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He also used Babe to pull the kinks out of the crooked logging roads and it was on a job of this kind that Babe pulled a chain of three-inch links out into a straight bar. They could never keep Babe more than one night at a camp for he would eat in one day all the feed one crew could tote to camp in a year. For a snack between meals he would eat fifty bales of hay, wire and all and six men with picaroons were kept busy picking the wire out of his teeth.

Babe was a great pet and very docile as a general thing but he seemed to have a sense of humor and frequently got into mischief, He would sneak up behind a drive and drink all the water out of the river, leaving the logs high and dry. It was impossible to build an ox-sling big enough to hoist Babe off the ground for shoeing, but after they logged off Dakota there was room for Babe to lie down for this operation.

Once in a while Babe would run away and be gone all day roaming all over the Northwestern country. His tracks were so far apart that it was impossible to follow him and so deep that a man falling into one could only be hauled out with difficulty and a long rope.

Once a settler and his wife and baby fell into one of these tracks and the son got out when he was fifty-seven years old and reported the accident.

These tracks, today form the thousands of lakes in the "Land of the Sky-Blue Water. Because he was so much younger than Babe and was brought to camp when a small calf, Benny was always called the Little Blue Ox although he was quite a chunk of an animal. Benny could not, or rather, would not haul as much as Babe nor was he as tractable but he could eat more.

Paul got Benny for nothing from a farmer near Bangor, Maine. There was not enough milk for the little fellow so he had to be weaned when three days old. The farmer only had forty acres of hay and by the time Benny was a week old he had to dispose of him for lack of food. The calf was undernourished and only weighed two tons when Paul got him. Paul drove from Bangor out to his headquarters camp near Devil's Lake, North Dakota that night and led Benny behind the sleigh.

Western air agreed with the little calf and every time Paul looked back at him he was two feet taller. When they arrived at camp Benny was given a good feed of buffalo milk and flapjacks and put into a barn by himself. Next morning the barn was gone. Later it was discovered on Benny's back as he scampered over the clearings. He had outgrown his barn in one night. Benny was very notional and would never pull a load unless there was snow on the ground so after the spring thaws they had to white wash the logging roads to fool him.

Gluttony killed Benny. He had a mania for pancakes and one cook crew of two hundred men was kept busy making cakes for him. One night he pawed and bellowed and threshed his tail about till the wind of it blew down what pine Paul had left standing in Dakota. At breakfast time he broke loose, tore down the cook shanty and began bolting pancakes.

In his greed he swallowed the red-hot stove. Indigestion set in and nothing could save him. What disposition was made of his body is a matter of dispute. One oldtimer claims that the outfit he works for bought a hind quarter of the carcass in and made corned beef of it. He thinks they have several carloads of it, left. Another authority states that the body of Benny was dragged to a safe distance from the North Dakota camp and buried. When the earth was shoveled back it made a mound that formed the Black Hills in South Dakota.

He knew all the tricks of that frisky giant before they happened. And Babe, I know that pernicious old reptyle same as if I'd abeen through him with a lantern. Bill compiled "The Skinner's Dictionary," a hand book for teamsters, and most of the terms used in directing draft animals except mules originated with him. His early religious training accounts for the fact that the technical language of the teamster contains so many names of places and people spoken of in the Bible.

The buckskin harness used on Babe and Benny when the weather was rainy was made by Brimstone Bill. When this harness got wet it would stretch so much that the oxen could travel clear to the landing and the load would not move from the skidway in the woods.

Brimstone would fasten the harness with an anchor Big Ole made for him and when the sun came out and the harness shrunk the load would be pulled to the landing while Bill and the oxen were busy at some other job. The winter of the Blue Snow, the Pacific Ocean froze over and Bill kept the oxen busy hauling regular white snow over from China.

Keenan can testify to the truth of this as he worked for Paul on the Big Onion that winter. It must have been about this time that Bill made the first ox yokes out of cranberry wood. Feeding Paul Bunyan's crews was a complicated job.

