The Young Timber-cruisers; or, Fighting the Spruce Pirates

Front matter

THE YOUNG TIMBER-CRUISERS

OR

FIGHTING THE SPRUCE PIRATES

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

IN SEARCH OF WORK

The youth in the road paused and listened intently. He was tall and thin, almost emaciated in appearance, and stood with shoulders stooped as if weary. But it was not fatigue that caused him to stay his steps and cock an ear curiously. What he had heard was the whine of a cross-cut saw, eating its way through a log. But all the wood sounds were new to him and as yet he could interpret none of them. Again the saw voiced a shrill complaint tinged with a note of anger at encountering a stubborn knot, and the youth left the rough road and awkwardly made his way through the alders.

He beheld two men operating the saw, only to his unpractised eye it seemed as if the smaller of the two were trying to prevent the other from obtaining possession of the notched steel blade.

Instantly his sympathy was aroused; he resented the unequal odds.

“Hi, you big fellow, quit that,” he called out, straightening his shoulders and briskly approaching..

“Bon jour,” cheerfully saluted the man addressed, turning to face the newcomer, but not releasing his hold on the saw.

“You needn’t ‘good morning’ me,” returned the youth. “But if the little fellow wants that saw you let him have it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

The man grinned blankly, not understanding the command. Then he faced his companion and gave the saw a violent yank. The little man frowned and squaring his jaw pulled the handle for the return stroke. Like his companion he understood no English. Unlike his companion he was of a sullen temperament. Both knew they were there to saw the log and must waste no time on strangers. As they tugged and strained the good-natured light faded from the big man’s eyes, and with compressed lips he sought to keep up with the pace set by his mate, who despite his slender physique could tire out many a larger man.

The youth, already out of temper because of the hardships of the day, buttoned his coat to the chin, while his blue eyes kindled into little fires.

“Will you stop it?” he growled, advancing yet nearer.

The big Frenchman turned his head, but did not desist in his endeavor to take the saw as fast as his companion forced the stroke upon him. His face, also, in reflecting the physical strain under which he was laboring, impressed the youth as being distorted with malice.

“For the last time,” cautioned the youth; “quit it.”

Believing he was being praised by the stranger, he bared his teeth and with a hissing sound increased the pace.

The youth hesitated no longer, but with an inarticulate cry sprang forward and caught the brawny shoulder and whirled the man about. The Frenchman instinctively clasped his assailant in a bear-like embrace, while the latter attempted to clutch the brown neck.

“Here! here! Hi! break away!” screamed a shrill voice, and the poorly matched combatants paused in their struggle and remained in a rigid pose as a short, stocky built youth made towards them, clearing logs and stumps and rocks with marvelous agility.

Then seizing the interlocked arms he pushed between them. He first addressed himself to the Frenchman, jabbering at him angrily. The Frenchman flung out his hands and with equal rapidity explained the situation insofar as he understood it. The little man, with clouded brow, remained at his end of the saw, seemingly not interested in the scene.

“Say, what do you mean by jumping Big Louey in this way?” demanded the last comer of the pugnacious stranger.

“He lays the blame on me, eh?” panted the youth. “I don’t understand his lingo.”

“’Course he blames you. It’s his place to be working here. It isn’t your place to be here at all. What do you mean by trespassing on the company’s land and picking up rows with innocent workmen?”

“I don’t care what he told you,” answered the stranger, now more composed. “I am in the habit of telling the truth. I was passing along the road and heard a noise. I came here and found this big, hulking fellow trying to take this instrument from the little fellow. I told him to quit it, and let the little man alone. He paid no attention to my orders and I pitched into him. Now, what are you going to do about it? I can’t fight two of you; I’m not a fighter, anyway. But I’ll not stand by and see a small man abused by an overgrown bully.”

The stocky youth stared wide-eyed for nearly a minute; then with a sobbing cry of mirth he fell to the ground and rolled back and forth.

“O dear! O dear!” he cried between wild peals of laughter. “Can it be real! O you’ve killed me! Thought they was fighting over the saw! Ha! ha! ha!”

“Seems to strike you as being funny,” growled the stranger.

