and not to let you catch her alone.”
“Well, now, if you’d a called me a horny billy goat, I wouldn’t have cared, but mule’s ass—that’s going to get you another
pinch,” he said good-naturedly.
CHAPTER
* 5 *
The mill camp, set in a scarred clearing of tree stumps, was larger than Ben expected. Besides the mill building, there were
two large three-sided sheds, the bunkhouse, the cook shack, a sturdy barn and a network of pole corrals. Beyond the camp,
surrounded by dense undergrowth and young saplings, was a neat log cabin with real glass windows.
One of the buildings was a partial dugout—thirty feet long with walls scarcely four feet above the ground. A slanting ramp
led down to a door on the south side of the structure. Logs reared up out of the ground to support a roof of shakes covered
with evergreen boughs. From the squat stone smokestack in the center of the roof, heavy black smoke, the result of burning
wood that was too green, billowed upward and hung over the camp.
Ben had spent more years of his life than he cared to remember in such a building. This was where the crew lived and slept
in a field bed that extended the full length of the building. The fifteen or more men slept in the communal bed with their
heads toward the wall. At the foot of the bed, between the loggers’ feet and the fire, was a long flat beam called the “deacon’s
seat.” The loggers sat on it before the blazing fire, joked and told stories to while away the long winter evenings. At bedtime
each man mounted the deacon’s seat to get in and out of the neighborly bed that stood two or three feet above the hard-packed
dirt floor. His belongings, wrapped in a tarp or in a canvas bag, were stashed underneath.
The other fully enclosed building was the cook shack. A good cook was well paid in a lumber camp. He fed his men exceedingly
well on what was the usual allowance of thirty cents a day per man. He baked, stewed, fried and roasted great quantities of
meat and vegetables to assuage the appetites of men who worked hard all day in subzero weather and generated unbelievable
appetites. The cook’s helper, known as “bull cook,” tended fire, carried water, peeled potatoes, and washed the dishes. It
was also his duty to call the men to eat, which he did with gusto on cold frosty mornings.
On the morning Ben arrived at the camp, a small bookish-type man named Steven Marz was having an argument with Milo Callahan.
Milo was against paying the cook’s helper the wage owed him because the man needed to leave the camp without notice, having
just received word that one of his children was seriously ill. Marz and Milo were not matched physically, but verbally Marz
was far superior. His reasoning persuaded Milo, and the grateful bull cook left with his wages in his pocket. Marz then teamed
up with the cook to prepare hot meals for the rest of the crew until another bull cook could be hired.
Steven Marz lived in the cabin. Ben liked him the moment he met him. He was a serious-faced man; slightly built, with a head
of thick brown hair streaked with gray, a V-shaped mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles. It was difficult for Ben to believe
the soft-spoken, highly intelligent man who kept the company accounts in a cubbyhole of an office would stay and work for
such a disagreeable employer. It didn’t take long for Ben to realize that the mill hands also liked and respected Steven.
Late one afternoon several days later, Ben went into the mill. The steam-driven engine had been fired up and circular saws
were eating into the peeled log that sat on the carriage that carried it to the blades. The howl of the machinery, like the
cry of a banshee—which was merely noise to the average woodsman—was familiar music to Ben’s ears. He loved everything that
had anything to do with milling lumber: the smell of the freshly cut wood, the challenge of handling the huge logs, the song
of the
“Well, now, if you’d a called me a horny billy goat, I wouldn’t have cared, but mule’s ass—that’s going to get you another
pinch,” he said good-naturedly.
CHAPTER
* 5 *
The mill camp, set in a scarred clearing of tree stumps, was larger than Ben expected. Besides the mill building, there were
two large three-sided sheds, the bunkhouse, the cook shack, a sturdy barn and a network of pole corrals. Beyond the camp,
surrounded by dense undergrowth and young saplings, was a neat log cabin with real glass windows.
One of the buildings was a partial dugout—thirty feet long with walls scarcely four feet above the ground. A slanting ramp
led down to a door on the south side of the structure. Logs reared up out of the ground to support a roof of shakes covered
with evergreen boughs. From the squat stone smokestack in the center of the roof, heavy black smoke, the result of burning
wood that was too green, billowed upward and hung over the camp.
Ben had spent more years of his life than he cared to remember in such a building. This was where the crew lived and slept
in a field bed that extended the full length of the building. The fifteen or more men slept in the communal bed with their
heads toward the wall. At the foot of the bed, between the loggers’ feet and the fire, was a long flat beam called the “deacon’s
seat.” The loggers sat on it before the blazing fire, joked and told stories to while away the long winter evenings. At bedtime
each man mounted the deacon’s seat to get in and out of the neighborly bed that stood two or three feet above the hard-packed
dirt floor. His belongings, wrapped in a tarp or in a canvas bag, were stashed underneath.
The other fully enclosed building was the cook shack. A good cook was well paid in a lumber camp. He fed his men exceedingly
well on what was the usual allowance of thirty cents a day per man. He baked, stewed, fried and roasted great quantities of
meat and vegetables to assuage the appetites of men who worked hard all day in subzero weather and generated unbelievable
appetites. The cook’s helper, known as “bull cook,” tended fire, carried water, peeled potatoes, and washed the dishes. It
was also his duty to call the men to eat, which he did with gusto on cold frosty mornings.
On the morning Ben arrived at the camp, a small bookish-type man named Steven Marz was having an argument with Milo Callahan.
Milo was against paying the cook’s helper the wage owed him because the man needed to leave the camp without notice, having
just received word that one of his children was seriously ill. Marz and Milo were not matched physically, but verbally Marz
was far superior. His reasoning persuaded Milo, and the grateful bull cook left with his wages in his pocket. Marz then teamed
up with the cook to prepare hot meals for the rest of the crew until another bull cook could be hired.
Steven Marz lived in the cabin. Ben liked him the moment he met him. He was a serious-faced man; slightly built, with a head
of thick brown hair streaked with gray, a V-shaped mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles. It was difficult for Ben to believe
the soft-spoken, highly intelligent man who kept the company accounts in a cubbyhole of an office would stay and work for
such a disagreeable employer. It didn’t take long for Ben to realize that the mill hands also liked and respected Steven.
Late one afternoon several days later, Ben went into the mill. The steam-driven engine had been fired up and circular saws
were eating into the peeled log that sat on the carriage that carried it to the blades. The howl of the machinery, like the
cry of a banshee—which was merely noise to the average woodsman—was familiar music to Ben’s ears. He loved everything that
had anything to do with milling lumber: the smell of the freshly cut wood, the challenge of handling the huge logs, the song
of the
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