boiled from under the booms. BANG! SMASH! BANG! crashedthe logs, a mile upstream, but plainly audible above the waters and thewind. Thorpe knelt, dropped the cold-shut through on either side of theweakened link, and prepared to close it with his hammer. He intendedfurther to strengthen the connection with the other chain. 

"Lem' me hold her for you. You can't close her alone, " said anunexpected voice next his elbow. 

Thorpe looked up in surprise and anger. Over him leaned Big Junko. Themen had been unable to prevent his following. Animated by the blinddevotion of the animal for its master, and further stung to action bythat master's doubt of his fidelity, the giant had followed to assist ashe might. 

"You damned fool, " cried Thorpe exasperated, then held the hammer tohim, "strike while I keep the chain underneath, " he commanded. 

Big Junko leaned forward to obey, kicking strongly his caulks into thebarked surface of the boom log. The spikes, worn blunt by the river workalready accomplished, failed to grip. Big Junko slipped, caught himselfby an effort, overbalanced in the other direction, and fell into thestream. The current at once swept him away, but fortunately in such adirection that he was enabled to catch the slanting end of a "dead head"log whose lower end was jammed in the crib. The dead head was slippery, the current strong; Big Junko had no crevice by which to assure hishold. In another moment he would be torn away. 

"Let go and swim!" shouted Thorpe. 

"I can't swim, " replied Junko in so low a voice as to be scarcelyaudible. 

For a moment Thorpe stared at him. 

"Tell Carrie, " said Big Junko. 

Then there beneath the swirling gray sky, under the frowning jam, in themidst of flood waters, Thorpe had his second great Moment of Decision. He did not pause to weigh reasons or chances, to discuss with himselfexpediency, or the moralities of failure. His actions were foreordained, mechanical. All at once the great forces which the winter had beenbringing to power, crystallized into something bigger than himself orhis ideas. The trail lay before him; there was no choice. 

Now clearly, with no shadow of doubt, he took the other view: Therecould be nothing better than Love. Men, their works, their deeds werelittle things. Success was a little thing; the opinion of men a littlething. Instantly he felt the truth of it. 

And here was Love in danger. That it held its moment's habitation inclay of the coarser mould had nothing to do with the great elementaltruth of it. For the first time in his life Thorpe felt the fullcrushing power of an abstraction. Without thought, instinctively, hethrew before the necessity of the moment all that was lesser. It wasthe triumph of what was real in the man over that which environment, alienation, difficulties had raised up within him. 

At Big Junko's words, Thorpe raised his hammer and with one mighty blowsevered the chains which bound the ends of the booms across the opening. The free end of one of the poles immediately swung down with the currentin the direction of Big Junko. Thorpe like a cat ran to the end of theboom, seized the giant by the collar, and dragged him through the waterto safety. 

"Run!" he shouted. "Run for your life!"

The two started desperately back, skirting the edge of the logs whichnow the very seconds alone seemed to hold back. They were drenched andblinded with spray, deafened with the crash of timbers settling to theleap. The men on shore could no longer see them for the smother. Thegreat crush of logs had actually begun its first majestic sliding motionwhen at last they emerged to safety. 

At first a few of the loose timbers found the opening, slipping quietlythrough with the current; then more; finally the front of the jam doveforward; and an instant later the smooth, swift motion had gained itsimpetus and was sweeping the entire drive down through the gap. 

Rank after rank, like soldiers charging, they ran. The great fierce windcaught them up ahead of the current. In a moment the open river was fullof logs jostling eagerly onward. Then suddenly, far out above the uneventossing skyline of Superior, the strange northern "loom, " or mirage, threw the specters of thousands of restless timbers rising and fallingon the bosom of the lake. 

Chapter LVI

They stood and watched them go. 

"Oh, the great man! Oh, the great man!" murmured the writer, fascinated. 

The grandeur of the sacrifice had struck them dumb. They did notunderstand the motives beneath it all; but the fact was patent. BigJunko broke down and sobbed. 

After a time the stream of logs through the gap slackened. In a momentmore, save for the inevitably stranded few, the booms were empty. A deepsigh went up from the attentive multitude. 

"She's GONE!" said one man, with the emphasis of a novel discovery; andgroaned. 

Then the awe broke from about their minds, and they spoke many opinionsand speculations. Thorpe had disappeared. They respected his emotion anddid not follow him. 

"It was just plain damn foolishness;--but it was great!" said Shearer. "That no-account jackass of a Big Junko ain't worth as much per thousandfeet as good white pine. "

Then they noticed a group of men gathering about the office steps, andon it someone talking. Collins, the bookkeeper, was making a speech. 

Collins was a little hatchet-faced man, with straight, lank hair, nearsighted eyes, a timid, order-loving disposition, and a greatsuitability for his profession. He was accurate, unemotional, andvaluable. All his actions were as dry as the saw-dust in the burner. Noone had ever seen him excited. But he was human; and now his knowledgeof the Company's affairs showed him the dramatic contrast. HE KNEW! Heknew that the property of the firm had been mortgaged to the last dollarin order to assist expansion, so that not another cent could be borrowedto tide over present difficulty. He knew that the notes for sixtythousand dollars covering the loan to Wallace Carpenter came due inthree months; he knew from the long table of statistics which he waseternally preparing and comparing that the season's cut should havenetted a profit of two hundred thousand dollars--enough to pay theinterest on the mortgages, to take up the notes, and to furnish aworking capital for the ensuing year. These things he knew in thestrange concrete arithmetical manner of the routine bookkeeper. Othermen saw a desperate phase of firm rivalry; he saw a struggle to theuttermost. Other men cheered a rescue: he thrilled over the magnificentgesture of the Gambler scattering his stake in largesse to Death. 