“Please don’t say any more just yet, or you’ll kill me, sure,” gasped the other. “I—I never expected a treat like this. I—I don’t mean to offend you, but—ha! ha! ha!”

“I hope you have your laugh out,” said the stranger. “It seems I have made some kind of a mistake and I’ll be going.”

“Wait, wait. I’m better now,” said the merry one, staggering to his feet. “What did you think these men were doing? Fighting over the saw?”

“Certainly,” stiffly replied the stranger, turning to go.

“But hold on; don’t get huffy. Let me explain to Big Louey.” And facing the now grinning giant he quickly explained to him the cause of the attack. Then he continued to the stranger, “These men are sawing a log. The little fellow was crowding Louey pretty hard. They are great chums. I guess you don’t know much about lumbering.”

The stranger flushed to his ears. “Tell your Louey I am sorry to have misunderstood the situation, and give him this.” The “this” was a silver dollar. “And tell him I sincerely hope I did not hurt him.”

The stocky one gave way to a new burst of merriment, unable to speak for a moment. “He—he thanks you for the doller,” he finally managed to inform; “and he says you didn’t hurt him enough to make him take his bed. You hurt French Louey, Big Louey, Fighting Louey—the best natured giant that ever licked a whole drive of loggers into shape! Why, for a doller’n a quarter he’d let you punch him for three days and he’d never raise a hand. If he’d just closed those arms of his he’d broke every rib in your body. Lucky for you he’s good-natured.”

“I thank you for your information. I’ll be going now.”

“Say, you don’t talk like me. You’re city bred, I guess.”

“I have lived much in the city, yes. Good-day.”

“But, hold your hosses for a second. Where are you bound for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where were you going when you started to reform Louey?”

“I was looking for work and food.”

“I see,” mused the other, now grave of face. “You look as if you were about played out.”

“I am faint from walking and fasting.”

“Well, why don’t you rest and eat?”

“I have no money to buy food with.”

“Huh! well, well. Gave your last doller to Louey, eh?” admired the other. “I’ll go back and get it.”

“No you won’t,” growled the stranger, seizing his arm and pulling him into the road. “Men in my family don’t give and take back.”

“I see. What’s your name?”

“Stanley Malcolm.”

“Would you mind if I called you Splinter for short?”

“I certainly should,” cried Stanley.

“All right; I won’t, then. My name is Thomas, Bub Thomas, and the men at the mills will call you Reddy, or Rusty, as sure as you are born. Your hair is a reddish brown, you know.”

“My hair is my own and as for your men at the mills they’ll have no chance to make sport of me.”

“Dear! dear! how proper we be. Now, don’t git mad; it uses up your nerve force. Let’s git down to business. You want a job?”

“Certainly,” moodily replied Stanley. “But I can see there is no chance for me up here. I’ll go back to Errol and try to earn my way to Boston. I was a fool to have left the city.”

“Don’t git faint hearted. It’s because you want some grub. We’ll have that mighty soon. Thank the Lawd one can eat up here without paying, if it is simply a case of tough luck. As to work, you don’t know but what a job is waiting for you this minute.”

“I tried for work down below here at a big mill, but was not successful,” said Stanley dispiritedly.

“I see; called into the paper mill, eh? Queer you couldn’t fit in; they usually need a boy.”

“A boy! I am sixteen, if you please,” corrected Stanley.

Bub eyed him humorously. “So am I,” he informed, “but we rank as younkers up here. Say, if you git something to eat won’t it sort of soften that fiery temper of yours? Tempery, peppery people don’t git on very well up here: Shouldn’t think they would in the city.”

“I suppose not,” wearily conceded Stanley; “but this is all new to me and I’ve had a tough time this last week.”

“Well, well,” soothed Bub, studying his companion with new interest; “let’s cheer up. Your Uncle Thomas is going to take you in hand. But it’s mighty queer about the paper mill. Did you git huffy? Did you talk high-falutin with the boss?”

“I talked with no one,” replied Stanley coldly.

Bub’s eyes opened very wide, and he halted and faced the other in amazement. “Let’s git this straight. How did you know you couldn’t git a job if you didn’t ask for one?”

