"Charley," said he, "why are you staying here with me?""Big frien'," replied the Indian promptly.
"Why are you my friend? What have I ever done for you?""You gottum chief's eye," replied his companion with simplicity.
Thorpe looked at the Indian again.There seemed to be only one course.
"Yes, I'm a lumberman," he confessed, "and I'm looking for pine.
But, Charley, the men up the river must not know what I'm after.""They gettum pine," interjected the Indian like a flash.
"Exactly," replied Thorpe, surprised afresh at the other's perspicacity.
"Good!" ejaculated Injin Charley, and fell silent.
With this, the longest conversation the two had attempted in their peculiar acquaintance, Thorpe was forced to be content.He was, however, ill at ease over the incident.It added an element of uncertainty to an already precarious position.
Three days later he was intensely thankful the conversation had taken place.
After the noon meal he lay on his blanket under the hemlock shelter, smoking and lazily watching Injin Charley busy at the side of the trail.The Indian had terminated a long two days' search by toting from the forest a number of strips of the outer bark of white birch, in its green state pliable as cotton, thick as leather, and light as air.These he had cut into arbitrary patterns known only to himself, and was now sewing as a long shapeless sort of bag or sac to a slender beech-wood oval.Later it was to become a birch-bark canoe, and the beech-wood oval would be the gunwale.
So idly intent was Thorpe on this piece of construction that he did not notice the approach of two men from the down-stream side.They were short, alert men, plodding along with the knee-bent persistency of the woods-walker, dressed in broad hats, flannel shirts, coarse trousers tucked in high laced "cruisers "; and carrying each a bulging meal sack looped by a cord across the shoulders and chest.
Both were armed with long slender scaler's rules.The first intimation Thorpe received of the presence of these two men was the sound of their voices addressing Injin Charley.
"Hullo Charley," said one of them, "what you doing here? Ain't seen you since th' Sturgeon district.""Mak' 'um canoe," replied Charley rather obviously.
"So I see.But what you expect to get in this Godforsaken country?""Beaver, muskrat, mink, otter."
"Trapping, eh?" The man gazed keenly at Thorpe's recumbent figure.
"Who's the other fellow?"
Thorpe held his breath; then exhaled it in a long sigh of relief.
"Him white man," Injin Charley was replying, "him hunt too.He mak' 'um buckskin."The landlooker arose lazily and sauntered toward the group.It was part of his plan to be well recognized so that in the future he might arouse no suspicions.
"Howdy," he drawled, "got any smokin'?"
"How are you," replied one of the scalers, eying him sharply, and tendering his pouch.Thorpe filled his pipe deliberately, and returned it with a heavy-lidded glance of thanks.To all appearances he was one of the lazy, shiftless white hunters of the backwoods.
Seized with an inspiration, he said, "What sort of chances is they at your camp for a little flour? Me and Charley's about out.I'll bring you meat; or I'll make you boys moccasins.I got some good buckskin."It was the usual proposition.
"Pretty good, I guess.Come up and see," advised the scaler."The crew's right behind us.""I'll send up Charley," drawled Thorpe, "I'm busy now makin' traps,"he waved his pipe, calling attention to the pine and rawhide dead-falls.
They chatted a few moments, practically and with an eye to the strict utility of things about them, as became woodsmen.Then two wagons creaked lurching by, followed by fifteen or twenty men.The last of these, evidently the foreman, was joined by the two scalers.
"What's that outfit?" he inquired with the sharpness of suspicion.
"Old Injin Charley--you remember, the old boy that tanned that buck for you down on Cedar Creek.""Yes, but the other fellow."
"Oh, a hunter," replied the scaler carelessly.
"Sure?"
The man laughed."Couldn't be nothin' else," he asserted with confidence."Regular old backwoods mossback."At the same time Injin Charley was setting about the splitting of a cedar log.
"You see," he remarked, "I big frien'."
Chapter XVIII
In the days that followed, Thorpe cruised about the great woods.It was slow business, but fascinating.He knew that when he should embark on his attempt to enlist considerable capital in an "unsight unseen" investment, he would have to be well supplied with statistics.
True, he was not much of a timber estimator, nor did he know the methods usually employed, but his experience, observation, and reading had developed a latent sixth sense by which he could appreciate quality, difficulties of logging, and such kindred practical matters.
First of all he walked over the country at large, to find where the best timber lay.This was a matter of tramping; though often on an elevation he succeeded in climbing a tall tree whence he caught bird's-eye views of the country at large.He always carried his gun with him, and was prepared at a moment's notice to seem engaged in hunting,--either for game or for spots in which later to set his traps.The expedient was, however, unnecessary.
Next he ascertained the geographical location of the different clumps and forests, entering the sections, the quarter-sections, even the separate forties in his note-book; taking in only the "descriptions" containing the best pine.
Finally he wrote accurate notes concerning the topography of each and every pine district,--the lay of the land; the hills, ravines, swamps, and valleys; the distance from the river; the character of the soil.In short, he accumulated all the information he could by which the cost of logging might be estimated.
