"What I say.He's busted.That freshet caught him too quick.They's more'n a million and a half logs left in the woods that can't be got out this year, and as his contract calls for a finished job, he don't get nothin' for what he's done.""That's a queer rig," commented Thorpe."He's done a lot of valuable work here,--the timber's cut and skidded, anyway; and he's delivered a good deal of it to the main drive.The M.& D.outfit get all the advantage of that.""They do, my son.When old Daly's hand gets near anything, it cramps.I don't know how the old man come to make such a contrac', but he did.Result is, he's out his expenses and time."To understand exactly the catastrophe that had occurred, it is necessary to follow briefly an outline of the process after the logs have been piled on the banks.There they remain until the break-up attendant on spring shall flood the stream to a freshet.
The rollways are then broken, and the saw logs floated down the river to the mill where they are to be cut into lumber.
If for any reason this transportation by water is delayed until the flood goes down, the logs are stranded or left in pools.
Consequently every logger puts into the two or three weeks of freshet water a feverish activity which shall carry his product through before the ebb.
The exceptionally early break-up of this spring, combined with the fact that, owing to the series of incidents and accidents already sketched, the actual cutting and skidding had fallen so far behind, caught Radway unawares.He saw his rollways breaking out while his teams were still hauling in the woods.In order to deliver to the mouth of the Cass Branch the three million already banked, he was forced to drop everything else and attend strictly to the drive.
This left still, as has been stated, a million and a half on skidways, which Radway knew he would be unable to get out that year.
In spite of the jobber's certainty that his claim was thus annulled, and that he might as well abandon the enterprise entirely for all he would ever get out of it, he finished the "drive" conscientiously and saved to the Company the logs already banked.Then he had interviewed Daly.The latter refused to pay him one cent.Nothing remained but to break camp and grin as best he might over the loss of his winter's work and expenses.
The next day Radway and Thorpe walked the ten miles of the river trail together, while the teamsters and the cook drove down the five teams.Under the influence of the solitude and a certain sympathy which Thorpe manifested, Radway talked--a very little.
"I got behind; that's all there is to it," he said."I s'pose Iought to have driven the men a little; but still, I don't know.It gets pretty cold on the plains.I guess I bit off more than I could chew."His eye followed listlessly a frenzied squirrel swinging from the tops of poplars.
"I wouldn't 'a done it for myself," he went on."I don't like the confounded responsibility.They's too much worry connected with it all.I had a good snug little stake--mighty nigh six thousand.
She's all gone now.That'd have been enough for me--I ain't a drinkin' man.But then there was the woman and the kid.This ain't no country for woman-folks, and I wanted t' take little Lida out o'
here.I had lots of experience in the woods, and I've seen men make big money time and again, who didn't know as much about it as I do.
But they got there, somehow.Says I, I'll make a stake this year--I'd a had twelve thousand in th' bank, if things'd have gone right--and then we'll jest move down around Detroit an' I'll put Lida in school."Thorpe noticed a break in the man's voice, and glancing suddenly toward him was astounded to catch his eyes brimming with tears.
Radway perceived the surprise.
"You know when I left Christmas?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I was gone two weeks, and them two weeks done me.We was going slow enough before, God knows, but even with the rank weather and all, I think we'd have won out, if we could have held the same gait."Radway paused.Thorpe was silent.
"The boys thought it was a mighty poor rig, my leaving that way."He paused again in evident expectation of a reply.Again Thorpe was silent.
"Didn't they?" Radway insisted.
"Yes, they did," answered Thorpe.
The older man sighed."I thought so," he went on."Well, I didn't go to spend Christmas.I went because Jimmy brought me a telegram that Lida was sick with diphtheria.I sat up nights with her for 'leven days.""No bad after-effects, I hope?" inquired Thorpe.
"She died," said Radway simply.
The two men tramped stolidly on.This was too great an affair for Thorpe to approach except on the knees of his spirit.After a long interval, during which the waters had time to still, the young man changed the subject.
"Aren't you going to get anything out of M.& D.?" he asked.
"No.Didn't earn nothing.I left a lot of their saw logs hung up in the woods, where they'll deteriorate from rot and worms.This is their last season in this district.""Got anything left?"
"Not a cent."
"What are you going to do?"
"Do!" cried the old woodsman, the fire springing to his eye."Do!
I'm going into the woods, by God! I'm going to work with my hands, and be happy! I'm going to do other men's work for them and take other men's pay.Let them do the figuring and worrying.I'll boss their gangs and make their roads and see to their logging for 'em, but it's got to be THEIRS.No! I'm going to be a free man by the G.
jumping Moses!"
Chapter XIV
Thorpe dedicated a musing instant to the incongruity of rejoicing over a freedom gained by ceasing to be master and becoming servant.
"Radway," said he suddenly, "I need money and I need it bad.Ithink you ought to get something out of this job of the M.& D.--not much, but something.Will you give me a share of what I can collect from them?""Sure!" agreed the jobber readily, with a laugh."Sure! But you won't get anything.I'll give you ten per cent quick.""Good enough!" cried Thorpe.
