Hundreds of people joined in the shrieking, and a stampede from the seats started. Scores were trampled. The music had stopped for an instant until the leader, true to tradition, called the men to order, and the musicians swung into a stirring march. Circus hands, aided by the performers who were on the platforms and in the rings, ran to the sides of the tracks and endeavored to keep the people in their seats.
The three chums were aghast for a minute, then Phil and Dick instinctively turned to Garry to see what he would do. Garry had taken one look and saw the beast at the far end of the tent, lashing his tail and surveying the crowd, as though making up its mind as to what course to pursue.
The boys saw that Garry was hastily slipping his lasso from his shoulder, and in a moment they had understood what he was going to attempt, and followed suit.
“Now fellows, let’s try it. We may save a lot of lives. I’ll try for his head, and you two try for a foot each. I think we can catch him all right. Let’s go!” and Garry led the way.
Calling to everyone to sit still as they ran, and swinging their lariats over their heads, they struggled to the ground. Several people seeing them make their way there, thought that it was perhaps a part of the circus, and began to shout to each other that it was a feature of the program. The sight of the three boys making their way fearlessly toward the beast did more than anything else to quiet the people. Many sat back in their seats, although others were escaping under the canvas wall of the tent.
It was to Phil, however, that the greatest honor was to come. As he ran, swinging one arm, his hand hit against a pocket in his coat, and he felt a hard lump within. In an instant he remembered that he bought pepper the day before to replenish the condiment can that he generally carried in his knapsack, but had not thought to take it out and transfer the contents from the package to the can. He reached into his pocket and brought out the can. Hastily opening the top, he kept on his way toward the lion, holding the package out in front of him. The chums approached within a few feet of the lion, who was showing signs of springing suddenly at them. The effect of the boys’ advance on him was to make him forget the crowds and center all his attention on those that were nearest him—the chums.
The boys stopped short and were swinging their lariats, when suddenly Phil darted ahead almost up to the lion, and, with a well directed aim, emptied the contents of the pepper package straight on the eyes of the lion.
The infuriated beast gave a roar of pain and sprang, then fell to earth and stuck a great paw into his eyes, as though to rub away the torturing stuff that was blinding him.
Garry, quick-witted, divined what Phil had done, and at the same moment that the lion struck the ground, ran forward and threw the noose of the lariat over the animal’s head.
The animal was nearly helpless, owing to its inability to see, and in another moment the boys had the rest of their lariats noosed about his feet.
By this time the trainer and a number of the circus helpers had arrived on the scene, and, dashing in, they tied the lariats securely about the animal’s feet.
The crowd seeing that the animal was securely fastened and helpless, first breathed a sigh of relief and then became suddenly quiet. Many still thought it was a part of the program, but a majority felt sure that it was a striking piece of bravery that they had just witnessed.
Then cheer on cheer rolled through the tent, as the audience applauded the brave trio of chums. All the foregoing had taken much less time than the minutes necessary to describe it. In a moment the owner came puffing on the scene, and when he saw who had accomplished the capture, he was speechless for the moment.
Then he said to the chums, as they stood watching the animal being loaded into its cage:
“This is twice today that you boys have done me a good turn, but this second time far outmatches the first. Will you please come back to the ticket wagon with me.” Then to the menagerie head, who had joined them: “I’d like you to come, too, please, Jones.”
The little group made its way to the ticket office, where the owner first asked for an account of how the beast had made its escape.
“The only man who can tell you that is the roustabout who cleans the animal’s cage. He was gashed by the lion evidently as its escape was being made, and that and very likely a heart stroke killed him quickly. I think perhaps he thought it was near time for the transfer to the arena cage to be made and had unlocked the cage door, and the lion pushed its way out, sir,” said Jones.
The manager was silent for a moment. Then he said:
“No one can know how sorry I am that the man lost his life, but I am thankful that the lion did no other damage, either by starting a great panic or by attacking some one of the audience. As for you boys, I propose to make you a substantial reward.”
“I assure you, sir,” began Garry, “we have no thought of any reward for doing what we did. It was luck on our part that enabled us to lasso him, and we get our satisfaction in knowing that we perhaps saved a great many lives.”
“I hope you will accept something as a recompense for your services. Had the lion done great damage, I would have had to pay out many thousands of dollars,” insisted the owner.
“Let us ask you one question first. Was the workman that was killed a family man?” asked Garry.
“I can tell you that in a minute.” Turning to the ticket seller, he told him to look the man up. A record of all the workers with their home addresses was kept in a card index and in a moment the ticket seller had ascertained that the dead man had a wife living in a small town in New York State.
“Of course we will take care of the widow, as we have every worker insured, and then the management always adds to the insurance,” said the head of the circus.
“Then I wish that you would just take whatever you had thought of offering us in the way of a reward and add to the amount. I think my chums agree with me that this is the best thing that could be done. Is that right?” and Garry turned to his friends. Both Dick and Phil were emphatic in their agreement.
“Well, if that is the way you boys feel about it, I will do so, but I will find some way to show you that I appreciate the great service that you have done me.”
The owner asked them several other questions and took their names and addresses, and again he offered to take the boys along with them on the tour. Of course they refused, explaining that they were of the Ranger Service of the State and were only on detached duty at the time.
They remained for supper at the cook tent, and watched the circus torn down and loaded in the teams preparatory to travelling to the next stop.
After a hearty goodbye from the manager and owner they took their leave, and hiking beyond the town spread their blankets for the night.
They woke with the rising of the sun, and building a fire soon had coffee, spider bread and bacon going, and made a hearty breakfast.
“According to my reckoning we are about ten miles from the camp, and the woods will begin in about a mile or two, so we had better get going. It is now six o’clock and with three hours of easy hiking we will make our destination,” said Garry. “Now I think we ought to hold a council of war as to how we shall conduct ourselves when we get to the camp. I think it best that we just go to the manager and tell him we are going to camp there for awhile, either right at the lumber camp, or a short distance in the woods. Of course we shall give no inkling of the nature of our visit, not even to the manager, at least until we have sized him up. To my mind, everyone will be under suspicion until he has proven that the suspicion is unfounded. We can go all over the camp and keep our eyes open, getting all the information we can. When we ask questions we should ask them simply as though it were from idle curiosity. I figure that in a short time we ought to be able to tell who is acting suspiciously and then bend all our efforts to watch them and frustrate any mischief that they may be up to. We shall, of course, get a lot of help from Howells when he arrives, but even then I think we ought to do everything possible ourselves to find out what is the trouble at the camp.”
