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JOAN OF ARC OF THE NORTH WOODS
* * * * *
BOOKS BY HOLMAN DAY
JOAN OF ARC OF THE NORTH WOODS
WHEN EGYPT WENT BROKE
ALL-WOOL MORRISON
THE RIDER OF THE KING LOG
THE SKIPPER AND THE SKIPPED
THE RED LANE
THE RAMRODDERS
THE LANDLOPER
WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS
SQUIRE PHIN
BLOW THE MAN DOWN
Harper & Brothers Publishers
New York and London
* * * * *
JOAN OF ARC OF THE NORTH WOODS
by
HOLMAN DAY
Author of
"The Rider of the King Log," "When
Egypt Went Broke," Etc.
Harper & Brothers, Publishers
New York and London
Joan of Arc of the North Woods
Copyright, 1922
By Harper & Brothers
Printed in the U.S.A.
First Edition
H-W
_Joan of Arc of the North Woods_
CHAPTER ONE
The timber situation in the Tomah country was surcharged.
When Ward Latisan came upon Rufus Craig, one afternoon in autumn, steel
struck flint and trouble's fuse was lighted.
Their meeting was on the Holeb tote road just below Hagas Falls.
Young Ward was the grandson of old John, a pioneer who was in his day a
saw-log baron of the times of pumpkin pine; by heredity Ward was the
foremost champion in the cause of the modern independent operators.
In his own way, Craig, the field director of the Comas Consolidated
Paper Company, was the chief gladiator for an invading corporation which
demanded monopoly of the Tomah timber by absorption of the independents.
Latisan tramped down the tote road from the shoulder of Holeb Mountain,
where he had been cruising alone for a week on the Walpole tract,
blazing timber for the choppers, marking out twitch roads and
haul-downs, locating yards; his short-handled ax was in his belt, his
lank haversack flapped on his back; he carried his calipers in one hand;
with the other hand he fed himself raisins from his trousers pocket,
munching as he went along. He had eaten the last of his scanty supply of
biscuits and bacon; but, like other timber cruisers--all of them must
travel light--he had his raisins to fall back on, doling them one by
one, masticating them thoroughly and finding the nourishment adequate.
He had been on the go every day from sunup till dark; nights he cinched
his belted jacket closely and slept as best he could, his back against a
tree; he had cruised into every nook and corner of the tract, spending
strength prodigally, but when he strode down the tote road his vitality
enabled him to hit it off at a brisk gait; his belt was a few holes
tighter, yet his fasting made him keenly awake; he was more alert to the
joy of being alive in the glory of the crisp day; his cap was in his
pocket, his tousled brown hair was rampant; and he welcomed the flood of
sunshine on his bronzed face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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