when mr. thompson proposed, as an act of kindness, to take the cook, peter lateur, back to necedah that he might receive proper attention for his broken arm, he did not know that it would prove to be an opening to a profitable winter’s contract, but so it was.
as he stepped into the office of the medford lumber company, “old man” medford, who was in earnest conversation with a keen-eyed, brisk-appearing gentleman, looked up, and as his eyes fell upon mr. thompson, he exclaimed, “the very thing. here’s the man, mr. norman, that can do the job.” “mr. norman, this is mr. thompson, one of the up-river settlers. mr. norman is at the head of the construction company that has a contract to build the grade and bridges of the new railroad that is coming into town next summer,” was mr. medford’s form of introduction.
“the lay of the land is such,” went on mr. medford, “that the road must cross the head of the big boom pond, and that calls for a long trestle. i’ve been telling him that our regular crews have all gone into the woods, and we can’t get out the piling he wants, this season; but he insists that he going to have that timber
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on the bank of the river to come down in the spring drive. now what do you think of such a man?”
“i think he means to get his work done,” replied mr. thompson.
the big man’s eyes twinkled. “i may have to pay a little extra, of course, but i shall see that piling down here in the boom by the time my bridge builders are ready for them.”
mr. medford’s company owned a tract of young timber over which a fire had swept, and, while its thick growth had worked its ruin in that the trees had been killed, the trunks had not been destroyed, but stood tall and straight, and, if cut before the borers got in their destructive work, would make ideal piling timber.
the opportunity for securing a good price for this otherwise useless timber, as well as his confidence in mr. thompson, urged the lumberman to give bond for him that the required number and lengths of piling would be deposited upon the banks of the river in time for the spring drive.
by offering the extra high wages, which a successful completion of his contract would enable him to do, mr. thompson picked up a crew among the settlers along the river. among them was ed allen, who, hardy and strong for his age, was well able to fulfill the duties of “swamper.”
as the contract would call but for one winter’s work, the camp houses were not so elaborate and substantial as those of the big woods further north, yet they were made fairly comfortable. after the cabins
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were up, the first thing was to lay out the main logging road from the tract of timber to the river. while the road must be as direct as possible, it was necessary that the route selected keep to level ground. there could be no going up hill and down dale with the great stack-like loads which would pass over it.
by the time the hollows were filled, the trees cut away, and their stumps dug out, and even the small brush cut, so that a clear, level track extended all the way to the river, the foreman had selected a number of trees of the required length and diameter, and marked them with a “blaze” on the side.
sites were chosen for the skidways upon little knolls, where the logs would be rolled up in great piles, to be loaded upon the sleds.
and the chopping began.
the success or failure of a lumberman in the northern woods depended as much upon the weather conditions, as does the success or failure of the farmer. long-continued and severe storms may shut in the crew for a week of precious time. great snows may double the labor of swamping, skidding, and loading. but more to be dreaded by the loggers is a winter thaw. a mild winter, when the snow melts in the middle of the day, is, to the logger, as a rainless summer to the husbandman.
with this contract it was not a matter of how many of the logs might be hauled to the river, but a question whether the whole number was delivered. so every hour would count; every advantage of the peculiarities
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of the weather must be taken, both in felling the trees and in hauling.
it seemed to ed that he would barely stretch himself in his bunk at night before he would hear the foreman’s “all out” in the morning, and with the others he would hasten into his mackinaws and felt boots, his sleep-heavy eyes hardly open before their plunge into the icy water, as the cry “chuck’s ready” would be heard from the cook.
as soon as one could “see to swing an axe” the crew would be in the timber tract, ready for the strenuous labor of the day. what matter if the mercury would register zero, and the snow lay knee deep on the level? did not their pulses bound with the rich wine of life? was not the very air a tonic? and the hard work filled with the joy of achievement?
from about the tree selected the underbrush would be carefully cut away, for not only must there be free room for the rythmic swing of the keen axes, but the life of a chopper often depended upon a quick, unhindered leap to one side, as the forest giant sprang, swinging from its stump. the inclination of the tree is noted, and the place selected for its fall. the sharp bits of the axes eat a clean “scarf” straight across the trunk. a few inches higher up, a second cut prepares for great chips between, and a third drives the scarf beyond the center of the tree. a shallower cut on the opposite side of the trunk, a snap, a creaking shudder—a quick warning is called; there is a sound of rending branches overhead, the rush of a mighty wind, and
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then a crashing roar as the great body stretches its length upon the ground.
