When I was a
lumberman in Wisconsin I thought nothin' could beat that, but I admit
now that a big battle is more exhaustin'."
"You've worked in the timber then?"
"From the time I was twelve years old 'til three or four years ago.
If I do say it myself, there wasn't a man in all Wisconsin, or Michigan
either, who could swing an axe harder or longer than I could. I guess
you've noticed these hands of mine."
He held them up, and they impressed Dick more than ever. They were
great masses of bone and muscle fit for a giant.
"Paws, the boys used to call 'em," resumed Whitley with a pleased laugh.
"I inherited big hands. Father had em an' mother had 'em, too. So mine
were wonders when I was a boy, an' when you add to that years an' years
with the axe, an' with liftin' an' rollin' big logs I've got what I
reckon is the strongest pair of hands in the United States. I can pull
a horseshoe apart any time. Mighty useful they are, too, as I'm likely
to show you often."
The chance came very soon. A frightened horse, probably with the memory
of the battle still lodged somewhere in his animal brain, broke his
tether and came charging among the troops. Whitley made one leap,
seized him by the bit in his mighty grasp and hurled him back on his
haunches, where he held him until fear was gone from him.
"It was partly strength and partly sleight of hand, a trick that I
learned in the cavalry," he said to Dick as they put on their shoes.
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