there and boost
those stocks until M. & D. looked like a last year's bird's nest. He
thrust the letter in his pocket and walked buoyantly to the pines.

The two lovers sat there all the afternoon drinking in half sadly the
joy of the forest and of being near each other, for the moon of delight
was almost done. In a week the camping party would be breaking up, and
Hilda must return to the city. It was uncertain when they would be able
to see each other again, though there was talk of getting up a winter
party to visit Camp One in January. The affair would be unique.

Suddenly the girl broke off and put her fingers to her lips. For some
time, dimly, an intermittent and faint sound had been felt, rather than
actually heard, like the irregular muffled beating of a heart. Gradually
it had insisted on the attention. Now at last it broke through the film
of consciousness.

"What is it?" she asked.

Thorpe listened. Then his face lit mightily with the joy of battle.

"My axmen," he cried. "They are cutting the road."

A faint call echoed. Then without warning, nearer at hand the sharp ring
of an ax sounded through the forest.

PART V. THE FOLLOWING OF THE TRAIL

Chapter XLIV

For a moment they sat listening to the clear staccato knocking of the
distant blows, and the more forceful thuds of the man nearer at hand. A
bird or so darted from the direction of the sound and shot silently into
the thicket behind them.

"What are they doing? Are they cutting lumber?" asked Hilda.

"No," answered Thorpe, "we do not cut saw logs at this time of year.
They are clearing out a road."

"Where does it go to?"

"Well, nowhere in particular. That is, it is a logging road that starts
at the river and wanders up through the woods where the pine is."

"How clear the axes sound. Can't we go down and watch them a little
while?"

"The main gang is a long distance away; sound carries very clearly
in this still air. As for that fellow you hear so plainly, he is only
clearing out small stuff to get ready for the others. You wouldn't see
anything different from your Indian chopping the cordwood for your camp
fire. He won't chop out any big trees."

"Let's not go, then," said Hilda submissively.

"When you come up in the winter," he pursued, "you will see any amount
of big timber felled."

"I would like to know more about it," she sighed, a quaint little air of
childish petulance graving two lines between her eyebrows.