Joan of Arc of the North Woods
By Holman Day
The timber situation in the Tomah country was surcharged.
When Ward Latisan came upon Rufus Craig, one afternoon in autumn, steel struck flint and trouble’s fuse was lighted.
Their meeting was on the Holeb tote road just below Hagas Falls.
Young Ward was the grandson of old John, a pioneer who was in his day a saw-log baron of the times of pumpkin pine; by heredity Ward was the foremost champion in the cause of the modern independent operators.
In his own way, Craig, the field director of the Comas Consolidated Paper Company, was the chief gladiator for an invading corporation which demanded monopoly of the Tomah timber by absorption of the independents.
Latisan tramped down the tote road from the shoulder of Holeb Mountain, where he had been cruising alone for a week on the Walpole tract, blazing timber for the choppers, marking out twitch roads and haul-downs, locating yards; his short-handled ax was in his belt, his lank haversack flapped on his back; he carried his calipers in one hand; with the other hand he fed himself raisins from his trousers pocket, munching as he went along. He had eaten the last of his scanty supply of biscuits and bacon; but, like other timber cruisers—all of them must travel light—he had his raisins to fall back on, doling them one by one, masticating them thoroughly and finding the nourishment adequate.
He had been on the go every day from sunup till dark; nights he cinched his belted jacket closely and slept as best he could, his back against a tree; he had cruised into every nook and corner of the tract, spending strength prodigally, but when he strode down the tote road his vitality enabled him to hit it off at a brisk gait; his belt was a few holes tighter, yet his fasting made him keenly awake; he was more alert to the joy of being alive in the glory of the crisp day; his cap was in his pocket, his tousled brown hair was rampant; and he welcomed the flood of sunshine on his bronzed face.
Craig was making his way along the tote road in a buckboard, with a driver. The road bristled with rocks and was pitted with hollows; the fat horses dragged their feet at a slow walk.
Genre: Fiction And Literature | Romance Books
Read or download Book
Holman Day
Holman Francis Day (November 6, 1865 – February 19, 1935) was an American author, born at Vassalboro, Maine. The Holman Day House, his home in Auburn, Maine, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. His book The Rider of the King Log was adapted into the 1921 film The Rider of the King Log. His play Along Came Ruth was adapted into the 1924 film Along Came Ruth.
Personal life
Day married Helen Gerald, the only daughter of railroad engineer Amos F. Gerald and Caroline W. Rowell. She died in 1902 at the age of 32, and was interred in Maplewood Cemetery in her father’s home town of Fairfield, Maine; Day, meanwhile, was buried in Nichols Cemetery in his hometown of Vassalboro, Maine, upon his death in 1935.
Career
He graduated from Colby College (class of 1887) and in 1889-90 he was managing editor of the publications of the Union Publishing Company in Bangor, Maine. He was also editor and proprietor of the Gazette in Dexter, Maine, a special writer for the Journal in Lewiston, Maine, representative of the Boston Herald, and managing editor of the Daily Sun in Lewiston. From 1901 until 1904 he was military secretary to Gov. John F. Hill of Maine.
He came to Carmel-by-the-Sea, California in the 1920s.
The main poet of Maine and no small man in Carmel! Much too busy to do much visiting but when he does it’s a tonic to listen to him. His many novels contain adventures in the big woods and sturdy outdoor life. He says the first ‘pome’ he ever wrote for the Lewiston Journal brought a libel suit on the paper and put a blackhand value on his three stanza gem to the extent of a sum never received by the great Longfellow in his palmiest days. “Started right out as a high priced poet,” he says.
— Carmel Pine Cone
Holman Day
