He
expects no tip, no extra wage, nor is he lauded as a hero. He may have
come down, horse and all, in the dark, but is happy if he has not
smashed the bottle of medicine, and he resumes his work on return, just
as if he hadn't been up all night riding at a hard canter over broken
ground full of holes and snags.
No, he is by no means an ideal worker, neither is he half so bad as he's
painted, and I'd rather meet him in the next world than lots of men who
boss him in this.
MY FRIEND THE AXEMAN.
MY FRIEND THE AXEMAN.
Eighty square leagues of dense forest. One is inclined to feel a trifle
small and overcome when this fraction of Mother Earth is put into one's
hands (metaphorically), with orders to know all about it and to be able
to answer all questions as to what is going on in it.
The work is like most other occupations: not quite so romantic as it
sounds at first, but as interesting as one cares to make it.
One's main employment can best be illustrated by a leaf out of a mental
diary.
Fulano de Tal, axeman, wants credit for provisions at the almacen or
general store--Has he sufficient wood cut to warrant it? It is the
Mayor-domo's business to find out.
With this end in view, he rides along "The Mangy" watercourse till he
comes to the lowland of "The Blind Cow.
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