They walked steadily but easily, and true to their reckoning arrived at the camp a little after nine o’clock. The boys looked about them curiously. There were only three buildings, built of logs. One, the smallest, was evidently the officers’ bunkhouse and offices; the other was apparently the cookhouse, for the boys could see a youth sitting on an upturned tub in front of the door peeling potatoes, and a thin wisp of smoke issued from the chimney. Since it was mid-summer and hot, there would be no need for a stove in any place but the kitchen. The third house was a long, low log affair, bigger by far than either of the others. This they decided was the bunk house, where the lumberjacks lived.
They made their way to the office and inquired for the manager. On hearing the word “manager,” a thin, sharpfaced man approached them, and giving them a hasty glance, said in a sharp tone:
“If you’re here to ask for permission to camp on this tract you’re out of luck. This is a lumber operation and not a free camp site for every fool from the city.”
“Just a minute, please. Hadn’t you better find out our business before you make up your mind as to what you will or won’t do?” asked Garry, as an angry red flush overspread his face. Garry was an extremely civil boy, and expected others to be the same, and when he received uncourteous attention was apt to resent it deeply.
“Well, what do you want?” asked the manager, still in an ungracious tone.
“My name is Boone, and the owner of these cuttings happens to be my father. Didn’t you get a letter from him telling of our expected arrival?”
A great change came over the manner of the manager. A smirking smile took the place of the frown and he advanced with outstretched hand.
“I hope you will pardon me. I have been bothered to death for the past few days by summer campers asking to pitch tents and build cabins and what not on the cutting, and I thought from your appearance that you boys were more of the same tribe,” he said with an attempt to smooth out the awkward situation and make up by a show of cordiality the blunder he realized he had made.
Privately, Garry thought him very ill-mannered and felt he should have made more inquiries before showing his temper. Still he said nothing and accepted the hand of the manager, who said his name was Barrows.
Garry then introduced his chums and explained that they intended to stay awhile and camp somewhere in the vicinity and watch the lumbering as well as getting some fishing.
“I understand that there are two lakes in the neighborhood,” remarked Garry, “and so we ought to get some good fishing.” At the mention of the word lakes, Barrows looked sharply at the boys, then said:
“Oh, yes, you will get plenty of fishing, but you will find that the small lake to the west of here is better than the big one that lies to the north of us. The state stocked the little lake sometime ago by special request of your father, and I hear there are some very good bass and pickerel to be found there. The reports about the larger lake are not so encouraging. Also there are two or three small streams,—brooks perhaps it would be better to call them,—where you will find some excellent trout. Then at the small lake there is a good stretch of sandy beach where you can swim whenever you want to. Altogether you will find the small lake is the most likely place for a summer playground.”
For a moment Garry wondered at the insistence of the manager in always bringing the “small” lake into the conversation, but dismissed the matter with the thought that the manager was simply trying to make amends for his ungraciousness of the previous moment by showing them where they could best enjoy themselves. Later he was to find that he was mistaken.
The manager asked them what they intended to do for living quarters. “I am sorry that I can’t offer you quarters in the bunkhouse here, but they are just built to accommodate the officers of the camp; that is myself, the sealer, the timekeeper and the bookkeeper. Of course you would not want to live in the bunkhouse with the men, for they are a rough lot. All I can suggest is that we makeshift for you some way and I will send to town and dig up a tent for you.”
“If you will just loan us an axe apiece, and tell us which spot we can cut a little timber from, we can throw ourselves up a cabin in a short time, so don’t bother about a tent. If necessary we can sleep in the open till we get our shack fixed up,” answered Garry.
“Why, I can do better than that. I can let you have a couple or three men to help you and do the work if you can direct them as to the kind of cabin you want.”
“I don’t want to take any of the men away from their work,” Garry told him, “but if we could have two or three for a few minutes to help us throw up the cabin after we cut the stuff it would help greatly.”
“I will go and mark out some of the trees that you can cut. There is a small growth here that isn’t exceptionally good lumber, it's rather scrubby, but will do very well for a cabin. I’ll have to go myself, for I left the cruiser go a few days to do some business he had waiting him, and I have been scaling myself. In fact I do that often. Whenever he is cruising to mark trees for cutting I do the measuring and that saves a lot of time, also it saves the pay of an extra man. You ought to have a good bit done by noontime and then after dinner I will detail a couple of men to help you,” and the manager led the way to the cookhouse, where there were several extra axes.
When they arrived at the cookhouse, they looked about with quite a bit of curiosity. Two great ranges stood at one end of the kitchen, and on one of the ranges were two enormous kettles. The boys could smell appetizing pea soup and judged that one of the kettles contained this.
The cook was an enormous man with a pair of fierce black moustaches, and the one man on the whole range who was regarded as being just a little bit better than the boss or even the owner of the timber tract. Lumberjacks always took care never to pick a quarrel with him, and this went the same for the manager and the camp officers.
This is the same in every logging camp, for a cook can pay up any grievances by cooking the food in an inferior fashion. Camp owners and managers always pay the greatest attention to the sort of man they pick for this position, for while in a lumber camp, there is never a widely varied menu, it must be well cooked and plentiful.
Nothing will drive the men away from a camp quicker than poor cooking.
The manager introduced the boys to the cook, who shook hands with them, offering a hairy hand which the chums privately thought resembled a ham. For all his fierce looks he proved to be a genial chap, and the three boys wondered whether he was one of the ring of trouble makers or not. They reserved any decision in their own minds to await future developments, but they had decided that everyone was under suspicion until he proved that he was clear of any blame in the mysterious occurrences that retarded progress at the lumber camp.
In every camp there is a cookee, as the helper to the cook is universally called. His duty is to peel potatoes, wash dishes, wait on the table—rather set the tables than wait, for everything is piled on at the beginning of the meal, and the only helping that is done is when a dish has to be re-filled.
