Two young lumbermen : $b From Maine to Oregon for fortune

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Title: Two young lumbermen : From Maine to Oregon for fortune
Author: Stratemeyer, Edward
Language: English
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Great American Industries Series

TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN

FROM MAINE TO OREGON FOR FORTUNE

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of "At the Fall of Montreal," "Young Explorers of the
Isthmus," "American Boy's Life of William McKinley,"
"Old Glory Series," "Between Boer and
Briton," "On to Pekin," etc.

_ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE_

BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD
1903

Published, October, 1903

_All rights reserved_

Norwood Press

BERWICK & SMITH
Norwood, Mass.

U. S. A.

PREFACE

"TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN" is a complete story in itself, but forms
the first volume of a line to be issued under the general title of
"Great American Industries Series."

In beginning this series, I have in mind to acquaint our boys and young
men with the main details of a number of industries which have become
of prime importance, not alone to ourselves as a nation, but likewise
to a large part of the world in general.

Our United States is a large country and consequently the industries
are many, yet none is perhaps of greater importance than that of the
lumber trade. Lumber gives us material for our buildings and our ships,
our railroads and our telegraph lines, and furnishes the pulp from
which millions of pounds of paper are made annually. We export lumber
to Europe, to the West Indies, and even to the Orient, drawing on a
forest treasure that covers thousands of square miles of territory.

The tale opens in Maine, which in years gone by was the paradise of
the American lumberman. In those days pine was king, and Maine became
known far and wide as the Pine Tree State. When the best of the pine
had disappeared, spruce claimed the logger's attention; and then the
lumberman looked elsewhere for his timber, first in Michigan and along
the Great Lakes, and in the South, and then in California, and in that
vast section of our country drained by the Columbia (or Oregon) River.

The two young lumbermen of this story are hardly heroes in the accepted
sense of that term. They are bright youths of to-day, willing to
work hard for what they get, but always on the alert to better their
condition. As choppers, river-drivers, mill hands, and general camp
workers they have a variety of adventures, but only such as fall to the
lot of more than one lumberman working in the woods of Maine, Michigan,
or Oregon to-day. It was in the Far West that they found their greatest
opportunity for advancement, and how they made the most of that chance
is described in the pages which follow.

In presenting this work the author desires once again to thank the many
who have interested themselves in his previous books. May they find the
reading of this volume even more interesting and profitable.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

_August 1, 1903._

CONTENTS

I. A TALK ABOUT EMPLOYMENT

II. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BROOK

III. TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN AT HOME

IV. A FRESH START

V. SOMETHING ABOUT THE MAINE LUMBER TRADE

VI. DEEP IN THE WOODS

VII. THE DANGERS OF LOG-ROLLING

VIII. CHRISTMAS, AND AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

IX. DALE AND OWEN SPEAK THEIR MIND

X. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WOODS

XI. SPRINGTIME IN THE CAMP

XII. THE LODGE AT PINE TREE LAKE

XIII. A LOG JAM ON THE PENOBSCOT

XIV. BERTIE AND GERTRUDE

XV. TWO LITTLE RUNAWAYS

XVI. PURSUED BY THE FOREST FIRE

XVII. THE RAGING OF THE ELEMENTS

XVIII. BOUND FOR THE GREAT LAKES

XIX. A TALK ON THE TRAIN

XX. AT JOHN HOOVER'S HOME

XXI. AN UNSIGNED CONTRACT

XXII. A LUMBER BOAT IN A STORM

XXIII. OFF FOR OREGON

XXIV. SOMETHING ABOUT THE NORTHWEST LUMBER INDUSTRY

XXV. AN INTERVIEW WITH ULMER BALASCO

XXVI. IN AN OREGON FOREST

XXVII. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LOG TRAIN

XXVIII. JEFFERSON WILBUR SEEKS INFORMATION

XXIX. MATTERS OF IMPORTANCE

XXX. ULMER BALASCO SHOWS HIS HAND

XXXI. THE CRISIS

XXXII. AN UNEXPECTED APPOINTMENT

XXXIII. THE RAILROAD CONTRACT

XXXIV. DALE COMES INTO HIS OWN

XXXV. END OF THE CONTRACT AND OF THE STORY

ILLUSTRATIONS

"Want a job, eh?"

It leaped forward with lowered antlers directly for the young lumberman.

"Jump! Don't wait! Jump!" yelled Owen.

"A bear!" cried Dale.

Logs rose and fell in front and on each side of them.

"Have ye got 'em?" he demanded, in a shrill voice.

"Hurrah! it's down!" cried Dale.

Ulmer Balasco shook his fist in the young lumberman's face.

TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN

CHAPTER I

A TALK ABOUT EMPLOYMENT

"Do you mean to tell me that Hickley said he wouldn't send over that
lot of logs I ordered last week?"

"That is what he said, Mr. Larson. He is short himself, and said he
told you he thought he couldn't spare them. Not a drive has come down
the river for three weeks."

"I know that, Bradford." John Larson, the owner of the Enterprise
Lumber Mill, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's hard luck. I guess
I'll have to shut down after all. And I was calculating to keep you all
working."

The face of Dale Bradford became as serious as that of his employer.
"How soon will you close up the mill?" he asked after a pause.

"As soon as those logs over yonder are cut up." The owner of the
sawmill kicked a block of wood out of his way rather savagely. "It's a
shame not to get logs, with so much timber cut ready to use."

"The pulp mill is what's done it," replied Dale. "They have a big
contract to fill, so I was told over in Oldtown, and so they are
willing to pay big prices for any sort of stuff."

"You're right, Bradford. They'll buy little sticks that we couldn't
afford to handle."

"What we've got on hand won't keep us going longer than Saturday,"
continued Dale, gazing around at the small pile of logs resting partly
in and partly out of the stream upon which the sawmill was situated.

"Just about Saturday."

"And there's no telling when we'll be able to start up again, I
suppose."

"Just as soon as I can get hold of the stuff to go ahead with. I don't
like to have the mill idle any more than you or the others like to be
out of work."

"I'll have to get something to do pretty quick," said Dale earnestly.
"I can't live on nothing."

"You ought to have something saved."

"A fellow can't save much out of six dollars a week, Mr. Larson.
Besides, I've been paying off that little debt my father left when he
died."

"I see, I see," interposed the mill owner hastily. "You're a good sort
of a lad, Dale--as good a lad as your father was a man. If we shut
down on Saturday perhaps I can keep you on a week longer--cleaning up
around the mill and along the river, and doing other odd jobs. That
will give you more time in which to look for another opening."

The head sawyer of the mill now came up to question John Larson
concerning the cutting up of certain large logs, and Dale moved away
to resume his regular work, that of piling up the boards in the little
yard adjoining the steamboat landing.

It was hard work, especially in this summer, noon-day sun, but Dale was
used to it and did not complain. And this was a good thing, as nobody
would have listened to his complaint, for all around that mill worked
just as hard as he did. John Larson was a just man, but a strict one,
and he required every man he employed to earn his salary.

Dale Bradford was an orphan, eighteen years of age, tall, muscular,
healthy, and as sunburnt as outdoor life could make him. He was the
only son of Joel Bradford, who in years gone by had owned a good-sized
lumber tract on the west branch of the Penobscot River, in Maine, where
this story opens.

When a small boy Dale had had two sisters, and his home with his
parents, on the shore of Chesuncook Lake, had been a happy one. But
the death of the two sisters and the mother had caused great grief to
the father and the son, and it can truthfully be said that after these
loved ones were laid away in the little cemetery among the pines, Joel
Bradford was never the same. He lost interest in his lumber camp and
in the spot that had been his home for so many years, and at the first
opportunity he sold out and moved down to Bangor.

It was at Bangor that he fell in with several men who were interested
in the gold and silver mines of the great West. One of these men
induced him to invest nearly all his money in a mine said to be located
in Oregon. The ground was purchased by Joel Bradford, and preparations
were made to begin mining on a small scale, when word came that no
gold or silver was to be found in that locality, and the scheme fell
through, and the man who had induced Mr. Bradford to invest disappeared.

The money lost in this transaction amounted to six thousand
dollars--nearly the whole of Joel Bradford's capital--and the former
lumberman felt the blow keenly. He grew reckless and speculated in
lumber in and around Bangor, and soon found himself in debt to the sum
of five hundred dollars. This he paid all but a hundred dollars, when,
during unusually severe weather on the river, he contracted pneumonia,
from which he never recovered.

Dale was not yet seventeen years of age when he found himself utterly
alone in the world, for this branch of the Bradford family had never
been large and the grandparents had come to Maine from Connecticut
years before. Dale had a fair common-school education, but most of his
life had been spent at the lumber camps and along the river and the
lakes with his father. He could fell a tree almost as well as a regular
lumberman, and had followed more than one drive down the stream to the
boom or the sawmill.

"I've got to buckle in and make a man of myself," was what he told
himself after the first great grief over the loss of his father was
over. "I can't afford to sit down and do nothing. I've got to support
myself, and pay off that debt father left behind him."

He had been doing odd jobs for a lumber firm owning an interest in
yards at Bangor and at Oldtown, twelve miles further up the Penobscot.
But these did not pay very well, and he looked further, until he struck
Larson's Run, a small settlement located on a tributary of the big
river. Larson had known Joel Bradford well for years, and had purchased
many a cut of logs from him.

"So your father is dead and you want a job," John Larson had said.
"Well, I'll give you the best that I have open"; and then and there he
had engaged Dale at a salary of four dollars per week, a sum which was
afterwards raised to six dollars.

Dale secured board with a mill hand living near by, and as soon as he
was settled he began a systematic reduction of the debt his father had
left unpaid. He felt that this was a duty he owed to the memory of his
parent and to the honor of the family at large.

"They shan't say that he swindled anybody," was the way he put it to
himself. "I'll pay every dollar of it before I buy a thing for myself
that isn't actually necessary."

In the bottom of his trunk at the boarding house Dale had the deed to
the land in Oregon which his father had purchased--that unfortunate
transaction that had practically beggared them. The young lumberman
often read the papers over carefully. They showed that his father had
been the sole owner of many acres of territory located in the heart of
the great West. Of this great tract of land Dale was now the sole owner.

"And to think that the tract is only a rocky mountain side, good for
nothing at all," he would say with a sigh. "Now, if it were only a
stretch of farm land, I might go out and try my luck at farming some
day. I guess it's only fit for a stone quarry,--same as the rocky lands
here,--but nobody wants a quarry out there, a hundred miles or more
from nowhere at all."

So far Dale had managed to pay up all but thirty dollars of the debt
left behind by his parent. He might have paid this, but a log had
rolled on his foot, causing him a bruise that had kept him from work
for two weeks and given him a doctor's bill to pay in addition.

The thirty dollars was owing to a riverman named Hen McNair. The fellow
was a Scotchman and exceedingly close-fisted, and he had bothered Dale
a good deal, hoping to have his claim paid at once.

"You can pay up if you want to," said McNair in his Scotch accent. "If
you've not the money sell off some of your things."

"I've sold off all I can spare," had been Dale's reply. "You'll have to
wait. From next Saturday on I'll pay you two dollars a week."

"Hoot! 'Twill be fifteen weeks--nigh four months--before we come to the
end."

"It's the very best I can do."

"Can't you pay me five or ten dollars now?"

"No. The most I can give you is two dollars."

"Then give me that. And see you keep your word about the balance." And
stuffing the bill Dale handed him into his pocket, Hen McNair had gone
off grumbling something about the want of honor in a lad who wouldn't
pull himself together and pay his father's honest debts.

The sawmill owned by John Larson was run both by water power and by
steam--the latter helping out the former when the flow of the stream
was not at its best. Rain had been wanting for several weeks, and this
had delayed a drive of logs the mill owner had counted on, and had
also made it necessary to depend entirely on steam as a motive power.
The plant employed twenty-four hands, and this and another mill on the
opposite shore were the main industries of the Run.

"How did you make out about those logs, Dale?" questioned a fellow
worker in the yard, as the young lumberman resumed his labors.

"Didn't get them," was the laconic answer.

"Didn't think you would," went on Philip Sommers. "Hickley is in with
the pulp mill. If he can't get logs, what is the old man going to do?"

"He'll have to shut down."

"Phew! That's bad!"

"Yes, and the worst of it is there is no telling when we'll start up
again."

"In that case I'm going to pack up and go up to the West Branch. A
friend of mine is going to open up on a claim there about the first of
October."

"That is a good while yet. I can't afford to be idle that long."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know yet--perhaps try the other mills."

"Better try the pulp mill--they've got the business just now. Folks
must have paper even if they don't get boards," and Philip Sommers gave
a short laugh.

"I don't think I'd care to work in a pulp mill," answered Dale. "I like
a sawmill or else being out in a lumber camp. But I'd rather work in a
pulp mill than be idle."

"The pulp mill over----Hullo, there goes the noon whistle!" Philip
Sommers dropped the board he was carrying. "Aint got time to talk any
more," he cried. "Going home for something to eat." And picking up his
jacket from a lumber pile, he walked away, leaving Dale alone.

CHAPTER II

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BROOK

The hoarse whistle of the mill, proclaiming the noon hour, sounded out
fully half a minute, and when it ceased the machinery in the mill also
came to a stop, and men and boys poured forth to get their dinner.
Some went to their homes, or to their boarding-places, while others,
who lived at a distance and had brought their dinner with them, sought
shady and cool spots along the bank of the stream.

Dale did not quit work instantly, as Philip Sommers had done. He, too,
was carrying a board, and this he placed on a pile a hundred feet away,
as originally intended. Then he straightened out the whole pile of
boards, work that took another five minutes of his time.

"Hullo, Bradford, working overtime?" cried one of the mill hands, who
had quit at the first sound of the whistle.

"Sure," answered Dale pleasantly.

"Of course the old man is going to pay you double wages for it."

"Guess he will--if I ask him."

"You won't get a cent. Better stop and make the job last."

"I'll stop, now I have finished," answered Dale, and walked away with a
quiet smile.

Although neither Dale nor the other workman knew it, John Larson
overheard the conversation.

"Young Bradford is a good one," he murmured. "Just as good as his
father was before him. Hang such men as Felton, who are always looking
at their watches or waiting for the whistle to blow."

It soon became noised around among the workmen that their employer had
been unable to obtain the logs he had sent for, and that evening, after
the mill had shut down, a number of them waited on John Larson and
asked him about the prospects. He was frank and told them what he had
told Dale.

"I expected to keep going all summer," he said. "But I can't do it, and
after this week I'm afraid you'll have to look for other openings."

As a consequence of this talk several of the men that very evening
rowed over to the mill opposite, while some went down to the mills on
the Penobscot. A few obtained other situations and left John Larson's
employ the next day, but the majority came back from their quests
unsuccessful.

By Saturday noon the big circular saws had cut up the last of the logs,
and two hours later the men at the shingle machine also stopped work.
Then ensued several hours of sorting out and clearing up, and by five
o'clock the hands of the Enterprise Lumber Mill were paid off and told
that when they should be wanted again they would be notified.

Dale had been asked by John Larson to remain after the others, and he
did so.

"I told you I'd keep you another week," said the mill owner. "There is
not a great deal to do, and you can come around every morning at six
o'clock and work until twelve, and then have the rest of the day in
which to hunt up another job. On Saturday I'll pay you for a full week."

This was certainly very fair, and Dale thanked his employer heartily
for his kindness. Yet the youth's heart was heavy, for he knew that
finding another opening would not be easy.

"I'll tell you what to do, Dale," said Frank Martinson, the man with
whom he boarded. "You try down to Crocker's and over to Odell's. Tell
'em I sent you. They'll give you a job if they have anything at all to
do."

"All right, I will," answered the young lumberman.

Crocker's mill was located down on the Penobscot. It was a new place,
filled with the latest of machinery, and employing over half a hundred
hands. Dale visited it on Monday afternoon, going down on a small
lumber raft that happened to be passing.

The din around this hive of industry was terrific, for Crocker turned
out much lumber in the rough for a furniture company, and the buzzing
and zipping went on constantly from morning till night. The mill itself
was knee-deep in shavings and sawdust, a good portion of which was fed
into the furnaces under the boilers for fuel.

"Sorry, young man, but I can't take you on," said the superintendent
of the works. "Had an opening last week, but it is filled now. Come
around in two or three weeks. If Frank Martinson recommends you I know
you're all right." And thus poor Dale had his trip for nothing. It took
him until midnight to get home, and he had to walk a good part of the
distance.

But he was not one to give up easily, and two days later borrowed one
of John Larson's horses and directly after dinner set off for the mill
run by Peter Odell. This was up in the hills, on the edge of a small
lake, a ride of thirteen miles.

The way was rough, but Dale did not mind this, and as he loved to ride
on horseback, the journey proved pleasant enough. Once he stopped at
a brook to let the horse drink and sprang down himself to quench his
thirst and bathe his face and hands.

"This is like old times, when I used to be home with all the others,"
he thought. "Oh, how I wish those times could come back."

At last he came in sight of the mill, nestling among the trees
bordering the little lake--a scene full of rural beauty. To his
surprise all was quiet about the place.

"It can't be that Odell has shut down, too," he thought. "If that is so
we ought to have heard of it before this."

He was just turning into a side path leading to the mill when a man
leaped out from behind a clump of trees and caught his animal by the
bridle. The fellow was a French-Canadian, with a dark face and dark,
evil-looking eyes.

"Hi! what do you mean by that?" demanded Dale. He did not like the
looks of the stranger.

"You stop, talk wiz me," said the Canadian.

"What do you want?"

"You go to de mill, yes?"

"What if I am going to the mill?"

At this the French-Canadian muttered something in French which the
young lumberman could not understand. "You look for job, hey? No job no
more down by de Larson mill, hey?"

"That is none of your business. Let go of my horse."

Again the man muttered something in French. "You no go to de mill. Geet
hurt sure. All mens dare on de strike. You go back." And now he shook
his fist in Dale's face.

"Are you on a strike?"

"Yees."

"What are you striking about?"

"Dat none your bus'nees. You go back."

"I will not go back!" declared Dale, his temper rising. "If you don't
let go of that horse pretty quick, somebody will get hurt."

"Hah! You are von big fool!" snarled the man, and clung to the animal
as tightly as ever. The horse began to prance, and, watching his
chance, Dale leaned forward and struck the French-Canadian a sharp blow
in the forehead that caused him to stagger back in dismay.

"Good for you!" sang out a voice not far off, and looking in the
direction Dale saw a young man of twenty approaching. The newcomer was
a young lumberman like himself, and Dale had met him several times, on
the river and elsewhere.

"Hullo, Owen," replied Dale. "Who is this chap?"

"That is Baptiste Ducrot, one of the mill hands up here," replied Owen
Webb. "Odell hired him about a month ago, but I guess he wishes he
hadn't, for the rascal drinks like a fish."

"He says there is a strike on at the mill."

"So there is, among the Canadians. They wanted me to join, but I
wouldn't do it."

While this talk was in progress, Baptiste Ducrot recovered himself and
glared first at Dale and then at Owen Webb. Evidently he did not fancy
the coming of his fellow workman to the spot. Dale now smelt the liquor
on Ducrot and noticed that his steps were far from steady. He urged
his horse forward, and left the French-Canadian standing in the road
shaking his fist savagely.

"That was a neat crack you gave him," observed Owen Webb, as he strode
along beside Dale. "I guess he won't forgive you for it."

"He had no business to stop me, Owen."

"You're right there. What brought you up? I heard something of a
shut-down at Larson's."

"Yes, we've shut down and I came up here to look for work."

"You came at a bad time--with some of the men on a strike."

"That's true." Dale's brow grew thoughtful. "Perhaps I had better go
back, after all. I don't want to do some poor chap out of his job."

"They don't deserve work--half of them!" declared Owen. "The crowd that
is out is the drinking gang. They want more money to waste on liquor.
All the steady fellows are working the same as usual."

"Then I'll see Mr. Odell and chance it. Where can I find him?"

"He was in the mill a short while ago."

Owen had a mission up the lake and soon left Dale, and the latter
dismounted and entered the mill, just as the machinery started up once
more.

Mr. Odell was a burly old lumberman of sixty. He had spent all his life
in the woods and few knew woodcraft or mill work better than he. He
gazed at Dale sharply when he listened to what the young lumberman had
to say.

"Well, I guess I can give you a job, seeing as how about half of my
crew is gone," said Peter Odell. "But I can't guarantee it to last, for
I'm 'most in the same fix as Larson. The pulp mills have knocked the
sawmills endways up here."

"What about the strikers? I don't want to----"

"I haven't any strikers around here. Those fellows drank too much and
I discharged them, that's all. I won't take 'em back--I'll lock up the
mill first." And the mill owner's manner showed that he meant what he
said.

It was arranged that Dale should come to work the following Monday, at
the same rate of wages he was now receiving. He was to labor both in
and out of the mill and was to board at the same house where Owen Webb
was stopping. This latter arrangement suited him exactly, for he had
taken quite a fancy to Owen, who, like himself, was alone in the world.

The summer day was drawing to a close when Dale started on his return
to Larson's Run. He looked around to see if Baptiste Ducrot was at
hand, but the fellow did not show himself.

"I hope he keeps out of sight," thought the young lumberman. "I don't
want to have another quarrel with him."

The lake front was soon left behind and he plunged into the trail
leading down the hillside. Under the trees it was quite dark, and he
had to keep a tight rein on his horse for fear the animal might stumble
and break a leg.

"I must return the horse in as good a condition as when I took him
out," he told himself. "It wouldn't be fair to Mr. Larson if I didn't."

Soon he reached the brook where he had stopped to obtain a drink. Here
he paused as before.

As he was bending to quench his thirst he heard a slight noise behind
him. Then he received a violent push from the rear that sent him
headlong into the stream. His head struck on the rocks at the bottom of
the shallow watercourse, and for the time being he was partly stunned.

CHAPTER III

TWO YOUNG LUMBERMEN AT HOME

For several minutes Dale could think of nothing but that he was at the
bottom of the brook and in danger of drowning. His head hurt, there
was a strange ringing in his ears, and almost before he knew it he had
gulped down a quantity of the cool water.

But "self-preservation is the first law of nature," and even though
dazed he floundered around and tried to pull himself up out of the
stream. Twice he slipped back. Then his hand fastened on a tree root
and he stuck there, gasping for breath, spluttering, and trying to
collect his senses.

"Who--who hit me?" he muttered at last.

When he felt strong enough to do so, he crawled up the bank of the
stream and sank in a heap at the foot of a big tree. On one side of his
forehead was a big lump, and on the other a small cut from which the
blood was flowing.

"Just wait till I catch the fellow who did that," he told himself.
"I'll square up with him."

His mind reverted to Baptiste Ducrot. Had the French-Canadian been the
one to attack him? It was more than likely.

It was fully five minutes later when the young lumberman made another
discovery. He was bathing the cut when, on glancing around, he noted
that the horse he had been riding had disappeared.

"Hullo, Jerry is gone," he said to himself. "Jerry! Jerry! Where are
you?" he called.

No sound came back in answer, nor did the animal put in an appearance.
Staggering to his feet, Dale walked a short distance up and down the
watercourse. It was useless; the horse could not be found.

With a sinking heart the young lumberman was retracing his steps to the
ford when he saw a form on horseback advancing along the trail. As the
person came closer he recognized Owen Webb.

"Owen!"

"Why, Dale, is that you?"

"Have you seen anything of my horse?"

"Your horse? No. Didn't you ride him back?"

"I rode him as far as here. Then somebody struck me and knocked me into
the brook, and now the horse is gone," went on Dale.

He told the particulars of the occurrence so far as they were clear to
him. Owen Webb was of a sympathetic nature, and as he listened his face
grew clouded.

"It must have been Ducrot, Dale. It's just like the cowardly sneak.
Didn't you see him at all?"

"No. I was attacked so quickly I didn't know a thing until I was trying
to pull myself out of the water. If he took the horse where do you
suppose he went to?"

"That's a conundrum. It's not likely he went on to Larson's Run, for
the folks there would recognize the horse. And he didn't go back to
Odell's, or I should have met him."

"I guess you are right, Owen. With the horse gone I don't know what to
do."

"Let us make sure that he hasn't strayed away, Dale. Then, if you wish,
you can ride behind me. That's better than walking the five miles."

Owen made a thorough search of the vicinity, while Dale again bathed
his wound. No horse came to view, and a little later the journey to
Larson's Run was resumed.

As said before, Owen Webb was a young man of twenty. He was alone
in the world, and after the death of his parents had drifted from
Portland to Bangor in search of employment. He had worked in several
lumber yards and sawmills before hiring out to Peter Odell. He was a
good workman and a clever fellow, and if he had any fault it was that
of moving from one locality to another, "just for the change," as he
expressed it. He generally spent his money as fast as he made it, but
his want of capital never bothered him. Like Dale, he was no drinker,
as are, unfortunately, so many lumbermen, and if his money went, it
went legitimately, for good board and clothing, music and newspapers,
and charity. Dale had liked him from the start, and the more the pair
saw of each other the more intimate did they become.

Owen was bound for a blacksmith shop located near the Run, and at
this place the two separated, and Dale continued his journey to John
Larson's home on foot. He felt much worried over the loss of Jerry, but
resolved to make a clean breast of the matter and did so.

John Larson was a good reader of character and saw that the young
lumberman was telling him the strict truth. "It must have been that
Ducrot who took the horse," he said. "I know him and never liked him.
Why Odell hired him is a mystery to me. I'll send out an alarm and I
guess I'll get the horse back sooner or later."

"And if you don't, Mr. Larson, I'll do what I can to pay for him," said
Dale.

His last week at the Run soon came to an end, and Monday morning found
Dale located at Odell's, and as hard at work as ever. In the meantime
Peter Odell had refused again to treat with the men who called
themselves strikers, and one by one they left the locality, taking
their belongings with them.

The going away of these men left a vacancy at the boarding place where
Owen was stopping, and this room was taken by Dale, so the two young
lumbermen saw more of each other than ever. Owen was a fair performer
on the violin and the banjo, and Dale could play a harmonica and
sing, and they often spent an evening over their music, which the
other boarders listened to with keen relish, for amusements in that
out-of-the-way spot were not numerous.

For several weeks nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Dale worked
hard, early and late, and for this Peter Odell gave him something
extra to do, with extra pay. By this means the young lumberman was
enabled to save more than usual, and one Saturday afternoon he had the
satisfaction of sending Hen McNair a letter containing Peter Odell's
check for the balance due the close-fisted riverman.

"That wipes out the last of my father's debts," said Dale to Owen.
"I can tell you it makes me feel like a different person to have
everything paid."

"I believe you, Dale. My father didn't leave any debts, but I had to
square up for the funeral, and that was no small sum."

"Now all I have left to do is to square up for the horse that was
stolen."

"What was he worth?"

"I don't know exactly. I asked Mr. Larson, but he said to wait a while,
that Jerry might turn up somewhere."

So far the only word received concerning Baptiste Ducrot was through
an old riverman, who had once seen the French-Canadian in a drinking
resort near the upper end of Moosehead Lake. What had become of Ducrot
after that nobody knew.

The summer was drawing to an end, and still the sawmill at Larson's
Run remained idle. It was impossible to get logs, and soon Peter Odell
began to complain.

"I shouldn't be surprised if we had to shut down too," said Owen one
day. "If we do, Dale, what are you going to do?"

"I'm sure I don't know. This is certainly a hard year in the lumber
trade."

"I don't believe it is as hard elsewhere as it is in Maine. My uncle,
Jack Hoover, who owns a lumber camp out in Michigan, wrote that he was
as busy as ever. He said I might come on if I couldn't find anything to
do here."

"Why don't you go?"

Owen drew down the corners of his mouth into a peculiar pucker.

"You wouldn't ask that if you knew my Uncle Jack," he said.

"Anything wrong?"

"Uncle Jack is a worker--morning, noon, and night, and between times.
He never knows when to stop, and he expects everybody around him to
work just as hard or harder. Fact is, he's a regular slave driver. And
in addition to that he's as close-fisted as Hen McNair."

"In that case, I don't wonder you don't want to engage with him," said
Dale, with a laugh.

"Uncle Jack means well, but he never knows when to let up. I've heard
my mother say that more than once. He was her step-brother. He started
as a poor man, and when he went to Michigan he had less than a thousand
dollars. Now he must be worth thirty or forty thousand, and maybe more."

"I don't believe you'll be worth that, Owen; not if you have to save it
yourself."

"I don't want to be rich if I've got to slave like Uncle Jack. Money
isn't everything in this world."

"But you ought to save something. Supposing you got sick, or something
else happened to you?"

"Well, I'm going to start to save a little, some time."

"The best time to start is now. Some time generally means no time. You
can put away as much as I put away, if you try."

"All right, I'll do it--next week."

"No, this week," and Dale smiled good-humoredly.

"Gracious, Dale! are you becoming my guardian?"

"Not at all, Owen. But I want to see you begin."

"I can't spare the money this week. I've got to have some new strings
for the banjo, and hair for the fiddle bow, and have these boots
mended, and pay my board, and buy some shirts, and----"

"Not all this week. That fiddle bow will last a week or two yet, and
so will your shirts. Now here is this cigar box I've been using for a
bank. I cleaned it out paying off Hen McNair, but I am going to start a
new account. When I put in a dollar you put in a dollar, and when you
put in a dollar I'll do the same. Then, when we want our money, we can
whack up."

"How much are you putting in to start on?"

"Two dollars."

Owen gave something like a groan.

"All right, if I must, I must," he said, bringing out his week's wages.
"But it's worse than having a tooth pulled."

"It won't be after you get in the habit of it."

"I don't believe I could get in the habit of having my teeth pulled."

"You know what I mean. After a while it will become just as easy to
save money as to spend it--that is, a fair proportion of what you earn."

"Want me to become as close as my Uncle Jack?"

"I guess there is small danger of that." Dale reached for his
harmonica, which rested on a shelf. "Now strike up on the fiddle, and
then you'll forget all about the hardships of saving."

This was a sure way of pleasing Owen, and soon he had the violin from
its peg on the wall and was tuning up. Then the pair began to play,
one familiar tune after another, and thus the evening ended pleasantly
enough.

CHAPTER IV

A FRESH START

The shut-down at Odell's came sooner than anticipated. The mill owner
had been almost positive about another consignment of logs, but at the
last minute one of the pulp mills drove up the price on the timber and
the logs went elsewhere.

"It's no use," said Peter Odell, to his men. "I've got to shut down
until next spring. During the winter I'll make cast-iron contracts for
the next supply of timber, so there won't be any further trip-ups, pulp
mills or no pulp mills. It's going to cost me money to quit, but, as
you can see, I'm helpless in the matter."

To this the men said but little. A few of them felt that Odell was
to blame just as John Larson was to blame--because he had not made
"cast-iron" contracts before. But these mill owners were of the
old-fashioned sort, easy-going and willing to take matters largely as
they came.

"The pulp mills have the upper hand of the business," said Owen to
Dale. "They'll take anything that is cut down, and that gives them the
advantage. Now it wouldn't pay Odell, or Larson either, to handle logs
less than fourteen inches in diameter."

"But the loggers are foolish to cut small stuff," answered Dale. "They
don't give the trees a chance to grow, and before long there won't be a
tree left to cut."

"The most of 'em think only of the money to be had right now; not what
they might get later on. If I had my way I'd pass a law making it a
crime to cut down small trees."

There were but few other sawmills in that vicinity, and each of these
was working only three-quarters or half time. Water being low, power
was scarce, and the general condition was certainly disheartening.

The two young lumbermen spent an entire week in seeking other
employment, but without success. The only place offered was one to Owen
at a pulp mill, tending a row of vats, but the pay was so small he
declined it.

"I hate a pulp mill anyhow," he declared. "Now that winter is coming
on, I'd rather try my luck up the river at one of the big camps."

"Exactly my idea!" cried Dale. "Say the word, and I'll start with you
Monday morning. I'm sure we can find something to do up on the West
Branch, or along one of the lakes."

"The trouble is, how are we to get up on the West Branch?" came from
Owen. "I haven't any desire to tramp the distance."

"We can take the railroad train up to the lake," answered Dale, after a
moment's thought. "I know Phil Bailey, who runs on the night freight.
He'll give us a lift that far, I am sure. After we get to the lake we
can try for a job on one of the boats going up the river."

This was satisfactory to Owen, and the pair made preparations to leave
Odell's on Monday at noon. In the meantime Dale penned a letter to John
Larson, stating that he had not forgotten about the missing horse, and,
if the animal did not turn up, he would some day settle for him.

"It's the best that I can do," he said. "He was worth at least one
hundred and fifty dollars, and it will take me a good long while to
save up that amount."

The nearest railroad station on the Bangor and Aroostook Railroad was a
small place called Hemway. Here a passenger train stopped twice a day
and a mixed freight did the same. Phil Bailey lived at Hemway, so it
was not difficult for Dale to find the brakeman.

"Yes, I'll take you along," said Bailey, "and glad to give you a lift.
Carsons is sick, so I'm in charge this week. I'll look for you at the
freight switch when the train comes along."

As a consequence that night found Dale and Owen housed in the caboose
of the freight train, bumping along at the rate of twenty miles an hour
in the direction of the lake. It was not very comfortable riding, and
the stops and delays were frequent, but as Owen said, "it beat walking
all hollow," and as it cost them nothing they were well content.

"I don't know that this beating the railroad out of a fare is just
right," observed Dale, as they rode along. "But I guess such a
corporation won't miss our few dollars."

"They'll make the summer tourists foot the bill," said Owen, with a
grin. "Did you notice how crowded the train going south was?"

"I did. The cold snap last week is causing them to scatter. In a few
weeks more they'll be flying home fast, and leaving everything to us
lumbermen."

"And to the hunters."

It was early in the morning and still dark when the lake was reached.
Thanking Phil Bailey for his kindness they crawled from the caboose
just before the freight switch was gained and made their way down to
one of the lumber yards along the shore. Here they found a comfortable
corner in a shanty and slept until daybreak.

Lakeport, as the settlement was called, was divided into two parts, the
bluff, where the fine cottages and the Lake View Hotel were located,
and the lower end, where were situated several lumber yards and a
number of lumbermen's cabins and two general stores.

Down at the lumber yards everything was quiet, for the booms from the
former winter's cuttings had long since been distributed to the mills
far below, and scarcely anything would be received until the spring
"yarding" began. Only a few men were around, and the majority of
these were either preparing to go up into the timber to work or else
to act as guides and cooks to the sportsmen who would soon put in an
appearance for a winter's hunt after moose and other game.

Each of the young lumbermen wore the typical costume of the woodsmen
of that locality, so neither attracted special attention when they
walked into one of the general stores. The wife of the storekeeper took
boarders and she readily consented to serve them with breakfast and as
many other meals as they wanted and were willing to pay for. The ride
had made them tremendously hungry and they ate all that was set before
them with keen relish.

"Going up among the loggers, eh?" said the storekeeper, when they were
settling their bill. "Well, I reckon as how it's going to be a mighty
good year--logs is wanted the wust way, not only fer the sawmills an'
pulp mills, but also fer export."

"Right you are, Sanson," put in another man who was present. "I heard
from a deputy surveyor at Bangor that we cut over 150,000,000 feet o'
pine and spruce last year and they expect to cut even more this year.
Twelve million feet was exported to England--an' we got a rousin' good
price fer it, too."

"Yes, but times aint as good as they was," came from the storekeeper.
"1899 was the banner year fer lumber here. The cut was 183,000,000
feet, an' not only thet, but spruce thet had been sellin' fer $14 and
$18 a thousand sold down to Boston fer $20 and $24. Times aint what
they was." And the storekeeper heaved a long sigh.

At the side door of the general store a clerk was loading a wagon
with various provisions, beans, potatoes, salt fish, flour, a sack
of coffee, and the like. Dale watched him for a few seconds and then
accosted him.

"Loading up for one of the hotels?" he questioned pleasantly.

"No, this load is going up the river," was the answer.

"May I ask who is going to take it and where it is bound?"

"It's going up to the Paxton camp. Old Joel Winthrop and a couple of
other men are going to take it up. Paxton is going to start in early
this fall, so we're rushing the stuff up to him."

"How many hands does he employ?"

"About a hundred or more. Want a job?"

[Illustration: "Want a job, eh?"]

"Yes."

"Then you'd better see Winthrop about it. He's looking for likely men."

"Where can I find him?"

"Down to the lake. He's got a bateau he calls the _Lily_--name is
daubed on the stern. You can't miss him."

"Thanks; we'll try him," answered Dale, and set off, followed by Owen.

It was not a difficult task to locate Joel Winthrop, an aged woodsman,
with whitish hair and beard, and shrewd gray eyes. He had been patching
up a leak in his clumsy craft, and he listened to Dale's application
while holding a pitch pot in one hand and a brush in the other.

"Want a job, eh?" he said, looking them over. "What can you do?"

"Almost anything but cook," answered Owen. "Might do that, but I
shouldn't care to risk it."

"Guess you wouldn't--not up to our camp," laughed Joel Winthrop. "Had a
cook last year who burnt the beans an' they tuk him down to the river,
chopped a hole in the ice, an' soused him under three times. He never
burnt a bean after thet, so long as he stayed."

"We'd like to go as choppers or swampers," said Dale. A chopper is one
who fells trees, while a swamper is one who cuts down brushwood and
makes a road from the forest to where the logs are piled for shipment
in the spring.

"An' what wages are you expectin'?"

"Regular wages," said Dale boldly. "We expect to do regular men's work."

"Got a recommend?"

"Several of them," and Dale handed over the letters he had received
from Larson, Odell, and his other employers. Owen also exhibited
several recommendations he possessed.

"I see ye don't drink," said Joel Winthrop. "Glad to hear o' that.
Drink is the curse of a lumber camp, you know that well as I do. The
question is, can ye both stand the work fer a whole season?"

"If we can't you'll not have to keep us," answered Owen.

"Ours is a mighty cold camp, I can tell ye that."

"We are used to roughing it," said Dale. "I was brought up that way
from a baby."

"We aint payin' young fellows like you more'n twenty dollars a month
an' found."

"How many months work?" asked Owen.

"Six months, an' maybe seven or eight."

"I'll accept," said Owen.

"So will I," said Dale.

The old lumberman then said he knew John Larson fairly well and that a
recommendation from such a person must be all right.

"We're going to start up the lake this afternoon," said he. "So if
ye mean business be on hand at two o'clock sharp. I'll give ye free
passage, an' you help work the boat and carry stuff around the falls."

