Bob sat down on the edge of the bed and quickly told him what had happened. “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” the foreman said, when he had finished. “Ye sure do bate the bugs when it comes ter gettin’ into scrapes, so yer does. But,” he added hastily, “Yere like a cat and allays land on yer fate.” “But hurry up and get some clothes on, Tom. The poor fellow must be suffering and his arm needs looking after. I’ll get a fire going while you get dressed.” It only took Tom a few minutes to get into his clothes, but by the time he was dressed Bob had a fire roaring in the stove. “So ye’ve been tryin’ some more of yer dirty work, hey,” Tom said sternly, as he stepped close to the Frenchman who was standing near the stove. “Non, non, I——” he began, but Tom stopped him. “Sure and ye might as well save yer breath cause I wouldn’t belave yer on a stack o’ Bibles.” But although he spoke roughly, the kind-hearted Irishman was as gentle as a woman as he set about his work. It was not a bad break, he assured the man after a careful examination. Setting a broken arm was nothing new to Tom, and, as Bob had declared, he could do it as well as a doctor. In the lumber camps of the Big Maine woods, broken arms and legs are common and in many cases it would be a long time before a doctor could be reached. So Tom had learned how to do the work, and in his years of lumbering had had considerable practice. The Frenchman stood the operation with a sullen stoicism, although the pain must have been severe. “Thar, begorra, thot’s as good a job as iny doc’d do,” Tom declared, as he finished binding the arm to a strip of board. “Ye’ll have as good a flipper as ever in three or four weeks, but if ye want to enjoy good health it’s meself as advises ye ter give us a wide berth.” The Frenchman gave no word of thanks, but announced that he would be on the way. Bob helped him on with his coat and in another minute he was gone. “He sure’s a hard nut,” Tom declared. “And you want ter look out fer him. He’ll do yer dirt if ever he gits a chance.” It was nearly five o’clock and they decided that a game of checkers would be the best way to kill time until breakfast. So Bob got out the board and soon they were deep in the interest of the game. CHAPTER IV THE RACE “That’s three games to your four,” Bob announced a little later, as the loud blast of a horn told them that breakfast was ready. “Sure and yer no nade ter rub it in. It’s meself as knows that yer now siven games ahead, but I’ll be after catchin’ up wid yer ’fore the spring’s over.” Tom grinned as he put the board away. “But come on, let’s be after makin’ it snappy. We want ter git started wid thot raft jest as soon as we kin, or Big Ben’ll be after gittin’ in forninst us.”