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Updated: May 18, 2025
The winter gales had swept the forest and great pines lay piled in belts of tangled ruin, through which Kermode found it difficult to lead the horse, while as they floundered over branches and through crackling brush his companion's limp grew more pronounced.
Friends began to quarrel over games of chance, and the violence they displayed was often accounted for by indulgence in smuggled liquor. Ferguson, however, was making progress: gaining staunch adherents here, tacit sympathizers there, though the opposition saw to it that several had reason to regret their joining him. Kermode took no open part in the struggle, but watched it interestedly.
After all, a shepherd has his human weaknesses; perhaps he's too fond of using his private mark or the stamp of his guild." "That," Kermode smiled, "is a handsome admission. Anyway, you have no rival in shepherding the boys here; and taking us all round, we need it. But can you raise building funds on the spot?" "Oh, no!
The sunshine had now vanished from the crest of the rocks and he supposed the stones would soon freeze fast again, but there would be only another hour or two of daylight and he must gain a place of safety before it grew dark. An incautious movement would precipitate him from his insecure refuge and he could not contemplate his remaining there through the night. Then he grew angry with Kermode.
Some of his comrades said he must have meant to wait for the arrival of the pay car, so as to draw his wages before he left; others declared that this did not count with him, and he stayed because he would not be driven out. The Englishman took the latter view for, as he told Prescott, Kermode once said to him, "I want the opposition to remember me when I quit."
Then, when the foundations were exposed, Kermode and the carpenter examined a socket in which a broken piece of wood remained. "This has been a blamed bad tenon," the mechanic remarked. "The shoulders weren't butted home." "I'm afraid that's true; I made it," Ferguson admitted; but Kermode, laying his finger on the rent wood, looked up at his companion.
After his companion had dismounted and run forward, he stood quietly holding the horse, until she beckoned him. "This is Mr. Kermode, who brought me here," she said. "My brother, Tom Foster." "Indebted to you," responded the man. "I was driving home when you shouted; my place is about six miles off. If you'll follow, I'll take my sister in the wagon."
"It has, indirectly. I'm sorry I can't give you an explanation." "Try to understand how I'm situated. I may have my sympathies, but I can't be a partizan; my business is to see you do your work. Suppose I do as you suggest, will it make any trouble in the camp? I want a straight answer." "No," said Kermode. "I give you my word that what we mean to do will lead to quietness and good order."
"Send her along, you slobs!" "We're pretty near the top of the grade," Kermode answered him quietly. "We want to go easy, so as to stop her at the dumping-place." The line, when finished, would cross the muskeg with a slight ascent; but the bank sank as they worked at it, and the track now led downhill toward its end. The foreman failed to remember this in his vicious mood.
They saw that he meant it and, as he was popular, they left him in peace. On the morning after he met Helen Foster, Kermode sought a foreman with whom he was on good terms. "I want to quit work for a week," he said abruptly. "Sorry; I can't give you leave, and the boss went down the line yesterday. If you let up before you see him, it's quite likely he won't take you back."
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