Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 309: Chapter 11 Beast-hunting Team_3

When Winters first learned that there was a timber camp in Wolf Town, he thought it was a small-scale lumber mill with a dozen workers.

It wasn’t until he arrived at the timber camp that Winters realized it was a large lumbering team with a hundred people, not much different from the population of a small village.

The logging team’s campsite delved deep into the forest, away from human settlements, practically a meal laid out for wild beasts. The foreman had heard about the wolf plague and had long since run back to the county seat, leaving only a few supervisors behind to maintain order.

Furthermore, the living conditions of the loggers were unimaginably crowded and harsh. Winters didn’t know where the foreman had found workers willing to toil in such a place.

“I reckon that bear will come again,” Winters discussed with Gerard, “These loggers are all able-bodied; can we enlist them in the militia?”

“I’m afraid not, they’re not residents of Wolf Town, just hired to chop trees,” Gerard said with a wry smile, “Once they’ve cut down these few hundred acres of forest, they’ll be gone. The wolf disaster doesn’t concern them, and we don’t have jurisdiction over them. Even if we asked them to join the militia, the merchants who purchased the logging rights wouldn’t agree, and the workers themselves wouldn’t accept it either.”

“Weren’t the logging rights sold by you?”

“No, they were bought from the county. This forest, this land, this river—all belong to the county.”

“I’ll give it a try and see if I can persuade them.”

The negotiation with the logging team failed completely, as Gerard had said. The foremen claimed that without the manager there, they didn’t dare to make decisions, and none of the loggers responded to the call to join the bear-hunting team.

A foreman sought out Winters in private to explain, “My lord, these workers lead a very harsh life. Most of them are Protestants and have not been spared disdain by the villagers. The few Catholics that attend mass in town on weekends even have the Dusans making trouble for them. They would not risk their lives to help the people of Wolf Town catch a bear.”

“Those few villages are outside the forest; your logging team is inside. Wouldn’t that bear, when hungry, come for you first?” Winters was somewhat displeased.

“I understand this, but the workers don’t!” the foreman said helplessly. “In their eyes, with over a hundred people here, it’s far safer than the villages outside.”

The idea of recruiting the loggers into the bear-hunting team had failed, but at least now Winters knew that the dangerous beast was a bear, a very large one.

Immediately upon returning to town from the logging site, Lieutenant Montaigne organized a bear-hunting team, borrowing more heavy muskets and hunting dogs from Blackwater Town.

The main members of the bear-hunting team were Dusack from Dusa Village. The Dusans had warhorses, weapons, and a great grudge against the bear. Neither Nanxin Village nor Beixin Village sent a single person to join the bear-hunting team.

In response, the bear-hunters from Dusa Village flatly refused to patrol and search the forests near the Protestant villages.

Lieutenant Montaigne was powerless in this situation; the militia were not soldiers, and he had no authority over them. His command over everyone relied on trust and respect.

Winters could only have Hunter patrol the forests near Nan and Beixin Villages more frequently.

In the following three days, Winters led the bear-hunting team to comb the forests near Wolf Town, but to no avail.

They didn’t find the giant bear, but the old mendicant friar came knocking on the third night.

“Speak quickly, if you please,” Winters, tired and weary from trekking through the deep mountains and forests all day, had no patience for idle chatter with the old charlatan, “Otherwise, I need to rest.”@@novelbin@@

“Don’t hurry, Lieutenant. I’m here to help you,” said the old man, beaming, “I’ve observed you for several days. In terms of fighting, ten of me wouldn’t match you. But there’s one thing a hundred of you wouldn’t match me in.”

“What’s that?” Winters asked with a cold laugh as he took off his boots.

The mendicant monk pulled over Winters’ chair, settled himself with dignity, and uttered a single word gravely:

“Politics.”

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