It was the simple turning of the hand from full breathed prosperity tolifeless failure. 

His view was the inverse of his master's. To Thorpe it had suddenlybecome a very little thing in contrast to the great, sweet elementaltruth that the dream girl had enunciated. To Collins the affair wasmiles vaster than the widest scope of his own narrow life. 

The firm could not take up its notes when they came due; it could notpay the interest on the mortgages, which would now be foreclosed; itcould not even pay in full the men who had worked for it--that wouldcome under a court's adjudication. 

He had therefore watched Thorpe's desperate sally to mend the weakenedchain, in all the suspense of a man whose entire universe is in thekeeping of the chance moment. It must be remembered that at bottom, below the outer consciousness, Thorpe's final decision had alreadygrown to maturity. On the other hand, no other thought than that ofaccomplishment had even entered the little bookkeeper's head. The rescueand all that it had meant had hit him like a stroke of apoplexy, andhis thin emotions had curdled to hysteria. Full of the idea he appearedbefore the men. 

With rapid, almost incoherent speech he poured it out to them. Professional caution and secrecy were forgotten. Wallace Carpenterattempted to push through the ring for the purpose of stopping him. Agigantic riverman kindly but firmly held him back. 

"I guess it's just as well we hears this, " said the latter. 

It all came out--the loan to Carpenter, with a hint at the motive: themachinations of the rival firm on the Board of Trade; the notes, themortgages, the necessity of a big season's cut; the reasons the rivalfirm had for wishing to prevent that cut from arriving at the market;the desperate and varied means they had employed. The men listenedsilent. Hamilton, his eyes glowing like coals, drank in every word. Herewas the master motive he had sought; here was the story great to hishand!

"That's what we ought to get, " cried Collins, almost weeping, "and nowwe've gone and bust, just because that infernal river-hog had to falloff a boom. By God, it's a shame! Those scalawags have done us afterall!"

Out from the shadows of the woods stole Injin Charley. The whole bearingand aspect of the man had changed. His eye gleamed with a distantfarseeing fire of its own, which took no account of anything but someremote vision. He stole along almost furtively, but with a proud uprightcarriage of his neck, a backward tilt of his fine head, a distentionof his nostrils that lent to his appearance a panther-like pride andstealthiness. No one saw him. Suddenly he broke through the group andmounted the steps beside Collins. 

"The enemy of my brother is gone, " said he simply in his native tongue, and with a sudden gesture held out before them--a scalp. 

The medieval barbarity of the thing appalled them for a moment. The daysof scalping were long since past, had been closed away between the pagesof forgotten histories, and yet here again before them was the thing inall its living horror. Then a growl arose. The human animal had tastedblood. 

All at once like wine their wrongs mounted to their heads. Theyremembered their dead comrades. They remembered the heart-breakingdays and nights of toil they had endured on account of this man and hisassociates. They remembered the words of Collins, the little bookkeeper. They hated. They shook their fists across the skies. They turned andwith one accord struck back for the railroad right-of-way which led toShingleville, the town controlled by Morrison & Daly. 

The railroad lay for a mile straight through a thick tamarack swamp, then over a nearly treeless cranberry plain. The tamarack was a screenbetween the two towns. When half-way through the swamp, Red Jacketstopped, removed his coat, ripped the lining from it, and began tofashion a rude mask. 

"Just as well they don't recognize us, " said he. 

"Somebody in town will give us away, " suggested Shorty, the chore-boy. 

"No, they won't; they're all here, " assured Kerlie. 

It was true. Except for the women and children, who were not yet about, the entire village had assembled. Even old Vanderhoof, the fire-watcherof the yard, hobbled along breathlessly on his rheumatic legs. In amoment the masks were fitted. In a moment more the little band hademerged from the shelter of the swamp, and so came into full view of itsobjective point. 

Shingleville consisted of a big mill; the yards, now nearly empty oflumber; the large frame boarding-house; the office; the stable; a store;two saloons; and a dozen dwellings. The party at once fixed its eyes onthis collection of buildings, and trudged on down the right-of-way withunhastening grimness. 

Their approach was not unobserved. Daly saw them; and Baker, hisforeman, saw them. The two at once went forth to organize opposition. When the attacking party reached the mill-yard, it found the boss andthe foreman standing alone on the saw-dust, revolvers drawn. 

Daly traced a line with his toe. 

"The first man that crosses that line gets it, " said he. 

They knew he meant what he said. An instant's pause ensued, while thebig man and the little faced a mob. Daly's rivermen were still on drive. He knew the mill men too well to depend on them. Truth to tell, thepossibility of such a raid as this had not occurred to him; for thesimple reason that he did not anticipate the discovery of his complicitywith the forces of nature. Skillfully carried out, the plan was a goodone. No one need know of the weakened link, and it was the most naturalthing in the world that Sadler & Smith's drive should go out with theincrease of water. 

The men grouped swiftly and silently on the other side of the sawdustline. The pause did not mean that Daly's defense was good. I have knownof a crew of striking mill men being so bluffed down, but not such menas these. 

"Do you know what's going to happen to you?" said a voice from thegroup. The speaker was Radway, but the contractor kept himself well inthe background. "We're going to burn your mill; we're going to burnyour yards; we're going to burn your whole shooting match, you low-livedwhelp!"

"Yes, and we're going to string you to your own trestle!" growledanother voice harshly. 

"Dyer!" said Injin Charley, simply, shaking the wet scalp arm's lengthtowards the lumbermen. 

