"Well, everybody to his own taste," came from Owen. "Now, I wouldn't like anything better than to be a part owner or boss at such a lumber plant as this, or own such a mill as Rice's, below here. I'm certain I'd never make a success of iron or steel working." "I've been told that a fellow is only really successful in the line he likes," said Bruce. "Now, I've liked iron and steel working ever since I could remember. There used to be a small foundry near where I was born, and when I was only five or six years old, I sneaked down there and looked into the windows to see them cast things in the sand." On the day that Ulmer Balasco made up his mind to interview Owen and Dale, and discharge them, he received an important telegram from Portland, and left for that city on the evening train. This gave him no chance to talk to the young lumbermen, and he did not return to the camp until three days later. In the meantime Dale's hurts mended rapidly and on the third day he was able to be around again, although working was as yet out of the question. Larson had been transferred to the work on the flume, and the yard was now in charge of Andy Westmore. "You jest take it easy," said the old lumberman from Maine. "Time enough to go to work when you're able." "Providing Mr. Balasco doesn't kick," answered Dale. "If he kicks, let him kick. I wouldn't kill myself for anybody." "I'm not going to." "Fact is, I don't know what to set you at, anyway," went on Andy Westmore, in a lower voice. "Mr. Balasco says not to cut this and not to cut that, and there is precious little left to bring down. I don't understand it at all." "Perhaps the railroad contract has gone up the spout," suggested Owen, who stood near by. The old lumberman shrugged his shoulders. "If that is true, I reckon this company is going to drop a lot of money," he said. "Well, they can sell the lumber somewhere else," went on Dale. "Yes, but what about the forfeit they put up to the railroad? They will lose that." "Is there a forfeit?" "To be sure there is. I don't know what amount, but it's pretty big, rest assured of that." That afternoon Dale took a walk up to the flume. This was nothing more than a high trestle built of rough timber. At the top was a water-tight, V-shaped trough, sloping gradually from the top of one hill to the bottom of another, about a mile away. The sides of the trough were built of boards smoothed on the inner side, so that nothing might catch fast on them. When in use this flume would be almost filled with water, and any lumber floated in at the upper end would readily be carried to the lower. "This is a small flume alongside of some," said the foreman in charge of the work. "Some of the camps have flumes five and ten miles long, and there is a flume in California about sixty miles long, running from the top of the Sierras, where there is nothing but ice and snow, to the valleys where it is summer nearly all the year around."