178 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
I think I have stated somewhere that Bert was a 
noted cook and Frazer was unusually generous in 
’ his commissary. Whenever it was possible the 
packers had killed a beef on the range, settling after- 
ward with the owner, and had kept us as a rule well 
supplied with fresh meat. As camp fare goes we 
lived unusually well. 
But to-night—it was a different thing altogether. 
As we tasted the strong, well seasoned soup; de- 
molished heaping platters of fresh vegetables and 
fruits, revelled in fried chicken and cranberry sauce 
and sweet potatoes and salad, we thought for the 
sake of contrast of our beans, canned goods and 
bacon and shuddered deliciously. 
After the feast we talked and sang and played de- 
lightful, foolish games, till the big, rough-ceiled, 
log-walled hall echoed with shouts that shook the 
roof and even the merry stars seemed to look down 
in wide eyed astonishment at the tremendous 
clamour. 
It was a wonderful night, a magic night! 
And—believe it or not—the life of the gathering, 
the feature of features, was—Horace! He cer- 
tainly made a hit! The upright, broad shouldered 
figure, the tanned features, the worn, stained clothes 
that he wore, appealed at once by their picturesque- 
ness. He was before long the centre of a circle 
of admiring femininity and handling his admirers 
like a general. 
Since his regeneration, Horace had gladdened our 