By this time the provisions from the store were arriving, and both set
to work to assist Joel Winthrop in stowing them away. Then, having
nothing else to do, the two young lumbermen strolled around the
settlement, past the big hotel and back by way of the freight yard.

As they were passing the latter place, the down freight came in,
stopped to take on two cars piled with lumber, and then started on its
way again. As it moved off a man ran from the freight yard and leaped
on board of the last car.

"Well, I declare!" gasped Dale. "Did you see that fellow?"

"Who?" questioned Owen, with interest.

"The fellow who jumped on the last car." Dale pointed to the
fast-vanishing figure. "As sure as I stand here it was Baptiste
Ducrot!"

CHAPTER V

SOMETHING ABOUT THE MAINE LUMBER TRADE

Owen was as amazed as Dale to think that the man who had leaped on the
disappearing freight train was the French-Canadian who had caused the
latter so much trouble.

"Well, he's gone," said he, after a moment's pause. "It's a pity you
didn't spot him before the train started."

"He didn't show himself, Owen." Dale drew a long breath. "Do you know
what I think? I think he was hanging around this town, when he saw us
and made up his mind that he had better get out."

They made a number of inquiries and soon learned that Ducrot had been
in Lakeport two days. He had applied to Joel Winthrop and several
other lumbermen for a position, but had smelt so strongly of liquor
that nobody had cared to engage him. From general indications all the
lumbermen doubted if the fellow had much money in his possession.

"I'll wager he sold the horse and drank up the best part of the
proceeds," said Dale. "It's a rank shame, too! I'll have to save a long
time to square up with Mr. Larson. I'd give a week's wages if I could
have Ducrot arrested."

"You might telegraph to the next station, Dale."

"So I might!" Dale's face brightened a little, then fell again. "But
I guess I won't. It will cost extra money, and I'll have to go and
identify him, and stay around when he is tried, and all that. No, I'll
watch my chance to catch him some time when it is more convenient."

Promptly at the time appointed by old Joel Winthrop the journey up the
lake was begun. Counting Dale and Owen there were five lumbermen on the
_Lily_, which was a craft ten feet wide by about twenty feet long. The
_Lily_ was to be towed along by a small tug which did all sorts of odd
jobs around the lake. The bateau was piled high with the provisions and
with the boxes and valises belonging to the lumbermen, not forgetting
the case that contained Owen's precious violin and the green bag with
the banjo.

"I see you're a player," said Joel Winthrop. "I used to scratch a
fiddle myself years ago. You'll have to give us some music goin' up."
And Owen did, much to the satisfaction of all on board.

The distance to the Paxton lumber camp was over a hundred and fifteen
miles, and it took five days to cover the journey. At the end of the
lake the goods had to be portaged up to the river, and then had to
be portaged around the falls beyond. On the West Branch and the side
stream on which the camp was located the bateau had to be poled along,
and owing to the low water often caught on the mud or the rocks. But
nobody minded the work, and as the weather was cool and dry the journey
passed off pleasantly enough.

The two strange lumbermen were from Bangor and were named Gilroy and
Andrews. They were experienced hands, and Gilroy was an under boss at
the camp, having charge of the North-Section Gang, as it was called.
All the older men loved to talk about lumbering in general and old
times in Maine in particular, and Dale and Owen listened to the
conversation with interest.

"Got to go putty far back for lumber now," said Joel Winthrop. "All the
good stuff nigh to the river has been cut away."

"I've heard my grandfather tell of the times when they cut good logs
less than ten miles from Bangor," put in Gilroy. "I reckon they didn't
think what an industry lumbering would become in these days."

"I suppose they cut nothing but pine in those days," said Dale.

"Nothing but pine, lad; spruce wasn't looked at."

"Yes, and pine was the great thing even up to the Civil War," said
Joel Winthrop. "But that was the last of it, and a couple of years
after the war ended spruce came to the front, and now, as you perhaps
know, we cut five times as much spruce as we do anything else."

"I've often wondered how many men worked in Maine at lumbering," said
Owen. "There must be a small army of us, all told."

"I heard that last year more than fourteen thousand men were in the
woods," came from Andrews. "The total number of feet of all kinds of
lumber cut was over half a billion."

"What a stack of logs!" cried Dale.

"No wonder we have a pine tree on the coat of arms of the State," added
Owen. "But it ought to be a spruce tree now instead of a pine," he
continued.

"I can remember the day when the lumber camps claimed the very best of
our people," said Joel Winthrop. "Folks wasn't stuck up in them days,
and many of the richest men in Bangor and Portland earned their first
dollar choppin' down pine trees. But now we've got all sorts in the
camps, an' have to take 'em or git nobody. Not but what we've got good
men at our camp," he added hastily.

"I wouldn't mind a job as a lumber surveyor," said Dale. "They get good
wages, don't they?"

"A deputy surveyor gets ten cents a thousand on all the lumber he
checks off," answered Gilroy. "I've known a man to make six to ten
dollars a day at it. The fellows who overhaul the lumber for him get
seven and a half cents a thousand each. The surveyor-general of the
county gets a cent a thousand on all lumber passed on in the county."

"Some day I reckon I'll be a surveyor-general," observed Owen dryly.

"I'd rather own a rich lumber tract," returned Dale. "I'd work it
systematically, cutting nothing but big trees and planting a new tree
for every old one cut. By that means I'd make the tract bring me in a
regular income."

"That's the way to talk," came from Joel Winthrop. "And unless the
owners do something like that putty soon Maine won't be in the lumber
business no more."

"They tell me that the big pulp mill near here can use up 50,000,000
feet of lumber in a year," went on Dale.

"It's true," said Gilroy. "They'll chew up logs almost as fast as you
can raft 'em along. What we are coming to if the pulp mills and paper
makers keep on crowding us for logs, I don't know."

It was night when they reached the landing place nearest to the Paxton
camp, which was located up the hillside, half a mile away. At this
point the stream opened up into something of a pond, with a cove in
which several small boats were moored.

The shores of the pond were rocky and covered in spots with a stunted
undergrowth, while further back was the forest of spruce, pine, fir,
and a few other trees, sending forth a delicious fragrance that was as
invigorating as it was delightful. As the bateau grounded, Dale leaped
ashore, stretched himself and took a long, deep breath, filling his
lungs to their utmost capacity.

"This is what I like!" he cried. "It's better than a tonic or any other
medicine."

"And what an appetite it will give a fellow," added Owen. "I can always
eat like a horse when I'm in the woods working."

As it was a clear night, the bateau was hauled up on the shore and the
provisions carefully covered with a thick tarpaulin. Then the party
struck out up the hillside for the camp, Joel Winthrop leading the way.

The trail was a rough one, for this camp was new, being located nearly
a mile from the one of the season before, the loggers moving from place
to place according to the cutting to be done. More than once they had
to climb over the rough rocks with care, and once Owen slipped into
a hollow and gave his leg a twist that was far from agreeable. The
ground lay thick with needles, cones, and dead leaves, and here and
there a fallen tree brought down by storm or old age.

The young lumbermen had already been informed that the camp was a new
one, so they were not surprised when they learned that so far only a
cook's shanty had been erected and that the men assembled were sleeping
in little shacks and tents or in the open. When they arrived they found
but two men awake, the others having retired almost immediately after
supper.

Joel Winthrop had his own shack, a primitive affair, made by leaning a
number of poles against a rocky cliff eight or ten feet high. Over the
poles were placed a number of pine boughs, and boughs were also placed
on the floor of the structure, for bedding purposes.

"Come right in and make yourselves at home," he said cheerily, after
lighting a camp lantern and hanging it on a notch of one of the poles.
"Nothing more to do to-night, so we might as well go to sleep."

"The boys can sleep with you; I'll stay outside where I can get the
fresh air," said Gilroy, and wrapping himself in a blanket he went to
rest at the foot of a neighboring tree, with Andrews beside him.

A youth not used to roughing it might have found the flooring of the
shack rather a hard bed. But Dale and Owen thought nothing of this. The
last day on the river had been a busy one, and soon each was in the
land of dreams, neither of them being disturbed in the slightest by the
loud snoring around them--for lumbermen in camp do snore, and that most
outrageously--why, nobody can tell, excepting it may be as a warning to
wild beasts to keep away!

The next morning the sun came up as brightly as ever. Long before that
time the camp was astir, and from the cook's shanty floated the aroma
of broiled mackerel, fried potatoes, and coffee.

"That smells like home!" exclaimed Owen and started for a spring near
by, where there was a small tub, in which the men washed, one after
another.

A table of rough deal boards had been erected under the trees, with a
long bench on either side. There was no tablecloth, but the table was
as clean as water and soap could make it. Each man was provided with a
tin cup, a tin plate, a knife, a fork, and a spoon, and each was served
his portion by the cook or the cook's assistant. If the man wanted more
he usually rapped on his empty cup or plate until he was supplied.

The cook was a burly negro named Jeff, his full name being Jefferson
Jackson. Jeff was usually good-natured, but when the men hurried him
too much for their victuals he would often growl back at them.

"Fo' de lan' sake!" he would bellow. "Say, can't you gib dis chile no
chance 'tall? Yo' lobsters dun got no bottom to yo' stummicks. T'ink
I'se heah to fill up de hull ob de 'Nobscot Ribber? Yo' dun eat like
yo' been starvin' all summah."

"Jeff wants to turn us into skeletons," cried one of the young
lumbermen, winking at the others. "He's got a contract to furnish a
Boston museum with 'em."

"Skellertons, am it?" exploded Jeff. "Wot yo' is gwine to do is to hire
out to 'em fer a fat man--if yo' kin git filled up yere. But Mastah
Paxton aint raisin' no fat men fo' no museums 'round dis camp, so yo'
jest dun hole yo' hosses till I gits 'round dar a fo'th time."

And then the men would have to wait, until each had had his fill, when
he would scramble from his seat with scant ceremony and prepare for the
day's work.

CHAPTER VI

DEEP IN THE WOODS

Before the morning meal was over Dale and Owen became acquainted with
ten or a dozen of the lumbermen, all rough-and-ready fellows, but above
the average of the lumber camps in manner and speech.

"I'm glad we didn't strike a tough crowd," said Dale, remembering a
lumber camp he had once visited, in which drinking was in evidence all
day long and the talk was filled with profanity.

"So am I," answered Owen. "But I knew this camp was O. K. from the way
Winthrop talked."

Luke Paxton, the owner of the camp, was away, but he came in during the
forenoon and had a talk with each of the new hands. He was of a similar
turn to Winthrop, and asked Dale and Owen a number of short questions,
all of which they answered promptly.

"I guess I knew your father," he said to Owen. "I used to have an
interest in a lumber yard in Portland. He was a good man." And then he
turned away to give directions for putting up two additional shanties
in the camp and a log cabin, which would become the general home of
the lumbermen when cold weather set in.

That afternoon found Dale and Owen at work close to the camp, helping
to cut the timbers for the new cabin. Joel Winthrop watched them as
each brought down the first tree. "That's all right," he said, and then
gave them directions for continuing their labors.

The men in the camp were divided into gangs of twenty to thirty
persons, consisting of choppers or fellers, swampers, drivers or
haulers, and a boss who watched the work, picking out the trees to be
cut and directing just how they should be made to fall, so that they
could be gotten away with the least trouble. Later in the season there
would be sled drivers and tenders, or loaders, and also a man to bring
out the midday meal when the gang was too far into the woods to come to
camp to eat.

The building of the big cabin was no mean task, and it took one gang
three weeks to do it. It was built of rough logs, notched and set
together at the ends. There was a heavy ridge-pole, with a sloping
roof of logs on either side, and the floor was also of logs, slightly
smoothed on the upper side.

When the cabin proper was complete it was divided into two parts,
each containing a window, and one a door in addition. One end was
the sleeping room, with bunks built of rough boards, each bunk four
feet wide and twelve feet long. Each bottom bunk had another over it,
and each was meant for four sleepers, a pair at each end, with feet
all together. The bunks had clean pine boughs in them, and a pair of
regular camp blankets for each occupant.

The second apartment was that devoted to eating and general living
purposes. The door was close to the cook's shanty, but when the weather
grew colder the big cooking stove would be placed directly in the
middle of the living room, to add its warmth to the comfort of the
place. The stove was of course a wood burner, a square affair capable
of taking in a log a yard long. For a dining table the deal table
from outside was brought in, with its benches, and half a dozen empty
provision boxes were also brought in for extra seats. To keep out the
cold the cracks of the entire building were stuffed with mud, and on
the inside certain parts were covered with heavy roofing paper and
strips of bark.

"Now we are ready for cold weather," said Owen, when the cabin was
finished and the most of the men of their gang had moved in. He and
Dale had a small corner bunk which held but two, and in this they were
"as snug as a bug in a rug," as the younger of the lumbermen declared.

The last of the choppers had now arrived, and it was found necessary
to put up another cabin for them. Dale and Owen, however, did not work
on this, but instead spent every day in the depths of the great forest,
bringing down one tree after another, as Gilroy, who now had charge of
the gang, directed. Each of the young lumbermen proved that he could
swing an ax with the best of the workers, and Gilroy pronounced himself
satisfied with all they did.

"It only shows what a young fellow can do when he's put to it," said
the foreman one day to Owen. "Now, half these chaps are merely working
for their wages and their grub. They do as little as they can for their
money, and the minute the season is over they'll go down to Oldtown or
Bangor, or some other city, and blow in every dollar they have earned."

"But this camp is better than lots of others."

"Yes, I know that. It's because old Winthrop and Mr. Paxton sort out
the men they engage. They won't take every tramp who strikes them for a
job."

The men often worked in sets of fours, and when this happened Dale and
Owen's usual companions were Andrews and a short, stout French-Canadian
named Jean Colette. Colette was good-natured to the last degree and
full of fun in the bargain.

"Vat is de use to cry ven de t'ing go wrong," he would say. "My fadder
he say you mus' laugh at eferyt'ing, _oui_! I laugh an' I no geet seek,
neffair! I like de people to laugh, an' sing, an' dance. Dat ees best,
_oui_!"

"You're right on that score," said Owen. "But some folks would rather
grumble than laugh any day."

"Dat is de truf. _Bon!_ You play de feedle, de banyo; he play de mout'
harmonee an' sing, an' yo' are happy, _oui_? I like dat. No bad man
sing an' play, neffair!" And the little man bobbed his head vigorously.

"What a difference between a man like Colette and that Ducrot!" said
Dale to Owen, later on. "Yet they come from the same place in Canada,
so I've heard."

"Well, there are good men and bad in every town in Maine," answered
Owen sagely. "Locality has nothing to do with it."

The fact that Dale and Owen could play and sing was a source of
pleasure to many in the camp, and the pair were often asked to "tune
up," as the lumbermen expressed it. There was also another violin
player at hand, and many of the men could sing, in their rough,
unconventional way, so amusement was not lacking during the cold winter
evenings. More than once the men would get up a dance, jigs and reels
being the favorite numbers, with a genuine break-down from Jeff, the
cook, that no one could match.

Winter came on early, as it usually does in this section of our
country, and by the end of October the snow lay deep among the trees
of the forest, while the pond and the river presented a surface of
unbroken ice, swept clear in spots by the wind. For many days the wind
howled and tore through the tall trees, and banked up the snow on one
side of the cabin to the roof. The thermometer went down rapidly, and
everybody was glad enough to hug the stove when not working.

"This winter is going to be a corker, mark my words," observed Owen.

"I know that," answered Dale. "I found a squirrel's nest yesterday and
it was simply loaded with nuts. That squirrel was laying up for a long
spell of cold."

Yet the lumbermen did not dress as warmly when working as one might
suppose. A heavy woolen shirt, heavy trousers, strong boots, and a
thick cap was the simple outfit of more than one, and even Dale and
Owen rarely wore their coats.

"Swinging an ax warms me, no matter how low the glass is," said Owen.
"And I haven't got to pile any liquor in me either."

Often, while deep in the woods, the two young lumbermen would catch
sight of a wolf or a fox, attracted to the neighborhood by the smell of
the camp cooking. But though the beasts were hungry they knew enough to
keep their distance.

"But I don't like them so close to me," said Owen. "After this I'm
going to take my gun to work with me," and he did, and Dale took with
him a double-barrelled pistol left to him by his father. Some of the
others also went armed, and one man brought in a small deer from up
the river, which gave all hands on the following Sunday a dinner of
venison--quite a relief from the rather wearisome pork and beans, or
corned beef, cabbage, and onions.

"To bring down a deer would just suit me," said Dale.

"Just wait, your chance may come yet," answered Owen, but he never
dreamed of what was really in store for them.

It was a bitter-cold day in November that found the pair working on
something of a ridge, where stood a dozen or more pines of extra-large
growth. Each worked at a tree by himself, while Andrews and Jean
Colette were some distance away, working in the spruces.

"Hark!" cried Dale presently. "Did you hear that?"

"It was a gun shot, wasn't it?" questioned Owen, as he stopped chopping.

"Yes. There goes another shot. Do you suppose one of the men are after
another deer?"

"Either that, or else there are some hunters on the mountain. If they
are hunters I hope they don't shoot this way."

"So do I, Owen. Only last year a hunter up here took one of the
choppers for a wild animal and put a ball through his shoulder."

"If they shoot this way and I see them I'll give 'em a piece of my
mind. They ought to be careful. A fellow----Hark!"

Both listened and from a distance made out a strange crashing through
the underbrush of the forest. Then came a thud and more crashing.

"It's a wild animal, coming this way!" sang out Dale. "Better get your
gun."

"Perhaps it's a bear!" ejaculated Owen, and lost no time in dropping
his ax and picking up his gun.

The crashing now ceased for a moment, and the only sound that reached
their ears was the moaning of the wind through the treetops far
overhead. The wind was blowing up the hillside, so that the wild beast,
if such it really was, could not scent them.

Another shot rang out, from the same direction as the first. This
appeared to rouse up whatever was in the wood, and the crashing was
resumed with increasing vigor.

"It's coming, whatever it is!" sang out Dale, and pointed out the
direction with his hand.

Hardly had the words left his lips when the underbrush and snow
beyond the ridge were pushed aside and into the opening staggered a
magnificent moose, with wide-spreading antlers and wild, terror-struck
eyes. The game limped because of a wound in the left flank, and there
was another wound in the side, from which the blood was flowing freely.

"A moose!" shouted Owen, and raising his gun he took hasty aim and
fired at the beast.

Now, although Owen was a good woodsman, he was only a fair shot, and
the charge in the gun merely grazed the moose's back. It caused the
animal to give an added snort of pain. It stopped short for an instant,
then its eyes lighted on Dale, and with another snort it leaped forward
with lowered antlers directly for the young lumberman!

[Illustration: It leaped forward with lowered antlers directly for the
young lumberman.]

Bang! went Dale's pistol, and the bullet struck the moose in the
forehead. But the rush of the animal was not lessened, and in a
twinkling the youth was struck and hurled over the ridge into the gully
below, and the moose disappeared after him!

CHAPTER VII

THE DANGERS OF LOG-ROLLING

The attack by this monarch of the Maine forest had been so sudden
that Dale had no time in which to leap out of the way or do anything
further to defend himself. Down he went, into a mass of rough rocks and
brushwood, and the moose came almost on top of him.

With bated breath, Owen saw youth and beast disappear. His heart leaped
into his throat, for he felt that his chum must surely be killed. Then
he gave a yell that speedily brought Andrews and Colette to the scene.

"What is it?" demanded Andrews.

"A wounded moose! He just knocked Dale over the bluff."

"Ees he killed?" screamed Colette.

"I hope not. Come, help me."

Owen had now recovered somewhat from his first scare and he picked up
his ax. Running to the edge of the ridge he looked over, and saw the
moose as the beast struggled to get up on the top of the rocks below.

In the meantime Dale was not idle. Fortunately his fall was not a
serious one, for he landed in a mass of thick brushwood, thus saving
himself one or more broken bones. From this point he slipped into a
hollow and the next instant felt the side of the moose pressing him on
the shoulder.

The animal was suffering from loss of blood, and its efforts to regain
its feet were wild and ineffectual. The sharp hoofs worked convulsively
and one, catching Dale on the shoulder, cut a gash several inches long.
Then the moose rolled in one direction, and the young lumberman lost no
time in rolling in another.

It was at this point in the conflict that Owen came down to Dale's
assistance, leaping from the bluff above, ax in hand. After him came
Andrews and Colette, the latter armed with both his ax and an old
French fowling-piece.

"Hit him, Owen!" panted Dale. "Hit him in the head!"

"I will--if I can," was the answer, and Owen advanced swiftly but
cautiously.

"Stop! I shoot heem!" screamed Jean Colette, and raised his
fowling-piece. Bang! went the weapon, and the moose received a dose of
bird-shot in his left flank, something which caused him to kick and
struggle worse than ever.

Owen now saw his opportunity, and, bending forward, he dealt the moose
a swift blow on the shoulder. The beast struck back, but Owen leaped
aside, and then the ax came down with renewed force. This time it hit
the moose directly between the eyes. There was a cracking of bone
and then a convulsive shudder. To make sure of his work, the young
lumberman struck out once more, and then the game lay still.

"Yo--you've finished him," said Dale, after a pause.

"Yes, he's dead," put in Andrews, as he gave the game a crack with his
own ax, "for luck," as he put it.

"Vat a magnificent creature!" exclaimed Colette. "_Bon!_ Ve vill haf de
fine dinnair now, _oui_?" And his eyes twinkled in anticipation.

"Did he hurt you?" asked Owen, turning from the game to his chum.

"He gave me a pretty bad dig with his hoof," was the reply. "I guess
I'll have to have that bound up before I do anything else. He came kind
of sudden, didn't he?"

"Those hunters up the mountain drove him down here. I suppose they'll
be after him soon."

"Doesn't he belong to us, Owen? You killed him."

"That's a question. They wounded him pretty badly--otherwise he would
never have stumbled this way."

"I'd claim the game," came from Andrews. "Somebody wounded him, it's
true, but they would never have gotten the moose."

Leaving Andrews and Colette to watch the game, Dale, accompanied by
Owen, walked back to camp, where he had his wound washed and dressed.
The cut was a clean one, for which the young lumberman was thankful.
Some salve was put on it; and in the course of a couple of weeks the
spot was almost as well as ever.

The shots had been heard by a number of the other lumbermen, and a
dozen gathered around and walked to the gully to look at the moose. It
was certainly a fine creature, with a noble pair of antlers.

"If nobody comes to claim that carcass you've got somethin' worth
having," was old Winthrop's comment. "But some hunter will be along
soon, don't ye worry."

Yet, strange to say, no one came to put in a claim, and a few hours
later the moose was placed on a drag and taken to camp. All the men had
a grand feast on the meat, and the antlers and pelt were sold at a fair
price to a trader who happened to come that way. The total amount was
put into the cigar box by Owen.

"For it belongs to Dale as much as myself," said Owen. Jean Colette
claimed nothing, for he knew that his bird-shot had had little effect
on the moose.

Dale was afraid that he would run behind the others in work because of
his wound. But such was not the case, for the day after the encounter
at the ridge it began to snow and blow at a furious rate, so that none
of the loggers could go out. The time was spent mostly indoors or at
the stables where the ten horses belonging to the camp were kept. The
men were never very idle, for they had their own mending to do and
often their own washing. The days, too, were short, and the majority of
the hands retired to their bunks as soon as it grew dark.

"This weather will bring out the sleds," observed Owen. "I guess Mr.
Paxton will give orders to carry logs as soon as it clears off."

The camp boasted of four long, low double-runner sleds. These were
driven by two Canadians and two Scotchmen, all expert at getting a load
of logs over the uneven ground without spilling them. The horses were
intelligent animals, used to logging, and would haul with all their
might and main when required.

Owen was right; the sleds were brought out on the first clear day, and
while the majority of the men continued to cut logs, some were set to
work to make a road down to the pond and others were set at the task of
loading the logs ready for transportation.

Dale had already put in a week or two at swamping, and now he and
Andrews were detailed to fix a bit of the road that ran around a
hilltop overlooking the stream far below. Near this spot was a long
sweep of fairly even ground, sloping gradually toward the watercourse,
and Joel Winthrop had an idea that many logs could be rolled to the
bottom without the trouble of loading and chaining them on the sleds.

"Such a method will certainly save a lot of trouble," said Andrews, as
he went out with Dale. "But the men below want to stand from under when
the logs come down."

The storm had given way to sunshine that made all the trees and bushes
glisten as if burnished with silver. From the hilltop an expanse of
country, many miles in extent, could be surveyed--a prospect that never
grew tiresome to Dale, for he was a true lover of nature, even though
occupied in destroying a part of her primeval beauty.

"Just think of the days when this country was full of Indians," he said
to Andrews. "It's not so very many years ago."

"Right you are; times change very quickly. Why, the first sawmill
wasn't built on the Penobscot until 1818, and in those days Bangor was
only a small town and many of the other places weren't even dreamed of.
The Indians had their own way in the backwoods, and they used to do
lots of trading with the white folks when they felt like it."

"Yes, and fought the white folks when they didn't feel like it,"
laughed Dale. "But then the red men weren't treated just right either,"
he added soberly.

"I can remember the time when these woods were simply alive with game
of all sorts," went on the older lumberman. "If you wanted a deer all
you had to do was to lay low for him down by his drinking place. But
now to get anything is by no means easy. That moose you and Webb got is
a haul not to be duplicated."

The work at the hilltop progressed slowly, but at the end of two weeks
all the small trees and brushwood in the vicinity were cut down and
disposed of, and then a road to the edge of the hill was leveled off
and packed down.

In the meantime one of the sleds had been at work among the trees
cut down just back of the edge, and these trees were now piled up in
several heaps.

"We'll try some of the logs this afternoon," said Gilroy, one Friday
morning, and the trial was made directly after dinner. Four logs were
pushed over the edge, one directly after the other, and down they went,
with a speed that increased rapidly and sent the loose snow flying in
all directions. At the bottom they struck several trees left standing
for that purpose and came to a stop with thuds that could be heard a
long distance off.

"Hurrah! That beats sledding all to pieces!" cried Dale. "We can roll
down a hundred logs while a sled is taking down a dozen."

"We can roll down all we have up here to-morrow," said Gilroy. "And the
sled can go to the cut below. The biggest logs are in the hollow and it
will take every team we have to get 'em out."

Yarding had already begun at the edge of the pond, and Saturday found
Owen at work among a number of small trees and thick brushwood which
Mr. Paxton had ordered cut away, for the head lumberman loved to see
everything around his camp in what he termed "apple-pie order." This is
nothing unusual among the better class of lumbermen in Maine, and they
often vie with each other as to which camp presents the best appearance
and whose cut of logs foots up the cleanest.

Among the logs at the hilltop was a giant tree, left standing for many
years and now cut for a special purpose by old Joel Winthrop himself.
A friend of his, an old sea captain, was building a schooner at
Belfast, and Winthrop had promised him a mast that should stand any
strain put on it.

"Aint no better stick nor thet in the whole State o' Maine," said Joel
Winthrop to Andrews and Dale. "An' I want ye to be careful how ye roll
it down the hill." And they promised to be as careful as they could.

It was no easy task to get the big log just where they wanted it, and
it was Monday afternoon before they were ready to let it start on its
short but swift journey to the edge of the pond. During the day the sky
had clouded over and now it looked snowy once more.

"I guess we are ready to bid her good-by," observed Dale, as he looked
the log over and measured the snowy slope with his eye.

"All ready!" sang out Andrews. "Now then, up with your stick and let
her drive!"

Each was using a long pole as a lever, and each now pressed down. This
started the log toward the edge, and in a second the stick began to
slide downward, slowly at first and then faster and faster.

"Hullo! hullo!" sang out a voice from far below. "Don't send any more
logs down just yet!"

"It's Owen calling!" gasped Dale, his face growing suddenly white.
"Owen, where are you?"

"There he is!" came from Andrews, holding up his hands in horror.
"There, right in the way of that log!" He raised his voice into a
shriek. "Run for your life! Run, or you'll be smashed into a jelly!"

CHAPTER VIII

CHRISTMAS, AND AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

Owen heard the shriek, and although he did not understand the exact
words uttered, he realized that it was meant for a warning.

He was about fifty feet up the side of the hill, ax in hand, preparing
to cut down a bunch of saplings which, so far, had not been touched.
The saplings had been knocked over by the other logs sent down, but the
young lumberman thought it would be better if they were out of the way
altogether.

Standing on something of a knob he looked up and saw the log coming
down upon him, rolling and sliding with ever-increasing rapidity. That
it was coming directly for him there could be no question, and for the
moment his heart seemed to stop beating and a great cold chill crept up
and down his backbone, while he had a mental vision of being crushed
into a shapeless mass by that ponderous weight.

"Jump!" screamed Dale. "Jump, for the love of Heaven, Owen!"

[Illustration: "Jump! Don't wait! Jump!" yelled Owen.]

And then Owen jumped, far from the knob to the portion of the slide
below him. It was a flying leap of over a rod, and when he landed he
struck partly on his feet and partly on his left hand. Then from this
crouched-up position he took another leap, very much as might a huge
frog, and landing this time on his side, rolled over and over to the
bottom of the slide.

The log was following swiftly and the swish of the flying snow and ice
reached his ears plainly. It had scraped a bit at the knob, placing a
fraction of a second of time in his favor. But now it came on, bound
for the bank of the pond, straight for the young lumberman, as before!

It is said that in moments of extreme peril persons will sometimes do
by instinct that which they might not have done at all had they stopped
to reason the matter out. So it was with Owen in the present case.

A short while before, a boy belonging to one of the cooks of the camp
had been fishing through a hole in the ice at the edge of the pond.
The boy had made for himself a hole two feet in diameter, possibly
reasoning that the larger the hole the bigger the fish he might catch.
The hole was still there, although covered with a thin skim of ice.

As Owen reached the bottom of the slide, the force of gravitation
carried him out on the pond, close to the hole. Directly behind him
was the heavy log. To escape being struck a blow he knew would be a
tremendous one, he dove directly into the hole and out of sight. Like
a flash the log slid over the opening, went on across the pond, and
brought up against the shore opposite with a crash to be heard a long
distance beyond.

"Owen is killed!" cried Dale. "The log has smashed him flat!" And for
the moment he felt so weak he could scarcely stand.

"I--I don't see him," faltered Andrews nervously. He felt that if the
young lumberman had really been taken off thus suddenly he would be in
a measure responsible.

"We should have made certain that the slide was clear before we let the
log down," groaned Dale. "Oh, this is dreadful!"

"What's the yelling about?" asked another lumberman, rushing up, and
soon a dozen or more were assembled at the top of the slide.

They could see but little in the gathering darkness, and burning with
anxiety to know the exact truth of the catastrophe, Dale began to let
himself down the hillside by means of a pair of sharp-pointed sticks.
Andrews and two others followed.

"There he is, on the ice!" cried Andrews, just before the bottom was
reached.

"Sure enough!" burst out Dale. "Why, if he isn't crawling from a hole
in the ice!"

"The log must have knocked him into that hole," said one of the others.
"But he doesn't seem to be much hurt."

A little lighter in heart, now that he knew his chum was alive, Dale
continued on his way to the pond, and reached the edge just as Owen
came ashore. The latter limped a little and was dripping from head to
feet with icy water.

"Owen!" For the moment Dale could say no more. "Did--did----"

"I escaped by the sk--skin of mu--mu--my teeth," was the chattered-out
answer. "Help me get to wha--wha--where it's wa--wa--warm!"

"That I will!" answered Dale, and took one of Owen's arms while Andrews
took the other. Between them they ran the young lumberman into the camp
and up to the cabin, where they stood him close to the stove while they
took off his water-filled boots and his soaked garments.

"I don't know how I got into the hole, exactly," said Owen, when the
chill had passed. "I saw the hole, and the log behind me, and the next
minute I was in over my head. It was a close shave, and phew! but
wasn't that water icy!"

"Why didn't you jump over the log?" asked one of the men.

"It's a good t'ing he didn't dun try dat," put in Jeff, the cook. "Yeah
befo' las' poor Ike Madden dun try jumpin' ober a log wot was a-rollin'
down hill an' he dun got bof laigs broke an' his nose in de bargain!"

"I didn't stop to think of jumping," answered Owen. "All I knew was to
get out of the way, and that at once."

"After this we'd better have a signal when we start to roll logs,"
said Dale, and Joel Winthrop agreed that this would be a good thing.
Fortunately Owen did not suffer in the least from his unexpected bath.

The end of the year was now approaching and soon came Christmas, a
cold, clear day, with the thermometer down close to zero.

"Merry Christmas!" shouted Dale to Owen, on rising, and "Merry
Christmas!" rang out all over the camp.

Of course there was no work that day, and the men did what they could
to amuse themselves, while Jeff was given orders to serve the best
dinner the larder of the camp could afford. Several of the men had gone
hunting the day before and brought in some partridges and other game,
including two wild turkeys, and fish from the pond and river were
not wanting. For dessert the men had a big plum-pudding, and pie was
served, as on many other festal occasions, morning, noon, and night.

"It's a good variation from the everlasting beans," observed Owen. "I
must say, since I've lived in and around the cities, I've got rather
tired of beans four or five times a week."

"Gilroy tells me we ought not to complain," said Dale. "He says that
in old times the loggers got pork and beans and salt fish and precious
little else. We are better off than that."

Early on Christmas morning a handful of the lumbermen held a church
service, one reading a chapter from the Bible, another reciting the
ten commandments, and a third offering a short prayer. These men asked
Owen and Dale to sing and play for them, and the pair complied and
rendered several hymns from a tattered book one of the men owned. Then
all joined in singing one or two other familiar hymns and wound up the
meeting by singing "America."

"That's something like," said Dale, after the meeting was over. "It
makes a fellow feel less heathenish to have some sort of a service now
and then."

"Well, I always go to church when I get a chance," answered Owen.
"But a lumberman doesn't get the chance very often, or a mill hand
either--unless the mill is close to some settlement."

The new year found the young lumbermen again in the woods, this time
a good mile from the bank of the river. Here a shack had been built,
and to this place Jeff sent meals for all hands three times a day, for
the men could not spend the necessary time going back and forth to the
cabin.

The shack was a poor dwelling-place, and both Dale and Owen were glad
when, early in February, they were ordered back to the main camp. In
the meantime they heard that Mr. Paxton had taken on six new hands, for
the cutting was not progressing as rapidly as the owner of the claim
had anticipated.

"Well, I never!" cried Dale, on catching sight of several of the new
workmen. "There is Baptiste Ducrot!"

"So it is!" declared Owen. "I thought old Winthrop said he wouldn't
engage the man."

"Winthrop is away, Owen. He went last week to visit a sick relative in
Lilybay."

"Then Mr. Paxton must have hired him himself."

"It's more than likely."

"What do you propose to do?"

"Make Ducrot toe the mark if I can. He took that horse, and----"

"Hold on, Dale. If you want to make him pay for the horse you had
better go slow about it. Probably he hasn't any money now. Supposing
you let him earn some before you let down on him."

Dale stared at his chum for a moment.

"I never thought of that before!" he cried. "Do you suppose Mr. Paxton
will keep his money for him until the end of the season?"

"I shouldn't wonder. You can ask and make sure."

"I will, and I'll tell him just how matters stand," answered Dale.

Without letting Baptiste Ducrot see him he sought out the owner of
the camp and told his story. Mr. Paxton listened to him patiently,
whittling a stick the while with his big jack-knife.

"That's a pretty straight tale, Bradford," he said, when the youth
had finished. "But can you prove positively that this Ducrot took the
horse?"

"No, I can't say that I can," answered Dale bluntly. "But I'm
reasonably certain that he did."

"If you have him hauled up you'll have to prove your charge. If you
can't he may be able to make trouble for you for having him arrested."

"Well, what do you advise me to do, Mr. Paxton? I know I can depend on
what you say."

This frankness pleased the owner of the camp, and he nodded slowly.

"My advice is that you say nothing at present. Go on working as usual
and keep your eyes and ears open. Sooner or later every criminal
exposes himself, if not in one way, then in another. I don't look on
Ducrot as a smart customer, and if he is really guilty you'll corner
him some day when he least expects it."

"Are you keeping his money for him?"

"All but two dollars a week--and I'm paying him seven and board, for
men are scarce just now, and he can work well when he is put to it and
kept from drink. Yes, you watch him, and I won't give him his money
until I notify you first."

And so it was arranged that Dale should watch Baptiste Ducrot and
do what he could to expose the fellow and bring him to book for his
misdeeds.

CHAPTER IX

DALE AND OWEN SPEAK THEIR MIND

Dale and Baptiste Ducrot did not meet until two hours later, when the
young lumberman was sent to a tool house to get a new ax.

They came face to face, and each stared hardly at the other. Ducrot
seemed on the point of passing on, but then changed his mind.

"Hah! so you work dis place?" he said, his eyes searching Dale's
features keenly.

"Yes, I work here," was the cold answer. "What is that to you?"

At this Baptiste Ducrot shrugged his lean shoulders.

"I not care, no, so long you not take my job."

"I don't want your job!" exclaimed Dale angrily. "You keep your
distance and leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone."

At this the French-Canadian muttered something under his breath in his
own tongue. "I not afraid of you," he added, in English.

"And I'm not afraid of you. If you try any of your dirty work again
you'll be sorry for it," went on Dale, and then passed into the tool
house on his errand.

At first Baptiste Ducrot was on the point of arguing further. But then
he saw Owen approaching, and he slouched away through the snow, his
head bent low and a wicked look on his face.

"I see you've met him," said Owen, on coming up. "What did he say?"

"Not much, Owen. What can he say?"

"Did you mention the horse?"

"No; I am going to follow Mr. Paxton's advice and lie low."

"You be careful that he doesn't play you foul, Dale. When I get the
chance I'll warn him to keep his distance."

"Oh, Owen; I don't want you to get into trouble on my account," cried
Dale impulsively.

"Isn't this difficulty mine as well as yours?" came quickly from the
older of the pair. "Haven't we sworn to be chums through thick and
thin?"

"Yes, I know, but----"

"If he knows there are two of us watching him he'll be more careful,
Dale. I really think he's a coward at heart."

Several days went by before Owen got the chance he wanted. Late one
afternoon he found Ducrot working in a bunch of spruces and was
directed to cut down a tree near by. As he worked the French-Canadian
shifted the swing of his ax in such a manner that the chips flew close
to Owen, one hitting him in the neck.