The cookee was a surly looking chap of about twenty-one years of age. He was slight of build and had violent red hair. He just mumbled a word or two when he was introduced, and went on with his work, which was slicing bread for the dinner hour that was near at hand. Garry and his friends mentally put him down as one that might bear watching as soon as they had located themselves.
While the manager was asking the cook about borrowing a couple of the axes that were stacked in the corner, a black-browed chap came to the door and asked for a pail of water to take out to where several of the men were trimming trees. The cookee brought the water and stepped outside with the man. Garry and Phil were talking with the manager and the cook, but Phil happened to be standing near the door.
He heard the sound of talking in the French language and strained his ears to catch what was being said. Phil was not eavesdropping because of a natural desire to do so; it was merely that he was on the watch every moment for a possible clue that would lead them to the solution that they were in quest of,—the riddle of the mishaps at the lumber camp.
What Phil heard was this:
“Baptiste will be at the usual place at midnight tonight.”
Phil determined then and there that he would be at the rendezvous, wherever it was, and hear what transpired. He could hardly wait to get the others with him so that he could impart to them the information that he had just overheard.
He hoped that something else would be said, but at this moment the cook called for his helper, who came hustling back into the shanty, and went about preparing for the serving of the dinner.
Phil went back to join his chums just in time to hear the manager say:
“Unless you boys want the fun of throwing up a log house, I would suggest a much easier and quicker way. You can cut enough poles for the supports of the house, and then I’ll have some sawed boards brought to the spot. Also there is some tarred paper here that was brought here when the camp started just for such an emergency. That would mean that you could be all located before nightfall. As for heat, I have a Sibley stove, one of those small ones such as they use in army camps for tents, that will do very well. It isn’t likely that you will want it often, for we are in the hottest part of the summer, and only on a cold, wet night will you require heat. You won’t be here such a long time, I presume, and we are in for a spell of good weather according to the cook here, who is the camp weather prophet.”
Garry thought for a moment, and wondered what made the manager presume they would be there only a short time. He was anxious to get going about the camp as soon as possible and see what there was to pick up in the way of information, so he decided that the board house would do as well as one built entirely of logs.
“That is a fine suggestion and we will accept. Building a hut is nothing new to us, and we are anxious to begin fishing and wandering about, so if you will show us where we can cut enough good heavy saplings for supports, we will start right at it. We can have them cut and in place before dinner and then the men can bring us the boards after dinner and we will be all shipshape by nightfall,” said Garry.
“I think that is the best thing to do,” the manager answered. “It is about an hour to dinner time, and you will have ample time to do all that can be done this forenoon.”
So saying, Barrows led the way to a spot near the camp, where there was a clump of saplings that were not big enough to be used for sawed lumber.
“You might as well pitch your shanty here as anywhere, and it will save you from dragging your saplings to any great distance. I’ll gash each of the saplings that you will need. You will only want ten as I figure it.”
“No, we will want twelve so that we may have a window,” interposed Garry.
“That’s a fact,” answered the manager, looking sharply at Garry. “I see that you know rather a bit about shanty building. Do you know much about logging operations? I suppose you do, however, since you are of a family that has always made logging a business.”
Garry felt that the manager was asking this question for a purpose, but he promptly answered:
“No, we know very little about logging, surprising as that may seem, since as you say it ought to run in the blood. About the only thing we understand about timbering operations is the log drive in the spring. We were up once to watch the fight for the river, and had a mighty exciting time, but the entire business is something new to all of us.”
Garry finished speaking and then looked sharply but guardedly at Barrows. He thought he noticed a relieved expression on the face of the manager.
The three boys set about felling the saplings, swinging their axes with a sure arm and hand. Barrows lingered to watch them at work, although Phil was on tenterhooks to have him get away in order that he might impart to his chums the information that he had gained from the sentence he had overheard at the cook shanty.
The poles being cut, four of them were erected in an upright manner to form the main support of the house. At the tops of these, four more were placed horizontally to support the roof. Then in the center of the front, two were erected to form the sides of the door, while at a side two others, in vertical position, allowed the making of a window.
Still the manager made no show of leaving until fortunately for Phil, who would have almost exploded had he been forced to keep silent any longer, he was called by the red headed cookee.
“Now quick fellows, while I have a chance to tell you. I have found one of the traitors in the camp; it is the cookee. He is going to meet some one tonight to hatch something out, and you chaps have one guess as to who it is.”
“Barrows?” hazarded Dick.
“Wrong. Baptiste LeBlanc!”
“The LeBlancs again!” exploded Garry. “I thought that we had seen the last of that outfit. It seems that we are destined to run afoul of them. Fortunately this Baptiste does not know about us, unless he has run across his brother lately. That does not seem likely, for Jean is safely beyond the border still. There are few places where he is safe, for he is wanted in several different parts of the state. Still we must not take anything for granted. We probably were seen by Baptiste when we were instrumental in saving Howells from a bad beating or worse the other night.”
“How are we going to find out where the rendezvous is tonight?” asked Dick.
“It seems to me that the best thing to do is to keep watch of the red headed cookee; that is, you two chaps do that, while I will watch for the man that told him of the appointment. You boys haven’t seen him, so you cannot keep on his trail. You can take turns keeping in the vicinity of the cookee. If possible you might try and make acquaintance with him, although I doubt if you will go very far, since he seems to be a surly sort of a chap. Still, there’s no harm in trying. When it comes time for the meeting, I should say that it would be best only for me to follow them. I can understand what they are saying, and one of us could follow unobserved, where three would be spotted in a minute. You chaps can plead to being tired after your hike and the work of building the shack, and that will give us a chance to get to the new shanty early, and so be unobserved.”
At that moment they heard the sound of a tin pan being vigorously beaten with a stick, and immediately Dick set up a shout:
“There’s the dinner signal, or my ears and stomach fail me.”
“For once I am ready to eat a good big meal. You are not the only one with an appetite today, Dick,” said Garry, and the three raced for the cookhouse.
As they neared the cook tent, they saw the lumberjacks piling towards the place to eat. They were a sizable group of men, brawny of arm and large of frame.
Most of them gave the boys a curious glance as they flocked into the shanty. The boys thought that they were to eat in the common dining room, but found that they were to eat in a separate room that had been partitioned off from the large room. Here ate the manager, the timekeeper and cashier, and when he was present, the timber scaler.
