"That's the peak Hartley mentioned," he said in a voice which was strangely incisive. "Give me the ax!"
He took it from his comrade and striding forward attacked the nearest rampick. Twice the keen blade sank noiselessly overhead, scattering a black dust in the frosty air, and then there was a clear, ringing thud. After that, Vane smote on with a determined methodical swiftness, until Carroll grabbed his shoulder.
"Look out!" he cried. "It's going!"
Vane stepped back a few paces; the trunk reeled and rushed downward; there was a deafening crash, and they were enveloped in a cloud of gritty dust. Through the midst of it they dimly saw two more great trunks collapse; and then somewhere up the valley a series of thundering shocks, which both knew were not echoes, broke out. The sound jarred on Carroll's nerves, as the thud of the felled rampick had not done. Vane picked up one of the chips.
"We have found Hartley's spruce."
Carroll did not answer for a minute. After all, when defeat must be faced, there was very little to be said, though his companion's expression troubled him. Its grim stolidity was portentous.
"I suppose," he suggested hopefully, "nothing could be done with it?"
Vane pointed to the butt of the tree, which showed a space of clear wood surrounded by a blackened rim.
"You can't make marketable pulp of charcoal, and the price would have to run pretty high before it would pay for ripping most of the log away to get at the residue.
"But there may be some unburned spruce farther on."