horse-team for hauling logs. Observing this, I am not surprised to learn that the only remaining horse-team in the camps is a picturesque relic of earlier days, and will soon be superseded by an engine. Reaching the landing, the "Walking Dudley" casts off the chains from the logs it has brought down and goes back after another load, leaving us to survey a new scene.

A score or more of logs lie round us on the skidded platform, most of them con

work with jackscrews, rolling the log, with the aid of the horses, to the landing's edge, thence to the car, where it is secured at both ends with heavy chains. When all the cars are loaded, they, in company with those from the lower landing, are taken away by the yarding-engine. This engine "yards out" the logs from two other camps, and the entire trainload is then taken by the "Cyclone," a powerful road engine, to Summit, a distance of twenty

siderably longer than I have seen at the lower works, one spar in particular, a very beauty of a stick, its brown and white peeled length measuring over a hundred feet.

The landing slopes to the railroadtrack in front of it. On this track stands a string of low, heavy trucks-" empties," in logging vernacular. As the track is considerably below the level of the landing, the bunkers of the cars are not quite even with it. Three men and a team of horses are employed in loading. The men

miles from the camps. At Summit another engine takes the logs on down to the Sound, while the "Cyclone" returns with the "empties." Four trips a day are made between the camps and the "rollway" at Kamilche, where the logs are dumped.

The morning being far spent, our stay at the landing is not prolonged. I see one car loaded; but the work being slow and not particularly interesting, my attention is given rather to the loaders than to the loading. One of the men is handsome.

house, their fond protector, with never a parting word, scampers almost as rapidly toward another.

With his disappearance through the open doorway, I turn my attention to the camp. It is considerably larger than I had expected. All the trees in the immediate vicinity have been cut away, with the consequent result of stumpy environs. The railroad-track is the only thoroughfare, and on either side of it range the low buildings. A few are portable houses, but the majority are "shacks," some built of lumber, others of split cedar shakes. These houses are occupied either by families or by those men who build in preference to staying in the bunk-houses provided by the company.

The cook-house stands about the middle of the camp, and we go directly to it. As we leave the track to enter the house we are joined again by "Jack Junior," in a breathless hurry, accompanied by his friend "Mac."

"Mac" is a thick-set Scotchman, whose

bow-legs frame a vista of the view beyond him. His eyes, of the color of bluebells on Scottish heaths, shine keenly and inquisitively above the thick white drift of his beard. He is the commissary, and I learn afterwards is indispensable to the well-being of the loggers-wending his way from camp to camp, taking stock of supplies needed, distributing mail, making calls on the "Missus" of every logger's "shack," his geniality overflowing in bits of gossip, beginning with "Bye, Missus, have you heard the news?" then launching forth into some rare tale.

In the intervals of answering his questions, I take a survey of my surroundings. The cook-house is one of the portable buildings, with a storeroom overflowing with supplies at the rear. Down the length of the room run two tables covered with neat dark oilcloth and set for eighty men. The dishes are of white earthenware, the knives and forks black-handled. In a smaller room beyond is an immense range, presided over by a Chinese cook

and his two assistants. The dinner is abundant and excellent, and as our appetites come under the same adjectival category, we make rapid inroads on the heaped-up dishes.

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Jack Junior" alone wofully neglects his dinner to discuss with me the merits of engines. He has an alarming knowledge of the ins-and-outs of machinery, and forces me at last to acknowledge that I know nothing at all about engines in general, and less than nothing, despite my recent ride, about that particular engine, the "Walking Dudley." This confession plainly lowers me in the estimation of the young enthusiast, for he drops the conversation and devotes himself to the eatables. He dines off roast beef and milk, and during the course of it evidently comes to the conclusion that I need a mentor; so when we rise from table offers his escort and "Mac's" to show me about the camp.

While we have been eating, the men have come in from the woods, and when we emerge from the cook-house we see them all around us, some making a hasty outdoor toilet, dipping up the water to wash with from the running stream and using a convenient log for toilet-table. As each

man completes his preparations, he joins the waiting throng about the door of the cook-house. Shortly, from one of the windows, leans a Chinaman, and his subsequent performance on an old cow-horn is the signal for a wild rush indoors. Judging from the haste exhibited, their appetite, collectively considered, is as eager as our own has been.

Leaving them to satisfy their hunger, we take a peep into the bunk-houses and "shacks." The former are large portable buildings, provided with a double row of bunks on either side; the latter are, for the most part, small one-room affairs, shared by two men. Housekeeping as a fine art is neglected in the bunk-houses, nor is it very noticeable in the "shacks."

One place, however, built of cedar shakes, is scrupulously clean, even displaying white curtains at the windows. The bed is made up, the floor is swept, the lamp-chimney glistens in the sunlight, the whole room a picture of orderly preciseness, permeated with the breath of the spicy cedar walls. But spick-and-span as it is, it wins small favor from "Jack Junior." Disdainfully, for only comment, he shows me how the owner walks,