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Updated: June 22, 2025
"As you say, Colonel, it is difficult to keep such soft wood from being marred by contact with the furniture. And you are fortunate to have such a woods-boss in your employ. Such loyal fellows are usually too good to be true, and quite frequently they put their blankets on their backs and get out of the country when you least expect it. I dare say it would be a shock to you if Rondeau did that."
"It was great," Bryce continued. "Old Duncan McTavish returned. I knew he would. His year on the mourner's-bench expired yesterday, and he came back to claim his old job of woods-boss." "He's one year too late," Ogilvy declared. "I wouldn't let that big Canadian Jules Rondeau quit for a farm.
You have never been deficient in that," the old man protested. "Why didn't you have the old skid-road planked with refuse lumber so you wouldn't fall through? And you might have had the woods-boss swamp a new trail into the timber and fence it on both sides, in order that you might feel your way along." "Yes, quite true," admitted the old man.
Her father used to be our woods-boss. I fired him for boozing." "I wouldn't care two hoots if her dad was old Nick himself. I'm going to marry her if she'll have me. Ah, the glorious creature!" He waved his long arms despairingly. "O Lord, send me a cure for freckles. Bryce, you'll speak a kind word for me, won't you sort of boom my stock, eh? Be a good fellow." "Certainly.
Already word that the woods-boss was battling with a stranger had been shouted into the camp dining room, and the entire crew of that camp, abandoning their half-finished meal, came pouring forth to view the contest. Out of the tail of his eye Bryce saw them coming, but he was not apprehensive, for he knew the code of the woodsman: "Let every man roll his own hoop."
"The good old wrist-lock does the trick," he announced; and stooping, he grasped the woods-boss by the collar with his left hand, lifted him, and struck him a terrible blow in the face with his right. But for the arm that upheld him, Rondeau would have fallen. To have him fall, however, was not part of Bryce's plan.
Tully announced pridefully. "I remembered how fond you used to be of wild-blackberry pie so I phoned up to the logging-camp and had the woods-boss send a man out to pick them." "I'm still a pie-hound, Mrs. Tully, and you're still the same dear, thoughtful soul. I'm so glad now that I had sense enough to think of you before I turned my footsteps toward the setting sun." He patted her gray head.
Some woods-boss, that and his first job with this company was the dirtiest you could hand him smearing grease on the skid-road at a dollar and a half a day and found. He's made too good to lose out now. I don't care what his private morals may be. He CAN get out the logs, hang his rascally hide, and I'm for him." "I'm afraid you haven't anything to say about it, Buck," Bryce replied dryly.
I couldn't get him on the telephone to-day or yesterday. I suppose he was down in Arcata, liquoring up." She nodded miserably. "Well, we have to get logs to the mill, and we can't get them with old John Barleycorn for a woods-boss, Moira.
"See to it, Rondeau, that they do not leave until I give the word. Understand? Cardigan's woods-boss will call you up and ask you to send a switch-engine tip to snake them out late this afternoon or to- morrow afternoon. Tell him the switch-engine is in the shop for repairs or is busy at other work anything that will stall him off and delay delivery."
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