If ever he should die an' go to Heaven he'd pry up th' golden streets an' use the infernal pit for a smelter." With this magnificent bit of invective, Jackson seized a lantern and stumped out to see that the teamsters fed their horses properly.
"Didn't know you were a miner, Jackson," called Thorpe, laughing.
"Young feller," replied Jackson at the door, "it's a lot easier to tell what I AIN'T been." So floundering, battling, making a little progress every day, the strife continued.
One morning in February, Thorpe was helping load a big butt log.

He was engaged in "sending up"; that is, he was one of the two men who stand at either side of the skids to help the ascending log keep straight and true to its bed on the pile.

His assistant's end caught on a sliver, ground for a second, and slipped back.

Thus the log ran slanting across the skids instead of perpendicular to them.

To rectify the fault, Thorpe dug his cant-hook into the timber and threw his weight on the stock.