HANS GETS HUNGRY.
“There she goes!”
A great shout went up from the shore.
“He’s a goner!”
The jam had broken with startling suddenness, amazing everyone,
unless it was Frank Merriwell. At first it seemed that Merry had
been overwhelmed by the rush of logs, which suddenly came tumbling
over each other, some great trees turning end over end.
And then----
“There he is!” screamed Diamond, unable to keep cool any longer.
In the midst of the rushing swirl of timbers, a form was seen
leaping from log to log and making for the shore.
“He’ll never get ashore!”
It looked as if Frank was doomed, for the whole mass of logs had
seemed to start at the same instant. The sound of the timbers
grinding and crashing together was frightful.
Once a great tree whirled in the air and seemed to strike straight
at Merriwell with its huge butt end such a blow as must have
blotted him out of existence in a moment had he been hit.
But Frank leaped just in time, and he was not touched.
Two or three of the drivers started to cheer, but the shout died
on their lips, for the peril of the daring lad was so great that it
took away their breath.
For a moment the water seemed to break a channel through the logs
between Frank and the shore.
“He’s cut off!” gasped Forest, in horror.
Then the great mass closed in again, and where the channel had been
a second before Frank Merriwell was seen running over the timbers.
This sight brought a genuine cheer from the river men, who admired
courage and nerve.
Mike Sullivan and Levi Pombere did not cheer. The Canadian muttered
something in French, and the foreman swore under his breath.
“He be keeled yet!” hissed Pombere, getting close to Sullivan.
“He will unless the devil helps him!” grated Sullivan. “It’s ther
derndest luck that he’s kept up so fur!”
Those two men longed to see the brave lad go down amid the swirling
timbers.
Still Merry came on, not even seeming to be in the least bewildered
by the peril of his situation.
“He’ll make it!”
“Good boy!”
“Well done!”
“Hurrah! hurrah!”
The men began to shout encouragement now, for Frank was getting
near the shore. They ran down the bank, for the moving jam had
carried Merriwell with the current.
Bart Hodge was in advance. He ran to the very edge of the jam,
and, as Frank bounded forward, caught hold of him and drew him
ashore. Then Hodge grasped Merry’s hand and wrung it in a manner
that told how overjoyed and thankful he was, although his lips were
unable to utter a word.
Diamond was next, and, in his impetuous manner, he actually
embraced Merriwell.
“We thought you were gone!” said the Virginian, his voice shaking.
“Yaw,” spluttered Hans, wildly, “you thought I vos gone dot time,
didn’t id?”
“Merriwell,” said Forest, his voice also showing deep emotion,
“that was a wonderful trick, but I wouldn’t let you try it again
for ten thousand dollars right in hand! My God! I thought you could
not escape!”
The refined Harvard man was not in the habit of using such vehement
language, but it was pardonable under the circumstances.
Following Merriwell’s friends, the river drivers came up to shake
hands with the lad who had cracked the jam. They praised him and
declared it was a great feat. One veteran of the river told Frank
he was a natural river driver.
Of the entire crew, Sullivan and Pombere were the only men to hold
aloof. They stood at one side, seeming busy talking together in low
tones.
Sullivan was gray with anger and chagrin, but he dared not show it,
and was urging the Canadian to keep quiet.
“Wait,” said the villainous foreman, “he beat me on the bet, but
he’ll never live to collect his winnin’s!”
“What you do?” hissed Pombere. “You put ze knife een heem?”
“No, you fool! I’m not going to take such a chance of spending the
rest of my days in Thomaston prison. But I’ll find er way ter fix
ther critter!”
“How?”
“I don’t know yit. Wait.”
“I like to steek him wiz ze knife!” softly snarled the vicious
Canadian.
“If ye do, you’ll git life fer it. Don’t be a chump!”
Then Sullivan turned and came toward Frank, saying sourly:
“Well, you beat me, though it was a big streak of luck fer you. You
shell have my wages when I’m paid off.”
