Winter Run Read Online Free PDF Page B

some reason, the actual physical contact seemed important to Charlie—seemed to give him comfort.
    They worked on and the humidity came. The horses sweated standing still. They had to be walked to the creek twice each day for water. Charlie got to ride Jim and lead Bill because that was the easiest way to get the job done. Charlie loved it, even though he was concerned about the horses. Some of the logs were too big for the team to pull, so George hired Leonard to bring his mares to help. But each time the extra team came, George lost his profit on the logs they hauled.
    In order to load the logs, the truck was pulled sidewise alongside a high bank and timbers were run from the top of the bank to the log rack. Then the logs were pulled onto the bank and rolled across the timbers onto the truck. Peavey hooks with long handles were used to lever them into position. But as the larger logs were hauled out, it was harder and harder to make up a load with just three men, counting Leonard, all pushing on the peavey hooks.
    George was worried. He didn’t think he could make the deadline. Always in the past the professor had been easy with such things. But this time he wasn’t. There would be no extension. Clarence Flint, whohad bought the farm up the valley next to the Smiths, had a bulldozer and had a log skidder coming and was waiting to step in and finish the job. He had a four-horse team to snake the logs out to where the bulldozer could get hold of them and pull them to the truck. So Clarence could make do until the skidder arrived.
    George went one last time to Silver Hill.
    The professor must have been looking out from his study window as George came up the walk, because he was standing at the door when George arrived.
    “Hello George. How good to see you,” he said in his usual mannerly way. But his face was tense and he was frowning. He must have known George had come to ask for an extension. He walked onto the porch and the two men stood side by side. George, the short one with his powerful body and gruff, bronze face; and the professor, tall and skinny with a face in planes as if cut from rock, and longish gray hair. Normally his face was a beacon of welcome and understanding for the people in the community. But today it was hidden. George said he could see something was awfully wrong. But who was he to ask what? He was just a logger, struggling to make a living in a new world.
    The professor drew himself up to his full height. “George,” he said, resorting to his most formal language in the embarrassment of his predicament, “it is abhorrent to me that money should take precedence over human needs. As I am sure you know, it hasnever been my way. But I am constrained by powers beyond my control, and I must have this money by Labor Day.” Here he looked as if he were in literal pain but also very angry, too. He was angered perhaps by his unaccustomed helplessness in the face of some outside situation that, one could guess, would normally have been of no consequence to him whatsoever.
    George, who had been looking at the boards on the front porch floor during this speech, looked up. “I can’t make it,” he said. “I reckon you better get in touch with Clarence. I’ll finish this week. Then I’ll be gone.” He turned away and walked down the old brick walk between the huge boxwoods. As was his custom, he didn’t look back.
    The village and Charlie and even for a moment Matthew wanted to get up in arms about the whole thing, because Clarence was new and not well liked and George, of course, was a native. Matthew went to the big house the next day and had a talk with the professor. That evening in the store he had nothing to say beyond what the professor had already said. Matthew’s face looked grim. Even Charlie could see that although something was wrong, there was absolutely nothing to do about it.
    “Charlie, this is the end of it,” Matthew had said. “Don’t bring it up no more. George’s leaving