At no two camps were conditions the same. The winter he logged off North Dakota he had cooks making pancakes for the Seven Axemen and the little Chore-boy. At headquarters on the Big Onion he had one cook and cookees feeding a crew so big that Paul himself never knew within several hundred either way, how many men he had.

At Big Onion camp there was a lot of mechanical equipment and the trouble was a man who could handle the machinery cooked just like a machinist too.

One cook got lost between the flour bin and the root cellar and nearly starved to death before he was found. Cooks came and went. Some were good and others just able to get by.

Paul never kept a poor one, very long. There was one jigger who seemed to have learned to do nothing but boil. He made soup out of everything and did most of his work with a dipper. When the big tote-sled broke through the ice on Bull Frog Lake with a load of split peas, he served warmed up, lake water till the crew struck.

His idea of a lunch box was a jug or a rope to freeze soup onto like a candle. Some cooks used too much grease. It was said of one of these that he had to wear calked shoes to keep from sliding out of the cook-shanty and rub sand on his hands when he picked anything up.

Sourdough Sam belonged to the latter school. He made everything but coffee out of Sourdough. He had only one arm and one leg, the other members having been lost when his sourdough barrel blew up. Sam officiated at Tadpole River headquarters, the winter Shot Gunderson took charge. This boy sure put a mean scald on the chuck. He was the only man who could make pancakes fast enough to feed the crew. He had Big Ole, the blacksmith, make him a griddle that was so big you couldn't see across it when the steam was thick.

The batter, stirred in drums like concrete mixers was poured on with cranes and spouts. The griddle was greased by colored boys who skated over the surface with hams tied to their feet. They had to have colored boys to stand the heat. At this camp the flunkeys wore roller skates and an idea of the size of the tables is gained from the fact that they distributed the pepper with four-horse teams.

Sending out lunch and timing the meals was rendered difficult by the size of the works which required three crews—one going to work, one on the job and one coming back. Joe had to start the bull-cook out with the lunch sled two weeks ahead of dinner time.

To call the men who came in at noon was another problem. Big Ole made a dinner horn so big that no one could blow it but Big Joe or Paul himself. The first time Joe blew it be blew down ten acres of pine. The Red River people wouldn't stand for that so the next time he blew straight up but this caused severe cyclones and storms at sea so Paul had to junk the horn and ship it East where later it was made into a tin roof for a big Union Depot.

When Big Joe came to Westwood with Paul, he started something. About that time you may have read in the papers about a volcanic eruption at Mt. Lassen, heretofore extinct for many years. That was where Big Joe dug his bean-hole and when the steam worked out of the bean kettle and up through the ground, everyone thought the old hill had turned volcano.

Every time Joe drops a biscuit they talk of earthquakes. It was always thought that the quality of the food at Paul's Camps had a lot to do with the strength and endurance of the men. No doubt it did, but they were a husky lot to start with. As the feller said about fish for a brain food, "It won't do you no good unless there is a germ there to start with. There must have been something to the food theory for the chipmunks that ate the prune pits got so big they killed all the wolves and years later the settlers shot them for tigers.

A visitor at one of Paul's camps was astonished to see a crew of men unloading four-horse logging sleds at the cook-shanty. They appeared to be rolling logs into a trap door from which poured clouds of steam.

At Paul's camp up where the little Gimlet empties into the Big Auger, newcomers used to kick because they were never served beans. The bosses and the men could never be interested in beans. Terrill tells us the reason:. Once when the cook quit they had to detail a substitute to the job temporarily. There was one man who was no good anywhere. He had failed at every job. Chris Crosshaul, the foreman, acting on the theory that every man is good somewhere, figured that this guy must be a cook, for it was the only job he had not tried.

So he was put to work and the first thing he tackled was beans. He filled up a big kettle with beans and added some water.

