through the woods, figuring on new work, showing the men how to do
things better or differently, discussing minute expedients with the
blacksmith, the carpenter, the cook.

He was not without his troubles. First he had not enough men; the
snow lacked, and then came too abundantly; horses fell sick of colic
or caulked themselves; supplies ran low unexpectedly; trees turned
out "punk"; a certain bit of ground proved soft for travoying, and
so on. At election-time, of course, a number of the men went out.

And one evening, two days after election-time, another and
important character entered the North woods and our story.



Chapter III


On the evening in question, some thirty or forty miles southeast of
Radway's camp, a train was crawling over a badly laid track which
led towards the Saginaw Valley. The whole affair was very crude.
To the edge of the right-of-way pushed the dense swamp, like a black
curtain shutting the virgin country from the view of civilization.
Even by daylight the sight could have penetrated but a few feet.
The right-of-way itself was rough with upturned stumps, blackened by
fire, and gouged by many and varied furrows. Across the snow were
tracks of animals.

The train consisted of a string of freight cars, one coach divided
half and half between baggage and smoker, and a day car occupied by