While this talk was in progress, Baptiste Ducrot recovered himself and glared first at Dale and then at Owen Webb. Evidently he did not fancy the coming of his fellow workman to the spot. Dale now smelt the liquor on Ducrot and noticed that his steps were far from steady. He urged his horse forward, and left the French-Canadian standing in the road shaking his fist savagely. "That was a neat crack you gave him," observed Owen Webb, as he strode along beside Dale. "I guess he won't forgive you for it." "He had no business to stop me, Owen." "You're right there. What brought you up? I heard something of a shut-down at Larson's." "Yes, we've shut down and I came up here to look for work." "You came at a bad time--with some of the men on a strike." "That's true." Dale's brow grew thoughtful. "Perhaps I had better go back, after all. I don't want to do some poor chap out of his job." "They don't deserve work--half of them!" declared Owen. "The crowd that is out is the drinking gang. They want more money to waste on liquor. All the steady fellows are working the same as usual." "Then I'll see Mr. Odell and chance it. Where can I find him?" "He was in the mill a short while ago." Owen had a mission up the lake and soon left Dale, and the latter dismounted and entered the mill, just as the machinery started up once more. Mr. Odell was a burly old lumberman of sixty. He had spent all his life in the woods and few knew woodcraft or mill work better than he. He gazed at Dale sharply when he listened to what the young lumberman had to say. "Well, I guess I can give you a job, seeing as how about half of my crew is gone," said Peter Odell. "But I can't guarantee it to last, for I'm 'most in the same fix as Larson. The pulp mills have knocked the sawmills endways up here." "What about the strikers? I don't want to----" "I haven't any strikers around here. Those fellows drank too much and I discharged them, that's all. I won't take 'em back--I'll lock up the mill first." And the mill owner's manner showed that he meant what he said. It was arranged that Dale should come to work the following Monday, at the same rate of wages he was now receiving. He was to labor both in and out of the mill and was to board at the same house where Owen Webb was stopping. This latter arrangement suited him exactly, for he had taken quite a fancy to Owen, who, like himself, was alone in the world. The summer day was drawing to a close when Dale started on his return to Larson's Run. He looked around to see if Baptiste Ducrot was at hand, but the fellow did not show himself. "I hope he keeps out of sight," thought the young lumberman. "I don't want to have another quarrel with him." The lake front was soon left behind and he plunged into the trail leading down the hillside. Under the trees it was quite dark, and he had to keep a tight rein on his horse for fear the animal might stumble and break a leg.