“I looked in the doors and saw that all the men were loafing. I knew there would be no work for me when the help had nothing to do. Even the big wheels in the engine room were idle.”

Bub’s facial expression first alarmed and then angered Stanley. For beginning with a strained, swollen look that puffed out the cheeks and made the dark eyes to fill with tears, it finally exploded in a shriek of laughter. “O my poor child! If you only knew how green you are! I shall never live to git to the mills. Men and wheels idle! Ha! ha! ha!”

“Your way lays up the road; I’ll return to Errol,” gritted Stanley, wheeling about.

“But don’t you see!” cried Bub, wiping his eyes and striving to sober his expression. “The—the men in a paper mill are always loafing when things go right. When you see ’em hustling and bustling about you can bet the company is losing money, ’cause something has gone wrong. But when they loll back and take it easy everything is going all hunkey dory. And—and you thought—ha! ha! There! I’ll laff no more. And the wheels were still! Ha! ha! ha! Don’t, please don’t leave me. I’ll quit; honest I will, but if you only knew how funny it is. Wheels stopped. Ha! ha! ha!”

“What is there funny about idle engine wheels?” demanded Stanley, now thoroughly irritated.

“They—they was using water power and saving seventy-five dollars a day,” feebly explained Bub. “If they could have water power the year ’round it would be a gold mine. Later, when the streams narrow up, they’ll have to use them wheels you saw idle and it’ll cost them seventy—five dollars for each day. Now, Stan, we’re friends again. You know I’m go to like you awfully; for if you’re green up here you know I’d be green in the city.”

“Yes, that’s probably so,” agreed Stanley, now mollified. “Most people are a bit green on their first trip to town. I was brought up there.”

“And what did you do?”

“Er—why, I haven’t done much of anything.” And Stanley’s voice and bearing were confused, Bub shrewdly observed.

“Hm,” muttered Bub; “never met a feller before but what could do something.”

“I’ve been to school and believe there are many things I could do if I had a chance to learn,” continued Stanley, earnestly.

“I see,” dryly commented Bub. “Well, we’ll have a talk with Mr. Hatton. That is, I’ll tell him you want a job. He’ll say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and that will end it.”

For about half a mile the two walked along in silence, Bub often stealing a compassionate glance at his foot-sore companion. The wind soughing through the pines came pleasantly to his ears, pricked through now and then with the tuneful call of a blue bird; but Stanley, with knit brows heeded nothing beyond the rough road before him.

“Here’s the mills,” finally announced Bub.

Stanley halted and raised his eyes. Before him was a collection of long buildings and small mountains of sawdust, while the soft spring breeze brought to his nostrils the aroma of the lumber.

“Them two over there are the sawmills. Next is the pulp mill, the brick one, and across the way are the three boarding houses and the company’s store and offices,” explained Bub, a proud note in his voice as he remembered he was a part of the busy industry.

“What’s the name of the company?” idly asked Stanley.

“Great Scott! but you are a cool one,” admired Bub. “Here you’ve come way up here to git a job, have given your last doller to Frenchy, and you don’t even know the name of the Great Northern Lumber and Paper company.”

“I’ve heard the name several times,” puzzled Stanley, frowning as he attempted to recall when and where.

“You have!” jeered Bub. “That’s mighty nice of you. Why, don’t you know we are the biggest thing in the lumber and paper game and that we cut, all told, more’n four hundred million a year?”

“Of what?” innocently inquired Stanley.

“Stan, you’re a wonder!” gasped Bub, throwing up his hands in dismay. “Millions of feet of lumber, greeny. That first mill over there eats four hundred cords of spruce a day. That’s some eating, ain’t it? And if it ain’t fed to the top-notch you’ll hear something drop. Then we own the paper mill down where you tried to git work. Ha! ha!”

“Who is ‘we’? Are you a part of the company?” sneered Stanley, resenting the other’s reference.

“Sure,” stoutly replied Bub. “The company would have to close up shop if I wasn’t here to help old Abner Whitten on his trips.”

“And I suppose that that tramp coming along the road, the one who looks more unfortunate than I, also is one of the company,” ironically remarked Stanley, pointing to the slouching figure of a man.

