He forgot that now. There was nothing much here to
remind him. He was free to react to this new sense of outrage, this
new evidence of mankind's essential unfairness.
In the toll taken of his timber by these unwarranted operations there
was little to grieve over, he discovered before long. He had that
morning found and crossed, after a long, curious inspection, a chute
which debouched from the middle of his limit and dipped towards the
river bottom apparently somewhere above his camp. He knew that this
shallow trough built of slender poles was a means of conveying
shingle-bolts from the site of cutting to the water that should float
them to market. Earlier he had seen signs of felling among the cedars,
but only from a distance. He was not sure he had seen right until he
discovered the chute.
So now he went back to the chute and followed its winding length until
it led into the very heart of the cedars in the hollow. Two or three
years had elapsed since the last tree was felled. Nor had there ever
been much inroad on the standing timber.
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