When the heat took hold the beans swelled up till they lifted off the roof and bulged out the walls. There was no way to get into the place to cook anything else, so the whole crew turned in to eat up the half cooked beans.

By keeping at it steady they cleaned them up in a week and rescued the would-be-cook. After that no one seemed to care much for beans. It used to be a big job to haul prune pits and coffee grounds away from Paul's camps. It required a big crew of men and either Babe or Benny to do the hauling.

Finally Paul decided it was cheaper to build new camps and move every month. The winter Paul logged off North Dakota with the Seven Axemen, the Little Chore Boy and the cooks, he worked the cooks in three shifts—one for each meal. The Seven Axemen were hearty eaters; a portion of bacon was one side of a pound pig.

Paul shipped a stern-wheel steamboat up Red River and they put it in the soup kettle to stir the soup. Like other artists, cooks are temperamental and some of them are full of cussedness but the only ones who could sass Paul Bunyan and get away with it were the stars like Big Joe and Sourdough Sam.

The lunch sled,—mostpopular institution in the lumber industry! Its arrival at, the noon rendezvous has been hailed with joy by hungry men on every logging job since Paul invented it.

What if the warm food freezes on your tin plate, the keen cold air has sharpened your appetite to enjoy it.

The crew that toted lunch for Paul Bunyan had so far to travel and so many to feed they hauled a complete kitchen on the lunch sled, cooks and all. When Paul invented logging he had to invent all the tools and figure out all his own methods. There were no precedents. At the start his outfit consisted of Babe and his big axe. No two logging jobs can be handled exactly the same way so Paul adapted his operations to local conditions.

In the mountains he used Babe to pull the kinks out of the crooked logging roads; on the Big Onion he began the system of hauling a section of land at a time to the landings and in North Dakota he used the Seven Axemen. At that time marking logs was not thought of, Paul had no need for identification when there were no logs but his own.

About the time he started the Atlantic Ocean drive others had come into the industry and although their combined cut was insignificant compared to Paul's, there was danger of confusion, and Paul had most to lose.

At first Paul marked his logs by pinching a piece out of each log. When his cut grew so large that the marking had to be detailed to the crews, the "scalp" on each log was put on with an axe, for even in those days not every man could nip out the chunk with his fingers. The Grindstone was invented by Paul the winter he logged off North Dakota. Before that Paul's axemen had to sharpen their axes by rolling rocks down hill and running along side of them.

When they got to "Big Dick," as the lumberjacks called Dakota, hills and rocks were so hard to find that Paul rigged up the revolving rock. This was much appreciated by the Seven Axemen as it enabled them to grind an axe in a week, but the grindstone was not much of a hit with the Little Chore Boy whose job it was to turn it. The first stone was so big that working at full speed, every time it turned around once it was payday. The Little Chore Boy led a strenuous life.

He was only a kid and like all youngsters putting in their first winter in the woods, he was put over the jumps by the oldtimers. His regular work was heavy enough, splitting all the wood for the camp, carrying water and packing lunch to the men, but his hazers sent him on all kinds of wild goose errands to all parts of the works, looking for a "left-handed peavy" or a "bundle of cross-hauls. He had to take a lot of good natured roughneck wit about his size for he only weighed pounds and a couple of surcingles made a belt for him.

What he lacked in size he made up in grit and the men secretly respected his gameness. They said he might make a pretty good man if he ever got any growth, and considered it a necessary education to give him a lot of extra chores. Often in the evening, after his day's work and long hours put in turning the grindstone and keeping up fires in the camp stoves—that required four cords of wood apiece to kindle a fire, he could be found with one of Big Ole's small pound anvils in his lap pegging up shoes with railroad spikes.

It was a long time before they solved the problem of turning logging sleds around in the road. When a sled returned from the landing and put on a load they had to wait until Paul came along to pick up the four horses and the load and head them the other way.