At this grim interruption a silence fell. The owner paled slightly; hisforeman chewed a nonchalant straw. Down the still and deserted streetcrossed and recrossed the subtle occult influences of a half-hundredconcealed watchers. Daly and his subordinate were very much alone, andvery much in danger. Their last hour had come; and they knew it. 

With the recognition of the fact, they immediately raised theirweapons in the resolve to do as much damage as possible before beingoverpowered. 

Then suddenly, full in the back, a heavy stream of water knocked themcompletely off their feet, rolled them over and over on the wet sawdust, and finally jammed them both against the trestle, where it held them, kicking and gasping for breath, in a choking cataract of water. Thepistols flew harmlessly into the air. For an instant the Fighting Fortystared in paralyzed astonishment. Then a tremendous roar of laughtersaluted this easy vanquishment of a formidable enemy. 

Daly and Baker were pounced upon and captured. There was no resistance. They were too nearly strangled for that. Little Solly and old Vanderhoofturned off the water in the fire hydrant and disconnected the hose theyhad so effectively employed. 

"There, damn you!" said Rollway Charley, jerking the millman to hisfeet. "How do YOU like too much water? hey?"

The unexpected comedy changed the party's mood. 

It was no longer a question of killing. A number broke into the store, and shortly emerged, bearing pails of kerosene with which they delugedthe slabs on the windward side of the mill. The flames caught thestructure instantly. A thousand sparks, borne by the off-shore breeze, fastened like so many stinging insects on the lumber in the yard. 

It burned as dried balsam thrown on a camp fire. The heat of it drovethe onlookers far back in the village, where in silence they watched thedestruction. From behind locked doors the inhabitants watched with them. 

The billow of white smoke filled the northern sky. A whirl of gray woodashes, light as air, floated on and ever on over Superior. The siteof the mill, the squares where the piles of lumber had stood, glowedincandescence over which already a white film was forming. 

Daly and his man were slapped and cuffed hither and thither at the men'swill. Their faces bled, their bodies ached as one bruise. 

"That squares us, " said the men. "If we can't cut this year, neither kinyou. It's up to you now!"

Then, like a destroying horde of locusts, they gutted the office and thestore, smashing what they could not carry to the fire. The dwellings andsaloons they did not disturb. Finally, about noon, they kicked their twoprisoners into the river, and took their way stragglingly back along theright-of-way. 

"I surmise we took that town apart SOME!" remarked Shorty withsatisfaction. 

"I should rise to remark, " replied Kerlie. Big Junko said nothing, buthis cavernous little animal eyes glowed with satisfaction. He had beenthe first to lay hands on Daly; he had helped to carry the petroleum; hehad struck the first match; he had even administered the final kick. 

At the boarding-house they found Wallace Carpenter and Hamilton seatedon the veranda. It was now afternoon. The wind had abated somewhat, andthe sun was struggling with the still flying scuds. 

"Hello, boys, " said Wallace, "been for a little walk in the woods?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Jack Hyland, "we--"

"I'd rather not hear, " interrupted Wallace. "There's quite a fire overeast. I suppose you haven't noticed it. "

Hyland looked gravely eastward. 

"Sure 'nough!" said he. 

"Better get some grub, " suggested Wallace. 

After the men had gone in, he turned to the journalist. 

"Hamilton, " he began, "write all you know about the drive, and thebreak, and the rescue, but as to the burning of the mill--"

The other held out his hand. 

"Good, " said Wallace offering his own. 

And that was as far as the famous Shingleville raid ever got. Dalydid his best to collect even circumstantial evidence against theparticipants, but in vain. He could not even get anyone to say that asingle member of the village of Carpenter had absented himself from townthat morning. This might have been from loyalty, or it might have beenfrom fear of the vengeance the Fighting Forty would surely visit ona traitor. Probably it was a combination of both. The fact remains, however, that Daly never knew surely of but one man implicated in thedestruction of his plant. That man was Injin Charley, but Injin Charleypromptly disappeared. 

After an interval, Tim Shearer, Radway and Kerlie came out again. 

"Where's the boss?" asked Shearer. 

"I don't know, Tim, " replied Wallace seriously. 

"I've looked everywhere. He's gone. He must have been all cut up. Ithink he went out in the woods to get over it. I am not worrying. Harryhas lots of sense. He'll come in about dark. "

"Sure!" said Tim. 

"How about the boy's stakes?" queried Radway. "I hear this is a badsmash for the firm. "

"We'll see that the men get their wages all right, " replied Carpenter, alittle disappointed that such a question should be asked at such a time. 

"All right, " rejoined the contractor. "We're all going to need our moneythis summer. "

Chapter LVII

Thorpe walked through the silent group of men without seeing them. Hehad no thought for what he had done, but for the triumphant discovery hehad made in spite of himself. This he saw at once as something to gloryin and as a duty to be fulfilled. 

It was then about six o'clock in the morning. Thorpe passed theboarding-house, the store, and the office, to take himself as far as thelittle open shed that served the primitive town as a railway station. There he set the semaphore to flag the east-bound train from Duluth. At six thirty-two, the train happening on time, he climbed aboard. Hedropped heavily into a seat and stared straight in front of him untilthe conductor had spoken to him twice. 

"Where to, Mr. Thorpe?" he asked. 

The latter gazed at him uncomprehendingly. 

"Oh! Mackinaw City, " he replied at last. 

"How're things going up your way?" inquired the conductor by way ofconversation while he made out the pay-slip. 

"Good!" responded Thorpe mechanically. 

