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CHAPTER XIII
JIM'S LUCK TURNS

When the others went off Carrie did not move. The smoke was getting thick, the air was hot, and now all was quiet she heard the roar of the fire. She pictured it creeping through the bush: the flames leaping from branch to branch, the red glow among the trunks that cracked and tottered, and the crash when one fell. Now and then she thought she heard the shock, but it was scarcely distinguishable through the dull roar. The noise was strangely daunting.

Carrie meant to stay. She must hide her fears and smile. This was not a new line; life was not easy for a girl who must work for all she got, and she had known care. Now and then unsatisfied creditors had threatened to close the store, but when tears were near her eyes she had forced a laugh. There was much she could do in camp; she could see the men were fed and try to cheer them when they came back gloomy and tired. Sometimes a joke was strangely encouraging. By and by she got up and went to her tent.

In the morning they broke camp and moved up the valley, but although the fire was advancing Jim did not go far. They might soon be driven back among the rocks, where there were no trees to burn, and he meant to work as long as possible. Besides, transport was difficult and he must have an open trail behind him. Jim was getting anxious about this, because if the fire followed them up, provisions must be brought across the burning belt.

It was characteristic that he took command. Although Jake had banteringly called him the Boss, they had no agreement about the matter. When things were normal each did what he thought needful and they seldom jarred. Now, however, Jim half consciously assumed firm control, with his comrade's support. He made all plans, and the men seeing he had a leader's talent obeyed cheerfully.

For some days their resolution was hardly tried. The fire rolled up the valley and for the most part they worked in thick smoke. At times the heat was intolerable, and when the wind freshened showers of ash and sparks fell about them. Although the fire did not advance fast, their progress was slow. Heavy stones must be rolled away, treacherous gravel must be walled up and the line roughly graded. Ashes stuck to the men's wet skin and they were often scorched by the hot wind. Then, at the close of each exhausting day, the camp must be moved to the end of the cleared track.

There was not much grumbling. The men were hard and stubborn, but Jim doubted if they could bear the strain long. He himself was worn out, he could not relax at night and did not sleep. Jake's scorched face was getting pinched. Carrie alone was cheerful and tried to ease the crushing strain when they rested for an hour after the evening meal. The meal was always ready and Jim noted that the bill of fare was better than before. Yet, sometimes when Carrie did not know he was studying her, he thought her figure drooped and her eyes were dull. He said nothing, but he was moved by pity and gratitude.

At length, one day when the wind was fresh and the fire had got ominously close, he made a hard decision. Since he could not keep in front, he would follow the blaze, which would lick up the brush and do some part of his work. The trouble was, he must wait until the conflagration passed and the burned ruin cooled, while wages mounted up and food got short. He said nothing to the others, but when evening came and the tired men struck the tent he indicated a bare rocky slope.

"We'll make the big stones yonder, boys. Keep this side of the juniper scrub."

The men's grim faces relaxed and one laughed. They saw the struggle was over for a time and the boss had made another plan. All had had enough and badly needed rest. Carrie, however, looked at Jim thoughtfully.

"I know you're not giving up, but I don't understand."

Jim smiled. "I may have to give up, but not yet. In the morning the fire will reach the line. We are going to lie off and let it pass."

"Ah," said Carrie, with a hint of relief. "Can we wait?"

"It will cost us something and we can't wait long, but perhaps this won't be needful. Now give me that bundle. The ground is rough."

"I won't," said Carrie, moving back as he tried to take the bundle she had made of some clothes. "You have an ax and a big bag of flour. Would it hurt very much to own that you sometimes get tired?"

Jim laughed but did not answer, and they went up the hill. They pitched camp among the rocks and in the morning Jim climbed the range behind the spot. He did not come back until dusk, but saw no way of bringing the supplies he would soon need across the rugged hills. One could not get up the valley, for looking down from the heights, he could see behind the fire and the ground was strewn with fallen trees. Some would burn for long and the ashes and hot stones would not cool soon, while the rampikes that stood above the ruin would come down when a strong gust shook them. A brulée is dangerous when the wind blows, and sometimes in a calm.

For the next few days the fire raged below the camp, and when Jim ventured down hill he was driven back by heat and smoke. The fire was rolling up the valley, but the wreckage it had left smoldered and now and then broke into flame. Half-burned underbrush suddenly blazed and blackened logs glowed in the wind. There was nothing to be done but use patience, and in the meantime the wages bill was mounting up and food was getting short.

