ey 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 '81 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