was a half-breed and many of the farmers around the lake believed he was really a white man. He was very lazy but a great worker once he was started. He took a plug of tobacco out of his pocket, bit off a chew and spoke in Ojibway to Eddy and Billy Tabeshaw.
They sunk the ends of their cant-hooks into one of the logs and swung against it to loosen it in the sand. They swung their weight against the shafts of the cant-hooks. The log moved in the sand. Dick Boulton turned to Nick’s father.
“Well, Doc,” he said, “that’s a nice lot of timber you’ve stolen.”
“Don’t talk that way, Dick,” the doctor said. “It’s driftwood.”
Eddy and Billy Tabeshaw had rocked the log out of the wet sand and rolled it toward the water.
“Put it right in,” Dick Boulton shouted.
“What are you doing that for?” asked the doctor.
“Wash it off. Clean off the sand on account of the saw. I want to see who it belongs to,” Dick said.
The log was just awash in the lake. Eddy and Billy Tabeshaw leaned on their cant-hooks sweating in the sun. Dick kneeled down in the sand and looked at the mark of the scaler’s hammer in the wood at the end of the log.
“It belongs to White and McNally,” he said, standing up and brushing off his trousers knees.
The doctor was very uncomfortable.
“You’d better not saw it up then, Dick,” he said, shortly.
“Don’t get huffy, Doc,” said Dick. “Don’t get huffy. I don’t care who you steal from. It’s none of my business.”
“If you think the logs are stolen, leave them alone and take your tools back to the camp,” the doctor said. His face was red.
“Don’t go off at half cock, Doc,” Dick said. He spat tobacco juice on the log. It slid off, thinning in the water. “You know they’re stolen as well as I do. It don’t make any difference to me.”
“All right. If you think the logs are stolen, take your stuff and get out.”
