A few minutes thereafter the two men who had gone with Sam Davis
returned with the spring from Benton's bed and a light mattress. They
laid the injured logger on this and covered him with a blanket. Then
four of them picked it up. As they started, Stella heard one say to her
brother:

"Matt's jagged."

"What?" Benton exploded. "Where'd it come from?"

"One uh them Hungry Bay shingle-bolt cutters's in camp," the logger
answered. "Maybe he brought a bottle. I didn't stop to see. But Matt's
sure got a tank full."

Benton ripped out an angry oath, passed his men, and strode away down
the path. Stella fell in behind him, wakened to a sudden uneasiness at
the wrathful set of his features. She barely kept in sight, so rapidly
did he move.

Sam Davis had smoke pouring from the _Chickamin's_ stack, but the
kitchen pipe lifted no blue column, though it was close to five o'clock.
Benton made straight for the cookhouse. Stella followed, a trifle
uncertainly. A glimpse past Charlie as he came out showed her Matt
staggering aimlessly about the kitchen, red-eyed, scowling, muttering
to himself. Benton hurried to the bunkhouse door, much as a hound might
follow a scent, peered in, and went on to the corner.

On the side facing the lake he found the source of the cook's
intoxication. A tall and swarthy lumberjack squatted on his haunches,