Judson M. Goss says he worked for Paul the winter he invented the round turn. All of Paul's inventions were successful except when he decided to run three ten-hour shifts a day and installed the Aurora Borealis.

After a number of trials the plan was abandoned because the lights were not dependable. The whole State was cut over from the one camp and the husky seven chopped from dark to dark and walked to and from work.

Their axes were so big it took a week to grind one of them. Each man had three axes and two helpers to carry the spare axes to the river when they got red hot from chopping. Even in those days they had to watch out for forest fires. The axes were hung on long rope handles. Each axeman would march through the timber whirling his axe around him till the hum of it sounded like one of Paul's for-and-aft mosquitoes, and at every step a quarter-section of timber was cut.

The height, weight and chest measurement of the Seven Axemen are not known. Authorities differ. History agrees that they kept a cord of four-foot wood on the table for toothpicks. After supper they would sit on the deacon seat in the bunk shanty and sing "Shanty Boy" and "Bung Yer Eye" till the folks in the settlements down on the Atlantic would think another nor'wester was blowing up.

Some say the Seven Axemen were Bay Chaleur men; others declare they were all cousins and came from down Machias way. Where they came from or where they went to blow their stake after leaving Paul's camp no one knows but they are remembered as husky lads and good fellows around camp.

After the Seven Axemen had gone down the tote road, never to return, Paul Bunyan was at a loss to find a method of cutting down trees that would give him anything like the output he had been getting. Many trials and experiments followed and then Paul invented the two-man Saw. The first saw was made from a strip trimmed off in making Big Joe's dinner horn and was long enough to reach across a quarter section, for Paul could never think in smaller units.

This saw worked all right in a level country, in spite of the fact that all the trees fell back on the saw, but in rough country only the trees on the hill tops were cut. Trees in the valleys were cut off in the tops and in the pot holes the saw passed over the trees altogether.

It took a good man to pull this saw in heavy timber when Paul was working on the other end. Paul used to say to his fellow sawyer, "I don't care if you ride the saw, but please don't drag your feet.

They drove around eight townships and cut a swath feet wide. Paul Bunyan's Trained Ants are proving so successful that they may replace donkeys and tractors on the rugged slopes of the Sierras.

Inspired by his success with Bees and Mosquitoes, Paul has developed a breed of Ants that stand six feet tall and weigh pounds. To overcome their habit of hibernating all Winter, Paul supplied the Ants with Mackinaws made with three pairs of sleeves or legs. They eat nothing but Copenhagen Snuff. It is certain that he developed to the zenith of his powers in that region during the '80s and '90s. Professor Fenska points out that Paul was a "Northerner" for when the virgin forests of the Lake States began to wane and the lumberjack shifted to the Southern Yellow Pine region, little was heard of him for nearly a decade.

Noting his reappearance on the Pacific Coast, this authority discounts the rumors that Paul has gone to Alaska and expresses the opinion that his greatest exploits will take place in the vast forests of the west. Esther Shepherd, Department of English, Reed College, Portland, Oregon has traced the Paul Bunyan legend back to Maine but finds evidence of beginnings that antedate the Maine epoch and is still carrying on her painstaking search for the ultimate source.

Writing in the Pacific Review , Mrs. Shepherd relates this one about Paul's babyhood. When three weeks old he rolled around so much in his sleep that he destroyed four square miles of standing timber.

Then they built a floating cradle for him and anchored it off Eastport. When Paul rocked in his cradle it caused a seventy-five foot tide in the Bay of Fundy and several villages were washed away. He couldn't be wakened, however, until the British Navy was called out and fired broadsides for seven hours. When Paul stepped out of his cradle he sank seven warships and the British government seized his cradle and used the timber to build seven more. That saved Nova Scotia from becoming an island, but the tides in the Bay of Fundy haven't subsided yet.

Leever of the Pacific Lumber Company writes in a San Francisco paper, "It is a pity that it should have been in danger of being forgotten. Fenska and the University of Oregon Mr. Leever continues, "Where the tradition of this Davy Crockett of the axe, this superman of the camps originated, nobody can tell exactly.

