"Yes, but times aint as good as they was," came from the storekeeper. "1899 was the banner year fer lumber here. The cut was 183,000,000 feet, an' not only thet, but spruce thet had been sellin' fer $14 and $18 a thousand sold down to Boston fer $20 and $24. Times aint what they was." And the storekeeper heaved a long sigh.
At the side door of the general store a clerk was loading a wagon with various provisions, beans, potatoes, salt fish, flour, a sack of coffee, and the like. Dale watched him for a few seconds and then accosted him.
"Loading up for one of the hotels?" he questioned pleasantly.
"No, this load is going up the river," was the answer.
"May I ask who is going to take it and where it is bound?"
"It's going up to the Paxton camp. Old Joel Winthrop and a couple of other men are going to take it up. Paxton is going to start in early this fall, so we're rushing the stuff up to him."
"How many hands does he employ?"
"About a hundred or more. Want a job?"