Then, one day, the wind dropped. The distant peaks got hazy, the shining glaciers faded, and the outline of the rocks was blurred. Although the sun was dim, it was very hot, and Jim felt morose and gloomy as he loafed about the camp. There was no use in going down to the line, and he durst not hope for rain. After a few hours the wind might freshen and the sky clear. He had nothing to do and the reaction from the strain he had borne had begun.

"We miss the trout," Carrie remarked, as she cooked supper. "Jake tried to get down to the river but couldn't make it."

"I'm afraid we'll soon miss the flour and salt pork. When they're gone the boys will pull out," said Jim, and then forced a laugh. "Anyhow, if Jake had got down, I doubt if he'd have caught much fish. I don't know a good bait for boiled trout."

"The flour's not gone yet," Carrie rejoined. "We'll hold on while it lasts and it's going farther than you think. Somehow I don't feel as if we'd be beaten."

"We have come near it," said Jim, with rather grim humor. "One gets used to that, and resolution counts when you're fighting a snowslide or a flood; but we're up against another proposition now. It's so to speak, mathematical; nothing coming in and much going out! When we have no stores and money left we must quit."

"I suppose we must, but I'd hate to see you let the job go and would feel mean myself. After all, something may happen before we are forced to quit," Carrie replied, and added with calm confidence: "Something is going to happen."

"You have an optimism that can't be cured," Jim rejoined. "However, I don't know if I'd like it cured."

He knocked out his pipe and began to cut some tobacco, but stopped abruptly and looked up.

"What's that?" he asked as something pattered on the stiff foliage of a juniper.

"Big drops," said Carrie. "I felt a few before."

Jim got up. The light was going and it felt cool, but the sky up the valley was not clouded much; he could not see the other way. Then a few large cold drops fell on his upturned face and next moment there was a quick splashing on the dusty juniper. He drew a deep breath and shook off his languidness.

"It's coming; heavy rain!" he cried. "We'll make good, after all. But let's move the stores."

Carrie laughed happily. "You said I was too practical! Who's practical now? But sometimes you get things mixed; you reckoned not long since I was an optimist."

"I did," Jim admitted. "Practical planning and optimism make a strong combine, and I imagine they are going to carry us through. But let's move the stores."

He called the men, and as they got all that would spoil covered there was a rush of cold wind and the rain beat upon the camp. It rains hard in British Columbia and often rains long. They knew that by morning the rocks would run water and the deluge would quench the smoldering wreckage; it might even quench the fire.

After a day or two Jim moved his camp to the line, and one afternoon when he was working in the rain stopped and straightened his aching back. Fine ash that had turned to mud smeared his wet slickers; his face was thin and gloomy. His money was nearly gone, and although the fire had burned out he did not see how he could finish his contract.

The tangled brush had vanished and wet ashes covered the ground. Half-burned logs lay about, and here and there small trees, leaning at sharp angles with blackened branches locked, held each other up. In places, big charred rampikes stood in rows like colonnades. The nearer rows looked black; farther off they shone in the rain with a curious silver gleam. The fire had helped to clear the ground, but wet men were at work with axes and saws.

By and by Jim looked round. Somebody had shouted and it was not one of his gang. The shout came from some distance off and while he tried to locate the spot a rampike slanted over and broke off. The burned trunk struck the ground with an echoing crash and a cloud of ash rolled up like smoke. There was now a gap in the row and as the ashes blew away Jim saw pack-horses in the opening.

"Who is it?" he asked Jake.

"A Government outfit, I expect. Prospectors don't load up with tents and stores like that."

"If they're Government men, it means somebody from the telegraph department is coming to look at our job."

"Yes," said Jake. "I reckon we'll soon know our luck." He waited for a few moments and added: "It's the boss surveyor."

The surveyor presently joined them and remarked: "As I have business at the new settlement, I thought I'd see how you were getting on."

"We might have got on faster, but we have had trouble all the time," said Jim.

"Looks like that. I examined the work you've done as I came along and on the whole allow it's a pretty good job. However, we'll talk about that later; the boys are tired and I'm glad to make your camp."