"You go slow there, Ducrot!" cried Owen, stopping work at once.

"I no do not'ing," muttered the man. "I no like you holler at me."

"Stop sending your chips this way. If you don't there will be trouble,
and you'll get the worst of it."

"Hah!"

"I mean what I say, and now I want you to listen to me." Owen come
closer, ax in hand. "I haven't forgotten the way you treated Dale
Bradford."

"I not care for dat boy."

"I know you don't. What I want to say is, after this keep your hands
off of him. If you don't, I'll have you run out of this camp in jig
time."

"You fight me?" demanded the French-Canadian, clutching his ax
nervously.

"I can fight if it comes to it," answered the young lumberman grimly.

"Bah! I not bodder wid you," snapped Ducrot, and turned again to his
work. Owen did the same. But he kept his eye on the French-Canadian,
and Ducrot took care not to send any more chips flying in his
direction.

In the camp there were, all told, five French-Canadians: four loggers
and a cook. The cook, it may be mentioned, in passing, had charge
of one-half of the cooking, while Jeff had charge of the other. The
French-Canadian would have nothing to do with the colored man, and
thought he could not cook at all, while the negro looked with equal
disdain upon the culinary efforts of the other.

Baptiste Ducrot was on fairly good terms with one of the loggers, a
wild fellow named Passamont, but he tried in vain to get into the good
graces of Jean Colette.

"I not like dat feller," said Colette to Dale. "He drink, he swear, he
make von beast of himself."

"You are right about that," answered the young lumberman. And then he
went on: "Do you ever hear him talking about his doings before he came
here?"

"Some time, _oui_. He make de big boast. Say he make much money an'
spend him. Bah! Why not he safe somet'ing fo' de day when he rains,
like you say him?"

"I know I can trust you, Colette. Will you do me a favor?"

"Favair? Sure. What shall I do?"

"If you ever hear him talking about a horse he had and sold, let me
know. But don't say anything to him about it."

"A hoss? He sell a hoss an' you want to know 'bout dat? Verra good! I
keep a big ear fo' dat." And then Jean Colette shut one eye tightly and
gazed knowingly at Dale with the other, as if he suspected what was in
the young lumberman's mind.

After this many days passed without special importance. Following the
holidays the lumbermen began to look forward to the time when the ice
in the rivers should break and the task of getting the winter's cut to
market should begin. Cutters, swampers, sled tenders, and drivers were
all equally busy, while big logs were being rolled down the hillside
nearly every day. Down by the pond and the river were four yards,
where the piles of logs, big and little, grew continually. Two extra
sleds had come in, and six horses, besides a team of oxen, and having
returned to camp from his visit to a sick relative, Joel Winthrop was
dispatched to Oldtown and Bangor to employ the best river drivers money
could get for the spring rafting.

"The best drivers in the world aint none too good for this work," said
one old cutter to Dale. "A poor driver can do more harm than a billy
goat in a dynamite shed. If he lets the drive get away from him and
jam up where it hadn't ought to, every lumberman on the river will feel
like kicking him full o' holes for it."

Down at the yards work had already begun on the logs, so that when
the lower end of the river was reached, Mr. Paxton could identify his
property from the property of scores of other lumbermen. In order to
know their own logs each lumberman or firm has a private mark, which
is cut in deeply on every log sent down the stream. The marks are
numerous, consisting of figures, letters, crosses, stars, daggers, and
numerous combinations of these. Mr. Paxton's mark was two I's, an X,
and two I's--II X II--and not a log was made ready for shipment until
the yard foreman was assured that this mark was cut in it in such a
fashion that the rough passage down the various waterways to the mills
or booms should not efface it.

"We are going to have a corking cut this year," said Owen, one day,
after looking over the lumber piles. "Old Foley says he can count up
eighty thousand feet more of timber than he had last year at this time."

"Well, that ought to please Mr. Paxton," answered Dale. "But what was
he saying to you just before I came up? You mentioned a ride on a
sled."

"He wanted to know if I'd drive over to the Gannett camp for him. He
wants some things from there."

"Of course you said you'd go. It will be a fine drive over the hills."

"Yes, I said I'd go, and he said I could take you if I wished."

"Hurrah, just the thing!" shouted Dale. "I've been wanting a holiday.
Working in the woods every day in this splendid weather is rather
tiresome."

The matter was talked over, and it was decided that the pair should
start early the following morning. They had a good stout sleigh
belonging to Mr. Paxton, and one of the best teams the camp afforded.
As the Gannett camp was thirty miles away, and the snow in some spots
was unusually deep, they were to take some provisions with them, and
make the trip a two-days' one.

"I don't want you young fellows to starbe on de way," said old Jeff.
"So I dun cooked you a fust-class dinnah an' put it in de basket." And
he brought it out to them and saw it stowed away safely in the back of
the sleigh.

Some of the men had relatives working at the other camp, and the young
lumbermen carried a number of letters in addition to the order Mr.
Paxton gave them. There were also two saws to carry and two iron camp
kettles; so the sleigh was well loaded when they started off.

"This is going to be just the finest ride that ever was," said Dale
enthusiastically, as he cracked the whip. "I couldn't think of anything
better."

"If we don't get stuck in a snowdrift," returned Owen. "The drifts must
be pretty deep between the hills."

"We'll have to stick to high ground then."

"That isn't always so easy."

"Barton said the road was open."

"He was over it ten days ago. Since that time we have had some pretty
heavy winds, and a light fall of snow in the bargain."

"Well, we'll pull through somehow," said Dale confidently.

"Of course we will!"

Away they went, to the westward of the camp proper, and then along
a road leading up the first of the series of hills. The sun shone
brightly and not a cloud showed itself in the sky. On each side of
them were the long stretches of pine and spruce, many of the trees
heavily laden with snow, their bottom branches hidden in the shroud
that covered the ground. Not a sound broke the stillness outside of the
muffled hoof-beats of the team as they moved along as swiftly as the
condition of the trail permitted.

At the top of the first hill was a small clearing, and here they pulled
up to take a look around. Nothing but the trees, brushwood, and snow
and ice met their gaze, and when the horses stopped moving the silence
became even more impressive.

"It's grand, isn't it?" was Owen's comment. "How a fellow can give this
up for a stuffy life in the city is more than I can understand."

"And yet they do do it, Owen, and some of those same fellows couldn't
be dragged back to this after once they are away from it."

"Well, everybody to his own fancy, Dale. But outdoor life suits me.
I'd die boxed up in a big city like Boston or New York. I was down in
Boston once, and when I walked through one of the narrow streets, with
its big buildings, I felt just as if a hand was on my chest, squeezing
the breath out of me."

"I know it, Owen. And yet, what do you think? Last year, when I was up
to 'Suncook Lake, there was a machinist from Bridgeport there, and the
second morning after he landed he told me he hadn't slept a wink the
night before because it was too quiet! Of course, he was piling it on,
but, just the same, he left for a livelier place that night."

CHAPTER X

WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WOODS

Noon found them more than halfway on their journey. The pull up one of
the hills had been a tough one and the horses were perfectly content to
rest in the shelter of a clump of trees and munch up the oats brought
along for them.

Finding another sheltered nook the two young lumbermen chopped down
some brushwood and a few dry branches and soon had a roaring fire
started. Over this they made themselves a pot of coffee and warmed up
some of the eating brought along. It was a good meal and thoroughly
enjoyed.

"What fun a fellow could have on a hunting trip for a week or two!"
observed Dale. "I saw half a dozen partridges on the road and some
tracks that looked like those of a deer."

"Yes, indeed, Dale. But we have got to attend to work, or our savings
account won't be near as large as you want it when we reckon up in the
spring." Owen said this dryly, for saving was still a sore subject
with him, although for every dollar put in the box by his chum he
faithfully placed another beside it.

They had brought a gun along, and kept their eyes open for the possible
appearance of some big game--not wishing to waste their limited
ammunition on anything small. But nothing larger than a fox appeared,
and this animal lost no time in seeking cover as soon as discovered by
Owen.

The end of the trip was down into a broad valley bordering a long,
narrow lake. Here the road was narrow and uneven and more than once
they had all they could do to keep the turnout from going over and
spilling them and the contents into the snow.

"I'll get out and make sure of the path," said Owen at last, and went
on ahead, with a long, sharp stick, which he stuck into the snow at
every place that looked doubtful. Thus they avoided more than one
dangerous hollow and reached ground as safe as it was level.

The coming of the two young lumbermen was something of an event in the
Gannett camp, and those who were looking for letters crowded around
eagerly. Gannett himself, a tall, thin logger, all of six feet four
inches in height, greeted them cordially as he gave the hand of each a
tight squeeze.

"Deownright glad to see ye," he drawled. "Guess ye had a kind of
bumpin' ride a-gittin' over, didn't ye?"

"It wasn't as smooth as it might be," answered Owen.

"Well, hardly. I hain't forgot the last time I druv over, not by er
jugful! Got spilt out twict, an' the second time I went into er holler
headfust, clar to my boots! Ye done uncommon well not to spill over."

"The road at our end is good enough; it's your end that needs looking
after," put in Dale, and told how Owen had got out and walked.

"Yes, I know the road is putty bad in my camp," said Philander Gannett.
"But, ye see, I hain't calkerlatin' ter stay here another season.
I'm going to t'other end o' the lake. The timber here aint fit fer
telegraph poles, much less boards,--an' I aint a-workin' fer them pulp
mills an' a-spilin' my timber a-doin' of it."

The camp, in many respects, was similar to that run by Luke Paxton,
so there was nothing of novelty to interest the two young lumbermen.
Yet, after the team was cared for, they took a look around the various
buildings and around the yard at the lake front. At supper time they
ate with Philander Gannett and several of his foremen.

"How long have you been cutting in this neighborhood?" asked Owen,
during the meal.

"This aint but the second season," was Gannett's reply. "Ye see, I
bought this tract from a Boston man, named Jefferson Wilbur--him as
owns thet fancy lodge over to Pine Tree Lake. Wilbur used to run two
camps up here in Maine, but he got sick o' it, an' now I understand
he's a-puttin' his money in timber lands in the Far West, Oregon and
Washington."

"Oregon!" repeated Dale, and his mind went back to the mining venture
in Oregon, in which his father had invested so much money.

"Exactly. He says thet place is the only one to get rich in, an' I
reckon he's right--leas'wise, I don't think I'm a-goin' to git rich
here."

"What part of Oregon is his lumber claim located in?"

"His money is in a company thet has miles and miles o' timber land
along the big rivers. He told me the names, but I've forgotten 'em."

"I've seen his lodge on Pine Tree Lake," said Owen. "It's a handsome
place and must have cost a neat sum to build."

"Twenty-five thousand dollars, so he told me. An' him an' his family
aint there more'n two months out of twelve. Does beat all how some
folks kin throw away money," concluded Philander Gannett, with a sigh.

"I wish I could meet this Jefferson Wilbur," said Dale to Owen, when
they were retiring to the bunk to which they had been assigned. "I'd
like to ask him if he knows anything about that mine my father lost his
money in."

"Most likely he doesn't, Dale. Oregon is a big State, and the lumber
people don't come much in contact with the miners, I guess. And,
besides, this Wilbur is a Boston man, not a Westerner."

The business that had brought Dale and Owen to the camp had been
concluded before retiring, so there was nothing to keep the young
lumbermen from starting on the return as soon as they arose on the
morning following. They were given a hearty breakfast of pancakes,
fried potatoes, salt fish, and coffee, and another lunch was stowed
away in the basket they carried. Then came some letters for those at
the Paxton camp, and away they went, with a crack of the whip, and a
dozen men giving them a parting wave of the hand as they disappeared
among the trees.

The day was not as clear as they had anticipated. The sun was hidden by
a number of dark clouds, and there was a damp feeling in the air, as of
snow.

"We'll be lucky if we get back before the storm lets down on us,"
observed Owen, with an anxious look at the sky. "And I shouldn't be
surprised if the storm proved a heavy one."

"Well, the team ought to make as good time getting back as they did
in coming, Owen. And we needn't stop so long for dinner as we did
yesterday."

Dale walked ahead this time, and soon what they considered the most
dangerous part of the road was passed. Then Dale hopped in beside his
chum, and away they went, at the best speed the team could command.

It lacked still an hour of noon when the first flakes of the coming
storm fell upon them. They were large flakes, and floated down as
lightly as so many feathers. Then they grew thicker and thicker, until
the landscape on all sides was obscured by them.

"We are going to have our hands full keeping to the road now," said
Owen, shading his eyes with his palm. "I must say I can't see much."

"The horses ought to know their own tracks."

"That is true."

Fifteen minutes went by, and the snow kept growing thicker and thicker.
Owen was on the point of pulling up, when of a sudden one of the horses
gave a snort and reared up violently.

The act was so unexpected that Dale and Owen were completely
astonished. Both clutched the lines and held on while the sleigh began
to go backwards in a semicircle.

"Whoa, Billy!" roared Owen. "Whoa! What in the world is the matter with
you?"

"A bear!" cried Dale, and stared ahead. He was right; a bear had
appeared in the road, directly in front of the team. Now the second
horse began to rear and snort, and the sleigh moved back faster than
ever.

[Illustration: "A bear!" cried Dale.]

"Get the gun!" cried Owen. "I'll hold the lines!"

The weapon was behind the seat, under a patch of oilskin cloth, and
it took Dale several seconds to secure it. By that time the bear had
crossed the road, and they could hear the beast crashing along in the
timber beyond.

"Where is he?"

"Gone, over there!" Owen gripped the lines tighter than ever. "Whoa,
Billy! Whoa, Daisy! Whoa, I tell you, or we'll have a smash-up sure.
Whoa!"

But the team was thoroughly scared, and continued to snort and plunge.
Snap! went one strap and then another, and a sharp crack told that one
of the runners of the sleigh was broken likewise.

The young lumbermen had been rounding a bend of the hill trail. Just
ahead the road was level enough, but to the rear it sloped away to
a hollow, filled with scrub pine, brushwood, and drifted snow. Owen
was afraid that they would go into this hollow, and they did, with a
suddenness that left them no time in which to leap to a point of safety.

Down went the sleigh, turning completely over and burying Dale and
Owen beneath it. The horses came down too, and began to flounder at a
furious rate in the snow and the bushes.

It looked as if both Dale and Owen might be killed as the result of
the accident, but the soft snow at the bottom of the hollow saved them
from all harm but a few scratches. Both sank between two rather stout
bushes, while the sleigh landed on the top of the undergrowth and stuck
there, just over their heads. Then the horses, by some miraculous
means, gained their feet once more, and dashed down the remainder of
the slope, until a line of scrub pines barred their further progress.
Here they stood still, panting, but evidently satisfied that their
present danger was over.

"Dale!" It was nearly a minute later when Owen crawled forth and freed
his mouth from snow sufficiently to speak. "Dale, are you alive?"

"I--I guess I am--I don't know for sure," was the spluttered-out
answer. "What a tumble that was!"

"There are the horses, down by the trees. I'm glad they didn't run any
farther."

"The sleigh is a wreck!" said Dale, gazing sorrowfully at the upturned
outfit. Then he looked at the gun which was still in his grasp. "It's
lucky this didn't go off and hit one of us. Where is that bear?"

Both gazed around, but the beast was not in sight. Then they looked at
the wrecked sleigh, at the horses, and then at each other.

"We're in a pickle, Owen!"

"It's a pretty snowy one, Dale. See what you can do with this sleigh,
while I go and secure those horses. If they get away we shall be in a
fix."

Securing the animals was easy, and a few gentle words soon quieted them
down. Then Owen tied them fast and returned to where he had left Dale.

On examination they found that one of the runners of the sleigh was
cracked, but not broken completely off, and around the cracked portion
they wound some stout cord, making it almost as strong as before. Then
they turned the outfit right side up and searched about for the load,
which had been spilled in all directions.

"It's snowing harder than ever," said Dale. "And some of the things I
can't see anywhere."

"I've got to mend that harness," came from his chum.

Owen went down to patch up the broken straps, while Dale continued to
hunt for the missing things. As the younger of the two had said, the
storm was increasing, and both felt that the troubles of the trip were
by no means at an end.

CHAPTER XI

SPRINGTIME IN THE CAMP

When Owen returned with the horses, Dale had found everything but a bag
of shot that had been resting in the back end of the sleigh when the
catastrophe occurred.

"I can't find the shot anywhere," he said. "It was so heavy that it has
sunk clear out of sight."

"Well, we can't waste time here," was Owen's reply. "Come, help me
hitch up the team and we'll be on our way."

They were soon ready to move, and then came the task of getting the
turnout back to the road at the top of the hollow. Before making the
start Owen tested the ground and the snow in several directions with a
stick.

"We'll try it this way," he said, pointing out the course. "You take
hold of Billy and I'll try to handle Daisy."

With some misgivings, the start was made. The horses lurched and
plunged, and the sleigh creaked and groaned as if ready to go to pieces
then and there.

"One more pull and we'll be up!" cried Owen. "Now then, get up, Daisy!
get up, Billy!"

The team did its best, and now the sleigh was at the very edge of the
trail above. Here was a steep incline of several yards. Billy slipped
and Dale came close to going under the animal's hoofs. But horse and
youth regained their positions, and with a final jerk the horses
reached a firm footing, and the turnout and the young lumbermen came
after them.

"Phew! That's a good job done!" panted Owen, coming to a halt for
breath.

"You're right, Owen. I was afraid we'd have to give it up," panted Dale
in return.

"Here is the bag of shot. It must have fallen out of the sleigh when
the horses first took fright."

"Do you think that bear will bother us any more?"

"I hope not. But you had better keep the shot-gun handy. I'll take the
reins and try to keep them under control, no matter what happens."

The sky had grown darker, and the snow was now coming down in smaller
flakes. These appeared to grow harder, and presently the wind came up,
driving the flakes into their faces like so much salt.

"We're up against a regular snowstorm, and no mistake," remarked Owen.
"We'll be lucky if we reach camp to-night."

"We'll have to reach camp," answered Dale hastily. The prospect of
spending a night among the hills, with no shelter, and with a big bear
in that vicinity, did not appeal to him.

"We'll do the best we can, Dale. I can't see the road, can you?"

"Not more than a yard or two ahead of the horses. But they ought to be
able to keep the trail. They know they are going home."

"If they don't get scared again."

On they went, the sleigh making scarcely a sound, excepting where it
scraped over some wind-swept rock or an exposed tree root. Both of
the young lumbermen kept on guard for a possible encounter with wild
animals, but not so much as a rabbit appeared to disturb them.

"Well, we've got to trust to luck," came from Owen, at last. "I can't
see a thing now."

"Nor I, Owen. Shall we get out and walk?"

"No. Let us make ourselves comfortable in the sleigh, and the horses
can take their own time about covering the ground."

They settled back, expecting the team to slow down. Instead both Billy
and Daisy showed a strong inclination to increase their speed. Then, a
few minutes later, they shot past a clump of trees that looked strongly
familiar to Owen.

"Whoop!" he shouted, straightening up. "I know where we are now, Dale.
Five minutes more and we'll be in sight of camp."

"Good enough," responded Dale, and he too began to watch through the
heavy snow. On and on they went, the team kicking up the snow briskly,
as if aware that the toilsome journey would soon be at an end. Then
they made a turn or two, came down under some wide-arching pines, and
Dale gave a shout:

"The camp! I see the lights!"

He was right, and soon they were coming up to the doorway of the big
cabin. A loud shout brought out several of the lumbermen, including Mr.
Paxton.

"You did well to get home in this storm," said the camp owner. "I
thought sure I wouldn't see you until to-morrow."

"We came pretty close to getting left on the road," answered Owen.
"I'll tell you about it after the turnout is put away."

It was only a short while after this that they were seated at the long
deal table, close to the red-hot stove, eating a generous supper and
relating their tale, to which the men listened with keen interest.

"A bear!" cried Mr. Paxton. "It's a good thing he wasn't real hungry.
If he had been he'd most likely have chewed one of you up."

"I not like the bear," came from Jean Colette. "I meet heem vonce--in
de woods. He come up an' want to hug me. _Bon!_ I run one, two miles to
geet avay. He come after me. I climb de tree. He climb too. Den I drop
down an' run some more. He run too. I swim de pond, an' run an' run,
till I 'most drop dead. Den I am safe. No, Jean Colette, he not like de
bear, only when he is dead an' in de pot!"

At this honest speech many laughed, which did not hurt Colette's
feelings as might have been expected. The only one who showed his
disdain was Baptiste Ducrot.

"Huh! I not run from de bear," he sniffed. "I keel two bear vonce--one
wid a gun an' de udder wid a knife," and then he related the story to
such of the crowd as cared to listen. It was a hair-raising tale and
some enjoyed it, but it is doubtful if anybody believed Ducrot.

"He's a blower," was Gilroy's comment. "He loves to make us believe
he's a wonderful fellow, but I don't see it."

The young lumbermen were afraid that their employer might find fault
with them over the broken sleigh and harness, but Mr. Paxton said that
he thought they had done very well, all things considered.

"I had a little mare get scared over a bear once," he said. "She ran
away with me and threw me into the river and smashed the chaise to
flinders. A horse has no love for a bear, and even a bobcat makes them
uneasy sometimes."

The fall of snow lasted for several days. But after that the weather
changed greatly, and soon the old lumbermen announced that the first
of the spring thaws was at hand. The sun grew warmer, and during the
middle of the day the snow melted rapidly in the nooks that were
sheltered from the north wind and exposed to the sunlight.

Old Joel Winthrop had already reached camp with two expert log drivers,
and the work along the pond and the river went on unceasingly. Every
log brought down to the yards had been marked, and now began the task
of forming the rafts or drives that would be started on their long
journey to boom or mill as soon as the river got to running freely.

"I'd like to go down with one of the drivers," said Dale.

"So would I, Dale," answered Owen. "But I guess we had better stay here
as long as the work holds out. There is no telling what employment
we'll be able to get after we leave the camp."

"I know that, although I am sure John Larson or Peter Odell will give
us work if they want men."

A week later came the announcement that the ice in the river was
breaking up. The whole camp was now a mass of slush and mud, and nobody
thought of wearing anything but boots when he moved about. The last of
the logs from the hills were coming down, and these were yarded at the
extreme end of the pond, for Mr. Paxton was going to hold them back
until the driving on the river was nearly over.

"May get an extra order at the last minute," he explained. "Then the
new cut can go in with the hold-overs."

One fine spring day found Owen and Dale bound for the extreme northwest
limit of the Paxton claim. Mr. Paxton had heard something about the man
on the next claim cutting some of his lumber, and he wanted to find out
if it was so.

"You know my line," he said to Owen. "It's a cut like this." He showed
them with a pencil. "All the timber this side of that line is mine."

The two young lumbermen went on horseback, each carrying a shot-gun,
hoping to bag some game on the trip. The mud and the water running
along every tiny watercourse did not daunt them, and each was in the
best of spirits.

"Our ride will take us close to Pine Tree Lake," said Dale, as they
pushed on. "If we find everything O.K., let us go to the lake and take
a look at the fine lodge belonging to Mr. Jefferson Wilbur."

"I'm willing, if it doesn't take too long, Dale."

"Of course the lodge is locked up now, but perhaps there is a caretaker
there who will show us through. Or, if there isn't, we can look around
the outside and through the stables anyway."

The young lumbermen kept their eyes wide open for game, and succeeded
in getting half a dozen birds of good size. But nothing else appeared,
much to their disappointment.

It lacked an hour of noon when they reached the row of firs marking
the boundary of the Paxton claim. The blazes on the trees were plainly
to be seen, and they followed the line from end to end without much
trouble.

"Nobody has cut any timber here," was Owen's comment. "Some hunters
have cut down some firewood, but that is all. It's a false alarm."

"And we've had the journey for nothing," added Dale. "But I've enjoyed
the trip, haven't you?"

"I should enjoy it more if we could spot some good game."

"Well, the day isn't over yet."

From the northwest corner of the claim was a narrow trail leading to
the south shore of Pine Tree Lake, a body of water quarter of a mile
wide by three-quarters of a mile long. In the middle of the lake was a
long narrow island, on which grew a magnificent pine tree, which gave
to the lake its name.

"Looks almost good enough to take a swim in," remarked Dale, as they
came out on the lake shore.

"I dare you to take a plunge," said Owen.

"Done!" was the reply. "I don't take a dare from anybody."

"Let us take a look at the lodge first," went on Owen.

They could see the place, but a short distance away, standing on
something of a bluff. At the edge of the bluff was a set of steps
running to a tiny wharf, on which was built a boathouse. The lodge
was a low, rambling structure, built of logs and stone, with quaint
carvings and curious casements.

"It's queer he didn't build more of a city-looking house while he was
spending his money," said Owen, as they came closer.

"Oh, I guess he wanted something that looked like the backwoods, Owen.
No doubt he gets tired of city life and city houses."

There was no fence around the lodge, and they rode up the broad
pathway, and then around the corner of the building. As they did this
they saw a man disappear into the building through a window opening on
a low porch.

"Hullo!" cried Dale. "Who was that?"

"It's queer he went through the window," returned Owen.

"It was queer. Let us see who it was," went on Dale, and dismounted
at the side of the porch. Then he went to the open window and peered
inside, never dreaming of the surprise in store for him.

CHAPTER XII

THE LODGE AT PINE TREE LAKE

"You had better go slow, Dale," whispered Owen, who was close behind
his chum. "That man may not belong here and may be a desperate
character."

"Do you mean he may be a thief?" whispered Dale, in return.

"Why not? There must be a good many things of value in this lodge."

"I guess they take most of the things away during the winter."

"Not everything. Do you see anybody?"

"No. But I--hark!"

Dale raised his hand, and both became silent. From a room on the other
side of the lodge came a murmur of voices.

"Did you see anybody around, Ducrot?"

"Nobody is near de place," was the answer. "I look around verra good."

"It is Baptiste Ducrot!" exclaimed Dale, in a low voice. "I am sure he
is here for no good."

"Who is with him?"

"I don't know, but he isn't a Frenchman."

Both young lumbermen left the window and took their way with the horses
to a summer-house standing a short distance away. Here their steeds
were tied up, out of sight of the lodge.

"I am going to investigate this," said Dale. "Did you know Ducrot had
left the camp?"

"He got leave of absence yesterday," answered Owen. "He was to be back
by next Tuesday. I heard him speaking to Mr. Paxton about it."

"I'm going to carry my shot-gun," went on Dale, as they moved forward
once again in the direction of the lodge.

On the opposite side of the building was a mass of shrubbery growing
close to several windows. Although there were no leaves on the bushes,
the branches were numerous and afforded a fairly good place of
concealment.

"There is an open window," whispered Owen. "We can hear something from
under that."

They crawled to the spot he indicated, and listened intently. Two men
were in the room beyond--Ducrot and the stranger, a good-for-nothing
hunter and trapper named Link Axton, who had been under arrest more
than once for killing game out of season.

"The caretaker is taken care of," Link Axton was saying. "He won't be
back here for two days," and he gave a self-satisfied chuckle.

"We take de t'ings away to-morrow mornin' at seex o'clock," came from
Baptiste Ducrot. "I haf de boat waitin' at de river an' you geet de
wagon. Den we make de big money." And he rubbed his hands together in
anticipation.

"You're a good one, Bap!" laughed Link Axton. "And the folks over to
the camp think you are as honest as the day is long, too!" He uttered
another chuckle. "Are you going back after this little job is over?"

"I go back to geet my money," answered the French-Canadian. "Den I tell
Paxton I have de udder job, ha! ha!"

"And we'll have a good time over to Sandybay," went on Link Axton. "Is
that where you sold that hoss of Larson's?"

"Dat de place, Link. But you not say anyt'ing 'bout him some more,"
said Ducrot, with a warning shake of his finger.

The talk went on for half an hour, and Dale and Owen learned that the
unscrupulous pair had sent the caretaker of the lodge a decoy letter
summoning him to Milo, on supposed business for his employer. They had
packed up many articles of value in the lodge, and intended to take
them away by wagon to the river at daybreak the next day. The stolen
goods were afterwards to be placed on a boat, but where they were to be
taken after that was not mentioned.

"I guess we have heard enough," whispered Owen to his chum. "Come," and
he led the way from the lodge to where the horses had been left.

"What do you think is best to do?" demanded Dale. "Of course we are not
going to let those fellows run off with the stuff."

"To be sure not," answered Owen. "To my mind it will be best to
catch them red-handed at the work. Then there will be no trouble in
convicting them."

"Do you mean we had best go back and let Mr. Paxton know what is up?"

"Yes, either him or the sheriff of the county."

"Did you hear them talk about John Larson's horse?"

"Yes, Dale. Ducrot took the horse beyond a doubt, and he was sold
somewhere around Sandybay."

It was decided that they get back to camp with all speed. They left the
vicinity of the summer-house by a back path, keeping well out of sight
of the lodge. As soon as they felt free to do so, they set off at a
gallop, and reached the camp long before sundown.

Mr. Paxton was glad to learn that his timber had not been touched.
He was amazed at the story they had to tell concerning Ducrot and
Link Axton, and agreed with Owen that the sheriff of the county must
be notified at once. This was not easy, and while Dale went off with
Gilroy to hunt up that official, who lived a good many miles away, Mr.
Paxton, Owen, Andrews, and three others who could be trusted, made
their plans to leave the camp at midnight.

"That will bring us to the lodge in time to stop this game," said the
owner of the claim. "And if the sheriff isn't on hand we'll hold the
rascals till he puts in an appearance."

Owen was sure that Jean Colette could be counted on for aid, and he was
taken into the confidence of the others. His eyes snapped when he was
told what was wanted of him.

"_Bon!_ I do dat willingly!" he cried. "Ducrot is von verra bad man,
_oui_! I not count him my countryman, no!" And he shook his head to
show his earnestness.

It was not a pleasant ride back to Pine Tree Lake, for the slush on the
ground made the air damp and penetrating; and the ride for Dale and
Gilroy was equally disagreeable.

It lacked an hour of daybreak, when the party under Mr. Paxton gained
the lake shore, and came to a halt in a cedar grove. Here the horses
were tied up, and then Owen led the way forward toward the lodge.

"I see some men approaching on horseback!" called out Andrews presently.

"Dale is with them," put in Owen, after a long look. "It must be the
sheriff's posse."

So it proved, and soon Sheriff Folsom reached them, followed by Dale,
Gilroy, and two men who proved to be deputies.

"Just in time, I see," said the sheriff. "Seen anything of our quarry?"

"Not yet," answered Mr. Paxton.

After a brief conference the two parties separated again, one to come
up at the rear of the lodge, and the other close to the boat landing.
At the latter place rested a skiff, and among the shrubbery near by
were a horse and a large lumber wagon.

"They must be in the house," whispered Owen to Mr. Paxton.

"Don't make a noise," was the answer. "Let the sheriff make the first
move."

A few minutes later Baptiste Ducrot appeared at the side door of the
lodge. He looked anxiously around, and seeing nobody disappeared again.
Then he and Link Axton came from the building carrying a trunk between
them, and in their outer hands several bundles. Trunk and bundles were
dumped into the wagon, and the two evil-doers went back into the lodge
for more of their booty.

"Now is our time," said the sheriff to his men. "Don't parley with
them, but make 'em surrender at once."

He and his men moved close to the lodge door and waited, pistols in
hand. Soon Ducrot and Axton came forth again, with more bundles.

"Hands up, you rascals!" shouted the sheriff, and made a show of his
weapon, while the deputies followed suit.

"Caught, by hemlock!" cried Link Axton. "And just when I thought
everything was all right!"

"Don't shoot!" gasped Baptiste Ducrot, in sudden terror. "I haf done
noddings, no! Don't shoot!" And he began to beg for mercy in his own
language.

"Do you surrender?" demanded the sheriff.

"Don't know but what I'll have to," responded Link Axton. "You've got
the bulge on us. But what is it all about?" he added with an air of
innocence. "We aint done no harm."

"You haven't?" put in Owen. "You were going to steal these things!"

"How do you know that?"

"We overheard your talk yesterday."

"And you are caught red-handed, Axton," put in Mr. Paxton, coming up.
"I reckon this pays you up for stealing some of my timber two years
ago," he continued warmly.

"Didn't steal your timber, an' wasn't stealin' nuthin' now," retorted
Link Axton; yet, when the sheriff brought forth two pairs of handcuffs
and adjusted one pair to his wrists he was much disturbed.

The second pair of handcuffs was for Baptiste Ducrot. He protested
volubly, both in English and French, against being made a prisoner, but
Sheriff Folsom would not listen to him.

"There have been enough lodges and camps robbed in this county," he
said grimly. "Reckon we'll make examples of you and Axton, and that
will teach the other thieves a lesson."

Under the sheriff's directions, several went into the lodge, where they
found two boxes and a half-dozen other bundles tied up ready to be
taken away. The things outside were brought in once more, and a man was
detailed to guard the lodge until Jefferson Wilbur could be notified.

When Baptiste Ducrot understood how his talk with Axton had been
overheard by Dale and Owen, and how the pair had notified Mr. Paxton
and the sheriff, he was furious and shook his fist in the young
lumbermen's faces.

"I not forget dat, nevair!" he cried. "I remember dat. You wait an'
see!"

"I want to know about that horse that belonged to Mr. Larson," said
Dale. "You sold him at Sandybay. Where is he now?"

"You fin' out yourself," growled Ducrot, and would say no more.

Under the guidance of the sheriff, Ducrot and Link Axton were
transported to the county-seat, and there locked up. Dale wrote a long
letter to John Larson, and the latter communicated with some people at
Sandybay, with the result that the stolen horse was at last recovered.
The French-Canadian had sold him for forty dollars to a lumberman known
to Mr. Paxton. This lumberman attached Ducrot's wages and thus got back
his money. Both Axton and Ducrot were then held to await the action of
the grand jury.

"I am glad that that matter is straightened out," said Dale to Owen.
"Now I shan't have to pay for that horse."

"We'll have to keep our eyes open for Ducrot," answered his chum. "When
he gets out of jail he'll do us harm if he can."

"I am not afraid of him. By the way, what of the caretaker at the
lodge? Did you hear anything of him?"

"Yes, he came back in a hurry when he heard the summons was a fake. He
is an Englishman, named Jasper Nown. I guess he'll have a bad half-hour
with Mr. Wilbur when the gentleman finds out how near he came to being
robbed," concluded Owen, as the camp horn blew to call the men to their
day's work.

CHAPTER XIII

A LOG JAM ON THE PENOBSCOT

Several days later came letters for Dale and Owen, which the pair read
with much interest.

The communications were from Mr. Jefferson Wilbur, and he wrote to each
thanking them for what they had done in his interest. He begged them
to accept what he inclosed as a slight return for their services, and
ended by stating that if they ever came to Boston he would be glad to
have them call upon him. In each letter was a post-office money order
for fifty dollars.

"That is what I call generous!" cried Owen. "I wasn't expecting a
thing."

"I thought he might thank us, but I wasn't looking for money," returned
Dale. "I hardly like to keep it."

"Why not?"

"Oh, I can't exactly say. It looks something like a charity."

"I don't see it in that light. He has plenty of money, and this is a
substantial evidence of how he appreciates what we did."

Owen appealed to Mr. Paxton, and the camp owner told them to keep the
money by all means.

"Mr. Wilbur is very rich," he said. "And he wouldn't like it at all if
you returned his gift. Perhaps he'd think you wanted something larger.
Thank him for his kindness and let it go at that." And in the end each
penned the best letter he was able, and kept the reward.

"Our cigar-box account is growing," laughed Owen, when they counted up
their savings. "Here is a clean hundred from Mr. Wilbur, and thirty-six
dollars besides, and all the wages Mr. Paxton is holding back on us.
Dale, we'll be rich before we know it."

"Aren't you glad you started to save when I wanted you to, Owen?"

"To be sure. But now I've really got to have some new fiddle strings.
That E is patched in two places, and the G is getting all unwound. And
I've got to have a new pair of boots if I am going down the river on
that last drive."

"Did Mr. Paxton say he'd let you go with Herrick?"

"Yes, if I'd take charge of the boat. Will you go with me?"

"Will a duck swim? I know Herrick will let us help when there is a jam,
and that's the fun of it," added Dale.

The drives had already been started on the river, and pile after pile
of logs left the yards, on their long way down river and lakes to the
booms and the mills. Other drives from other camps were also coming
along, and at times the river presented a scene of unusual activity,
quite in contrast to the dreariness of the winter just past.

Herrick was one of the old-time "Bangor boys," a log driver as good as
the best. He was Yankee to the backbone, tall, thin, and "leathery,"
with jaws continually working on a quid of tobacco, and eyes that
looked one through and through at a glance. He was a "codfish" man
too, and insisted on having that dainty for his morning meal with the
regularity of the sun's rising. He was usually of a mild temper, but
when a jam occurred unexpectedly, his flow of language was terrific,
and his sarcasm most biting. But despite this failing, the men loved to
work with and under him, and he never lacked for helpers when he wanted
them.

"Goin' to start the drive sun-up ter-morrer," he announced, after being
in camp little short of a week. "All them as is goin' along must hump
themselves an' be on hand. An' the feller as thinks log-drivin' is
dangerous work or jest play hed better stay to hum."

"We'll be on hand," said Andrews.

"Who's goin' ter manage the boat?"

"I'll take care of the boat," said Owen. "Colette will be with me, and
Gilroy says he is going down."

"And I am going," put in Dale.

Herrick gazed at Dale from head to foot.

"So you be a-goin', eh? Do you think it's dangerous or child's fun?"

"I don't expect any fun--I expect to work, same as I've been working,"
replied Dale quietly.

"He's all right, Joe," said Andrews. "He's done his full share up here
all winter."

"Humph! Drivin' aint tree-cuttin', not by a jugful," muttered Herrick;
but he made no further objections to having Dale along.

All told, Herrick had a crew of sixteen, including Jeff, the cook. Four
men went with the driver, at the head of the drive, four followed a
little further up the stream, and the remainder brought up the rear,
either in the boat or on foot. The boat was a large, flat-bottomed
affair, managed both with poles and with oars, and carried all the
provisions for the trip, as well as numerous other articles, including
dynamite, for blowing up a jam that became too dangerous and could not
be started by hand power.

"We are off!" said Dale, who was with Owen. "We've got a splendid
start, too."

He was right; the start of the drive was all that could be expected,
and as log after log caught the current and started on its long
journey, a cheer went up from those left at the camp.

