ow came clattering up the rough road from the sawmill in the valley
below--men cursed over wheels sunk over their hubs in mud--over broken
axles and shifted loads.

The clearing had now become Holcomb's home--if a square box provided
with a door and a factory-made window can be called a home. In it
he placed a cot bed and a stove, the remainder of its weather-proof
interior being littered with blue prints, bills, and receipts. Before
long these had resulted in the development of the skeleton of a
pretentious main structure; its frame work suggesting quaint eaves and
a broad piazza. At the same time a dozen other skeletons were erected
about it, flanking a single thoroughfare leading to the road. This,
too, had undergone a radical change. Before many weeks had passed the
newly cut road lay smooth as a floor in macadam.

Strange men now appeared at Big Shanty on flying trips from Albany and
New York--soulless looking men, thoroughly conversant with gas engines
and lighting plants; hustling agents in black derby hats with
samples, many of whom made their head quarters at Morrison's, awaiting
Holcomb's word of approval. Most of these the trapper and the Clown
treated with polite suspicion.

Wagon loads of luxuries then began to arrive--antique furniture,
matchless refrigerators, a grand piano and a billiard table--cases of
pictures and bundles of rare rugs. So great was the accumulation of
luxuries at Big Shanty that little else was talked of.

"How much money do ye cal'late Sam Thayor's got?" one of the prophets
at Morrison's would ask. The "Mr." had been long since dropped from
lack of usage.

"Goll--I hain't no idee," another would reply, "but I presume if the
hull of it was dumped inter Otter Pond you'd find the water had riz
consider'ble 'round the edge."

During all this time Thayor had not once put in an appearance. He had
left Holcomb, as he had promised, entirely in charge. Billy worried
over the ever-increasing expenditure which had grown to a proportion
he never dreamed of at the beginning, and was in constant dread of
being asked for explanations--yet the vouchers he sent to New York
invariably came back "O.K.'d" without a murmur or a criticism from the
man who had told him to buy Big Shanty "as far as he could see."

CHAPTER EIGHT

The only thing that caused the young superintendent any real anxiety,
and one he had tried in vain to stop--was the sale of liquor to his
men at Morrison's. When pa