Bub’s eyes danced gleefully. “That is Wilson, our buyer. The company pays him ten thousand dollars a year. He knows the lumber game and the timber lands of New England and Canada as no other man knows it. Stanley, remember this; clothes don’t cut much of a figure up here. The only thing that counts is results. If you deliver the lumber you git the money and a dude isn’t worth forty cents a week.”

Stanley did not reply; he was humbled. For the first time he realized how utterly unlikely he was to fit in with this environment. Even French Louey was of more value than he. And as he pondered on this bitter truth his heart sank and a feeling of homesickness flooded his soul and the tears trembled in his eyes.

But Bub saw his emotion and his generous spirit urged him to find some diversion, something to distract his companion’s thoughts. Nearby, leaning against a pile of fresh spruce bolts, was a swarthy complexioned man, whose hair grew coarse, black and long. It was Big Nick, the half-breed, who had lost his license as a guide for poaching. He had been discovered trapping beaver out of season and for this summer at least he could not hire out to any party at three dollars a day. He had blamed the lumber company, believing Hatton had set the game wardens on his trail. He had come down to the settlement to interview the manager and ask him to have the license restored; for Hatton was a power in that section and the half-breed believed he had ample power to reverse the action of the officials. Hatton had refused to see him and he was in no frame of mind for jest.

But Bub in his desire to arouse his companion did not hesitate to make use of Nick, and in a tantalizing treble sang out,

“Beaver, beaver, taking a nap, Big Nick caught him in a trap, Then came—”

But before the crude taunt could be completed the half-breed was galvanized into action, and with a guttural oath leaped towards the boy, with one bronzed fist drawn back for a smashing blow.

Bub’s face blanched and he jumped aside, tripped and fell. Instantly the infuriated guide was over him, one foot raised to stamp down into the upturned, terrified face.

Then the guide shot backward, and Stanley, who had stood as if petrified, beheld Wilson, the buyer, standing over the fallen boy.

“Want any more?” he muttered.

The guide crawled to his feet, one hand stealing to his belt.

“Drop it! Touch that knife and I’ll shoot you,” warned Wilson in a low, metallic voice.

Without a word Big Nick faced about and hurried away. Then Wilson caught Bub by the collar, not only to lift him to his feet, but also to thoroughly shake him. “You young pup!” he upbraided. “What do you mean by trying to cut up with that Injun? Don’t you know he’s poison and would kill you as quickly as he would a mink? If you keep on with your smart Alec tricks you’ll stop growing quick some of these days.”

“I thank you very much, Mister Wilson,” humbly returned Bub.

“You’d better, but that doesn’t fill the bill. That Injun is now doubly sore on the company. If ever he gits you in the woods he’ll even up what he believes he owes you. But that ain’t the worst.” And the buyer dropped his chin and ruminated gloomily.

“Why, what worse can he do?” whispered Bub, his voice trembling as he fancied a meeting with Big Nick in the woods, where each man was a law unto himself.

“He’ll make a campaign against the company. He’ll start fires,” growled Wilson. “You young pup, it would almost be better if I’d let him smashed you. Now, get back where you belong.”

As Bub led the way to the small office he was much crestfallen. His step lagged and the light faded from his gaze.

“I’m sticking by you, Bub. Where you go I’ll go, and perhaps the two of us will be enough for the Indian,” murmured Stanley.

“You’re a good sort and we’re going to hitch up fine,” ruefully replied Bub. “And let this be a lesson to you, young man; it’s possible for a feller to be green even after he thinks he knows the ways of the woods and mills. What a greeny I was!”

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

STANLEY’S FIRST JOB

Bub’s remarks as they drew near the office were half inaudible because of the increased clamor pouring out of the mill. A hasty glance sufficed for Bub to know the manager was in one of the mills, or at the sorting gaps.

“We’ll try in here,” he shouted in Stanley’s ear. “Sawing pine into lumber. I tell you, my son, we are the only people and you must git in with us.”