with a rapid movement the woodsman measures with his axe helve the prostrate trunk up to the point where length calls for certain diameter, and the sawyers, having already squared the butt are ready to sever the top. what limbs there are upon the body are cut cleanly away, and the long log, or pile, is ready for the skids.
in that day the “swamping” was done by ox teams. it was the work of the swamper to see that there was a clear pathway for the team to the fallen trunk, then, as it came alongside, to slip the heavy logging chain under the body, and bring it up and clasp the hook. at the word of command—and often cruel proddings with sharp goads accompanied, alas! by the shocking profanity of the driver, the animals would brace themselves into the yoke, straining this way and that, until finally the great log would be started from its bed in the deep snow and dragged to its place to be rolled with others upon the loading skids. the stacking up of these piles was work that could often be done when hauling operations were impossible. however, the hauling was not a less interesting part of the work.
the logging sled, or “hoosier,” bears about the same relation to the common road sled that a missouri river barge bears to a pleasure skiff. it is hewn from the toughest beams of oak, and its huge runners—tracking six feet apart—are shod with plates of iron three to
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four inches in thickness. the beams, or “bunks,” upon which the load will rest, are often ten feet long, so that the loads may be of that width, and as high as the lifting power of the loading teams and the ingenuity of the men can stack the logs—provided always sufficient power can be attached to the load to pull it.
from the main road to the skids, a temporary road is packed down in the snow, and the huge sled is brought into position below the skids. timbers are run to the bunks and securely fastened, for a slip may mean a broken rib, or possibly a life quickly crushed out. a chain is fastened to the top log of the skid with a rolling hitch, and the loading team on the other side of the sled, across from the skid, slowly rolls the great trunk from the pile onto the sled. the first tier of logs fills the bunks; a second tier, or perhaps a third, is rolled into place, and the load is fastened securely with the binding chains and pole. then the loading team is hitched on ahead of the sled team, and with great pulling and tugging the mammoth load is brought to the main road. here the head team is released, to repeat the process of loading for the next team, while the load continues its journey to the river.
so level and so smooth is the track that comparatively little force is needed to move these immense loads—but they must be kept in motion. there can be no stopping to rest once the load is started, for it is probable, in that case, the sled would remain at rest until a second team would come along to add its strength for another start.
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arriving at the river, the “brow boss” measures each log, entering the figures, in his “brow record,” giving also the totals of the loads and name of driver. then each log is “end marked” and with cant hooks rolled off into the river, or “browed,” as the operation is called. often the river bed is filled and piled high from bank to bank; then a new brow is selected up or down stream.
the second week of chopping, which brought the time up to christmas, saw the contract well under way. while four or five nationalities were represented in the crew, the men were of that class which came into the wilderness to make homes—faithful, steady, and willing to give full measure of service for their wages. in many respects they differed widely from the “big woods” crew, gathered, as they might be in those days, from the very riff-raff of creation.
a spirit of friendly rivalry was shrewdly fostered by the foreman, among the choppers and the teamsters, which was not long in dividing the camp into factions loyally supporting the claims of their respective champions. antoine ravenstein’s half-norman dapple greys had, so far, a slight lead in the record of big loads over bert clumpner’s bays, while the giant dane, olaf bergstrom, was scarcely able to keep even with his smaller, wiry, dark-skinned rival chopper, jim dacora.
the work was now so well under way that mr. thompson suggested that the men celebrate christmas day in holding a holiday of sports, and he
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would have the cook prepare a big dinner for the occasion. jumping, wrestling, boxing, throwing the hammer, and pitching horseshoes, were enjoyed with a hearty, noisy abandon, in which these big, strong men sought to hide the tinge of homesickness that would creep in with the memories of the day.
as the fun was at its height, two men, one clad in a sleek, brown minkskin, the other in a coal-black bearskin overcoat, were noticed approaching the cabins. the one with the bearskin coat, whose bristling red hair and stubby beard proclaimed his hibernian ancestry, walked up to mr. thompson, and without other ceremony or salutation began, “this is calhoun, the sheriff of this county, an’ i’m phelan. we’ve come to see what ye mane by cuttin’ the timber on my land.”
without waiting for a reply, he proceeded, “av ye pile yer dunnage onto yer tote teams an’ lave at onct, ye can give me yer bill o’ sale to the timber ye’ve browed, an’ we’ll let it drop. ave ye don’t, well, ye know what we do here to timber thaves.”
the crew had gathered about, and a sound came from them like a low growl of an angry beast. the hand of the sheriff went to his hip, but mr. thompson’s voice rang out clear and cold: “stop, men! i handle this. now you, larry phelan, i’ve heard of you. you certainly are qualified to talk about timber thieves—but you’ve got the wrong man this time. mr. medford took precaution to give me the field notes of this tract, and i have run the lines and know exactly where i am. now i give you just ten minutes, you and your
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bogus sheriff, to get out of sight, or my men and i will start a new game—and it won’t be a game of bluff.”
