‘A RUDE AWAKENING.’
“In the fir-woods of the Upper Bartibogue the snow was softening rapidly. The spring thaws had come on several weeks earlier than they were expected, consequently a great quantity of logs lay in the woods waiting to be hauled to the landing. The hands at Bober’s Camp were working with feverish energy, in the effort to get all their logs out before the snow roads should go utterly to pieces. Old Paul Bober, the boss of the camp, had sent out to all the surrounding settlements for extra teams.
“The first result of his efforts was a team of wild young steers, which seemed hardly more than half-broken to the yoke. They were as long and gaunt as their driver, long Jim Baizley; but they looked equal to any amount of hard work.
“‘Them critters of yourn ain’t much to look at, Jim,’ remarked the boss, as Baizley came ‘geeing’ and ‘hawing’ them into camp toward sundown.
“The steers swung their hindquarters far apart, and sagged restively on the yoke, as they came to a halt. The teamster rolled a loving eye upon them, and replied,—
“‘Jest wait till they git yankin’ onto the logs, an’ then see what you think of ’em!’
“Jim Baizley was a smart teamster; and on the following morning, with his heart set on showing off his team to the best advantage, he was the first to get to work hauling. The snow was getting softer and softer, a warm wind having blown all night so that there had been no chance for it to stiffen up. This heightened the general anxiety; and there was no time lost in following Baizley to ‘the Ridge,’ a patch of sloping forest where a lot of fine timber lay waiting to be hauled out.
“From the Ridge to the Landing it was necessary to take a new road, which had been already roughly chopped out. As Baizley with his lean cattle started out for the Landing with a couple of huge timbers chained together behind them, one of the hands shouted to remind him that he was the first to go over the new road.
“‘Look out for slumps, Jim!’ cried the chopper. ‘This here snow hain’t got no kind of a bottom to it now!’
“Baizley rolled his eyes over the stretch of track before him, which his load was soon to plough into picturesque disorder. With a thoughtful gesture, and very deliberately, he spit a huge quantity of tobacco-juice over the dull-white, soggy surface just in front of the oxen, and then said,—