s and
haul-downs, locating yards; his short-handled ax was in his belt, his
lank haversack flapped on his back; he carried his calipers in one hand;
with the other hand he fed himself raisins from his trousers pocket,
munching as he went along. He had eaten the last of his scanty supply of
biscuits and bacon; but, like other timber cruisers--all of them must
travel light--he had his raisins to fall back on, doling them one by
one, masticating them thoroughly and finding the nourishment adequate.

He had been on the go every day from sunup till dark; nights he cinched
his belted jacket closely and slept as best he could, his back against a
tree; he had cruised into every nook and corner of the tract, spending
strength prodigally, but when he strode down the tote road his vitality
enabled him to hit it off at a brisk gait; his belt was a few holes
tighter, yet his fasting made him keenly awake; he was more alert to the
joy of being alive in the glory of the crisp day; his cap was in his
pocket, his tousled brown hair was rampant; and he welcomed the flood of
sunshine on his bronzed face.

Craig was making his way along the tote road in a buckboard, with a
driver. The road bristled with rocks and was pitted with hollows; the
fat horses dragged their feet at a slow walk. Craig was a big man, a bit
paunchy, and he grunted while he was bounced. He wore his city hard hat
as if he wished by his headgear to distinguish himself from the herd of
woodsmen whom he bossed.

Latisan overtook the toiling buckboard, and his stride was taking him
past when Craig hailed.

"Ride?"

"No--thank you!" The negative was sharp. Privation and toil had put an
edge on the young man's temper, and the temper was not amiable where
Craig was concerned.

"I've got some business to talk with you, Latisan."

"If that's so I can listen while I walk alongside."

But Craig ordered the driver to halt. Then the Comas director swung
around and faced Latisan. "I'm putting it up to you again--will you and
your father sell to the Comas?"

"No, sir!"

"What is it going to be--a fight to a finish?"

"If you keep your hands off us saw-log fellows, Mr. Craig, there'll be
no fight. We were here first, you know!"

"That's got nothing to do with the present situation, Latisan. We've
built a million-dollar paper mill on the Toban, and it's up to me to
feed it with pulp stuff. We can't lug our plant off in a shawl strap if
supply fails."

"Nor can the fol