The food that was served them was the same as that given the men. Barrows explained this by saying that it kept the men in a better humor if they knew that the bosses were getting the same fare as they.
“Lumberjacks are just like so many children,” Barrows said. “They are always on the lookout for something to quarrel about, and are almost as temperamental as grand opera stars. Just now work is scarce, so they keep better behaved; but in the winter time, when all the camps are going full blast, you have to be careful and treat them properly, else they will simply depart for some city where there is a woods agency and be sent off to another camp. That is one of the evils of lumbering, the agencies. They often try to breed trouble in the camps so that the men will quit. Then they pack them off to another logging tract and collect a commission from the camp owner for furnishing him with men. If this was winter I would think that was what was the trouble here.”
Garry looked up in surprise. He had no idea that Barrows would admit that everything was not as it should be at the camp.
He knew that the eyes of the manager were on him, nevertheless he felt that an answer was expected of him, or rather a question.
“Why, is there anything the trouble at this camp? From what I’ve seen I should say that everyone was working busily and everything was lovely.”
At this the manager brightened up considerably. It seemed to be that this was the kind of a remark that he was looking for, and he made haste to answer:
“Oh, there is nothing radically wrong here, I only meant that occasionally there seemed to be a sort of dissatisfied air on the part of the men, but it may only be worry on my part.”
Garry was certain that the entire conversation was brought about in a manner to delve into the feelings of the boys, and see how they regarded everything. Garry did not believe that their mission was penetrated, but thought that the guilty conscience of the manager would make him see an enemy in every person he did not know.
The dinner was plain but good. It consisted of pea soup, potatoes, some roasted beef, and coffee. The fare at a lumber camp is anything but varied. The aforementioned articles, roast pork, stew and beans, with either white bread baked at the camp, or great slabs of johnny cake with molasses in lieu of syrup was the general thing. Coffee was served at every meal.
“For breakfast we have bacon and toast and coffee in our dining room, because the men have all eaten and started for work by the time we are ready for breakfast,” said Barrows. “Now we will go into the other room, and I will give you boys a general introduction to the men. That will save you any annoyance when you go about the camp.”
He led the way into the larger room, and stepping on a bench announced:
“Men, these three boys are going to camp here for awhile. This one,” pointing to Garry, “is the son of the owner. The other two are his friends. I wanted you to meet them so that you may do all you can to make their visit here a good one.”
Garry thought to himself, “Yes, you are also showing us to those in your crew so they will watch their step while we are around.” A good many of the men just sized the boys up, a few hollered good-natured remarks at them, while several pressed forward and shook the hands of the boys, remarking they had worked many years for Mr. Boone and were glad to meet his son and his friends.
The three chums took especial care to fix these men in their minds, for the same thought came to them all,—that if trouble arose, it was likely that these men would prove loyal friends in need. Barrows detailed some of the men to bring back the necessary lumber for the shanty, and then the men went back to their work for the afternoon.
Soon they heard a chugging sound and presently a tractor hove into sight, dragging a broad-wheeled cart on which was the lumber. The manager came up, leading a couple of men with some heavy rolls of tarred paper, and all was ready to build the shanty.
Sandy, the big Airedale, was gravely watching the boys when the men with the tar paper arrived, and one of them seeing the dog, remarked:
“How would you chaps like to go coon hunting tonight, that is if your pup will trail a coon?”
This was just what the boys did not want to do that night, so Garry hastily made the excuse that they were tired from their march and the work of throwing up the shanty, but said they would be glad to go the following night.
This seemed all right to the men, who proceeded to make friends with Sandy, that is as much as that sedate dog would let them, for an Airedale makes few friends outside of his own family circle.
The work of putting up the shanty was done in a short time since there were so many workers, and the addition of two bunks made it complete.
Barrows volunteered the information that there was a spare table in the office, and a bench and a couple of chairs that could be taken from the dining room.
“Then all we have to do is to cut some balsam boughs for our bunks and we will be as snug as bugs in a rug,” announced Phil.
Phil and Dick were dispatched to get the boughs, while Garry talked of inconsequential matters with Barrows until their return.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in wandering about the cutting. It was a revelation to the boys, the sight of the great timber falling in the exact direction that it was wanted. The boys noted that the cut was made just as Howells had told them, and they wondered whether or not any spikes would be encountered.
The felling of a tree is an interesting process. The swing begins on the side where the cutters do not want the tree to fall. Then when the saw is better than two-thirds of the way through the trees, the swampers or axemen take their stand at either side of the tree, and make a cut a trifle under the line where the saw is coming through. This is done to cause the tree to fall on that side. The axemen work like clockwork, using a double bitted axe,—that is one that has two blades,—and make the chips positively fly, one drawing his axe away just in time to let the other man make a blow. Just as the moment comes for the tree to fall, the cry of “tim-ber-r-r-r” is raised by one of the axemen and this is the signal for all to be out of the way as the great tree falls with a crash that shakes the ground for many feet around.
Following the falling of the timber, the trimmers begin their work. Starting at the base end of the tree, one on each side, they walk up the sides of the fallen monarch of the forest, and trim the branches off as far as they are able. Many of the branches on the under side of the tree are broken in the fall, others are only splintered and many of them are just bent. A dozen men then seize their peavy sticks, as they are called in Maine, or cant dogs in some other places where lumbering is done, and roll the tree over. A peavy stick is a heavy pole about six feet long, with a sharp iron point at the end. About a foot from this point is attached a loose curved iron arm very much like one side of an ice-man’s tongs. This swings back and forth from the handle. The men prod the iron point into the trunk of the tree, and then catch the swinging end of the hook into the trunk. This gives them almost a handle to the tree, and the long pole furnishes them the necessary leverage. At a word from the man on the end, all give a mighty heave, and the tree is rolled over, when the remaining branches are lopped off.
The lumberjacks are experts in the use of the peavy stick, and it is a pretty sight to see them load a great trunk onto a flat car to be drawn away. The method is almost the same as that used in turning over a trunk,—only just half of the men fix their sticks. They give it half a turn and then hold it in position on the skids, while the other half get a grip and start turning. In this way, turn and turn about, they roll the log right up the skids and onto the car.