But it is probable that the stories of his courage and impossible feats started on the St. Lawrence among the French Canadians and filtered into the woods of the Adirondacks, Michigan and Wisconsin.

Although at times very human, Paul Bunyan in his bigger moments far surpassed any of the figures of classical Scandinavian or Celtic legend. For the sake of the young of the land his memory ought to be kept forever fresh.

Lee J. Smits conducted a "Paul Bunyan" column in The Seattle Star and published many entertaining contributions from oldtimers. These were turned over to the University of Washington for preservation. Smits says editorially, "Only among the pioneers could Paul thrive, his deeds are inspired by such imagination as grows only in the great outdoors.

For hours at a time, lumberjacks will pile up the achievements of their hero. Each story is a challenge calling for a yarn still more heroic. The story teller who succeeds in eliciting a snicker is an artist, indeed, as the Paul Bunyan legends must always be related and received with perfect seriousness. Paul Bunyan has become a part of the every day life of the loggers. He serves a valuable purpose in giving every hardship and tough problem its whimsical turn. Harry L. Neall, of Harry L.

Neall states that "modern lumbering, as a separate industry was really invented in New York in and that most of the oldtime lumbermen trace their ancestry to forefathers who were a part of this beginning of lumbering. Neall that a Walker built a mill in Maine in ; another Walker sold a two-thirds interest in this mill in and three Walkers were saw mill owners in New Hampshire in Neall found that the land records enable one to pick them out by their names "as distinguished from the Palatinate settlers who came solely for the farm lands upon which the hardwoods grew.

Neall who heard them in his grandfather's logging camps in Pennsylvania and quotes this ancestor as connecting Paul with the early traditions. DeWitt L. Hardy, "column conductor" on the Portland Oregonian , ran a Paul Bunyan series for several months and received many more contributions than it was possible to print, though they were featured almost daily, writes Mr.

I do not attempt to dip into any of the real sub-surface studies of its development, my experience with Paul having been severely practical. I first heard of him in a soddy in North Dakota, where I was told of his great logging operations when he stripped that country and removed the stumps. In the mass of correspondence I received while handling the Paul Bunyan yarns here, answers came from all corners of the globe and from all classes of people.

Ida V. Turney, Department of Rhetoric, University of Oregon, and President of the Oregon Council of English, has written a chapbook of Paul Bunyan stories,—"gang-lore" Miss Turney classifies them, citing technical reasons why they cannot be called "myth" "legend" or "folk-lore.

The symbolism is, of course, unconscious, but none the less accurate. Miss Turney, the daughter of a lumberman, has known these stories from childhood. Perhaps Paul Bunyan is the great American epic; but if so it is in the making. In that case it seems to me that any gang has a perfect right to create new stories.

Paul has become astonishingly versatile in the West. He has tried his hand at almost everything, just as the former laborers in the camps of Michigan and Wisconsin branched into whatever big wild untamed hard work they came across. History disagrees as to when, where and how Paul first acquired this bovine locomotive but his subsequent record is reliably established.

Babe could pull anything that had two ends to it. Babe was seven axehandles wide between the eyes according to some authorities; others equally dependable say forty-two axehandles and a plug of tobacco.

Like other historical contradictions this comes from using different standards. Seven of Paul's axehandles were equal to a little more than forty-two of the ordinary kind. When cost sheets were figured on Babe, Johnny Inkslinger found that upkeep and overhead were expensive but the charges for operation and depreciation were low and the efficiency was very high.

How else could Paul have hauled logs to the landing a whole section acres at a time? He also used Babe to pull the kinks out of the crooked logging roads and it was on a job of this kind that Babe pulled a chain of three-inch links out into a straight bar. They could never keep Babe more than one night at a camp for he would eat in one day all the feed one crew could tote to camp in a year.

