HANS TURNS RIVER DRIVER.
It was afternoon before the lads joined the drive below the falls.
The raft had been partly broken up in running through, but it was
soon restored again.
Some of the men had shot the falls on the timber, and it was
exciting sport to watch them.
Hans Dunnerwust was delighted.
“Dot peen petter than blaying pall!” he cried. “Dot vos shust as
easy as nefer vas! You could done dot myseluf!”
“Do you think you could ride through there on those logs?” asked
Merriwell.
“It vas a kinch!” declared the Dutch lad. “I vos goin’ to peen a
rifer trifer, und dose logs vill haf lots uf fun ridin’ me down der
streams. Yaw!”
The wangan boat, used by the cook and cookee in distributing food
to the drivers, was put into service in setting the boys on board
the raft, which was a great floating mass of timber, securely bound
together, with three little cribs, or huts, on it. The cook’s
outfit had been taken ashore and carried round the falls, but was
brought on board the raft again in quiet water below.
When at last they were floating down the river on the great raft,
the boys set about taking life easy and enjoying themselves as they
might.
There were many strange sights to see. Along the shore men were
fending off loose logs with pick poles. Occasionally a driver
mounted a log, standing upon it as if his feet were planted on the
solid earth, keeping his balance when it rolled by walking against
the motion, and sailed away down the river as unconcerned as if he
were on the deck of a four-masted schooner.
It was this sort of a spectacle that excited Hans Dunnerwust. The
drivers did the trick so easily and gracefully that the Dutch boy
began to feel certain it was not much of a job.
“Uf I don’t peen a rifer trifer pefore this trip is done mit me you
vos a liar!” he cried. “I pet any vun uf dose logs can ride me!”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” grunted Bruce Browning, who was stretched on
some hemlock boughs, making himself comfortable beneath the shade
of a canvas awning. “That’s what I’d imagine would happen.”
“Hey?” squawked the Dutch boy. “Vot do I mean ven you said dot? You
vill show me if I can’t ride britty queek.”
No one paid much attention to him then, but about an hour later,
there was a sudden cry of astonishment, and Hodge jumped up,
pointing and shouting.
“Look there! The chump will be drowned!”
All looked in the direction indicated, and they were amazed to see
Hans, with a pick pole in his hands, pushing off from the raft on
a log that had floated up against it.
The fat Dutch lad was balancing himself on the log with some
difficulty, but it was plain he had resolved to ride a log, for he
did not hesitate about leaving the raft.
Frank started to shout to him, but suddenly realized that it might
attract Hans’ attention and cause him to lose his balance, so he
refrained.
“He’ll be in the water in a minute,” said Merriwell. “We must get
into the wangan and pick him up.”
Then Frank, Jack and Bart hurried to man the boat and shove off.
As the boat was on the wrong side of the raft, they used every
exertion.
The success of the Dutch boy at the start intoxicated him.
“Who toldt you I vasn’t a rifer trifer!” he crowed to himself.
“Dhis log can ride me! Yaw! Py Chorch! id peen more short than
dodchin’ pullets, as dot fellers uster said. Dhis log veels shust
like id couldt dance on me.”
And then he tried to cut a pigeon’s wing, or something of the sort,
and, like a flash of lightning, the log shot out from under him,
letting him disappear into the water with a “plump.”
When he came up he gave a howl and grabbed at the log, but it
promptly-soiled over, and under he went again.
Again he came up.
“Hel-lup!” he squawked, gurglingly, again grabbing at the log.
This time he caught hold, and he howled:
“I vill gif somepody a sellever tollar to bull der varter out uf
me perfore I drowndt id! No rifer trifer vos efer cut oudt vor me!
Hel-lup! Come kvick und---- Ow--ugh--gug--guggle--gug!”
Again his hold slipped from the log, and he took in enough water
to make him think the river must have lowered at least a foot. He
made another frantic scramble to get out, caught hold of the log,
and tried to climb upon it. Every time he attempted to get upon the
log it rolled over and soused him under again.
“Vot vos der madder mit dot logs?” he spluttered.
“Efry dime id tries to got onto me I act so pad id----
Uggle--guggle--gug--guggle! Shimminy Gristmas! I von’t van a trink
of vater again a year vor! I must haf more as sefendeen hundret
hogsheadts der inside uf me on alretty!”
Once he succeeded in getting upon the log, but it rolled over
immediately, pitching him off on the other side. When he grabbed it
again, he spurted water like a whale coming up to spout.
“Dalk apoudt your pucking bronchos!” he gasped. “Vale, they nefer
peen in id a minute mit a log. I hat sooner ride der pest proncho
Puffalo Peel’s Vild Vest shows in than tried to ride dhis log. Uf I
don’t keep sdill, I vill drowndt dot log pefore long. Oxcuse me uf
I don’d viggle so much.”
Then another log, carried by an eddy of the current, swung round
and butted Hans from his hold once more.
When he came up this time he was growing weak, and he found it
difficult to reach the log.
“Id pegins to look britty pad vor Hans,” he muttered. “Uf somepody
don’d hurry up you vos a goner.”
Then the three boys came round the rear end of the raft, and
Merriwell shouted for him to hold fast.
“Dot vos a plamed easy thing vor you to said!” snorted Hans, in
disgust; “but I pet you nefer dried a log to ride der whole uf my
life in.”
However, he kept still till the boys reached him, and then he let
go of the log and grabbed at the boat, coming very near tipping the
trio into the river.
“Keep still!” ordered Frank, sternly. “If you don’t, you will drown
us all! Wait till we can take you in over the stern.”
“Dot vos all righd!” muttered the Dutch boy, weakly. “I peen aple
to done dot a liddle vile ago, und now I velt like I haf vet dis
vater all over me enough alretty.”
After much trouble, Merriwell succeeded in getting the dripping
Dutch boy into the boat.
“There,” said Hodge, “I don’t believe you will try to play river
driver again.”
“Uf I do, you vos a pigger vool than I think!” was the emphatic
retort.