In this instance the trunks were not hauled to the mill on a car; a chain was attached instead, and then one of the baby tractors was used to drag it over the ground to the mill. There were a half a dozen of these tractors at the camp. Three were constantly employed in dragging the cut timber to the mill, while the other three were used to draw the flat cars to the railroad tracks, a half a dozen miles from the camp.
After watching the felling of several trees, the boys essayed trimming, and while they were by no means unskillful at it, caused many a laugh among the men because of the time they took. Whereas they often took two or three strokes to take off a branch, the skilled woodsmen with one swift, clean cut, lopped off a good thick branch.
The boys took their chaffing good naturedly and thereby won a lot of regard from the jacks, many of whom were ready to sneer at “city chaps.”
From the timbering they went to the sawmill. Here they found a busy whir of activity. Logs were rolled onto the carriage and sent down the plane, while the great circular saw bit its way through the length of the tree like a hot knife through a pat of butter.
The carriage then runs back to where it started, while a mechanical device shoves the log sideways as many inches as is desired and the carriage starts on its journey again. This is done until the log has been “sliced into planks.” These are then piled on one side, waiting for the flat cars to be loaded and hauled away by the tractor.
This operation that has been described entails more labor than the winter logging, for then the trees are simply cut and rolled to one side of the river. This continues throughout the winter until the cutting has been complete and then they wait for the ice to go out. As soon as the ice breaks up, the logs are tumbled into the river and floated down the stream. For days they float down the river to the mills below, which are always located on the river banks, and here they are ground up and made into pulp from which paper is later manufactured.
The logs are distinguished one from another when they reach their journey’s end by branding, much as the horses that roam the feeding places in the West are known by their brand. Every lumberman has his mark, and a gash is made at one end of the log, and on this is made the mark.
For example, Garry’s father had his mark AB, which stood for his initials. In this instance it was not necessary to brand the lumber, for it all came from the same cutting and was transported directly to the same destination.
After supper that night, the men gathered outside their bunkhouses, playing cards or simply leaning back against the wall and smoking. One of the French Canadian lumberjacks produced a mouth organ, and another a battered guitar, and those who spoke the French joined in an old “chanson” or song.
Soon one of the Americans, seizing on a lull in the conversation and singing, struck up an old-time lumberjack song, and in a moment the whole camp had joined in. The lumberjack songs are mostly about camp events, the fight for the river at the spring flood, some great battle that took place between two rival lumber camps, for your true lumberjack is as ready to fight as to eat.
Where these songs come from, no one knows. They are as old as the lumbering industry in Maine, and generally are written with a chorus at the end. One man sings the verse and then the camp joins in the chorus in a thundering tone. There is generally more noise than melody, at least in the choruses, for a man that has a fair voice always sings the verse part. Some of these songs are of a seemingly endless duration, but the lumberjacks never tire of singing them.
As the men sang the moon came up, and made a scene that was long to be remembered by the boys. In spite of their enjoying the evening, they kept a sharp eye on the movements of the red haired cookee, although he made no move to disappear. The boys figured that he probably would not until the camp was asleep. Soon the men began to yawn, and turn into the bunkhouse, while the boys bade goodnight to the manager and repaired to their own shack. They turned in, and as soon as all seemed quiet, Phil started out, and walking in the shadows, made for the spot he had picked that afternoon as being a safe place to watch the exit from the bunkhouse.
Garry and Dick dropped off to sleep, and were only awakened some time later by hearing Phil climb into his bunk. In a moment they were wide awake.
“What news,” whispered Garry.
“Go on to sleep,” advised Phil in a disappointed tone. “The LeBlanc never showed up, and I’ve lost three hours’ sleep for nothing. Goodnight!”
It was in that dark hour that precedes the dawn, which for some reason or other is always the blackest of the night. The three boys were sleeping soundly. Suddenly Phil awoke and sniffed the air. For a moment or two he was dazed, then he gave a shout.
His cry of alarm woke the others, and they were about to leap from their beds when Phil’s warning shout prevented them.
“What’s the trouble, Phil?” asked Garry. “Are there snakes in the shack or are you just having a nightmare? Whew!” Garry had no need to ask any further questions.
The nocturnal visitor was nothing more nor less than a polecat, that little animal of the woods about the size of a cat, but commonly called a skunk.
Phil retained his presence of mind, and reached to the bottom of his bunk and hauled out one of his heavy shoepacks. With a well directed aim he heaved it at the unwelcome little intruder, which at that moment was near the door. The force of the blow carried the animal out into the night, and then the boys hopped out of their bunks and seized their clothes. Keeping a wary eye, they dashed through the door and out of the way. The animal by this time was scampering away.
Going back to the shack was almost out of the question, for he had left his unmistakable scent behind him.
“There goes my night’s sleep all shot to pieces,” exclaimed Phil in an aggravated tone. “First I go on a wild goose chase to hear a plot and hear nothing, then this comes up, and blooie, there is goodbye to rest. Bet you I take a nap this morning. Wonder if that smell will evaporate or will we have to build a new shack. Also there is going to be a door on the next one. I don’t want any more night visitors like that chap.”
“Hush a minute,” whispered Garry. To the ears of the boys, trained by their work in the woods to catch the slightest sound, came the soft noise as of someone walking towards the bunkhouse. In a moment Garry was flat on the ground, wiggling along as does an Indian on the war path in a manner that the boys had often practiced when they were Scouts.
He was back in about five minutes. The others were all curious to know what had made him act in such a mysterious manner.
“Someone was prowling about, and just a moment ago went into the bunkhouse. I could hear him when he dropped his shoes as he got ready to crawl into the bunk. Here’s what I think. That wood pussy may have wandered into the shack all by his lonesome, but for my part I think it is the first event in a campaign to make things so unpleasant for us that we will cut short our visit and go away,” whispered Garry.
“They couldn’t have picked on anything much better to make it unpleasant,” answered Dick. “What will we do now?”
By this time the first faint streaks of dawn appeared, and in a little while the camp would be astir.
“It is almost morning, and now that we are wide awake and up, we might as well stay so,” answered Garry. “First thing we do this morning is to get a few more boards and fashion a door for this shack. Also I saw some heavy screening yesterday,—you notice that all the windows are screened,—and we will tack a double thickness of that over the window. That will afford us some slight protection against the invasion of more friends such as the one that paid us an unwelcome call.”