"Good-by to dat camp fo' anudder yeah," came from Jeff. "We dun hab a
putty good time of it, didn't we?"

"That's true," came from Owen. And he added to Dale: "Do you think
we'll come up another season?"

"That is more than I can say now. I'll be willing to go back if I can't
find anything better to do."

Day after day went by, and the work along the drive remained about
the same. At noon the boat would tie up, and Jeff would go ashore and
cook all hands a square meal, and this would either be carried to the
workers in kettles, or they would come to the spot for it. At night the
men slept anywhere that suited them.

Thus the first of the lakes were passed, and they found themselves
drawing down to what was locally termed the Sugar-Bowl, why, no
lumberman could tell. The Sugar-Bowl was a place where the river made
a double turn, and in the center were several rocks, where the water
swirled and foamed continually.

Dale wanted to know how the front end of the drive was making out at
the Sugar-Bowl, and the news was not long in coming.

"Hold back the rest of the logs as long as you can," was the word sent
back. But it was too late. Most of the timber went forward with a rush,
and in less than quarter of an hour there was a jam at the rocks half
an acre in extent, and growing larger every moment.

"Consarn the luck!" came from Herrick. "Why in the name of blue peter
didn't ye hol' back them air logs as I told ye, Foley? Look at thet
current a-roarin' over yander. Fust thing yeou know we'll be a-havin'
a jam clear back to the lake, an' every lumberman on the 'Nobscot
a-blamin' me for't. Git over thar with yer dog and turn thet stick
around." And Foley, the man addressed, leaped to the place mentioned
with his hooked pole, commonly called a cant-dog or dog. The log went
over, and a few of the timbers went around the rocks in consequence,
but the main part of the jam stuck tighter than ever.

"I shouldn't wonder if they'd need some dynamite there," said Owen.
"But Paxton said not to use the stuff if it could be helped. It spoils
too much timber."

Nearly all of the lumbermen belonging to the drive were now assembled
on both sides of the river, waiting for orders and wondering how
Herrick would get out of the difficulty.

"Shall I bring up some dynamite?" asked Andrews.

"Naw!" exclaimed the old log driver, in disgust. "I driv logs on this
river afore thet stuff was heard of. Yeou jest stand over thar an'
start them logs when I give the word." He turned to some others. "Yeou
stand there, an' yeou go to them rocks an' watch thet big log thet's
a-bobbin' up an' down. An' all of ye do jest as I tell ye, or somebuddy
will git hurt, an' not by the logs nuther!"

With this caution Herrick leaped on the jam, with a cant-hook in one
hand, and an ax in the other. Out he went, hopping from one insecure
position to another. The others watched him with breathless interest.
They knew that the old driver was taking his life in his hands. An
unexpected turn of a timber or two, and he might go down in the midst
of that jam, to be smashed into a jelly.

Dale and Owen were on the left bank of the stream, where the logs were
now piled four and five deep. The water was rushing around the jam
with increasing fury, and they stood in it up to their ankles. Through
the flying spray they saw old Herrick begin to chop away at a big
timber that had caught sideways of the river, from one rock to the next.

"That's dangerous work," was Dale's comment. "When that stick goes how
is he to save himself?"

"Watch them logs!" yelled old Herrick. "When I h'ist the dog let 'em
go!"

The flying spray almost hid him from view, and every man watched with
bated breath. They heard the muffled blows of his ax, for he was
working partly in and partly out of the water. Then came a crack like
that of a gun report, as the key timber of the jam snapped in two. In
the nick of time old Herrick jumped back and began to run over the
logs shoreward with the agility of a trained athlete. As he came on he
hoisted his cant-hook and the men let the logs go, one after another as
he had directed.

It was a sight never to be forgotten. Down past the rocks and into the
broad river below swept the logs, occasionally piling up as before,
and then breaking away with a rush and a cracking to be heard a long
way off. The men rushed hither and thither, under the head driver's
directions, doing all in their power to prevent another such jam as
had first occurred.

It was exciting work for Dale and Owen. The logs bobbed up and down
along the shore and more than one threatened to take the young
lumbermen off their feet. They were now in water up to their knees and
working as hard as anybody. Herrick had come over to their side, and
was issuing directions with the rapidity of a Gatling gun.

"Hump yeourselves!" he roared. "Swing thet log over! Look out or ye'll
git struck. Throw thet log in fer a minit. Now then, all together on
this here pile. Hump! I tell ye! I didn't take no man along to go to
sleep on this job!" And everybody "humped," until he was bathed in
perspiration and ready to drop from exhaustion.

Three-quarters of the logs had passed the turn and the rocks, and old
Herrick and the majority of the men had gone ahead to take care of the
drive at the next difficult spot, when there came another jam, this
time on the rocks close to where Dale and Owen were standing.

"Gracious! this won't do!" exclaimed Owen. "See how the logs are piling
up again. I'll have to release them!" And he began to move across the
logs with his cant-hook.

"Look out!" came in warning from Dale, and then he ran to his chum's
assistance, carrying an ax.

The pair were hard at work, turning aside one log and chopping at
another, when there came a cry from up the river:

"Look out there! Danbury's drive is coming!"

Both looked up the stream and saw that the warning was true. Another
drive of logs was coming on swiftly. In a twinkling it hit the back
logs of the Paxton drive, and sent them up close to where Dale and Owen
were standing. The spray flew in all directions, and to their horror
those standing on shore saw the two young lumbermen slip and slide on
the upheaving timbers and then disappear from view.

CHAPTER XIV

BERTIE AND GERTRUDE

"Those young fellows are lost!"

Such was the cry from more than one old lumberman standing on the river
bank, as Dale and Owen disappeared from view amid the flying spray and
upheaving timbers of the log jam.

That it was a dangerous position, fully as perilous as that from which
old Herrick had emerged but a short while before, was beyond question.
The drive behind was extra large, and the logs were piling up with a
rapidity almost indescribable.

As Dale went down, flat on his back on two of the largest of the logs,
he gave a shudder he could not repress. Like a flash he had a mental
vision of being hurled under the drive, and of the others finding his
crushed body long afterwards--his body and that of his chum, too.

But life is sweet to every one, and Dale did not intend to give
up without a struggle. As quickly as he could he turned over, and
clutching at a log that was rising above the others, he pulled himself
up. Then his arm touched Owen's shoulder, and he grabbed his chum.

"Get up, quick!" he gasped. "We must get to shore somehow, or we'll go
under!"

"All right, come on!" came pantingly from Owen, and off they started
across the logs.

The drive was shifting in all directions, and logs rose and fell in
front and on each side of them. Often they would be on the point of
taking a step, when the log would bob out of sight, leaving nothing
but water in its place. Then a timber would turn on them just as
they hopped to another. Once Dale straddled a log, but Owen got him
up in time to save him from having his leg crushed. So they kept on,
gradually drawing closer to the shore.

[Illustration: Logs rose and fell in front and on each side of them.]

"By George! they are out of it!" cried Andrews. "This way, boys, this
way!"

They saw him waving his hand, and turned in that direction. It was well
they did this, for the drive was shifting, so that one section near the
shore swung around to the middle of the stream. But their danger was
now at an end, and in a few seconds more they stood on solid ground,
dripping from head to feet, and with their hearts thumping wildly in
their breasts.

"Kind of a close call for you," remarked Andrews. "I wouldn't have
been in your place for a thousand dollars."

"It was a close call," answered Dale. His face was pale, and he felt a
strange sinking sensation all over him.

"Better rest for a spell, you and Owen too," went on Andrews, and they
followed his advice and did not move on again until half an hour later.
The boat contained some dry clothing, and this, when donned, made them
feel fairly comfortable.

The remainder of the drive occurred without anything unusual happening,
and a week later found the two young lumbermen in Bangor, where they
put up at a cheap but comfortable boarding house, at which Owen was
already known. The proprietors of several houses of low reputation
tried to get them to take rooms elsewhere, but they would not.

"They can't catch me for a fool," said Owen. "They've got some of
the poor chaps, and those fellows will be penniless in less than a
month," and so it proved. Many lumbermen are reckless, and their
wages are spent in drinking and gambling as soon as received. But
conditions are gradually improving, and it is to be hoped that some day
these boarding-house "sharks," as they are called, will be banished
altogether, not alone from this territory, but also from every other
Down-East lumber district.

The savings of the two young lumbermen, including the gift from Mr.
Jefferson Wilbur, amounted to over three hundred dollars, a sum which
both surveyed with delight, and Owen with positive astonishment.

"Three hundred and twenty-four dollars," cried Owen. "And half of it
belongs to me. Why, I never dreamed I could save so much."

"It only shows what you can save if you put your mind to it," answered
Dale. "We've saved this and we haven't deprived ourselves of very much
either, have we?"

"Not a great deal, Dale. Once in a while I wanted some extras, but I'm
just as well off, I reckon, as if I'd had 'em. What do you think we'd
best do with this cash? It isn't safe in the trunk. The house might
burn down."

"Let's each open a bank account of one hundred dollars," answered Dale,
and this was done. They were very proud of their bank books, and looked
at them a long while before stowing them away.

"The interest on a hundred dollars each year won't be much, but it will
be enough to buy a fellow a good pair of boots," said Owen.

While they were in Bangor looking around for another situation, they
heard news from up the river. On the day he was to be tried in court
Baptiste Ducrot had escaped from jail. Where he had gone nobody
knew, but the report was that he had jumped aboard a fast freight on
the Canadian Pacific Railroad, and taken his flight to the Far West.
Link Axton had been tried and sentenced to two years in the State
penitentiary.

"Ducrot won't dare show himself here for a good many years," said Owen.
"And it may be that he'll never come back."

"Well, I guess Maine can get along without him," answered Dale. "I
never want to see or hear of him again."

Bangor was alive with lumbermen, and the two soon found out that the
mills had all the help they wanted, and even the yards could take on
no additional hands. Then they tried Oldtown, and half a dozen other
places, with like result.

"We are out of it," said Dale, on Wednesday evening, after a long and
unsuccessful trip. "If nothing turns up by Saturday, I'll be for going
to Larson's and Odell's next Monday," and so it was arranged.

But on Friday came an offer from Mr. Paxton which both accepted without
hesitation. The lumberman had taken a strong liking to Dale and Owen,
and now he asked them to go back to the camp that had been left, and,
along with several others, begin the task of cutting a road from the
old camp, across the hills to Pine Tree Lake.

"I have purchased the Roxtell claim on the lake," said Mr. Paxton, "and
I want to have a good road there before we begin to cut next fall. I'll
pay you the same wages that I've been paying, and twenty cents an hour
for overtime, if you want to make more."

"That suits me exactly!" cried Dale. And he added to Owen: "It will
give us a chance to do some hunting and fishing."

As soon as they could make a few necessary purchases the two young
lumbermen started up the river once more, and ten days later found them
back at the old camp and at work on the road Mr. Paxton had had marked
out.

Summer was now at hand, and the weather was clear and warm. The spring
had been rather wet, but since that time the rainfall had been very
slight, and, as a consequence, the forest was almost as dry as tinder
and getting drier every day.

"We'll have to look out for forest fires now," observed Gilroy, who had
charge of the men. "Don't make a fire anywhere unless you put it out
thoroughly when you are through with it."

"It's not the lumbermen you've got to caution," answered Andrews, who
was also present. "It's the fool hunter who makes a fire and then
moves away without giving it a second thought."

The work was hard, and during the middle of the day the men often had
to knock off for an hour, for the sun beat down mercilessly, and there
was not a breath of air stirring.

"Phew! but this is like an oven," said Dale.

"What must it be down in the city?" returned Owen. "I wouldn't be
living there now for double wages."

During those hot days bathing was very much in order, and Dale and Owen
patronized the pond or the river, both morning and evening. Each was a
good swimmer, and they consequently got a good deal of sport out of the
plunges.

The building of the road occasionally took them to the vicinity of Mr.
Wilbur's lodge, and they soon learned that Mrs. Wilbur had arrived
there, accompanied by her two children, a little curly-haired girl of
five, named Gertrude, and a manly chap of six, named Bertie. Later on
a number of relatives and visitors were expected, and with them Mr.
Wilbur, who was now in the West looking up his lumber interests in that
locality.

"They ought to have a good time," remarked Owen. "They haven't got a
thing to do but to enjoy themselves."

"I don't know that I want to be idle all the time," replied Dale. "I
wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's true, too. But I'd like to take a day off when I felt like it."

One day the young lumbermen were coming along the lake road when they
espied the Wilbur children coming toward them. They were on a run, hand
in hand, and came to a halt directly in front of the team.

"Give us a ride?" shouted both, in their childish treble. "Give us a
ride?"

"To be sure we'll give you a ride," answered Owen good-naturedly,
and brought the horses to a stand. Then he jumped to the ground and
lifted up first Gertrude and then Bertie, and Dale made them safe and
comfortable on the broad seat.

"Oh, let me drive!" came from Bertie, and he grasped one of the lines.
Gertrude immediately secured the other, and away went the lumber wagon
once more, both Owen and Dale keeping watch that nothing should go
amiss.

"I'd like to be a big lumberman," observed Bertie.

"My papa is one," came from Gertrude. "He makes wood for houses, an'
railroad trains, an' everyfing!"

"Good for him!" laughed Dale. "Well, maybe your brother will be a
lumberman when he grows up."

"I'm 'most growed up now," came from the brother. "Aunt Fanny says when
I'm all growed up I'm going to be a six-footer."

"What's a six-footer?" queried the sister. "Has it got six feet?"

"No, a six-footer is a giant," answered Bertie. "I'm going to be one."

"I don't like giants," answered Gertrude, and then turned her attention
again to driving.

It was not long before they came in sight of the lodge, and here Owen
wanted to drop the little passengers. But they begged to be taken "just
one step further, just one little tiny step," and so to please them
they went on to the end of the grounds.

They were just halting again when a burly man came rushing from the
lodge. He was an Englishman, with a beefy face and a manner that showed
he was exceedingly over-bearing.

"Hi! hi! stop!" he roared. "Put those children down! What do you mean
by carrying them along on such a dirty wagon as that?"

"Come, we'll have to put you down now," said Owen to the little ones,
and helped them to alight, without paying attention to the newcomer.

"I say, what do you mean by putting those children on your dirty
wagon?" went on the Englishman wrathfully.

"They wanted a ride and we gave it to them," answered Dale.

"Well, don't you do it again." The man turned to the little ones. "Run
to the house now. Your mamma is looking all over for you."

"You are very civil, I must say," said Owen dryly, and then he drove
off, with Dale beside him, leaving the Englishman gazing after them
with a countenance that was more wrathy than ever.

CHAPTER XV

TWO LITTLE RUNAWAYS

"That fellow must be Jasper Nown, the caretaker here," remarked Dale,
after they had driven out of hearing of the man who had come after the
Wilbur children.

"I guess you're right," returned Owen. He drew a long breath. "I
wouldn't have him around me five minutes," he added.

"Nor I, Owen. But I guess it's the style to have an Englishman around.
I know they have English butlers and English coachmen down in Boston."

"Oh, well, an Englishman is all right--you know that as well as I do.
One of the best fellows I ever worked with at Odell's was Nestor, and
he was an Englishman. But this fellow is one of the over-bearing,
know-it-all kind."

"Perhaps he doesn't act that way when Mr. or Mrs. Wilbur is around."

"More than likely he doesn't."

The work on the new road through the woods continued day after day.
During that time there was only one little shower, which scarcely wet
the ground. As Dale said, everything was as dry as punk, and the
bushes and trees showed that a heavy downpour was needed.

During those days the two young lumbermen had occasion to pass the
Wilbur lodge several times. Once they met Jasper Nown, and he stared at
them surlily, but without speaking.

"Mr. Wilbur must have scolded him for having allowed Ducrot and Axton
to break into the lodge, and he must think that we are in some way
responsible for the calling-down he got," said Owen, and his chum
agreed that this might be so.

One afternoon they met Mrs. Wilbur out walking with Gertrude and
Bertie. Both of the children recognized the young lumbermen, and set up
a shout.

"Give us another ride?" came from Bertie.

"Yes, yes!" put in Gertrude. "I like to ride in that big wagon."

"Not now, dears," said Mrs. Wilbur, and then she smiled and bowed to
Dale and Owen, and they tipped their caps to her. "You were kind to
give them a ride the other day," she remarked sweetly.

"Oh, they were welcome," replied Owen, and Dale said something similar.

"What is your name?" asked Bertie, of Dale.

"Dale Bradford."

"And what is yours?"

"Owen Webb."

"Oh, are you the young men who caught the fellows who wanted to rob the
lodge?" cried Mrs. Wilbur quickly.

"Guess we had a hand in it," answered Owen, reddening a little.

"Mr. Wilbur told me all about it. You did us a great service. Those men
were going to take away some silverware that has been in our family for
a hundred and forty years."

"Oh, did they catch the bad robbers?" came from Bertie. "You must be
awfully brave."

"We only helped, Bertie," answered Dale.

"Some day you must come up to the lodge and call on us," went on Mrs.
Wilbur.

"Thank you," answered both young lumbermen; and after a few other
pleasant words they drove on, Mrs. Wilbur smiling after them, and
Bertie and Gertrude waving their hands.

"She's all right," came from Owen. "She knows how to treat a fellow
civilly."

"Certainly she didn't treat us as Jasper Nown did," returned Dale.
"It's easy to see that she is a perfect lady." And then he thought of
his own sweet mother, now gone so many years, and heaved a deep sigh.

On the following day the weather turned out unusually hot, and both
Dale and Owen were glad when Gilroy told them that he wished both to
go for him on an errand to the next camp, a distance of eight miles
through the forest. They had to go to this place on foot, and he told
them they might take their time and do a little hunting on the way.

"It beats chopping, on such a day as this," said Owen. "We can not only
hunt a little, but fish too, and take a fine swim in the bargain, when
we reach the head of the lake."

They started off directly after breakfast and were soon well on the
way. Each had a fishing line with him, but, at the last minute, only
Owen took his gun.

"I can fish while you hunt," said Dale.

Deep in the forest it was much cooler than in the open, and though the
trail was unusually rough in this direction, they made fairly good
progress, and by ten o'clock had reached the end of the lake Owen had
mentioned. Here they stopped for a short swim, and then struck out
again, resolved to do their hunting and fishing when on their way home.

Their course now took them around in the direction of one end of Pine
Tree Lake. Here was a little lake called the Mirror, on account of
its clearness, on the shore of which some hunters had erected a small
lodge.

"The sun seems to be clouding over," remarked Dale, as they approached
Mirror Lake. "It didn't look a bit like rain when we started."

"Dale, I don't believe those are clouds."

"Not clouds? What do you mean?"

"That is smoke. The forest is on fire some distance from here."

Dale sniffed the air. "I believe you are right, Owen. I hope the fire
doesn't come this way."

"It will unless something stops it. Just look how dry everything is."

For several minutes they watched the smoke with much concern. It was
moving to the northward, but presently it shifted in their direction.

"It's coming this way, Owen."

"I see it is; and the wind is coming up, too!"

"What had we better do--turn back?"

"I don't know. The fire may be a long way off. Smoke will carry for
miles and miles, you know."

"But if it comes this way----"

"I think if we can reach Granger's camp we'll be all right. He has cut
everything big off of White-cap Hill, and there is a wide brook to the
northward."

They continued on their way, watching the sky as before. Soon the sun
went under the smoke and appeared like a great ball of fire hanging in
space. Then the wind freshened, and the smoke came down so that they
could smell it plainly.

"I must say this doesn't suit me at all," exclaimed Dale. "If we don't
look out we'll be hemmed in by that fire."

They had now reached the little lake in the woods, and were walking
towards the small lodge mentioned, when, to their astonishment, they
saw the Wilbur children sitting on the bank fishing.

"Hullo!" ejaculated Owen. "What brought them up here?"

"The children must be having a day's outing in the woods," returned
Dale. "Wonder who is with them?"

The children were a little startled to see them approaching, but set up
a shout of gladness when they recognized the two young lumbermen.

"We are out camping all by our own selves," announced Bertie proudly.
"We are going to fish and hunt, and build a big campfire, and
everything."

"Alone?" queried Dale, in amazement.

"Yes, all alone," answered Gertrude. "Nurse wouldn't let us come, but
we run away when she wasn't looking. And Bertie's got a real gun and
fishing lines, and I brought along some fruit cake and two oranges, and
a box of candy, and my Polly doll."

"I wanted to bring Rover, but he barked so I was afraid Jasper would
hear him," went on Bertie. "We are going to stay here two whole days.
What do you think of that?"

"I think you did very, very wrong to run away from your nurse and your
mamma," said Owen soberly. "Your mamma will think you are lost, and
she'll look all over for you."

"And you mustn't think of using a gun," put in Dale. "Why, it might
kill somebody."

At these words both Bertie and Gertrude grew very sober. All in a
minute the outing lost its charm for them.

"I am going home to mamma," announced Gertrude. "She'll cry if she
thinks I am lost."

"I didn't catch a fish," came from the boy. "I don't believe there are
any here."

"Do you know the way home?" questioned Owen.

At this query both children looked perplexed.

"That way," said Bertie, pointing with his hand.

"No, that way," announced the little girl, pointing in another
direction. Both were wrong.

"We'll have to take them home," said Dale. "If we don't they may become
worse lost than ever. It's a good three miles to the lodge from here."

"I don't see how they got so far," said Owen.

"Oh, we jes' walked and walked and walked," answered Gertrude. "I
didn't get tired, but I guess Polly did," and she caught up the doll
that lay near, and hugged it to her breast.

The things the children had brought with them were gathered up, and the
start for the Wilbur lodge was made without further delay.

"Give me a piggy-back?" asked Bertie of Owen, and the young lumberman
did so, while little Gertrude was accommodated in a similar fashion by
Dale. This lasted until the party had a rough mountain path to climb
down.

"We didn't come this way," said Bertie.

"If you went around this hill you had a long walk," said Owen. "This is
the nearest way to your home."

The smoke was now growing thicker and thicker, while the wind increased
steadily. Then of a sudden a hundred sparks appeared to fly around and
over them, setting fire to the forest in a dozen places.

"This won't do!" ejaculated Dale. "It's getting altogether too close
for comfort!"

"You're right; we've got to hustle, or we'll be scorched sure,"
answered Owen.

"Oh, the fire!" screamed Gertrude, as a spark fell on her hand. And
dropping her doll, she began to suck the blistered spot.

The two young lumbermen caught up the children once more and set off
as fast as the nature of the trail permitted. The fire behind was now
coming closer, and they could hear the roaring and crackling of the
flames distinctly. Both Bertie and Gertrude were badly frightened
and cried loudly, while they dropped everything they carried. Then
Owen tripped and fell, and lost his gun, but did not give it a second
thought.

"We can't get to the lodge, that's sure," said Dale. "The fire is
coming between us and that spot."

"Make for Pine Tree Lake!" cried Owen. "It's our only hope. If we don't
reach it we'll be burned up!"

CHAPTER XVI

PURSUED BY THE FOREST FIRE

Both the young lumbermen realized their peril fully and spurted down
the hillside and through the forest at the best speed they could
command.

On every side of them were tall pines, spruces, and other trees, with
here and there a patch of brushwood. The fire caught each tree as if by
magic, and the flames would run up from roots to top with the rapidity
of lightning, and then the tree would resemble some giant torch.
Sometimes a tree in the rear would burst open with the report of a
pistol, sending forth a new shower of sparks, which the wind caught and
wafted still further to the front of the conflagration.

The fire had reached more than one wild animal, and the young lumbermen
caught sight of wolves, foxes, and deer running madly to escape the
flames. The birds also flew around, uttering wild notes of distress as
they saw their nests destroyed.

Long before the shore of Pine Tree Lake was reached, the fire appeared
to be at their very heels. The sparks flew all around them, landing
on their hands and necks, and occasionally drifting directly into their
faces. To protect the children they carried the little ones close to
their breasts, yet they did not escape altogether, and added their
shrieks of fear and anguish to the general excitement.

"Oh, please take me away!" wailed Bertie. "I'll promise never to run
away again, never!"

"Oh, my hand is burnt!" screamed Gertrude. "Take me to mamma! Take me
to mamma!" And she continued to scream until she was exhausted, when
she lay limp in Dale's arms.

At last they could see the lake far ahead through the trees. Here was a
bluff, standing out fifteen feet above the water, and partly overgrown
with trees and bushes.

A puff of wind caused the sparks to whirl all around them, and each
staggered for a moment as he came out on the bluff. To both Dale and
Owen it seemed at that instant as if the whole world was on fire.

"Jump! Don't wait! Jump!" yelled Owen hoarsely, and then, with the fire
fairly roaring at his heels, each leaped into the lake with his burden.

It was a sudden plunge, especially for the children, and each
spluttered and kicked wildly when going under the surface. But the
plunge extinguished the sparks that clung to all, and for the time
being they were safe, so far as being burnt was concerned.

Just beyond the bluff the lake was fully fifty feet deep, so Dale and
Owen knew that, if they wished to save the children and themselves from
drowning, they would either have to swim to the opposite shore or to
the island upon which grew the giant pine. The fire was already running
all along the edge of the bluff, and threatened to cross the cove, on
the opposite shore of which was located the Wilbur lodge.

Each of the young lumbermen could have swum to the island with ease had
he been alone. But with an excited and kicking child in his arms it was
not so easy.

"Take me out of the water!" spluttered Gertrude. "Take me out!"

"We'll be drowned!" came from Bertie. "Oh, please put me on the shore,
please!"

"We'll take care of you, only keep quiet," said Dale. "We can't carry
you if you kick like that."

"And you mustn't hold too tight," put in Owen, for Bertie had him by
the throat in the tightest clutch his little hands could command.

But the children were too young to understand the situation, and they
continued to cry and kick and hold on as tightly as ever. All Dale and
Owen could do was to tread water, and more than once it looked as if
they would go down after all. Swimming from the vicinity of the bluff
was out of the question, and now the sparks and flying embers began to
come down around them, hissing and steaming as they fell.

"We've got to do something," came desperately from Owen. "Let us try
our best to reach the island."

"Yes, put me on the island," said Bertie eagerly.

"Then keep real quiet and I will, Bertie."

The little fellow released his hold just a little, and Owen struck out
with one hand. Dale tried to follow, but Gertrude could not be quieted,
and he gave up in despair.

"I know what I am going to do," cried Owen. "Take the boy a minute or
two. I'll get that tree trunk over yonder, and then we can ride on
that."

Despite his struggles, he passed Bertie to Dale and struck out for the
trunk in question, which lay partly in and partly out of the water, a
short distance up the shore. With the smoke and sparks all around him,
he caught hold of the trunk and floated it. Then he brought it over to
where Dale was treading water as before.

"Now sit on the tree," said Owen to the little ones, and they were made
to obey. Then, while Dale held them with one hand and swam with the
other, Owen got at the rear end of the trunk and pushed it ahead toward
the island.

"I see the boat! I see the boat!" suddenly shrieked Bertie. "Take me to
the boat!"

He pointed with his finger, and, looking in the direction, the young
lumbermen saw a steam launch gliding over the lake not a great distance
off. Both gave a yell and waved their arms, and soon the launch was
puffing in their direction.

When it came closer, they saw that the craft contained Mrs. Wilbur,
Jasper Nown, a nurse in a white apron and cap, and a man who looked
after the boats belonging to the lodge.

"My children!" came in a loud cry from the lady. "Oh, are my children
safe?"

"Yes, ma'am, they are all right," answered Owen.

"Thank Heaven!" she murmured, and when the launch came up beside the
floating timber, she strained each little one to her breast, and kissed
them over and over again, while the tears of joy streamed down her
cheeks.

"I am so thankful you saved them," she said. "Come aboard the launch,
both of you. Where did you find them?"

"We ran away, and they came for us up at Mirror Lake," said little
Bertie. "But, oh, mamma, we aren't going to run away again!" and he
buried his head on her shoulder.

"No, no, I'll never, never run away again," burst out Gertrude. "Poor
Polly is burnt up!" and she too began to cry.

In a few words, Dale and Owen related how they were on their way to
a distant lumber camp, and how they had discovered the two little
runaways just about the time the forest fire swept down upon them. Then
they told of the run to the bluff, and what a narrow escape they had
had from the flames.

"It was Providence that led you to find my children," said Mrs. Wilbur
devoutly. "We have been searching for them for hours. They got Fanny,
here, to go into the lodge for something, and then ran away, and we
could not imagine where they had gone. I was afraid they might have
been drowned. Then the fire came up, and I did not know what to do.
Jasper, our man, advised that we take to the lake, so here we are on
the launch."

"The fire isn't working around to the lodge just now," answered Owen.
"The wind is shifting to where it came from."

"No, no, the whole place will be burnt up for a certainty," came from
Jasper Nown. His face plainly showed that he was badly scared.

"Fortunately the visitors we have been expecting have not yet
arrived," went on Mrs. Wilbur. "But there are several more servants at
the lodge. Do you think we had better go back for them?"

"Don't go near that shore!" cried Nown. "We'll all be burnt up, take my
word on't!"

"Jasper, I was talking to these young men, not to you," said the lady
coldly.

"Yes, madam, but you know the fire----"

"You seem to have lost your head completely since the fire started."

"I think it's safe enough to go back to the lodge," said Owen.

"So do I," added Dale.

"They don't know anything," interrupted the frightened Jasper. "The
sparks----"

"If you don't want to go back we can land you on the island," said Mrs.
Wilbur. "I fancy you'll be safe there."

But Jasper Nown did not wish to be left alone, and so he reluctantly
agreed to go back to the lodge, and the bow of the launch was turned
for that point on the lower shore. In the meantime the wind continued
to shift, and by the time the lodge landing was gained they saw that
the fire near the cove was dying out.

At the boathouse they found the missing servants, who, under the
directions of a cool-headed forester, had gone back to the lodge for a
basket of provisions and some blankets.

"We were going to take to the other boat, if it became necessary," said
the forester. "But the fire has shifted, and if it don't shift back
this place won't be touched."

At the boathouse the two young lumbermen retired for a few minutes,
and wrung the water from their shirts and emptied their boots. As the
weather continued hot they suffered nothing from their plunge into the
lake, nor were the children affected.

As the wind continued to shift, it became certain that the lodge would
not be touched, and Dale and Owen determined to go back to the Paxton
camp and learn how matters were going on there.

"I will let you have horses," said Mrs. Wilbur, and ordered one of her
servants to bring out the animals.

"You see, we've got all our belongings at that camp," said Dale. "We
haven't much, but what little there is we shouldn't like to lose."

"I hope you save everything," said the lady of the lodge, and then she
added: "You must promise to come and see me as soon as the fire is out."

The steeds were good ones, and fresh, and the young lumbermen made fast
time when once on the road. The sky overhead still hung heavy with
smoke, and there was a strong smell of burnt pitch in the air. Along
one section of the road the flames had eaten their way in the form of a
circle, and here they came upon a number of snakes twisting and curling
in their death agonies. They gave the reptiles a wide berth, and lost
no time in leaving the locality behind them.

When they at last dashed into camp, they found that the men were all
out, cutting down trees and plowing up the ground at a corner of the
claim, for that was the one spot threatened by the fire. Stabling the
horses they got their axes and spades and joined the gang.

"Hullo! back, are you?" shouted Gilroy, who was pitching in as hard as
anybody. "Glad to see you. We were afraid you'd been pinched by the
flare-up!"

"We came pretty close to it," answered Owen.

"Didn't get to the other camp, did you?"

"No," came from Dale; and that was all that was said, for the present
needs were too urgent to admit of further conversation.

Working as they had seldom worked before, the lumbermen cut down the
trees and brushwood, and turned up the soil with plows, picks, and
spades. Then as the fire kept coming closer, Gilroy ordered some of the
timber blown up with sticks of dynamite--a dangerous proceeding in the
midst of such hurry and confusion. The sparks kept coming on faster and
faster, and then came a mad rush of wind that sent the fire clear over
the line upon which they had worked so faithfully.

"It's no use, boys!" sang out the foreman. "We've got to give it up.
Back to the cabin, all hands, and let us save what we can down there!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE RAGING OF THE ELEMENTS

"This looks as if the whole camp would be swept away!" cried Owen, as
he and Dale hurried back to the cabin with the others.

"The fire will certainly lick out a big portion of the forest,"
answered Dale. "And by the look of things, I begin to think we'll be
lucky if we get out with a whole skin."

"Perhaps we would have done better had we remained at the Wilbur lodge."

"Never mind, we have the horses and can go back, if the worst comes to
the worst."

The lumbermen were soon at the cabin, and then, amid considerable
confusion, the things there were packed and loaded on the horses and
mules. Dale and Owen had a valise apiece, and also a box containing the
precious musical instruments and other things, and these they strapped
on the Wilbur horses.

The retreat came none too soon, for the wind was blowing more wildly
than ever, and the sparks and embers were flying in all directions
over their heads, scaring the horses and mules, and starting a fresh
fire wherever they landed.

"That's the end of this tract," said Andrews sorrowfully. "It won't
grow up again in fifty years."

"It will be a big loss to Mr. Paxton," answered Owen. "Maybe it will
ruin him."

"That wind means a storm," said Gilroy. "But it aint coming just yet."

Away they went, and hardly had they left the clearing when they saw
the barn and one of the shanties catch fire, and presently the cabin
followed.

The men started for Pine Tree Lake, but long before that body of water
was reached the flames headed them off and they were forced to turn in
another direction. They could now hear the distant rumble of thunder,
and all prayed earnestly that the storm might come speedily, and prove
of sufficient strength to drown out the fire.

"We are getting hemmed in," said Gilroy, at last, as he called a halt.
"Do you see that flicker of fire on Two-Top Mountain? That's coming
this way too. It's a different fire altogether from the one back of us."

Between the smoke and the clouds in the sky the sun was now no longer
visible, and only the conflagration at a distance lit up the weird
scene. Again came a rumble of thunder, and then a distant flash of
lightning told them that the storm was coming up more quickly than they
had anticipated.

"If it had only come early this morning," said Andrews, as the first
drops began to fall. "Then thousands of dollars' worth of lumber would
have been spared."

"Let us be thankful that it has come, even at this hour," answered Dale.

Soon the storm was on them in all its fury, the fierce blasts of wind
hurling the fire all around them. Then came flash after flash of vivid
lightning, and thunderbolts that seemed to fairly split the heavens. A
deluge of rain followed, causing the fire to hiss and steam and send
out huge volumes of black smoke that all but suffocated them. The
horses and mules were tied up with their heads close to the ground, and
each person of the party hurled himself flat.

It was a grand display of natural elements, but it cannot be said that
anybody in the party enjoyed it. All were grateful for the rain, but as
the lightning continued, and one tree after another in that vicinity,
was struck down, each was awed into utter silence.

At last came a lull and the center of the storm passed to the
northward. The rain still fell in torrents, but to this they paid
little attention. The worst of the smoke was clearing away, allowing
them to breathe more freely. One by one the men arose and began to look
after the frightened horses and mules. One horse had gotten away, and
sped into the burning territory, and he was never seen again.

"Well, I guess this is the last of the fire," said Owen, as he arose.
"This rain looks as if it would hold out for the rest of the day."

"What do you think Gilroy will do next?" questioned Dale.

A consultation was held, and the foreman decided to lead the way back
to the cabin, as soon as the trail was safe. They went into a temporary
camp, and there, under some wide-spreading trees, untouched by the
flames, remained until daybreak.

The next day the rain continued, although much more lightly than
before. Some food had been brought along, and a hasty breakfast was
prepared. As soon as they had eaten, the return to the abandoned camp
was begun.

It was discovered that the stables had been completely consumed by the
fire, along with two shanties and a tool house. The cabin still stood,
with only a small corner gone. But it was water-soaked, and filled
with a burnt smell far from pleasant, and would need a good deal of
cleaning and patching before it could again be inhabited.

"The timber isn't as bad as I thought," said the foreman, after an
inspection. "But the loss is enough to make Mr. Paxton feel sick;" and
so it proved.

As there was nothing to do until the owner of the place could be heard
from, Dale and Owen took the next day off to visit the Wilbur lodge,
and return the horses that had been loaned to them. They found the
buildings had not been touched by the fire, but the flames had eaten
well into the forest of the preserve, and the beautiful driveway that
Jefferson Wilbur had had made at considerable expense was littered with
fallen trees and half-burnt shrubbery.

"We were badly frightened when the storm came on," said Mrs. Wilbur.
"It blew so hard and lightened so repeatedly we did not know what to
make of it."

"Jasper had a fit," put in little Bertie. "He was so scared he fell in
a heap."

"Bertie!" said his mother reprovingly, but she had to smile, for the
little fellow had told the exact truth.

"It's going to make a big difference up here among the loggers," said
Owen. "There won't be nearly so much cut next season as last."

"That will be hard on you, won't it?" questioned the lady.

"We don't know yet--we've got to wait until the foreman hears from Mr.
Paxton."

The pair were invited by Mrs. Wilbur to dine at the lodge, but
declined, for neither felt that his dress was suitable for the
occasion. She noticed their embarrassment and did not press them, but
insisted on their coming again when Mr. Wilbur was there.

"He will wish to thank you, as I have done, for saving the children,"
said she.

On the return to the Paxton camp, the two walked through the woods to
take note of what portion had been touched by the fire. They reported
their findings to Gilroy, and the foreman afterward told Mr. Paxton.

When the owner arrived he considered the situation for several days,
and held a consultation with several other timber-land owners. The
result of this conference was that the building of the road to the lake
was abandoned; and all work in the camp came, for the time being, to an
end.

"Now we are out of employment again," said Dale to Owen, after they
had been paid off. "This job didn't last near as long as we had
expected."

"Well, Mr. Paxton isn't responsible for the forest fire, Dale, so we
can't blame him. The question is, what shall we do next?"

"Guess we had better strike down the river and look for work--unless
you can think of something better."

"I've half a notion to go out West. It seems to me that there are more
chances out there than here."

"Out West! Do you mean away out to Oregon or Washington?"

"Not quite as far as that--at first. We might go from here to Buffalo,
and try to get a job on one of the lumber boats to some place in
Michigan or Wisconsin, and then try it there for a while. If that
didn't suit, we could push on further."

"Providing our money didn't give out. It costs money to travel."

"Oh, I thought we could work our way for the most part. I wasn't going
to touch our bank account, or very much of our other savings."

"We'd have to pay the railroad fare to Buffalo--although it may be
possible to get on a canal boat at Albany, and go through that way. It
would take some time, but it would be cheap traveling."

