"I know it has always been a surprise to you, Wade, that I was so ready and anxious to give you a lay on the timber end," the little man went on. "But I knew it was time to operate on these cuttin's this season. There are things you can't hire done with plain money. I wanted courage, grit, and honesty. Most of all, I needed absolute loyalty. There's been too much buyin' up of men in these woods. The old gang is a hard one to fight. I reckon I've got you with me." "Heart, soul, and body, now as from the first, Mr. Ide." "And the lay I've given you is the best investment I could have made," declared the partner. "I want you to feel that it is straight business. It was no gift. You're earnin' it. But the big bunch is ahead of you, boy!" His tone was serious. "Your make will come out of the timber lay. I've said I smelt this comin'. If it hadn't come this year we should have sent our logs 'way down-river along with the rest, and done the best we could to steal a profit after Pulaski Britt and his gang had charged us all the tolls and fees they could think of, and made us accept their selling-scale. But now! But now!" His voice became tense, and he leaned forward and patted the young man's arm. "The Great Independent--and that's the name of the new organization, and it's a name that's goin' to roar like the Hullin' Machine in the ears of the trust--wants every log we can hand over to 'em this season. What they don't use in construction work and in their new saw-mill they'll pile to grind into pulp next year. "I've got their contract, Wade. Every log to be scaled for 'em on our landings! And I reckon that will be the first time a square selling-scale was ever made on this river. No Pirate Britt and his gang of boom-scale thieves for us this time! Every honest dollar we make will come to us. And there'll be a lot of 'em, son." Wade, even though Rodburd Ide had so brusquely commanded him to forget his love, felt that love stirring in the thrill that animated him now. Did not success mean Elva Barrett? Did not fair return from honest toil mean that he could face John Barrett, bulwarked by his millions? Forget his love? Ide couldn't understand. His love was a spur whose every thrust was delicious pain. But now that the great secret was out, Rodburd Ide's tide of enthusiasm seemed to be in somewhat ominous and depressing reflux. He spread upon the splint table a lumberman's map, and his hands trembled as he did so. "You've done as I told you, and only yarded at the ends of the twitch-roads, and haven't hauled to landings?" he inquired. Wade nodded.