The act of paying for his fare brought to his consciousness that he hadbut a little over ten dollars with him. He thrust the change back intohis pocket, and took up his contemplation of nothing. The river waterdripped slowly from his "cork" boots to form a pool on the car floor. The heavy wool of his short driving trousers steamed in the car'swarmth. His shoulders dried in a little cloud of vapor. He noticed noneof these things, but stared ahead, his gaze vacant, the bronze of hisface set in the lines of a brown study, his strong capable hands hangingpurposeless between his knees. The ride to Mackinaw City was six hourslong, and the train in addition lost some ninety minutes; but in allthis distance Thorpe never altered his pose nor his fixed attitude ofattention to some inner voice. 

The car-ferry finally landed them on the southern peninsula. Thorpedescended at Mackinaw City to find that the noon train had gone. He atelunch at the hotel, --borrowed a hundred dollars from the agent of LouisSands, a lumberman of his acquaintance; and seated himself rigidly inthe little waiting room, there to remain until the nine-twenty thatnight. When the cars were backed down from the siding, he boarded thesleeper. In the doorway stood a disapproving colored porter. 

"Yo'll fin' the smokin' cab up fo'wu'd, suh, " said the latter, firmlybarring the way. 

"It's generally forward, " answered Thorpe. 

"This yeah's th' sleepah, " protested the functionary. "You pays extry. "

"I am aware of it, " replied Thorpe curtly. "Give me a lower. "

"Yessah!" acquiesced the darkey, giving way, but still in doubt. Hefollowed Thorpe curiously, peering into the smoking room on him fromtime to time. A little after twelve his patience gave out. The stolidgloomy man of lower six seemed to intend sitting up all night. 

"Yo' berth is ready, sah, " he delicately suggested. 

Thorpe arose obediently, walked to lower six, and, without undressing, threw himself on the bed. Afterwards the porter, in conscientiousdischarge of his duty, looked diligently beneath the seat for boots topolish. Happening to glance up, after fruitless search he discovered theboots still adorning the feet of their owner. 

"Well, for th' LANDS sake!" ejaculated the scandalized negro, beating ahasty retreat. 

He was still more scandalized when, the following noon, his strange farebrushed by him without bestowing the expected tip. 

Thorpe descended at Twelfth Street in Chicago without any very clearnotion of where he was going. For a moment he faced the long park-likeexpanse of the lake front, then turned sharp to his left and picked hisway south up the interminable reaches of Michigan Avenue. He didthis without any conscious motive--mainly because the reaches seemedinterminable, and he proved the need of walking. Block after block heclicked along, the caulks of his boots striking fire from the pavement. Some people stared at him a little curiously. Others merely glanced inhis direction, attracted more by the expression of his face than thepeculiarity of his dress. At that time rivermen were not an uncommonsight along the water front. 

After an interval he seemed to have left the smoke and dirt behind. Thestreet became quieter. Boarding-houses and tailors' shops ceased. Hereand there appeared a bit of lawn, shrubbery, flowers. The residencesestablished an uptown crescendo of magnificence. Policemen seemedtrimmer, better-gloved. Occasionally he might have noticed in front ofone of the sandstone piles, a besilvered pair champing before a stylishvehicle. By and by he came to himself to find that he was staring at thedeep-carved lettering in a stone horse-block before a large dwelling. 

His mind took the letters in one after the other, perceiving themplainly before it accorded them recognition. Finally he had completedthe word "Farrad. " He whirled sharp on his heel, mounted the broad whitestone steps, and rang the bell. 

It was answered almost immediately by a cleanshaven, portly anddignified man with the most impassive countenance in the world. This manlooked upon Thorpe with lofty disapproval. 

"Is Miss Hilda Farrand at home?" he asked. 

"I cannot say, " replied the man. "If you will step to the back door, Iwill ascertain. "

"The flowers will do. Now see that the south room is ready, Annie, "floated a voice from within. 

Without a word, but with a deadly earnestness, Thorpe reached forward, seized the astonished servant by the collar, yanked him bodily outsidethe door, stepped inside, and strode across the hall toward a closedportiere whence had come the voice. The riverman's long spikes cutlittle triangular pieces from the hardwood floor. Thorpe did not noticethat. He thrust aside the portiere. 

Before him he saw a young and beautiful girl. She was seated, and herlap was filled with flowers. At his sudden apparition, her hands flewto her heart, and her lips slightly parted. For a second the two stoodlooking at each other, just as nearly a year before their eyes hadcrossed over the old pole trail. 

To Thorpe the girl seemed more beautiful than ever. She exceeded evenhis retrospective dreams of her, for the dream had persistently retainedsomething of the quality of idealism which made the vision unreal, whilethe woman before him had become human flesh and blood, adorable, tobe desired. The red of this violent unexpected encounter rushed to herface, her bosom rose and fell in a fluttering catch for breath; but hereyes were steady and inquiring. 

Then the butter pounced on Thorpe from behind with the intent to dogreat bodily harm. 

"Morris!" commanded Hilda sharply, "what are you doing?"

The man cut short his heroism in confusion. 

"You may go, " concluded Hilda. 

Thorpe stood straight and unwinking by the straight portiere. After amoment he spoke. 

"I have come to tell you that you were right and I was wrong, " said hesteadily. "You told me there could be nothing better than love. In thepride of my strength I told you this was not so. I was wrong. "

He stood for another instant, looking directly at her, then turnedsharply, and head erect walked from the room. 

Before he had reached the outer door the girl was at his side. 

"Why are you going?" she asked. 

"I have nothing more to say. "

"NOTHING?"