In a little while the camp was starting to come to life. First appeared the cookee who favored the boys with a knowing grin, then came the cook, who immediately started the work of getting breakfast. Finally, struggling into their clothes as they came yawning through the doors, appeared the lumberjacks.
Garry cautioned his chums to say nothing for the moment about their experience of the night. They passed several moments in chatting with those of the lumberjacks with whom they thought they might make friends that would perhaps stand them in good stead later on. Garry was telling a funny story and at its conclusion the men burst into a roar of laughter.
The red headed cookee happened to be passing just as the men began to laugh, and he looked sharply at the boys. While he was serving them breakfast in the smaller room,—they happened to be alone as Barrows had not yet arisen,—he remarked:
“Understand you chaps didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“No, we didn’t,” answered Garry, looking up quickly.
“Well, better luck next time,” and still grinning the cookee shambled out of the room.
“Well!” exploded Garry. “If that chap didn’t go and give himself clean away first shot out of the gun!”
“Looks as though your hunch about its being a part of the campaign of ruthlessness was a fact,” said Dick with a laugh.
“Only question in my mind,” said Phil, “is did he think of it himself as a sort of a practical joke, or was he put up to it by Barrows?”
“Looks pretty certain to me that Barrows was the instigator of the matter,” answered Garry.
When Barrows appeared, the boys explained the matter to him, and asked him for the necessary lumber with which to construct a door, also some screening for the window. Barrows told them they could go to the saw mill and select whatever they wanted in the way of boards.
As they were getting the boards, an old grizzled lumberman chatted with them. He asked why they wanted a door in that kind of weather, and Garry told him the story.
“They do leave a reg’lar trail behind them, don’t they?” laughed the old man. “I’ll tell you what you can do, though, and it will fix things up pretty well. I always keep some sulphur on hand when I’m in the woods. Occasionally you get a rash from the browntail moths in the woods, and the best thing for a cure is a poultice made with a little sulphur. When you put your door on, take a few extra boards and board up your window. Then take the sulphur that I give you and put it in a pan and set it on fire with a hot coal from the kitchen range. Then you hop out and let the shack get thoroughly filled with the fumes o’ the sulphur, and you’ll find after a couple or three hours that you’ll have your place fumigated as pretty as if you had ten boards of health do the job for you.”
The boys thanked the old timer, and left with their lumber. A few minutes later he appeared on the scene with his sulphur, and the work of boarding the window and making a door being completed, they did as he had directed and went on a tour of the camp.
As they were wandering about, with Sandy at their heels, they were again approached by the man who had wanted to go on a coon hunt. This time they accepted his invitation, and arranged to go that night.
The day passed quickly, for there were many things about the camp to attract their attention, and they asked numerous questions of such of the lumberjacks as seemed inclined to spend a moment or two to answer them.
As soon as it got dark, the coon hunter appeared and asked if they were ready to go. He was accompanied by one or two of his friends, and Garry noticed that one of them carried a burlap bag.
The boys secured their rifles, and were about to join the party, when one of the men, noticing the guns, said:
“You don’t need your rifles, although you can carry ’em if you want. We were aiming to catch the coon alive and see if we couldn’t tame him for a sort of pet around the camp. That’s what we brought the bag for.”
“Good,” answered Garry. “We aren’t much on shooting animals just for the sake of shooting.”
The trio of men led the way to where the man called Tom had said he had seen a raccoon a few days before. Sandy was eagerly sniffing at the ground, and soon he gave vent to a low growl.
“By gosh, I believe he’s got the scent already,” chuckled one of the men. “It may be some other kind of an animal, but I doubt it. All I’ve seen around here is the raccoon, although there were a few rabbits at different times. Still the raccoon is the most likely to be out prowling at this time of night.”
Soon Sandy was off, with his nose close to the ground. After a few moments he had left them entirely, and they followed only by means of his occasional barks. After almost half a mile of chasing, they heard a series of wild barks, and knew that Sandy had driven something to bay.
In a few moments they had caught up to the dog, and there sure enough he had something treed and was venting his pleasure by loud and vociferous barks.
They peered up into the tree and could see nothing. In the meantime one of the men had discovered a hole at the foot of the tree.
“Now one of you fellows get some branches, dry ones of course, and we’ll soon have Mr. Coon all trapped as nice as you please.”
One of the men, assisted by Dick, soon gathered an armful of dry sticks. Getting a boost from his friend, Tom soon shinnied up the tree, and stopped after he had gotten about fifteen feet up well into the branches, for it was a small tree.
“Here’s the upper end of the hollow,” he called down. “Now you fellows start your fire at the hole down there, while I spread the bag over this hole.”
The smudge was soon started, and fanning it with their coats, they drove the smoke into the hollow tree trunk. They were always careful not to let the flames of the fire get to the tree, or they might have started a forest fire that would have been disastrous. As a matter of fact, several bad forest fires have started from an unskillful attempt to smoke some animal out of a tree.
Soon there was a shout from the man up the tree. “I’ve got him!”
The smoke had proved too much for Brer Raccoon, and he had sought to escape by the hole at the top, only to walk into the bag. In a moment more Tom had descended the tree with a squirming, snarling animal safely tied up in the bag.
On their return to the camp they were greeted by several of the jacks who had not yet gone to bed. The catch was exhibited, and one of the men produced an old dog collar from the bunkhouse. The collar was snapped on the coon’s neck, a stout rope was attached to the ring in the corner to be later tied securely to a nail at the corner of the bunkhouse.
“There,” remarked Tom, surveying the result of the night’s catch. “If you fellows will lay off and not tease him, and shinny out a little food for him once in a while, he’ll get tame as a kitten, and they are a lot of fun when they get tame. Almost as good as a monkey.”
“We’ll have to keep Sandy tied up for a while when he is not with us, or he’ll make short work of that coon,” remarked Garry.
“Oh, I’ll have ’em as friendly as two brothers in a few days,” was Tom’s verdict.
The boys later found that the man Tom had a reputation for being quite a hand with animals of every description, but future events will show why Sandy and the coon never got well acquainted. Things were on the verge of beginning to hum for all hands.
