Bannon was looking about, calculating with his eye the space that was
available for the incoming lumber.

"How'd you manage that business, anyway?" asked Peterson.

"What business?"

"The cribbing. How'd you get it to the lake?"

"Oh, that was easy. I just carried it off."

"Yes, you did!"

"Look here, Pete, that timber hasn't got any business out there on the
wharf. We've got to have that room for the cribbing."

"That's all right. The steamer won't get in much before tomorrow night,
will it?"

"We aren't doing any banking on that. I've got a notion that the Pages
aren't sending out any six-mile-an-hour scow to do their quick work. That
timber's got to come over here tonight. May as well put it where the
carpenters can get right at it. We'll be on the cupola before long,
anyhow."

"But it's five o'clock already. There's the whistle."

Bannon waited while the long blast sounded through the crisp air. Then he
said:--