upon his bright red hair by putting on a crimson necktie.

Bannon asked for Peterson. "He's up on the framing of the spouting
house, over on the wharf there."

"What are you carrying that stuff around for?" asked Bannon.

"Moving it back to make room by the siding. We're expecting a big
bill of cribbing. You're Mr. Bannon, ain't you?" Bannon nodded.
"Peterson had a telegram from the office saying to expect you."

"You're still expecting that cribbing, eh?"

"Harder than ever. That's most all we've been doing for ten days.
There's Peterson, now; up there with the sledge."

Bannon looked in time to see the boss spring out on a timber that was
still balancing and swaying upon the hoisting rope. It was a good
forty feet above the dock. Clinging to the rope with one hand, with
the other Peterson drove his sledge against the side of the timber
which swung almost to its exact position in the framing.

"Slack away!" he called to the engineers, and he cast off the rope
sling. Then cautiously he stepped out to the end of the timber. It
tottered, but the lithe figure moved on to within striking distance.
He swung the twenty-four pound sledge in a circle against the butt of
the timber. Every muscle in his body from the ankles up had helped to
deal the blow, and the big stick bucked. The boss sprang erect,
flinging his arms wide and using the sledge to recover his balance. He
struck hard once more and again lightly. Then he hammered the timber