CHAPTER IX
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."