The pack-horses were unloaded and when the tents were pitched the surveyor's cook helped Carrie to prepare an unusually good meal. When it was over the party sat outside the surveyor's tent, which had a double top stretched on poles beyond its front. The surveyor studied their faces with understanding, for he knew the wilds and noted signs of strain. He thought all had a fine-drawn look.

"It's obvious that you have been up against it," he remarked. "The big landslide must have made you trouble and no doubt the fire cost you something. Running a camp is expensive when transport's high."

"That is so," Carrie agreed feelingly. "It's curious, but I think the boys eat most when they have nothing to do."

The surveyor gave her a sympathetic smile. "I imagine you don't stint them, if this supper is a good example." He turned to Jim. "You're behind schedule, but if you have no more bad luck, I reckon you ought to finish on time."

Jim said nothing. He doubted if he could finish the job at all, and wondered whether the other suspected his embarrassment. He meant to ask for some payment, but it might be risky to admit that money was urgently needed. Jake gave him a warning glance, although he was silent, and the surveyor looked about and noted much.

Jim's long boots were broken and his slickers were torn, Winter's carelessness was obviously forced, but the surveyor's study of Carrie gave him the plainest hint. Although she was neat, he thought an attractive girl would not, without good grounds, wear clothes that had shrunk and faded and been mended as often as hers.

"Well," he resumed, "I expect you know payment in part is sometimes allowed before a job is finished, but when we made our agreement nothing was stated about this."

"The custom has drawbacks for the people who let the contract," Jake remarked.

"Very true," agreed the surveyor. "Then you don't mean to bother us for money?"

"It would, of course, be useful," Jake admitted in a thoughtful voice. "However, if the office doesn't see its way – "

"You would be satisfied to wait?"

Jim frowned. Jake's pretended indifference was prudent, but he had overdone the thing. While Jim wondered how he could put the matter right Carrie interposed.

"My brother is generally hopeful. In a way, that's good, but sometimes he's rash."

The surveyor's eyes twinkled. "Do you mean he's rash just now?"

"Yes," said Carrie, "I really think I do mean this."

"I didn't know if it was rashness or common bluff."

Jake grinned rather awkwardly and Jim colored, but Carrie fixed her eyes on the surveyor.

"It was all bluff from the beginning. We hadn't the money we needed when we took the contract, and since then we have never had proper tools and help enough."

"In fact, you had nothing much but obstinacy and grit? They sometimes go far in the bush; but I don't know if they'll go far enough to carry you through. Perhaps you had better be frank."

"I generally am frank. Bluffing's dangerous, and my brother didn't know when to stop. Anyhow, unless we get some money soon, I'm afraid we'll go broke."

"Perhaps it's strange, but I rather suspected this," the surveyor rejoined. "Well, I'd like you to put the contract over. You have done good work up-to-date and I'll risk giving you an order on the pay office. If you'll wait while I get a form, I'll do it now."

He went into the tent and Carrie smiled at the others. Jim was conscious of keen relief and a touch of annoyance. Although Carrie had saved the situation, he had let her undertake an awkward task that was properly his. Then the surveyor came back and gave her a document.

"I imagine you are sometimes rash," he remarked. "Didn't you see the line you took was risky?"

"No," said Carrie, smiling; "I wasn't rash at all. I know when I can trust people and didn't think you would let us down. All the same, I knew you wouldn't give us a pay order unless you saw we'd make good. Well, we are going to make good, and now that's done with, we'll talk about something else."

The surveyor laughed and began to talk about his journey, but Jim noted that he gave Carrie an approving glance. Next morning he went on and the others resumed their work with quiet confidence. The financial strain had slackened and they were not afraid of the physical difficulties that must yet be grappled with. Rocks and trees could be moved so long as the men were paid and fed. Still the fight was not over and their courage was tried when they carried the line along the moraine by a shrunken glacier and across a broken range. At length, one evening, Jim took Carrie up a hill and when they reached the top indicated a river that sparkled among the trees below.

"Follow it down and look across the big pines on the flat," he said.

Carrie looked and saw a thin, blue haze floating about the trees.

"Oh!" she cried, "it's smoke."

"The high smear against the rocks is from a mine stack, and I think I see the steam from a sawmill by the river," Jim said quietly. "The line will soon be finished, and you have helped us out."

The color came into Carrie's face and her eyes shone. "Perhaps I have helped some; if I have, I'm glad. Now I'm proud of my family. You have put it over."