"Nothing at all. "

She laughed happily to herself. 

"But I have--much. Come back. "

They returned to the little morning room, Thorpe's caulked boots gougingout the little triangular furrows in the hardwood floor. Neither noticedthat. Morris, the butler, emerged from his hiding and held up the handsof horror. 

"What are you going to do now?" she catechised, facing him in the middleof the room. A long tendril of her beautiful corn-silk hair fell acrossher eyes; her red lips parted in a faint wistful smile; beneath thedraperies of her loose gown the pure slender lines of her figure leanedtoward him. 

"I am going back, " he replied patiently. 

"I knew you would come, " said she. "I have been expecting you. "

She raised one hand to brush back the tendril of hair, but it was amechanical gesture, one that did not stir even the surface consciousnessof the strange half-smiling, half-wistful, starry gaze with which shewatched his face. 

"Oh, Harry, " she breathed, with a sudden flash of insight, "you are aman born to be much misunderstood. "

He held himself rigid, but in his veins was creeping a molten fire, andthe fire was beginning to glow dully in his eye. Her whole being calledhim. His heart leaped, his breath came fast, his eyes swam. With almosthypnotic fascination the idea obsessed him--to kiss her lips, to pressthe soft body of the young girl, to tumble her hair down about herflower face. He had not come for this. He tried to steady himself, and by an effort that left him weak he succeeded. Then a new flood ofpassion overcame him. In the later desire was nothing of the old humbleadoration. It was elemental, real, almost a little savage. He wantedto seize her so fiercely as to hurt her. Something caught his throat, filled his lungs, weakened his knees. For a moment it seemed to him thathe was going to faint. 

And still she stood there before him, saying nothing, leaning slightlytowards him, her red lips half parted, her eyes fixed almost wistfullyon his face. 

"Go away!" he whispered hoarsely at last. The voice was not his own. "Goaway! Go away!"

Suddenly she swayed to him. 

"Oh, Harry, Harry, " she whispered, "must I TELL you? Don't you SEE?"

The flood broke through him. He seized her hungrily. He crushed her tohim until she gasped; he pressed his lips against hers until she allbut cried out with the pain of it, he ran his great brown hands blindlythrough her hair until it came down about them both in a cloud of spunlight. 

"Tell me!" he whispered. "Tell me!"

"Oh! Oh!" she cried. "Please! What is it?"

"I do not believe it, " he murmured savagely. 

She drew herself from him with gentle dignity. 

"I am not worthy to say it, " she said soberly, "but I love you with allmy heart and soul!"

Then for the first and only time in his life Thorpe fell to weeping, while she, understanding, stood by and comforted him. 

Chapter LVIII

The few moments of Thorpe's tears eased the emotional strain underwhich, perhaps unconsciously, he had been laboring for nearly a yearpast. The tenseness of his nerves relaxed. He was able to look on thethings about him from a broader standpoint than that of the specialist, to front life with saving humor. The deep breath after striving could atlast be taken. 

In this new attitude there was nothing strenuous, nothing demandinghaste; only a deep glow of content and happiness. He savoreddeliberately the joy of a luxurious couch, rich hangings, polishedfloor, subdued light, warmed atmosphere. He watched with soul-deepgratitude the soft girlish curves of Hilda's body, the poise of herflower head, the piquant, half-wistful, half-childish set of her redlips, the clear starlike glimmer of her dusky eyes. It was all near tohim; his. 

"Kiss me, dear, " he said. 

She swayed to him again, deliciously graceful, deliciouslyunselfconscious, trusting, adorable. Already in the little nothingnessesof manner, the trifles of mental and bodily attitude, she had assumedthat faint trace of the maternal which to the observant tells so plainlythat a woman has given herself to a man. 

She leaned her cheek against her hand, and her hand against hisshoulder. 

"I have been reading a story lately, " said she, "that has interestedme very much. It was about a man who renounced all he held most dear toshield a friend. "

"Yes, " said Thorpe. 

"Then he renounced all his most valuable possessions because a poorcommon man needed the sacrifice. "

"Sounds like a medieval story, " said he with unconscious humor. 

"It happened recently, " rejoined Hilda. "I read it in the papers. "

"Well, he blazed a good trail, " was Thorpe's sighing comment. "Probablyhe had his chance. We don't all of us get that. Things go crooked andget tangled up, so we have to do the best we can. I don't believe I'dhave done it. "

"Oh, you are delicious!" she cried. 

After a time she said very humbly: "I want to beg your pardon formisunderstanding you and causing you so much suffering. I was verystupid, and didn't see why you could not do as I wanted you to. "

"That is nothing to forgive. I acted like a fool. "

"I have known about you, " she went on. "It has all come out in theTelegram. It has been very exciting. Poor boy, you look tired. "

He straightened himself suddenly. "I have forgotten, --actuallyforgotten, " he cried a little bitterly. "Why, I am a pauper, a bankrupt, I--"

"Harry, " she interrupted gently, but very firmly, "you must not say whatyou were going to say. I cannot allow it. Money came between us before. It must not do so again. Am I not right, dear?"

She smiled at him with the lips of a child and the eyes of a woman. 

"Yes, " he agreed after a struggle, "you are right. But now I must beginall over again. It will be a long time before I shall be able to claimyou. I have my way to make. "

"Yes, " said she diplomatically. 

"But you!" he cried suddenly. "The papers remind me. How about thatMorton?"

"What about him?" asked the girl, astonished. "He is very happilyengaged. "

Thorpe's face slowly filled with blood. 

"You'll break the engagement at once, " he commanded a little harshly. 

