The early part of autumn had been characterized by a heavy snow-fall immediately after a series of mild days.A warm blanket of some thickness thus overlaid the earth, effectually preventing the freezing which subsequent cold weather would have caused.All the season Radway had contended with this condition.Even in the woods, muddy swamp and spring-holes caused endless difficulty and necessitated a great deal of "corduroying," or the laying of poles side by side to form an artificial bottom.Here in the open some six inches of water and unlimited mud awaited the first horse that should break through the layer of snow and thin ice.Between each pair of islands a road had to be "tramped."Thorpe and the rest were put at this disagreeable job.All day long they had to walk mechanically back and forth on diagonals between the marks set by Radway with his snowshoes.Early in the morning their feet were wet by icy water, for even the light weight of a man sometimes broke the frozen skin of the marsh.By night a road of trampled snow, of greater or less length, was marked out across the expanse.Thus the blanket was thrown back from the warm earth, and thus the cold was given a chance at the water beneath.In a day or so the road would bear a horse.A bridge of ice had been artificially constructed, on either side of which lay unsounded depths.This road was indicated by a row of firs stuck in the snow on either side.
It was very cold.All day long the restless wind swept across the shivering surface of the plains, and tore around the corners of the islands.The big woods are as good as an overcoat.The overcoat had been taken away.
When the lunch-sleigh arrived, the men huddled shivering in the lee of one of the knolls, and tried to eat with benumbed fingers before a fire that was but a mockery.Often it was nearly dark before their work had warmed them again.All of the skidways had to be placed on the edges of the islands themselves, and the logs had to be travoyed over the steep little knolls.A single misstep out on to the plain meant a mired horse.Three times heavy snows obliterated the roads, so that they had to be ploughed out before the men could go to work again.It was a struggle.
Radway was evidently worried.He often paused before a gang to inquire how they were "making it." He seemed afraid they might wish to quit, which was indeed the case, but he should never have taken before them any attitude but that of absolute confidence in their intentions.His anxiety was natural, however.He realized the absolute necessity of skidding and hauling this job before the heavy choking snows of the latter part of January should make it impossible to keep the roads open.So insistent was this necessity that he had seized the first respite in the phenomenal snow-fall of the early autumn to begin work.The cutting in the woods could wait.
Left to themselves probably the men would never have dreamed of objecting to whatever privations the task carried with it.Radway's anxiety for their comfort, however, caused them finally to imagine that perhaps they might have some just grounds for complaint after all.That is a great trait of the lumber-jack.
But Dyer, the scaler, finally caused the outbreak.Dyer was an efficient enough man in his way, but he loved his own ease.His habit was to stay in his bunk of mornings until well after daylight.
To this there could be no objection--except on the part of the cook, who was supposed to attend to his business himself--for the scaler was active in his work, when once he began it, and could keep up with the skidding.But now he displayed a strong antipathy to the north wind on the plains.Of course he could not very well shirk the work entirely, but he did a good deal of talking on the very cold mornings.
"I don't pose for no tough son-of-a-gun," said he to Radway, "and I've got some respect for my ears and feet.She'll warm up a little by to-morrow, and perhaps the wind'll die.I can catch up on you fellows by hustling a little, so I guess I'll stay in and work on the books to-day.""All right," Radway assented, a little doubtfully.
This happened perhaps two days out of the week.Finally Dyer hung out a thermometer, which he used to consult.The men saw it, and consulted it too.At once they felt much colder.
"She was stan' ten below," sputtered Baptiste Tellier, the Frenchman who played the fiddle."He freeze t'rou to hees eenside.Dat is too cole for mak de work.""Them plains is sure a holy fright," assented Purdy.
"Th' old man knows it himself," agreed big Nolan; "did you see him rammin' around yesterday askin' us if we found her too cold? He knows damn well he ought not to keep a man out that sort o' weather.""You'd shiver like a dog in a briar path on a warm day in July,"said Jackson Hines contemptuously.
"Shut up!" said they."You're barn-boss.You don't have to be out in th' cold."This was true.So Jackson's intervention went for a little worse than nothing.
"It ain't lak' he has nuttin' besides," went on Baptiste."He can mak' de cut in de meedle of de fores'.""That's right," agreed Bob Stratton, "they's the west half of eight ain't been cut yet."So they sent a delegation to Radway.Big Nolan was the spokesman.
"Boss," said he bluntly, "she's too cold to work on them plains to-day.She's the coldest day we had."Radway was too old a hand at the business to make any promises on the spot.
"I'll see, boys," said he.
