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William T. Cox's
“ T H E    H O D A G    A N D   O T H E R   T A L E S    O F   T H E   L O G G I N G   C A M P S ”
(  90th  A N N I V E R S A R Y    H Y P E R T E X T   E D I T I O N  )
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    There were able barristers on both sides. A collection of old magazines or ancient almanacs represented the Bible, upon which the oath of truthfulness was made, or an edition of Blackstone for court reference. The pseudo law books were opened at random during the trial, and interpreted by “his honor”, the judge. Contempt of court meant a fine of several pounds of tobacco, or in a grave offence, a pair of mitts from the commissary. Thus, each night brought its own amusements, thereby helping to make the long winter seem shorter and more pleasant, in spite of the isolation. (In those days, it was impossible to get WIBC, or hear the “Plantation Warblers, broadcasting from WLM.) The writer was a “big toad in the puddle.” Would that he could put into print the laughable pranks that were played, but he is avoiding the subject of his own past as far as possible. That subject would scarcely make a topic for pleasant discussion! At a Vienna Tea Party, men had their vantage time, and the writer has had his. Our dear mother, God bless her, used to say, “There are many mansions in my Father’s house.” As the saying goes, I have a “canthook hold” on this old saying of hers. For my part, I will be x
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thankful to get a seat in the bunk-house, far from the “deacon’s chair,” in the Great Beyond.
    My mind travels back to one winter of long ago called by the shanty boys, the winter of the “blue snow”. The thermometer lingered around seventeen below at its highest point, sometimes going lower than forty below. We got used to all kinds of weather and accustomed to almost anything, as the “Irishman got used to hanging”. The snow was deep, making it hard for the occasional visitor to plow his way through the great drifts to the shanty.
    A crew of probably eighty men made up our camp that winter, so we learned one another’s characteristics fairly well before spring. A man in a lumber camp is taken at his face value, his past being his business and his alone. In the evening, when kangaroo courts were not in session, each in his turn was asked to relate a story or sing a song. Refusing to do his stunt to entertain the crowd, he was fined. One evening, when the north wind howled around the bunkhouse, Mike Dutton was holding the seat of honor and this was the story he related:
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