For a snack between meals he would eat fifty bales of hay, wire and all and six men with picaroons were kept busy picking the wire out of his teeth. Babe was a great pet and very docile as a general thing but he seemed to have a sense of humor and frequently got into mischief. He would sneak up behind a drive and drink all the water out of the river, leaving the logs high and dry. It was impossible to build an ox-sling big enough to hoist Babe off the ground for shoeing, but after they logged off Dakota there was room for Babe to lie down for this operation.

Once in a while Babe would run away and be gone all day roaming all over the Northwestern country. His tracks were so far apart that it was impossible to follow him and so deep that a man falling into one could only be hauled out with difficulty and a long rope. Once a settler and his wife and baby fell into one of these tracks and the son got out when he was fifty-seven years old and reported the accident. These tracks, today form the thousands of lakes in the "Land of the Sky-Blue Water.

Benny could not, or rather, would not haul as much as Babe nor was he as tractable but he could eat more. Paul got Benny for nothing from a farmer near Bangor, Maine. There was not enough milk for the little fellow so he had to be weaned when three days old. The farmer only had forty acres of hay and by the time Benny was a week old he had to dispose of him for lack of food.

The calf was undernourished and only weighed two tons when Paul got him. Paul drove from Bangor out to his headquarters camp near Devil's Lake, North Dakota that night and led Benny behind the sleigh. Western air agreed with the little calf and every time Paul looked back at him he was two feet taller.

When they arrived at camp Benny was given a good feed of buffalo milk and flapjacks and put into a barn by himself. Next morning the barn was gone. Later it was discovered on Benny's back as he scampered over the clearings. He had outgrown his barn in one night.

Benny was very notional and would never pull a load unless there was snow on the ground so after the spring thaws they had to white wash the logging roads to fool him. Gluttony killed Benny. He had a mania for pancakes and one cook crew of two hundred men was kept busy making cakes for him.

One night he pawed and bellowed and threshed his tail about till the wind of it blew down what pine Paul had left standing in Dakota. At breakfast time he broke loose, tore down the cook shanty and began bolting pancakes.

In his greed he swallowed the red-hot stove. Indigestion set in and nothing could save him. What disposition was made of his body is a matter of dispute. One oldtimer claims that the outfit he works for bought a hind quarter of the carcass in and made corned beef of it.

He thinks they have several carloads of it left. Another authority states that the body of Benny was dragged to a safe distance from the North Dakota camp and buried. When the earth was shoveled back it made a mound that formed the Black Hills in South Dakota. He knew all the tricks of that frisky giant before they happened.

And Babe, I know that pernicious old reptyle same as if I'd abeen through him with a lantern. Bill compiled "The Skinner's Dictionary", a hand book for teamsters, and most of the terms used in directing draft animals except mules originated with him. His early religious training accounts for the fact that the technical language of the teamster contains so many names of places and people spoken of in the Bible. The buckskin harness used on Babe and Benny when the weather was rainy was made by Brimstone Bill.

When this harness got wet it would stretch so much that the oxen could travel clear to the landing and the load would not move from the skidway in the woods. Brimstone would fasten the harness with an anchor Big Ole made for him and when the sun came out and the harness shrunk the load would be pulled to the landing while Bill and the oxen were busy at some other job.

The winter of the Blue Snow, the Pacific Ocean froze over and Bill kept the oxen busy hauling regular white snow over from China. Keenan can testify to the truth of this as he worked for Paul on the Big Onion that winter. It must have been about this time that Bill made the first ox yokes out of cranberry wood. At no two camps were conditions the same. The winter he logged off North Dakota he had cooks making pancakes for the Seven Axemen and the little Chore-boy.

At headquarters on the Big Onion he had one cook and cookees feeding a crew so big that Paul himself never knew within several hundred either way, how many men he had.