"The plan is certainly worth considering, anyway," said Owen; and they
talked it over for fully an hour. But they reached the conclusion it
would be best to see what could be done along the Penobscot before
leaving Maine.

A week later found them in Bangor. They had made six stops on the way,
to find all the lumber yards and mills well supplied with hands. At an
employment agency in Bangor they were told that thirty-four men were on
the list ahead of them.

"This doesn't look very encouraging," remarked Dale.

"I should say it looked very discouraging," answered Owen.

They put up at their former boarding-house, and on returning to the
place that evening found a letter there for Owen, from his uncle in
Michigan. The young lumberman perused the communication with much
interest, and then read it aloud to his chum. The letter ran as follows:

"DEAR OWEN: I take up my pen to find out how you are getting
on these days. I have been reading about the forest fires up the
Penobscot, and see by one account that the Paxton tract was burnt
over. Does that throw you out of a job, or are you working at one of
the mills again? The fellows who set the forest on fire ought to be
hung, or made to pay for damages done. We caught one fellow setting
the timber afire here, and run him out of the county in a hurry. He
owed me ten dollars for the hire of a horse, so I lost on him, as
the lumbermen did not give him time to settle up.

"If times get too hard, you had better take my advice and come out
here. I'll board you at a reasonable figure, and if you can do a
full man's work, I'll give you a man's wages. I am short several
hands, so now is your chance. But don't come unless you are willing
to work, for I have no place for idlers. I am going to start on a
new cut of timber the first of next month, and it might be I could
make you the boss of a logging gang, if you knew enough to fill
the place.

"I now own an interest in the Gamoine Lumber Company of Michigan,
with offices at Detroit, so if you come on stop at Detroit and they
will tell you at the offices just where to find me. I don't have
much to do with the office end of the business. I get out the
timber, and they sell it. We are doing fairly well, although prices
are not what they might be.

"We are all well, and your Aunt Maria sends her love to you. She
says she would like you to send on some newspapers from her old home
if you get the chance.

"Write and let me know if you think of coming before I send that
next gang out.

"Your affectionate uncle,

"JOHN W. HOOVER."

CHAPTER XVIII

BOUND FOR THE GREAT LAKES

"There is a chance for you, Owen," remarked Dale, as the reading of the
letter was finished.

"So it would seem," was the slow reply.

"It isn't every fellow who has the chance of becoming a foreman."

"That is true. If Mr. Paxton made the offer, I would jump at it."

"What's the matter? Don't you want to work for your uncle?"

"You know what I told you before, Dale. Uncle Jack Hoover is the
hardest man to work for that I know of."

"Perhaps he isn't so bad as he used to be. Anyway, you could give him a
trial. You wouldn't have to stay with him if you didn't want to."

"And there's another thing. You----"

"Oh, don't mind me!"

"I shan't go without you, Dale."

"Then, I'll go along. He says he wants more hands."

Owen's face brightened.

"If you'll do that I'll take him up, and write a letter to him
to-morrow. I'll tell him to keep places open for both of us, and that
we want to work together."

"It may not suit him to keep us together."

"He'll have to do it--if he wants us at all. This is a combination that
can't be broken, remember."

"All right, then, have your own way. But if we're to be there by the
first of next month, we can't stop for canal boats and slow lake lumber
boats."

"That is true. Perhaps we can get cut-rate tickets to Buffalo or
Cleveland, and then get a cheap lake trip to Detroit. We can find out
about that matter after the letter is written."

The communication to John Hoover was prepared the next morning,
immediately after breakfast. Owen insisted that Dale help on the
letter, and the result was that Dale wrote one sheet while his chum
wrote another. Owen told his uncle what a close friend Dale was, and
that they meant to work together in the future. He added that both
had worked for Mr. Paxton, and that that lumberman had been equally
satisfied with their labors. Dale's letter was more in the nature of an
application, and he referred John Hoover to John Larson, Peter Odell,
and several others by whom he had been employed.

As the letter was an important one to them, the young lumbermen did not
drop it into a box, but took it direct to the post-office. They were
just coming from the building when they came face to face with Mrs.
Wilbur and her husband.

"Oh, Jefferson, there they are now!" cried Mrs. Wilbur. "How fortunate
we are to meet them!"

She caught Dale by the arm and brought him and Owen to a halt, and
introduced them. In a minute more Jefferson Wilbur was shaking each by
the hand.

"We were trying to hunt you up," said the lumber merchant. "Have you an
hour to spare? If you have, I'd like both of you to come over to our
hotel with us. I want to talk to you."

"We can spare you all the time you wish," said Owen, with a laugh. "We
are out of work just now, so time is no object."

"Yes, I heard Paxton had closed down," replied Jefferson Wilbur. "So
you are out, eh? I thought you used to work in one of the sawmills?"

"We did, but they are all full now," said Dale.

The young lumbermen walked to the hotel with the merchant, while Mrs.
Wilbur left the party to do a little shopping. The merchant occupied a
fine apartment on the second floor front.

"I am tremendously glad to meet you," he said. "My wife has told me
the particulars of how you rescued my son and daughter from the forest
fire. It was a brave and noble thing to do."

"We didn't do so very much--at least, no more than others would have
done," said Dale, who felt bound to say something, since Owen kept
silent.

"Oh, yes, you did, young man. You did much better than the man I left
in charge up there."

"You mean Jasper Nown?"

"Yes. At the first intimation of danger he was scared to death, and he
was of no particular use to anybody. I had to discharge him."

"Well, the combined fire and heavy storm were enough to scare anybody,"
put in Owen. "The lightning laid low more than one big tree around
there."

"So I was told. It was a bad combination, although the fire, if left
alone, might have been worse. My preserve is about half ruined, and my
wife says she doubts if she will care to go back there another season."

There was a pause, and Jefferson Wilbur looked at both Dale and Owen
hesitatingly.

"I--er--I feel that I ought to do something for both of you," he went
on. "I don't know exactly how you feel about it, but----"

"We don't expect anything," came from both of the young lumbermen.

"I don't suppose you do--you are not that kind; I can tell that by your
looks."

"You've given us more than was coming to us already," added Dale.

"But I want to do something, I tell you. My children are very dear to
me, and if they had been burnt up----" Mr. Wilbur could not finish.

There was an awkward pause, neither Dale nor Owen knowing what to say.
If the truth must be told, each wished he was out on the street again,
so he might get away from the gentleman, who seemed bound to reward
them for their services.

"You're out of work, you say," went on Jefferson Wilbur. "As you know,
I own an interest in a lumber company operating in Oregon. How would
you like to go out there?"

"To Oregon!" repeated the pair.

"Yes. I think I could give you steady situations at good wages, if
you cared to go. Of course it is a long distance from here, but the
openings are better, I think, than they are here."

"I might go, if Owen would go too," came from Dale. "But we have just
sent a letter to his uncle in Michigan, saying we might come out there
to work for him."

"Then your uncle is a lumber dealer?" said Jefferson Wilbur, turning to
Owen.

"Yes. He owns several tracts of land in Michigan, and has an interest
in the Gamoine Lumber Company."

"I have heard of that concern. Well, in that event you wouldn't care to
go to Oregon." Jefferson Wilbur looked disappointed.

"But we might go later," put in Dale.

"Very well. Whenever you are at liberty to go, let me know, and I will
do what I can for you. When do you think you will start for Michigan,
if you go at all?"

"As soon as we hear from my uncle," answered Owen.

"I am going to stay here several days, and maybe a week. Will you come
and see me again before you go away?"

"If you wish it," said Dale.

More conversation followed, and then they bid Mr. Wilbur good-day
and left. As they walked away the lumber merchant looked after them
thoughtfully.

"Two good young men," was his mental comment. "They don't want to be
rewarded, and if I had offered them money they would have refused it.
I'll have to keep them in mind and square up some other way."

It was not until the next morning that Dale remembered with deep regret
that he had wished to ask Jefferson Wilbur about the mining claim in
Oregon.

"What a fool I was not to think of it," he said to his chum. "I have
the papers right here, too."

"Better go up and see him this morning."

"No, I don't care to do that."

"Why not?"

"He may think that I am hanging around for a reward, and I don't want a
cent," answered Dale.

Before the end of the week a letter came from John Hoover, intended for
both Dale and Owen. It was a long communication, but the gist of it was
that they might come on at once, and Owen's uncle would give each a
trial, Owen as a foreman, at thirty dollars a month, and Dale as a gang
hand, at twenty dollars a month, with board. If agreeable, they were to
send a telegram of acceptance.

"That isn't so bad," said Dale.

"He might have offered you a little more," replied Owen.

"Perhaps he wants to see what we are made of first."

"Then you are willing to go at that?"

"We might as well. We haven't got to stay with him, you know, and
something is better than nothing, at the start," added Dale, who was
intensely practical.

So the telegram was sent without further delay, after which the pair
began to look around for the cheapest method of getting to Detroit.
From a man who had traveled a good deal, they learned that the cheapest
and quickest way for them would be to take a regular steamer from
Bangor to Boston. Here they could change to a train running through
Albany to Buffalo, and from Buffalo they could get a lake steamer
direct for their destination.

"You won't lose much time that way," said the traveler, "and you'll
save quite a few dollars on car-fare," and so it proved.

As soon as passage was secured on the steamer bound for Boston, the
young lumbermen dressed in their best and started to pay the promised
call on Jefferson Wilbur. This time Dale carried the mining-claim
papers with him, resolved to get some information concerning them if it
was possible to do so.

But at the hotel a disappointment awaited them.

"Sorry," said the clerk at the desk. "But Mr. Wilbur got a telegram
last night that seemed to upset him, and he and his wife left early
this morning."

"Did he say where he was going?" questioned Owen.

"He said something about making connections for New York and the West.
I fancy he and his wife went to New York."

"Thank you," said Owen, and he and Dale walked away. Dale was much
disappointed, but said nothing, for talking would not have mended the
matter.

"I suppose he was so upset he forgot all about us," said Owen. "I
wonder what it was all about?"

"Something wrong in business, most likely. These big dealers are always
up to something new, and when a thing goes wrong they have to hustle to
make it come out right."

That night found them on the steamer bound down the river. This was a
journey they had taken before, still it retained sufficient novelty
to be pleasing, and they sat up until late watching the sights in the
moonlight.

The next day found them on the bosom of the Atlantic, and the morning
following saw them in Boston. Here they managed to procure two cut-rate
tickets for Buffalo from a broker, and less than an hour after they
were on a train, being whirled westward to new fields of industry and
fortune.

CHAPTER XIX

A TALK ON THE TRAIN

The ride over the hills and through the valleys of New England, on the
express train, was thoroughly enjoyed by Dale and Owen, and at Albany
they stopped long enough to catch a flying glimpse of the State capital
of New York. Then they boarded another train, and went whirling through
the beautiful Mohawk Valley, westward, until, just eighteen hours after
leaving the Hub, they rolled into the big depot at Buffalo, and found
themselves in this most eastern city of the Great Lakes.

"So much of the journey done," said Dale, as they walked from the
depot, valises in hand.

"We must have a look around here before we go any further," replied
Owen. "We may never get to this city again."

It was not long before they found themselves on the main street of the
city. Almost the first thing they noticed was a trolley car marked
Niagara Falls.

"We must visit the Falls!" cried Dale. "We can't afford to miss that,
anyhow!" And finding that the fare was a moderate one, they hopped on
the car, and went spinning northward to this great Mecca of American
tourists. They spent two hours at the Falls, visiting Goat Island and
the Sisters, and also the Canadian shore, and then returned to Buffalo
more than satisfied with the little side trip thus experienced.

By consulting a local paper, they found that they could get a lake boat
for Detroit that night, and also one in the morning.

"Let us go in the morning, when we can see something," said Owen, and
so it was agreed.

With a stop at Cleveland, the journey from Buffalo to Detroit is
about three hundred miles. The steamer was a commodious one, and the
furnishings of the cabin and the dining room caused both of the young
lumbermen to stare.

"I must say I didn't expect to find anything quite as fine as this,"
declared Owen. "Why, it's quite as good as anything we have East."

The stop at Cleveland was also full of interest, and the young
lumbermen took a brief glance at the business portion of the town and
the shipping. Lumber boats were everywhere in evidence, and these
interested them as much as anything else.

"The lumber trade of the Lakes must be enormous," said Dale. "Just see
those schooners and other craft--how they are piled up! I never saw
anything like it, even at Bangor."

So far the weather had proved fine, but as night came on a cold rain
set in, which forced them to stay in the cabin, so they saw but little
as the steamer turned into the Detroit River, and made the run up to
the city of that name.

"Here we are at last!" exclaimed Owen, as they went ashore in a stream
of people. "I guess the best thing we can do is to get out of the wet."

"Cab! Hack! Have a carriage, sir?" came from a dozen cabmen, as they
pushed forward. "Carry your baggage, mister?" And Owen felt a boy of
fifteen catch hold of his valise.

"No, I'll carry that myself," said Owen. "And I don't want a carriage,"
he went on, to the cabmen.

They were soon out of the jam, and on the way to a hotel that John
Hoover had mentioned in his last letter. This was not far away, and
soon they had secured a room and were retiring, worn out from the trip,
but still happy and with hopes of the highest.

"I feel stiffer than if I'd been rollings logs all day," said Dale, as
he leaped up the next morning. "How is it with you, Owen?"

"My head is dizzy from looking at so much," was the answer. "Feels
like it did when I went to that moving-picture show that once came to
Spogtown. The pictures quivered so much that I got to blinking with
'em, and the boys said I didn't stop the blinking for two days."

"Do you suppose your uncle is in town?"

"I'm sure I don't know. We can get breakfast, spruce up a bit, and then
hunt up the offices of the lumber company he spoke about."

The rain of the night before had cleared away, leaving the sky bright
and beautiful. Having breakfasted, they walked down the broad street
until they came to a cross street, which was the one they wanted. Two
squares away stood the building in which the lumber company's offices
were located, on the third floor. They went up in the elevator, and
entering the first of the rooms asked for Mr. John Hoover.

"Not here, and won't be to-day," was the answer of a clerk.

"Did he leave any word for me?" went on Owen. "I am his nephew, Owen
Webb, from Bangor, Me."

"Oh!" The manner of the clerk changed. "Step in, Mr. Webb. Yes, sir, he
left a note for you. I'll get it."

"He must think we're of some importance, by the way he changed his face
when I mentioned my name," whispered Owen. "I guess Uncle Jack cuts
something of a figure here."

The note was delivered, and was found to contain directions for coming
up to one of the lumber camps at once. This camp was located twenty
miles beyond the village of Munvale, and to get to it they had to take
a train northward to the Saginaw River.

"That's quite a little trip in itself," said Dale. "But it will be the
last, I suppose, for some time to come."

They had to wait until the middle of the afternoon for a train to the
right station. When it did come, it was crowded, and they had to stand
up part of the way. But later on the passengers thinned out, and they
got a seat together near the end of the car.

At one station several men who looked as if they were lumbermen got
aboard, and by their conversation Dale and Owen soon learned that they
were bound for a camp not far from that run by John Hoover.

"I'm glad I'm not going to Jack Hoover's outfit," one of the men said,
during the course of the conversation.

"You're right, Glassen," said another. "He's a pretty hard taskmaster,
and no mistake."

"I understand Henshaw left him last week," put in a third of the
crowd. "He said he wasn't going to do two days' work in one day, for
any man."

"Hoover never knows when to let up," went on the first speaker. "Three
months of it was enough for me. By the way, what became of Risley, who
used to be one of his foremen?" And then the talk drifted in another
direction.

Dale and Owen looked at each other in a suggestive manner. Then the
older of the pair leaned forward.

"Doesn't look encouraging, does it?" he whispered. "I guess you won't
thank me for bringing you to this place."

"I'm sure I don't blame you, Owen. Besides, we can go elsewhere, you
know."

By the time the young lumbermen reached the station at which they were
to stop, the train was nearly empty. It was dark, and only half a
dozen people were at the depot. Not far away was a general store and a
blacksmith shop, with a church, and about a dozen cottages, and that
was all.

"Which way next?" asked Dale.

"I'll see if my uncle is anywhere about," returned Owen.

He walked around the depot, and then over to the general store, and
seeing nobody who looked familiar, asked the station master if he had
seen Mr. John Hoover. For a minute the man looked puzzled, then he
grinned.

"You mean old Holdfast Hoover," he replied. "He's a boss lumberman."

"Yes, but his first name is John."

"Perhaps it was; but they call him Holdfast here, he's so tight with
his money. No, he isn't around, but I saw his man, Sandy, here a minute
ago, with a wagon. There he is now."

The station master pointed to a tall, thin man, who sat on the seat of
a rough lumber wagon, chewing tobacco vigorously. To the wagon were
attached a team of lean and tired-looking horses.

"Are you Mr. John Hoover's man?" asked Owen, striding up.

"That's me," was the slow answer. "Reckon you are his nevvy, aint you?"

"I am, and this is the young man who came out here with me."

"I'm a-waitin' for you. Let see, your name's Webb, aint it?"

"Yes, Owen Webb, and this is Dale Bradford."

"My name's Sandy Hopgood, although I aint no good on the hop at all."
The man grinned at his little joke. "Got your outfits with you? If you
have we'll dump 'em in the wagon and start. We've got nigh on to twenty
miles between us an' a supper table, an' if you're too long Mrs.
Hoover won't keep a blessed thing a-waitin' for you."

"In that case we'd better get something to eat before we start," put in
Dale, who was already hungry.

"Aint no hotel around here."

"Then we'll get some crackers and cheese, or something else, at the
store," said Owen. "Mr. Hopgood, come and have lunch with us."

"Well--er--I wouldn't mind, but the fact is I--er--I didn't bring no
money with me."

"That's all right--we'll stand for it."

"Will you? Thanks; then I'll go."

The man lumbered from the wagon and tied up his team. They were soon in
the general store, and here obtained a satisfactory spread of crackers,
cheese, chipped beef, and canned stuff, which the storekeeper let them
eat at a table in a back room.

"Blame me if that aint as good a supper as I've had in a long time,"
was Sandy Hopgood's comment, after he had finished the third of a pie
Dale had purchased. "It's a heap sight better nor going home for the
meal."

"Does Mrs. Hoover run the table?" asked Dale.

"Kind of--it runs itself mostly." Sandy Hopgood closed one eye
suggestively. "You won't git fat up to our camp, let me tell you that."

When the man had departed to bring around his turnout, Owen motioned to
Dale.

"I'm going to take a few eatables along," he said. "Just put the things
that are in my satchel in with your own, and then we can fill mine up
with food enough to last two or three days. I'm not going to starve."

This was agreed to, and by the time Sandy Hopgood called for them,
they had Owen's valise filled with all sorts of things to eat. The
storekeeper smiled when he saw them stowing the articles away.

"Reckon you know your man," he said suggestively.

"Not exactly, but we've heard something," answered Dale.

"Well, you'll hear more before you come away," was the storekeeper's
comment. "Shouldn't wonder but what I'll see you again by the time your
first month is up."

"Or before," put in Owen, with a short, hard laugh. Then Sandy Hopgood
drove up, and they put their trunks into the wagon and followed with
their valises.

"Now to see what we will see," remarked Dale, as lightly as he could.
But his heart was heavy, for he realized that the prospect was far from
encouraging.

CHAPTER XX

AT JOHN HOOVER'S HOME

The road was dark as well as rough, and as the lumber wagon bumped
along over the stones and tree roots, neither Dale nor Owen had much
to say. Each was busy with his thoughts, wondering how they would be
received by John Hoover and his wife, and what would be the outcome of
this venture into the Michigan lumber district.

"We're 'bout half there now," said Sandy Hopgood, after a long and
steady pull over hills and through hollows. "But the wust part of the
road is to come." And so it proved. The wagon jounced along as if ready
to fall to pieces at any moment, and more than once Dale and Owen, who
had both noticed the shabby harness, imagined that straps and buckles
would fly in all directions. But, old and worn as it was, the turnout
held together, and at last they caught sight of a light ahead, and the
driver announced that they would soon be at their destination.

The Hoover camp consisted of half a dozen buildings, built on either
side of a muddy roadway leading to a creek that flowed into the
Saginaw River. Beyond the cabins were two stables and a tool shed. Down
close to the river was a sawmill, also belonging to John Hoover. All
the buildings were old and dilapidated, but the owner of the camp did
not believe in spending money to fix them up.

As the wagon came up to the cabins, the door of one of the buildings
was thrown open, and a man came out, lantern in hand.

"Have ye got 'em?" he demanded, in a shrill voice.

[Illustration: "Have ye got 'em?" he demanded, in a shrill voice.]

"Yes, Uncle Jack, I'm here!" sang out Owen, as cheerily as he could.
And leaping down, he stepped forward and grasped his relative by the
hand.

"Been a long time getting here," grumbled John Hoover, to the driver.
"I could have made the distance in an hour less."

"We had to stop a while in town," replied Sandy Hopgood, but he did not
mention the reason.

"Are you glad to see me, Uncle Jack?" demanded Owen.

"Why, I guess so, Owen. Depends on how you are going to go to work, now
you are here. I must say you look tall and strong." John Hoover held up
the lantern toward Dale. "Is this the other chap?"

"Yes, this is Dale Bradford. Dale, this is Mr. Hoover."

"Don't stand out there, John Hoover!" came in a shrill feminine voice
from the kitchen of the cabin. "Bring 'em in here right away. I've
waited as long as I'm a-going to wait with this supper." And then Mrs.
Hoover, a short, fat woman, appeared, her sleeves rolled up, and her
hands resting on her hips.

"Thank you, but we've had supper, Aunt Maria," answered Owen, in a
voice that was a trifle cold.

"Had supper? Where did you get it?"

"We stopped at the general store down by the depot. We were hungry, and
didn't want to wait until we got here."

"My! my! how extravagant--and me waiting with supper all the time.
Well, if you don't want anything, I'll put the things away, and save
'em." And without further ceremony the woman bustled about to clear the
table.

It had been arranged by John Hoover that Owen and Dale should occupy a
small corner room of the house. All the other hands, including Sandy,
lived in the other cabins, and had their meals there. But Owen was to
consider himself a member of the Hoover household, and his chum was to
do likewise.

"I didn't guess you'd want to be parted," said John Hoover. "And the
room is plenty big enough for two."

"Yes, we prefer to remain together," answered Owen.

The reception had been a chilling one, and the chill did not wear away
when the pair were seated in the plainly furnished living room. The
owner of the camp asked both a great number of questions about what
they had done in Maine, and seemed very anxious to find out if each
could really do a full man's work.

"I aint paying no shirkers in my camp," said John Hoover. "Every man
who gets a full day's pay must work for it."

"You'd better let 'em go to bed now, John," said his wife. "They've
traveled so much that if you don't they won't be worth a cent for work
to-morrow--and I suppose you're going to start 'em right off, aint you?"

"To be sure," answered the husband. "I aint wasting a whole day for
nothing."

The bedroom turned over to the young lumbermen was furnished with
nothing but a wide bunk, and a long, rough bench. On one wall hung a
swinging shelf made of a rough board three feet long. There was nothing
on the floor, and the mattress in the bunk was old and smelt musty. For
a light they were given about an inch of a tallow candle stuck on top
of a tin candlestick.

"This beats the hotels, doesn't it?" remarked Owen sarcastically.
"Dale, I hope you don't remain awake to-night thinking of your elegant
surroundings."

"Well, I suppose it might be worse--if somebody tried real hard to make
it so," responded Dale dryly.

"They'd have to try mighty hard, I can tell you that. Do you know how
long this will suit me?"

"About ten years."

"About ten hours."

"Why, you act as if you were disappointed."

"Oh, I'm not disappointed at all; I'm simply brimming over with joy;
the place is so good I don't think I can stand it. If I stay too long
I'll get lazy doing nothing, and living on the fat of the land."

After this both burst into a low, merry laugh. Each felt the
disappointment keenly, but both were resolved to make the best of it,
and to make a new move at the first opportunity.

John Hoover and his wife, retiring in an adjacent room, heard the laugh
and listened with much satisfaction.

"They must like the place," said the master of the camp. "I'm glad on
it. I was afraid they'd be stuck up, after being in Bangor, Boston, and
other big towns."

"Oh, they know a good thing when they see it," answered his wife.
"Perhaps they didn't have no mattress in them other camps, and no light
to go to bed by. By and by I'm a-goin' to save on them candles. Wade
raised a cent a pound on the cost of 'em."

"Yes, we can't afford to spend extra money on 'em, even if one of 'em
is my nephew," responded John Hoover.

The young lumbermen were worn out with their journey, and soon fell
asleep. At five o'clock the master of the camp pounded on their door
and aroused them.

"Come, get up!" he called. "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.
You'll find a wash basin and towel outside of the kitchen door."

They dressed and came out, to find Mrs. Hoover hard at work in the
kitchen, preparing a morning meal of salt mackerel, bread and butter,
and coffee. They washed up outside as directed, and then sat down.

Now Dale and Owen had had many poor meals at one place and another,
but nothing which was worse than this. The fish was old and tough,
the bread stale, the butter strong, and the coffee of the rank sort,
worth twelve or fourteen cents a pound. As a dainty, there were several
slices of gingerbread, but they looked so old and dried-up that
neither of the young lumbermen cared to touch them.

"You don't seem to be hungry," remarked Mrs. Hoover, as she watched
them dallying with the food.

"Not as hungry as I might be," answered Dale.

"You want to eat up. It makes a boy good and strong, and fit for a
proper day's work."

The breakfast was soon over, and then John Hoover said he would take
them out, introduce them to some of the men, and show them what they
were to do. Unobserved, they slipped into their room, and put some
crackers in their pockets, with some chipped beef in a paper, to eat
when they got the chance, for the breakfast furnished by Mrs. Hoover
had by no means satisfied them.

Inside of an hour they were hard at work, Owen as foreman of a gang of
twelve men, including Dale. They learned that the gang had originally
consisted of twenty hands, but eight men had left, to seek employment
elsewhere.

"And I am going next Saturday," said the man who gave out this
information. "My time's up, and I don't want any more of this camp."

The men worked hard, and Owen soon learned that he was expected to not
only direct them, but do as much cutting as anybody. From time to time
John Hoover appeared, going from one gang of the camp to another, and
urging everybody to "work up there," and finding great fault if the
trees did not come down, or were not moved, as speedily as he expected.
And when one of the hands hurt his foot, he would not allow the fellow
to knock off and have the hurt attended to, but told him to wait until
the sawmill whistle blew for the noon meal.

"That's your time," he said. "This time is mine, and I want you to
work."

"That was hard-hearted," said Dale, when he and Owen were alone.

"You are right," answered Owen. "He's the meanest man I ever met, and
I'm sorry he is an uncle of mine."

By the time night came the young lumbermen were more than ready to
quit. John Hoover had proved a regular slave driver, and neither
wondered that his men were deserting him before the season was at an
end.

"About two months of this would use me up," said Dale. "I never felt so
tired from a single day's work in my life."

"It's his continual nagging that does it, Dale. If he wouldn't be at
the men all the time they might do every bit as much, and feel a good
deal better over it. As it is they are surly, and they won't do a
hand's turn more than they have to." And Owen was right.

The next day it rained, but they went out as before, John Hoover
declaring that men could cut and move timber just as well in the wet
as when the sun shone. One man, who had a heavy cold, demurred, and a
regular quarrel ensued, first concerning the work and then about wages.
At last the man packed his box and went off, declaring that he would
sue the camp owner if he did not get the wages that were coming to him.

The rainy weather made Mrs. Hoover irritable, and she scolded, not only
her husband, but also the young lumbermen, for tracking the mud into
the living room.

"I've got enough work to do without clearing up such dirt!" she snapped
to her nephew. "If you bring any more in you'll not get a mouthful to
eat."

"I guess I'll get what's coming to me, Aunt Maria," said Owen, whose
temper had reached the danger point.

"No, you shan't have a thing."

"Then I'll go down to one of the other cabins and live."

"And I'll go with Owen," put in Dale. "I'm tired of this place,
anyway."

At this both John Hoover and his wife stared at the two young lumbermen
in amazement.

"Do you mean to say you aint satisfied here?" gasped the master of the
camp.

"No, I am not, Uncle Jack," said Owen bravely. "And we might as well
come to an understanding at once. I'm going to look around for another
job, and as soon as I can find it I'm going to leave your employ."

CHAPTER XXI

AN UNSIGNED CONTRACT

For the moment after Owen made the declaration that he was going to
leave his uncle and his aunt, the pair were speechless with amazement
and anger.

"Going to leave?" said John Hoover slowly. "Going to leave?"

"That is what I said, Uncle Jack."

"And I'm going with him," said Dale.

"To hear them--after all we have done for them!" ejaculated Mrs.
Hoover, her eyes flashing fire.

"I don't think you have done so very much for us," said Dale, who felt
it his duty to take his full share of whatever blame was coming.

"Don't you, now?" sneered the lady of the cabin. "I suppose I've cooked
for you just for the fun of it."

"It was the worst cooking I ever had to put up with."

"You aint going to leave me, nohow!" fumed John Hoover. "You've
contracted to stay here for the season, and you've got to stay. You
aint going to leave me in a hole--with so much timber contracted for."

"We are not under contract with you, Mr. Hoover. You said in your
letter that you would give us a trial, and we wrote back that we'd come
on for a trial. If our work hadn't suited, you would have discharged us
in double-quick order."

"Well, I'd have that right."

"Exactly, and we have the right to go away too."

"To be sure we have," came from Owen.

"I don't see it that way at all," roared the claim owner. "If I want to
keep you, it is your duty to stay."

"And my cookin' is good enough for anybody," came shrilly from his
wife. "I've given you more than you deserve."

A perfect war of words followed, and in the end Mrs. Hoover ordered
both of the young lumbermen "to pack their traps an' git out to once,"
or she'd "go after 'em with a broom."

"Now, Maria, let me settle this," interposed John Hoover, who did not
want to lose them. "They can board at one of the other cabins, but they
must stay the season out."

"I shan't stay another day," replied Dale. "I am going away inside of
the next hour."

"Then I shan't pay you a cent," snarled John Hoover.

"Very well, you can keep the money."

"I'm going with Dale," said Owen. "If you are mean enough to keep what
wages are coming to us, you are welcome to the amount, Uncle Jack."

After this both Dale and Owen refused to talk. Both packed their
belongings, and soon had them out of the cabin. As John Hoover refused
to transport either them or their baggage to the railroad station,
they, with the assistance of two men who were not afraid to lend a
hand, took their trunks and valises down the creek to the river. John
Hoover followed them, and begged them to come back, but they paid no
attention to him, and soon after secured passage on a lumber barge
bound for Saginaw.

"Well, we are well out of that," declared Dale, when on the way. "That
is an experience I don't care to repeat."

"I'm afraid I'm responsible," began Owen, when his chum stopped him.

"Not at all, Owen. We would have gone even if Hoover wasn't a relative
of yours. I think I'd cast him off," and Dale laughed.

"Well, you can consider him cast off," answered Owen, and then he
laughed too.

From the boatman both learned of the many troubles John Hoover had had
with his help, and of how many had deserted him every season for years.

"The men all over Michigan are getting to know him," said the boatman,
"and as a consequence, the only help he can get is from outside places."

The young lumbermen were surprised to find Saginaw a large and bustling
city, given over largely to the lumber and salt trade. They soon found
a cheap hotel, and here indulged in the first square meal they had had
since leaving Detroit.

"We might as well take it easy for a few days," said Owen. "Our money
will carry us through, and there is no need of our rushing into another
job until we are sure of what we are doing."

The sights around Saginaw were not many, but it pleased them to walk
around the lumber yards, and around the docks, where a number of lake
vessels were loading with lumber for Detroit, Cleveland, and other
points.

"We might get a passage on one of those boats bound for Detroit," said
Owen. "Let us ask the captain about it." And this they did, and secured
passage for little more than the price of meals, the master of the
schooner being glad to have them along, as they said they would help on
the cargo in case of rough weather.

On the evening before the schooner was to sail Dale and Owen had their
trunks and valises taken on board, and then started out for a final
look at the town.

"We may never get here again," said Dale. "So we may as well take in
everything worth seeing."

The young lumbermen had not gone far, however, before it began to rain.
To get in out of the wet, they entered a restaurant, attached to a
small hotel, where they ordered a glass of milk and a piece of pie.

Next to the dining room was the smoking room, and looking into this
they were surprised to see John Hoover, sitting there in company with
several individuals who looked like lumbermen.

"I'll wager he is after those men," whispered Owen. "Let us listen to
what he has to say."

They took another table which was close to a large doorway. As John
Hoover's back was toward them, the lumberman did not notice them.

"You'll be perfectly satisfied at my place," Hoover was saying. "All of
my men like it very much."

"Oh, listen to that!" said Dale, in a low voice. "How can he be so
barefaced?"

"I heard a little about poor eating up there," said one of the
lumbermen. "Now, I allow as how I like good feed."

"You won't be disappointed, Martin. Just you sign a contract with me
and you'll be perfectly satisfied, and you can go up to the camp in the
morning."

"I never signed a contract before," said another of the lumbermen
cautiously.

"Oh, that don't amount to much, Bond," answered John Hoover lightly.
"But our company requires it, that's all."

"I reckon it's O.K., boys," put in a fourth lumberman. "We might as
well sign and have done with it."

"That's the talk," said John Hoover eagerly. "Let's have the business
over with, and I'll stand treat at the bar."

He drew a folded paper from his pocket and asked for the use of the pen
and ink at the desk.

Just at that moment two lumbermen came in. The older was a man Dale and
Owen had met at the camp--one of the fellows who had helped them to
take their trunks to the river.

"Hullo, Martin, what's up here?" he called out.

"This aint none of your business, Peterson," cried John Hoover, in
alarm.

"We're going to contract for the rest of the season with Hoover,"
answered the lumberman named Martin.

"Don't you do it, boys."

"Why not?" demanded the four, simultaneously.

"If you do, you'll be sorry for it."

"You clear out!" roared John Hoover, his face growing as red as a beet.
"This is my business affair, you haven't any right to interfere."

"But I'll take the right," returned the newcomer. "Why, only two days
ago I helped two young fellows to get away. They said they wouldn't
stand it up to the camp. I'm going to leave myself as soon as my month
is up."

"You're telling what aint so!" stormed John Hoover.

"Aint I telling the truth?"

"No."

"I am--and I can prove it," said the newcomer.

He pointed to where Dale and Owen were sitting. John Hoover looked in
the direction and started.

"Wha--where did they come from?"

"From your camp. If you don't believe it, boys, ask the young fellows
themselves."

"We will," said Bond, and called to Dale and Owen. "Please come here a
minute, will you?"

"Certainly," said Owen, and moved forward, followed by Dale.

"Did you come from Hoover's camp a couple of days ago?"

"We did," answered Owen.

"Why did you leave?"

"See here, this aint fair, nohow!" spluttered the camp owner.

"And why not?" asked two of the lumbermen.

"We want to know the truth of this," added Martin.

"We left because we didn't want to work for Mr. Hoover any longer,"
said Dale. "He is a regular slave driver, and the food he deals out
isn't fit for a prisoner."

The men turned to Owen.

"Is that the truth, young fellow?"

"The food was certainly poor," answered Owen. "And he worked me harder
than I ever worked before, and I've done some pretty hard hustling in
the woods of Maine."

"Did you leave on account of the work and the poor food?"

"Yes."

"That's enough, then; I don't sign," came from Bond.

"Nor I," said Martin. "I said I'd heard about poor feed up there."

"See here!" stormed John Hoover, turning to Owen and Dale. "What do you
mean by spoiling my business? I've a good mind to have the law on you!"

"These men only asked us some questions, and we told the truth,"
answered Dale. He turned to the others. "Because we wouldn't stay the
season out he wouldn't pay us a cent," he went on.

"That was mighty mean," answered Bond.

"How are you fixed?" said Martin. "Perhaps we can help you a bit. One
good turn deserves another, they say."

"Oh, we're not suffering, thank you," replied Dale. "But we told you
this just to let you know how mean this man is."

"We won't work for him," came from two of the crowd.

The men walked out of the place in a body, Peterson and his friend with
them. Dale and Owen turned back into the restaurant, and settled for
the milk and pie. John Hoover followed them, his face full of anger.

"A nice trick you played me," he fumed. "Four first-class men, and I
might have had them all but for you!"

"I guess we are square on that question of wages," came grimly from
Owen.

"I'd rather have paid you the wages than had this happen!"

"No doubt; but it is too late now. After this, Uncle Jack, you had
better treat folks as they should be treated--then perhaps you won't
have any more trouble."

And with this parting shot Owen and Dale hurried from the restaurant,
leaving John Hoover to think over what they had said, and wonder what
he had best do next to get men to take the places of those who were
leaving his employ from day to day.

CHAPTER XXII

A LUMBER BOAT IN A STORM

The rain had slackened a little, and now the wind was rising. Dale and
Owen continued their sight-seeing, and then returned to the schooner,
for they had arranged to remain on the craft that night, so that they
might be ready for the start early in the morning.

The _Elizabeth_ was a three-master, broad of beam, and with good
carrying capacity. She was loaded with dressed lumber, consigned to a
lumber yard at Detroit, and carried a crew of twelve, besides the cook.
The lumber filled not only the hold, but also a good part of the deck,
so moving from one part of the ship to another was not easy.

The young lumbermen slept soundly, and when they arose they found the
schooner was already getting under way. Dressing hastily, they went on
deck, to receive a bluff "good-morning" from Captain Dacker.

Dale and Owen watched the hoisting of the sails with interest, and
lent a hand at coiling up the ropes used for fastening the ship to the
dock. Then the _Elizabeth_ moved on down the Saginaw River, and the
journey toward the bay and the lake was begun.

The Saginaw River is not a large stream, and the city of that name is
situated about twenty miles from its mouth, near which is located Bay
City. The run to Bay City and into Saginaw Bay occupied a little over
two hours, and then the schooner stood boldly to the northeast, for
Burnt Cabin Point, as it is called, where the bay opens into Lake Huron.

"This is a good, stiff breeze," said Owen. "I hope it keeps up all the
way to Detroit."

"The trouble of it is, it won't be in our favor after we turn to run
southward on the lake," answered Dale. "We'll have to do a lot of
tacking."

"Oh, well, if the trip lasts a day or two longer than expected, who
cares? I think a week of this would just suit me."

