“Say good-by to your friend here!” Connick bellowed. “He says he thinks he'll go with us, strange country for to see.” “Tell inquirin' admirers that his address in futur' will be north pole, shady side,” another rough humorist added. The men on the shore did not reply. They understood perfectly the uncertain temper of “larking” woodsmen. There had been cases in times past when a taunting word had turned rude jollity into sour hankering for revenge. The bottle began to go about on the sleds, and the refrain of a lumberman's chorus, with its riotous, “Whoop fa la larry, lo day!” came floating back to Sunkhaze long after the great sail had merged itself with the silvery radiance of the brilliant surface of the lake. “Apparently there's other folks as have new schemes of travellin' acrost Spinnaker Lake,” observed the postmaster, breaking a long silence in the group of spectators. “Wal, I did all I could to post him on what he might expect when Gid Ward got his temper good an' started. It's too bad to see that property dumped that way, tho.” “Ain't Gid Ward ever goin' to suffer for any of his actions?” demanded Parker's foreman, disgustedly. “What are we goin' to do?” bleated another man. “I'll write a letter to the high sheriff,” said the postmaster, and then he added, bitterly, “an' he'll prob'ly wait till it's settled goin' in the spring, same's he did when we sent down that complaint about Ward's men wreckin' Johnson's store. An' by that time he'll forget all about comin'. Talk about kings and emperors! If we hain't got one on West Branch waters, then you can brand me for a liar with one of my own date stamps.” Parker maintained grim silence as he lay on the sled. No one spoke to him. The men were too busy with songs and rough jests over the business of the evening. The engineer would not confess to himself that he was frightened, but the wantonness and alacrity with which the irresponsible men had destroyed valuable property impressed him with ominous apprehension of what they might do to him. He wondered what revenge Connick was meditating. It was a strange and tedious ride for the young man. The woodsmen sat jammed so closely about him that he could see only the frosty stars glimmering wanly in the moonlight. When the songs and the roaring conversations were stilled for a moment, he could hear the lisp of the runners on the smooth surface and the slashing grind of the iron-clad peavey-sticks. Although the bodies of his neighbors had kept the cold blast from him, he staggered on his numb feet when they untied his bonds at Poquette and ordered him to get off the sled. Connick came along and gazed on the young man grimly while they were freeing him. “Aha, my bantam!” he growled.