“Wouldn’t that jar a brick wall?” he commented to MacNutt. “They burn our camp and get an injunction against us. I half wish I had let the boys go over last night. Now, I suppose it would be contempt of court to cross their line.”
“Don’t let that worry you,” said the foreman grimly. “Orders of court is a poor rig in the woods. All you’ve got to do is to give me and the boys our time and hire us again when we’ve cleaned ’em out.”
But this beautifully simple evasion of the law did not appeal to Joe. He wanted logs, and had no time to waste in satisfying his grudges. The weather, which had been ideal for logging, changed and choking snows fell. The road had to be ploughed out time after time. The hauling was heavy and slow. Then came a great thaw. The horses balled and stumbled and caulked themselves. The huge sleighs made pitch-holes in the road. Altogether it was discouraging. Finally the wind switched into the north and the weather hardened. The mercury dropped to zero at night and rose to twenty at noon. The road became icy and the runners slid easily in the ruts. Once more the teamsters took full loads and the choked skidways found relief.
The men, denied the innocent recreation of burning out the other camp, worked with vim. The word went around that Kent needed the logs—needed them, in fact, badly. That was enough. Haggarty, Regan, big Cooley, and half a dozen others set the pace, and the rest of the crew kept up to it. They were at work by the first light, and only darkness forced a halt. The nooning was cut short voluntarily, the men contenting themselves with a few whiffs of tobacco and resuming work without a word from MacNutt.
Joe felt the change. There was a subtle difference in the ring of the axes and the vibration of the saws. They sang a faster song and held a truer note. As he went over the work from man to man with a joke or a pleasant word—criticisms, instructions, and suggestions he still wisely left to MacNutt—he was met by cheerful grins. These rough, virile men of the woods and the river recognized a kinship with the young boss; they felt in him their own fearlessness and willingness to take a chance, and a strength of purpose and of character unmarred by their vices.
Since the rebuilding of the camp they had seen little of McCane’s crew. Curses and threats had been exchanged between individuals across the deadline, but on the whole Peace brooded dove-like and triumphant, as it is accustomed to brood above armed states, and the manner of its sudden, startled flight was thus:
Joe and MacNutt, going through a slashing at the farthest corner of the limit which they had reached in the cutting, inadvertently trespassed upon Clancys’; thereby becoming technically guilty of contempt of court. As they ploughed through the deep snow two men came into view from behind the fallen tops. One of these was Rough Shan; the other, to Joe’s astonishment, proved to be Finn Clancy.
The two advanced. Joe and MacNutt stopped. Clancy opened the ball with an explosion of profanity.
“Are ye lookin’ for more logs to steal?” he observed in conclusion. “Keep to yer own limit, ye young thief, or I’ll break yer neck!”
“You’ve reached your limit!” said Joe through his teeth, and put his whole weight behind his left fist.