Festing talked about something else until they went back to work.  Next morning he climbed the hill to a level bench where some of his men were busy hauling logs to the top of the skids.  It was easier to move the big trunks across the snow, and he had seized the opportunity to get some out, but was surprised when he saw the number ready to be sent down.  While he examined them, Charnock, sprinkled with dusty snow, came up, leading a heavy Percheron team.  They dragged a log into place, and then Charnock unhooked the chain and beat his hands.  His skin-coat was ragged and his fur-cap battered, but he looked alert and virile as he stood by the steaming horses’ heads.  The gray trunks of the pines made a good background for his tall figure, which had an almost statuesque grace.

“You look very well, Bob,” Festing remarked.  “It’s obvious that the pain has gone.”

“It won’t come back while the dry weather lasts; I don’t know about afterwards.  These are pretty good logs.”

“I was wondering how you were able to bring up so many.”

“They’re here; that’s the main thing.  You can look after other matters and leave this to me.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see how you did it,” Festing replied.

“Oh, well!  You’re a persistent fellow; I suppose you had better come along.”

Festing went with him and stopped where a gang of men were at work among the fallen trees.  Two, swaying backwards and forward with rhythmic precision, dragged a big crosscut-saw through a massive trunk.  Others swung bright axes, and the wood rang with the noise of their activity.  All were usefully employed, but there were more of them than Festing expected.

“The two boys with the cantpoles belong to the contractor’s bridge-gang,” he said.  “What are they doing here?”

“I think I told you Norton said I could have them when we were moving the big poles,” Charnock replied.  “He saw I needed help.”

“But that was some days since.  He sent them to help at a particular job which you have finished.”

“He hasn’t asked me to send them back.  Looks as if he’d forgotten them.  Anyhow, they’re useful.”

“We have no right to keep the men.  How did you get them to stop?”

“That was easy,” said Charnock.  “The cooking at the bunk-house isn’t very good, and I told our man to find out what they liked.  In fact, I said we’d stand for it if he put up a better hash.”

Festing laughed.  The plan was characteristic of Bob’s methods.

“You must send them back,” he said, and went away, doubting if Bob would do so.

For all that, he admitted that Charnock was doing well.  He stuck to his work, and had a talent for handling men.  Nobody was at all afraid of him; but his sympathetic forbearance with his helpers’ weaknesses and his whimsical humor seemed to pay much better than bullying.  He made a joke where Festing frowned, but the latter felt thoughtful as he went down-hill.  One must make allowance, but Bob was something of a responsibility.