"It will be a great saving of money when they can float lumber from all parts of this camp right down to the Columbia," said Dale. "But there is a good deal to do before that happens." "Well, we are rushing things all we can. Mr. Wilbur wanted us to wait with this flume until next year, but Mr. Balasco said to go ahead at once." "Do you know Mr. Wilbur personally?" "Yes, I've seen him two or three times--when I was in the East. He's a fine man. I wish he was out here now. He's a hustler." "You are right there. I never saw him but that he was on the go," answered Dale, with a laugh. "I believe he hardly gives himself time to eat sometimes. He is chock-full of business." "He came into this lumber company on the jump, and I doubt if he knows exactly what is doing here--he has so many other irons in the fire. I believe if he was up here he'd make some changes. I say this to you because I've heard that you know him pretty well," added the foreman, with a sharp look at Dale. "I don't know him so very well, Mr. Gladstone. But he takes an interest in me and Owen Webb, because we once did him a couple of good turns while we were out in Maine at a lumber camp there." "I see. Well, you stick to him, and he'll treat you well, mark my words," concluded Gladstone, as he turned away to give directions about the erection of additional timbers along the flume trestle. On all sides were large lots of logs, varying from eighteen to forty inches in diameter. There seemed to be more sticks than could possibly be used on the flume, yet additional lumber was coming up every day--lumber that Dale felt should have gone down to the Columbia to help fill the all-important railroad contract. "It's nothing short of criminal to send that lumber here," thought the young lumberman. "If the company has a forfeit up with the railroad company Mr. Balasco must be insane to do it." It was on the following morning that Ulmer Balasco sent for Dale and Owen to come to his private office, a small structure built as an annex to the book-keeper's den. Mr. Balasco had sent the book-keeper off on an errand, so the young lumbermen found him alone when they called. "Something is in the wind, that is certain," said Owen. "Perhaps he smells a mouse." "I guess he'll smell more when we hear from Mr. Wilbur," answered Dale. "We mustn't say much until we are sure of what we are doing." Ulmer Balasco was walking up and down his office, puffing away furiously at a black-looking cigar. He looked sharply at each of them as they entered. "You sent for us, I believe," began Dale. "I did," was the short reply. "Sit down." A bench was handy, and Dale dropped on this, while Owen took a chair. Ulmer Balasco continued to pace the floor for a few seconds, then sat down in the chair in front of his roller-top desk. "Now, I want the truth out of you fellows," he said roughly. "The truth, do you hear?" "The truth about what?" questioned Owen.