They stood watching the train until it struck the down grade and disappeared through the cut.
“Well, that’s over,” observed Gillis, as he sat down heavily and wiped the sweat from his face. He looked tired and worn, but the light of victory shone in his eyes.
“If it hadn’t been for you, Jack,” said Donald earnestly, “we would not have got that order away on time. You look all in; you’d better have a good sleep.”
The big man’s eyes brightened at Donald’s praise.
“You don’t look like you’d bin to a Sunday-school picnic,” replied Gillis with a chuckle.
As Donald walked up the hill the whistle blew for the noon-hour, and the men trooped past on their way to the dining-room. Blackie left the ranks and walked shamefacedly to Donald’s side.
“I’m sorry for the part I took in the strike, boss, I——”
“It’s all right, Blackie,” interrupted Donald, “you more than made up for it. We’ll forget all about that.”
Blackie’s face wore a relieved look as Donald gave his hand a friendly grip.
Meals in logging camps are eaten in silence and with a fixity of purpose. It is a business to be finished with as hurriedly as possible. From the time the men are seated until the chairs are pushed back, the clatter of dishes and an occasional “pass the butter” are the only sounds.