MOAK’S ADVENTURE 45 
gave some of us at the time considerable food for 
thought. Bob Moak, as I have said, had the best of 
the others of the party both in years and timber ex- 
perience. He was, indeed, beginning to feel the 
strain of too long-continued and excessive effort. 
His hair was grey and scant; on his legs, from knee 
to ankle, bunches of varicose veins stood out deform- 
ingly. He was growing old at fifty, the day of his 
ultimate retirement not so many years away. 
Though he would have fought at the suggestion, 
the old cruiser found it increasingly difficult to make 
his runs between dawn and dark. Some men, faced 
by this dilemma, would have ‘‘cut corners’’—sat on 
some hill within sight of camp and ‘‘dreamed in’’ 
the map contours and the timber estimates. There 
have been instances, rare of course, of such a pro- 
cedure. : 
But Bob was not that breed. Sometimes he came 
into camp as late as seven or eight at night, having 
worked since six in the morning; but his maps were 
always accurate, his estimates closer than those of 
any other man in the outfit. Always on such oc- 
casions, to save his pride, he made light of these late 
homecomings, saying, perhaps, with a pathetic at- 
tempt at jocularity, ‘‘ Well, I shore overslept to-day. 
Took a nap right after lunch and never woke 
up till four o’clock. I’ll have to git me an alarm 
clock t’ take along, I reckon.’’ 
One night he failed to show up at all. A search 
was suggested late in the evening. 
