“You mean a lumberman?”
“More likely some farm-hand getting out fire-wood.”
“I’ve never seen a tree cut down—a big tree, that is.”
Sam laughed. “Well, that chap probably isn’t leveling any forest monarch, but if you’d like to see him work, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. Come ahead!”
Off they set again, Sam leading. They crossed a valley at the foot of the hill, mounted a gradual slope on the farther side, climbed an old stone wall, and found themselves in a wood lot, fairly free of undergrowth. The sounds of the axe were much louder now. Sam, pointing, gave a shout.
“See that treetop sway? We’ll be in time to see it come down!”
They hurried forward. That is, Sam hurried and made progress. Varley, also making haste, caught a snow-shoe on a hidden obstruction, and took a magnificent header into a drift. He was struggling up in a second, powdered with snow from head to foot, with snow up his sleeves and down his neck, but grinning cheerily in spite of his mishap.
Sam, glancing back, shouted again. Varley took a step forward. Then suddenly he cried out, sharply, warningly.
The tree was no longer swaying back and forth. Instead, the tall trunk was falling like a great beam swinging on a pivot at its base. Its limbs tore through the boughs of its smaller neighbors, but above the noise of cracking and breaking wood rose a voice, shrill with alarm.
It was all over with startling swiftness. Here was a case in which fractions of a second counted. The woodsman, stepping back when his final blow with the axe had been delivered, had heard Sam’s shout. For an instant his attention had been distracted; and in that fateful instant the course of the falling tree was diverted from its original direction. When the man became aware of his peril, the trunk was descending straight upon him. He tried to spring aside, but it was too late to escape. He was caught, hurled to the ground, and held there, with the tree trunk fairly across his body.