A. M. Chisholm

“ Buildings grew as if by magic. The wall-logs were mortised and skidded up into place; the whole was roofed in; the chinks were stuffed with moss and plastered with wet clay; bunks in tiers were built around the walls; tables and benches knocked together in no time; and the Wind River camp was finished and ready for occupation.
While these preparations were going forward, Joe, McKenna, and MacNutt prowled the woods at such times as the last two had to spare from construction work. The walking boss and the foreman sized up the situation with the sure rapidity of experts. ”

“ McCane laid him out a couple of years ago with a peavey, and he hates him. He won't stand any nonsense. A good man is Mac!”
MacNutt, the foreman of the Wind River crew, was a lean, sinewy logger who had spent twenty years in the camps. He owned a poisonous tongue and a deadly temper when aroused; but he had also a cool head, and put his employer's interests before all else. He heard the news in silence.
“Of course we can't stand for booze in the camp,” said Joe. “If any man gets drunk on whiskey from McCane's camp or elsewhere, fire him at once.” ”

“ With tape-line and pegs McKenna laid out the ground plans of bunk-house, eating-camp, caboose, foreman's quarters, and stables. At a safe distance he located the dynamite storehouse.
Already the crashing fall of trees announced that the crew was getting out timbers for the buildings, and Joe watched the work of axes and saws with a species of fascination. No sooner did a tree strike the ground than men were on it, measuring, trimming, cutting it to length. When a square timber was required, one man cut notches three feet apart down the sides of a prostrate trunk and split off the slabs. ”