THE SEVEN LUMBER-JACKS
moil was about. The manager came out to hear what they had to say. The cook and the cookee had joined themselves to the group, and they, too, were talking and gesticulating with extraordinary freedom.
Leaning against the wall of the bunkhouse, the silent November surveyed the clamouring knot of men with grim humour.
"I tell you again, we've been held up, robbed, cleaned out, the whole six of us!" yelled a short man with a sandy beard.
"Thot is true," cried a fair-haired Swede.
On this they all began shouting again, waving their arms and explaining. November advanced. "Look, boys, that's an easy, comfortable log over there!"
The Swede answered him with a snarl, but meeting November's eyes thought better of it. Joe was the last person upon whom any one would choose to fix a quarrel.
"I was suggesting, boys," continued November, "that there's the log handy, and if you'd each choose a soft spot and leave one to speak and the others listen till he's through with it, we'd get at the facts. Every minute wasted
61
