To the north were booms of logs, swilling in the current, waiting for
their devourer. Here and there were groups of river-drivers and their
foremen, prying twisted heaps of logs from the rocks or the shore into
the water. Other groups of river-drivers were scattered upon the banks,
lifting their huge red canoes high up on the platforms, the spring's and
summer's work of river-driving done; while others lounged upon the grass,
or wandered lazily through the village, sporting with the Chinamen, or
chaffing the Indian idling in the sun--a garish figure stoically watching
the inroads of civilisation. The town itself was squat but amiable: small
houses and large huts; the only place of note and dignity, the new town
hall, which was greatly overshadowed by the big mill, and even by the two
smaller ones flanking it north and south.
But Viking was full of men who had breathed the strong life of the hills,
had stolen from Nature some of her brawny strength, and set themselves up
before her as though a man were as great as a mountain and as good a
thing to see. It was of such a man that Galt Roscoe was to tell us.
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