"Yes, that's him," and Achilles' head nodded slightly in the direction of the largest cabin. From the door nearest us there stepped an elderly man of massive frame, bent slightly forward, and with arms so long that the hands seemed to reach to his knees. He was dressed in an old suit of dark material--a long-tailed coat that fitted very loosely, and baggy trousers--and a soiled linen shirt and collar, and a black ribbon necktie. His face was very set and stern, not with an expression of unkindness, simply the face of a man to whom life is a serious matter, and who means business all the time. He was evidently absorbed, and, carrying an iron bar, he was about to enter the forge with no least notice of any of us, when I interrupted him. "I beg your pardon, sir, I understand that you are the boss." He stood still, and looked down upon me out of keen black eyes from under shaggy brows that bristled with coarse hairs; and in the deepening silence, I wondered what I should say next. "I'm looking for a job, and I heard in English Centre that men were wanted here." "Have you ever worked in the woods?" "No." "Then you'll not get work in the woods this side of hell." He moved on at once, and the blacksmith followed him into the shop. I was left standing in the midst of the other men, who had listened intently, and were now soberly enjoying the quality of that _bon mot_, and were eyeing me in leisurely curiosity. Again I appealed to Achilles: "Is there another camp near here?" "There's Long's Camp, a quarter of a mile up the run," and a slight inclination of his head indicated the way. Mr. Long did not want me, and knew of no one who might, if I was not wanted at Wolf Run, unless, on second thought, I could get a job at Fitz-Adams's Camp. "And where is that?" I asked. "You remember a road which forked to the left about two mile back as you came up from English Centre?" "Yes." "Well, you follow that road about two mile and a half, and you'll come to Fitz-Adams's Camp." The road was the roughest that I had so far travelled. It cut its way along the sheer side of the mountain, following the course of the run. Presently I came to a small log cabin, where, in a little yard beside it, a cow was munching straw, and in front, a fat sow wallowed in a pool in the middle of the road. An old Irishman, who sat on the door-step, told me that I was not half a mile from the camp. There was a stout log dam on the run a little farther up, but the gates were open and only a slender stream flowed through the muddy bottom, for the dam was undergoing repairs. Near by was a cabin large enough for a score of lumbermen.