"Well, there are good men and bad in every town in Maine," answered Owen sagely. "Locality has nothing to do with it." The fact that Dale and Owen could play and sing was a source of pleasure to many in the camp, and the pair were often asked to "tune up," as the lumbermen expressed it. There was also another violin player at hand, and many of the men could sing, in their rough, unconventional way, so amusement was not lacking during the cold winter evenings. More than once the men would get up a dance, jigs and reels being the favorite numbers, with a genuine break-down from Jeff, the cook, that no one could match. Winter came on early, as it usually does in this section of our country, and by the end of October the snow lay deep among the trees of the forest, while the pond and the river presented a surface of unbroken ice, swept clear in spots by the wind. For many days the wind howled and tore through the tall trees, and banked up the snow on one side of the cabin to the roof. The thermometer went down rapidly, and everybody was glad enough to hug the stove when not working. "This winter is going to be a corker, mark my words," observed Owen. "I know that," answered Dale. "I found a squirrel's nest yesterday and it was simply loaded with nuts. That squirrel was laying up for a long spell of cold." Yet the lumbermen did not dress as warmly when working as one might suppose. A heavy woolen shirt, heavy trousers, strong boots, and a thick cap was the simple outfit of more than one, and even Dale and Owen rarely wore their coats. "Swinging an ax warms me, no matter how low the glass is," said Owen. "And I haven't got to pile any liquor in me either." Often, while deep in the woods, the two young lumbermen would catch sight of a wolf or a fox, attracted to the neighborhood by the smell of the camp cooking. But though the beasts were hungry they knew enough to keep their distance. "But I don't like them so close to me," said Owen. "After this I'm going to take my gun to work with me," and he did, and Dale took with him a double-barrelled pistol left to him by his father. Some of the others also went armed, and one man brought in a small deer from up the river, which gave all hands on the following Sunday a dinner of venison--quite a relief from the rather wearisome pork and beans, or corned beef, cabbage, and onions. "To bring down a deer would just suit me," said Dale. "Just wait, your chance may come yet," answered Owen, but he never dreamed of what was really in store for them. It was a bitter-cold day in November that found the pair working on something of a ridge, where stood a dozen or more pines of extra-large growth. Each worked at a tree by himself, while Andrews and Jean Colette were some distance away, working in the spruces. "Hark!" cried Dale presently. "Did you hear that?" "It was a gun shot, wasn't it?" questioned Owen, as he stopped chopping.