one of my own foremen was
double-crossing me.

"That is Moncrossen's finish!" he added grimly. "I need him this
winter. Too many contracts to afford to do without him. In the spring,
though, there will be an accounting; and mark my words, he will get
what is coming to him!"

"What next--for me?" asked Bill.

Appleton smiled.

"I think Fallon has disposed of your case," he replied. "My boy, I want
you to take this new camp and _get out logs_. I won't set any specific
amount, I will tell you this: I _must_ have twenty-five million feet
out of the Blood River country this winter. You are the first
inexperienced man I have ever placed in charge of a camp. I don't know
what you can do. I'll take the chance. It's up to you.

"My camps are run without interference from the office. Results count
with me--not methods. Feed your crew all they can eat--of the best you
can get. Knock a man down first and argue with him afterward. Let them
know who is boss, and you will have no trouble. Don't be afraid to
spend money, but _get out the logs_!"

The following morning the new foreman stood upon the platform of the
station as the heavy, vestibuled Imperial Limited ground to a stop,
under special orders to take on the great lumberman.

"So-long, Bill!" Appleton called. "See you next month. Bringing a party
into the woods for a deer-hunt. May put up at your camp for a couple of
weeks."

The train pulled out for the East, leaving Bill Carmody gazing, just a
shade wistfully, perhaps, at the contented-looking men and women who
flashed past upon the rich plush cushions.

But as the last coach passed he squared his shoulders with a jerk and
turned quickly away.

CHAPTER XXXV

A HUNTING PARTY

H. D. Appleton, millionaire lumberman, sighed contentedly as he added
cream to his after-dinner coffee. He glanced toward his wife, who was
smiling at him across the table.

"Oh, you can drink yours black if you want to, little girl," he
grinned; "but, remember 'way back when we were first married and I was
bossing camps for old Jimmie Ferguson, and we lived in log shacks 'way
up in the big woods, I used to say if we ever got where we could have
cream for our coffee, I'd have nothing else to ask for?

"Well, to this day, drinking cream in my coffee is my idea of the
height of luxury. This is all right, and I enjoy it, too, I suppose."
He indicated with a wave of his black cigar the rich furnishings, the
heavy plate and cut-glas