the foreman expected the crisis, when the men, discouraged by the
accumulation of work, would begin to "jump," would ask for their "time"
and quit, leaving the job half finished in the woods. This catastrophe
must not happen. Darrell himself worked like a demon until dark, and
then, ten to one, while the other men rested, would strike feverishly
across to Camp Twenty-eight or Camp Forty, where he would consult with
Morgan or Scotty Parsons until far into the night. His pale, triangular
face showed the white lines of exhaustion, but his chipmunk eyes and his
eager movements told of a determination stronger than any protests of a
mere nature.

Now fate ordained that Silver Jack for the purposes of his enlightenment
should select just this moment to drum up trade. He was, in his way, as
anxious to induce the men to come out of the woods as Richard Darrell
was to keep them in. Beeson Lake at this time of year was very dull.
Only a few chronic loafers, without money, ornamented the saloon walls.
On the other hand, at the four camps of Morrison & Daly were three
hundred men each with four months' pay coming to him. In the ordinary
course of events these men would not be out for sixty days yet, but
Silver Jack and Big Dan perfectly well knew that it only needed the
suggestion, the temptation, to arouse the spirit of restlessness. That a
taste or so of whiskey will shiver the patience of men oppressed by long
monotony is as A B C to the north-country saloon-keeper. Silver Jack
resolved to make the rounds of the camps sure that the investment of a
few jugs of whiskey would bring down to Beeson Lake at least thirty or
forty woods-wearied men.

Accordingly he donned many clothes, and drove out into the wilderness a
cutter containing three jugs and some cigars in boxes. He anticipated
trouble. Perhaps he would even have to lurk in the woods, awaiting his
opportunity to smuggle his liquor to the men.

However, luck favoured him. At Camp Twenty-eight he was able to dodge
unseen into the men's camp. When Morgan, the camp foreman, finally
discovered his presence, the mischief had been done. Everybody was
smoking cigars, everybody was happily conscious of a warm glow at the
pit of the stomach, everybody was firmly convinced that Silver Jack was
the best fellow on earth. Morgan could do nothing. An attempt to eject
Silver Jack, an expostulation even, would, he knew, lose him his entire
crew. The men, their heads whirling with the anti