Charnock laughed. “Perhaps not; our methods are different. You would have explained logically why the thing ought to be finished; but that's a mistake. There are not so many logical people as you think. Instead of arguing, I made a silly joke.”
“You certainly get on with the boys,” said Festing thoughtfully.
“They're a careless, irresponsible crowd. I'm irresponsible, too, and they understand me. They trust you, but you sometimes puzzle them. Perhaps that accounts for the thing.”
Festing talked about something else until they went back to work. Next morning he climbed the hill to a level bench where some of his men were busy hauling logs to the top of the skids. It was easier to move the big trunks across the snow, and he had seized the opportunity to get some out, but was surprised when he saw the number ready to be sent down. While he examined them, Charnock, sprinkled with dusty snow, came up, leading a heavy Percheron team. They dragged a log into place, and then Charnock unhooked the chain and beat his hands. His skin-coat was ragged and his fur-cap battered, but he looked alert and virile as he stood by the steaming horses' heads. The gray trunks of the pines made a good background for his tall figure, which had an almost statuesque grace.
“You look very well, Bob,” Festing remarked. “It's obvious that the pain has gone.”
“It won't come back while the dry weather lasts; I don't know about afterwards. These are pretty good logs.”
“I was wondering how you were able to bring up so many.”
“They're here; that's the main thing. You can look after other matters and leave this to me.”
“If you don't mind, I'd like to see how you did it,” Festing replied.
“Oh, well! You're a persistent fellow; I suppose you had better come along.”