Near its head a clear stream
cascaded down the slope.
"That's the flume," explained the lumberman. "Brought the stream around
from the head of the meadow in a ditch. We'll flume the sawn lumber down
the mountain. For the present we'll have to team it out to the railroad.
Your friend Baker's figuring on an electric road to meet us, though, and
I guess we'll fix it up with him inside a few years, anyway."
"Where's Stone Creek from here?" asked Bob.
"Over the farther ridge. The mountain drops off again there to Stone
Creek three or four thousand feet."
"We ought to hear from the fire, soon."
"If we don't, we'll ride over that way and take a look down," replied
Welton.
They drove down the empty yards to a stable where already was
established their old barn-boss of the Michigan woods. Four or five big
freight wagons stood outside, and a score of powerful mules rolled and
sunned themselves in the largest corral. Welton nodded toward several
horses in another enclosure.
"Pick your saddle horse, Bob," said he. "Straw boss has to ride in this
country."
"Make it the oldest, then," said Bob.
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