The camp boasted of four long, low double-runner sleds. These were driven by two Canadians and two Scotchmen, all expert at getting a load of logs over the uneven ground without spilling them. The horses were intelligent animals, used to logging, and would haul with all their might and main when required.
Owen was right; the sleds were brought out on the first clear day, and while the majority of the men continued to cut logs, some were set to work to make a road down to the pond and others were set at the task of loading the logs ready for transportation.
Dale had already put in a week or two at swamping, and now he and Andrews were detailed to fix a bit of the road that ran around a hilltop overlooking the stream far below. Near this spot was a long sweep of fairly even ground, sloping gradually toward the watercourse, and Joel Winthrop had an idea that many logs could be rolled to the bottom without the trouble of loading and chaining them on the sleds.
"Such a method will certainly save a lot of trouble," said Andrews, as he went out with Dale. "But the men below want to stand from under when the logs come down."
The storm had given way to sunshine that made all the trees and bushes glisten as if burnished with silver. From the hilltop an expanse of country, many miles in extent, could be surveyed—a prospect that never grew tiresome to Dale, for he was a true lover of nature, even though occupied in destroying a part of her primeval beauty.
"Just think of the days when this country was full of Indians," he said to Andrews. "It's not so very many years ago."
"Right you are; times change very quickly. Why, the first sawmill wasn't built on the Penobscot until 1818, and in those days Bangor was only a small town and many of the other places weren't even dreamed of. The Indians had their own way in the backwoods, and they used to do lots of trading with the white folks when they felt like it."
"Yes, and fought the white folks when they didn't feel like it," laughed Dale. "But then the red men weren't treated just right either," he added soberly.
"I can remember the time when these woods were simply alive with game of all sorts," went on the older lumberman. "If you wanted a deer all you had to do was to lay low for him down by his drinking place. But now to get anything is by no means easy. That moose you and Webb got is a haul not to be duplicated."
The work at the hilltop progressed slowly, but at the end of two weeks all the small trees and brushwood in the vicinity were cut down and disposed of, and then a road to the edge of the hill was leveled off and packed down.