“And now about McCane’s gang,” said Joe when he had learned what he could absorb as to the progress of the work. “Are they giving you any trouble.”
“Not more than I can handle,” said MacNutt, and for the first time told of the doctored whiskey.
Joe roared at the recital, and MacNutt smiled grimly. He was not a humourist, and his narrative was not at all embellished. He went on to relate the incident of the logs and his deductions.
Kent thought of Finn Clancy and frowned. He told the foreman of the contract with the Clancy firm and of the narrowly averted row with Finn.
“Then they are behind McCane,” said MacNutt conclusively. “That means he will make it bad for us yet—unless we stop him.”
“I don’t understand,” said Joe.
“It’s this way,” MacNutt explained. “McCane has his instructions, but you can’t prove them. Suppose he claims a log and doesn’t get it and a fight starts between the crews—why, he’s jobbing the limit himself and the Clancys ain’t responsible.”
“A bit of a scrap won’t matter,” said Joe cheerfully.
“It will matter if the woods ain’t big enough to hold but one crew—ours or theirs,” returned MacNutt. “I’ve seen it happen before.”
“Tell me about it,” said Joe. He listened eagerly to the concise narrative that followed, which was the little-known history of a logging war in which the casualties were large.