n' me, they's a skate lot. You're a
greenhorn, ain't you?"

"Yes," confessed Thorpe.

"Well," said Jackson, reflectively but rapidly, "Le Fabian, he's quiet
but bad; and O'Grady, he talks loud but you can bluff him; and Perry,
he's only bad when he gets full of red likker; and Norton he's bad when
he gets mad like, and will use axes."

Thorpe did not know he was getting valuable points on the camp bullies.
The old man hitched nearer and peered in his face.

"They don't bluff you a bit," he said, "unless you likes them, and then
they can back you way off the skidway."

Thorpe smiled at the old fellow's volubility. He did not know how near
to the truth the woodsman's shrewdness had hit; for to himself, as to
most strong characters, his peculiarities were the normal, and therefore
the unnoticed. His habit of thought in respect to other people was
rather objective than subjective. He inquired so impersonally the
significance of whatever was before him, that it lost the human quality
both as to itself and himself. To him men were things. This attitude
relieved him of self-consciousness. He never bothered his head as to
what the other man thought of him, his ignorance, or his awkwardness,
simply because to him the other man was nothing but an element in his
problem. So in such circumstances he learned fast. Once introduce the
human element, however, and his absurdly sensitive self-consciousness
asserted itself. He was, as Jackson expressed it, backed off the
skidway.

At dark the old man lit two lamps, which served dimly to gloze the
shadows, and thrust logs of wood into the cast-iron stove. Soon
after, the men came in. They were a queer, mixed lot. Some carried the
indisputable stamp of the frontiersman in their bearing and glance;
others looked to be mere day-laborers, capable of performing whatever
task they were set to, and of finding the trail home again. There were
active, clean-built, precise Frenchmen, with small hands and feet, and a
peculiarly trim way of wearing their rough garments; typical native-born
American lumber-jacks powerful in frame, rakish in air, reckless in
manner; big blonde Scandinavians and Swedes, strong men at the sawing;
an Indian or so, strangely in contrast to the rest; and a variety of
Irishmen, Englishmen, and Canadians. These men tramped in without a
word, and set busily to work at various tasks. Some sat on the "deacon
seat" and began to take off their socks and rubbers; others washe