At this remark a shadow showed itself for a moment on Bruce's face.
"No, I'm not alone," he said. "I've got a father and a mother and a little sister. But, you see, father and I couldn't agree. I had a row in the foundry with the boss, and father wanted me to take back what I said, and I wouldn't do it. That brought on a big quarrel, and I said I'd clear out before I'd go on my knees to any boss, especially as I knew I was in the right. So then father said he wouldn't have me around if I wouldn't mind him, and we had some more words, and that night I packed my grip and came away—and I've been away ever since."
"Don't they know where you are?"
"Oh, yes! I've written half a dozen letters to my mother, and she has written to me. She wants me to come back, but father says he won't have me, and I—well, I don't want to go if he feels that way about it," concluded Bruce.
CHAPTER XXVII
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LOG TRAIN
The following week found Dale and Owen fully settled at the camp of the Wilbur-Balasco Lumber Company. Mr. Balasco had interviewed them for a few minutes on the morning after their arrival, and had then placed them under the directions of a foreman named Larson, a Swede, who could speak fairly good English. They had gone back to the railroad station for their trunks and valises, and were housed in a cabin at what was called Yard 4, located at the head of the creek. The yards above No. 4 were without a waterway, and the timber had to be hauled down by engines and by horses, although a flume was being built, from a hill half a mile further on. When this was finished, a mountain stream was to be turned into it, which would afford a waterway for all the timber in that section, and also increase the flow in the creek running into the Columbia.
Yard 4 was on a hillside, thickly overgrown with brush, and full of loose stones, so the gang had to work at first with great care, for rolling stones are conducive to twisted ankles and broken limbs. In Larson's gang were sixteen foreigners, and the balance were Oregonians, all muscular fellows, as tough as pine knots.
It must be confessed that both Dale and Owen found the work cut out for them very hard. Larson was a driver, and never gave his men any rest if he could help it.