Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1915-11-05
her fingers to the big mongrel and
afennad out

her fingers to the big mongrel ana
stepped out.
Sandry, his hand unconsciousiy
poised with raised spoon. watched her.
He saw her hasten as she neared the
edge of the level, and finally, as if she
could no longer hold herself to the
decorum of her pace, break into flight,
running like a deer up among the pines
with long bounding leaps. AS b dis
appeared he dropped his hand and be-
came aware of Ma Daily in the door
to the kitchen. She, too, was watching
her.
Mrs. Daily" he said suddenly. what
is S1etz?"
The old lady turned on him quickly
the piercing glance of her sharp eyes.
Just a GIRL" she said succinctly.
She turned to her realm and Sandry
rose and went out in the mist. He
climbed steadily with something OF
the logger's movement. This much he
had learned along with a thousand
other things of the free life, and yet
he was a novice-Johnny Eastern
still.
He was thinking deeply as he
climbed, lost in the majestic silence of
the hushed pines with the sitting car
some time after the first sounds from
ahead had come to him dimly that he
wakened to the loud voices Of men in
quarrel. AS he broke through the wall
of dripping waist-high fern he came
full upon a sight that stirred his blood,
and fired his wrath. in spite of his eff
fort to keep calm. There in the new
cutting stood Hampden, his face red
with fury, his ayes swapping, his dou-
bled fists shaking at Daily who front
ed him. Behind the two the men were
grouped in menacing punches. They
were huge fellows, every one of them,
as If they had been picked purposely,
bare-armed, open-throated, wet with
the constantly falling, soft mist.
Those of Hampden were armed with
pixies and peavies to a man-and these
are deadly weapons. Daily's crew car
ried axes and several had cant
hooks.
\ tOA JO0A Jill y RN0S
off this here land!" cried the owner
of the Yellow Pines, his voice running
up on the last word in a squeak of
rage, 'an' I'll see t he does! An you
an your river hogs that you pass as
loggers! Rotten outfit, We are! You'll
git off an stay Off This land belongs
to me by right of good money paid
o.3 49, kOua Iorva ObHNnnol3c homo.
steader's cabin! That's ag'in the law!"
He thrust out his heavy face belliger-
emily, inviting insult, a first movement
of violence. 1t came, not from Daily,
the easy-going, tactful foreman, who
had righted many topping crises, but
. from Jim Anworthy, the curly-headed
young scapegrace who was the worri-
ment and favorite of Ma Daily. He
flung himself forward with a whoop.
Rotten are wei Live clean to tn
heart!"
And with a lightning pass he slapped
Hampden square in the face, leaping
backward like a cat. In a flash the
two groups of men had mingled and
the silent woods rang with a conflict
that was q delight to every heart il
the mixup, with the exception, perhaps
of Hampden, who was too small and
mean of nature to. love anything for
its own sake.
Sandry on the outskirts beheld it
with CONSERVATION.
Daily" he cried at the top of his
voice, stop it, Call them off! John
Daiiyi"
But he caught a glimpse of his fore
mans face and it was alight with a roll
licking laugh and his great hands,
doubled into slugs. were pounding into
the melee like pistons. Here apd