Buster Billings saw Frank.
“Are you hurt, Frank?” he cried.
“No. But I surely had the breath knocked out of me when I fell. That was a close call!”
When the boys had assured themselves that their leader was safe, and when Lanky had told him what the sawyers had done, Frank walked over and thanked them heartily for the manner in which they had so quickly saved him from being crushed.
“That’s all right, buddie,” said one of them, a great, broad-shouldered, gruff man, with a week’s growth of beard on him. “But you boys ought to be careful when you come through where trees are falling. One of them strike you dead, sure!”
The boys were interested in watching the woodsmen at their work, whereupon they lingered for more than half an hour watching them drop marked trees, each piece of work being done deftly, surely.
They asked questions about the transportation of the trees, learning that they are pulled out through the snow and are piled up to be run down the rivers to the mill as soon as the freezes of the winter are ended.
“How about moose around here?” Frank asked one of the men when they had become somewhat acquainted. “Ever see any moose bulls?”
“Surest thing you know,” replied the big man of the woods. “Ever heard of the king of the lakes? Old King Moose? He is the biggest thing in these parts. He’s around up here somewhere, but I don’t know where.”
When the next tree had been felled the big fellow turned to the group of boys and regaled them with several stories about the great king of the forests who had fought and whipped every moose bull until he was the monarch of everything.