Stanley smiled gloomily; at another time he knew Bub would be a continuous source of delight to him, but now the future was veiled in doubts and misgivings. It was too late to retreat, however, for with his last optimistic observation Bub had led the way into the place of noise. The songs of the saws were keyed from droning monotones to the shrill screech that seemed to split the ear. Added to this vibrating babel was the clang and roar of pulleys and belts and the racket of the boards sliding from the tables. For the fraction of a moment Stanley forgot their errand and with mouth agape and eardrums singing, stared at the sawdust—covered men bending over and clustered around the discs of flashing steel. The Western sun in burnishing a huge circular saw into silver and gold was unable to reveal its motion. For all the world it was stationary and smooth of rim. And yet, when the huge log was urged upon the table and fed against its edge it divided like a cheese under the knife and only the intense scream of the long, hooked teeth evidenced that it was alive.

When Stanley turned to look for his new found friend he beheld Bub nearby, talking to a square built man, whose eyes were as cold and hard as the monster now severing the log. Although they were within a few feet of him Stanley could hear no word spoken. He saw the motion of Bub’s lips and then knew the manager had uttered some monosyllable. Bub turned and gaining his side said something.

“Can’t hear you,” bellowed Stanley; nor could he hear his own words. Bub smiled and let him outdoors, but it was some seconds before the ringing left his ears and Bub’s voice was very hollow and sounded far off as he informed:

“Good luck. You are to work in the kitchen helping the cook. You’ll have to git to work at four o’clock in the morning and you’ll get three dollers a week and your board. Not bad, eh?”

“Is that all?” asked Stanley, now thoroughly discouraged.

Bub misunderstood him and laughed merrily. “I don’t wonder you think it is a cinch. I started in there at only two dollers a week, but I didn’t have anyone to speak for me. I pulled your oar in great shape, my son. Besides helping the cook you’ll have to carry water to the men, build the fires and so on. If you have any spare time you’ll be sent to help with the bosses, of course.”

“I didn’t know anyone ever worked for three dollars,” sighed Stanley.

“You didn’t expect Wilson’s place right off the reel, did you?” drawled Bub.

“No; but this kitchen work—what do I have to do?”

“Come up to my room, or rather our room, for you’ll bunk with me, and I’ll tell you,” said Bub, leading the way.

Bub’s room was in the middle boarding house and was not a large one. Still the owner seemed proud of it and pointing at the one chair and a small pine table, the latter covered With writing material and some old magazines, ex , “There’s style for you, my son. You’re lucky in meeting up with me.”

Stanley turned aside to conceal his dismay and in a choked voice asked, “And now as to my duties?”

“Build fires, put on the coppers, clean the kettles, pots and pans, peel potatoes—”

“Hold hard! Peeling potatoes is girl’s work. I’ll have none of it.”

Bub sank on the bed, head in his hands, and moodily remarked, “I don’t know as I can do anything for you after all. You’re too finicky. What had you in mind, Mister Malcolm?”

“I certainly expected to get some clerical work, something more fitting,” irritably returned Stanley.

“Very well, Mister Malcolm,” politely observed Bub. “Please draw the chair up to the table and write as I talk. No, I mean it. We must find out where you are heavily wooded and blaze a trail to that place.”

Stanley grimly seated himself and dipped the pen. “‘Mister Bub Thomas, Esquire,’” began Bub, gravely.

“What nonsense is this?” cried Stanley, throwing down the pen.

“See here, Mister Malcolm, pick up that pen,” growled Bub. “Think I’m spending my time up here for fun? ‘Mister Malcolm, Esquire. My dear sir; although I ain’t no particular ability and never worked I would like a nice job at a fat salary—’”

“I’ll write no more,” cried Stanley.

Bub reached over and picked up the paper and studied it thoughtfully; then he said, “I don’t blame you. They wouldn’t let you sharpen pencils in the office, and if you don’t cut more of a figure peeling potatoes than you do slinging ink you’ll say good-bye to the kitchen mighty quick. I can’t git into the office, but I’m more shakes then you on writing. See here,” and seizing the pen he rapidly copied Stanley’s scrawling effort and presented for inspection a fair, clean bit of copy.

“Why, you write better than I do,” sorrowfully admitted Stanley.

Blandly ignoring the compliment Bub assumed a paternal air and inquired, “What about arithmetic? Can you scale lumber, can you reckon stumpage? Or can you find a discount, the number of acres in a piece of land shaped like a lobster. I, myself, have gone only through plane geometry and the high school algebra. Of course Mister Malcolm is much farther advanced."

