In the settling of disputes, nature's weapons are the sole instruments used. The fist is the arbiter, although the boot is sometimes called into exercise. The gloves and wrestling help to pass many lonely hours, but sometimes these friendly bouts generate a battle in which hate is the ruling passion. Fights due to personal animosity are to be expected where men are free from the restraints of civilization. In one of the camps an ex-convict worked and for some unknown reason made life unbearable to a pleasant, easy-going Irishman. The ex-convict was ever trying for a fight, but the Irishman's blood was more sluggish than that of the average son of Erin. At last the attacks were more than the peace-loving fellow could stand. (How does the proverb read? "Beware of the wrath of the silent man.") He went to his bunk and put on his spike boots and rushed out to meet the ex-convict. With a blow of his fist he floored the former prisoner and, beside himself with rage, kicked him until the body of his tormentor was a bloody jelly. Had not the loggers interfered the ex-convict would have been murdered. The wounded man was taken to the hospital, where he remained for several weeks, and on recovering he left for other parts, to the satisfaction of all concerned. Though the labor is hard and the hours long, for the men are at work when the sun appears and it is dark when they leave the works, yet there is a constant variety in their lives. It takes little to amuse them, and less to make them "jump their jobs." The lumberjack is not apt to complain when things go wrong, but rather to walk into the office and demand his wages, after which he will proceed to another camp. Sometimes a whole camp will suddenly leave because of some imposition or provocation that may in itself seem slight. One of the men last winter "took the cake" in this. He went into the cookshed for his breakfast, but being a little late found that the pancake dough was all gone and there were no cakes for him. He immediately went to the clerk and demanded his wages. Here is another case: Something had gone wrong and Jack Olson was ready to leave the camp. He proceeded to the office and demanded the amount due him, but the clerk was a surly bully and in reply tossed the little Norwegian out of the office. Against such physical tactics Olson felt he could do nothing, so he sat around the bunkhouse until his bunkmate returned from the works. "The bloat wouldn't give you your stake, hey?" said bunky. "And he kicked me out of the office," added Olson. Bunky was interested, very interested. His eyes twinkled as he thought of the splendid opening the action of the clerk had given him for a little added excitement. "Come on, John, old boy," he said, affectionately taking Olson by the waist and leading him to the office. "Come on and watch the free show while the bloat makes out your check and mine." Arriving at the office, bunky entered it with a jar.