Love in a lumber camp is as full of romance as love in a king’s court;
for wherever love sets up her throne the world must bow down and
recognize the Queen of Hearts. Jack Cleveland had been Rhoda Carson’s
accepted lover ever since she came to be cook’s assistant in the big camp
run by Reuben Harris, and this was her second winter in the camp. They
expected to get married when they went back to civilization in the spring.
In January Walter Jackson, of Maine, came to work on the job, and Rhoda
was fairly hypnotized by his manly beauty and robust health. Before the
first week was out Jack saw how things were going, but still hoped Rhoda
would get over her infatuation and come back to her old love. But Rhoda
quarreled with Jack deliberately and after due meditation. She even
insinuated that she would be happier if he left the job.
Poor Jack was awfully broken up over the affair, and would have gone away
with his broken heart, but he was foreman and couldn’t leave his employer
until after the drive was out of the creek. For two months previous to
the spring flood Rhoda did not speak to Jack, but spent a great many
Sundays playing checkers with Walter in the big dining room, and her
merry laughter went straight to poor Jack’s heart. He had given her up,
but his love for her was greater than ever before.
The day the flood came, and they were starting the big jams of logs far
up the creek, Rhoda stood on the high bank near the camp to watch the
logs sluice through the narrow channel; for at this point the creek cut
through a rise of ground, with banks of red clay on both sides rising as
much as twelve feet above the water. It was very exciting to watch the
great logs dart through this narrow channel and pitch over the falls 200
feet further down the stream.
While she watched, a great mass of logs came sweeping down the stream and
jammed at the head of the narrow channel. Other logs piled up against
the jam. Then the men came and boldly walked out on the tumbled jam and
tried to pry it loose with their cant hooks. All at once the great jam
started, and the men ran back over the logs to a low place in the bank
and came ashore. No, not all the men came ashore, for Walter Jackson made
a mis-step and fell with one leg pinned between two logs.
It was lucky for Walter that the jam stopped before reaching the falls,
for he was unable to extricate himself, and would surely have gone over
and lost his life. Even now he must have assistance before the jam
started again, which was sure to occur, for the water was rising so fast
behind the logs that it must surely break loose in a few minutes. The
danger was so great that none of the men would venture on the jam again,
and Walter was given up by those who stood helplessly on the bank and
waited for the end.
At this moment Jack Cleveland came upon the scene and saw his rival lying
helplessly out on the logs. Did a gleam of triumph flash through his
heart? No one will ever know, for Rhoda came up to him and shouted in his
ear: “Can you save him, Jack?” Ah, did he catch a gleam of the old time
love in her blue eyes? And was it this that urged him on?
Taking a cant hook from one of the men, he leaped down upon the creaking
and surging logs and carefully walked down to where Walter lay. With a
strong pry on the log that pinned his rival fast, he parted the logs,
then took hold of the prostrate man and lifted him to his feet. But his
leg was injured so badly that Walter could not walk. Dropping his cant
hook, Jack picked Walter up and staggered with his heavy load toward the
bank. The men reached down and took Walter by the arms and were lifting
him to safety when the great jam started. They saved Walter, but Jack was
moving on with the logs!
Rhoda saw his danger and ran a few rods further down the stream, threw
herself on the ground and reached far down to give Jack her hands. In
his desperation he lay hold of them with a firm grasp and Rhoda braced
herself for a mighty pull. But she was now too far over the bank to gain
her poise again, and, with a scream that sounded above the roar of the
water, she pitched down upon the head of her jilted lover, and together
they went over the falls. He was holding her in his arms when they went
over, and then the terrible jam of logs dashed down upon them, while the
horrified men on the bank looked helplessly into each other’s eyes and
groaned with mental pain.
In the village graveyard there are two stones standing side by side,
where an old woodsman, now bent with age, visits every spring and places
a bunch of flowers between the two. It is Walter Jackson. When he goes
away the curious people go to the spot and read the card attached to the
flowers: “Jack and Rhoda—They died for me. Even the gods could do no
greater thing.”