It ain't the real thing, eh? No, it ain't. It's no
place for you. Tell me all there is to tell, and get out; I've had enough
too, I've had my fill. 'It bores me stiff'!"
John Grier was in a rage, and he would listen to no explanation. "Come
now, out with your report."
Carnac was not upset. He kept cool. "No need to be so crusty," he said.
CHAPTER VI
LUKE TARBOE HAS AN OFFER
Many a man behind his horses' tails on the countryside has watched the
wild reckless life of the water with wonder and admiration. He sees a
cluster of logs gather and climb, and still gather and climb, and between
him and that cluster is a rolling waste of timber, round and square.
Suddenly, a being with a red shirt, with loose prairie kind of hat,
knee-boots, having metal clamps, strikes out from the shore, running on
the tops of the moving logs till he reaches the jam. Then the pike-pole,
or the lever, reaches the heart of the difficulty, and presently the jam
breaks, and the logs go tumbling into the main, while the vicious-looking
berserker of the water runs back to the shore over the logs, safe and
sound. It is a marvel to the spectator, that men should manipulate the
river so. To him it is a life apart; not belonging to the life he lives-a
passing show.
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