“I don’t want your wages, man,” said Merriwell, quietly, “and I
will not touch them. I had to break that jam, or squeal--and I
broke it. That’s all. Keep your wages, and forget we made such a
bet.”
This generosity brought murmurs of approbation from the men, but,
for some moments, Sullivan was silent, his face flushed.
“You won ther bet,” he muttered.
“Neither of us put up anything,” smiled Frank. “If you will forget
such a bet was made, you may be sure I shall not remind you of it.”
“But that means you’ll take ther money if I offer it ter ye?”
“It means nothing of the kind. I will not touch it under any
circumstances.”
“Thankee,” said Sullivan, and turned away.
The men now went to work fending the logs off from the shore, and
the whole of them went through the rapids in a hurry.
Nightfall was not far away, but the delay at the jam had prevented
the men from reaching a camp further down the river, where they had
expected to spend the night.
Sullivan consulted with Forest about a stopping place, and word
was sent up for the raft to be started and sent through the rapids
before dark, if possible.
Frank and his friends were eager to shoot the rapids on the raft,
and so they made all haste to meet it some distance up the river.
They did so, and were taken on board in the wangan boat.
The raft had been cut in two before they were taken on, and it went
through the rapids in two sections, being kept in the deep water
near the western shore.
It was sport to shoot the rapids, but it was not quite so exciting
as the breaking of the jam.
Away below the falls the raft was brought together again, and then
was tied up at a favorable place.
The cook built a rousing fire on shore and set to work making
coffee and getting supper ready, while the tired men came
straggling in one by one.
Hans Dunnerwust was hungry.
“I veel like I vos all gone avay mit der insides uf me,” he
declared. “You never velt so empty, all my life in. Yaw. I pelief
a raw tog could eat me.”
Among the stuff brought in to the temporary camp was a box
containing some long brown-colored cylinders. Hans went nosing
around the box and saw the cylinders.
“I vonder vot dot could peen,” he speculated. “Id looks goot. I
don’d pelief I vould hurt id uf id should eat me.”
He took one of the cylinders in his hand and examined it still more
closely.
“Shimminy Gristmas!” he speculated. “I pet you your life I could
eat dot whole lot mitoudt a sdruggle. Yaw. I vonder uf dot peen
petter uf id vos poiled, roasted, ur fried?”
The cook was busy a little distance from the fire, upon the coals
of which, raked out for the purpose, the great coffee pots were
steaming.
Hans took out his knife and cut off some slices from the cylinders.
“I pelief id vill roast me pefore you eat id,” he murmured.
Then he found a stick and split it so it would hold one of the
slices. A few seconds later, the Dutch boy was calmly toasting it
over the coals.
“I pet nopody don’d ged ahead uf me britty soon alretty,” he
chuckled. “I vill half a lunch pefore der rest.”
Just then Fred Forest came up and saw what Hans was doing.
“Here! Stop that!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”
“Shust vanning oop a liddle lunch vor myseluf,” calmly answered the
Dutch boy, giving the slice a turn.
“Great Scott!” cried the young lumberman. “You can’t eat that.”
“Vot vos der madder mit dot?”
“It’s dynamite!”
“Tynamite?”
“Yes, and you will be scattered all over the State of Maine in less
than a minute if you don’t stop it!”
“Py Chorch!” gasped Hans, turning pale.
Then he dropped the slice into the fire!
“Run!” yelled Forest.
Hans did so, and there was a general scramble to get away from that
fire. Before they had gone twenty rods the burning logs leaped into
the air with a sharp explosion, after which it rained splintered
wood and cinders for five minutes.
Hans was thrown down by the shock of the explosion, and he sat on
the ground staring toward the spot where the fire had been. When he
could command his voice, he gurgled:
“Uf dot don’d peat der pand! I thought dot vos some kindt uf polona
sausage!”