The Americans.

by Edwin Davies Schoonmaker.

ACT I

THE MINE

_Scene: On the mountains in a timber region of north-western America. In every direction, as far as the eye can see, a wilderness of stumps with piles of brush black with age and sinking from sheer rottenness into the ground. Here and there a dead pine stands up high against the horizon.

In the distance, left, cleaving the range and extending on back under an horizon of cold gray clouds, is seen the line of a river of which this whole region is apparently the watershed, for everywhere the land slopes toward it. In the remote distance, beyond the river, innumerable bare b.u.t.tes, and beyond these a gray stretch of plains. Down the mountains, left, six or seven miles away, the river loops in and a portion of a town is seen upon its banks. At this end of the town, upon a hill overlooking the river, a large white mansion conspicuous for the timber about it. At the farther end, a huge red saw-mill occupies the centre of a vast field of yellow lumber piles, the tall black stack of the mill clearly outlined against the gray of the land beyond._

_Back, a hundred yards or so, a road, evidently constructed years ago when the logs were being taken out, comes up on the flats from the direction of the town, turns sharply to the right and goes toward the ridge. Beyond this road, just at the curve, standing out among the stumps, an old stationary engine eaten up with rust and an abandoned logging-wagon, the hind part resting upon the ground, the two heavy wheels lying upon it. Farther back a small cabin falling into decay.

Here and there patches of creeping vines and rank gra.s.s cover the ground, hiding in some places to a considerable depth the bases of the stumps. But to the left, where it is evident a steep slope plunges down, and also in the foreground, are open s.p.a.ces with boulders and, scattered about under a thin loam of rotted needles and black cones, the outlines of a few flat stones. In the immediate foreground, left, a huge boulder, weighing possibly four or five tons, barely hangs upon the slope, ready at any moment, one would think, to slip and plunge down._

_Two men, Cap Saunders and Harvey Anderson, the latter down left, the former to the right and farther back, are slowly coming forward. Each has a camping outfit, a roll of blankets, etc., upon his back, and carries in his hands a plaster cast of what would seem to be a cross-section of a log. It is about two feet in diameter and three inches thick. As they come along they try the casts on the various stumps and carefully turn them about to see if they fit, then chip the stump with a hatchet to indicate that it has been tried._

_Time: The evening of a day early in November in the present time._

HARVEY ANDERSON.

And say two dollars profit on each log.

CAP SAUNDERS.

That's low enough.

HARVEY ANDERSON.

Suppose a man could walk Over the mountains with a great big sack And pick two silver dollars from each stump.

It's forty miles to where the trees begin, And on each side the river eight or ten.

Think what he'd have.

CAP SAUNDERS.

He's made work for them, Harvey.

HARVEY ANDERSON.

Have millions, wouldn't he?

Cap Saunders.

I suppose he would.

But where would this land be? There'd be no homes.

And what are forests for but to cut down?

HARVEY ANDERSON.

You wouldn't hear him say, 'Now, Harvey, you Go in and get your sack full; I'll stay out'; Or 'Now it's your turn, Cap.' Not on your life.

He'd walk his legs off, but he'd have them all.

Or what's more likely, he'd let others walk, And send his wagons out and get the sacks And have them brought in to him.

CAP SAUNDERS.

For myself I'd rather be out here though on the mountains Than live in his big mansion.

HARVEY ANDERSON.

So would I.

But that don't mean I'd rather tramp the flats Picking up dollars for some other man.

And I suppose the mill-boys feel the same.

CAP SAUNDERS.

A fellow has to do the best he can.

If he can stake himself, then off, I say, And pan for his own self. That's been my way.

Sometimes I've struck pay dirt and sometimes not.

And then I'd go and dig for a month or two For the other boys until I'd got my stake----

HARVEY ANDERSON.

Here is another like the one back there; Goes half way round as clean as anything; And the bark seems the same; but on this side----

CAP SAUNDERS.

(_Who has left his cast and is hurrying forward excitedly_)

Hold her a minute!

HARVEY ANDERSON.

No, it don't fit, Cap.

The same old finger width it's always been.

When the curve matches, then there's some d.a.m.n knot; And when the knot's not there, it's something else.

No, you can't stretch it. Now it's this side; see?

'Twas best the way I had it. There you are.

Might as well mark her.

CAP SAUNDERS.

It's a close miss, sure.

It's like the one I found upon the ridge Week before last.

HARVEY ANDERSON.

The place where it don't match Is always on the side that you don't see Until your heart's jumped up.

(_Chips the stump_)