The going away of these men left a vacancy at the boarding place where Owen was stopping, and this room was taken by Dale, so the two young lumbermen saw more of each other than ever. Owen was a fair performer on the violin and the banjo, and Dale could play a harmonica and sing, and they often spent an evening over their music, which the other boarders listened to with keen relish, for amusements in that out-of-the-way spot were not numerous.
For several weeks nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Dale worked hard, early and late, and for this Peter Odell gave him something extra to do, with extra pay. By this means the young lumberman was enabled to save more than usual, and one Saturday afternoon he had the satisfaction of sending Hen McNair a letter containing Peter Odell's check for the balance due the close-fisted riverman.
"That wipes out the last of my father's debts," said Dale to Owen. "I can tell you it makes me feel like a different person to have everything paid."
"I believe you, Dale. My father didn't leave any debts, but I had to square up for the funeral, and that was no small sum."
"Now all I have left to do is to square up for the horse that was stolen."
"What was he worth?"
"I don't know exactly. I asked Mr. Larson, but he said to wait a while, that Jerry might turn up somewhere."
So far the only word received concerning Baptiste Ducrot was through an old riverman, who had once seen the French-Canadian in a drinking resort near the upper end of Moosehead Lake. What had become of Ducrot after that nobody knew.
The summer was drawing to an end, and still the sawmill at Larson's Run remained idle. It was impossible to get logs, and soon Peter Odell began to complain.
"I shouldn't be surprised if we had to shut down too," said Owen one day. "If we do, Dale, what are you going to do?"