"You might telegraph to the next station, Dale."
"So I might!" Dale's face brightened a little, then fell again. "But I guess I won't. It will cost extra money, and I'll have to go and identify him, and stay around when he is tried, and all that. No, I'll watch my chance to catch him some time when it is more convenient."
Promptly at the time appointed by old Joel Winthrop the journey up the lake was begun. Counting Dale and Owen there were five lumbermen on the Lily, which was a craft ten feet wide by about twenty feet long. The Lily was to be towed along by a small tug which did all sorts of odd jobs around the lake. The bateau was piled high with the provisions and with the boxes and valises belonging to the lumbermen, not forgetting the case that contained Owen's precious violin and the green bag with the banjo.
"I see you're a player," said Joel Winthrop. "I used to scratch a fiddle myself years ago. You'll have to give us some music goin' up." And Owen did, much to the satisfaction of all on board.
The distance to the Paxton lumber camp was over a hundred and fifteen miles, and it took five days to cover the journey. At the end of the lake the goods had to be portaged up to the river, and then had to be portaged around the falls beyond. On the West Branch and the side stream on which the camp was located the bateau had to be poled along, and owing to the low water often caught on the mud or the rocks. But nobody minded the work, and as the weather was cool and dry the journey passed off pleasantly enough.
The two strange lumbermen were from Bangor and were named Gilroy and Andrews. They were experienced hands, and Gilroy was an under boss at the camp, having charge of the North-Section Gang, as it was called. All the older men loved to talk about lumbering in general and old times in Maine in particular, and Dale and Owen listened to the conversation with interest.
"Got to go putty far back for lumber now," said Joel Winthrop. "All the good stuff nigh to the river has been cut away."
"I've heard my grandfather tell of the times when they cut good logs less than ten miles from Bangor," put in Gilroy. "I reckon they didn't think what an industry lumbering would become in these days."
"I suppose they cut nothing but pine in those days," said Dale.
"Nothing but pine, lad; spruce wasn't looked at."