"What next—for me?" asked Bill.
Appleton smiled.
"I think Fallon has disposed of your case," he replied. "My boy, I want you to take this new camp and get out logs. I won't set any specific amount, I will tell you this: I must have twenty-five million feet out of the Blood River country this winter. You are the first inexperienced man I have ever placed in charge of a camp. I don't know what you can do. I'll take the chance. It's up to you.
"My camps are run without interference from the office. Results count with me—not methods. Feed your crew all they can eat—of the best you can get. Knock a man down first and argue with him afterward. Let them know who is boss, and you will have no trouble. Don't be afraid to spend money, but get out the logs!"
The following morning the new foreman stood upon the platform of the station as the heavy, vestibuled Imperial Limited ground to a stop, under special orders to take on the great lumberman.
"So-long, Bill!" Appleton called. "See you next month. Bringing a party into the woods for a deer-hunt. May put up at your camp for a couple of weeks."
The train pulled out for the East, leaving Bill Carmody gazing, just a shade wistfully, perhaps, at the contented-looking men and women who flashed past upon the rich plush cushions.
But as the last coach passed he squared his shoulders with a jerk and turned quickly away.
CHAPTER XXXV