And Molly started gingerly down the hill. She pulled the timber,
heavy as an iron safe, here and there through the brush, missing no
steps, making no false moves, backing, and finally getting out of
the way of an unexpected roll with the ease and intelligence of
Laveque himself. In five minutes the burden lay by the travoy road.
In two minutes more one end of it had been rolled on the little
flat wooden sledge and, the other end dragging, it was winding
majestically down through the ancient forest. The little Frenchman
stood high on the forward end. Molly stepped ahead carefully, with
the strange intelligence of the logger's horse. Through the tall,
straight, decorative trunks of trees the little convoy moved with
the massive pomp of a dead warrior's cortege. And little Fabian
Laveque, singing, a midget in the vastness, typified the indomitable
spirit of these conquerors of a wilderness.

When Molly and Fabian had travoyed the log to the skidway, they
drew it with a bump across the two parallel skids, and left it
there to be rolled to the top of the pile.

Then Mike McGovern and Bob Stratton and Jim Gladys took charge of
it. Mike and Bob were running the cant-hooks, while Jim stood on
top of the great pile of logs already decked. A slender, pliable
steel chain, like a gray snake, ran over the top of the pile and
disappeared through a pulley to an invisible horse,--Jenny, the
mate of Molly. Jim threw the end of this chain down. Bob passed
it over and under the log and returned it to Jim, who reached down
after it with the hook of his implement. Thus the stick of timber
rested in a long loop, one end of which led to the invisible horse,
and the other Jim made fast to the top of the pile. He did so by