up their lips, horse-trader fashion. The drive provender
did not consist of tender tidbits; a river jack must be able to chew
tough meat, and the man in the wilderness with a toothache would have
poor grit for work in bone-chilling water after a sleepless night.

Flagg carried a piece of chalk in his right hand. When he accepted a man
he autographed the initials "E F" on the back of the fellow's shirt or
jacket, in characteristic handwriting. "Show your back as you go north,"
he proclaimed for the benefit of the strangers to his custom. "My
initials are good for stage team, tote team, lodging, and meals--the
bills are sent to Flagg. The sooner you start the sooner you'll get to
headwaters."

A big chap followed at Flagg's back as the despot moved among the men.
He was Ben Kyle, Flagg's drive boss, the first mate of the Flagg ship of
state. He was writing down the names of the men as they were hired.
Occasionally the master called on the mate to give in an opinion when a
candidate ran close to the line between acceptance or rejection.

Flagg began to show good humor beyond his usual wont. He was finding men
who suited him. Many of them growled anathema against the Three C's.
They had worked for that corporation. They had been obliged to herd with
roughscuff from the city employment agencies, unskilled men who were all
the time coming and going and were mostly underfoot when they were on
the job. One humorist averred that the Three C's had three complete sets
of crews--one working, one coming in, and one going out.

Kyle began to loosen up and copy some of Flagg's good humor.

He encouraged the wag who had described the three shifts to say more
about the Comas crews; he had some witticisms of his own to offer.

And so it came to pass that when he tackled one hulking and bashful sort
of a chap who stuttered, Kyle was in most excellent mood to have a
little fun with a butt. Even Echford Flagg ceased operations to listen,
for the humor seemed to be sharp-edged enough to suit his satiric taste.

"You say you're an ox teamster!" bawled the boss. "Well, well! That's
good. Reckon we'll put some oxen onto the drive this spring so as to
give you a job. How much do you know about teaming oxen?"

After a great deal of mirth-provoking difficulty with b and g, the man
meekly explained that he did know the butt end of a gad from the brad
end.

"Who in the crowd has got an ox or two in his pocket?" queried Kyle. "We
can't hire