By this time the lumbermen had arrived at the house, and the boys thought they had never seen a stronger or more healthy set of men. The sun had tanned their bearded faces to a deep brown hue, and as they dropped their heavy axes into a corner, it was easy to see that each one was as strong as two ordinary men.
They all muttered a “How d’ye do” to Mr. Durland, and took their seats around the rough table in silence.
Obedient to instructions, the cook had stretched a wide plank between two barrels, and this served Mr. Durland and his Troop as a table. The boys were not in a mood to be critical, and so long as they got something to eat, did not care much what kind of a table it was served on.
Harry, the red-headed cookee, now entered, bearing a huge platter of steaming beans. This was followed by other dishes of biscuits, doughnuts and great cups of black coffee.
The lumbermen fell to with a rush, and it was wonderful to see the way in which the eatables vanished. They ate like famished wolves, and the Scouts, hungry as they were, almost forgot to eat, and could only stare at the spectacle and wonder how the men ever did it.
However, you may be sure that their own hunger soon asserted itself, and, as Ben Hoover expressed it, they began to “feed their faces.”
The food was very good in its way, and the boys made a hearty meal. The lumberjacks, however, were through almost before the Scouts had begun, and had gone outside, there to smoke their pipes and swap yarns of perils by wood and water.
Soon the boys followed them, and ranged themselves on the grass, listening to the whoppers that the inventive men told. It must be admitted that most of the yarns had some foundation of truth, but on this had been reared an elaborate structure of events that had happened only in the imagination of the man telling the story.
After a while they started singing a rough lumberman’s song, and some of the boys joined in the chorus. Tom’s clear, piercing voice rang out above the thunderous bass of the men like foam on the crest of the wave, and when they had finished, the men gazed at him admiringly.
“That there kid,” said one great, bearded fellow, who at one time had been a cowboy on the western plains, “is sure goin’ to be some shakes as a singer when he grows up. I bet he’ll be in opry some o’ these days. I knew a feller on the Panhandle as could sing like that oncet, but he would borrow hosses as didn’t belong to him, and so we all strung him up one fine mornin’. It sure seemed a shame to strangle that voice of his’n, but it had to be did.”