In ten minutes, the wallowing, slipping, and leaping after the tail of the sled had sent his blood tingling to the last of his protesting members.Cold withdrew.He saw now that the pines were beautiful and solemn and still; and that in the temple of their columns dwelt winter enthroned.Across the carpet of the snow wandered the trails of her creatures,--the stately regular prints of the partridge; the series of pairs made by the squirrel; those of the weasel and mink, just like the squirrels' except that the prints were not quite side by side, and that between every other pair stretched the mark of the animal's long, slender body; the delicate tracery of the deer mouse; the fan of the rabbit; the print of a baby's hand that the raccoon left; the broad pad of a lynx;the dog-like trail of wolves;--these, and a dozen others, all equally unknown, gave Thorpe the impression of a great mysterious multitude of living things which moved about him invisible.In a thicket of cedar and scrub willow near the bed of a stream, he encountered one of those strangely assorted bands of woods-creatures which are always cruising it through the country.He heard the cheerful little chickadee; he saw the grave nuthatch with its appearance of a total lack of humor; he glimpsed a black-and-white woodpecker or so, and was reviled by a ribald blue jay.Already the wilderness was taking its character to him.
After a little while, they arrived by way of a hill, over which they plunged into the middle of the camp.Thorpe saw three large buildings, backed end to end, and two smaller ones, all built of heavy logs, roofed with plank, and lighted sparsely through one or two windows apiece.The driver pulled up opposite the space between two of the larger buildings, and began to unload his provisions.
Thorpe set about aiding him, and so found himself for the first time in a "cook camp."It was a commodious building,--Thorpe had no idea a log structure ever contained so much room.One end furnished space for two cooking ranges and two bunks placed one over the other.Along one side ran a broad table-shelf, with other shelves over it and numerous barrels underneath, all filled with cans, loaves of bread, cookies, and pies.The center was occupied by four long bench-flanked tables, down whose middle straggled utensils containing sugar, apple-butter, condiments, and sauces, and whose edges were set with tin dishes for about forty men.The cook, a rather thin-faced man with a mustache, directed where the provisions were to be stowed; and the "cookee,"a hulking youth, assisted Thorpe and the driver to carry them in.
During the course of the work Thorpe made a mistake.
"That stuff doesn't come here," objected the cookee, indicating a box of tobacco the newcomer was carrying."She goes to the 'van.'"Thorpe did not know what the "van" might be, but he replaced the tobacco on the sleigh.In a few moments the task was finished, with the exception of a half dozen other cases, which the driver designated as also for the "van." The horses were unhitched, and stabled in the third of the big log buildings.The driver indicated the second.
"Better go into the men's camp and sit down 'till th' boss gets in," he advised.
Thorpe entered a dim, over-heated structure, lined on two sides by a double tier of large bunks partitioned from one another like cabins of boats, and centered by a huge stove over which hung slender poles.The latter were to dry clothes on.Just outside the bunks ran a straight hard bench.Thorpe stood at the entrance trying to accustom his eyes to the dimness.
"Set down," said a voice, "on th' floor if you want to; but I'd prefer th' deacon seat."Thorpe obediently took position on the bench, or "deacon seat."His eyes, more used to the light, could make out a thin, tall, bent old man, with bare cranium, two visible teeth, and a three days'
stubble of white beard over his meager, twisted face.
He caught, perhaps, Thorpe's surprised expression.
"You think th' old man's no good, do you?" he cackled, without the slightest malice, "looks is deceivin'!" He sprang up swiftly, seized the toe of his right foot in his left hand, and jumped his left foot through the loop thus formed.Then he sat down again, and laughed at Thorpe's astonishment.
"Old Jackson's still purty smart," said he."I'm barn-boss.They ain't a man in th' country knows as much about hosses as I do.We ain't had but two sick this fall, an' between you an' me, they's a skate lot.You're a greenhorn, ain't you?""Yes," confessed Thorpe.
"Well," said Jackson, reflectively but rapidly, "Le Fabian, he's quiet but bad; and O'Grady, he talks loud but you can bluff him;and Perry, he's only bad when he gets full of red likker; and Norton he's bad when he gets mad like, and will use axes."Thorpe did not know he was getting valuable points on the camp bullies.The old man hitched nearer and peered in his face.
"They don't bluff you a bit," he said, "unless you likes them, and then they can back you way off the skidway."Thorpe smiled at the old fellow's volubility.He did not know how near to the truth the woodsman's shrewdness had hit; for to himself, as to most strong characters, his peculiarities were the normal, and therefore the unnoticed.His habit of thought in respect to other people was rather objective than subjective.He inquired so impersonally the significance of whatever was before him, that it lost the human quality both as to itself and himself.
To him men were things.This attitude relieved him of self-consciousness.He never bothered his head as to what the other man thought of him, his ignorance, or his awkwardness, simply because to him the other man was nothing but an element in his problem.So in such circumstances he learned fast.Once introduce the human element, however, and his absurdly sensitive self-consciousness asserted itself.He was, as Jackson expressed it, backed off the skidway.
