Ed and George unloaded their packs from the canoe and, manfully refusing an offer of assistance, shouldered the loads and followed Ben toward the cabins. They saw Ned wink at the guide and nod toward them approvingly, and they were glad they had declined help and “rustled” for themselves.
“The boys are at supper,” explained the big foreman, indicating the cabin with the smoking chimney. “I’ll take you fellows over to the bunk-house, and you can leave your ‘turkeys,’ and wash up a bit. Then we’ll mosey over and have something to eat.”
The lads looked about them curiously when they entered the great house with its rows of bunks. Along the first half of each side were long benches. In the center of the room was a huge, round stove, and, although it contained no fire—for the nights were not cold enough to require one—many articles of clothing were hung upon it to dry. A large kerosene-filled lamp, suspended from overhead in the middle of the room, furnished what light there was.
“You can leave your ‘turkeys’ over there; take those two bunks,” said Crawford, designating the proper ones.
Ben promptly tossed his pack into one of them and smiled broadly when the boys looked at him in some confusion.
“Your pack, or ‘duffle,’ is your ‘turkey,’” laughed the guide. “Put yours in that lower bunk.”
“Yep, that’s what we call it,” the foreman explained. “Now, you’ll find the basin and a pail of water outside by the door, and here’s a clean towel. When you’re all fixed up handsome like, come over and join us in the ‘grub-shanty,’” he said, and left them.
When they had stowed away their belongings, they went outside and washed at the battered tin basin. While they were going through this interesting and necessary ceremony several lumbermen came up to shake hands with Ben. Then they went to the “grub-shanty,” or dining-cabin, where the foreman was waiting to welcome them.
A long pine table, flanked on either side by low, continuous benches, extended almost the length of the room. At it sat the lumber crew—deep-chested, quick-eyed men of the wilderness. Ben readily called most of them by name as he and the boys took seats.
Soon a big, swarthy-faced man, who wore a soiled apron and had his sleeves rolled above his elbows, came scuffling in and placed three smoking bowls of oatmeal—“oats” he called it—before the new-comers. Then he struck the guide a resounding whack between the shoulders, as proof of his delight at seeing him.