“No, I see you're not much of a lawyer!” jeered the other. “Mr. Parker, you may as well take your plaything,” pointing to the engine, “and trundle it along home.” “We'll see about that!” Parker snatched an ax from the nearest man. “Mr. Lawyer, you may _go_ back to the city and fight your legal points with the man my principals hire for that purpose, and enjoy yourself as much as you can. In the meantime I'll be building a railroad. Men, those trees are to come down at once.” He began to hack at a tree with great vigor. The choppers, encouraged by his firm attitude, promptly moved forward and began to use their axes. “The club you must use, Colonel, is an injunction,” advised the crestfallen lawyer after he had watched operations a few moments. Ward was swearing violently. “I'll have one here in twenty-four hours.” The irate lumberman whirled on his counsel. “Get out of here!” he snarled. “Your injunction would prob'ly be like the law you've handed out here to-day. You said you'd stop him, but you haven't.” “There's no law for a fool!” snapped the attorney. “Get along with your law!” roared Ward. “I was an idiot ever to fuss with it or depend on it. 'Tain't any good up here. 'Tain't the way for real men to fight. I've got somethin' better'n law.” He shook his fists at Parker. “Better'n law!” he repeated, in a shrill howl. “Better'n law!” he cried again. “And you'll get it, too.” At first the engineer believed that Ward was about to rally his little band at the carry camp, but the old man turned and stumped away. His lawyer tried to interpose and address him, but the colonel angrily shoved him to one side with such force that the attorney tumbled backward into the snow. “Get out my horse!” the colonel screamed, as he advanced toward the camp. A helper precipitately backed the turnout from the hovel. Ward leaped into the sleigh, pulled his peaked fur cap down over his ears, and took up the reins and big whip. He brandished his great fist at the little group he had just left. “Better'n law!” he shouted again. “That for your law!” and he struck his rangy horse with a crack as loud as a pistol-shot. The animal leaped like a deer, fairly lifting the narrow sleigh, and with tails fluttering from his fur robes, his cap's coon tail streaming behind, away up the tote-road went Gideon Ward on his return to the deep woods, the mighty din of his myriad bells clashing down the forest aisles. At the distant turn of the road he hooted with the vigor of a screech owl, “Better'n law!” and disappeared. “Your client doesn't seem to be in an especially amiable and lamb-like mood this morning,” said Parker. The lawyer dusted the snow from his garments. “Beautiful disposition, old Gid Ward has!” he snarled. “Left me here to walk sixteen miles to a railroad-station, and never offered to settle with me.” “You forget the 'Poquette and Sunkhaze Air-Line,” Parker smiled. “You are free to ride back with us when we go.”