He followed her over tops, around piles of brush, to the brink of a sharp, deep ravine. The river could be heard murmuring not far off, a partridge whirred up from their feet, and a squirrel scolded from a sapling None of this did Taylor sense, nor was he conscious of the girl's eyes on him. He saw only logs! Logs by the hundreds; logs by the thousands, trainloads of logs! Logs on end, logs criss-crossed, logs in a wonderful, hopeless tangle at the bottom of that ravine. To right and left the depression extended; to right and left went the logs. Logs three feet in diameter; logs as small as six inches through. Logs, logs—logs—in a meaningless jumble.
"Why—Why are they here?"
She let one hand drop limply.
"All you knew was that logs had been left in the woods?"
"That's all."
"It's been the talk of the country," she said. "White contracted with your father to cut this forty. He went at it the last thing and was paid for the scale on the decks. He was not to get his pay until the woods were clean, but the snow went with a rush; he knew it wouldn't let him finish the haul so he dumped them here. The inspector who represented your father looked over the slash and found the woods clear. White got his money and was gone. They started taking up the railroad two weeks before this was discovered. It's thirteen miles to the main line."
A wave of hot rage swept through Taylor's body, making his face dark. He knew then what the chuckling of his father had meant; he interpreted Rowe's smirk; he reasoned out Jim Harris' comments. He knew why
