Lane took his lighted lantern from the cook’s hand and followed. He had his teeth set tight, as though resolved to say no more. But at the edge of the camp’s lamplight he whirled and faced the crew. Barrett halted, too, as though hoping for some intervention.
“Look here, men,” said Lane, “I want to thank you for being men in this thing. And seeing that you’ve been square with me I don’t want to go away from here leaving any wrong idea behind me. I don’t know just what’s going to happen between this man and me, for a good deal depends on him. But you’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not the crust-hunting kind that cuts a deer’s throat when he’s helpless. You put your confidence in me when you put this man in my hands. And I’ll say to you, I’ll do the best I know!”
“We ain’t givin’ any advice to you that knows your business better’n we do,” called out the boss of the choppers. “But let it be man to man—good woods style!”
“Good woods style!” echoed the crew, in hoarse chorus. It was plain that their minds were dwelling on only one solution of the difficulty.
Lane stepped back and set the rifle against the log wall. “I was near forgetting,” he said, apologetically. “I’m so used to carrying a rifle. This belongs here.”
“Take it,” suggested Withee, with a touch of grimness in his tones.
“I don’t need it,” Lane answered, quietly. He whirled and started away, and Barrett sullenly preceded him. They clambered up the valley wall, the pale lantern-light tossing against the hemlock boughs. The crew of “Lazy Tom” watched in silence until the last flicker vanished among the trees of the Jerusalem trail.
“Well,” said the chopping-boss, drawing a long breath, “it appears to me that there are some things that money can’t do for old ‘Stumpage John,’ big as he is in this world! One is, he’s found he can’t buy up the ‘Lazy Tom’ crew to back him in a dirty job of woman-stealin’.”
“I’d like to be there when it happens,” panted “Dirty-apron Harry,” excitedly.