“Wa-ll,” drawled the head sawyer, “you git to talkin’ with him some day an’ see how much he knows about runnin’ a sawmill.  What he knows will surprise you.  Yes, indeed, you’ll find he knows considerable.  He’s picked up loose shingles around the yard an’ bundled ’em in vacation times, an’ I want to see the shingle-weaver that can teach him some tricks.  Also, I’ve had him come up on the steam carriage more’n once an’ saw up logs, while at times I’ve seen him put in a week or two on the sortin’ table.  In a pinch, with a lot o’ vessels loadin’ here at the dock an’ the skippers raisin’ Cain because they wasn’t gettin’ their cargo fast enough, I’ve seen him work nights an’ Sundays tallyin’ with the best o’ them.  Believe me that boy can grade lumber.”

“An’ I’ll tell you somethin’ else,” Zeb Curry cut in.  “If the new boss ever tells you to do a thing his way, you do it an’ don’t argue none as to whether he knows more about it than you do or not.”

“A whole lot o’ dagos an’ bohunks that’s come into the woods since the blue-noses an’ canucks an’ wild Irish went out had better keep your eyes open,” Dan Kenyon warned sagely.  “There ain’t none o’ you any better’n you ought to be, an’ things have been pretty durned slack around Cardigan’s mill since the old man went blind, but—­you watch out.  There’s a change due.  Bryce Cardigan is his father’s son.  He’ll do things.”

“Which he’s big enough to throw a bear uphill by the tail,” Zeb Curry added, “an’ you fellers all know how much tail a bear has.”

“Every mornin’ for thirty years, ‘ceptin’ when we was shut down for repairs,” Dan continued, “I’ve looked through that winder, when John Cardigan wasn’t away from Sequoia, to watch him git to his office on time.  He’s there when the whistle blows, clear up to the time his eyes go back on him, an’ then he arrives late once or twice on account o’ havin’ to go careful.  This mornin’, for the first time in fifty year, he stays in bed; but—­his son has the key in the office door when the whistle blows, an’—­”

Dan Kenyon paused abruptly; the hum of conversation ceased, and silence fell upon the room as Bryce Cardigan strolled in the door, nodded to the men, and slid in on the bench to a seat beside the head sawyer.

“Hello, Dan—­hello, Zeb,” he said and shook hands with each.  “I’m mighty glad to see you both again.  Hello, everybody.  I’m the new boss, so I suppose I’d better introduce myself—­there are so many new faces here.  I’m Bryce Cardigan.”

“Yes,” Zeb Curry volunteered, “an’ he’s like his daddy.  He ain’t ashamed to work with his men, an’ he ain’t ashamed to eat with his men, nuther.  Glad you’re back with us again, boy—­mighty glad.  Dan, here, he’s gittin’ slacker’n an old squaw with his work an’ needs somebody to jerk him up, while the rest o’ these here—­”

“I noticed that about Dan,” Bryce interrupted craftily.  “He’s slowing up, Zeb.  He must have been fifteen seconds late this morning—­or perhaps,” he added “you were fifteen seconds earlier than the clock.”