the knack of facing them square about in their tracks. He must hold
them under a control that will throw into their collars, at command,
from five pounds to their full power of pull, lasting from five
seconds to five minutes. And above all, he must be able to keep
them out of the way of tremendous loads of logs on a road which
constant sprinkling has rendered smooth and glassy, at the same
time preventing the long tongue from sweeping them bodily against
leg-breaking debris when a curve in the road is reached. It is
easier to drive a fire engine than a logging team.

But in spite of the naivete of the remark, the woodsman had seen
something in Thorpe he liked. Such men become rather expert in the
reading of character, and often in a log shanty you will hear
opinions of a shrewdness to surprise you. He revised his first
intention to let the conversation drop.

"I think M. & D. is rather full up just now," he remarked. "I'm
walkin'-boss there. The roads is about all made, and road-making is
what a greenhorn tackles first. They's more chance earlier in the
year. But if the OLD Fellow" (he strongly accented the first
word) "h'aint nothin' for you, just ask for Tim Shearer, an' I'll
try to put you on the trail for some jobber's camp."

The whistle of the locomotive blew, and the conductor appeared in
the doorway.

"Where's that fellow's turkey?" he inquired.

Several men looked toward Thorpe, who, not understanding this argot
of the camps, was a little bewildered. Shearer reached over his head