The mossback follows the axe.  When the timber is cut, naturally the land remains.  Either the company must pay taxes on it, sell it, or allow it to revert to the state.  It may be very good land, but it is encumbered with old slashing, probably much of it needs drainage, a stubborn second-growth of scrub oak or red willows has already usurped the soil, and above all it is isolated.  Far from the cities, far from the railroad, far even from the crossroad’s general store, it is further cut off by the necessity of traversing atrocious and—­in the wet season—­bottomless roads to even the nearest neighbour.  Naturally, then, in seeking purchasers for this cut-over land, the Company must address itself to a certain limited class.  For, if a man has money, he will buy him a cleared farm in a settled country.  The mossback pays in pennies and gives a mortgage.  Then he addresses himself to clearing the land.  It follows that he is poverty-stricken, lives frugally and is very tenacious of what property rights he may be able to coax or wring from a hard wilderness.  He dwells in a shack, works in a swamp, and sees no farther than the rail fence he has split out to surround his farm.

Thus, while he possesses many of the sturdy pioneer virtues, he becomes by necessity the direct antithesis to the riverman.  The purchase of a bit of harness, a vehicle, a necessary tool or implement is a matter of close economy, long figuring, and much work.  Interest on the mortgage must be paid.  And what can a backwoods farm produce worth money?  And where can it find a market?  Very little; and very far.  A man must “play close to his chest” in order to accomplish that plain, primary, simple duty of making both ends meet.  The extreme of this virtue means a defect, of course; it means narrowness of vision, conservatism that comes close to suspicion, illiberality.  When these qualities meet the sometimes foolishly generous and lavish ideas of men trained in the reckless life of the river, almost inevitably are aroused suspicion on one side, contempt on the other and antagonism on both.

This is true even in casual and chance intercourse.  But when, as often happens, the mossback’s farm extends to the very river bank itself; when the legal rights of property clash with the vaguer but no less certain rights of custom, then there is room for endless bickering.  When the river boss steps between his men and the backwoods farmer, he must, on the merits of the case and with due regard to the sort of man he has to deal with, decide at once whether he will persuade, argue, coerce, or fight.  It may come to be a definite choice between present delay or a future lawsuit.

This kind of decision Bob was most frequently called upon to make.  He knew little about law, but he had a very good feeling for the human side.  Whatever mistakes he made, the series of squabbles nourished his sense of loyalty to the company.  His woods training was gradually bringing him to the lumberman’s point of view; and the lumberman’s point of view means, primarily, timber and loyalty.