“‘I’ll look out. Gimme a peevy!’
“Grasping the long white pole, shod with a steel spike at the larger end, he started his team toward the Landing. Instead of walking beside his cattle, in the teamster’s customary place, he travelled a few feet in front of their noses; and from time to time he thrust the pike-pole sharply into the snow.
“It must be borne in mind that the snow in these north shore woods lies anywhere from two to five feet deep. Under such a covering may lie concealed, not only the firm forest floor, but dangerous bog-holes, or steep little dry gullies. Hence the wise precaution which Baizley took of feeling the way for his oxen. The lack of such precaution has cost many a careless lumberman his team.
“In the present case, however,—so perverse a witch is chance,—Baizley’s very prudence was the well-spring of disaster. His experience was such as might almost have led him to forswear precautions for the rest of his natural life—as a teamster.
“Close behind Baizley’s team came another, driven by Tamin Landry, a little Frenchman from down the river. Tamang, as the Frenchman was called by his comrades, had great confidence in Baizley’s skill as a guide. He felt it safe to take his team wherever Baizley should take his.
“Presently Baizley’s pike-pole sank deeply into the snow with sudden and suspicious ease.
“‘Whoa-oa-o!’ he yelled, rolling his eyes back upon the steers.
“The team surged forward till they were almost upon him, and he rapped them sharply across the muzzles. Then they stopped, with their heads far down.
“‘W’at ze matter?’ inquired Tamang, skipping forward.
“‘Big hole here!’ responded Baizley. He was prodding the snow near the trunk of a mighty tree.