At Big Onion camp there was a lot of mechanical equipment and the trouble was a man who could handle the machinery cooked just like a machinist too. One cook got lost between the flour bin and the root cellar and nearly starved to death before he was found. Cooks came and went. Some were good and others just able to get by. Paul never kept a poor one, very long. There was one jigger who seemed to have learned to do nothing but boil. He made soup out of everything and did most of his work with a dipper.

When the big tote-sled broke through the ice on Bull Frog Lake with a load of split peas, he served warmed up lake water till the crew struck. His idea of a lunch box was a jug or a rope to freeze soup onto like a candle.

Some cooks used too much grease. It was said of one of these that he had to wear calked shoes to keep from sliding out of the cook-shanty and rub sand on his hands when he picked anything up. Sourdough Sam belonged to the latter school.

He made everything but coffee out of Sourdough. He had only one arm and one leg, the other members having been lost when his sourdough barrel blew up. Sam officiated at Tadpole River headquarters, the winter Shot Gunderson took charge. This boy sure put a mean scald on the chuck. He was the only man who could make pancakes fast enough to feed the crew.

He had Big Ole, the blacksmith make him a griddle that was so big you couldn't see across it when the steam was thick. The batter, stirred in drums like concrete mixers, was poured on with cranes and spouts. The griddle was greased by colored boys who skated over the surface with hams tied to their feet.

They had to have colored boys to stand the heat. At this camp the flunkeys wore roller skates and an idea of the size of the tables is gained from the fact that they distributed the pepper with four-horse teams. Sending out lunch and timing the meals was rendered difficult by the size of the works which required three crews—one going to work, one on the job and one coming back. Joe had to start the bull-cook out with the lunch sled two weeks ahead of dinner time. To call the men who came in at noon was another problem.

Big Ole made a dinner horn so big that no one could blow it but Big Joe or Paul himself. The first time Joe blew it he blew down ten acres of pine.

The Red River people wouldn't stand for that so the next time he blew straight up but this caused severe cyclones and storms at sea so Paul had to junk the horn and ship it East where later it was made into a tin roof for a big Union Depot. When Big Joe came to Westwood with Paul, he started something.

About that time you may have read in the papers about a volcanic eruption at Mt. Lassen, heretofore extinct for many years. That was where Big Joe dug his bean-hole and when the steam worked out of the bean kettle and up through the ground, everyone thought the old hill had turned volcano.

Every time Joe drops a biscuit they talk of earthquakes. It was always thought that the quality of the food at Paul's Camps had a lot to do with the strength and endurance of the men. No doubt it did, but they were a husky lot to start with. As the feller said about fish for a brain food, "It won't do you no good unless there is a germ there to start with. There must have been something to the food theory for the chipmunks that ate the prune pits got so big they killed all the wolves and years later the settlers shot them for tigers.

A visitor at one of Paul's camps was astonished to see a crew of men unloading four-horse logging sleds at the cook shanty. They appeared to be rolling logs into a trap door from which poured clouds of steam.

At Paul's camp up where the little Gimlet empties into the Big Auger, newcomers used to kick because they were never served beans. The bosses and the men could never be interested in beans. Terrill tells us the reason:. Once when the cook quit they had to detail a substitute to the job temporarily. There was one man who was no good anywhere. He had failed at every job. Chris Crosshaul, the foreman, acting on the theory that every man is good somewhere , figured that this guy must be a cook, for it was the only job he had not tried.

So he was put to work and the first thing he tackled was beans. He filled up a big kettle with beans and added some water. When the heat took hold the beans swelled up till they lifted off the roof and bulged out the walls. There was no way to get into the place to cook anything else, so the whole crew turned in to eat up the half cooked beans. By keeping at it steady they cleaned them up in a week and rescued the would-be-cook. After that no one seemed to care much for beans. It used to be a big job to haul prune pits and coffee grounds away from Paul's camps.