They found the crew of the lumber boat a mixed one, composed of
Norwegians, Germans, French, and one or two Americans. But this was
not strange, for the majority of the population around the Lakes is
composed of foreigners of many nationalities, Germans, Norwegians,
Swedes, and French predominating.

"Have you any idea how far it is to Detroit from here?" asked Dale.

"I don't know exactly, but I should say close to four hundred miles by
the way the schooner will take," replied Owen.

As the weather was hot, the breeze from over the bay proved very
acceptable, and the young lumbermen sat for a good part of the time
near the bow of the schooner taking in the distant sights. But soon
land was left behind, and all they could see was the blue sky and the
smooth, greenish-blue waters of the lake, rippling in the breeze.

"What a difference between this and the Atlantic Ocean," remarked Owen.
"There the water is never quiet. This looks like a big millpond in
comparison."

"Aint no millpond when there is a storm on," said one of the deck
hands, who stood near. "I've spent four years on boats, two years on
the Atlantic and two on the Lakes, and I can tell you that a storm on
the Lakes is just as bad as any on the ocean."

All day long the wind kept its pace, and soon Captain Dacker announced
that they had reached the lake proper. As night came on, they could
see, off the starboard quarter, the lighthouse at Point aux Barques,
and just beyond the twinkling lights of Grindstone City. Then the
course of the _Elizabeth_ was changed, and they stood almost south for
Port Huron.

When the young lumbermen got up the next morning, they found that the
wind had died down utterly, and the schooner was lying motionless on
what looked for all the world like a sea of glass. The sun was coming
up in the east like a great ball of fire, throwing a streak of golden
yellow toward them.

"It's going to be hot now," declared Owen, and his prediction proved
true. As the sun mounted higher the thermometer rose steadily, until
the young lumbermen were glad enough to keep in the shade.

The _Elizabeth_ was doing her best to catch what air there was, but
this was for the most part a failure, and ever and anon the sails would
flop idly, showing there was nothing to fill them. Not a sound was
stirring, and the young lumbermen thought of the big and silent forest
in which they had worked so often. This silence was equally oppressive.

Noon came and went, and still the calm continued. Then a dark streak
appeared to the northwestward, followed by sudden and uncertain puffs
of air.

"We are going to catch a breeze now," said Captain Dacker grimly. "I
only hope we don't get too much of it."

Soon the sails were drawing once more, and away they sped, the wind
sending up the whitecaps all around them. The bow of the _Elizabeth_
was covered with flying spray, so that the young lumbermen had to shift
from this point of observation. The captain looked at his barometer and
saw that it was falling rapidly.

"We are up against it now," said one of the deck hands to Dale. "If I
aint mistaken we'll be lucky if we don't lose some of the cargo."

"Do you mean that we are going to have a storm?"

"That's what--and a heavy one, too."

The sky was growing dark rapidly, and when the sun went under the
clouds the lake turned a deep green, ominous to look upon. Sails
were trimmed with speed, and the chains holding the deck cargo were
carefully inspected. Then came a sudden blow that sent the wind
whirling through all parts of the schooner.

"Better go below, you two!" shouted the captain. "'Taint safe up here
for landsmen. You might be washed overboard."

"I'll risk it," answered Owen.

"And so will I," added Dale, and both held fast to the rail of the
companionway.

Not long after this the captain ordered everything but the mainsail
taken in. The big sheet was reefed, just enough canvas being left up to
give the schooner headway. The wind was now whistling a perfect gale.

"This is worse than that storm in the forest!" cried Dale, as the spray
flew all over the deck.

"It's a wonder it doesn't turn the schooner upside down," came from
Owen. And then he added: "Guess we had better go below after all, and
secure our things, or everything will be smashed."

Going below was no easy task, and they slid rather than walked down the
companionway, and across the cabin. As expected, everything in their
stateroom was on the floor, and knocking around at a lively rate.

By the time matters were straightened out, and things secured, the
storm was at its height, and the _Elizabeth_ pitched and tossed as if
on the point of going to the bottom at any moment. It was so dark below
that neither Dale nor Owen could see, and lighting a lamp was entirely
out of the question, and was, as a matter of fact, forbidden by Captain
Dacker on account of danger from fire. Feeling their way out into
the cabin, they essayed to mount once more to the deck, when with a
crash the companionway door burst open and a flood of water rushed in,
upsetting them in a twinkling.

As the pair rolled over toward the stationary table, more water came
down, and it was several seconds before Owen could get on his feet.
Then, holding to the table with one hand, he assisted Dale to arise
with the other.

"My! but this is the worst yet!" began Owen, when a crash on the deck
interrupted him. Another crash followed, and they heard one of the
deck hands cry out in pain. Then came a third crash, and a bump, and a
second later half a dozen boards came sliding down the companionway.

"Look out!" yelled Owen, and they leaped to one side. But the boards
did not reach them, and remained jammed in the doorway.

"Clear away the wreck there!" bawled Captain Dacker. "Be lively, men.
Secure the rest of that lumber if you can, and if you can't shove it
over. Jackson, help Neinstein to the fo'cas'l. Onnett, throw that wheel
over again, and be quick about it!"

If more orders were added they were lost in the roaring of the wind
and the dashing of the waves as they again swept the deck of the
_Elizabeth_. Part of the lumber on the deck had been washed away,
and poor Neinstein had had his ankle twisted in trying to secure the
balance. Boards and beams were slipping and sliding in all directions,
crashing into railings and cabin and forecastle. One beam went through
the cook's galley, wrecking the stove, in which, fortunately, there was
no fire.

For fully an hour the storm lasted, then cleared away as rapidly as it
had come. There was very little thunder and lightning. As the wind went
down the atmosphere became colder, until more than one wet and tired
sailor began to shiver. But before any time was allowed for changing
clothing, Captain Dacker had the deck cargo redistributed and made
secure, and had what damage was done repaired.

"That was a blow and no mistake," said Dale, as he came on deck. "I
don't believe it could be worse on the Atlantic, although it might last
longer."

"They sometimes last a long while on these lakes," answered Captain
Dacker.

"Did you lose much lumber?"

"A couple of hundred dollars' worth, I reckon. We came close to losing
a lot more, but the chains held pretty good."

"I guess we're lucky that we didn't go to the bottom."

"Being filled up with lumber, the _Elizabeth_ couldn't sink very well.
But we might have become water-logged and been washed up somewhere
along the shore. We came out of it, all told, pretty well."

For the balance of the day the air remained cool. At midnight came a
strong but steady breeze, and once again the schooner plowed along on
her way to Detroit.

"I don't know that I would care to work on a lumber boat," said Owen,
on the day following, when the sun shone as warmly as ever. "It's too
monotonous."

"Not when there's a storm on," replied Dale, laughing.

"You know what I mean. Now, in the forest there is a constant change,
and the place is full of plant and animal life. Here, one wave is
exactly like the next."

"Not a bit of it," said a deck hand standing near. "Every wave is
different. But trees in a big woods are all alike."

"Which shows that everything is as you look at it," declared Dale. "The
lumberman was cut out for the woods, and the sailor for the sea, and
there you are."

Captain Dacker wished to make a brief stop at Port Huron, and did so.
Then the course was continued to the St. Clair River, and one day later
the schooner swept into Lake St. Clair. Two hours later they came in
sight of the factories of Detroit, with their many smoking chimneys,
and then, running past Belle Isle, they tied up at a large lumber dock;
and the trip on the lumber boat came to an end.

CHAPTER XXIII

OFF FOR OREGON

"Here we are back in Detroit, Owen, and just about as far as we were
when we first came."

"Excepting that we have had two disagreeable experiences," replied Owen.

"Two?"

"Yes; first my uncle, and then the storm--and I don't know but that the
experience at the camp was the worst," added Owen, a little regardless
of his grammar.

"Oh, well, let us forget that, Owen. I believe in looking ahead, not
behind."

"I shouldn't like to run into another man like Uncle Jack Hoover."

"Nor I. And I doubt if there are many such men around."

The young lumbermen had put up at a cheap but good hotel. Their ready
money was running low, but they did not feel like touching the amount
they had put in the bank.

"We must find something before the week is out," continued Owen, after
a pause. "Do you think it would do any good to write to Mr. Wilbur?"

"I've been thinking of him. Didn't somebody say he had an interest in a
Michigan lumber concern?"

"Mr. Paxton said he held shares in the Lakeside Consolidated Lumber
Company. A good many other folks own shares in that concern, too."

"We might hunt up that company. On the strength of Mr. Wilbur's name
they might give us a job."

"That's so! Why didn't we think of that before!" cried Owen. "Let us
call at the offices without delay."

It was an easy matter to locate the concern mentioned. The offices
were in a new stone building near the water front. There was something
of a corridor, with several places that were railed off. Near one of
the railings was a settee, and an office boy told them to be seated
until somebody had time to wait on them. A dozen clerks and officers
were present, and the air was filled with the hum of voices and the
click-clicking of typewriters.

"They must do some business here," whispered Dale. "I heard one man
speak of a consignment of a quarter of a million feet of lumber."

Not far from where they sat was a corner office. Here at a roller-top
desk was a middle-aged man, thin and pale of countenance. He was
talking to a visitor, a rough, bearded individual, evidently from the
Far West.

"I'll see Balasco about that deal," the visitor was saying. "And if he
agrees we'll be in good shape to go ahead."

"That's true, Hildan," was the hesitating reply. "But I--er--I question
the--er----"

"Oh, it's all right, Mr. Force. The deal is as straight as a string."

"It doesn't look so to me."

"But it is, take my word on it. That contract will come this way, and
when it does I, of course, will get my commission."

"Certainly, you'll get your commission."

"Then that settles it and I won't take any more of your time. If you
see Wilbur tell him----"

At that moment the bearded man glanced toward the doorway and stopped
short. Another person had come in, and, looking in the direction, Dale
and Owen saw that it was Jefferson Wilbur himself who had entered.

They were on the point of greeting their friend, when the bearded
man rushed forward and caught Mr. Wilbur by the hand and shook it
earnestly. He pretended to be greatly pleased at the meeting, but
the same could not be said of the one whom he met, who took his hand
coldly. Then followed an earnest talk for several minutes, and the
bearded man showed several documents he carried in his pocket.

"Well, I'll think it over, Mr. Hildan," said Mr. Wilbur at last, and
the two separated, and Hildan left the offices quietly and swiftly.

"That fellow is a sharper, and I know it," whispered Owen to Dale. "And
I guess Mr. Wilbur knows it, too, for he didn't seem to care to have
much to do with him."

Jefferson Wilbur now saw the two young lumbermen, and came toward them.

"Were you looking for me?" he asked, as he shook hands.

"Hardly that, but we are glad to see you," answered Owen, and then told
how they chanced to be there.

"That job didn't pan out, eh?" said the lumber merchant. "I am sorry
to hear it--for your sakes. But I think I can locate you at something
better."

"At one of the camps of this company?"

"Hardly here, for, you see, I have just sold out my shares in this
concern. I am here to wind the matter up. In the future my business
interests will be centered in New York City and in Oregon. As you
perhaps know, we are organizing the Wilbur-Balasco Lumber Company of
Oregon, with camps at different places. Mr. Ulmer Balasco is in charge
out there, while I am looking up our interests in the East."

"Do you want hands in Oregon?" asked Dale, with deep interest.

"I think we do--unless Balasco has already secured them. But if you
want to try your luck out there, say the word, and I will get you
railroad tickets, and I'll give you a letter to Balasco, telling him to
find an opening for you if he possibly can. You see, according to our
contract, he is to run the camps to suit himself, and hire all his own
help, but I fancy my letter to him will secure to you what you want."

"You are certainly kind," came from Owen.

"Not at all. I owe you both something for what you did for me and my
family, and I want to do what I can for you. Of course, if you don't
care to go to Oregon----"

"To tell the truth, I do care very much," burst in Dale. "And I have a
special reason for it, too," he went on. "I was going to mention it to
you when you were in Bangor, but you went away before we could call on
you a second time."

"Yes, I remember; I got a telegram about important business in New
York and here. But why do you wish particularly to go to Oregon?"

"I want to look up an old mining claim in which my father was once
interested. He bought the mine, but it didn't pay, and was abandoned.
I've been wondering if the ground couldn't be of some value."

"It might be, Bradford, although I wouldn't bank on it if I were you.
I know of a number of places where mines were opened, and the land is
rocky and barren to the last degree, not even fit for grazing purposes."

"Oh, I'm not over-hopeful," said Dale. "But still I should like to know
the exact truth."

"I can't blame you for that. Where is the land located?"

"I can't describe it to you off-hand. I have the papers in my trunk.
I'll let you see them if you wish."

"I'll take a look at them when I have time. You see, I came to Detroit
on the run. I am due in Chicago inside of twenty-four hours from now."

"Supposing I sent you the papers, or a copy of them, by mail?"

"That is a good plan. I'll give you my permanent address. But now about
going to Oregon. Will both of you accept my offer?"

"I will, with thanks," came from Owen. "And some day I'll pay you back
for the railroad ticket, Mr. Wilbur."

"And so will I," added Dale.

"No, no; you have already done enough," cried the lumber merchant. "Can
you wait about an hour? Then I'll go down to the ticket office with
you."

"Certainly, we can wait," answered Dale.

They sat down again, and Jefferson Wilbur disappeared. The time passed
slowly, but at last he came to them again, and all hurried out on the
street. A car was passing and they stepped aboard this and soon reached
the railroad ticket office Jefferson Wilbur had in mind.

A number of schedules were looked over, and presently the two young
lumbermen decided on what route they would take, and Mr. Wilbur
purchased the necessary tickets. Then, despite their protestations,
he insisted on their accepting fifty dollars apiece for incidental
expenses.

"You may need the money," he said. "For on such a journey there is no
telling what will happen. When you get settled be sure and write to me."

"We'll certainly do that, and we thank you very much," said Dale, and
Owen said the same. A few other words followed, and then the lumber
merchant leaped on a train bound for Chicago, and waved them good-by.

"My, but he's a hustler!" said Owen. "We never meet him but that he is
on the jump."

"He's a type of the successful business man of to-day," answered Dale.
"Well, I shouldn't mind hustling myself if I saw such big money ahead
as he makes."

Their train was not to leave for two hours, so they had ample time
in which to make a few necessary purchases and get their trunks and
valises to the depot. Each was tremendously excited over the prospect
ahead, but tried to put on a calm appearance. It was certainly
something to travel across the continent, through many States which
they had never before visited.

"How some of the fellows at Oldtown and Bangor would stare if we told
them we were bound for Oregon," said Dale.

"You're right. To come to Michigan was quite a trip, but this other
will be more than twice as long."

It had been decided that they were to take a regular train to Chicago,
and at that point change to one of the overland expresses, that stopped
only at Omaha, Denver, and a few other points.

The train was fairly well filled, but they managed to get a seat
together, and gazed out of the window with interest as they rushed
westward, over the fertile fields of lower Michigan and upper Indiana.
There was not much of novelty in the outlook, outside of the long,
level stretches, to which their New England eyes were, as yet,
unaccustomed.

"No wonder they can farm by machinery out here," said Owen. "They'd
have a tough time of it using such a big reaper as that among the rocky
hills where I was brought up."

The run to Chicago did not take long. Here a quick change, lasting less
than ten minutes, was made, and soon the express was roaring along,
past mile after mile of buildings, away from the outskirts of the
metropolis of the Lakes, and straight for the broad prairies beyond.
The two young young lumbermen leaned back in their seats and gazed at
each other in silent satisfaction.

There was no turning back now. The long journey to Oregon was begun.

CHAPTER XXIV

SOMETHING ABOUT THE NORTHWEST LUMBER INDUSTRY

Anxious to do all he possibly could for them, Jefferson Wilbur had
provided Dale and Owen with seats in the observation car of the train,
so the young lumbermen had an excellent opportunity to gaze at the
scenery along the route as the overland express roared and shrieked its
way around rocky bends, over long bridges, and past immense stretches
of farming lands. The view was an ever-changing one, and they were
surprised when a porter came in and announced that lunch was ready in
the dining car.

"It's just as elegant as anything in the East," was Dale's comment,
while they were eating. "The Down-Easter who doesn't think so had
better come out and see."

They had just finished lunch, when they saw that the train was
approaching a bridge over a very broad river, that sparkled brightly in
the sunlight.

"The Mississippi!" cried Owen, and he was right, and soon they were
rumbling slowly over the Father of American Rivers. Up and down the
river were numerous steam and sail boats, and freight and lumber
lighters, showing that commerce was as active here as elsewhere.

As yet neither of the young lumbermen had put in a night on a regular
sleeping car, and they watched with curiosity, that evening, as the
porter built up the various berths, arranged the bedding, and placed
the heavy curtains in position. As they were used to sleeping together,
they had the porter leave out the upper berth, and used the lower only.

"This is as good as a hotel," was Owen's comment.

"Anyway, it beats the bunk up at the Hoover camp," answered Dale, with
a happy laugh.

"Don't mention that bunk again, Dale. I can smell the mustiness yet."

But, though the bed was soft, sleeping, with the rumble of the train
in their ears, was not so easy, and Dale lay awake for a good hour,
listening to the toot-toot of the locomotive, the grinding of car
wheels, and the sharp clack-clack as they sped over some intersecting
tracks. He wondered what he would do if there was a wreck, and how he
could save himself if the car rolled completely over, or if it took
fire from the dimly burning lights in the aisle. And then tired Nature
at last claimed her own, and lying back to back with Owen, he dropped
off and slept as soundly as anybody.

When the young lumbermen arose and went to the lavatory to wash up,
they found nobody stirring but the porter and an old ranchman, who was
sitting in the smoking section, puffing steadily at his corncob pipe.

"Couldn't sleep nohow," said the ranchman, between his puffs. "Aint
used to it, an' it's wuss nor trying to sleep in the saddle on a
broncho. Next time I travel, I'm going to stop off for my rest."

The train had stopped at Omaha late the evening before and was now
approaching Denver. By the time the other passengers were up and
dressed they ran into the outskirts of the city, and here another
dining car was hooked on to the train, the other having been left
behind the evening before. The train stopped for twenty minutes at
Denver, and the young lumbermen got off and stretched their legs by a
walk along the station platform.

"I'm sorry we can't stop and look this city over," remarked Owen. "Jack
Giles, the lumberman, was out here once, and he liked it very much.
Said the air was the finest he had ever breathed."

"The air certainly is pure," said Dale, taking in a deep breath.

Soon they were on the train again and rushing forward. The prairie
levels became less frequent and the train had often to climb the steep
grade of a mountain. The scenery became wilder and wilder, and the
young lumbermen could scarcely take their eyes from it. They were
offered books and newspapers to read, but declined both.

"We can read any time," said Owen. "But a fellow sees this seldom, if
ever. I'm going to take it in for all it's worth," and he did, hardly
taking time to eat his meals.

At Denver they were joined by an elderly man who told them, during
the course of a conversation, that he was in the employ of the United
States Government, being attached to the Bureau of Forestry. He became
much interested in the young lumbermen when he found that they were
from Maine, and asked numerous questions concerning the trees and
timber in that State.

"You are right," he said, in reply to a statement made by Dale. "The
lumber industry of our country is rapidly centering around Washington,
Oregon, and northern California. The output of Maine, Michigan, and
other timber sections will, of course, be considerable for years to
come, but that output is as nothing compared to what we can produce in
the Far West. According to the reports of our department, Washington,
Oregon, and California contain about one-third of all the timber
still standing in our country. Oregon, alone, to which you are bound,
contains more timber than all the New England States and New York, New
Jersey, and Pennsylvania combined."

"Have you ever estimated the total quantity of uncut timber--I mean,
with any exactness?" asked Owen. "Of course you had to do it in the
rough, to make comparisons."

"We have got fairly close to it, and the figures would astonish you.
For Washington, Oregon, and California, we calculate the uncut trees
will yield six hundred billion feet of lumber."

"Well! well!" cried Dale. "But it will take some cutting to get that
down."

"You are right, yet you will be surprised to see the inroads that have
been made at different points. Lumbering there, you must remember,
is advancing on a large scale, and a stick that would be thought of
fair size in Maine, is discarded in Oregon as too small. I know one
lumberman who won't cut a tree on his section that isn't at least
twenty inches in diameter."

"They'd better save some trees," said Owen. "If they don't, they'll
suffer one of these days, just as Maine is beginning to suffer."

"The government has already taken hold of the matter, and, in the
three States I have named, Uncle Sam has set aside over thirty-two
thousand square miles of forest lands which nobody can touch. These
parks, as they are called, are filled with pines, fir, hemlock,
redwood, and other trees."

"Are there many small lumbermen out there?" asked Dale.

"There used to be, years ago. A man would come out here, take up a
homestead claim, and perhaps buy up some additional claims near by, and
then start in to cut trees on his own account, getting them to market
as best he could, and taking whatever the wholesale lumber companies
cared to pay him. But all that is changed now. Business is done on a
big scale, and the companies have millions of dollars invested. One
company alone gets out half a million feet of logs every day."

"Such an amount would be worth a small fortune in Maine!" put in Owen.
"What a plant that must be!"

"It certainly is a fine plant, and has many miles of railroad tracks,
half a dozen locomotives, and ten times as many flat cars and trucks,
four movable sawmills, six or eight movable donkey engines, a six-foot
flume a mile long, from the top of one hill to the side of another, and
a large quantity of machinery of all kinds."

"And how many men are employed at such a place as that?"

"I don't know exactly, but I should say close on to four hundred. They
employ one man who does nothing but purchase provisions for the crowd,
and have eight or ten cooks and also a first-class doctor."

"If they have a railroad, I don't suppose they have much use for
horses," said Owen.

"The railroad runs through only a small part of the property, and to
get the logs to the road they use both the donkey engines and horses.
They build a skid road first, the same as you do in Maine, and then
hook the logs fast to each other, making a train of them. Sometimes
they use as high as twenty horses to move the log train. When they use
a donkey engine, they chain the engine fast to some trees, and then
hook the logs fast to a wire rope, that winds up on a big drum, moved
by the engine. When the logs get to the drum, the donkey engine and
drum are moved ahead, and then the logs are drawn up as before, and
this is kept up until the logs are drawn to the spot where they are
wanted."

"I suppose it is nothing but lumber in some towns," said Dale, after a
pause.

"The majority of the cities in the Northwest owe their prosperity to
the timber industry. In fact, some cities could not exist at all, were
it not for this traffic. Saw- and shingle-mills abound, and the output
of some of the shingle-making machines is truly astonishing. When I was
out here last fall, I inspected a shingle machine that turned out five
thousand first-class shingles an hour. One town in Washington turns
out nothing but shingles, and sends them by trainload and shipload
everywhere."

"I suppose we'll find a big difference in the work there from what it
was in the East," said Dale.

"Not so very much different outside of the fact that everything is done
on a large scale, as I said. The lumbermen of the United States are
about the same everywhere. To be sure you'll find plenty of foreigners
out in Oregon, especially Scandinavians, and also a fair portion of
French-Canadians. But the men are a whole-souled lot, and if you do
what is right by them, they will stick by you, no matter what happens.
Ten years ago I was a total stranger in the Northwest; now I have a
host of friends out there--real friends, who will help me down to their
last dollar, if I actually need it," concluded the man who had given
out so much valuable information.

CHAPTER XXV

AN INTERVIEW WITH ULMER BALASCO

"Here we are on the Columbia at last!" cried Dale, in the morning, a
couple of days later. The train had come up from Pendleton and struck
the river at Umatilla. Again they saw a broad sheet of water, but this
time hemmed in by a gorgeous cañon, overgrown with heavy brushwood and
trees of large size. The railroad runs along the south bank of the
river, through the cañon, and passes over Willow Creek, John Day and
Deschuttes rivers, and numerous other streams.

Portland is the great lumber center of Oregon, and the distance to this
city from Umatilla is about a hundred and seventy-five miles, as the
river runs. But the young lumbermen were not going to Portland. Instead
they were to stop off at a small station called Tunley, at a point
where the Columbia made a slight turn to the northward. Here there was
something of a cove, and beyond this a creek running up to the property
owned by the Wilbur-Balasco Company, who also had a large "yard" at
this point on the big waterway.

The ride along the riverside to Tunley was a picturesque one, and the
young lumbermen were astonished when the brakeman called out the name
of the station for which they were bound.

"Here we are, Dale!" cried Owen, as he reached for his valise. "We'd
better step lively, for they don't stop over an hour at such a
settlement as this."

They were soon on the depot platform, and their trunks were handed
out after them. Their arrival was unexpected, and the station master
and the half dozen rough-looking men standing around gazed at them
speculatively. Then the express went on its way, leaving them to do for
themselves in this strange spot, three thousand miles from their home
in Maine.

Tunley consisted of a depot, a general store, a combination hotel and
barroom, and half a dozen cabins, the homes of the men who looked after
the lumber in the yard and along the creek. It was a flat, hot place,
with the cañon wall to the east and the west, the broad river in front,
and the split of the creek in the rear. The creek was a winding one,
and on either side grew clumps of small firs. There had been big firs
there years before, but these had all been cut down for timber long ago.

"This is the station for the Wilbur-Balasco Company's camp, isn't it?"
said Owen to the station master, by way of an opening.

"It is," was the answer, and the railroad man looked them over with a
keen eye. "Bound for that place, I reckon?"

"We are. How far is it?"

"The lower yard is about four miles up yonder creek. The other yards
are two and three miles further. The railroad runs down to the upper
bend of the creek, two miles from town. If you hoof it that far, I
reckon you can get a ride on the engine the rest of the way. But
perhaps you want hosses. If so, you can hire a couple over to Shanley's
barroom."

"I'd just as lief walk, if it's only two miles," said Dale. "I'd like
the ride on the engine."

The station master laughed. "Don't think it's such a road as you've
just left," he said. "On the curves it's enough to knock out your
teeth. But, even so, it's better than walking."

"We'll leave the trunks on check for the present," said Owen. "And our
valises, too."

"All right, throw the bags in the room yonder--nobody around here will
touch 'em--and I'll put the trunks in alongside. If you'd come in half
an hour sooner you could have ridden up with Jake Powell in the big
wagon. He was down here for flour that came in on the morning freight."

"Do you know if Mr. Balasco is up at the camp?" asked Dale, seeing that
the station master was inclined to be talkative.

"Yes, he went up yesterday. He was down to Portland three or four
days." The railroad man looked at them again. "You look as if you might
be a couple of lumbermen."

"That is what we are, and we're here to look for a job," answered Owen.
"We come from Maine."

"Great hossflies! Maine! You didn't travel none to get here, I reckon."

"We didn't come right through--we stopped off for a spell in Michigan."

"Would you like to meet some of the boys around here? If so, I'll call
'em up, and introduce you over to Shanley's, too."

Owen felt that it would be quite the proper thing, according to the
idea of many, to invite all hands to "have something" at his expense.
But, as we know, he did not drink, nor did Dale, and both were resolved
to give the barroom a wide berth.

"Thanks," he said. "But I guess we had better go right up to the camp
and see Mr. Balasco. The train was late, you know."

"All right, just as you say. But the boys----" The station master said
no more. "They're tender-foots and young--let them have their way,"
was his thought.

The roadway along the creek-side was rough and full of stones, with
here and there a hollow, deep with mud. The undergrowth was rank, and
stumps of immense trees stuck up everywhere. Nothing had been cleared,
according to the notions of these young Down-Easters, and everything
was in sad need of "sprucing-up," as Dale expressed it. In some spots
trees of fair size had been cut down and left to decay, instead of
being sawed up into boards or shingles.

"This shows how wasteful man gets when he has all he wants," said
Owen. "You wouldn't find so much timber going to waste anywhere in New
England--stuff is too hard to get."

The murmur of the creek was very pleasant, and in one spot they came
to a rocky spring, from which a stream of water as large as one's
hand poured forth. The water was both clear and cold, and each of the
travelers satisfied his thirst eagerly.

"This is better than visiting that hot and dirty-looking barroom at the
hotel," was Dale's comment. "How men can hang around such places day
and night is more than I can understand."

"They want company as much as anything, Dale. They get lonely in the
woods and come here for companionship. I don't really believe that one
in ten wants the liquor he pours down."

"Perhaps he doesn't when he starts, but he soon looks for it--make no
mistake on that point--and then he finds it is too late to break away
and give up the habit."

Presently the pair heard the distant toot of a locomotive and the
rattle of a lumber train as it passed over a trestle. Clearing a clump
of timber, they came out into an opening, and saw at the upper end a
lumber yard, with the railroad tracks running into it in fan shape. At
the yard was a tiny turn-table for the engines, and half a dozen sheds
for various purposes. A train had just come in, carrying twenty-odd
tree trunks, each of good length, and from five to eight feet in
diameter.

"There is timber for you!" cried Dale. "I'll tell you what, there are a
heap of boards in one of those sticks."

"Not to say anything about shingles," put in Owen.

An empty train of cars was on the point of leaving the yard, and the
young lumbermen rushed up to the locomotive and hailed the engineer.

"We want to see Mr. Balasco," said Owen. "Can we ride up to the camp
with you?"

"Certainly; jump up on that flat car, and hold on tight," was the
answer, and they leaped to the car mentioned. Soon the train had
started, and they were jouncing along on the road, up grade and down,
and around many a sharp turn, where the car wheels creaked and groaned
as if in pain. As the station master had said, it was enough to knock
out their teeth, and they could do but little talking en route. The
locomotive was an odd-looking affair, quite different from any they had
yet seen, and so were many of the trucks--used instead of flat cars for
long sticks.

The ride soon came to an end, and they found themselves almost at the
door of a long, low building, bearing the sign, Wilbur-Balasco Lumber
Company--Offices.

"Here we are," said Owen. "Come on," and he entered the building
boldly, with Dale at his heels. A clerk was present, figuring at a set
of books, and a tall, heavy-set man, with a dark face and sharp black
eyes, sat by a window, reading a lumbermen's journal.

As the young lumbermen came in, neither the clerk at the books nor the
man who was reading looked up. Both waited just inside of the door a
full minute.

"The price on that timber went up, just as I said it would," exclaimed
the man who was reading, presently. He glanced toward the clerk, and
in so doing caught sight of Owen and Dale. "Hullo! What can I do for
you?" he went on.

"We are looking for Mr. Ulmer Balasco," said Owen.

"That's my handle, young man."

"We are out of employment and thought you might have an opening for
us," continued Owen, as he came closer, for Mr. Balasco did not offer
to rise from his chair.

"Hum! I don't know about that." Ulmer Balasco turned to his
book-keeper. "Nixon, are any of the gangs short of hands?"

"Not according to Monday morning's report," was the short reply of the
clerk.

"Then I don't see----" Ulmer Balasco appeared to muse for a moment.
"What can you do? Had any experience? Where did you come from?"

"We've worked around lumber camps and sawmills for several years," said
Owen.

"And we've come all the way from Maine to try our luck here," put in
Dale. "We carry a letter of recommendation from your partner, Mr.
Jefferson Wilbur."

At the mention of Jefferson Wilbur's name, Ulmer Balasco suddenly arose.

"Did he send you out here?" he asked abruptly.

"Not exactly, sir," said Owen. "We tried our luck in Michigan before
we came here. But Mr. Wilbur helped us with our tickets to Oregon,
and gave us a recommendation to you. Perhaps you had better read the
letter."

"I will."

Ulmer Balasco read the communication with close attention, rubbing his
chin reflectively as he did so. Then he cleared his throat several
times.

"I see Mr. Wilbur recommends you very strongly," he began. "He says
both of you did him a great service. May I ask what that was?"

In a few simple words, Dale told of the forest fire, and of how Owen
and himself had rescued the Wilbur children.

"Oh, yes, I heard of that!" cried Ulmer Balasco, and for some reason he
appeared more at ease. "No wonder Mr. Wilbur recommends you. I'll have
to see what I can do. You say you know the business?"

"We do--according to the way they work in Maine," answered Owen. "Here
are our other recommendations," and he brought them forth.

"Those are all good enough, and I reckon you'll fill the bill--if there
is any to fill. You can put up here at the camp for the present, and
I'll do what I can for you in the morning."

CHAPTER XXVI

IN AN OREGON FOREST

"What do you think of Mr. Balasco?" asked Dale of Owen, after they had
left the office of the lumber company.

"To tell the truth, I don't think I am going to like him," was Owen's
slow answer. "There is a certain something about him that grates on a
fellow, but what it is I can't explain."

"I think he has a very good opinion of himself," came bluntly from
Dale. "No doubt he thinks he is the whole show, as the saying goes."

"He is certainly a different man from Mr. Wilbur. How the two came to
be partners is a mystery to me."

"Perhaps they got together before they met--I mean, got into the
company together."

"That may be so. And, besides, Mr. Balasco may put on a different front
when he meets Mr. Wilbur."

The two had been told to make themselves at home around the camp, and
had been introduced to one of the foremen, Pelham by name, and to
several others. Pelham told them where they could sleep that night,
and also told the cook at one of the dining halls he should provide
them with meals.

Both of the young lumbermen were anxious to see how work was done in
this district that was so new and novel to them, and they eagerly
accepted the invitation of one of the trainmen to go to an upper yard.

"All told, this timber claim is divided into ten camps or yards," said
the train hand. "We were working all ten camps about six weeks ago, but
Mr. Balasco thought lumber was coming in too fast at the creek, so he
cut down the gangs to eight."

"How many men in a gang?" questioned Owen.

"From thirty to thirty-two."

"As many as that?" queried Dale. "How do you divide them up?"

"In the first place, there is the boss, or foreman, who, of course,
tells what trees to cut and how they shall be dropped."

"Yes, we know that."

"Then there are two fellers--choppers, I reckon you call 'em--and two
sawyers. Next come two barkers, two swampers, a skid maker, about ten
laborers, two or three hook tenders, a rope tender, an engineer for the
donkey engine, and a bucker. Last of all comes the cook and the cook's
helper, and the boy who greases the skids, and also a runner, who
carries messages from one telephone office to another."

"And you have eight gangs like that?" came from Owen. "That means two
hundred and forty hands."

"Including the men at the creek, on the railroad, and on the river
below, we have two hundred and seventy-five hands. We had over three
hundred, but, as I said before, Mr. Balasco cut down the number."

The train of trucks and flat cars soon hauled up at a yard, and the
two young lumbermen jumped to the ground and made their way into the
neighboring forest, from which came the steady ring of the fellers'
axes and the hum of the sawyers' long-bladed saws. The forest was one
of fir, with trees running up to six and seven feet in diameter, and
covered with rough bark half a foot thick.

"Here is where cutting down a tree is real work," remarked Owen, as
they neared the spot.

Not far away two fellers had just reached a tree that was to be brought
down, and they watched the workmen with keen interest, for the tree
was a magnificent specimen of Douglass fir, as large as any in the
neighborhood. It stood with a circle of smaller trees around it.

"They are going to have trouble bringing that down without hurting one
of the little trees," said Owen.

"Perhaps not, Owen. Let us watch and see how they do it."

At the start, the two fellers cut notches into the lower part of the
trunk about a foot from the gnarled roots, which sprawled in all
directions. Into these notches they inserted bits of board and wedged
them in tightly. When thus wedged, each board formed a tiny platform
upon which a feller could stand and work with ease.

The next attack on the tree was the cutting of a long, deep notch,
called a kerf, about three feet above the standing places of the
fellers. This kerf extended nearly halfway around the tree, and the
center was next cut in deeply, to correspond with the two outer ends.

The kerf finished to the satisfaction of the head feller, both now set
to work with a long saw on the opposite side of the tree, and cut in
almost as deeply as the kerf cut. Then the saw was brought around to
the kerf, and this was deepened until the cuts on both sides of the
tree almost met.

"This is getting interesting," said Owen. "That tree will be down in a
minute more."

The head feller had measured and cut the kerf with accuracy, directly
opposite to a small opening between the small trees that surrounded
the monarch to be laid low. Now he called for several steel wedges,
and these were driven into the kerf with sledge hammers. The tree was
now beginning to totter, and word was sent out to "clear the brush and
stand from under!"

"Easy now, Jerry!" cried the head feller. "Easy!" He gave another heavy
blow on his side. "Now another, Jerry! One more.... Wait." He struck
out himself, twice. "Now, one more, both together!" The sledges came
down, and the tree groaned and shivered. Another blow, and both fellers
leaped from the platforms and darted out of harm's way. Then over went
the tree, slowly at first, and then with increased speed, straight
between the smaller trees, to strike the ground with a boom that could
be heard a long way off.

"Hurrah! it's down!" cried Dale enthusiastically. "And it came just
where he wanted it, too."

[Illustration: "Hurrah! it's down," cried Dale.]

The head feller wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his
brawny and hairy forearm, and smiled at the youth. "Putty big crash,
wasn't it?" he said, and smiled to show he appreciated Dale's
compliment.

"I wouldn't mind bringing down such a giant myself," went on Dale.
"I never tackled anything larger than twenty-two inches."

"Oh! are you a feller?"

"I have been almost everything around a camp and a sawmill. But not
here. I come from Maine!"

"Maine! Put her there, young man!" The feller shook hands cordially.
"I'm from Maine myself--came from Portland, eight years ago."

"I am glad to meet you," said Dale, and introduced himself and Owen.
The feller's name was Andy Westmore, and he proved to be a whole-souled
individual. He asked about the news from Down East, and ended by saying
he hoped Dale and Owen would get work at the camp and close to himself.

"About two-thirds of the men here are Scandinavians, and one-half of
the rest are French-Canadians," he said. "So we haven't got any more
true-blue Americans than we ought to have."

"I'd like to work with you," said Owen open-heartedly. "I don't care
much for the foreigners--although they may be good enough fellows."

"They are--and honest to the core. But they can talk very little
English, and that makes it bad."

Not to keep Andy Westmore from his work, they moved on to another
portion of the big camp. Here they watched the sawyers at work,
cutting several trees into proper lengths for transportation, and also
saw the barkers scaling off the thick bark, which was rougher than any
they had before seen. Further on still the swampers and laborers were
clearing a place for a roadway, and the skid maker was arranging his
logs. It may be mentioned here that a skid-way, or skid road, is merely
one made of logs laid side by side, with the upper side partly smoothed
down. The logs used for this purpose are usually limbs of trees that
are too small to be cut up into timber.

