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"I surmise we took that town apart SOME!" remarked Shorty with satisfaction. "I should rise to remark," replied Kerlie. Big Junko said nothing, but his cavernous little animal eyes glowed with satisfaction. He had been the first to lay hands on Daly; he had helped to carry the petroleum; he had struck the first match; he had even administered the final kick.
They were attempting to roll one end of it over the side of another projecting log, but were continually foiled, because the other end was jammed fast. Each bent his knees, inserting his shoulder under the projecting peavey stock, to straighten in a mighty effort. "Hire a boy!" "Get some powder of Junko!" "Have Jimmy talk it out!"
"That no-account jackass of a Big Junko ain't worth as much per thousand feet as good white pine." Then they noticed a group of men gathering about the office steps, and on it someone talking. Collins, the bookkeeper, was making a speech.
"That's the finest woman in this district." Thorpe felt the quick moisture rush to his eyes. There was something inexpressibly touching in those simple words as Big Junko uttered them. "And when you are married," he asked, "what are you going to do? Are you going to stay on the river?" "No, I'm goin' to clear a farm. The woman she says that's the thing to do. I like the river, too.
But you bet when Carrie says a thing, that's plenty good enough for Big Junko." "Suppose," suggested Thorpe, irresistibly impelled towards the attempt, "suppose I should offer you two hundred dollars a month to stay on the river. Would you stay?" "Carrie don't like it," replied Junko. "Two hundred dollars is big wages," persisted Thorpe. "It's twice what I give Radway." "I'd like to ask Carrie."
"No, take it or leave it now." "Well, Carrie says she don't like it," answered the riverman with a sigh. Thorpe looked at his companion fixedly. Somehow the bestial countenance had taken on an attraction of its own. He remembered Big Junko as a wild beast when his passions were aroused, as a man whose honesty had been doubted. "You've changed, Junko," said he. "I know," said the big man.
Big Junko laughed self-consciously but without the slightest resentment. "That's all right," said he, "but you betcher life I don't blow this stake." "I've heard that talk before," shrugged Thorpe. "Yes, but this is different. I'm goin' to git married on this. How's THAT?" Thorpe, his attention struck at last, stared at his companion.
The hope was groundless. "We'll have to shoot," Shearer reluctantly decided. The men were withdrawn. Scotty Parsons cut a sapling twelve feet long, and trimmed it. Big Junko thawed his dynamite at a little fire, opening the ends of the packages in order that the steam generated might escape. Otherwise the pressure inside the oiled paper of the package was capable of exploding the whole affair.
The grandeur of the sacrifice had struck them dumb. They did not understand the motives beneath it all; but the fact was patent. Big Junko broke down and sobbed. After a time the stream of logs through the gap slackened. In a moment more, save for the inevitably stranded few, the booms were empty. A deep sigh went up from the attentive multitude.
"You'd better get back to your job." "Yes," agreed Junko helplessly. In the momentary slack tide of work, the giant had conceived the idea of searching out the driver crew for purposes of pugilistic vengeance. Thorpe's suspicions stung him, but his simple mind could see no direct way to explanation.
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