THOUGH IT COST A LIFE.
It is generally believed by people who have not visited the State
of Maine that it is a country of great pine forests. School
geographies and popular histories call Maine the “Pine Tree State.”
Four score years ago this was applicable, and it was then that
the State seal was adopted. Since then there has been a wonderful
change. On the shore front and extending far inland are tillage
lands, pastures, villages and cities. Once that country was covered
with mighty pine forests.
Out of about five hundred million feet of timber cut in Maine,
as shown by the last census in 1890, three hundred million feet
were spruce. Pine came second, with hemlock third. More than half
the timber cut in Maine is spruce, and Maine furnishes over half
the spruce used in New England. This being the case, it has been
suggested that the State seal should be made over, the spruce tree
should be substituted for the pine, and Maine should be called the
“Spruce Tree State.”
The black spruce of the Maine forest furnishes pulp for paper,
lumber for houses, and chewing gum for boys and girls. It is a
sub-Arctic tree, and thrives best and reaches fullest maturity on
the rocky sides of high hills and mountains in the northern part of
the State.
There are but three pulp and paper mills of any size within fifty
miles of the great spruce belt of New England, and so, before the
logs can be manufactured, they must be driven down many crooked and
turbulent streams and over numerous wide lakes.
This is where the river driver comes in. He must launch the logs
from the shore, boom them across ponds and lakes, and, in the
northern streams, send them singly through narrow channels, pick
them out of eddies, prevent jams from forming, break jams, and do
a thousand and one things that test his skill, strength, nerve and
endurance.
Fortunately for Fred Forest, a great deal of his timber had been
“started” before the death of his father, which brought a sudden
end to the work. Still at least a fourth of the amount cut had been
left inland where it would be impossible to move it till the spring
freshets another year. As it was, Forest was getting out as much
timber as he could, the advance in prices making him sure of a good
profit, for all of the extra expense of moving the logs at that
season of the year.
Being determined to see Jennie Wren, Mike Sullivan had hurried on
in advance of the drive, which was strung out for a distance of ten
miles along the river. The morning following the encounter between
the Yale lads and the loggers the first sticks of the drive were
beginning to appear at Mattawamkeag, and it was certain the main
drive was not more than ten miles away.
Sullivan did not wait for breakfast after being ordered by Forest
to join the drive and attend to his duties. He aroused the
Canadian, and, shortly after, the two men were seen riding away on
the horses that had brought them into the village.
The appearance of the scattering timber in advance of the drive
told Forest it was nearer than he had thought. Still he made
preparations to hasten up the river right away after breakfast.
After having a talk with Frank, it was agreed that Merry had better
remain in the village and see that his party was all ready to go
aboard the drift immediately below the falls.
Thus it came about that Frank and his friends did not join the
drive till late that afternoon.
In the meantime, Jack met Jennie Wren at one of the village stores
and had a short talk with her. Diamond was enthusiastic in relating
to Frank what had passed between them.
“She is a dear little queen?” declared the Southerner. “She was
very grateful to us for what we did last night, but she says her
old brute of a father will force her into marrying that ruffian
Sullivan. It’s a shame! Why, she is good enough for any man!”
Frank laughed outright.
“Take care, Diamond!” he exclaimed.
Jack blushed furiously, but quickly said:
“Oh! there is no danger. I’m simply interested in Miss Wren, for I
did not dream of finding such a girl amid the rabble of a public
dance in this town.”
“You are still prone to misjudge the people of Maine, I see,” said
Merry; “and, as a result, you are meeting with many surprises. This
Jennie Wren is not the only one of her kind. There are others.”
“Well, I feel that I’d like to do something to help this one.”
“What can you do?”
“That is the question. I’d like to free her from any danger of
being forced to marry that brute Sullivan.”
“You might assist her to elope with Bill.”
“She can’t do that--or she will not.”
“Why not?”
“On account of her father. He is an invalid, and she will not leave
him alone. It seems that Sullivan has some influence over old Wren,
who used to work under him.”
“Well, if you can’t help her that way, I don’t see but you will be
forced to challenge Sullivan and kill him in a duel.”
The Southerner’s face actually lighted with a gleam of satisfaction
and approval.
“I might do that!” he cried. “Never thought of it. But do you
suppose he would fight with pistols?” he asked, doubtfully.
“Ha! ha! ha!” merrily rang out Frank’s musical laugh. “I was
joking, old man. Such a thing would not do down this way. Besides,
it is certain Sullivan would not meet you.”
“How could he refuse if he were challenged?” asked Jack, gravely.
“There you go! You are forgetting you are not in the South. It is
not the man who refuses to accept a challenge who is ridiculed in
this part of the country; it is the fellow who sends the challenge.”
The Virginian shook his head.
“No,” he confessed, “I am not used to such a condition of affairs,
and I forget how the people of the North look on dueling. Well, I
can’t help the girl that way.”
“Wait; perhaps your time will come. We are going down the river
with the drive. No one can tell what may happen.”
Jack looked at Frank queerly.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“I do not mean anything in particular, but I have noticed that fate
sometimes works in wondrous ways. Jennie Wren is not married to
Mike Sullivan yet, and she may not be forced to marry him. If her
father should die, she could do as she pleased.”
“And if Sullivan should die----”
“Exactly.”
The two lads looked at each other; they understood each other. It
is possible that in the heart of each was born a wish that Jennie
Wren might be freed to follow the inclinations of her heart, even
though it were at the expense of a human life as worthless as that
of Mike Sullivan; but if either thought such a thing, neither
expressed the thought in words.