Tor was back in the woods with Mike Fremont and his men the next morning. Charlie Martin, a sawyer for the crew and a seasoned lumberjack, gave Tor a few tips on how to use a two-man crosscut saw.
“Now, Tor,” said Charlie, “usin’ a two-man crosscut is like waltzin’ with a pretty gal. Only difference is that you gotta look at Leroy Phipps on the other end of the saw, and, Tor, ol’ Leroy ain’t all that pretty a sight.”
“You best mind your clever tongue, Charlie,” groused Leroy.
“Tor,” said Charlie, “you right handed?”
“Yessir. I am.”
“Good. Leroy’s a southpaw. That works out best. He will keep his left hand to the outside and his right hand near the steel. You do just the opposite. After you and him set the cut, you just follow Leroy’s lead. First, I will whittle out the notch.”
His double-bit ax in hand, Charlie Martin stepped closer to the near-perfect white pine. Almost four feet in diameter, it stood over ninety feet tall and would easily scale more than three thousand board feet. At the mill it would bring about twenty dollars—nearly three week’s pay for a pinery lumberjack.
“Five trees like this could build you a comfortable house in Chippeway Falls with enough left over to build a two-story privy out back,” said Leroy. “Yesiree, it will fetch a good dollar at the mill.”
“They call these pines green gold,” added Charlie, “and there’s so much of it in the pinery, they say it will take a thousand years to cut it all. Think of it, Tor—a thousand years.”
“Yep, green gold,” Leroy repeated. “More money out here than in half a dozen California gold mines and you ain’t gotta be no gol dang woodchuck to get your share of it.”
“All right,” Charlie said, “first, make sure there ain’t no brush in your way.” Looking up, he walked around the tree again. “If your pine’s got a lean to it, then that is the way you wanna send her. Don’t never go agin’ the law of gravity. Next thing you look for is a widowmaker—that’s any dead limb what can come back to swat you when she falls. Tor, I seen good men sent home by widowmakers. Some of ’em went in coffins, boy. You watch yourself.
“Now, you see that dead limb up there? Looks pretty small from here, but, when it strikes you down, you will find out it’s a good eight, maybe ten inches thick and near to a hundred pounds.” He studied the tree again.
“All right. The notch goes here—same side where you want it to drop. If you notch your tree in the right spot and then make your saw cut opposite the notch, well, you can drop a tree just about anywhere you want. I’ll show you.”
Charlie snatched Tor’s hat, walked about thirty paces, and laid the hat on the snow. Coming back to the big white pine, he laid his ax in the snow, handle pointing toward the hat. The woodsman bent down low, sighting down the ax handle. He looked back at the tree, picked up his ax, kicked some snow out of the way, and looked up again, then down. Charlie Martin established his stance by digging in with his boots. “Here goes, boys. We’ll send her over there by Tor’s hat.”
His ax angled slightly upward, Charlie took five swings. He then took six more bites a bit higher and with a downward pitch. Large wood chips sailed through the air, landing in the fresh snow. The veteran woodsman then shifted his position, stepping to the other side of the notch. Ten more swings of his ax and the notch was cut.
Two blue jays flew into a nearby birch, scolding the loggers with their screechy calls.
“Tor,” Charlie said, “there is something else you need to do ’fore you start your saw cut. Figure out just where you are gonna run when she comes down. You make dang sure there ain’t nothin’ in your way. You do not wanna be anywhere close when she falls, just in case she bucks back toward you. All right, boys, time to take your turn.”
Tor followed Leroy to the base of the tree. Leroy swung one end of the long, limber saw to his partner. They placed the teeth chest-high against the bark, opposite Charlie’s notch. Leroy pulled the saw toward him. Tor pulled back, starting the cut.
The tall, stately tree hardly noticed these small men at its base. Had they stopped now, it would have sent its pungent sap into the wound and lived another hundred years. But the lumberjacks didn’t stop. Leroy stepped up the pace. Tor followed.
“Tor,” said Charlie, “yer usin’ your arms too much. Keep yer knees locked and bend at your waist more. Just let the saw flow back and forth, Son.”
The sharp crosscut saw sang out as it sliced through the pine. Sawdust, ripped from the cut, soon covered the deep snow around them, sending the fragrance of white pine into the icy air. Tor began to sweat.
“Too much steam, Tor,” shouted Leroy. “Ease up. Just let the saw do the work.” Tor relaxed, following the rhythm of the saw.
Charlie Martin looked on as the saw swept back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “There you go, Tor, now yer goin’ to town.”