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Updated: May 7, 2025
Where's Mattawa Tom?" A big sinewy ax-man from the forests of Northern Ontario sprang up beside him, and Thurston said: "I'm going to try to chop through the king log that's keying them. It's rather more than you bargained for, but will you stand by me, Tom?" "Looks mighty like suicide!" was the dry answer. "But if you're ready to chance it, I'm coming right along."
He was able, however, long before his death to make valuable contributions to the geography of Canada. He was the first Frenchman to ascend the River of the Iroquois, now the Richelieu, and to see the beautiful lake which still bears his name. In 1615 he found his way to Georgian Bay by the route of the Ottawa and Mattawa Rivers, Lake Nipissing and French River.
She lent me a cayuse to ride over to Fenton's ranch, and the trail there leads close by the head of the gully." Mattawa looked up at Gordon with a grin. "If you want to do some drilling, you can start right now," he remarked. "Guess Nasmyth doesn't know he has a back on him."
He looked round at the other two, and after they had expressed their approval, they discussed the project until far into the night, and finally decided to recross the range, and look at the fall again, early next morning. It happened, however, that Mattawa, who went down to the river for water, soon after sunrise, found a Siwash canoe neatly covered with cedar branches.
Mattawa Tom leapt shorewards from moving log to log, but for a few moments Thurston, who scarcely noticed his absence, chopped on alone. Filled with the lust of conflict, he remembered only that it was necessary to make sure of victory before he relaxed an effort.
That costs money, and wages are 'way higher here than they are back East." It was a simple statement, made very quietly by a simple man, but it appealed forcibly to those who heard it, for they could understand what lay behind it. Love of change or adventure, it was evident, had nothing to do with sending the grizzled Mattawa out to the forests of the West.
Wheeler, the pulp-mill builder, who had once sold oranges on the railroad cars, led up to a conversation that gave Nasmyth an opportunity for which he had been waiting. "You and Mattawa are about through with that slashing contract," he said. "You will not net a great pile of money out of it, I suppose?" "My share is about thirty," answered Nasmyth, with a little laugh.
Tom from Mattawa, grasping a dripping pole, stood up in the bow. Gordon and Wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, knelt in the middle of the boat. Wheeler's hands were blistered from gripping the paddle-haft, and his knees were raw, where he had pressed them against the bottom of the craft to obtain a purchase.
Gordon, who was getting up when he entered, looked at him curiously. "I'm going into Bonavista after breakfast," Nasmyth said. "I don't want to leave the boys now, but I can't help it." Gordon asked no injudicious questions, for Wheeler had mentioned the letter, and his comrade's voice had its significance for him. "Then," he said, "I'll tell Mattawa to have the horse ready."
The stranger laughed, as, after a glass of hot liquor, he arrayed himself beside the banked-up stove, and presently marched under escort towards Thurston's wood and bark winter dwelling. Mattawa Tom followed close behind him with a big ax on his shoulder. "I might be a panther you'd corralled. How do you know I haven't a pistol in my pocket, if it was any use turning ugly?" the prisoner inquired.
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