and brutal. His limbs were like
to the trees his men were accustomed to fell, and his hands reminded her
of the hind limbs of the mutton. She felt he had a mind that matched his
physical development.

Nancy McDonald was nearing the end of her third month of forest travel.
The Shagaunty valley lay behind her, desolated by the fierce axe of the
men who lived by their slaughter. She had seen it all. She had studied
the re-afforestation which followed on the heels of the axemen. And the
seeming puerility of this effort to salve the wounds inflicted upon
Nature had filled her with pitying contempt.

She knew the whole process of the forest industry by heart now. It
fascinated her. Oh, yes. It was picturesque, it was real, vital. The
men on the river driving down to the booms had stirred her greatest
admiration. These supermen with their muscles of iron, with the hearts
of lions, and the tongues and habits of beasts of the forest. But they
were men, wonderful men for all their savage crudity. So, too, with the
transporters and freighters handling sixty-foot logs as though dealing
with matchwood. But above all, and before all, the axemen made their
appeal.

There was nothing comparable with the rough skill of these creatures.
She had watched the flash and swing of the axe, with its edge like the
finest razor. She had seen the standing muscles like whipcord writhing
under sunburnt flesh as they served the lethal weapon. She had noted
every blow, how it was calculated to a hair's-breadth, and fell without
waste of one single ounce of power. And then the amazing result. The
fallen tree stretched out on the exact spot and in the exact direction
ready for the hauliers to bear straight away to the final transport
station.

The summer days had been filled with vital interest. And at night, weary
in body, Nancy still had time, lying in the amply, if crudely blanketed
bed provided for her in some lumber-built shanty, to contemplate the
lives of this strangely assorted race. She knew the pay of the forest
men, from the haulier to the princely axeman and river-jack. She had
seen their food, and their dwelling accommodation. She had heard such
details as were possible of telling of their recreations, and had
guessed the rest. And for all her admiration of their manhood she
pitied, in her woman's way, and felt shame for the slavery of it all.

Oh, yes. She had no illusions. She was not weakly sentimental. She
looked at it all with wi