“Still at it,” Murphy admitted.
“I suppose you get a great many logs in here from all up and down the river?” Scott asked.
“No,” the manager answered, “not now. We used to buy in small lots from many owners, but that was before Qualley started up there. We had quite a supply on hand when he started and he is getting the stuff down to us now just about fast enough to keep us going. We only cut about forty thousand feet a day. I am not sure, but I do not believe that we have bought a log from any one else for almost a year.”
“Are there any other mills on the river?” Scott asked.
“No, this is the only one down this way. There may be some more up the river, but if there are they are a long way up.”
Just then a big doubledeck river steamer with her tall smokestacks and queer-looking stern paddle wheel went by spanking her way up against the current.
“Don’t suppose one of those things would tow a raft up the river?” Scott suggested.
“Too slow for them. They are slow enough any way and a raft tow would cost her more than the logs are worth.”
“I don’t see what good it would do any one to steal logs here, then,” Scott said. “What could they do with them when they get them?”
“That’s what Murphy has been trying to find out for a couple of years,” the manager laughed. “He thought for a while that I was buying stolen property here, but he has never been able to prove it on me. Like to look over the mill, Mr. Burton?”