Thorpe's winter in the woods had impressed upon him that a good cook and a fiddler will do more to keep men contented than high wages and easy work.So his protection of the cripple was not entirely disinterested.But his imagination persisted in occupying itself with the boy.What terrible life of want and vicious associates had he led in this terrible town? What treatment could have lit that wolf-gleam in his eyes? What hell had he inhabited that he was so eager to get away? In an hour or so he dozed.He dreamed that the cripple had grown to enormous proportions and was overshadowing his life.A slight noise outside his bed-room door brought him to his feet.
He opened the door and found that in the stillness of the night the poor deformed creature had taken the blankets from his bed and had spread them across the door-sill of the man who had befriended him.
Chapter XXIX
Three weeks later the steam barge Pole Star sailed down the reach of Saginaw Bay.
Thorpe had received letters from Carpenter advising him of a credit to him at a Marquette bank, and inclosing a draft sufficient for current expenses.Tim Shearer had helped make out the list of necessaries.In time everything was loaded, the gang-plank hauled in, and the little band of Argonauts set their faces toward the point where the Big Dipper swings.
The weather was beautiful.Each morning the sun rose out of the frosty blue lake water, and set in a sea of deep purple.The moon, once again at the full, drew broad paths across the pathless waste.
From the southeast blew daily the lake trades, to die at sunset, and then to return in the soft still nights from the west.A more propitious beginning for the adventure could not be imagined.
The ten horses in the hold munched their hay and oats as peaceably as though at home in their own stables.Jackson Hines had helped select them from the stock of firms changing locality or going out of business.His judgment in such matters was infallible, but he had resolutely refused to take the position of barn-boss which Thorpe offered him.
"No," said he, "she's too far north.I'm gettin' old, and the rheumatics ain't what you might call abandonin' of me.Up there it's colder than hell on a stoker's holiday."So Shearer had picked out a barn-boss of his own.This man was important, for the horses are the mainstay of logging operations.
He had selected also, a blacksmith, a cook, four teamsters, half a dozen cant-hook men, and as many handy with ax or saw.
"The blacksmith is also a good wood-butcher (carpenter)," explained Shearer."Four teams is all we ought to keep going at a clip.If we need a few axmen, we can pick 'em up at Marquette.I think this gang'll stick.I picked 'em."There was not a young man in the lot.They were most of them in the prime of middle life, between thirty and forty, rugged in appearance, "cocky" in manner, with the swagger and the oath of so many buccaneers, hard as nails.Altogether Thorpe thought them about as rough a set of customers as he had ever seen.Throughout the day they played cards on deck, and spat tobacco juice abroad, and swore incessantly.
Toward himself and Shearer their manner was an odd mixture of independent equality and a slight deference.It was as much as to say, "You're the boss, but I'm as good a man as you any day."They would be a rough, turbulent, unruly mob to handle, but under a strong man they might accomplish wonders.
Constituting the elite of the profession, as it were,--whose swagger every lad new to the woods and river tried to emulate, to whom lesser lights looked up as heroes and models, and whose lofty, half-contemptuous scorn of everything and everybody outside their circle of "bully boys" was truly the aristocracy of class,--Thorpe might have wondered at their consenting to work for an obscure little camp belonging to a greenhorn.Loyalty to and pride in the firm for which he works is a strong characteristic of the lumber-jack.He will fight at the drop of a hat on behalf of his "Old Fellows"; brag loud and long of the season's cut, the big loads, the smart methods of his camps; and even after he has been discharged for some flagrant debauch, he cherishes no rancor, but speaks with a soft reminiscence to the end of his days concerning "that winter in '8I when the Old Fellows put in sixty million on Flat River."For this reason he feels that he owes it to his reputation to ally himself only with firms of creditable size and efficiency.The small camps are for the youngsters.Occasionally you will see two or three of the veterans in such a camp, but it is generally a case of lacking something better.
The truth is, Shearer had managed to inspire in the minds of his cronies an idea that they were about to participate in a fight.He re-told Thorpe's story artistically, shading the yellows and the reds.He detailed the situation as it existed.The men agreed that the "young fellow had sand enough for a lake front." After that there needed but a little skillful maneuvering to inspire them with the idea that it would be a great thing to take a hand, to "make a camp" in spite of the big concern up-river.
Shearer knew that this attitude was tentative.Everything depended on how well Thorpe lived up to his reputation at the outset,--how good a first impression of force and virility he would manage to convey,--for the first impression possessed the power of transmuting the present rather ill-defined enthusiasm into loyalty or dissatisfaction.But Tim himself believed in Thorpe blindly.So he had no fears.
A little incident at the beginning of the voyage did much to reassure him.It was on the old question of whisky.
Thorpe had given orders that no whisky was to be brought aboard, as he intended to tolerate no high-sea orgies.Soon after leaving dock he saw one of the teamsters drinking from a pint flask.Without a word he stepped briskly forward, snatched the bottle from the man's lips, and threw it overboard.Then he turned sharp on his heel and walked away, without troubling himself as to how the fellow was going to take it.
