“I'm layin' you ten to one I seen him,” Dan replied defiantly, “an' what's more, I'll bet a good cigar—a ten-center straight—the boy don't leave till six o'clock to-night.”
“You're on,” answered the chief engineer. “Them's lumberjack hours, man. From seven till six means work—an' only fools an' hosses keeps them hours.”
The head sawyer leaned across the table and pounded with the handle of his knife until he had the attention of all present. “I'm a-goin' to tell you young fellers somethin',” he announced. “Ever since the old boss got so he couldn't look after his business with his own eyes, things has been goin' to blazes round this sawmill, but they ain't a-goin' no more. How do I know? Well, I'll tell you. All this forenoon I kept my eye on the office door—I can see it through a mill winder; an' I'm tellin' you the old boss didn't show up till ten o'clock, which the old man ain't never been a ten o'clock business man at no time. Don't that prove the boy's took his place?”
Confused murmurs of affirmation and negation ran up and down the long table. Dan tapped with his knife again. “You hear me,” he warned. “Thirty year I've been ridin' John Cardigan's log-carriages; thirty year I've been gettin' everythin' out of a log it's possible to git out, which is more'n you fellers at the trimmers can git out of a board after I've sawed it off the cant. There's a lot o' you young fellers that've been takin' John Cardigan's money under false pretenses, so if I was you I'd keep both eyes on my job hereafter. For a year I've been claimin' that good No. 2 stock has been chucked into the slab-fire as refuge lumber.” (Dan meant refuse lumber.) “But it won't be done no more. The raftsman tells me he seen Bryce down at the end o' the conveyin' belt givin' that refuge the once-over—so step easy.”
“What does young Cardigan know about runnin' a sawmill?” a planer-man demanded bluntly. “They tell me he's been away to college an' travellin' the past six years.”
“Wa-ll,” drawled the head sawyer, “you git to talkin' with him some day an' see how much he knows about runnin' a sawmill. What he knows will surprise you. Yes, indeed, you'll find he knows considerable. He's picked up loose shingles around the yard an' bundled 'em in vacation times, an' I want to see the shingle-weaver that can teach him some tricks. Also, I've had him come up on the steam carriage more'n once an' saw up logs, while at times I've seen him put in a week or two on the sortin' table. In a pinch, with a lot o' vessels loadin' here at the dock an' the skippers raisin' Cain because they wasn't gettin' their cargo fast enough, I've seen him work nights an' Sundays tallyin' with the best o' them. Believe me that boy can grade lumber.”
“An' I'll tell you somethin' else,” Zeb Curry cut in. “If the new boss ever tells you to do a thing his way, you do it an' don't argue none as to whether he knows more about it than you do or not.”
“A whole lot o' dagos an' bohunks that's come into the woods since the blue-noses an' canucks an' wild Irish went out had better keep your eyes open,” Dan Kenyon warned sagely. “There ain't none o' you any better'n you ought to be, an' things have been pretty durned slack around Cardigan's mill since the old man went blind, but—you watch out. There's a change due. Bryce Cardigan is his father's son. He'll do things.”
“Which he's big enough to throw a bear uphill by the tail,” Zeb Curry added, “an' you fellers all know how much tail a bear has.”
“Every mornin' for thirty years, 'ceptin' when we was shut down for repairs,” Dan continued, “I've looked through that winder, when John Cardigan wasn't away from Sequoia, to watch him git to his office on time. He's there when the whistle blows, clear up to the time his eyes go back on him, an' then he arrives late once or twice on account o' havin' to go careful. This mornin', for the first time in fifty year, he stays in bed; but—his son has the key in the office door when the whistle blows, an'—”