When the boys woke in the morning, they made two startling discoveries. The first one was that repeated calls failed to bring Sandy to them, and the boys had never remembered the morning when Sandy went so far abroad that a few whistles did not bring him back on the run to join his companions.
The second surprise was found when Garry noticed a familiar looking roll of birch bark at the entrance to the cabin, weighted down by a stone!
“Look here, you chaps,” called Garry, as he gazed at the little roll of bark, which he had not yet picked up. The boys crowded around and looked at him in amazement.
“Without making any rash bets,” announced Garry, “I’ll wager my best rifle against a plugged nickel, that one of our friends has been in this vicinity within the past few hours. Cast your eyes on that roll of bark, and tell me if you dare that we won’t find a funny cryptic little message in it!”
“The Hermit!” burst out Dick and Phil almost in one breath.
“That’s my guess. Now we’ll see if we are right,” and Garry stooped and picked up the little roll from its resting place beneath the stone. “It’s the Hermit, and it’s just the kind of a note I expected to find. Listen to this. ‘Unseen watchers often give the best aid. When you need me most, I’ll be with you.’ And it’s signed with his old mark, the lone pine with the crossmarked boulder,” said Garry as he had finished reading.
“Well, if that doesn’t beat anything I ever heard of,” said Dick. “How in the name of all that’s wonderful did he ever find us in this part of the country?”
“I think I can answer that,” interrupted Phil. “He must have run across Nate Webster and asked about us. It is likely that Nate told him where we were going, and since he knew that we were good friends, might have given him an inkling of the business that we were here on. The thing that puzzles me is why he should not have waited and seen us, or even waked us up to say howdy.”
“Well, you know what a queer old codger he was, and this latest stunt is typical of him. Much as I would like to see him, I confess I would have been a little bit disappointed if he had not done something out of the ordinary,” replied Garry.
“Wonder where he went after he left the note?” queried Dick.
“Oh, he’s probably somewhere out in the woods, you know life in the open woods is nothing to him, after all the years that he must have lived in them. The main question now, since we can do nothing about our friend the Hermit, as he will come in his own good time, is to see what has happened to Sandy. I cannot understand his going away. He may have chased up some animal, and if so he will be back. But it is unusual for him ever to stir away from where we are sleeping until he knows that we are up and about.”
Throughout the morning they searched every nook and corner of the camp, going almost to the edge of the cutting operations, asking all the workers they met whether or not the dog had been seen. Their search was of no avail. The day dragged on, still no Sandy, and each passing hour made the chums more downcast.
“I’m beginning to think that this is step number two to drive us out,” gritted Garry between his teeth. “I tell you this, boys, if it is so, and I’m inclined to believe it more and more, if any harm comes to Sandy through the machinations of this crew that are trying to ruin Dad’s business, there’s going to be one of the sweetest little wars started that Barrows and his whole crew ever even dreamed of.”
“I’m with you, Garry. That dog was more than human, and the best friend that a bunch of chums like us could ever hope to have,” replied Dick as he patted his friend on the shoulder. Phil said nothing, but the others could see by the tightening of the corners of his mouth,—the danger signal when Phil was really aroused over anything,—that he was with them to the end.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything that we can do. I’ve looked carefully over the ground for any signs of a struggle, but I can find nothing. There was some trickery of some kind to get Sandy away. It may have been done only to steal him and possibly sell him, but it may be that there was a foul purpose in getting the dog away from us. The time has come for real action. Let’s get going early in the morning and keep our eyes and ears sharply on the lookout. Phil, you watch the cookee closely and see if there are any more midnight appointments to be made. Dick, you look out for the sawmill, and see if there is any funny business being done with the saw. You know enough about machinery to be able to detect if it is working properly, and your common sense will tell you if there seems to be a slackening up of production. It stands to reason that the boss of the sawmill must be in on this scheme, for more delay can be caused here than anywhere else. It is unlikely that there are many men in on this plot. Too many would make it unsafe for the conspirators, they couldn’t all keep their mouths shut. I’ll keep an eye on Barrows and see what conferences he holds with the men. I hope that Howells gets back here soon, I feel that we need immediate advice from someone who is more experienced in the lumbering business than we are. Now let’s hop to it.”
The two boys did as their leader had directed. Phil ambled off to the cookhouse with the intention of offering his services in peeling potatoes to the cookee in order that he might have an excuse for keeping near the fellow. Dick at once made for the sawmill.
When he arrived there, the busy hum of activity seemed to be all about him. But as he watched he became conscious of the fact that there seemed to be several things that delayed the game. The man who drove one of the tractors seemed to be having continual trouble with the engine, and several minutes on each trip were consumed in needless repairs. Dick could see with half an eye that there was little the trouble with the engine except that which was created by the driver himself. The man kept up a continual stream of grumbling at the way the engine was acting, evidently to make the trouble appear to be real.
Once Dick saw that there was a loose wire connection which the driver purposely overlooked, and after he had watched the man waste ten minutes in needless overhauling, he stepped up and offered his services.
The man refused with a growl and an oath. Dick managed to restrain his temper, although he wanted to tell the man how evident his stalling around was.
“Oh, all right, I don’t mean to interfere with your business, but your wire to your battery is unconnected,” and Dick turned on his heel.
Seeing that Dick really knew what he was talking about, the driver attached the wire and in a moment or two was off for another load of logs.
“If he wastes that much time every trip,” thought Dick to himself, “he might just as well try to bring in the logs on his back. In the course of a week that would mean almost a day’s production gone to waste, and I haven’t watched long enough to know how much time he takes on his trip.”
Quite frequently the saw would be stopped for a moment while the boss sawyer oiled up different parts of the machinery. He did not seem to like Dick’s watching him, but he was evidently a little wiser than the driver, and attempted an explanation.
“This is the last saw we have in the camp,” he told Dick. “The ones that we ordered haven’t shown up yet, and if anything goes wrong with this one, we are hurt and hurt bad.”
Dick pretended a great deal of ignorance about the saw, but he could see that the sawyer regarded him with some suspicion.
