“Nonsense,” cried Barrows. “Whoever heard of metal in a tree?”
“Could it have been a defective saw?” inquired Garry soberly, for the purpose of hearing what reply Barrows would make.
“Yes, that’s what it must have been, a defective saw,” repeated the manager, parrot fashion.
“Defective saw me eye,” broke in the old helper. “That tree has been spiked and spiked good and plenty. That’s the second saw that went that way this summer. Tother time it nearly killed the sawyer when the belt flew off and almost got him tangled up in the machinery. There’s one sure way to find out what caused it, and that’s to roll her off the carriage and split off that place where the saw started to eat through. If there isn’t a spike there, you can have my month’s wages.”
“You seem to know all about it, and perhaps we shall find out why you know so much about the matter,” and Barrows favored the old man with a look that boded no good to him.
In the face of the old timer’s statement, and because Dick and Garry were looking at the manager as though they expected him to take speedy action, there was nothing for Barrows to do but follow the suggestion and order the log rolled off. This was done, and then several wedges were driven in, and using the backs of single bitted axes, the section of tree was soon split open. There plainly revealed to view were several bent, cut and twisted spikes!
“That’s what broke your saw,” exclaimed the old man. “Shame, too, a nice saw like that ruined and the only one in the camp at that!”
“That will do, Collins,” cut in Barrows sharply. “Your opinion wasn’t asked. Besides, I am still wondering how your knowledge of the spiking seemed to prove so accurate.”
“I was raised in the woods, and I know all the little tricks. There’s dirty work afoot here somewhere,” returned old Collins staunchly.
“Yes, I guess you do know all the tricks, but I know a good one, too; you go and get your pay from the timekeeper and start on your way,” ground out the manager.