w, and, empty of pocket, should be
found hanging about the boarding-houses and the quieter saloons. Thorpe
intended to offer good wages for good men. He would not need more than
twenty at first, for during the approaching winter he purposed to log on
a very small scale indeed. The time for expansion would come later.

With this object in view he set out from his hotel about half-past seven
on the day of his arrival, to cruise about in the lumber-jack district
already described. The hotel clerk had obligingly given him the names
of a number of the quieter saloons, where the boys "hung out" between
bursts of prosperity. In the first of these Thorpe was helped materially
in his vague and uncertain quest by encountering an old acquaintance.

From the sidewalk he heard the vigorous sounds of a one-sided
altercation punctuated by frequent bursts of quickly silenced laughter.
Evidently some one was very angry, and the rest amused. After a moment
Thorpe imagined he recognized the excited voice. So he pushed open the
swinging screen door and entered.

The place was typical. Across one side ran the hard-wood bar with
foot-rest and little towels hung in metal clasps under its edge. Behind
it was a long mirror, a symmetrical pile of glasses, a number of plain
or ornamental bottles, and a miniature keg or so of porcelain containing
the finer whiskys and brandies. The bar-keeper drew beer from two pumps
immediately in front of him, and rinsed glasses in some sort of a sink
under the edge of the bar. The center of the room was occupied by a
tremendous stove capable of burning whole logs of cordwood. A stovepipe
led from the stove here and there in wire suspension to a final exit
near the other corner. On the wall were two sporting chromos, and a good
variety of lithographed calendars and illuminated tin signs advertising
beers and spirits. The floor was liberally sprinkled with damp sawdust,
and was occupied, besides the stove, by a number of wooden chairs and a
single round table.

The latter, a clumsy heavy affair beyond the strength of an ordinary
man, was being deftly interposed between himself and the attacks of
the possessor of the angry voice by a gigantic young riverman in the
conventional stagged (i.e., chopped off) trousers, "cork" shoes, and
broad belt typical of his craft. In the aggressor Thorpe recognized old
Jackson Hines.

"Damn you!" cried the old man, qualifying the oath, "let me get at you,
you great big sock-s