At the lower end of the yard was the donkey engine, fastened to several
trees by heavy wire ropes or cables. Here was the big drum already
mentioned, on which was wound the long wire rope used for hauling the
timbers forward. When in action the donkey engine made a vast amount
of noise. The fire was fed entirely on wood, and the pitch in the pine
caused a heavy cloud of smoke to pour from the stack, a cloud that on a
clear day could be seen for many miles around.

The regular engineer was absent for the day, and in his place was a
young fellow not any older than Dale, if as old--a youth with a broad,
fair face, and thick, curly black hair.

"You've got a warm job right enough," said Dale, after watching the
youthful engineer for a few minutes.

"Oh, I don't mind that," was the cheery answer. "I'm used to it, and
I've worked in places a good deal hotter."

"You mean in an engine room?" said Owen.

"No, in a foundry. This heat here isn't a patch to the heat in a
foundry when they are pouring off metal."

"I was never in a foundry," said Dale.

"I was brought up around 'em." The young engineer looked at the young
lumbermen curiously. "Just paying the camp a visit?"

"No, we are looking for work. Mr. Balasco said he'd see what he could
do for us to-morrow."

"I hope he takes you on. Most of the hands here are foreigners, and
there are only one or two young fellows like myself."

A talk lasting the best part of half an hour followed, and Dale and
Owen gained considerable knowledge about the lumber company, and the
way the various yards were managed. They introduced themselves and told
where they were from, and in return learned that the young engineer
was named Bruce Howard, and that he had left his home in San Francisco
nearly six months before.

"I came up to Portland on a lumber boat," he said. "I had only about
six dollars in my pocket, and thought I had best save what I could. In
Portland I got a job working in the engine room of a sawmill, and that
is where I picked up enough experience to run this donkey. Then I met
one of the fellers, Andy Westmore, and came here with him, and I've
been here ever since."

"Do you like it?" questioned Owen. There was something about Bruce
Howard that pleased him.

"Oh, it isn't so bad, but I'd like something better if I could get it.
I like to work in iron and steel better than running an engine. Some
day I'm going to work my way over to Pennsylvania and get in one of the
big steel plants there," continued Bruce Howard.

"Then I take it you are alone in the world, like ourselves," came from
Dale.

At this remark a shadow showed itself for a moment on Bruce's face.

"No, I'm not alone," he said. "I've got a father and a mother and a
little sister. But, you see, father and I couldn't agree. I had a row
in the foundry with the boss, and father wanted me to take back what
I said, and I wouldn't do it. That brought on a big quarrel, and I
said I'd clear out before I'd go on my knees to any boss, especially
as I knew I was in the right. So then father said he wouldn't have me
around if I wouldn't mind him, and we had some more words, and that
night I packed my grip and came away--and I've been away ever since."

"Don't they know where you are?"

"Oh, yes! I've written half a dozen letters to my mother, and she has
written to me. She wants me to come back, but father says he won't have
me, and I--well, I don't want to go if he feels that way about it,"
concluded Bruce.

CHAPTER XXVII

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LOG TRAIN

The following week found Dale and Owen fully settled at the camp of the
Wilbur-Balasco Lumber Company. Mr. Balasco had interviewed them for a
few minutes on the morning after their arrival, and had then placed
them under the directions of a foreman named Larson, a Swede, who could
speak fairly good English. They had gone back to the railroad station
for their trunks and valises, and were housed in a cabin at what was
called Yard 4, located at the head of the creek. The yards above No.
4 were without a waterway, and the timber had to be hauled down by
engines and by horses, although a flume was being built, from a hill
half a mile further on. When this was finished, a mountain stream was
to be turned into it, which would afford a waterway for all the timber
in that section, and also increase the flow in the creek running into
the Columbia.

Yard 4 was on a hillside, thickly overgrown with brush, and full of
loose stones, so the gang had to work at first with great care, for
rolling stones are conducive to twisted ankles and broken limbs. In
Larson's gang were sixteen foreigners, and the balance were Oregonians,
all muscular fellows, as tough as pine knots.

It must be confessed that both Dale and Owen found the work cut out for
them very hard. Larson was a driver, and never gave his men any rest if
he could help it.

"Mr. B'asco expect de work and we must do it," said the foreman.
"Nobody lak to see de work fall behind. Work up dare, den, an' show
what you can a-do." And the men did work up, although not without
growling.

At first Dale and Owen were placed among the barkers and sawyers, but
as soon as Larson heard that they had chopped down trees in Maine, he
let them try their skill on some of the smaller trees to be cut. They
went to work with all the skill they could command, doing exactly as
they had seen the other fellers do, and when the first tree came down
the foreman nodded approvingly.

"Dat's putty goot," he said. "Not so queek as I like, but maybe it goes
queeker by an' by, hey?"

"It will go quicker after we are used to it," answered Owen.

He was sorry that they had not been placed in the yard where Andy
Westmore and Bruce Howard were located. But there was no choice in
the matter, and he and Dale accepted what was offered to them without
hesitation.

"If we don't, Mr. Wilbur may think we're a couple of cranks," said
Dale. "As he was kind enough to pay our car-fare out here, we ought to
do all we can to please him."

"I shan't say a word--at least not this season," answered Owen.

One day was very much like another, until one afternoon Ulmer Balasco
paid a visit to the yard. He held a short, earnest talk with Larson,
and then ordered that about half of the timber cut should be taken up
to where the flume was rapidly approaching completion.

"But you said dat dat timber was needed on dare pig railroad contract,"
Owen heard Larson say.

"Never mind, Larson; do as I've ordered," answered Ulmer Balasco
sharply. "I'll take care of the contract. And there is no use of your
working the men to death. If you don't take care you'll have them
either quitting altogether, or striking for higher wages."

After that the work went on more slowly, and when a man of the gang
stopped to smoke out a pipeful of tobacco the foreman said little or
nothing. The lumber that had been ordered for the flume went up day
after day, and more followed, so that next to nothing was floated down
the creek, to help fill the railroad contract mentioned.

"I must say I can't understand what Mr. Balasco is driving at," said
Andy Westmore, when Dale and Owen came down to see him and Bruce
Howard, on the following Sunday. "Two months ago it was announced that
the company had taken a big contract from the P. C. & W. Railroad, and
that the work was to be shoved through without the slightest delay.
Everything went swimmingly until about two weeks ago. Then those two
yards were closed up, and now some of the lumber has been sent up to
the flume, instead of down to the Columbia. They'll never fill that
contract on time at this rate."

"Mr. Balasco ought to know what he's doing," said Owen. "Perhaps the
railroad is behind in payments."

"I have an idea he wants to get the flume done," put in Bruce Howard.
"As soon as that is finished he can send down all the lumber he
pleases, from Cat Hill."

"He can get all the lumber he wants right here," went on Andy Westmore.
"If he waits for the flume he'll be behind with his contract just as
sure as you are standing there."

A part of the Sunday afternoon was spent by Dale and Owen in penning
a long letter to Jefferson Wilbur, telling that gentleman of their
arrival at the camp, and mentioning what they were doing. Dale also got
out the mining papers that had belonged to his father, and made a copy
of the documents, and this copy was placed in the letter, which was
later on put in a sack along with many others for departure on the mail
train when it should stop at Tunley.

So far the young lumbermen had had but little to do with the majority
of the men around them, and nothing at all with those employed at the
yards beyond Number 4. They had paid one visit to the flume that was
building, and inspected with much interest the big trestle which was to
carry the timbered waterway from the side of one hill to the bottom of
the next.

As mentioned before, the railroad through the timber claim was a
winding one, reaching points a good distance from the creek, and from
Cat Hill, where the flume was located. The road was an old one, and
greatly in need of repair, but Ulmer Balasco would do nothing to it,
and had his men work on the flume instead.

Both Dale and Owen liked to ride on the trucks, and when an order came
for them to do some extra work at Yard 7, at the end of the railroad
line, both were delighted over the prospect.

"Now we'll have a chance to see part of the outfit that we haven't seen
before," said Owen, "and get a little breathing spell in the bargain."

A train was going down that afternoon at five, and Dale and Owen were
set at work with the rest of the gang, loading the trucks with eight
long sticks, five and six feet in diameter, that were wanted for some
special purpose by a mill down the river. The sticks, each seventy-five
feet long, were winched up on the trucks, and there fastened by big
chains, so that none of them might slip while rounding the sharp
curves. The fastening of three of these chains was left to Dale and
Owen, and they performed this duty exactly as they saw the others doing
the work.

"I can tell you what, there is some weight to those logs," remarked
Owen, when the stick train was ready to start. "If anything breaks
loose on the trip, something will get smashed."

"Are you young fellows going down?" asked one of the train hands.

"Yes," answered both.

"All right then, hop on. And to pay for the trip, suppose you take a
hand at one of the brakes?" And the man grinned.

"We can do that, too," said Dale promptly. "Where do you want us to go?"

"You can take this brake, and Webb can take the next. Old No. 1 aint
good for much any more, and we have to hold up for her all we can." He
referred to the locomotive, which had seen its best days, and should
have been on the scrap heap instead of trying to haul a load or hold it
back.

The line ran in the shape of the letter S, with a long, graceful curve
at the top, and a sharper curve at the bottom, where the roadbed ran
along the edge of a rocky gully. The grade was up hill and down, and
the track was a single one with six switches, used not alone for
turning out, but also for loading.

It had been showering, and although the sun was now shining once
more, the tracks were still wet and slippery. Here and there the tree
branches overhung in such a fashion that a person riding on the trucks
had often to duck to avoid getting struck by them.

"Don't let a limb hit you and knock you off," was Owen's final word
of caution, and then the whistle of the locomotive tooted, and with a
creak and a groan the log train started on its journey over the hills
and down to the yard below.

When the heavy train started, a thrill ran over Dale, and he grasped
the brake to steady himself. He was between the ends of two big logs
which were so high that he could scarcely look over them. Owen was to
the rear, and the train hand who had spoken to them was ahead, while
another hand was at the last truck. A thick volume of smoke came down
from the stack of the locomotive, and the young lumbermen had to guard
against cinders getting into their eyes as they sped along.

The first curve of the journey was made without much difficulty,
although trucks and chains creaked ominously as one big stick after
another switched around to the straight stretch beyond. Then came a
sharp down-grade, and the engineer whistled for brakes, and every man
jumped to do his bidding. An upgrade followed, and the brakes were
kicked off and on they went as before, over a low trestle and a switch
that bumped them so both Dale and Owen nearly lost their footing. Then
another down grade, and again the whistle for brakes.

Dale was hard at work when he heard a yell from Owen, and looking along
the big stick behind him, saw his chum standing up, waving his hand
frantically.

"The chain!" he heard, above the grinding of the wheels. "The chain has
broken! Look out!"

For a moment he did not comprehend, but then he realized the truth of
what had occurred. The chain on the truck behind had broken away from
the steel hook that held it, and now the heavy log was lurching forward
on the down grade, with all the weight on the front chain. It was
already close to the brake, and just as Dale leaped to the top of the
log in front it struck the rod and bent it over as if made of lead.

"If it only holds until we get around the curve!" thought Dale, and
wondered what he had best do. The train was going faster and faster,
and he could not notify the engineer of the trouble, for they would be
at the curve in thirty seconds more.

Cling! The front chain snapped, the loose end whipping over the log and
ringing sharply against the twisted brake. Then the big log lurched
forward and struck the log on which Dale rested with the impact of a
battering ram. There was a dull thud, and both logs swerved to the
right and the left as if about to leave the trucks entirely. Dale
clutched at his footing, tried to scramble up, and then pitched forward
into space. Owen, on the trucks in the rear, saw the logs swerve, and
saw the end of one hit some rocks beside the tracks. Then, to avoid a
crushing blow, he leaped from the swiftly moving train, struck some
thick brushwood on the down side of a hill, and disappeared like a
flash from view.

CHAPTER XXVIII

JEFFERSON WILBUR SEEKS INFORMATION

When Dale came to his senses he was lying flat on his back on some
brushwood, with several lumbermen standing around him. One had been
bathing his face, and another held a liquor flask in his hands.

"He's coming around," he heard, in Andy Westmore's voice. "I guess he
wasn't hurt so much as we supposed."

"He had a close call, right enough," put in another lumberman. "I
reckon you'd best give him a dose of the liquor, Andy."

"No, he doesn't use the stuff, Hank."

"Are any bones broken?" asked a third person of the group.

"Wouldn't be surprised if his left arm was broken," answered Andy
Westmore. "It was doubled under him when we picked him up."

Dale opened his eyes and gazed around stupidly. Then he tried to sit
up. A fearful pain in his left arm and shoulder caused him to sink back
once more.

"Well, lad, how do you feel?" asked Westmore kindly, as he knelt on the
brushwood.

"I--I don't know yet," gasped Dale. "My left arm--oh!"

"Guess it's broken, sure enough," said the older lumbermen. "Better let
it rest till the doctor comes."

"Where is Owen?"

"Done up like yourself. He went into the brushwood head first, and
that saved him some broken bones, and maybe a broken neck. But he got
scratched pretty roughly, and some of the boys are binding up his cuts."

"And the train--was that wrecked?"

"It was a putty good smash-up, but the locomotive and four cars are all
right. Only the rear end suffered. Jackson jumped as soon as he saw the
chain break, so he wasn't hurt."

"I'm glad of that," murmured Dale, and then he said no more. The pain
in his arm and his shoulder made him grit his teeth to keep from
shrieking aloud.

A broad slab was brought forward, and he was placed on this and carried
to one of the cabins. Owen had already been brought in, and sat in a
low chair, his forehead, and throat, and one hand bandaged.

"I feel as if I'd been through a threshing machine," declared Owen. "I
plowed through the brushwood so fast that the twigs cut like a knife. I
finished up in a ditch of water, and that likely saved me from a broken
head."

It was a good hour before the doctor arrived. He declared that Dale's
elbow and his shoulder were both dislocated, and called in the
assistance of Andy Westmore to help him in setting the joints as they
belonged. The operation made Dale wince, but he shut his teeth hard,
and although great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, he
uttered no word of protest.

"He's gritty," said Westmore. "Reg'lar Maine boy to the backbone." And
his friendliness toward the youth increased wonderfully.

Along the railroad track half a dozen trucks, and four of the big
sticks of timber, lay in a confused mass, along with several sections
of rails and ties. Mr. Balasco had been down to the Columbia at the
time the accident occurred, and now he telephoned that his head man
should take charge and straighten things up as soon as possible. But
the day was drawing to a close, and little could be done in the dark.

"How do you feel now, Dale?" asked Owen, after the doctor and the
majority of the men had departed.

"I feel a good deal better than I did before those joints were set,
Owen. How they hurt!"

"You were lucky not to have something broken, and I was lucky, too."

"How did that chain happen to break?"

"I don't know. It was rusty-looking. Perhaps one of the links was
rusted through."

"Do you suppose Mr. Balasco will hold us responsible for the accident?"

"I don't see how he can. We took the chains that were given us and
fastened them just as the others were fastened. If the links were weak,
that wasn't our fault."

"It was the jouncing, I think, broke the chain. That roadbed is in a
vile condition."

In a few days Owen was well enough to go to work. In the meantime the
doctor continued to call upon Dale, and told him that he might be able
to get around in a week or ten days, but that he must not attempt to do
real heavy work for at least a month.

When Owen reported to Larson, the foreman told him Mr. Balasco wanted
to see him at the office.

"I suppose I'm in for it," thought the young lumberman dismally.

He found the lumber merchant seated at the window, reading a lumber
journal as before. When Ulmer Balasco saw who his visitor was his face
darkened a trifle.

"So you've come to report at last, eh?" he said abruptly. "What have
you got to say for yourself, young man?"

"I didn't know you wanted to see me until an hour ago," answered Owen.
"Up to to-day I haven't felt able to go to work."

"I suppose not--by the looks of you. But, come, what have you to say
for yourself? Don't you know that that accident has cost this company a
neat penny?"

"I'm sorry for that, Mr. Balasco."

"I am told that you and Bradford fastened the chains that gave way."

"We did; and we fastened them exactly as all the other chains were
fastened."

"Quite likely," sneered the lumber merchant. "If they had been properly
fastened they would have held. We have never had an accident of that
sort here before."

"The chain was rather rusty. I haven't seen it since the accident. Did
the links give way, or was it the fastening alone?"

"Hum! I understand it was the fastening. The chain went under the
trucks and was pretty well broken up before the train stopped."

"I can't see how you can hold me responsible if the links of the chain
gave way."

Ulmer Balasco shifted his feet uneasily.

"I consider you responsible for this accident--you and your friend
Bradford. Under ordinary circumstances I would discharge both of you."
The merchant cleared his throat. "But, in consideration of the fact
that you were recommended to me by Mr. Wilbur, I will retain you in our
employ for the present. But in the future I want you to attend to your
work up at the yards, and leave the railroad end of the business alone."

Owen's face flushed, and he was on the point of making some sharp
answer, and throwing up the position then and there. But he thought of
Dale and of how his chum was not yet able to move.

"All right, sir," he said coldly. He waited a few seconds. "Is that all
you want?"

"Yes." And Ulmer Balasco resumed the reading of his trade journal.

"Oh, what a man!" thought the young lumberman, as he hurried away. "I'd
like to throw his job in his face, and I will as soon as Dale and I
can turn ourselves; and I'll let Mr. Wilbur know just what I think of
Balasco, too!"

When Owen got back that night he felt in duty bound to tell Dale of the
interview with their employer. Dale was as indignant as his chum, if
not more so.

"I would have told him to go to grass with his old job," said he. "Now
we are out here, I guess there are lots of other lumber camps just as
good as this."

"But you can't move yet, Dale; and besides, what will Mr. Wilbur think,
after all he has done for us? Of course we could write to him and tell
him just how matters stood. But still he might think----"

"I don't think he'd blame us, for he knows that we are willing to do
what is right."

"But Balasco is his partner."

"Yes, that's the worst part of it. A man in business has often to stick
up for his partner's doings, even if he doesn't wish to."

"We can leave later on."

"Yes, we can do that, and tell Mr. Wilbur that we have given Mr.
Balasco a fair trial, eh?"

The next day came letters for over a score of men in the camp. There
was one communication in a plain envelope for Owen, and it was marked
Personal.

"Hullo, who can be sending me such a letter as this?" cried the young
lumberman.

"Evidently it is meant just for you alone, Owen. It must be from your
best girl," added Dale jokingly.

"Well, if it is, I'd like to know who she is," answered Owen, and
opened the communication.

He was soon reading the letter with deep interest, and after he had
finished he read it a second time. Not to appear curious, Dale spent
the time in looking over an illustrated paper one of the hands had
loaned him. The letter finished, Owen looked around cautiously, thrust
the communication in his pocket, and leaned over Dale.

"It's from Mr. Wilbur, and very important. I'll tell you about it when
the others are gone."

It was half an hour later when the two young lumbermen found themselves
alone. Then Owen sat down close to Dale.

"Mr. Wilbur writes a very odd letter," he said. "It is meant for you
quite as much as for me, for he mentions both of us. He marked it
Personal so that no outsider might get it. I'll read it to you."

And then Owen read the following:

"I received the letter from yourself and from Dale Bradford, also
the copy of the documents, and have turned the latter over to my
lawyer for investigation. Tell Bradford the lawyer knows Oregon
ground very well, and will, no doubt, make a trustworthy report.

"Now I am going to ask you to do me a personal favor, and do it
without letting anybody but yourself and Bradford know. I want you
to watch, as far as you are able, the work done in the various yards
of our property, and let me know if, in your judgment, as much
lumber is shipped to the Columbia as the force of men can handle,
and also if the entire force is now getting out timber, or spending
time on the railroad or the flume. Also let me know, if you can, if
a party by the name of John Hildan, generally called Foxy Hildan,
has visited the property lately. He is a dark-faced man, with a
heavy beard. Do not mention Hildan to Mr. Balasco, or ask Mr.
Balasco about the shipments."

"That is certainly a queer letter," remarked Dale. "Evidently Mr.
Wilbur is inclined to think that everything isn't going right around
here."

"I've heard that name of Hildan before, but I can't place it, can you?"

"No. If he is called Foxy, he can't bear a very good reputation."

"Exactly what I think. About the lumber, certainly Mr. Balasco isn't
cutting as much as might be handled."

"Yes, and he is sending a good part of the cut up to the flume. We can
report on that without much trouble."

At this point some men came up; and the interesting conversation came
to an abrupt close.

CHAPTER XXIX

MATTERS OF IMPORTANCE

Fifteen miles below Tunley was located a large saw- and shingle-mill,
where something like two hundred thousand shingles were cut and bundled
every working day in the year. The mill also turned out wheel spokes,
ax and pick handles, and various other things in wood, everything being
done by machinery which was of the most complicated kind.

Owen had been longing to visit this mill, and when he got the chance
to go down to Rice's, as it was called, he was delighted. He went on
horseback, carrying a band saw that Ulmer Balasco wanted exchanged for
another.

Between Tunley and Rice's mill there was a series of rapids in the
river, and at this point the young lumberman saw a truly interesting
sight. Half a dozen fishermen were out among the rocks in their
rubber boots, each with a long spear in his hands. They were watching
for salmon, and whenever a fish darted along, one or another would
make a quick lunge with his spear. The majority of the lunges were
unsuccessful, but occasionally a strike would prove true, and the
fisherman would hold the struggling fish aloft and march to the shore
in triumph with his prize.

"That's a sport I wouldn't mind trying myself," thought Owen. "It beats
watching a float all hollow."

Rice's mill was a long, narrow building built on spiling, and fronting
the river. To one side was a pond and yard for extra lumber, and to the
rear was a dry kiln. At the front were large, double doors, and from
these there was a runway or slide, reaching down into the water. Up
this slide were hauled the logs to be cut up for various purposes.

The noise around a mill was familiar to Owen's ears, yet the volume
here was greater than he had ever heard before. There was the hum
of the saws, the hiss of the planes, and the constant clank-clank
so inseparably connected with all mills of this nature. Inside, the
sawdust and small shavings were everywhere in evidence, and beams and
rafters were coated with a white dust as fine as flour. Patent pipes
and suction fans carried the large shavings to the furnaces, and scoops
took the sawdust to a pit near by. It was a hot place, and the majority
of the workmen wore nothing but their shirts, trousers, and shoes.

"Like to look through, eh?" said the proprietor, after Owen's business
was concluded. "All right, go ahead. Or, wait a few minutes and I'll go
with you. We've just been setting up a new shingle machine, and she's a
dandy," he added enthusiastically.

Accordingly Owen waited around the office while Mr. Rice attended to
several orders which a clerk had brought up for his inspection. The
majority seemed to be satisfactory, but one order was peremptorily
turned down.

"Write to Foxy Hildan and tell him flatly that we can't fill that order
unless we get a guarantee for the payment," Owen heard Philip Rice say.
"I trusted that man once and got stuck, and I shan't do it again."

"He was here day before yesterday and said it would be all right,"
answered the clerk, in a low voice.

"Here? I didn't see him."

"It was after you went away. I wanted him to come back and see
you about it, but he was in a hurry to get up to Tunley and see
Balasco--said it was something important."

"Is he coming back this way?"

"No, he said he was going on further after his stop at Tunley."

"Did you say anything about a guarantee?"

"No, sir. I didn't know you wanted it."

"Well, write to him and tell him what I said. If he doesn't want to toe
the mark we can get along without him. He may be foxy, but he can't
play his little game on me. He stuck the Everett people about three
thousand dollars, so Panglass said, and he always tells the truth."

"Couldn't they get the money at all?" asked the clerk.

"Not a dollar. You see, Hildan pretended to act only as an agent, and
in some way they couldn't hold him for it. Oh, he's as slick as grease.
If he wants my shingles he has got to pay cash or give me a cast-iron
guarantee," concluded Philip Rice.

Owen could not help but hear this conversation, and it interested him
greatly. He had learned that Foxy Hildan had visited Ulmer Balasco two
days before, and further, according to Mr. Rice and to a man named
Panglass, Hildan was not to be trusted in any business transaction,
and had already swindled some Everett timber or shingle dealers out of
three thousand dollars.

"I'll have to send Mr. Wilbur a letter as soon as I get back," he
thought. "We can now give him about all the information he asked for,
and the sooner he gets it the better I suppose it will be for him."

"Now I'll show you through," said Philip Rice, and led the way from the
office to the first of the big machines. This was a large band saw, of
improved pattern, and Owen was immediately interested in seeing this
machine cut into a log several feet in diameter and saw it from end to
end with scarcely an effort.

"We'd have little use in Maine for such a saw as that," he said. "It's
the heavy wood-working machinery out here that counts."

From the band saw they passed to a planing machine, and then to several
used for turning out moldings, and to a dozen or more lathes. At
one machine spokes for wagon wheels were dropping forth at the rate
of several a minute, and at another he saw hammer handles made by
the score. Then he came to the shingle machines, and was shown that
which the proprietor of the place thought so good. It certainly was a
beautiful machine, and the way it turned out the shingles was a sight
to witness.

"The other machines are good enough," said Philip Rice. "But the
shingles from them are more or less rough, and contractors are apt to
kick when they use them. These shingles, as you see, are as smooth as
can be and will be worth a little more money in consequence."

After going through the mill, Owen visited the dry kiln. This was an
exceedingly hot place, and he was glad to leave it and go into the
immense yard to get the fresh air.

"Next year I am going to build an addition to the mill, and manufacture
sashes and blinds, doors, and all kinds of trimmings," said Philip Rice.

"Can you get the trade for those things?"

"Indeed, I can. Why, I am now shipping goods to Denver and Omaha, as
well as to points in the South, and last week a Chicago lumber dealer
was here for shingles. Besides, we ship by water to half a dozen
different countries. I could send stuff right to New York City if I
wished."

"Where do you get your lumber?"

"All from up the river. Your people used to supply a good deal of it,
but after you made that contract with the railroad I had to reach out
further."

"I suppose Mr. Balasco made that contract, didn't he?"

"I think he did--he and a man named Hildan, who was in business with
Balasco years ago. Your Mr. Wilbur wanted to keep on with me, so I
understand."

This was said inquiringly, but Owen merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I can't say as to that, Mr. Rice. I'm a newcomer here. I came West
only a few weeks ago."

"I used to know Wilbur years ago, and he was a fine fellow. I wish he
was here now, instead of Ulmer Balasco."

"Do you? So do I," answered Owen, before he had stopped to think twice.

"Ah, then you know Jefferson Wilbur?"

"Yes, sir. He helped a friend and myself to get out here. We were out
of a job and he gave us a letter of recommendation to Mr. Balasco."

"I see. What is Mr. Wilbur doing now?"

"Attending to his lumber affairs in New York, I believe."

"Well, he ought to come out here--I think it would do him good."

There was a significant tone in Philip Rice's voice that did not escape
Owen's notice. He wondered if he had best ask this man some questions
concerning Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan.

"Has Mr. Balasco been here long?" he questioned in an off-hand manner.

"About a year and a half. He used to have a claim up the river of
his own, but he joined forces with Wilbur, and they formed the
Wilbur-Balasco Company, and Balasco settled here and runs things to
suit himself."

"Doesn't Mr. Wilbur come out at all?"

"Not much. But if I was him I'd come."

"Why?"

"Oh!" Philip Rice drew a long breath. "I'd want to see just what was
doing, that's all."

While talking they were walking around the yard, and now came to a halt
in the shadow of a shed. As they did this, Owen happened to glance at
one of the men who were shifting boards from one pile to another.

"Hullo, where did he come from?" he cried, in astonishment.

"He?--who?" questioned Mr. Rice.

"That fellow over there," and Owen pointed with his finger.

"Do you mean Derande?"

"His name isn't Derande."

"That is what the fellow calls himself. He came here from Canada about
two weeks ago and asked for a job. Do you know him?"

"I do--if he is the fellow I take him to be. I'd like to get a better
look at him."

"Why not go up and talk to him?" asked Philip Rice, with interest.

"No; I want to look at him first. I may be mistaken. Wait a minute."

"But I don't understand."

"The fellow I take him to be is a thief from Maine. He stole a horse
once, and he tried to rob Mr. Wilbur's lodge. He was caught, but
escaped from jail while awaiting trial."

"Is it possible! And you think this is the fellow?"

"I do--but I had best make sure."

Watching his chance, Owen left the shed and slipped around the end of a
high pile of lumber. Then he made his way across a gangway and around
some heavy timbers. In the meantime the man he was watching delivered
some boards he was carrying and then came back for another supply.

His steps brought him close to where Owen was standing, and as he
passed, the young lumberman got a square look at his face. The man was
Baptiste Ducrot.

CHAPTER XXX

ULMER BALASCO SHOWS HIS HAND

"Hullo, Ducrot!"

At the sound of Owen's voice the man who was carrying the boards across
the lumber yard came to a sudden halt. He looked at the speaker in
astonishment and his face fell.

"So we meet again, eh?" went on Owen. "You didn't expect it--away out
here, did you?"

"I--I--not know you," stammered Baptiste Ducrot, trying to recover his
self-possession.

"Don't know me? Well, I know you well enough, Ducrot."

"Why you call me Ducrot? Dat ees not my name. My name Derande--Pierre
Derande."

"Not much--you are Baptiste Ducrot, plain and simple."

By this time Philip Rice had come up, and so had several of the
workmen. All gazed curiously at Owen and Ducrot.

"I not know you!" growled the French-Canadian. "You t'ink you make fool
me, hey?"

"You will think I am making a fool of you when you are behind the bars,
Baptiste Ducrot."

"Is it possible there is some mistake?" questioned Philip Rice
anxiously. "This man may simply resemble somebody else."

"I know him well," answered Owen. "There is a scar on his left hand,
where he got hit with an ax one day. Another man wouldn't have just
such a scar."

"Who dis feller?" demanded Ducrot insolently. "I not know him 'tall.
Why he bodder me?"

"Can you prove that this man is the fellow you take him to be?" went on
Philip Rice, to Owen. "Remember, his word here is as good as yours."

Owen thought rapidly. If he said yes, he would not be able to touch
Ducrot until he had brought Dale to the scene to identify the man. Dale
could not be brought at once, and in the meantime, if Ducrot was not
held, he might take time by the fore-lock and run away. On the other
hand, if the French-Canadian was allowed to have his own way he might
remain in the lumber yard until Owen was in a position to notify the
Maine authorities.

"I could prove it if we were in Maine," answered the young lumberman.

"But we are not in Maine," said the mill owner.

"Then I guess I'll have to let it pass, Mr. Rice. Besides, I may be
mistaken after all," went on Owen.

At these last words Baptiste Ducrot looked much relieved.

"Sure, you mak meestake," he said. "Dat udder feller he mus' look lak
me, dat's all."

"Well, let it go," said Owen lightly, and motioned for Mr. Rice to move
away with him. They walked off, and after a few minutes Baptiste Ducrot
resumed his labor.

"He is my man," whispered Owen. "There isn't the least bit of a
mistake. I can prove it, but not right away. I wish you'd keep him here
until I can let the authorities know."

"I don't want a thief in my employ," returned Philip Rice.

"Can't you keep him until I send word to the Maine authorities and to
Mr. Wilbur?"

"Yes--if he'll stay."

"All right; and if he goes away, kindly try to find out where he goes
to," concluded Owen.

The young lumberman was soon on the return to Tunley. He saw Baptiste
Ducrot watch his departure eagerly, but did not let on that he noticed
this.

"He's a slippery customer," thought Owen. "I'll have to work quickly if
he is to be captured."

When he arrived at the camp he had several things to do before the day
came to an end and he could tell Dale of his discovery, and of what
Philip Rice had said about Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan. Dale listened
eagerly.

"Oh, Owen, we ought to send a letter to Mr. Wilbur at once, and another
to the authorities in Maine!" cried the young lumberman. "It might be
criminal to delay."

"We'll write the letters now," answered Owen. "And I'll post them
myself to-morrow, before the mail train reaches Tunley."

The young lumbermen had pens, ink, and a large writing pad with them,
and sitting close to where Dale rested, Owen wrote two communications.
The one was short and to the point, notifying the sheriff of the county
at home that Baptiste Ducrot was working at Philip Rice's yard and
could be identified by himself and Dale. The second was to Jefferson
Wilbur, and told of everything that had happened at the camp bearing
on the railroad contract, and of what they had heard concerning Ulmer
Balasco and Foxy Hildan. In this communication Owen laid particular
stress on what Mr. Rice had said about Mr. Wilbur coming out to Oregon
to look after his interests.

"That will give him a good idea of how matters stand," said Owen, when
he had finished, and added a few lines that Dale had suggested. "I have
an idea it will bring him on in a hurry."

"If he does come on, I'll wager he and Mr. Balasco have a quarrel over
that railroad contract. But for the life of me, I can't see why Mr.
Balasco should hold back as he is doing. His interest in that contract
is the same as that of Mr. Wilbur."

"Perhaps not--we don't know the particulars of that contract, Dale. I
have an idea this Foxy Hildan comes in on it somewhere."

"Well, we'll know later."

Owen slept "with one eye open" that night, and long before the sun was
up he had dressed and was on his way to Tunley railroad station. Only
a few of the loggers were astir, and all the locomotives on the little
yard line were still housed for the night. Not wishing to walk the
entire distance, the young lumberman persuaded a stable hand to loan
him a horse for a couple of hours.

"All right, Webb, you can have him, but be sure and come back before
the whistle blows," said the hostler, and Owen promised.

A ride on horseback in the cool, bracing mountain air of the early
morning just suited the young lumberman, and he made good time down to
Tunley station. Here he found the station master just opening up for
business. He had a pouch of letters going out on the train, and after
stamping Owen's communications placed them among the rest. Then the
train came along, and the pouch sped on its long journey eastward.

Feeling that he had no time to spare, Owen started without delay for
the camp again. He was still half a mile from where he had procured
the horse, when he saw a well-dressed man coming toward him, down the
creek trail. The man was also on horseback, and as he came closer Owen
recognized Ulmer Balasco.

The young lumberman had no desire just then to meet his employer, and
had he had the opportunity he would have taken to a side path. But
there was no chance to do this, and in a moment more Ulmer Balasco
confronted him.

"Hullo; where have you been?" demanded the part owner of the camp,
frowning.

"I've been down to Tunley," answered Owen. "Had a little errand there."

"For your foreman?"

"No, sir; for myself."

"Hum!" The frown on Ulmer Balasco's face deepened. "Is that your horse?"

"No, he's yours--and Mr. Wilbur's," answered Owen, his face flushing.
"I didn't think it would hurt him to go that far. They are hardly
using the horses at our yard now--since we got that new donkey engine
up there."

"I don't like my men to use the horses for private purposes," growled
Ulmer Balasco. "After this, if you want to go down, ride as far as the
railroad runs and then walk," and without another word the man pursued
his journey.

An angry retort arose to Owen's lips, but he suppressed it, and moved
away in silence.

"The bully!" he muttered, when out of hearing. "The big, overgrown
bully! What a difference between him and Mr. Wilbur! It didn't hurt the
horse one bit to use him--he really needed the exercise. I believe he
is down on us, just because we were recommended by his partner. I hope
Mr. Wilbur comes out here and gives him 'hail, Columbia'!"

As Ulmer Balasco rode down into Tunley his face was very thoughtful.
Something in Owen's manner had aroused the suspicion that had been
slumbering in his breast ever since the two young lumbermen had applied
to him for work.

"I'd like to know what he went down to Tunley for," he mused. "Wonder
if I can find out?"

At the depot he met the station master and asked him if he had seen
Owen.

"Yes, he was here with a couple of letters," was the reply.

"Hum! Did he--er--did he mail that letter to--er--Portland?"

"Don't know as he did, Mr. Balasco. The two he gave me to stamp were
for some sheriff in Maine and to Mr. Wilbur."

"Nothing for Portland?"

"Not that I saw."

"You are sure about the one to Mr. Wilbur?"

"Oh, yes! It was extra-heavy, and needed six cents in stamps."

"Hum! Has it gone yet?"

"Yes, he came down early, so that the letters would catch the first
mail East."

"Then my letters must wait--if the train has gone," said Ulmer Balasco,
producing several communications. "Well, it doesn't matter much. Have a
cigar, Larry;" and then he produced the cigars and changed the subject.
From the station he visited the hotel, and then started back to camp.

"The young spies!" he muttered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I was
afraid of it right along. Their coming here for work was only a blind.
Wilbur sent them here to learn just what I was doing, and I've been
fool enough to play into their hands right from the start. For all I
know, they may know everything, and may be watching Foxy Hildan as
well as myself. If that is so, I've put myself in a nice hole." He
clenched his fists. "What had I best do next? Shall I lay low, or call
them into the office and have it out with them?" He mused for several
minutes, chewing his cigar-end viciously. "I reckon I'll call them
up, and get clear of them. Perhaps after that I can doctor matters up
before Wilbur gets on the ground and sees how things are going."

CHAPTER XXXI

THE CRISIS

The new donkey engine at the yard where Owen was employed was in charge
of Bruce Howard, so the young lumberman now saw considerable of the
young engineer, and quite a friendship sprang up between the pair.

"I'm not going to stay here very much longer," said Bruce.

"Don't like the work, I suppose," returned Owen.

"Oh, it's good enough, but I want to get into some big rolling mill or
steel plant. What I would like best of all would be to study chemistry,
with a view of becoming a high-grade steel maker. Such men are greatly
in demand and they earn big salaries."

"Well, everybody to his own taste," came from Owen. "Now, I wouldn't
like anything better than to be a part owner or boss at such a lumber
plant as this, or own such a mill as Rice's, below here. I'm certain
I'd never make a success of iron or steel working."

"I've been told that a fellow is only really successful in the line he
likes," said Bruce. "Now, I've liked iron and steel working ever since
I could remember. There used to be a small foundry near where I was
born, and when I was only five or six years old, I sneaked down there
and looked into the windows to see them cast things in the sand."

On the day that Ulmer Balasco made up his mind to interview Owen and
Dale, and discharge them, he received an important telegram from
Portland, and left for that city on the evening train. This gave him
no chance to talk to the young lumbermen, and he did not return to the
camp until three days later.

In the meantime Dale's hurts mended rapidly and on the third day he
was able to be around again, although working was as yet out of the
question. Larson had been transferred to the work on the flume, and the
yard was now in charge of Andy Westmore.

"You jest take it easy," said the old lumberman from Maine. "Time
enough to go to work when you're able."

"Providing Mr. Balasco doesn't kick," answered Dale.

"If he kicks, let him kick. I wouldn't kill myself for anybody."

"I'm not going to."

