ch was indeed the case, but he should never have taken before them
any attitude but that of absolute confidence in their intentions. His
anxiety was natural, however. He realized the absolute necessity of
skidding and hauling this job before the heavy choking snows of the
latter part of January should make it impossible to keep the roads open.
So insistent was this necessity that he had seized the first respite in
the phenomenal snow-fall of the early autumn to begin work. The cutting
in the woods could wait.

Left to themselves probably the men would never have dreamed of
objecting to whatever privations the task carried with it. Radway's
anxiety for their comfort, however, caused them finally to imagine that
perhaps they might have some just grounds for complaint after all. That
is a great trait of the lumber-jack.

But Dyer, the scaler, finally caused the outbreak. Dyer was an efficient
enough man in his way, but he loved his own ease. His habit was to stay
in his bunk of mornings until well after daylight. To this there could
be no objection--except on the part of the cook, who was supposed to
attend to his business himself--for the scaler was active in his work,
when once he began it, and could keep up with the skidding. But now he
displayed a strong antipathy to the north wind on the plains. Of course
he could not very well shirk the work entirely, but he did a good deal
of talking on the very cold mornings.

"I don't pose for no tough son-of-a-gun," said he to Radway, "and
I've got some respect for my ears and feet. She'll warm up a little by
to-morrow, and perhaps the wind'll die. I can catch up on you fellows
by hustling a little, so I guess I'll stay in and work on the books
to-day."

"All right," Radway assented, a little doubtfully.

This happened perhaps two days out of the week. Finally Dyer hung out a
thermometer, which he used to consult. The men saw it, and consulted it
too. At once they felt much colder.

"She was stan' ten below," sputtered Baptiste Tellier, the Frenchman who
played the fiddle. "He freeze t'rou to hees eenside. Dat is too cole for
mak de work."

"Them plains is sure a holy fright," assented Purdy.

"Th' old man knows it himself," agreed big Nolan; "did you see him
rammin' around yesterday askin' us if we found her too cold? He knows
damn well he ought not to keep a man out that sort o' weather."

"You'd shiver like a dog in a briar path on a warm day in July," said
Jackson