“They're altogether too confounded anxious to help us on that freight, Wallace,” said Thorpe wrinkling his brow uneasily. “I don't like it. It isn't natural.”
“No,” laughed Wallace, “neither is it natural for a dog to draw a sledge. But he does it—when he has to. They're afraid of you, Harry: that's all.”
Thorpe shook his head, but had to acknowledge that he could evidence no grounds for his mistrust.
The conversation took place at Camp One, which was celebrated in three states. Thorpe had set out to gather around him a band of good woodsmen. Except on a pinch he would employ no others.
“I don't care if I get in only two thousand feet this winter, and if a boy does that,” he answered Shearer's expostulations, “it's got to be a good boy.”
The result of his policy began to show even in the second year. Men were a little proud to say that they had put in a winter at “Thorpe's One.” Those who had worked there during the first year were loyally enthusiastic over their boss's grit and resourcefulness, their camp's order, their cook's good “grub.” As they were authorities, others perforce had to accept the dictum. There grew a desire among the better class to see what Thorpe's “One” might be like. In the autumn Harry had more applicants than he knew what to do with. Eighteen of the old men returned. He took them all, but when it came to distribution, three found themselves assigned to one or the other of the new camps. And quietly the rumor gained that these three had shown the least willing spirit during the previous winter. The other fifteen were sobered to the industry which their importance as veterans might have impaired.
Tim Shearer was foreman of Camp One; Scotty Parsons was drafted from the veterans to take charge of Two; Thorpe engaged two men known to Tim to boss Three and Four. But in selecting the “push” for Five he displayed most strikingly his keen appreciation of a man's relation to his environment. He sought out John Radway and induced him to accept the commission.
“You can do it, John,” said he, “and I know it. I want you to try; and if you don't make her go, I'll call it nobody's fault but my own.”
“I don't see how you dare risk it, after that Cass Branch deal, Mr. Thorpe,” replied Radway, almost brokenly. “But I would like to tackle it, I'm dead sick of loafing. Sometimes it seems like I'd die, if I don't get out in the woods again.”
“We'll call it a deal, then,” answered Thorpe.