"Why should I break the engagement?" demanded Hilda, eying him with somealarm. 

"I should think it was obvious enough. "

"But it isn't, " she insisted. "Why?"

Thorpe was silent--as he always had been in emergencies, and as hewas destined always to be. His was not a nature of expression, but ofaction. A crisis always brought him, like a bull-dog, silently to thegrip. 

Hilda watched him puzzled, with bright eyes, like a squirrel. Herquick brain glanced here and there among the possibilities, seeking theexplanation. Already she knew better than to demand it of him. 

"You actually don't think he's engaged to ME!" she burst out finally. 

"Isn't he?" asked Thorpe. 

"Why no, stupid! He's engaged to Elizabeth Carpenter, Wallace's sister. Now WHERE did you get that silly idea?"

"I saw it in the paper. "

"And you believe all you see! Why didn't you ask Wallace--but of courseyou wouldn't! Harry, you are the most incoherent dumb old brute I eversaw! I could shake you! Why don't you say something occasionally whenit's needed, instead of sitting dumb as a sphinx and getting into allsorts of trouble? But you never will. I know you. You dear old bear! YouNEED a wife to interpret things for you. You speak a different languagefrom most people. " She said this between laughing and crying; between asense of the ridiculous uselessness of withholding a single timely word, and a tender pathetic intuition of the suffering such a nature mustendure. In the prospect of the future she saw her use. It gladdened herand filled her with a serene happiness possible only to those who feelthemselves a necessary and integral part in the lives of the ones theylove. Dimly she perceived this truth. Dimly beyond it she glimpsed thatother great truth of nature, that the human being is rarely completelyefficient alone, that in obedience to his greater use he must take tohimself a mate before he can succeed. 

Suddenly she jumped to her feet with an exclamation. 

"Oh, Harry! I'd forgotten utterly!" she cried in laughing consternation. "I have a luncheon here at half-past one! It's almost that now. I mustrun and dress. Just look at me; just LOOK! YOU did that!"

"I'll wait here until the confounded thing is over, " said Thorpe. 

"Oh, no, you won't, " replied Hilda decidedly. "You are going down townright now and get something to put on. Then you are coming back here tostay. "

Thorpe glanced in surprise at his driver's clothes, and his spikedboots. 

"Heavens and earth!" he exclaimed, "I should think so! How am I to getout without ruining the floor?"

Hilda laughed and drew aside the portiere. 

"Don't you think you have done that pretty well already?" she asked. "There, don't look so solemn. We're not going to be sorry for a singlething we've done today, are we?" She stood close to him holding thelapels of his jacket in either hand, searching his face wistfully withher fathomless dusky eyes. 

"No, sweetheart, we are not, " replied Thorpe soberly. 

Chapter LIX

Surely it is useless to follow the sequel in detail, to tell how Hildapersuaded Thorpe to take her money. She aroused skillfully his fightingblood, induced him to use one fortune to rescue another. To a womansuch as she this was not a very difficult task in the long run. A fewscruples of pride; that was all. 

"Do not consider its being mine, " she answered to his objections. "Remember the lesson we learned so bitterly. Nothing can be greater thanlove, not even our poor ideals. You have my love; do not disappoint meby refusing so little a thing as my money. "

"I hate to do it, " he replied; "it doesn't look right. "

"You must, " she insisted. "I will not take the position of rich wife toa poor man; it is humiliating to both. I will not marry you until youhave made your success. "

"That is right, " said Thorpe heartily. 

"Well, then, are you going to be so selfish as to keep me waiting whileyou make an entirely new start, when a little help on my part will bringyour plans to completion?"

She saw the shadow of assent in his eyes. 

"How much do you need?" she asked swiftly. 

"I must take up the notes, " he explained. "I must pay the men. I mayneed something on the stock market. If I go in on this thing, I'm goingin for keeps. I'll get after those fellows who have been swindlingWallace. Say a hundred thousand dollars. "

"Why, it's nothing, " she cried. 

"I'm glad you think so, " he replied grimly. 

She ran to her dainty escritoire, where she scribbled eagerly for a fewmoments. 

"There, " she cried, her eyes shining, "there is my check book all signedin blank. I'll see that the money is there. "

Thorpe took the book, staring at it with sightless eyes. Hilda, perchedon the arm of his chair, watched his face closely, as later became herhabit of interpretation. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

Thorpe looked up with a pitiful little smile that seemed to begindulgence for what he was about to say. 

"I was just thinking, dear. I used to imagine I was a strong man, yetsee how little my best efforts amount to. I have put myself into sevenyears of the hardest labor, working like ten men in order to succeed. Ihave foreseen all that mortal could foresee. I have always thought, andthink now, that a man is no man unless he works out the sort of successfor which he is fitted. I have done fairly well until the crises came. Then I have been absolutely powerless, and if left to myself, I wouldhave failed. At the times when a really strong man would have usedeffectively the strength he had been training, I have fallen backmiserably on outer aid. Three times my affairs have become critical. In the crises I have been saved, first by a mere boy; then by an oldilliterate man; now by a weak woman!"

She heard him through in silence. 

"Harry, " she said soberly when he had quite finished, "I agree with youthat God meant the strong man to succeed; that without success the manhasn't fulfilled his reason for being. But, Harry, ARE YOU QUITE SUREGOD MEANT HIM TO SUCCEED ALONE?"

The dusk fell through the little room. Out in the hallway a tall clockticked solemnly. A noiseless servant appeared in the doorway to lightthe lamps, but was silently motioned away. 

"I had not thought of that, " said Thorpe at last. 

