"Captain Morse!" cried Dyer, stepping forward."My orders are that you are to land here nothing but M.& D.merchandise.""I have a right to land," answered Thorpe."The shore belongs to me.""This dock doesn't," retorted the other sharply, "and you can't set foot on her.""You have no legal status.You had no business building in the first place---" began Thorpe, and then stopped with a choke of anger at the futility of arguing legality in such a case.
The men had gathered interestedly in the waist of the ship, cool, impartial, severely critical.The vessel, gathering speed astern, but not yet obeying her reversed helm, swung her bow in towards the dock.Thorpe ran swiftly forward, and during the instant of rubbing contact, leaped.
He alighted squarely upon his feet.Without an instant's hesitation, hot with angry energy at finding his enemy within reach of his hand, he rushed on Dyer, and with one full, clean in-blow stretched him stunned on the dock.For a moment there was a pause of astonishment.
Then the woodsmen closed upon him.
During that instant Thorpe had become possessed of a weapon It came hurling through the air from above to fall at his feet.Shearer, with the cool calculation of the pioneer whom no excitement can distract from the main issue, had seen that it would be impossible to follow his chief, and so had done the next best thing,--thrown him a heavy iron belaying pin.
Thorpe was active, alert, and strong.The men could come at him only in front.As offset, he could not give ground, even for one step.Still, in the hands of a powerful man, the belaying pin is by no means a despicable weapon.Thorpe hit with all his strength and quickness.He was conscious once of being on the point of defeat.
Then he had cleared a little space for himself.Then the men were on him again more savagely than ever.One fellow even succeeded in hitting him a glancing blow on the shoulder.
Then came a sudden crash.Thorpe was nearly thrown from his feet.
The next instant a score of yelling men leaped behind and all around him.There ensued a moment's scuffle, the sound of dull blows; and the dock was clear of all but Dyer and three others who were, like himself, unconscious.The captain, yielding to the excitement, had run his prow plump against the wharf.
Some of the crew received the mooring lines.All was ready for disembarkation.
Bryan Moloney, a strapping Irish-American of the big-boned, red-cheeked type, threw some water over the four stunned combatants.
Slowly they came to life.They were promptly yanked to their feet by the irate rivermen, who commenced at once to bestow sundry vigorous kicks and shakings by way of punishment.Thorpe interposed.
"Quit it!" he commanded."Let them go!"
The men grumbled.One or two were inclined to be openly rebellious.
"If I hear another peep out of you," said Thorpe to these latter, "you can climb right aboard and take the return trip." He looked them in the eye until they muttered, and then went on: "Now, we've got to get unloaded and our goods ashore before those fellows report to camp.Get right moving, and hustle!"If the men expected any comment, approval, or familiarity from their leader on account of their little fracas, they were disappointed.
This was a good thing.The lumber-jack demands in his boss a certain fundamental unapproachability, whatever surface bonhomie he may evince.
So Dyer and his men picked themselves out of the trouble sullenly and departed.The ex-scaler had nothing to say as long as he was within reach, but when he had gained the shore, he turned.
"You won't think this is so funny when you get in the law-courts!"he shouted.
Thorpe made no reply."I guess we'll keep even," he muttered.
"By the jumping Moses," snarled Scotty Parsons turning in threat.
"Scotty!" said Thorpe sharply.
Scotty turned back to his task, which was to help the blacksmith put together the wagon, the component parts of which the others had trundled out.
With thirty men at the job it does not take a great while to move a small cargo thirty or forty feet.By three o'clock the Pole Star was ready to continue her journey.Thorpe climbed aboard, leaving Shearer in charge.
Keep the men at it, Tim," said he."Put up the walls of the warehouse good and strong, and move the stuff in.If it rains, you can spread the tent over the roof, and camp in with the provisions.If you get through before I return, you might take a scout up the river and fix on a camp site.I'll bring back the lumber for roofs, floors, and trimmings with me, and will try to pick up a few axmen for swamping.
Above all things, have a good man or so always in charge.Those fellows won't bother us any more for the present, I think; but it pays to be on deck.So long."In Marquette, Thorpe arranged for the cashing of his time checks and orders; bought lumber at the mills; talked contract with old Harvey, the mill-owner and prospective buyer of the young man's cut; and engaged four axmen whom he found loafing about, waiting for the season to open.
When he returned to the bay he found the warehouse complete except for the roofs and gables.These, with their reinforcement of tar-paper, were nailed on in short order.Shearer and Andrews, the surveyor, were scouting up the river.
"No trouble from above, boys?" asked Thorpe.
"Nary trouble," they replied.
The warehouse was secured by padlocks, the wagon loaded with the tent and the necessaries of life and work.Early in the morning the little procession laughing, joking, skylarking with the high spirits of men in the woods took its way up the river-trail.Late that evening, tired, but still inclined to mischief, they came to the first dam, where Shearer and Andrews met them.
"How do you like it, Tim?" asked Thorpe that evening.
"She's all right," replied the riverman with emphasis; which, for him, was putting it strong.
At noon of the following day the party arrived at the second dam.
Here Shearer had decided to build the permanent camp.Injin Charley was constructing one of his endless series of birch-bark canoes.