It required a big crew of men and either Babe or Benny to do the hauling. Finally Paul decided it was cheaper to build new camps and move every month. The winter Paul logged off North Dakota with the Seven Axemen, the Little Chore Boy and the cooks, he worked the cooks in three shifts—one for each meal. The Seven Axemen were hearty eaters; a portion of bacon was one side of a pound pig. Paul shipped a stern-wheel steamboat up Red River and they put it in the soup kettle to stir the soup.

Like other artists, cooks are temperamental and some of them are full of cussedness but the only ones who could sass Paul Bunyan and get away with it were the stars like Big Joe and Sourdough Sam. The lunch sled,—most popular institution in the lumber industry! It's arrival at the noon rendezvous has been hailed with joy by hungry men on every logging job since Paul invented it. What if the warm food freezes on your tin plate, the keen cold air has sharpened your appetite to enjoy it.

The crew that toted lunch for Paul Bunyan had so far to travel and so many to feed they hauled a complete kitchen on the lunch sled, cooks and all. All the forests of North America were examined and exhaustively studied and the selection was Sugar Pine and California White Pine,—"the largest pines that ever grew" and production started at Westwood in It is light, soft, even-textured, easy-to-work, durable and will not warp or check. Botanically a Yellow Pine, its texture has been so changed by climate and altitude that it in no way resembles the Yellow Pines and is so much like White Pine that its trade name is necessary to prevent confusion on the part of the consumer.

A smaller percentage of upper grades than the big pines, but with knots so small that the commons offer exceptional values and advantages. It is used for concrete forms, sheathing, studding and for dairy containers and packages that must be odorless and tasteless. It also makes a handsome interior finish. The Red River people strive for a quality of manufacture worthy of such magnificent trees.

The Westwood plant, electrically operated throughout, is a new departure in its field, with a capacity of million feet a year. Planned by our own engineers, much of the machinery and equipment is of our own design and new standards of efficiency, economy and precision of cutting have been set. Modern dry-kilns handle a large part of the output and yield perfectly seasoned lumber, free from drying defects, in a few days instead of the months required for air drying. The plant operates the year 'round, logging, sawing, manufacturing and shipping.

An introduction to tall tales about the giant lumberjack from the north woods, as told from his own perspective. An account of the legendary American folk hero, Paul Bunyan, the mythical lumberjack who found no job too big or too small to handle, and his big blue ox, Babe.

Relates some of the exploits of Paul Bunyan, a lumberjack said to be taller than the trees whose pet was a blue ox named Babe. Recounts the life of the extraordinary lumberjack, whose unusual size and strength brought him many fantastic adventures. Who was the largest baby ever born in the state of Maine? Who dug the Great Lakes? Who gouged out the Grand Canyon? Why, Paul Bunyan, of course, America's finest, fastest, funniest lumberman and favorite tall-tale hero.

Tells how Paul Bunyan, the mighty lumberjack, cleared the States of Iowa and Kansas, dug the Mississippi River, and performed other feats with his blue ox, Babe. Children of all ages will enjoy these tales of Paul Bunyan, mythical giant lumberjack of the North Woods. Exciting and rollicking stories--seventeen in all. A perpetual best-seller the country over, this book has sold more than one million copies. Presents the life story of the enormous lumberjack, Paul Bunyan, who along with his blue ox Babe, is said to have made the 10, lakes of Minnesota with his footsteps.

Every American has heard of the lumberjack hero Paul Bunyan and his big blue ox. For years his exploits filled cartoons, magazines, short stories, and children's books, and his name advertised everything from pancake breakfasts to construction supplies. By Bunyan was a ubiquitous icon of America's strength and ingenuity.

Until now, no one knew where he came from—and the extent to which this mythical hero is rooted in Wisconsin. Out of the Northwoods presents the culture of nineteenth-century lumberjacks in their own words.

It includes eyewitness accounts of how the first Bunyan stories were shared on frigid winter nights, around logging camp stoves, in the Wisconsin pinery. It describes where the tales began, how they moved out of the forest and into print, and why publication changed them forever.