When Mr. Thompson proposed, as an act of kindness, to take the cook, Peter Lateur, back to Necedah that he might receive proper attention for his broken arm, he did not know that it would prove to be an opening to a profitable winter’s contract, but so it was.
As he stepped into the office of the Medford Lumber Company, “Old Man” Medford, who was in earnest conversation with a keen-eyed, brisk-appearing gentleman, looked up, and as his eyes fell upon Mr. Thompson, he exclaimed, “The very thing. Here’s the man, Mr. Norman, that can do the job.” “Mr. Norman, this is Mr. Thompson, one of the up-river settlers. Mr. Norman is at the head of the Construction Company that has a contract to build the grade and bridges of the new railroad that is coming into town next summer,” was Mr. Medford’s form of introduction.
“The lay of the land is such,” went on Mr. Medford, “that the road must cross the head of the big boom pond, and that calls for a long trestle. I’ve been telling him that our regular crews have all gone into the woods, and we can’t get out the piling he wants, this season; but he insists that he going to have that timber
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 on the bank of the river to come down in the spring drive. Now what do you think of such a man?”
“I think he means to get his work done,” replied Mr. Thompson.
The big man’s eyes twinkled. “I may have to pay a little extra, of course, but I shall see that piling down here in the boom by the time my bridge builders are ready for them.”
Mr. Medford’s company owned a tract of young timber over which a fire had swept, and, while its thick growth had worked its ruin in that the trees had been killed, the trunks had not been destroyed, but stood tall and straight, and, if cut before the borers got in their destructive work, would make ideal piling timber.
The opportunity for securing a good price for this otherwise useless timber, as well as his confidence in Mr. Thompson, urged the lumberman to give bond for him that the required number and lengths of piling would be deposited upon the banks of the river in time for the spring drive.
By offering the extra high wages, which a successful completion of his contract would enable him to do, Mr. Thompson picked up a crew among the settlers along the river. Among them was Ed Allen, who, hardy and strong for his age, was well able to fulfill the duties of “swamper.”
As the contract would call but for one winter’s work, the camp houses were not so elaborate and substantial as those of the big woods further north, yet they were made fairly comfortable. After the cabins
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 were up, the first thing was to lay out the main logging road from the tract of timber to the river. While the road must be as direct as possible, it was necessary that the route selected keep to level ground. There could be no going up hill and down dale with the great stack-like loads which would pass over it.
By the time the hollows were filled, the trees cut away, and their stumps dug out, and even the small brush cut, so that a clear, level track extended all the way to the river, the foreman had selected a number of trees of the required length and diameter, and marked them with a “blaze” on the side.
Sites were chosen for the skidways upon little knolls, where the logs would be rolled up in great piles, to be loaded upon the sleds.
And the chopping began.
The success or failure of a lumberman in the northern woods depended as much upon the weather conditions, as does the success or failure of the farmer. Long-continued and severe storms may shut in the crew for a week of precious time. Great snows may double the labor of swamping, skidding, and loading. But more to be dreaded by the loggers is a winter thaw. A mild winter, when the snow melts in the middle of the day, is, to the logger, as a rainless summer to the husbandman.
With this contract it was not a matter of how many of the logs might be hauled to the river, but a question whether the whole number was delivered. So every hour would count; every advantage of the peculiarities
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 of the weather must be taken, both in felling the trees and in hauling.
It seemed to Ed that he would barely stretch himself in his bunk at night before he would hear the foreman’s “All out” in the morning, and with the others he would hasten into his mackinaws and felt boots, his sleep-heavy eyes hardly open before their plunge into the icy water, as the cry “Chuck’s ready” would be heard from the cook.
As soon as one could “see to swing an axe” the crew would be in the timber tract, ready for the strenuous labor of the day. What matter if the mercury would register zero, and the snow lay knee deep on the level? did not their pulses bound with the rich wine of life? was not the very air a tonic? and the hard work filled with the joy of achievement?
From about the tree selected the underbrush would be carefully cut away, for not only must there be free room for the rythmic swing of the keen axes, but the life of a chopper often depended upon a quick, unhindered leap to one side, as the forest giant sprang, swinging from its stump. The inclination of the tree is noted, and the place selected for its fall. The sharp bits of the axes eat a clean “scarf” straight across the trunk. A few inches higher up, a second cut prepares for great chips between, and a third drives the scarf beyond the center of the tree. A shallower cut on the opposite side of the trunk, a snap, a creaking shudder—a quick warning is called; there is a sound of rending branches overhead, the rush of a mighty wind, and
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 then a crashing roar as the great body stretches its length upon the ground.
With a rapid movement the woodsman measures with his axe helve the prostrate trunk up to the point where length calls for certain diameter, and the sawyers, having already squared the butt are ready to sever the top. What limbs there are upon the body are cut cleanly away, and the long log, or pile, is ready for the skids.
In that day the “swamping” was done by ox teams. It was the work of the swamper to see that there was a clear pathway for the team to the fallen trunk, then, as it came alongside, to slip the heavy logging chain under the body, and bring it up and clasp the hook. At the word of command—and often cruel proddings with sharp goads accompanied, alas! by the shocking profanity of the driver, the animals would brace themselves into the yoke, straining this way and that, until finally the great log would be started from its bed in the deep snow and dragged to its place to be rolled with others upon the loading skids. The stacking up of these piles was work that could often be done when hauling operations were impossible. However, the hauling was not a less interesting part of the work.
The logging sled, or “hoosier,” bears about the same relation to the common road sled that a Missouri river barge bears to a pleasure skiff. It is hewn from the toughest beams of oak, and its huge runners—tracking six feet apart—are shod with plates of iron three to
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 four inches in thickness. The beams, or “bunks,” upon which the load will rest, are often ten feet long, so that the loads may be of that width, and as high as the lifting power of the loading teams and the ingenuity of the men can stack the logs—provided always sufficient power can be attached to the load to pull it.
From the main road to the skids, a temporary road is packed down in the snow, and the huge sled is brought into position below the skids. Timbers are run to the bunks and securely fastened, for a slip may mean a broken rib, or possibly a life quickly crushed out. A chain is fastened to the top log of the skid with a rolling hitch, and the loading team on the other side of the sled, across from the skid, slowly rolls the great trunk from the pile onto the sled. The first tier of logs fills the bunks; a second tier, or perhaps a third, is rolled into place, and the load is fastened securely with the binding chains and pole. Then the loading team is hitched on ahead of the sled team, and with great pulling and tugging the mammoth load is brought to the main road. Here the head team is released, to repeat the process of loading for the next team, while the load continues its journey to the river.
So level and so smooth is the track that comparatively little force is needed to move these immense loads—but they must be kept in motion. There can be no stopping to rest once the load is started, for it is probable, in that case, the sled would remain at rest until a second team would come along to add its strength for another start.
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Arriving at the river, the “brow boss” measures each log, ente............