"
"He's one year too late," Ogilvy declared. "I wouldn't let that big
Canadian Jules Rondeau quit for a farm. Some woods-boss, that--and
his first job with this company was the dirtiest you could hand him--
smearing grease on the skid-road at a dollar and a half a day and
found. He's made too good to lose out now. I don't care what his
private morals may be. He CAN get out the logs, hang his rascally
hide, and I'm for him."
"I'm afraid you haven't anything to say about it, Buck," Bryce
replied dryly.
"I haven't, eh? Well, any time you deny me the privilege of hiring
and firing, you're going to be out the service of a rattling good
general manager, my son. Yes, sir! If you hold me responsible for
results, I must select the tools I want to work with."
"Oh, very well," Bryce laughed. "Have it your own way. Only if you
can drive Duncan McTavish out of Cardigan's woods, I'd like to see
you do it. Possession is nine points of the law, Buck--and Old Duncan
is in possession."
"What do you mean--in possession?"
"I mean that at ten o'clock this morning Duncan McTavish appeared at
our log-landing. The whisky-fat was all gone from him, and he
appeared forty years old instead of the sixty he is. With a whoop he
came jumping over the logs, straight for Jules Rondeau.
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