m into beams and planks.

Having selected a tree, the first logger cuts into it a deep wedge
which is to give it direction in its fall. These men show an almost
uncanny skill. They get the line of a great tree with the handle of
their axes, as an artist uses a pencil, and they can cut their notches
so accurately that they can "fall" a tree on a pocket-handkerchief.

Two men follow this expert. They cut smaller notches in the tree, and
insert their "boards" into it. These "boards" have a steel claw which
bites into the tree when the men stand on the board, the idea being
both to raise the cutters above the sprawling roots, and to give their
swing on the saw an elasticity. It is because they cut so high that
Canada is covered with tall stumps that make clearing a problem. The
stumps are generally dynamited, or torn up by the roots by cables that
pass through a block on the top of a tree to the winding-drum of a
donkey-engine.

When the men at the saw have cut nearly through the tree, they sing out
a drawling, musical "Stand aw-ay," gauging the moment with the skill of
woodsmen, for there is no sign to the lay eye. In a few moments the
giant tree begins to fall stiffly. It moves slowly, and then with its
curious rigidity tears swiftly through the branches of neighbouring
trees, coming to the ground with a thump very much like the sound of an
H.E. shell, and throwing up a red cloud of torn bark. The sight of a
tree falling is a moving thing; it seems almost cruel to bring it down.

A donkey-engine mounted on big logs, that has pulled itself into place
by the simple method of anchoring its steel rope to a distant tree--and
pulling, jerks the great trunks out of the heart of the forest. A
block and tackle are hitched to the top of a tall tree that has been
left standing in a clearing, and the steel ropes are placed round the
fallen trunks. As this lifting line pulls them from their
resting-place, they come leaping and jerking forward, charging down
bushes, rising over stumps, dropping and hurdling over mounds until it
seems that they are actually living things struggling to escape. The
ubiquitous donkey-engine loads the great logs on trucks, and an engine,
not very much bigger than a donkey-engine, tows the long cars of timber
down over a sketchy track to the waterside.

Here the loads are tipped with enormous splashes into the water to wait
in the "booms" until they are wanted at the mill. Then they are towe