whispers the information that, no matter what others might
think, _they_ had their doubts. He was roused from his bitter
cogitations by the chauffeur speaking.

"This is Darrow, Mr. Donald. I don't believe you've seen it, have you?
Darrow put in his mill and town while you were away."

Donald looked over the motley collection of shacks as the automobile
rolled down the single unpaved street.

"Filthy hole," he muttered. "Hello! There's one of my late friends
from the Sawdust Pile."

A woman, standing in the open door of a shanty on the outskirts of the
town had made a wry face and thrust out her tongue at him. He lifted
his hat gravely, whereat she screamed a curse upon him. An instant
later, an empty beer-bottle dropped with a crash in the tonneau, and
Donald, turning, beheld in the door of a Darrow groggery one of the
Greek fishermen He had dispossessed.

"Stop the car!" Donald commanded. "I think that man wants to discuss a
matter with me."

"Sorry, sir, but I don't think it's wise to obey you just now," his
father's chauffeur answered, and trod on the accelerator. "They call
that place the 'Bucket of Blood,' and you'll need something more than
your fists if you expect to enter there and come out under your own
power."

"Very well. Some other time, perhaps."

"You don't appear to be popular in Darrow, Mr. Donald."

"Those people left the Sawdust Pile yesterday--in a hurry," Donald
explained. "Naturally, they're still resentful."

"They were making quite a little money down there, I believe. Folks do
say business was good, and when you take money from that kind of
cattle you make a worth-while enemy. If I were you, sir, I'd watch my
step in dark alleys, and I'd carry a gun."

"When I have to carry a gun to protect myself from vermin like that
mulatto and those shifty little Greeks, I'll be a few years older than
I am now, Henry. However, I suppose I'd be foolish to neglect your
warning to mind my step."

He spent a busy week in the woods, and it was his humor to spend it
entirely felling trees. The tough, experienced old choppers welcomed
him with keen interest and played freeze-out each night in the
bunk-houses to see which one should draw him for a partner next day;
for the choppers worked in pairs, likewise the cross-cut men. Their
bucolic sense of humor impelled the choppers to speed up when they
found themselves paired with the new boss, for it would have been a
feather in the cap of the man who c