Dick kept in the sawmill, but stayed as much as possible in the background. After nearly an hour of watching, a great log was rolled onto the carriage, and glancing at his watch, the boss sawyer called an assistant and gave him charge of the saw. Then he hastened from the mill and started in the direction of the camp, evidently to hold a conference with Barrows. Dick was turning to saunter out when he heard a terrific tearing sound as of steel being ground between heavy rollers, then a cry of pain from the sawyer. Dick turned and rushed to the scene. The saw was still grinding into the obstruction that was causing the noise, and several pieces of flying steel were in the air. The sawyer had his hands clasped to his face, and the blood was streaming from between his fingers.
Dick saw that there was no one with presence of mind enough to throw the lever that shut off the saw, and he ran and threw off the lever. Then he returned to the injured man. The flying teeth of the saw had cut his face in several places, but fortunately his eyes were uninjured. That he had escaped being blinded was almost a miracle.
The thought that flashed through Dick’s mind that here was an instance of what Howells had told them, of the spiking a tree in the upper part where it would hit the saw. Dick asked the old man who had told them how to fumigate their shack the day before if he could roll back the saw without starting up the engine and causing more teeth to be broken and start flying about the place.
In a few minutes the old timer had worked the saw back so that Dick could examine it. It required only a moment to see that the saw was irreparably ruined. Most of the teeth had been bent or broken off, and a further examination showed that several parts of the saw carriage and control had been broken or strained by the unwonted burden that had been put on them.
At this moment the boss sawyer and Barrows, the manager, had come rushing up to the mill to inquire what was the trouble. Garry was with them, and Dick gave him a significant look, unobserved by the others.
“What’s all the trouble?” inquired Barrows needlessly, for he could see with half an eye the damage that had been wrought.
“Seems as if your saw was a total wreck,” answered Dick. “Must have struck a ton of metal in the heart of that tree to do all that damage.”
“Nonsense,” cried Barrows. “Whoever heard of metal in a tree?”
“Could it have been a defective saw?” inquired Garry soberly, for the purpose of hearing what reply Barrows would make.
“Yes, that’s what it must have been, a defective saw,” repeated the manager, parrot fashion.
“Defective saw me eye,” broke in the old helper. “That tree has been spiked and spiked good and plenty. That’s the second saw that went that way this summer. Tother time it nearly killed the sawyer when the belt flew off and almost got him tangled up in the machinery. There’s one sure way to find out what caused it, and that’s to roll her off the carriage and split off that place where the saw started to eat through. If there isn’t a spike there, you can have my month’s wages.”
“You seem to know all about it, and perhaps we shall find out why you know so much about the matter,” and Barrows favored the old man with a look that boded no good to him.
In the face of the old timer’s statement, and because Dick and Garry were looking at the manager as though they expected him to take speedy action, there was nothing for Barrows to do but follow the suggestion and order the log rolled off. This was done, and then several wedges were driven in, and using the backs of single bitted axes, the section of tree was soon split open. There plainly revealed to view were several bent, cut and twisted spikes!
“That’s what broke your saw,” exclaimed the old man. “Shame, too, a nice saw like that ruined and the only one in the camp at that!”
“That will do, Collins,” cut in Barrows sharply. “Your opinion wasn’t asked. Besides, I am still wondering how your knowledge of the spiking seemed to prove so accurate.”
“I was raised in the woods, and I know all the little tricks. There’s dirty work afoot here somewhere,” returned old Collins staunchly.
“Yes, I guess you do know all the tricks, but I know a good one, too; you go and get your pay from the timekeeper and start on your way,” ground out the manager.
“Isn’t that just a trifle hasty, Mr. Barrows?” cut in Garry.
“Listen, my boy. With all due respect to the son of my employer, I must say that I am manager of this camp, and what I say goes. You know I am protecting your father’s business, and there has been so much funny business going on lately that something must be done, and I am going to begin by cutting out all the suspicious characters. In my judgment Collins is such a character.”
“Huh,” muttered Dick in an undertone. “A fine protector you are, and you know that Collins is innocent. He knows too much, that’s all.”
Old Collins marched out of the mill section and started toward the office. A moment later Dick unobtrusively followed him. In a few seconds he had caught up with the man and said goodbye to him.
“Goodbye, my lad, and let me give you a warning. Tell your pal that his father’s business is going to pot here. There’s something underfoot, I don’t know what it is or why, but it’s there. Too many accidents. You watch that Barrows and watch the timekeeper, and keep an eye on the two drivers with the moustaches. Throw in the cookee for good measure, and you’ll have a precious lot of rascals.”
Dick tried to elicit further information, but found that the old fellow either did not know anything specific, or was crotchety and would not tell.
There being nothing that could be done further, the manager and Dick returned to the office, while Garry went to the bunkhouse to see if he could render any aid to the man who had been cut by the flying particles of the saw.
At the office they found waiting their acquaintance of the attempted holdup, Arthur Howells. He acted according to the agreement and waited till they had been introduced.
“This is our scaler and cruiser,” announced Barrows.
Upon the boys professing ignorance of what the duties of a scaler were, they received an invitation from Howells to come with him after dinner and watch the operations. Barrows heartily advised the boys to go with him and learn something of the way in which the trees were spotted and the lumber measured.
The chums knew well that the invitation was solely for the purpose of getting them away from the camp so that they could confer on what was going on.
After dinner they sought out Howells, and after he had armed himself with a scaling stick, marked off in measurements, which was used to measure the trees, they wandered into the woods.
“Now, boys, what news?” he asked.
In a few words they told him of the events that had transpired since their arrival.
Howells was especially interested in the matter of the spiked tree, and was indignant at the fact that Collins had been discharged.
“Why, the old man was as honest as the day is long. He used to know your father a good many years ago, Garry, and he would never do anything that would harm him or his business,” Howells said vehemently.
“Next thing on the docket,” said Garry, “is to ask what news you have.”
“I have something that will knock the feet almost out from under you. In addition to the trouble caused by the breakage and wasting, there is something even deeper yet. I always get the reports from the receiving stations of the amount of lumber that is sent out. I know after measuring, just how much has gone out. Today my reports show that all the timber that is cut here does not arrive at its destination.
“What do you mean?” said Garry.
“Just what I mean is this. Somewhere, somehow, your father’s lumber is being stolen en route to its destination!”