44 A RAFT PILOT'S LOG 



quarter-inch iron, three feet long. I swung the door 

 shut with the poker stuck down in the fire and the other 

 end out. 



I told them the safe was locked and I was going to 

 bed. "No more money tonight, Olie." Big Olie an- 

 swered, "Yas; das all right," and went out. 



The two smaller men again demanded more money 

 - all their money. I opened the front door and suc- 

 ceeded in persuading one to go out and down but I had 

 to use force on his partner, but got him out and closed 

 the door. Then Tom Cleeland lit his pipe and re- 

 marked, "That is a rough way to put a man out." 



"Well," said I, "he wouldn't go out when I told him 

 to - I had to put him out, I'm running this place, ain't 

 I, Tom?" 



Tom smiled and said, "Well, you can't put me out 

 that way." 



"No, Tom, I know that, you're too big for me and I 

 hear you're a hard man to handle. But Tom, I'm in 

 charge here and when I start to put you out, I'm going 

 to do it." 



"The hell you will. Just try it," said Tom. By this 

 time with my old gloves on I grabbed the end of the 

 long poker, jerked it out of the fire, about eighteen 

 inches of it red hot, and made for him, and in full tones 

 told him to fly or I would mark him for life. He caught 

 my idea instantly and acted on my advice. I had no 

 trouble after that -we got along fine until the season 

 closed. 



Carrying these raft crews and their kits back up 

 river, while sometimes not a pleasant business, was 

 always a profitable one, adding a large amount to the 

 earnings of the packet companies, with very little 



