"There's never no smoke on the OTHER side of the fire--whichever
that happens to be. And as for wind--she just makes holiday for the
river-hogs."
"Holiday, hell!" snorted the younger man. "We ought to be down to
Bull's Dam before now--"
"And Bull's Dam is half-way to Redding," mocked a reptilian and red-
headed giant on the log, "and Redding is the happy childhood home
of--"
The young man leaped to his feet and seized from a pile of tools a
peavy--a dangerous weapon, like a heavy cant-hook, but armed at the
end with a sharp steel shoe.
"That's about enough!" he warned, raising his weapon, his face
suffused and angry. The red-headed man, quite unafraid, rose slowly
from the log and advanced, bare-handed, his small eyes narrowed and
watchful.
But immediately a dozen men interfered.
"Dry up!" advised the grizzled old-timer--Tom North by name. "You,
Purdy, set down; and you, young squirt, subside! If you're going to
have ructions, why, have 'em, but not on drive. If you don't look
out, I'll set you both to rustling wood for the doctor."
At this threat the belligerents dropped muttering to their places.
The wind continued to blow, the fire continued to flare up and down,
the men continued to smoke, exchanging from time to time desultory
and aimless remarks.
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