By the time night came the young lumbermen were more than ready to quit. John Hoover had proved a regular slave driver, and neither wondered that his men were deserting him before the season was at an end.
"About two months of this would use me up," said Dale. "I never felt so tired from a single day's work in my life."
"It's his continual nagging that does it, Dale. If he wouldn't be at the men all the time they might do every bit as much, and feel a good deal better over it. As it is they are surly, and they won't do a hand's turn more than they have to." And Owen was right.
The next day it rained, but they went out as before, John Hoover declaring that men could cut and move timber just as well in the wet as when the sun shone. One man, who had a heavy cold, demurred, and a regular quarrel ensued, first concerning the work and then about wages. At last the man packed his box and went off, declaring that he would sue the camp owner if he did not get the wages that were coming to him.
The rainy weather made Mrs. Hoover irritable, and she scolded, not only her husband, but also the young lumbermen, for tracking the mud into the living room.
"I've got enough work to do without clearing up such dirt!" she snapped to her nephew. "If you bring any more in you'll not get a mouthful to eat."
"I guess I'll get what's coming to me, Aunt Maria," said Owen, whose temper had reached the danger point.
"No, you shan't have a thing."
"Then I'll go down to one of the other cabins and live."
"And I'll go with Owen," put in Dale. "I'm tired of this place, anyway."