“How ’bout that, Matt?” called a young fellow from the river.

The big man’s face flushed at the general laugh which followed, and he answered hotly, as he swung his axe, “You’d better ask Wash Gibbs; I hear he says he’s the best man in these woods.”

“I reckin as how Wash can back his jedgment there,” said Joe.

“Wash is a sure good man,” remarked Buck, “but there’s another not so mighty far away that’ll pretty nigh hold, him level.”  He looked significantly to where Young Matt was making the big chips fly.

“Huh,” grunted Joe.  “I tell you, gentlemen, that there man, Gibbs, is powerful; yes, sir, he sure is.  Tell you what I seed him do.”  Joe pulled a twist of tobacco from his hip pocket, and settled down upon his heels, his back against a post.  “Wash an’ me was a goin’ to th’ settlement last fall, an’ jest this side th’ camp house, on Wilderness Road, we struck a threshin’ crew stuck in th’ mud with their engine.  Had a break down o’ some kind.  Somethin’ th’ matter with th’ hind wheel.  And jest as Wash an’ me drove up, th’ boss of th’ outfit was a tellin’ ’em t’ cut a big pole for a pry t’ lift th’ hind ex, so’s they could block it up, an’ fix th’ wheel.

“Wash he looked at ’em a minute an’ then says, says he, ’Hold on, boys; you don’t need ary pole.’

" ’What do you know ‘bout an engine, you darned hill billy,’ says th’ old man, kind o’ short.

" ‘Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout an engine, you prairie hopper,’ says Wash, ‘but I know you don’t need no pole t’ lift that thing.’

" ‘How’d you lift it then?’ says t’other.

" ‘Why I’d jest catch holt an’ lift,’ says Wash.

“The gang like t’ bust themselves laughin’.  ‘Why you blame fool,’ says the boas; ’do you know what that engine’ll weigh?”

" ‘Don’t care a cuss what she’ll weigh,’ says Wash.  ’She ain’t planted there, is she?’ An’ with that he climbs down from th’ wagon, an’ dad burn me if he didn’t take holt o’ that hind ex an’ lift one whole side o’ that there engine clean off th’ ground.  Them fellers jest stood ‘round an’ looked at him t’ beat th’ stir.  ‘Well,’ says Wash, still a keepin’ his holt; slide a block under her an’ I’ll mosey along!

“That boss didn’t say a word ’till he’d got a bottle from a box on th’ wagon an’ handed, hit t’ Wash; then he says kind o’ scared like, ‘Where in hell are you from, Mister?’

" ‘Oh, I’m jest a kid from over on Roark,’ says Wash, handin’ th’ bottle t’ me.  ‘You ought t’ see some o’ th’ men in my neighborhood!’ Then we went on.”

When the speaker had finished, there was quiet for a little; then the young man from the river drawled, “How much did you say that there engine ’d weigh, Joe?”

There was a general laugh at this, which the admirer of Gibbs took good naturedly; “Don’t know what she’d weigh but she was ’bout the size o’ that one there,” he answered.

With one accord everyone turned to inspect the mill engine.  “Pretty good lift, Joe.  Let’s you an’ me take a pull at her, Budd,” remarked Lem Wheeler.