"We came near being beaten," Jim replied with some emotion. "I think, if you had not been with us, we would have been beaten."

Carrie gave him a level glance. "It's done with, Jim. I wanted you and Jake to make good, for your sake and mine. You see, if you couldn't have stood for it, I'd have lost confidence in myself."

"I'm not sure I do see," Jim replied, as they started down hill.

"It's good to concentrate, but perhaps you concentrate too much," Carrie resumed by and by. "You see things right in front; you don't look about."

"I suppose I am like that," Jim admitted. "I don't know if it's good or not."

Carrie smiled rather curiously. "We didn't choose our characters; they were given us. I wonder what would have happened had we been different – "

She stopped as they climbed across a fallen tree and said nothing more until they reached the camp.

CHAPTER XIV
THE RECKONING

When the line reached the settlement Jim and his party returned to Vancouver. Shortly after their arrival Martin came to see them.

"I've been in town some time, and seeing a notice in the Colonist that you had finished the job, thought I'd like to tell you I was glad," he said.

Carrie thanked him and by and by he asked: "Have you had a fresh offer from Baumstein for your copper claim?"

Jim said they had not and Martin smiled. "I reckon the offer will arrive, and now he knows you have got your pay he'll put up his price."

"If it does arrive, we won't reply," said Carrie, firmly.

"I don't know if that's a good plan," Martin remarked. "Baumstein will offer about half as much as he's willing to give, but I'd take hold and negotiate until I thought he'd reached his limit. It will be under what the claim is worth. Then I'd go along and try the Combine."

"Would they buy?" Jim asked.

"Go and see. Although Baumstein's pretty smart, he doesn't know they're quietly investing in Northern copper; I do. There's another thing; if you have got specimens, send some for assay to a different man."

Jim pondered. The analysis of the ore was not as good as he had expected and the miner who had examined the specimens at his camp agreed. For all that, assayers were generally honest and skillful.

"What's the matter with the man I went to?" he asked.

"He's sometimes soused and you can't trust a tanker. Then he's extravagant."

"Ah," said Jim. "Is that all?"

Martin gave him a dry smile. "I happen to know Baumstein lent him money. It's possible he meant to get value for a risky loan."

The others said nothing, but they saw the significance of the hint and Jim's face got stern.

"There's something else," Martin resumed. "Davies has left me and gone back to Baumstein."

"Gone back?" Jake exclaimed.

"Sure," said Martin, quietly. "I didn't know he'd worked for the fellow when I hired him. Now I've a notion he's been Baumstein's man, not mine, all the time."

Jim clenched his fist and Carrie's eyes sparkled. "We're up against a poisonous crook," she said, and looked at Jim. "You see why he made us trouble? He wanted to break us, so we'd sell him the Bluebird cheap."

"It's pretty plain. All the same, I don't see what I ought to do about it. Martin's plan doesn't quite meet the bill: I'd sooner try something a little more vigorous."

Carrie shook her head. "You mustn't be a fool! The best way to play that kind of man is to use him. When he finds out it will hurt most."

Jim hesitated. He remembered the blow they had got at the beginning of the struggle and all that Carrie had borne. Baumstein's plot had drained their resources and made her suffer.

"Martin's plan is best; you must agree," she urged.

"Very well," said Jim. "Jake can see the fellow and begin the negotiations; I'll come in afterwards. Jake's something of a philosopher, but I'd probably spoil the plot if I met Baumstein before I cool."

Martin gave them some useful advice and then went away, and a few days afterwards Baumstein sent a message. Jake played his part well; indulging the other's pretended indifference and arguing for better terms. Sometimes he seemed on the point of yielding, and then on his next visit found grounds for delay. At length, when Baumstein was getting impatient, Jake took Jim to the office.

Baumstein occupied a revolving chair in front of a fine hard wood desk, and gave the others a sharp glance as they came in. The office was very well furnished and Baumstein wore fashionable clothes. There was a fine diamond in his ring. This annoyed Jim, who knew that while hard-bitten prospectors braved the risks of starvation on the snowy trail, greedy company-floaters often got the reward.

"I hope you have come to clinch the deal," Baumstein remarked. "I've met your partner as far as I can, but the bargaining has gone on long enough."

"Then you can't raise your price?" Jim asked.