"You men are so selfish, " went on Hilda. "You would take everything fromus. Why can't you leave us the poor little privilege of the occasionaldeciding touch, the privilege of succor. It is all that weakness can dofor strength. "

"And why, " she went on after a moment, "why is not that, too, a partof a man's success--the gathering about him of people who can and willsupplement his efforts. Who was it inspired Wallace Carpenter withconfidence in an unknown man? You. What did it? Those very qualities bywhich you were building your success. Why did John Radway join forceswith you? How does it happen that your men are of so high a standard ofefficiency? Why am I willing to give you everything, EVERYTHING, to myheart and soul? Because it is you who ask it. Because you, Harry Thorpe, have woven us into your fortune, so that we have no choice. Depend uponus in the crises of your work! Why, so are you dependent on your tenfingers, your eyes, the fiber of your brain! Do you think the less ofyour fulfillment for that?"

So it was that Hilda Farrand gave her lover confidence, brought him outfrom his fanaticism, launched him afresh into the current of events. Heremained in Chicago all that summer, giving orders that all work at thevillage of Carpenter should cease. With his affairs that summer we havelittle to do. His common-sense treatment of the stock market, by which apolicy of quiescence following an outright buying of the stock which hehad previously held on margins, retrieved the losses already sustained, and finally put both partners on a firm financial footing. That isanother story. So too is his reconciliation with and understandingof his sister. It came about through Hilda, of course. Perhaps in theinscrutable way of Providence the estrangement was of benefit, --evennecessary, for it had thrown him entirely within himself during hismilitant years. 

Let us rather look to the end of the summer. It now became a questionof re-opening the camps. Thorpe wrote to Shearer and Radway, whom he hadretained, that he would arrive on Saturday noon, and suggested that thetwo begin to look about for men. Friday, himself, Wallace Carpenter, Elizabeth Carpenter, Morton, Helen Thorpe, and Hilda Farrand boarded thenorth-bound train. 

Chapter LX

The train of the South Shore Railroad shot its way across the broadreaches of the northern peninsula. On either side of the right-of-waylay mystery in the shape of thickets so dense and overgrown that theeye could penetrate them but a few feet at most. Beyond them stood theforests. Thus Nature screened her intimacies from the impertinent eye ofa new order of things. 

Thorpe welcomed the smell of the northland. He became almost eager, explaining, indicating to the girl at his side. 

"There is the Canada balsam, " he cried. "Do you remember how I showed itto you first? And yonder the spruce. How stuck up your teeth were whenyou tried to chew the gum before it had been heated. Do you remember?Look! Look there! It's a white pine! Isn't it a grand tree? It's thefinest tree in the forest, by my way of thinking, so tall, so straight, so feathery, and so dignified. See, Hilda, look quick! There's anold logging road all filled with raspberry vines. We'd find lots ofpartridges there, and perhaps a bear. Wouldn't you just like to walkdown it about sunset?"

"Yes, Harry. "

"I wonder what we're stopping for. Seems to me they are stopping atevery squirrel's trail. Oh, this must be Seney. Yes, it is. Queer littleplace, isn't it? but sort of attractive. Good deal like our town. Youhave never seen Carpenter, have you? Location's fine, anyway; and tome it's sort of picturesque. You'll like Mrs. Hathaway. She's a buxom, motherly woman who runs the boarding-house for eighty men, and stillfinds time to mend my clothes for me. And you'll like Solly. Solly's thetug captain, a mighty good fellow, true as a gun barrel. We'll have himtake us out, some still day. We'll be there in a few minutes now. Seethe cranberry marshes. Sometimes there's a good deal of pine on littleislands scattered over it, but it's very hard to log, unless you get agood winter. We had just such a proposition when I worked for Radway. Oh, you'll like Radway, he's as good as gold. Helen!"

"Yes, " replied his sister. 

"I want you to know Radway. He's the man who gave me my start. "

"All right, Harry, " laughed Helen. "I'll meet anybody or anything frombears to Indians. "

"I know an Indian too--Geezigut, an Ojibwa--we called him Injin Charley. He was my first friend in the north woods. He helped me get my timber. This spring he killed a man--a good job, too--and is hiding now. I wishI knew where he is. But we'll see him some day. He'll come back when thething blows over. See! See!"

"What?" they all asked, breathless. 

"It's gone. Over beyond the hills there I caught a glimpse of Superior. "

"You are ridiculous, Harry, " protested Helen Thorpe laughingly. "I neversaw you so. You are a regular boy!"

"Do you like boys?" he asked gravely of Hilda. 

"Adore them!" she cried. 

"All right, I don't care, " he answered his sister in triumph. 

The air brakes began to make themselves felt, and shortly the train cameto a grinding stop. 

"What station is this?" Thorpe asked the colored porter. 

"Shingleville, sah, " the latter replied. 

"I thought so. Wallace, when did their mill burn, anyway? I haven'theard about it. "

"Last spring, about the time you went down. "

"Is THAT so? How did it happen?"

"They claim incendiarism, " parried Wallace cautiously. 

Thorpe pondered a moment, then laughed. "I am in the mixed attitude ofthe small boy, " he observed, "who isn't mean enough to wish anybody'sproperty destroyed, but who wishes that if there is a fire, to be wherehe can see it. I am sorry those fellows had to lose their mill, but itwas a good thing for us. The man who set that fire did us a good turn. If it hadn't been for the burning of their mill, they would have made astronger fight against us in the stock market. "

Wallace and Hilda exchanged glances. The girl was long since aware ofthe inside history of those days. 

