Burt L. Standish

“ It took Bob very little time to make certain of this, and his heavy, dark brows came suddenly together above the bridge of his well-shaped nose, a single, emphatic line.
“The drive hasn’t passed,” he said abruptly, thrusting his paddle straight down by the side of the canoe, and stopping the frail craft instantly.
The Indian moved slightly, and turned a copper-colored profile over one shoulder.
“Him held up above,” he suggested. “Mebbe jam.”
“Jam!” repeated Bainbridge sharply. “Why should there be a jam? The stream’s straight and wide enough, with a fine head of water. ”

“ He had proved himself more than competent, and was apparently faithful to the interests of those who paid his wages.
“Faithful so long as it suited his purpose and no longer!” said Bainbridge under his breath, “The minute the trust gets after him to do its dirty work he’s perfectly willing to knife us. I can hardly wait to get at the cur!”
He was obliged to postpone that gratification a good deal longer than he had expected, however. Though they strained every effort, and sent the canoe fairly flying upstream, the sun sank lower and lower, without the slightest sign of the drive appearing. ”

“ Up to five minutes ago not the slightest suspicion of Pete Schaeffer had ever entered his employer’s head. The man had worked for them a number of years. He was quiet and taciturn, sometimes almost sullen; but few woodsmen have much to say for themselves. ”