Baumstein studied him. Winter had been compliant and apparently anxious to sell, but there was something puzzling about his partner. Baumstein got a hint of sternness that he did not like. For all that, bluff paid when one dealt with poor men.

"No," he replied, dryly. "Your partner has raised me to my limit and I've got to stop. You can agree right now or quit."

"Oh, well," said Jim. "If you have gone as far as you are able – . May I use your telephone?"

"Certainly," said Baumstein, and when Jim, picking up the instrument on the desk, called the exchange, suddenly straightened himself. He knew the number for which Jim asked.

"Winter and Dearham," said the latter. "Mr. Lamson? All right; I'll come along and fix things. We'll record the transfer when you like."

Baumstein swung round his chair and his face got red.

"What's that you told Lamson? What does it mean?"

"It means I've sold the Bluebird claim."

"Then, you have been negotiating with the Combine all the time? Why in thunder did you come to me?"

"For one thing, we wanted to find out how much you would bid. It would be safe to ask another party more than you would give. We didn't know how much we ought to get."

Baumstein clenched his fist. "You used me for a base to bluff from; reckoning you'd fall back on me if you couldn't put it over?"

"No," said Jim. "We didn't mean to deal with you at all. You helped us get a proper price; that was your job."

They looked at one another, with mouths set hard, and then Baumstein broke out: "You swine!"

"Stop there," said Jim, with ominous quietness. "I'm back from using the ax in the bush and feel very fit. To put you out of your office would give me the keenest satisfaction and would be cheaper than getting after you through the court."

"Shucks!" exclaimed Baumstein. "What are you giving me?"

"I reckon you know. You put Davies on our track; he broke the line, and sent a log down on our canoes. He's smart and both plots worked before we found him out. But we did find him out."

Baumstein hesitated, wondering how much was supposition and how much Jim really knew.

"You'll be blamed foolish if you go to law with a tale like that."

"We don't propose to bother, because I think we're even. You helped us sell our claim and the Combine know what you were willing to pay. We raised them some; one could take it for granted you wouldn't reach just value."

"You told them what I offered?" Baumstein shouted.

"We did," Jim said, smiling. "I expect they got a useful hint. In fact, if you want to control Northern copper, you had better get busy. It looks as if the Combine were on your track." He paused and beckoned Jake. "Well, perhaps there's enough said. We mustn't keep you."

They went off and left Baumstein sitting very still with his fist clenched.

A few days afterwards, Jim and Jake waited for Carrie one evening on the veranda at the store. Mrs. Winter had refused to sell the business, but Jake had engaged extra help and they had arranged for a long holiday. The store, standing back from the rough board sidewalk, was small and shabby; the street was torn by transfer-wagon wheels. A Chinese laundry and a pool-room occupied the other side. Sawmill refuse and empty coal-oil cans had been dumped in a neighboring vacant lot. Mean frame houses ran on from the store, some surrounded by a narrow yard, and some with verandas covered by mosquito gauze so that they looked like meat-safes. The neighborhood was strangely unattractive, but one could see the sparkling Inlet and the dark forest that rolled back to the shining snow.

Jim, sitting in an old rocking-chair, was quietly satisfied. After taking Mrs. Winter and Carrie to lunch at a smart hotel, he had loafed about the city without feeling bored. It was nice to know he had nothing to do and had money to spend. In fact, he had relished a novel enjoyment when he visited some shops and bought presents for his hosts without thinking what they cost. Now he languidly looked back on the years that had gone so quickly since his parents died. They were strenuous years, marked by hardship, toil, and adventure, for Jim had not known monotonous quietness. Even when he studied at McGill, he had worked between the terms in order to pay the fees. Afterwards, finding no field for such talent as he had, he had sold his labor where he could. He had seen much and learned much, but he was young and had a curious feeling that there were fresh experiences in store. By and by he banished the memories and looked at Jake.

"I smile when I think about the time I hit Martin's camp, pretty hungry and ragged, and got after him about his sending Davies on our track," he said.

Jake laughed. "After all, I guess you took a useful line. Made him feel he'd got to show us he wasn't a crook."

"Why did he want to show us? What we thought wouldn't matter a hill of beans."

"The fellow's white," Jake replied.

"Martin is white," Jim agreed, looking at Jake rather hard. "We were getting pretty near the rocks when he gave us a lift."

