"Takes all kinds to make a world," he commented. "Don't look so horrified, Sis. This isn't the regular order of events. It's just an accumulation--and it sort of got me going. Here's the boys." The four stretcher men set down their burden in the shade of the bunkhouse. Renfrew was conscious now. "Tough luck, Jim," Benton sympathized. "Does it pain much?" Renfrew shook his head. White and weakened from shock and loss of blood, nevertheless he bravely disclaimed pain. "We'll get you fixed up at the Springs," Benton went on. "It's a nasty slash in the meat, but I don't think the bone was touched. You'll be on deck before long. I'll see you through, anyway." They gave him a drink of water and filled his pipe, joking him about easy days in the hospital while they sweated in the woods. The drunken cook came out, carrying his rolled blankets, began maudlin sympathy, and was promptly squelched, whereupon he retreated to the float, emitting conversation to the world at large. Then they carried Renfrew down to the float, and Davis began to haul up the anchor to lay the _Chickamin_ alongside. While the chain was still chattering in the hawse pipe, the squat black hull of Jack Fyfe's tender rounded the nearest point. "Whistle him up, Sam," Benton ordered. "Jack can beat our time, and this bleeding must be stopped quick." The tender veered in from her course at the signal. Fyfe himself was at the wheel. Five minutes effected a complete arrangement, and the _Panther_ drew off with the drunken cook singing atop of the pilot house, and Renfrew comfortable in her cabin, and Jack Fyfe's promise to see him properly installed and attended in the local hospital at Roaring Springs. Benton heaved a sigh of relief and turned to his sister. "Still mad, Stell?" he asked placatingly and put his arm over her shoulders. "Of course not," she responded instantly to this kindlier phase. "Ugh! Your hands are all bloody, Charlie." "That's so, but it'll wash off," he replied. "Well, we're shy a good woodsman and a cook, and I'll miss 'em both. But it might be worse. Here's where you go to bat, Stella. Get on your apron and lend me a hand in the kitchen, like a good girl. We have to eat, no matter what happens." CHAPTER VI THE DIGNITY (?) OF TOIL By such imperceptible degrees that she was scarce aware of it, Stella took her place as a cog in her brother's logging machine, a unit in the human mechanism which he operated skilfully and relentlessly at top speed to achieve his desired end--one million feet of timber in boomsticks by September the first.