He knew that it was thirty miles down to the first settlement below, and that there were few houses between. He must walk. Half barefooted, penniless, hungered, wearied and weak, he staggered on as though a man in a trance. At least he was able to make his painful way all those weary miles. It was again evening, and late, when at length he saw the red lights of the little mill town of Windsor, where more than once before then he had pulled up with others of the wild raftsmen, among whom he had spent his youth.
He was at the edge of the great Outside. This was Ultima Thule for the hardwood rafts. And all of Thule, all of the great, unknown, mysterious world lay on beyond. It was a wild figure that this gaunt and haggard young man presented as, hesitant, he stood gazing out at the habitations in which, near at hand to which, beyond which, must lie the answers to the questions of his soul. He saw not the town where the rafts landed. In his mind still lived the vision of yon other city on the hill.
MARCIA HADDON, AND THE MERRY WIFE OF WINDSOR
THE single hotel of Windsor was a raw and rambling structure, for the most part frequented by raftsmen and mill hands. Joslin knew the proprietor, commonly known as Old Man Bent. That worthy stood quizzically regarding the young man, as the latter accosted him, and explained his almost penniless plight.
“Ye’re plumb wore out, an’ I can see it,” said he. “Go in an’ go to bed, atter ye’ve had a squar’ meal, an’ don’t say nothin’ about pay ontel times is better fer ye. Hit’s many a dollar ye’ve paid to me, raftin’ times.”
Without further word, Joslin stepped into the dining room, and ate his first real meal for more than a week—ate ravenously, like any animal; and all that night he slept in a stupor of exhaustion.
When morning came once more he found his host. “I’ve got to git work,” said he. “I kain’t live here withouten I go to work right away. Ye know that.”
Old Man Bent looked at him with pursed lips. “I’ll tell ye what I’d do. Ye go down to Jones’ brick yard an’ see if he’ll give ye something to do fer a little while, ontel ye kin turn yoreself somehow.”
The Windsor brick yard was run by a man by the name of Jones, who himself was not above driving a canny bargain, as he noted the stalwart figure of this applicant.