Jake nodded. When their money was very low after the fire, Martin had suggested an arrangement that had worked for the benefit of all. Jake hoped his comrade would be satisfied with his vague assent, but doubted.

"Why did he help?" Jim resumed. "The profit he got wasn't worth his bothering about."

"If you mean to know, I reckon he thought Carrie would like it."

"Ah," said Jim, frowning, "I suspected something like this! Well, we owe Martin much, but I'd sooner not think we let him give us a lift for your sister's sake. You ought to have refused."

"I didn't know. The thing's got obvious since."

"But you know now?"

"Yes," said Jake, "my notion is, Carrie could marry him when she liked."

"Do you think she sees it?"

Jake smiled. "Carrie's not a fool. If you and I see it, the thing is pretty plain. All the same, I imagine she is quietly freezing him off."

Jim was conscious of a rather puzzling satisfaction. "Martin's a good sort and he's rich; but there's no reason Carrie should take the first good man who comes along," he said. "She ought to get the very best. However, it's not my business and I don't know if it's yours."

"It's Carrie's," said Jake, rather dryly. "She's generally able to manage her affairs. In fact, I allow she was successful when she managed ours – "

He stopped, for the door opened and Carrie came out. She held a newspaper and looked excited.

"You had better read this advertisement, Jim," she said.

Jim saw the newspaper was printed at Montreal two years before. He glanced at the place Carrie indicated, started, and then looked straight in front.

"How did you get the thing?" he asked after a moment or two.

"Mother bought some old paper for packing. She took this piece just now to light the stove and saw the notice. But are you the man they want?"

"Yes," said Jim, quietly. "Franklin Dearham was my father."

Jake picked up the newspaper and they were silent for a few moments. Then Carrie asked: "What are you going to do about it?"

"To begin with, I'll write to the lawyers at Montreal," said Jim, who knitted his brows. "After that I don't know. The advertisement is cautious, but it looks as if Joseph Dearham was dead. I don't think my father expected to inherit his property. It's puzzling."

"Was Joseph Dearham rich?" Jake asked.

"He had some land and money and the old house at Langrigg. I've often thought about Langrigg, but I'd sooner the lawyers had left me alone."

"Why?"

"I've been happy in Canada. I've friends I trust, I'm making good, and don't want to be disturbed."

Carrie gave him a quick glance, but he went on: "Then we meant to take a holiday, and it looks as if I might be wanted in the Old Country."

"If you go, they may keep you."

"I feel I have got to go, although I don't like it," Jim replied with a puzzled look. "Something pulls and I resist. However, come along. We're going to the park."

They set off and Jim tried to talk. Carrie helped him and for a time they laughed and joked, but the jokes got flat and all were rather quiet when they went home. They felt a disturbing change was coming; things would not be the same. Next morning Jim wrote to the lawyers, who asked him to meet a member of the firm at Winnipeg. He grumbled and hesitated, but went and did not return for some time. On the evening after his arrival he and the others sat talking in a little room behind the store.

The room was cheaply furnished. The rough black pipe from the basement stove went up the middle and a threadbare rug covered half the floor. Mrs. Winter, looking worn and faded, occupied a rocking-chair. She was better dressed than when Jim first came to the house and he thought the rather expensive material had been chosen with taste. The quiet woman had a touch of dignity, although she wore the stamp of toil. Carrie, sitting opposite, had been occupied in the store all day and had refused to change her working clothes. Since Jim's return was something of an event, Mrs. Winter was puzzled by her obstinacy.

"I'm glad to be back," Jim remarked. "Winnipeg is a fine city, but I feel Vancouver's home."

Mrs. Winter smiled, but the look Carrie gave Jim was half ironical.

"You are glad to get back here? After stopping at a big hotel!"

"I am glad. The hotel was crowded and never quiet. They had noisy electric elevators that went up and down all night, and it wasn't much better when I dined at smart restaurants. Thought I'd find this amusing, but I didn't. Had to push for a place at the tables and the waiters were slow. I felt I wanted to hustle round with the plates."

"Sometimes you're rather clever, Jim," Carrie said, meaningly. "But I expect you liked the cooking."

"It was tolerable, but no food I've got was half as good as the trout and bannocks we picked out of the hot spider in a valley of the North. Then there's no drink as refreshing as the tea with the taste of wood smoke I drank from a blackened can."