"I was waitin', I was waitin'," explained the other, nervously scrubbing his hand over the map. "If nothin' had happened at Umcolcus Hullin' Machine this year we'd have landed our logs on Enchanted Stream and run 'em down into Jerusalem, and taken our chances along with Britt's logs. 'Twas a hard outlook, Wade. The last time I dared to operate here I did that, and you'll find jill-pokes with my mark stranded all along the stream. The old pirate took my drive because he claimed control of the dams, charged me full fees, and left behind twenty-five per cent. of my logs, claiming that the water dropped on him. But I noticed he got all of his out. It's what we're up against, my son. If I'd tried to fight him with an independent drive he would have had me hornswoggled all the way to the down-river sortin'-boom, and then would have had my heart out on the scale. It's what we're up against!" he repeated, despondently. "There isn't any law to it. It's the hard fist that makes the right up this way. I'm tellin' you this so you can understand. You've got to understand, my boy. I wish it was different. I wish it was all square. I hate to do dirty things myself. I hate to ask others to do 'em." It was not entirely a gaze of reassurance that the young man turned on him. Ide avoided it, and with stubby finger began to mark the map to illustrate his words. Wade leaned close. He realized that a new and grave aspect of the situation was to be revealed to him. Getting the timber down off the stumps had absorbed his attention utterly. As to getting it to market, he had been awaiting the word of his partner and mentor.