Thus some of the logs were eighteen, some sixteen, or fourteen, and some only twelve feet in length.
Next appeared the teamsters with their little wooden sledges, their steel chains, and their tongs.

They had been helping the skidders to place the parallel and level beams, or skids, on which the logs were to be piled by the side of the road.

The tree which Tom and Hank had just felled lay up a gentle slope from the new travoy road, so little Fabian Laveque, the teamster, clamped the bite of his tongs to the end of the largest, or butt, log.
"Allez, Molly!" he cried.
The horse, huge, elephantine, her head down, nose close to her chest, intelligently spying her steps, moved.

The log half rolled over, slid three feet, and menaced a stump.
"Gee!" cried Laveque.
Molly stepped twice directly sideways, planted her fore foot on a root she had seen, and pulled sharply.

The end of the log slid around the stump.
"Allez!" commanded Laveque.
And Molly started gingerly down the hill.