The Badger Riot Read Free Page B

the old man when he retired.
    The Company manager at that time was Mr. Hughie Cole. They said he ruled Badger with an iron fist. He planked the contract down on his desk. “Now, Mr. Anderson, there it is. It’s changed a bit. Profits are down, sir. Profits are down. We’re looking for five thousand cords from you this year.”
    Eli picked up the contract and read it. “You want an extra thousand cords for the same amount of money?”
    â€œYou have good cutting areas, Anderson. The swampers have been in and have your roads cut through for you. You should have no complaints.” Mr. Cole had steely, cold-grey eyes, and when he fixed them on a person there was no compromise.
    â€œCan you give me a few minutes to go over this with my son, Mr. Cole? It is part of his training, you know.”
    â€œSure, sure, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t be too long. I’m a busy man.”
    Hunched over the paper, shoulder to shoulder, the Andersons scrutinized the contract together. The two men looked very much alike, although they were unable to see the resemblance themselves. Both were big, barrel-chested men, with thick heads ofsandy-coloured hair. Both faces were square with cleft chins and keen green eyes.
    The A.N.D. Company had it all spelled out. The contractor’s responsibility was to cut a specified number of cords and see that the wood was on the riverbanks for the spring drive.
    During that time, the onus was on the Andersons to organize the cut, to hire, shelter and feed the loggers, and to see to the keeping of the time sheets that tracked the number of cords each logger cut and the wages due him. All the food supplies and equipment specified in the agreement had to be bought from the Company stores at Company prices. The scalers came through every two weeks and scaled the cords.
    The Company’s responsibility was to supply and pay the scalers and to pay the loggers directly from its pay office. At the end of the season, when the contractor’s expenses and the men’s wages were taken out, what was left was the contractor’s profit. As a dutiful son, Rod listened to his father’s explanations.
    Rod heard Mr. Cole’s voice as he came back into the room. “What about it, young fella? Meets with your approval, does it?”
    â€œYes sir,” he replied, and his father signed up for another year. Rod couldn’t help thinking that if his brother Melvin were here he’d be sitting on the same chair instead of him and enjoying every minute of this, his whole being concentrated on the prospect of cutting the wood, managing the camp, making a profit.
    Life sure has a way of taking strange turns
, Rod thought glumly. Melvin was two years older than Rod, tall, dark and slight like their mother. It had been assumed that he would take over from the old man. From the time they were kids, their father had always drilled this into them. “Melvin is going to step into my logans when I gives it up,” he’d say. “And what are we going to get for you to do, Rod, me son?”
    But Rod didn’t know. He thought he might just follow along behind Melvin and the old man. Then, the summer he was thirteen and Melvin fifteen, their father took them to visit his brother, Aaron,in Port aux Basques. Aaron was purser aboard the SS
Caribou
that steamed between Newfoundland and Canada.
    The family took the train from Badger, up over the Topsails – Main, Mizzen and Gaff – through to Howley, Deer Lake and Corner Brook, and then on over to Port aux Basques. The train trip was a wonder of wonders for the two young boys. As the train rattled along, they raced from one end of her to the other, pretending to be conductors.
    During their stay in Port aux Basques, Uncle Aaron was called back to work on his ship. He asked the boys if they’d like to go with him across to North Sydney for the night. Melvin and Rod were beside themselves with