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The gang you shipped up to the mill in Washington has already applied for a charter for a new post to be known as Cappy Ricks Post No. 534. And you had experienced men discharged to make room for these ex-soldiers." "You bet I did," Cappy yelled triumphantly. "It's always Old Home Week in every logging camp and saw-mill in the Northwest for I.W.W.'s and revolutionary communists.
"Yes," Trapper Jim went on to say, "I remember a case where in a logging camp some greenhorn was foolish enough to kill one of the animals, and the result was they had to build new quarters. Nobody could stand it in the old place. There's nothing more lasting." "It ain't overly nice right now," asserted Steve.
Bryce closed by wire for the extra logging- equipment and immediately set about rounding up a crew for the woods and for the night-shift in the mill. For a month Bryce was as busy as the proverbial one-armed paper- hanger with the itch, and during all that time he did not see Shirley Sumner or hear of her, directly or indirectly.
Our lumbermen lead the world in skill and ingenuity. They have worked out most efficient methods of felling and logging the trees. Many foreign countries have long practiced forestry and lumbering, yet their lumbermen cannot compete with the Americans when it comes to a matter of ingenuity in the woods. American woods and methods of logging are peculiar.
Skinner was first vice president. He entered and stood deferentially beside Cappy's desk. "Hankins, my dear boy, bring me the stock certificates for my holdings in the Ricks Lumber and Logging Company and the Blue Star Navigation Company. I am going to indorse them, after which I wish you would reissue the stock to me, less one hundred shares of each in the name of Mr. Skinner. Say nothing to Mr.
You could see the fire horses harnessed with logging chains to the uprights of the shed to tear the building from its place. Most of all I wish you could have seen Mr.
Always she rose in the morning heavy-eyed and stiff-muscled. Youth and natural vigor alone kept her from breaking down, and to cap the strain of toil, she was soul-sick with the isolation. For she was isolated; there was not a human being in the camp, Katy John included, with whom she exchanged two dozen words a day. Before the snow put a stop to logging, Jack Fyfe dropped in once a week or so.
Remnants of old log chutes remind one of the logging activities that used to be carried on here. One of the most observable features of Squaw Valley is its level character. This is discussed in the chapter on glacial action.
When the logging interests waned the town declined, and in 1898 the post office was discontinued. Now nothing remains but the old incline, grown up with weeds and chaparral. New towns are springing up at Al Tahoe, Lakeside and Carnelian Bay which will soon demand a revision of this chapter.
It is a busy time in Maine, where you must prepare for a long winter and for twenty degrees below zero. At last we were ready to start up to the logging camp with the sixteen horses. We hitched three spans of them to a scoot that had wide, wooden shoes, and that was loaded high with bags of grain, harnesses, peavies, shovels, axes, and chains. The other ten horses we led behind by halters.
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