The Saint Paul globe., 1905-01-08
BY
STEWART EDWARD WHITE


At night he storned back through
the forest at the head of his band,
shrleking wild b1asphemy at the silent
night, irreverent, domineering, bold.
with certain tang of Irish good nature
that made him the beloved of Irishmen.
In the work was little system, but
much efficacy. The men gambled,
test from their leader. With an or
dinary crew such performances would
have meant slight accomplishment, but
these wild IriShmen, with their blood
shot eyes, their ready jests, their
equally ready fists, plunged into the
business Of banking logs with all the
abandon of a carouse-and the work
was done.
On Thanksgiving day the entire place
went on a prolonged drunk The
Rough Red distinguished himself by
rolling the round stove through the
door into the snow. He was badly
burned in accomplishing this delicate
Jest, but minded the smart no more
than he did the admiring cheers of his
maudlin but cumulative mates. Fitz
Patr1ck extinguished dozen little fires
that the Goals had started shifted the
intoxicated Mallan's leg out of the dan
ger of some ones falling on it, and de-
parted from that roaring hellhole to the
fringe of the solemn forest. And this
F'itz Patrick was a tall slow man.
with a face built square. The lines of
MS brows, his mouth and his jaw ran
straight across; those of his temples,
cheeks and nose straight up and down.
HIS eye was very quiet and his speech
rare. When he did talk, it was with
del1beration. For days, sometimes, he
would calculate nothing but monosyl-
tables, looking steadily on the things
about him.
He had walked in ahead of the tote
team late one evening in the autumn.
after the Rough Red and his devils had
been at work fortnight. The camp
consisted quite simply of three build
Ings, which might have been identified
as. cook camp, a sleeping camp and
stable. F'itZ Patrick entered the sleep
ing camp, stood his slender scaling rule
IN the corner and peered about him
through the dusk of a single camp.
he saw a round stove in the center,
uttered and dirty foor hunks filled
with horrible straw and worse blankets
Jumbled here and there, old and dirty
clothes drying fetidly. He saw an un-
kempt row of hard-faced men along
the deacon seat, reckless in bearing,
with the light of the daredevil in their
eyes.
Where is. the boss?'' asked Fitz Pat
rick steadily
The Rough Red. lurched his huge
form toward the intruder.
am your sealer. = explained the lat
ter. Where is the Officer
You kin have the bunk beyond"
indicated the Rough Red surlily.
You have no office, then ?'
What's good enough fer th' men is
good enough fer a boss; and what's
good enough fer tn boss is good fer
any blank blanked scaler.'
1t is not good enough for this one,''
replied Fitz Patrick calmly. 81 have
no notion of sleepin and workin' in
no such noise am dirt. I need an Office
to keep me books and th' van Not a
log do I scale for we, Jimmy Bourke
till yeze give me a fit place to tally in"
And so it came about, though the
struggle lasted three days. The Rough
Red stormed restlessly between the
woods and the camp, delivering tre-
mendous broadsides Of oatf1s and
threats. F'itz Patrick sat- absolutely
lmperturbable on the deacon seat look
ing straight in front of him, his legs
stretched comfortably aslant, one hand
supporting the elbow eof the other
which in turn held his short pipe.