" Across the dividing fences of two of
the blazoned gardens a pair of old crones gossiped under their breaths.
Some Indians smoked silently at the edge of one of the docks. In the
distance of the street's end a French priest added the quaintness of
his cassock to the exotic atmosphere of the scene. At once a pack of
the fierce sledge-dogs left their foraging for the offal of the
fisheries, to bound challenging in the direction of poor Deuce. That
highbred animal fruitlessly attempted to combine dignity with a
discretionary lurking between our legs. We made demonstrations with
sticks, and sought out the hotel, for it was about time to eat.
We had supper at a table with three Forest Rangers, two lumber-jacks,
and a cat-like handsome "breed" whose business did not appear. Then we
lit up and strolled about to see what we could see.
On the text of a pair of brass knuckles hanging behind the hotel bar I
embroidered many experiences with the lumberjack. I told of a Wisconsin
town where an enforced wait of five hours enabled me to establish the
proportion of fourteen saloons out of a total of twenty frame
buildings. I descanted craftily on the character of the woodsman out of
the woods and in the right frame of mind for deviltry. I related how
Jack Boyd, irritated beyond endurance at the annoyances of a stranger,
finally with the flat of his hand boxed the man's head so mightily that
he whirled around twice and sat down.
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