"Fact is, I don't know what to set you at, anyway," went on Andy
Westmore, in a lower voice. "Mr. Balasco says not to cut this and not
to cut that, and there is precious little left to bring down. I don't
understand it at all."

"Perhaps the railroad contract has gone up the spout," suggested Owen,
who stood near by.

The old lumberman shrugged his shoulders. "If that is true, I reckon
this company is going to drop a lot of money," he said.

"Well, they can sell the lumber somewhere else," went on Dale.

"Yes, but what about the forfeit they put up to the railroad? They will
lose that."

"Is there a forfeit?"

"To be sure there is. I don't know what amount, but it's pretty big,
rest assured of that."

That afternoon Dale took a walk up to the flume. This was nothing
more than a high trestle built of rough timber. At the top was a
water-tight, V-shaped trough, sloping gradually from the top of one
hill to the bottom of another, about a mile away. The sides of the
trough were built of boards smoothed on the inner side, so that nothing
might catch fast on them. When in use this flume would be almost filled
with water, and any lumber floated in at the upper end would readily be
carried to the lower.

"This is a small flume alongside of some," said the foreman in charge
of the work. "Some of the camps have flumes five and ten miles long,
and there is a flume in California about sixty miles long, running from
the top of the Sierras, where there is nothing but ice and snow, to the
valleys where it is summer nearly all the year around."

"It will be a great saving of money when they can float lumber from all
parts of this camp right down to the Columbia," said Dale. "But there
is a good deal to do before that happens."

"Well, we are rushing things all we can. Mr. Wilbur wanted us to wait
with this flume until next year, but Mr. Balasco said to go ahead at
once."

"Do you know Mr. Wilbur personally?"

"Yes, I've seen him two or three times--when I was in the East. He's a
fine man. I wish he was out here now. He's a hustler."

"You are right there. I never saw him but that he was on the go,"
answered Dale, with a laugh. "I believe he hardly gives himself time to
eat sometimes. He is chock-full of business."

"He came into this lumber company on the jump, and I doubt if he knows
exactly what is doing here--he has so many other irons in the fire. I
believe if he was up here he'd make some changes. I say this to you
because I've heard that you know him pretty well," added the foreman,
with a sharp look at Dale.

"I don't know him so very well, Mr. Gladstone. But he takes an interest
in me and Owen Webb, because we once did him a couple of good turns
while we were out in Maine at a lumber camp there."

"I see. Well, you stick to him, and he'll treat you well, mark my
words," concluded Gladstone, as he turned away to give directions about
the erection of additional timbers along the flume trestle.

On all sides were large lots of logs, varying from eighteen to forty
inches in diameter. There seemed to be more sticks than could possibly
be used on the flume, yet additional lumber was coming up every
day--lumber that Dale felt should have gone down to the Columbia to
help fill the all-important railroad contract.

"It's nothing short of criminal to send that lumber here," thought the
young lumberman. "If the company has a forfeit up with the railroad
company Mr. Balasco must be insane to do it."

It was on the following morning that Ulmer Balasco sent for Dale and
Owen to come to his private office, a small structure built as an annex
to the book-keeper's den. Mr. Balasco had sent the book-keeper off on
an errand, so the young lumbermen found him alone when they called.

"Something is in the wind, that is certain," said Owen. "Perhaps he
smells a mouse."

"I guess he'll smell more when we hear from Mr. Wilbur," answered Dale.

"We mustn't say much until we are sure of what we are doing."

Ulmer Balasco was walking up and down his office, puffing away
furiously at a black-looking cigar. He looked sharply at each of them
as they entered.

"You sent for us, I believe," began Dale.

"I did," was the short reply. "Sit down."

A bench was handy, and Dale dropped on this, while Owen took a chair.
Ulmer Balasco continued to pace the floor for a few seconds, then sat
down in the chair in front of his roller-top desk.

"Now, I want the truth out of you fellows," he said roughly. "The
truth, do you hear?"

"The truth about what?" questioned Owen.

"I want to know just why Mr. Wilbur sent you here."

"He didn't send us," answered Dale truthfully. "We were out of a
job, and he suggested we try you for an opening, and gave us a
recommendation."

"You sent a long report to Mr. Wilbur a few days ago," said the lumber
merchant, turning to Owen.

"I did," answered Owen, and went on shrewdly: "Did Mr. Rice tell you
how I caught that thief?"

"Thief? What thief?"

"The fellow who tried to rob Mr. Wilbur's lodge in Maine. He got away
from the authorities in Maine and drifted out here. I spotted him the
day I went up there about the band saw."

"I haven't seen Mr. Rice."

"Oh! Well, we caught him--that is, I did--but he wouldn't own up that
he was Baptiste Ducrot," went on Owen quickly. "But I know him by a
scar he carries. I wrote to Mr. Wilbur about it, and I also sent a
letter to the sheriff of the county in Maine. The sheriff was all cut
up over Ducrot's getting away, and I know he'll want to bring him back."

Ulmer Balasco breathed deeply. He remembered that the station master
had mentioned a letter to a sheriff in Maine. This story must be a true
one. If so, perhaps after all his fears were groundless.

"Evidently you don't bear this Ducrot any good will," he ventured.

"Why should I?" answered Dale. "He once stole a horse from me, and
knocked me into the water in the bargain."

"Then it's no wonder you want to catch him. Do you--er--do you suppose
Mr. Wilbur will come on to see about it?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Did you ask him to come on?"

At this Dale remained silent. In the letter sent by himself and Owen
they had urged Mr. Wilbur to come on--but not on Baptiste Ducrot's
account.

"We told him he had best come West," said Owen boldly. "But he may not
come--he is so busy."

There was an awkward pause. Ulmer Balasco hardly knew how to proceed.
Then a sudden thought struck him. Even if these two young men were not
spies, it might be as well to get rid of them.

"I suppose you want to know why I sent for you," he said slowly. "It
is on account of that accident on the railroad. I have investigated
further, and I am now convinced that both of you were guilty of gross
negligence. That being so, I have resolved that I will dispense with
your services after this week. I will pay you off next Saturday, and
then you can look elsewhere for work."

It was a heavy blow and each of the young lumbermen felt it keenly.
Each realized that Ulmer Balasco meant to get rid of them before Mr.
Wilbur's arrival, when he would cook up such a story against them as
pleased him.

"Mr. Balasco, don't you think you are rather hard on us?" said Owen.

"Not at all. In the first place, you had no business on the train. In
the second place, having agreed to fasten the logs, you should have
done the work in a proper manner. It was only by pure luck that the
whole train wasn't wrecked and several lives lost."

"I did my full duty!" cried Dale. "And if you won't believe me, perhaps
Mr. Wilbur will."

"I am manager here--not Mr. Wilbur," responded Ulmer Balasco, and
showed his teeth very much after the manner of a wolf.

"Well, you don't manage any too well!" was Owen's parting shot, and
then he arose and left, and Dale followed him.

CHAPTER XXXII

AN UNEXPECTED APPOINTMENT

"Dale this looks as if we were out of it."

"Yes, Owen, and I think it is a shame."

"Undoubtedly. But what are you going to do about it?"

"Perhaps we'll hear from Mr. Wilbur before Saturday."

"Yes, but even so, Mr. Balasco is manager here, as he says. We'll have
to go."

So talking, the pair made their way back to the yard from which they
had come. Here they told Andy Westmore and Bruce Howard of what had
occurred.

"It's a jolly shame," said Bruce. "I declare, I almost feel like
throwing up the job myself. I had some words with Mr. Balasco just
before he went down to Portland, and I came pretty close to walking off
then."

"If I were you I'd report the matter to Mr. Wilbur," said Andy
Westmore. "And tell him he had best come on and look at what's being
done."

"We have sent him a letter," answered Owen.

The next day found Owen in the woods, working as if nothing unusual
had happened. Dale was sent down to the tool house near the office, to
bring up some oil needed on the donkey engine.

Dale was about to step into the tool house when he saw a man alight
from one of the lumber trucks on the railroad track, and come toward
the main office. The man looked slightly familiar, and as he came
closer the young lumberman recognized the individual as the one he had
seen in the lumber office in Detroit, while waiting to see Mr. Wilbur.

"Hullo!" he heard Ulmer Balasco call out. "I wasn't looking for you
to-day, Hildan!" And then the man shook hands with the lumber dealer
and stepped into the office.

"Foxy Hildan!" thought Dale, and then he remembered how he had heard
the man's name before. "He had some dealings with Mr. Wilbur in
Detroit, and with that thin man at the lumber office there. This is
getting interesting."

From the window of the tool house he could see the two men in the
office, and also see the book-keeper working away over the books.

Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan were talking very earnestly, but
presently he saw Balasco hold up his hand as a warning, and jerk
his thumb toward the book-keeper. Then the two men came out of the
building and walked along a path running behind the tool house.

Dale hardly knew what to do, and before he realized it the two men were
within a dozen feet of where he was standing, behind several boxes and
casks. The men had halted, and were talking as earnestly as ever.

"Now don't you worry at all," he heard Foxy Hildan say. "I've got
Wilbur fixed, and he won't come anywhere near you. He thinks everything
is going along as smoothly as possible."

"But when the blow falls----" began Ulmer Balasco.

"We'll stand from under, and he'll be the only man to get hit." Foxy
Hildan laughed coldly. "Why, Balasco, don't you know that this means at
least ten thousand dollars to us?"

"I know that."

"And when the company goes to smash, you and I can buy it in on the
quiet, for what that railroad contract brings. It's a dead-easy,
open-and-shut proposition."

"If we can keep Wilbur away for two weeks longer, Foxy. I'm holding
back the lumber all I can, without creating too much suspicion."

"Well, keep on holding it back. Don't get scared with the prize almost
in your hand."

"The trouble is, a couple of young fellows who are out here have
written to him to come on, and----"

"You said that before. Well, I'll send him an important telegram to
come to San Francisco, and that will keep him away."

So the talk ran on, in channels that were new to Dale. But he caught
the gist of the matter. These men were going to keep Jefferson Wilbur
away from this plant at all hazards--and ruin him.

"They shan't do it! I'll telegraph for him to come on at once!" thought
the young lumberman. "I'll show Mr. Ulmer Balasco and Foxy Hildan that
they are not as smart as they imagine!"

As soon as the men had departed, Dale left the tool house on the run.
He made his way straight for the yard where Owen was at work, and
called his chum to one side.

"Can that be possible!" exclaimed Owen, when he had heard the story.
"They are certainly a pair of rascals. Yes, we must send word to Mr.
Wilbur just as quickly as we can."

With Andy Westmore as foreman it was an easy matter to get away. Both
jumped on a log train bound for the creek, and arriving at the end of
the run, hurried on foot toward Tunley.

"Hullo, you back here again?" cried the station master to Owen.
"That's queer. Tolly just said he had taken down a mighty important
message for you."

Tolly was the operator at the station.

"Where is he?" asked Owen, and looked meaningly at Dale.

"Here he comes now."

In a moment more the operator appeared. He carried in his hand a sealed
telegram envelope.

"Here is Owen Webb now!" called out the station master.

"Are you Owen Webb?" asked the operator curiously, and he looked the
young lumberman over from head to foot.

"That's my handle," replied Owen, using an expression he had picked up
since coming West.

"Then this is for you." The operator handed over the message. "I wish
you luck," he added. "I was counting on something happening before
long," and he walked away.

Trying to keep down his feelings, Owen tore open the envelope and took
out the telegram. For such a communication it was quite long, and ran
as follows:

"OWEN WEBB, Tunley, Ore.

"Report received. I hereby appoint you my representative at the camp
and the office of the Wilbur-Balasco Company until my arrival. Show
this to Balasco as your authority. That railroad contract must be
pushed through. Will telegraph Rice, asking him to assist you if
necessary. Total output must go to railroad. Stop work on flume.
Keep Dale Bradford with you until I see him. Important.

"JEFFERSON WILBUR."

Owen read the telegram twice and allowed Dale to do the same over his
shoulder. Then the friends looked at each other.

"Here's a job for you, Owen. How do you like it?"

"Oh, I guess I can pull through," was the grim answer. "But just
imagine Ulmer Balasco's feeling when I tell him what's doing!"

"Mr. Wilbur wants me to stay with you until he sees me, and says it is
important. What can that mean?"

"I don't know, I'm sure, unless it has something to do with that mining
claim your father owned."

Dale's face lit up, and then fell again.

"Oh, I'm not going to raise any false hopes," he said. "Perhaps he
wants to give us both steady positions here, and don't want me to go
away merely because Balasco discharged me."

Owen stretched himself, as if getting ready to heave on a big stick of
timber.

"I've got some work cut out for me, no doubt of that," he said. "I
shouldn't wonder if I'd have something like a fight with Balasco."

"If he says too much I'll take a hand and let him know what I overheard
in the tool house."

"Do you think it worth while to send that message we were going to?"

"No, for it isn't likely Mr. Wilbur will get it. He may be on the train
bound for here already."

"I wish I could get word to Mr. Rice. He is a fine man and will
probably help me all he can."

"I'll tell you how we can do it. Walk over to the Dennison camp and
telephone. There is a private wire."

This was agreed to, and without the loss of a moment they hurried
to the Dennison camp, a mile and a half away. Permission to use the
wire was readily given, and Owen soon had the owner of the saw- and
shingle-mill at the telephone.

"Yes, I just got the telegram from Wilbur," said Philip Rice, in reply
to Owen's question. "I'm glad he's alive to the fact that something is
wrong."

"Will you back me up, if I have trouble?"

"Certainly I will. I'll help Wilbur every time. I'll be up at your
office this afternoon at four o'clock sharp. And by the way: he sent
word to me to have that Baptiste Ducrot arrested. I've telephoned to
the sheriff of this county, so, if you need that officer up your way,
all you've got to do is to let me know."

"I don't know if I'll have to go as far as that," answered Owen, and
then added: "Wait a minute. My friend Dale Bradford is with me. He
heard some queer talk between Balasco and Foxy Hildan a couple of hours
ago. Perhaps we'll have to have Hildan held."

"If you can prove anything against him have him held by all means!"
exclaimed Philip Rice. "Fifty lumbermen in Oregon and California will
bless you for it."

"Then you had better bring the sheriff with you," replied Owen; and
after a few more words the conversation was brought to a close.

It must be admitted that Owen's heart beat strongly when he journeyed
back to the lumber camp. He knew that Ulmer Balasco was a hard man with
whom to deal, and that the task before him was one by no means easy.

"But Mr. Wilbur is in the right," he said to Dale. "And I am going to
stick up for him to the finish. That lumber has got to go down to the
river--every stick of it--and in jig time, too."

"If I were you I'd take Andy Westmore into my confidence before I spoke
to Balasco," said Dale. "He knows this camp from end to end, and he'll
know exactly what to do with the men."

"That's a good idea, Dale, and I'll tell Bruce Howard and a few of the
others too."

Not to be seen by Ulmer Balasco, they took a roundabout way to the
yard where Andy Westmore and Bruce were at work. While Owen told the
old lumberman the news, and showed the telegram, Dale related the
particulars to Bruce.

"It's what I expected," said Andy Westmore. "It should have happened
two weeks ago. That contract only runs two weeks and three days longer.
We'll have to hustle like mad to fill it on time."

"Will you stick by me, Westmore? I'll appoint you head yardmaster from
this minute if you will."

"It's a go, Webb!" They shook hands. "We'll put her through or bust!"

Bruce was equally delighted. "I just want to see old Balasco tumble,"
he said. "It serves him right--especially if he was trying to harm his
partner. A man who will go back on his partner is as mean as dirt."

Inside of half an hour over a dozen of the men had been interviewed,
and without an exception they agreed to abide by Owen's orders. Then
the young lumberman, accompanied by Dale and Westmore, walked to the
office to "have it out" with Balasco.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE RAILROAD CONTRACT

"I wonder if Foxy Hildan is still around," said Dale, just before the
office was reached.

"He went up to the flume," said Andy Westmore. "I saw him just before
you fellows came up."

"Alone?" queried Owen.

"No, one of the foremen was with him."

When they entered the office they found Ulmer Balasco pacing the floor.
He gazed at them in wonder and scowled.

"It's no use of talking!" he cried, before anybody else could speak.
"I've made up my mind, and that settles it."

"We are not here to ask you to take us back," retorted Dale quickly.
"If I want work I shall apply to Mr. Webb here for it," and something
like a grin overspread his face.

"I don't know what you are talking about," returned Ulmer Balasco, in a
puzzled way.

"Mr. Balasco, we'll have to come to an understanding," said Owen,
quietly but firmly. "I've got something very disagreeable to tell you,
but that can't be helped. To come down to business, I received a
telegram from Mr. Wilbur this morning."

The lumber dealer started, and Dale imagined he clutched at the desk to
steady himself.

"A telegram?" he repeated slowly.

"Yes, sir. In that telegram he stated that the contract with the
railroad must be put through, and that work on the flume must stop."

"Indeed! And what have you to do with my business, I'd like to know."

"Nothing at all, sir, with your business; but everything with Mr.
Wilbur's business. He is coming out here as soon as he can, and in the
meantime he has appointed me his representative here."

"You!" almost screamed Ulmer Balasco.

"Yes, me. If you want to read the telegram, here it is."

The lumber dealer fairly snatched the slip from Owen's grasp, and
devoured its contents. His face grew pale, and it was impossible for
him to hold the sheet of paper still.

"So this is what you have been up to, eh?" he stammered. "Spies, just
as I suspected."

"We are not spies. Mr. Wilbur has been our friend, and when he asked
us to let him know how things were going here we merely wrote him the
truth."

"You told me it was on account of a French-Canadian----"

"So it was," put in Dale. "Mr. Wilbur has telegraphed to Mr. Rice about
that man, and the sheriff is to arrest him."

"And Mr. Rice is to assist me--in case I have any trouble here," put in
Owen significantly.

"Do you imagine I am going to abide by what that telegram says. Why,
it isn't worth the paper it's written on!" fumed Ulmer Balasco. "I am
master here; Wilbur has no authority whatever."

"That is a matter of opinion."

"No, it is a matter of fact--our agreement reads that way."

"I haven't seen the agreement, but no matter what it says, you have
no right to run this business so as to ruin Mr. Wilbur," went on Owen
warmly.

"Ruin him? Who says I am ruining him?"

"I do. You are doing your best to run behind on that railroad contract.
Instead of sending lumber down to the river, you are sending it up to
the flume, and you are not cutting half as much----"

"I won't listen!" shouted Ulmer Balasco. "I won't listen! I tell you I
am master here. If I want to finish the flume I'll do it."

"After the railroad contract is finished, not before," came stubbornly
from Owen. "All that lumber is going down to the Columbia just as fast
as the cars and the creek can carry it."

"You defy me?" and now Ulmer Balasco shook his fist in the young
lumberman's face.

[Illustration: Ulmer Balasco shook his fist in the young lumberman's
face.]

"Put down that hand, Mr. Balasco," said Owen, a strange gleam in his
eyes, and the hand fell in spite of the lumber dealer's effort to
threaten. "There is no need of our having a fight over this thing.
Either you'll agree to do as I say, or I shall call in the sheriff."

"The sheriff?"

"Exactly. Your business connection with Mr. Foxy Hildan is well known,
and does not in the least reflect to your credit. I don't know exactly
how far Mr. Wilbur wishes to go in the case, but if I were you I
wouldn't stir him up too much."

Ulmer Balasco's jaw dropped, and now he actually leaned against the
desk for support.

"I--I haven't had anything to do with Hildan," he stammered weakly.

"We can prove otherwise," put in Dale. "You and he are plotting to ruin
Mr. Wilbur, but the scheme won't work, and the best thing you can do is
to drop Foxy Hildan, and help finish that railroad contract on time."

"Didn't I say I was doing all I could on the contract?"

"And we know better."

"Mr. Balasco, are you going to recognize my authority or not?" demanded
Owen. "I'll give you ten minutes in which to make up your mind."

"And if I refuse what will you do next?"

"Telephone to Mr. Rice to bring up the sheriff." And as he spoke Owen
stepped up to the telephone booth, which stood between the outer and
the inner offices.

"No! no! stop!" cried Ulmer Balasco. "Don't do that! I tell you there
is some mistake." He breathed heavily. "Let me think it over. I'll give
you my answer to-morrow."

"No, sir, you'll give it to me now," came from Owen, and he made a move
as if to enter the telephone booth.

Rushing forward, Ulmer Balasco clutched him by the arm. "You must not
do it--it's outrageous!"

"Will you let me take charge of the work?"

"You don't understand what is to be done."

"Perhaps not. But Andy Westmore does, and I shall appoint him head
yardmaster for the time being."

"I can do the work right enough," came from Westmore.

"Are you in league with Webb?" demanded the lumber dealer.

"I'm willing to be, Mr. Balasco. And so are a lot of the other men."

"This is a--er--a revolution!"

"Oh, no; we only want to help fulfill that railroad contract," and a
twinkle shone in the old lumberman's black eyes.

"If you are all against me, I may as well resign at once," grumbled
Ulmer Balasco, and Owen saw that the fight was fast oozing out of
him. "But I must say, I didn't think Wilbur would play me such an
underhanded trick."

"It is no trick, Mr. Balasco. This trouble you brought on yourself.
Then I am to take charge?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Order every stick of timber in the yards and up at the flume down to
the river, and put all the men at work on the job. Then I'm going to
get more fellers and sawyers at Portland, if they are to be had, and
open up Yards 9 and 10, and have donkey No. 2 repaired."

"You can't get men this time of the year, and that engine isn't worth
fixing."

"I can try for the men, and Bruce Howard says the donkey can be patched
up with but little trouble--that the boiler is as good as new."

"Is that boy in this scheme too? He ought to have his walking papers!"

"He is a good workman, and shall stay. Now what do you say--is it peace
or war? Remember what I said before: you had better not stir up Mr.
Wilbur too much."

Ulmer Balasco took a turn up and down the office, then dropped heavily
into his chair.

"Go ahead and do as you please. If Wilbur wants to run the business he
can do it, and I'll get out as soon as I can. But remember one thing."
Ulmer Balasco pointed his long finger at Owen. "If you try to manage
things and fail on that contract, you and Wilbur will be responsible,
not myself."

"I want to see that contract," returned Owen calmly.

"I don't know as I've got to show it to you."

"As Mr. Wilbur's representative, I demand you do so." Owen pointed
to Westmore and Dale. "These are my witnesses that I now make such a
demand."

Muttering something under his breath, Ulmer Balasco flung himself from
his chair and walked to the office safe. In a moment more he had a
document out of a tin box.

"There you are," he growled. "Now I wash my hands of the whole affair.
If you fail, Wilbur shall stand the loss, not myself."

And so speaking, he shut the safe, banged shut his roller-top desk,
slapped his hat on his head, and strode from the office, leaving Owen
and the others masters of the field.

The reader can well imagine with what interest the young lumbermen
perused the document before them. It was a lengthy affair, and from it
they gleaned more information than expected.

"As Westmore says, the contract ends two weeks and a half from to-day,"
said Owen. "That gives us exactly fifteen days in which to get out the
balance of that timber. How many sticks still to cut, Westmore?"

"According to this paper about two hundred," answered the old
lumberman. "That is, if you're going to send down all the flume stuff
first."

"To be sure--everything must go that isn't sawed up."

"According to this document this company isn't a regular company at
all," said Dale, who had been reading with care. "It speaks of Ulmer
Balasco and of Jefferson Wilbur as if they were separate dealers
working together. But the forfeit was put up by Jefferson Wilbur. I
don't quite understand it."

"I think I know something about that," put in Westmore. "You see,
before Balasco and Wilbur joined forces the land up near the flume and
at Yards 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 belonged to Wilbur. The land down here,
along the creek and at Yards 1, 2, 3, and 4 belonged to somebody else.
Balasco bought them, and cut Wilbur off from both the creek and the
river. Then they compromised and patched up some sort of a partnership,
by which Balasco was to run things out here and get a percentage from
Wilbur on all lumber that went down the creek or the railroad. You see
the creek didn't quite reach Wilbur's claim, so he couldn't use it
without Balasco's permission."

"But the Wilbur claim is by far the best," said Dale. "This land down
here is mighty rocky, and the timber is all second-class."

"That's right. Years ago the lumbermen wouldn't touch this timber at
all. Some prospectors thought they'd find gold or silver here, or some
other metals, but what they got wasn't worth trying for. I reckon
Balasco got this land for a song."

CHAPTER XXXIV

DALE COMES INTO HIS OWN

"One thing we ought not to forget to do," said Dale. "That is to keep
an eye on Foxy Hildan."

"Yes, I'll watch him," replied Owen. "But it is more than likely that
he will make himself scarce when he finds out how the wind has shifted."

It soon became noised around that Owen had been appointed to represent
Mr. Wilbur at the camp, and that Andy Westmore had been made head
yardmaster. This was followed by a general order from Owen that all
lumber at the yards and at the flume should be shipped down to the
Columbia as fast as the cars and the creek could carry the sticks. In
addition to this a notice was posted up at the Tunley station that
fellers and sawyers were wanted immediately, and an advertisement to
that effect was likewise inserted in the Portland daily newspapers.

Some of the men, influenced doubtless by Ulmer Balasco, were inclined
to resent Owen's authority, but when one hook-tender was promptly
discharged, the others reconsidered the matter, and after that there
was little or no trouble among the hands. Some took the matter as a
joke, for lumbermen are as a class light-hearted, and the Scandinavians
waited on the new boss in a body, and demanded that he show his
authority in the proper manner--by giving them a spread with plenty to
drink.

"You shall have a spread," said Owen. "But it will be after this
railroad contract is filled. Get this through on time, and on Mr.
Wilbur's behalf I promise you that every worker shall receive a
substantial bonus for his labor."

This announcement caused a cheer, and the men went to work with renewed
vigor. Soon some new hands came in, and were taken on promptly by
Owen, and the ring of the axes and the sound of the saws came early
and late from the yards and the forest. The men on the railroad were
kept at work two hours extra out of twenty-four, and three extra men
were placed at the river to see that all the lumber went forward to the
railroad company without delay.

"Using more cars now, I see," said one of the railroad officials, to
Dale, at the end of the second day of the new order of things.

"Yes, sir, and you'll have to give us more yet by day after to-morrow."

"Balasco wasn't in such a hurry."

"Well, we are bound to make a sure thing of this contract. Remember,
thirty cars to-morrow, and forty after that."

Mr. Rice had come up and was much pleased to see that Owen had matters
in hand.

"You are doing just right," he said. "Keep it up, and you are bound to
come out on top."

"Did you arrest Ducrot?"

"No, he got away from us, but not before one of the men blackened one
of his eyes and broke his nose for him. You see, I fancy he smelt
a mouse, and one night he tried to leave our place on the sly. He
took with him a suit of clothing belonging to one man, and some gold
belonging to another. The clothes owner went after him and collared him
near the river, and they had a free fight. Ducrot had to give up the
stuff, and was nearly pounded to death before he escaped to a boat that
was leaving. We tried to trace him up, but it did no good."

"Well, I am glad the man gave him a sound beating," answered Owen.
"Perhaps it will do him good."

Philip Rice wanted to know what had become of Foxy Hildan, and was told
that he had gone away with Ulmer Balasco the night before.

"Balasco said he would be back to-night," said Dale. "But perhaps he
won't come."

"He gave me the combination of the safe," said Owen. "I didn't want
it, but he insisted that if I was going to run things, I should know
about everything."

"Humph! You just keep your eyes open."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what is in the safe?"

"No."

"Then don't become responsible for it. If you do he may claim that you
took something out when he wasn't around."

This view of the matter worried Owen a good deal, but, as Balasco was
now away, he could do nothing.

Bruce Howard had been sent down the Columbia to bring some machinery
needed at one of the yards. He came back late that night, and at once
aroused Owen, who had just dropped asleep.

"What do you want?" demanded the young lumberman.

"I just came in," answered Bruce. "Mr. Balasco and that Hildan were
ahead of me, and they have gone into the private office. I thought
maybe you'd like to know about it."

"I do want to know about it!" cried Owen, and aroused Dale. In a few
minutes they were dressed, and then they walked toward the private
office, telling Bruce to come along.

A dim light was burning in the office, and they sneaked up noiselessly
and in a roundabout way, so as not to be seen should anybody be on
the watch. They saw Hildan appear at a window and look out for a few
seconds, then the curtain was drawn down.

"They are going to go through that safe, and I know it," muttered
Owen, and he was right. Peering under the curtain they saw Balasco and
Hildan on the floor in front of the safe, going through half a dozen
documents. Some of the documents Hildan placed in his pocket. Then
he brought other documents from another pocket and placed these in a
corner of the strong box.

"The rascals!" muttered Dale. "Owen, they are trying to pile up trouble
for you!"

"Well, both of you are witnesses to what they are doing," was the grim
answer.

"That's true enough," came from Bruce. "I'm mighty glad I spotted them."

At that moment they heard a noise some distance away. Looking forth
into the darkness, they saw the form of a man approaching on horseback.
Dale ran to meet him.

"Mr. Wilbur!"

"Hullo, is that you, Bradford? What are you doing out this time of
night?" And then the lumber merchant and capitalist rode nearer.

Owen now came up, leaving Bruce to continue watching those in the
office.

"I am awfully glad you've got here, Mr. Wilbur," Owen said warmly, as
he shook hands. "But I didn't expect you this time of night."

"I came in on the midnight Limited, and got a special order to have it
stop at Tunley. Did you get my telegram?"

"I did, and I am pushing the work as well as I can. But Mr. Balasco
is very sore, and I think he and that Foxy Hildan are plotting more
mischief. They are now in the office at the safe, and we were watching
them. You see, Mr. Balasco turned over the combination of the safe to
me, and he----"

"I understand." Jefferson Wilbur's voice grew stern. "I don't think,
though, that I'll have much trouble with him. Come with me."

Bruce was introduced, and the party of four walked to the offices. The
main entrance was unlocked, and they threw open the door and Dale lit
the large swinging lamp. Then the inner door opened, and Jefferson
Wilbur and Ulmer Balasco found themselves face to face.

For the moment there was utter silence, Ulmer Balasco staring mutely at
his partner, and Jefferson Wilbur eying the man before him critically.

"What are you up to at this time of night, Balasco?" asked Mr. Wilbur,
at length.

"I was--er--looking for some of my private papers," stammered the
other. "Now that you have placed this young fellow in charge, I didn't
want him to get mixed up in my private affairs."

"I don't wish anything to do with your private affairs," retorted Owen
quickly.

"We may as well come to an understanding to-night instead of
to-morrow," went on Jefferson Wilbur. "I know exactly how you have been
acting, Balasco. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I reckon I had a right to do as I thought best," growled Ulmer Balasco.

"And ruin me? No, indeed!"

"I wasn't going to ruin anybody."

"Yes, you were. I was to be forced out, and then you and Hildan were
going to run things to suit yourselves."

"So you think you are going to drag me into this," put in Foxy Hildan.
"Well, let me say, I won't stand for it."

"But you will," said Jefferson Wilbur sternly. "Do you know what
happened in Detroit yesterday? Radley Force was caught manipulating the
books and he made a confession concerning both himself and you. In a
few day the plain truth will be in the mouths of all, and lumbermen
generally will know exactly what sort of a man Foxy Hildan is. Hildan,
I was a fool to trust you and Balasco, but my eyes are open at last,"
added Jefferson Wilbur earnestly.

"See here, I won't stand for this sort of talk!" came blusteringly from
Ulmer Balasco. "Now you are here, I'll tell you what I propose to do.
Just as soon as this railroad contract is at an end, I shall withdraw
from our limited partnership, and then you can market your own lumber."

"Well, I imagine I can do that too," answered Jefferson Wilbur, and a
strange smile shone on his face.

"Can you? Well, we'll see. You'll have to go a long way around to get
to the river, or the railroad either."

"Not at all--that is, if I can make the necessary arrangement with Dale
Bradford here--and I think I can."

"An arrangement with me?" queried Dale, in bewilderment. "What do you
mean, Mr. Wilbur?"

"I mean this: this lumber tract is really divided into two parts. The
upper part, that away from the creek, belongs to me outright. This part
down here I always supposed belonged to Ulmer Balasco, for he said he
had purchased it from some mining company that had gone to pieces.
But when you sent out those documents about your late father's mining
claim, I had them investigated by my lawyers, and they have discovered
that this claim does not belong to Ulmer Balasco at all, but to you!"

CHAPTER XXXV

END OF THE CONTRACT AND OF THE STORY

For the moment Dale thought he must be dreaming. This section of the
lumber camp his own property! It was too good to be true.

"Mr. Wilbur, do you mean----" he began. "That is, are you sure----"

"Yes, Bradford, the lawyers are certain that this claim belongs to you,
since you are your late father's sole heir. Ulmer Balasco does not own
a foot of the ground, nor a single stick of timber."

"It is false!" cried Ulmer Balasco, but his voice was weak and
uncertain.

"I have said it is true, and before long I will prove it to the
satisfaction of everybody," went on Jefferson Wilbur. "Balasco got hold
of the claim by a trick, after the mine that was once located along the
creek stopped operations. He learned that your father was dead, and
thought that he was safe."

"But didn't he know the name was the same?" questioned Owen.

"Bradford's father bought the claim from the Wardell Mining Company,
run by a man named Henry Wardell, a schemer who was at one time in
business with Foxy Hildan. It is possible that Balasco thought the
claim was still in the Wardell family, after Wardell himself died."

"I--I bought the claim from Wardell," said Balasco. "I--I can prove it
by Hildan."

"That story won't stand investigation, Balasco. The Bradford claim is a
matter of record, and cannot be shaken. If you want to go to law over
it you may do so, but I'll stand by Bradford. I don't think it will pay
either you or Hildan to get into a courtroom."

As Jefferson Wilbur concluded he turned, just in time to see Foxy
Hildan slipping out of the doorway to the main office.

"He is running away!" cried Owen.

"If you want him I'll catch him!" replied Bruce, who was nearest to the
door. In a twinkling he was outside, and running after Foxy Hildan. He
caught up to the man with ease, and putting out his foot, sent Hildan
sprawling headlong over a pile of chips. When the man arose Bruce
caught him firmly by the arm.

"Let go of me, you young rascal!"

"I will not," answered Bruce, and in a moment Owen appeared, and
between them they compelled Hildan to return to the offices.

Half a dozen men had been aroused by the running and shouting, and soon
the offices began to fill up. Many were glad to see Mr. Wilbur and
shook hands with him. All were astonished to learn the news that part
of the lumber tract belonged to Dale, and not to Balasco.

"I reckon he'll make a good enough boss," said one of the men. "I liked
him and Webb the minute I clapped eyes on 'em," and others said the
same.

A conference lasting until sunrise followed, the principals to the talk
being Mr. Wilbur, Ulmer Balasco, Hildan, Dale, and Owen. Before it was
over both Balasco and Hildan weakened completely, and promised to do
anything that Jefferson Wilbur wished if he would not prosecute them.

"All I wish both of you to do is to treat me and Bradford fairly," said
Jefferson Wilbur.

"I'll do it," said Ulmer Balasco.

"So will I," put in Foxy Hildan. "And I'll help you with that contract,
too, if you say so."

"I don't want your assistance," responded Jefferson Wilbur coldly.

"You just leave us alone and we'll put that contract through with bells
on," came from Owen. Then he squeezed Dale's hand. "And to think, Dale,
you are part owner of this lumber tract! It beats all!"

"It certainly does beat all," answered Dale. "I'll be a lumberman now
and no mistake--and you shall be my head man, that is, if Mr. Wilbur
will agree."

"And that will suit me," said Owen. "Tell you what, coming out to
Oregon was a lucky thing for us, wasn't it?"

* * * * *

Let me add a few words more and then bring this tale of "Two Young
Lumbermen" to a close.

In due course of time the necessary papers were drawn up which gave
to Dale undisputed possession of the land claim which Ulmer Balasco
had for so many years called his own. Balasco signed off every alleged
right, and in addition paid Dale the sum of four thousand dollars, cash
received for lumber sold outside of the Wilbur-Balasco Combination.
Then Balasco disappeared, and with him went Foxy Hildan, and the others
were glad to get rid of them.

As Dale was not yet of age, it was necessary that a guardian be
appointed for him. For this service Mr. Rice was called in, and agreed
to serve. Jefferson Wilbur could not act, for the reason that a new
company was formed by himself and Mr. Rice, the latter acting for Dale.
As soon as this formation was complete, Dale went into the office
as local manager, and Owen became the head man outside, with Andy
Westmore as chief assistant. Bruce Howard might also have had a better
position, but he declined.

"I am much obliged to all of you for your kindness," he said. "But as
I told you before, I don't much care for life in a lumber camp. I want
to get among the iron and steel workers and make something of myself
in that industry," and shortly after that he left the camp, and his
place on the donkey engine was taken by another. How Bruce struck out,
and whether he succeeded or failed in his undertaking, will be told
in another volume of this "Great American Industries Series," a story
dealing largely with the iron and steel output of our country.

The many changes going on did not prevent Owen from going at the
railroad contract "tooth and nail," as Dale laughingly expressed it.
All he did was approved of by Jefferson Wilbur, and that gentleman
himself grew quite enthusiastic as the time on the contract grew
shorter.

"Oh, we're bound to win out!" cried Owen. "We've simply got to do it;"
and during the last forty-eight hours he went out himself, and he and
Dale worked as hard as anybody, bringing down the last trees required
to fill the order. When the final load reached the Columbia, and was
transferred to the railroad, there was a general rejoicing.

"Filled!" cried Dale, and threw up his cap.

"Yes, and with half a day to spare," added Owen. "We could supply them
with twenty more sticks if they wanted them."

"You have done well," put in Jefferson Wilbur, "very well indeed, and
so has everybody connected with this plant." And at the end of the week
the employees received the bonus that Owen had promised them. Owen
himself was not forgotten, and he placed the money in the old cigar box
with a laugh.

"Going to keep on saving," he said, with a merry glance at Dale. "Don't
expect to be as rich as you, but I'll have something for a rainy day."

"We're going to form a stock company when I am of age," answered Dale.
"And when we do, Mr. Wilbur and I have agreed to let you in on the
ground floor. So bring out your old violin to-night, Owen, and give us
a tune and be happy."

"Happy! how could a fellow be otherwise, in such a glorious spot as
this," said Owen. He lifted his cap and took in a deep breath from the
pine forest. "Beats a city all to nothing, doesn't it, Dale? Tell you
what, I'd rather be a lumberman than be a king!"

THE END

* * * * *

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