"You'll have to tell them that, " she whispered over the back of herseat. "It will please them. "

"Our station is next!" cried Thorpe, "and it's only a little ways. Come, get ready!"

They all crowded into the narrow passage-way near the door, for thetrain barely paused. 

"All right, sah, " said the porter, swinging down his little step. 

Thorpe ran down to help the ladies. He was nearly taken from his feetby a wild-cat yell, and a moment later that result was actuallyaccomplished by a rush of men that tossed him bodily onto its shoulders. At the same moment, the mill and tug whistles began to screech, miscellaneous fire-arms exploded. Even the locomotive engineer, in thespirit of the occasion, leaned down heartily on his whistle rope. Thesaw-dust street was filled with screaming, jostling men. The homes ofthe town were brilliantly draped with cheesecloth, flags and bunting. 

For a moment Thorpe could not make out what had happened. This turmoilwas so different from the dead quiet of desertion he had expected, thathe was unable to gather his faculties. All about him were familiar facesupturned to his own. He distinguished the broad, square shoulders ofScotty Parsons, Jack Hyland, Kerlie, Bryan Moloney; Ellis grinned athim from the press; Billy Camp, the fat and shiny drive cook; Mason, theforeman of the mill; over beyond howled Solly, the tug captain, RollwayCharley, Shorty, the chore-boy; everywhere were features that he knew. As his dimming eyes travelled here and there, one by one the FightingForty, the best crew of men ever gathered in the northland, impressedthemselves on his consciousness. Saginaw birlers, Flat River drivers, woodsmen from the forests of Lower Canada, bully boys out of theMuskegon waters, peavey men from Au Sable, white-water dare-devils fromthe rapids of the Menominee--all were there to do him honor, him in whomthey had learned to see the supreme qualities of their calling. On theoutskirts sauntered the tall form of Tim Shearer, a straw peepingfrom beneath his flax-white mustache, his eyes glimmering under hisflax-white eyebrows. He did not evidence as much excitement asthe others, but the very bearing of the man expressed the deepestsatisfaction. Perhaps he remembered that zero morning so many yearsbefore when he had watched the thinly-clad, shivering chore-boy set hisface for the first time towards the dark forest. 

Big Junko and Anderson deposited their burden on the raised platform ofthe office steps. Thorpe turned and fronted the crowd. 

At once pandemonium broke loose, as though the previous performance hadbeen nothing but a low-voiced rehearsal. 

The men looked upon their leader and gave voice to the enthusiasm thatwas in them. He stood alone there, straight and tall, the muscles of hisbrown face set to hide his emotion, his head thrust back proudly, thelines of his strong figure tense with power, --the glorification in finermatter of the hardy, reliant men who did him honor. 

"Oh, aren't you PROUD of him?" gasped Hilda, squeezing Helen's arm witha little sob. 

In a moment Wallace Carpenter, his countenance glowing with pride andpleasure, mounted the platform and stood beside his friend, while Mortonand the two young ladies stopped half way up the steps. 

At once the racket ceased. Everyone stood at attention. 

"Mr. Thorpe, " Wallace began, "at the request of your friends here, Ihave a most pleasant duty to fulfill. They have asked me to tell youhow glad they are to see you; that is surely unnecessary. They have alsoasked me to congratulate you on having won the fight with our rivals. "

"You done 'em good. " "Can't down the Old Fellow, " muttered joyousvoices. 

"But, " said Wallace, "I think that I first have a story to tell on myown account. 

"At the time the jam broke this spring, we owed the men here for ayear's work. At that time I considered their demand for wages ill-timedand grasping. I wish to apologize. After the money was paid them, instead of scattering, they set to work under Jack Radway and TimShearer to salvage your logs. They have worked long hours all summer. They have invested every cent of their year's earnings in supplies andtools, and now they are prepared to show you in the Company's booms, three million feet of logs, rescued by their grit and hard labor fromtotal loss. "

At this point the speaker was interrupted. "Saw off, " "Shut up, " "Giveus a rest, " growled the audience. "Three million feet ain't worthtalkin' about, " "You make me tired, " "Say your little say the way yououghter, " "Found purty nigh two millions pocketed on Mare's Island, orwe wouldn't a had that much, " "Damn-fool undertaking, anyhow. "

"Men, " cried Thorpe, "I have been very fortunate. From failure successhas come. But never have I been more fortunate than in my friends. Thefirm is now on its feet. It could afford to lose three times the logs itlost this year--"

He paused and scanned their faces. 

"But, " he continued suddenly, "it cannot now, nor ever can afford tolose what those three million feet represent, --the friends it has made. I can pay you back the money you have spent and the time you have putin--" Again he looked them over, and then for the first time sincethey have known him his face lighted up with a rare and tender smileof affection. "But, comrades, I shall not offer to do it: the gift isaccepted in the spirit with which it was offered--"

He got no further. The air was rent with sound. Even the members of hisown party cheered. From every direction the crowd surged inward. Thewomen and Morton were forced up the platform to Thorpe. The lattermotioned for silence. 

"Now, boys, we have done it, " said he, "and so will go back to work. From now on you are my comrades in the fight. "

His eyes were dim; his breast heaved; his voice shook. Hilda was weepingfrom excitement. Through the tears she saw them all looking at theirleader, and in the worn, hard faces glowed the affection and admirationof a dog for its master. Something there was especially touching inthis, for strong men rarely show it. She felt a great wave of excitementsweep over her. Instantly she was standing by Thorpe, her eyesstreaming, her breast throbbing with emotion. 

"Oh!" she cried, stretching her arms out to them passionately, "Oh! Ilove you; I love you all!"