“No; I’m not,” soberly corrected Stanley, eying Bub with chagrin and respect. “I give in; you’re ahead of me.”

“Now we are improving and peeling potatoes don’t look so black, eh?” cried Bub, kindly and encouraging again.

“You’ll admit there isn’t much of a future in that kind of work,” said Stanley, smiling sadly.

“But when a man is down and out and has no money, nor grub, there’s a supper and other suppers in it,” reminded Bub. “Now, if you’re keen to git ahead and are really ambitious, think I can fix it so you can git some washings to do outside of hours. The men pay twenty-five cents per wash. Ten of ’em a week would nearly double your income.”

“Income!” sneered Stanley; then repentant, “Bub, you’re a good fellow. I’ll tackle the potatoes, but we’ll leave the washings for the time being.”

At this juncture a bell rang down below and Bub made a leap for the door. “Supper!” he cried, gaining the stairs in another bound.

“Won’t there be enough?” asked Stanley, keeping up with him only by something of an exertion.

Bub’s boyish laughter rang out clear and full, even rising above the warning of the bell and he slackened his steps. “Enough? Of course we have enough. Eat all you can hold, but we fellers git so all fired hungry we usually sprint for the dining room. Hear ’em outside! You’d think there was only a slice of bread and we’d got to fight for it. Follow me.”

For the first time in his life Stanley beheld more than a hundred men eating in their shirt-sleeves, and eating as if life depended upon their finishing quickly. Only they didn’t finish but helped themselves again and again. Mountains of baked beans, hills of doughnuts, seas of strong coffee, plateaus of gingerbread, foothills of fried potato vanished and were replaced, only to vanish again. And no one spoke, except to grunt a request for some particular dish. The rattle of the knives and forks, the clatter of the dishes, was a reprodution in miniature of the confusion in the mill.

“Pitch in,” encouraged Bub, manfully wresting the doughnuts from the expectant hand of a Prince Edwards Islander.

“I’m through,” whispered Stanley, suddenly finding his appetite had fled.

“Jumping cats!” exclaimed Bub, pausing in amazement. “Off your feed as bad as that? I thought you was hungry.”

“I was, but the noise, the sight of so much food,” mumbled Stanley. “Why don’t they bring in what you order instead of putting everything on the table at once?”

“O my son, my son!” choked Bub, holding his sides. Then in a mincing voice, “Waiter, I will have a bit of a bean and a sprig of spruce—”

“Shut up!” snarled Stanley.

“Say, Red-head, shoot over them biscuit. Be ye deef?” called out a black whiskered man across the table. Stanley’s face reddened and he opened his mouth to resent the tone and language, but mastered himself and silently obeyed the rough request.

Bub nudged him and whispered, “That’s better. I have some hopes for you. Remember, you are only a kitchen boy for the present. If you ain’t got nerve enough to be that and be it right you’ll never amount to shucks at anything else up here.”

“Let’s get out of here,” was Stanley’s answer.

Bub looked ruefully at his plate, recently refilled, but stifling a sigh rose and ushered his new friend, not to the outer air, but to the kitchen.

“You must meet the cook. He’s your boss. Try and be pleasant. You won’t disturb him any if you’re not, but he’ll have a new kitchen boy.”

Stanley heard this final bit of advice with a grimace, and Bub approaching a perspiring man stirring something in a kettle said, “This is your new boy, Cook.”

“Git out of my way, or I’ll scald ye,” cried the cook, not raising his eyes from the kettle.

“He goes on tomorrow morning. I’ll tell him what to do,” continued Bub, in no way abashed.

“Out of this kitchen or I’ll be the death of ye,” bawled the cook.

“There! we’ve fixed that all right,” enthusiastically cried Bub as they gained the open air. “You’d had a disagreeable time if I hadn’t gone in to break the ice. When I began in there I didn’t have a soul to speak a good word for me.”

“And you call that a cordial welcome?” asked Stanley, his voice trembling.

Bub’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did you expect him to throw his arms around you and kiss you?” he at last inquired.