ts, the shanties, the cook-houses,
the offices and the shops. Welton pointed out with pride the various
arrangements; here the flats and the trestles for the yards where the
new-sawn lumber was to be stacked; there the dump for the sawdust and
slabs; yonder the banking ground constructed of great logs laid close
together, wherein the timber-logs would be deposited to await the saw.

From the lower end of the yard a trestle supporting a V-shaped trough
disappeared over the edge of a hill. Near its head a clear stream
cascaded down the slope.

"That's the flume," explained the lumberman. "Brought the stream around
from the head of the meadow in a ditch. We'll flume the sawn lumber down
the mountain. For the present we'll have to team it out to the railroad.
Your friend Baker's figuring on an electric road to meet us, though, and
I guess we'll fix it up with him inside a few years, anyway."

"Where's Stone Creek from here?" asked Bob.

"Over the farther ridge. The mountain drops off again there to Stone
Creek three or four thousand feet."

"We ought to hear from the fire, soon."

"If we don't, we'll ride over that way and take a look down," replied
Welton.

They drove down the empty yards to a stable where already was
established their old barn-boss of the Michigan woods. Four or five big
freight wagons stood outside, and a score of powerful mules rolled and
sunned themselves in the largest corral. Welton nodded toward several
horses in another enclosure.

"Pick your saddle horse, Bob," said he. "Straw boss has to ride in this
country."

"Make it the oldest, then," said Bob.

At the cookhouse they were just in time for the noon meal. The long,
narrow room, fresh with new wood, new tables and new benches in
preparation for the crew to come, looked bare and empty with its handful
of guests huddled at one end. These were the teamsters, the stablemen,
the caretakers and a few early arrivals. The remainder of the crew was
expected two days later.

After lunch Bob wandered out into the dazzling sunlight. The sky was
wonderfully blue, the trees softly green, the new boards and the tiny
pile of sawdust vividly yellow. These primary colours made all the
world. The air breathed crisp and bracing, with just a dash of cold in
the nostrils that contrasted paradoxically with the warm balminess of
the sunlight. It was as though these two opposed qualities, warmth and
cold, were here held suspended in the same medium and at