The making of a man

by W. D. Flatt

“Kids are no good in the forest,” said the foreman. “And the best men have to hustle to hold their jobs in Camp No. 2. But you look tired, kid. I’ll feed you and give you a bunk for the night.”

For the moment Charlie was left alone and had a chance to look about him. Naturally he was interested in the approach of the crew, who, although they had just completed a hard day’s work, seemed to be full of life and good spirits and pushed one another about, as it seemed to him, rather roughly. One man who had been near when the foreman spoke to the lad had heard Scott greet him as “Kid,” and apparently, as was customary in lumber camps, a nickname like this was bound to stick. As the crew came to the Camp House two shrill blasts given by the cook on his long tin horn gave a warning to get ready for supper, and this man spoke up rather roughly:

“Get that turkey off your back, Kid, and roll up your sleeves for hash.”

Five minutes later one short blast on the horn announced supper ready, and a stream of rough, though good-natured, men bolted out of the sleeping-camp and hurried to the door of the cook-camp. Every member of the crew carried his appetite with him. They took their seats in an orderly way, for the cook was always king in the cook-camp, and they well knew that anyone who acted in a disorderly way would be ejected, even if the services of the carving-knife were required. Scott, the foreman, had told the cook to put on an extra plate, so Kid was seated, and did justice to the wholesome meal, which, his first in the camp, was somewhat of a revelation since it supplied food in plenty, cooked to a finish and placed steaming hot on the table. After his long tramp during the day, with only a snack since breakfast, the meal was very welcome.

Supper over, Kid went back to the sleeping-camp with the crew, and here the strains of violins, mouth-organs and concertinas were soon blending with voices which seemed like the roar of lions. Each of the crew seemed to have his own tune and sung whatever was nearest in his heart. Suddenly a voice rose above the noise and din, calling:

“Sourdough, don’t hog the whole camp. Give the Kid a chance.”

Charlie was bewildered. Nothing of this nature had ever been presented to him before. He thought that he had seen rough-and-tumble play in his games at school, but the antics of the fun-loving lumbermen surpassed anything he knew. The black coffee, the pea soup, the pork and beans, and the bread “like mother makes,” seemed to have added new fuel to the relentless energy in these forest giants. In addition to singing, they played jokes on one another and wrestled and danced. Old boots were flying through the air and suddenly one of these, which landed directly on Kid’s nose, caused the blood to flow freely.

One of the crew, a swarthy giant who, with matted hair and whiskers, bore a good deal of resemblance to a grizzly bear and who, by the way, probably by reason of dissimilitude, had been christened “Babe,” jumped up in the seat which ran around the edge of the lower bunks. Clenching his fist, he followed the direction from which the boot had been flung, and a warning was given that if further pranks were tried on the Kid he would smash the face of the joker so that his best girl would never recognize him again. All this was quite typical. There were many rough men in Camp No. 2 ready to act as protector to a lad like Kid. They liked the cleanness and manliness of his face, which also showed a stamping of determination indicating that he was brave enough to try to take care of himself when he had to.

After a moment Babe’s eye rested on one of the crew who was in the habit of meting out rough treatment to green hands, and who had been familiarly christened “Jumbo.” At times Babe was quite ready to do his share of the hazing process also, but he realized that beside him was a lonely lad who had wandered into the camp without knowing what experiences he would meet, and under these conditions he was glad to become the boy’s champion and ready to fight to the death, if needs be, for him. Jumbo, in his turn, did not particularly welcome being called to account before the crew by Babe or any other member of the camp, and in a moment he edged his way over to the side of the lad, and in a provoking tone remarked:

“Did you run away from your home, Kid, or did your dad kick you out?”