Smoke rolled about the clearing and dry branches snapped in the flames. A keen wind fanned the blaze and in places the fire leaped up the trees and resinous needles fell in sparkling showers. Okanagan Bob went about with a coal-oil can, and Jimmy drove the red oxen that hauled loads of brush. Jimmy's face was black, his hand was burned, and his shirt was marked by dark-edged holes, but his mood was buoyant. The fire had got firm hold and advanced steadily across the belt of chopped trunks and branches bushmen call the slashing. When it burned out Jimmy thought only half-consumed logs would be left. A good burn ought to save him much labor.
Perhaps his keenness was strange. To clear a ranch is a long and arduous job that he was not forced to undertake; but he was keen. His occupation, so to speak, had got hold of him. Moreover he felt, rather vaguely, it was a test of his endurance and pluck. Since he left the cotton mill he had loafed and squandered; now he had got a man's job, and when the job was carried out he would know himself a man.
By and by he stopped the oxen in front of the house. A few yards off Deering notched the end of a log. He wore long boots, overall trousers and a torn shirt. His face was red, but his big body followed the sweep of the ax with a measured swing and the shining blade went deep into the log. Deering had arrived a few days before to arrange about a hunting excursion.
"You have put up a fresh log since I came along. You chop like a bushman," Jimmy remarked.
"Two logs," said Deering and dropped his ax. "I reckon I am a bushman. Anyhow I was born at a small Ontario ranch, and hired up at another in Michigan."
Jimmy was surprised. Although Deering was not at all like Stannard, his habits were extravagant and nothing indicated that he had engaged in bodily labor. He saw Jimmy's surprise and laughed.
"For a few minutes I'll cool off and take a smoke," he resumed. "Chopping's a healthy occupation, but I soon had enough. I was out for money and wasn't satisfied to earn two-and-a-half a day. Then in Canada, and I reckon in Michigan, you don't get two generations to stay on the land. You clear a ranch, but your son weighs all you're up against and resolves to quit. He reckons keeping store at a settlement is a softer job."
"Did you keep a store?"
"I ran a pool room. After a time, a women's reform guild got busy and the town reeve hinted I'd better get out."
Jimmy laughed. He liked Deering's frankness, but he said, "I suppose Dillon left Stannard at Puget Sound? He talked about going to Colorado."