Life in the big timber camps was tough even under the best of circumstances. But when a murderer invaded their space, things got worse, a lot worse. Scooter Sherman made his way from camp to camp, killing, cheating and lying and using his wits to keep ahead of the law. But one day, his luck ran out.
Monday, August 1, 2011
In the book 'A River of Seasons" I talk about the timber industry in Montana a long time ago. Compared to Minnesota logging, those trees were mere matchsticks. The high altitude kept most things pretty small, even the chipmunks. Men still worked hard, and put up great piles of timber. Instead of floating the timber to the sawmills, they sawed the timber right near the camps.
The lumberjacks were still a wide variety of Scandinavians, Finlander and Swedes. A lot of the men were new to the English language but in reality, all they needed was to be able to handle an ax or saw.