there was that in the voice of the speaker which left no doubt that he meant what he said. and while phelan cursed and vowed he would “have a posse upon them that would move them,” the two strangers turned away to where their team was standing in the distance.
mr. thompson was not altogether easy in his mind over the affair, although he felt sure as to his legal right upon the tract. he knew larry phelan to be the most unscrupulous timber thief in that section of the state, and who was more than suspected of having arrangements for his own advantage with certain officers of the courts. but more serious were his apprehensions of the threat of phelan as to his “posse,” for a more reckless and desperate band of outlaws never served another villain than this irishman had gathered about him in that northern wilderness. if phelan considered the stake large enough, a descent upon the camp by these ruffians was something to be taken into consideration.
shortly after the opening of the new year, the successful completion of the winter’s work was threatened in a way that served to put all thoughts of larry phelan out of mind. it came with a “january thaw.” day after day the sun rose clear and bright in the heavens, and the south wind came in spring-like mildness. the melting snows filled the hidden hollows
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in the woods with slush and water, into which the choppers unsuspectingly dropped, sometimes waist deep, while the wet snow kept the clothing of the entire crew constantly saturated.
notwithstanding the growing discomfort of the situation, no let up on the work could be allowed, as hope argued for a soon return of zero weather.
the pressure of the immense loads upon the main road had made of it an almost solid bed of ice, and so it was that with the aid of an extra team from the skidways to the main road, the hauling operations were not seriously interfered with at the first.
but the warm days continued, and the sharp calks of the horseshoes began to tear up the surface of the icy road. “if we could only keep the smooth ice surface on the road, we could make it; but a few more days of such cutting and the road is ruined,” gloomily exclaimed mr. thompson, as the crew gathered for a noon meal.
ed started to speak, but being only a boy, and fearing the railery of the men, waited until he could talk to mr. thompson privately. “i don’t know, mr. thompson, that the plan would work here, but i’ve an idea that you might think over, and try if you wished,” said he.
“go ahead, boy,” replied mr. thompson. “any sort of a suggestion will be welcome just now.”
“well,” said ed, “we boys used to slide down a hill one winter on skis, and when some warm days came that threatened to spoil our track, we watered it at
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night, and the coating of ice held where the snow would have melted. i thought—”
“boy, you’ve hit it! i suspect you’ve saved the contract,” exclaimed mr. thompson.
that was a busy afternoon for lars olson, the carpenter-blacksmith, but by nine o’clock that night a water-tight tank had been fitted upon a sled, with a rude attachment something like a street sprinkler, under control of the driver.
while the contrivance was open to improvement (which it later received as it took its place in the necessary equipment for logging operations) it enabled mr. thompson to give his road a coating of ice before morning, and, with the operation repeated night after night, to defy the sun’s destroying rays a little longer.
it would be interesting to tell how, in the race for the chopping championship, big olaf grew careless and had a leg crushed by the unexpected side swing of a falling tree; how mr. thompson, at the risk of failing on the contract, fixed up a comfortable bed on a pung, and sent ed with an illy-spared team to carry the wounded man to his home. it would make another story how ed was lost upon his return trip, in the great snow storm that marked the end of the warm spell, and was saved from death by an old irishman after he had already become unconscious. we would like to tell how, when the cold days returned, antoine ravenstein’s grays beat the bays with a prodigious load, that was talked about for years, as the record for hauling,
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in those northern camps. we would like to live again with the reader the glorious days of february, in which the contract was completed, and in addition to the agreed wages, each man was given a bonus of ten dollars by mr. thompson. but i must leave these stories to be told at another time.
the winter passed; march came with its rains, and finally those of the crew who had elected to remain at the camp in order to be at hand to join the “drive,” one day were startled to hear the report as of a heavy cannon, in the direction of the brows on the river.
when they reached that place they found bally tarbox with his crew of brow-breakers loosening up, with charges of dynamite, the great ice-locked dams of logs which were filling the river bed.
“hullo, you lop-eared nesters!” shouted the boss at the sight of the men from the camp. “time for you to be hitting the trail and grabbing a peavy. wangan’s above big bull.”
“where’d you get that woodchuck?” he called as he caught sight of ed. “oh, it’s one of the allen boys, ain’t it. say, little sawed-off, your big bud is comin’ down north fork now.”
the next morning ed started with the others of his crew up river to join his brother rob on the spring drive.
