The Day Guy Montreaux Died, Part Ii

...A big log bounced from way up top, and before Guy could react It struck his square across the chest, up rose a sickening crack. We sprinted quickly to our friend, who lay helpless in the snow, he struggled to draw a ragged breath, ribs crushed from the blow. I bent low besides my friend, saw the haze come to his eyes, the last words that he said, in French: “Please…don’t let me die…” But there was nothing to be done, the damage was far too vast, so we gathered round, stayed with Guy, and in a few minutes he passed. We stood there in stunned silence then up came a painful yell, the teamster dropped down to his knees, clearly blaming himself. But he was not at fault for it, and a horse cannot be blamed, so we picked Guy up and headed back amidst a drizzly, freezing rain. Back at camp we hacked away at the hard and frozen ground, we dug a pit just big enough and laid our poor friend down. A sky-pilot came out with a bible, and he spoke his holy words, we buried Guy and set up a cross, into it his name we burned. There was no more logging that day, most just tried to hold back tears, the company had not lost a man going on back thirteen years. And I stayed up too late that night, troubled, unable to sleep, wondering if I should even bother to ask the Lord my soul to keep. But sorrow will not turn back time, nor will angry, vengeful moods, so I had a drink and passed right out, it would do no good to brood. And the next morning we ate breakfast, told the bull-cook he’d done good, then grabbed our axes, our crosscut saws, and headed back into the woods.