“I wouldn't 'a done it for myself,” he went on. “I don't like the confounded responsibility. They's too much worry connected with it all. I had a good snug little stake--mighty nigh six thousand. She's all gone now. That'd have been enough for me--I ain't a drinkin' man. But then there was the woman and the kid. This ain't no country for woman-folks, and I wanted t' take little Lida out o' here. I had lots of experience in the woods, and I've seen men make big money time and again, who didn't know as much about it as I do. But they got there, somehow. Says I, I'll make a stake this year--I'd a had twelve thousand in th' bank, if things'd have gone right--and then we'll jest move down around Detroit an' I'll put Lida in school.” Thorpe noticed a break in the man's voice, and glancing suddenly toward him was astounded to catch his eyes brimming with tears. Radway perceived the surprise. “You know when I left Christmas?” he asked. “Yes.” “I was gone two weeks, and them two weeks done me. We was going slow enough before, God knows, but even with the rank weather and all, I think we'd have won out, if we could have held the same gait.” Radway paused. Thorpe was silent. “The boys thought it was a mighty poor rig, my leaving that way.” He paused again in evident expectation of a reply. Again Thorpe was silent. “Didn't they?” Radway insisted. “Yes, they did,” answered Thorpe. The older man sighed. “I thought so,” he went on. “Well, I didn't go to spend Christmas. I went because Jimmy brought me a telegram that Lida was sick with diphtheria. I sat up nights with her for 'leven days.” “No bad after-effects, I hope?” inquired Thorpe. “She died,” said Radway simply. The two men tramped stolidly on. This was too great an affair for Thorpe to approach except on the knees of his spirit. After a long interval, during which the waters had time to still, the young man changed the subject. “Aren't you going to get anything out of M. & D.?” he asked. “No. Didn't earn nothing. I left a lot of their saw logs hung up in the woods, where they'll deteriorate from rot and worms. This is their last season in this district.” “Got anything left?” “Not a cent.” “What are you going to do?” “Do!” cried the old woodsman, the fire springing to his eye. “Do! I'm going into the woods, by God! I'm going to work with my hands, and be happy! I'm going to do other men's work for them and take other men's pay. Let them do the figuring and worrying. I'll boss their gangs and make their roads and see to their logging for 'em, but it's got to be THEIRS. No! I'm going to be a free man by the G. jumping Moses!” Chapter XIV Thorpe dedicated a musing instant to the incongruity of rejoicing over a freedom gained by ceasing to be master and becoming servant. “Radway,” said he suddenly, “I need money and I need it bad. I think you ought to get something out of this job of the M. & D.--not much, but something. Will you give me a share of what I can collect from them?”