Chapter 40
The Spring Drive
The shrill whistle of the Karina echoed across Lake Namakagon. Junior Kavanaugh, pilot, and Gust Finstead, camp blacksmith, released the fourth boom of logs. Junior brought the steam powered sternwheeler about and headed back across the lake for another log boom.
On the west end of the narrows, Earl Morrison, Pinkerton Detective, stepped into the dam tender’s office along with Constable Bill Burns. “We watched it all from the far side of the dam,” said Morrison. “Tor, you did all you could to save Muldoon I doubt many others would have risked themselves for the old scoundrel. I surely know I wouldn’t.”
“He was a fella in trouble,” said Tor. “I should have done more.”
Tor’s father spoke. “Had Phineas Muldoon not come at me with that ax, he never would have ended up in the river, Son. He chose his own trail.”
“We each choose our own trail,” said Namakagon. “What we do along the way determines who we are. Muldoon could have done so much more with his life—so much good. Yet this is how he will be remembered. Only this.”
“Namakagon,” said Olaf. “How can I ever thank you? The outcome would have been so much different without you and your people. You saved our camp.”
“My friends needed no persuasion, Olaf. They knew what was right. They also desired to protect their village.”
“Ingman and I will see to it they are rewarded,” Olaf said. “And Bill, the money for Muldoon’s men is there on the floor. Be sure every one of his men who came here today gets his pay. I am sure they were promised it. Let’s see to it that they get it.”
“I will do that, Olaf,” said the constable. “Then I’ll head back to the camp to get those hog-tied hoodlums off to the sheriff. I’ll let him know about Muldoon and what went on here. He’ll be up to talk to you, Olaf.”
“Ya. Fine, Bill. Say, you better get hold of Muldoon’s walkin’ boss, too. He needs to let all of Muldoon’s lumber camps know what happened here today and reassure them they will get their winter’s pay when their timber reaches the mills.”
“As for us,” said Ingman, “our pine is already on its way downstream. Blackie and his crew have moved out. Our other drivers will be close behind. We have a good head of water and should make quick work of this drive, Olaf. Tor, say so long to your pa. Yust you wait, nephew, by nightfall, you’ll be soaked through and worn to a frazzle—a bona fide river pig!”
“Yes, sir, Uncle Ingman!” Tor reached out and shook his father’s strong hand, then hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Pa.”
“Take care, Son. You pay close attention to what your Uncle Ingman and Blackie tell you. Take no foolish chances, now. I expect you back, safe and sound, in a few days with tales to tell. And bring me the latest copy of the St. Paul Pioneer Press, Son.” He reached in his pocket, pulling out a double eagle and, handing it to his son, “Here, take this. High time you traded those tattered britches of yours for some new ones. Something tells me we’ll be getting around more.”
“Thanks, Pa!” Tor slid the coin into his back pocket, fastening the button.
“And, Tor, when you call on that gal of yours, give my best to Mrs. Ringstadt. Let Adeline know I shall be walking up her front steps one of these days to enjoy one of her home-cooked dinners.”