Wallace Carpenter's search expedition had proved a failure, as Thorpe
had foreseen, but at the end of the week, when the water began to
recede, the little beagles ran upon a mass of flesh and bones. The man
was unrecognizable, either as an individual or as a human being. The
remains were wrapped in canvas and sent for interment in the cemetery at
Marquette. Three of the others were never found. The last did not come
to light until after the drive had quite finished.
Down at the booms the jam crew received the drive as fast as it came
down. From one crib to another across the broad extent of the river's
mouth, heavy booms were chained end to end effectually to close the exit
to Lake Superior. Against these the logs caromed softly in the slackened
current, and stopped. The cribs were very heavy with slanting, instead
of square, tops, in order that the pressure might be downwards instead
of sidewise. This guaranteed their permanency. In a short time the
surface of the lagoon was covered by a brown carpet of logs running
in strange patterns like windrows of fallen grain. Finally, across the
straight middle distance of the river, appeared little agitated specks
leaping back and forth. Thus the rear came in sight and the drive was
all but over.
Up till now the weather had been clear but oppressively hot for this
time of year. The heat had come suddenly and maintained itself well. It
had searched out with fierce directness all the patches of snow lying
under the thick firs and balsams of the swamp edge, it had shaken loose
the anchor ice of the marsh bottoms, and so had materially aided the
success of the drive by increase of water. The men had worked for the
most part in undershirts. They were as much in the water as out of it,
for the icy bath had become almost grateful. Hamilton, the journalist,
who had attached himself definitely to the drive, distributed bunches of
papers, in which the men read that the unseasonable condition prevailed
all over the country.
At length, however, it gave signs of breaking. The sky, which had
been of a steel blue, harbored great piled thunder-heads. Occasionally
athwart the heat shot a streak of cold air. Towards evening the
thunder-heads shifted and finally dissipated, to be sure, but the
portent was there.
Hamilton's papers began to tell of disturbances in the South and West. A
washout in Arkansas derailed a train; a cloud-burst in Texas wiped out
a camp; the cities along the Ohio River were enjoying their annual flood
with the usual concomitants of floating houses and boats in the streets.
The men wished they had some of that water here.
So finally the drive approached its end and all concerned began in
anticipation to taste the weariness that awaited them. They had hurried
their powers. The few remaining tasks still confronting them, all at
once seemed more formidable than what they had accomplished. They could
not contemplate further exertion. The work for the first time became
dogged, distasteful. Even Thorpe was infected. He, too, wanted more
than anything else to drop on the bed in Mrs. Hathaway's boarding house,
there to sponge from his mind all colors but the dead gray of rest.
There remained but a few things to do. A mile of sacking would carry the
drive beyond the influence of freshet water. After that there would be
no hurry.
He looked around at the hard, fatigue-worn faces of the men about him,
and in the obsession of his wearied mood he suddenly felt a great rush
of affection for these comrades who had so unreservedly spent themselves
for his affair. Their features showed exhaustion, it is true, but their
eyes gleamed still with the steady half-humorous purpose of the pioneer.
When they caught his glance they grinned good-humoredly.
All at once Thorpe turned and started for the bank.
“That'll do, boys,” he said quietly to the nearest group. “She's down!”
It was noon. The sackers looked up in surprise. Behind them, to their
very feet, rushed the soft smooth slope of Hemlock Rapids. Below
them flowed a broad, peaceful river. The drive had passed its last
obstruction. To all intents and purposes it was over.
Calmly, with matter-of-fact directness, as though they had not achieved
the impossible; as though they, a handful, had not cheated nature and
powerful enemies, they shouldered their peaveys and struck into the
broad wagon road. In the middle distance loomed the tall stacks of the
mill with the little board town about it. Across the eye spun the thread
of the railroad. Far away gleamed the broad expanses of Lake Superior.
The cook had, early that morning, moored the wanigan to the bank. One
of the teamsters from town had loaded the men's “turkeys” on his heavy
wagon. The wanigan's crew had thereupon trudged into town.
The men paired off naturally and fell into a dragging, dogged walk.
Thorpe found himself unexpectedly with Big Junko. For a time they
plodded on without conversation. Then the big man ventured a remark.
“I'm glad she's over,” said he. “I got a good stake comin'.”
“Yes,” replied Thorpe indifferently.
“I got most six hundred dollars comin',” persisted Junko.
“Might as well be six hundred cents,” commented Thorpe, “it'd make you
just as drunk.”
Big Junko laughed self-consciously but without the slightest resentment.
“That's all right,” said he, “but you betcher life I don't blow this
stake.”
“I've heard that talk before,” shrugged Thorpe.
“Yes, but this is different. I'm goin' to git married on this. How's
THAT?”
Thorpe, his attention struck at last, stared at his companion. He noted
the man's little twinkling animal eyes, his high cheek bones, his flat
nose, his thick and slobbery lips, his straggling, fierce mustache and
eyebrows, his grotesque long-tailed cutaway coat. So to him, too, this
primitive man reaching dully from primordial chaos, the great moment had
yielded its vision.
“Who is she?” he asked abruptly.
“She used to wash at Camp Four.”
Thorpe dimly remembered the woman now--an overweighted creature with
a certain attraction of elfishly blowing hair, with a certain pleasing
full-cheeked, full-bosomed health.
The two walked on in re-established silence. Finally the giant, unable
to contain himself longer, broke out again.
“I do like that woman,” said he with a quaintly deliberate seriousness.
“That's the finest woman in this district.”
Thorpe felt the quick moisture rush to his eyes. There was something
inexpressibly touching in those simple words as Big Junko uttered them.
“And when you are married,” he asked, “what are you going to do? Are you
going to stay on the river?”
“No, I'm goin' to clear a farm. The woman she says that's the thing to
do. I like the river, too. But you bet when Carrie says a thing, that's
plenty good enough for Big Junko.”
“Suppose,” suggested Thorpe, irresistibly impelled towards the attempt,
“suppose I should offer you two hundred dollars a month to stay on the
river. Would you stay?”
“Carrie don't like it,” replied Junko.
“Two hundred dollars is big wages,” persisted Thorpe. “It's twice what I
give Radway.”
“I'd like to ask Carrie.”
“No, take it or leave it now.”
“Well, Carrie says she don't like it,” answered the riverman with a
sigh.
Thorpe looked at his companion fixedly. Somehow the bestial countenance
had taken on an attraction of its own. He remembered Big Junko as a wild
beast when his passions were aroused, as a man whose honesty had been
doubted.
“You've changed, Junko,” said he.
“I know,” said the big man. “I been a scalawag all right. I quit it. I
don't know much, but Carrie she's smart, and I'm goin' to do what she
says. When you get stuck on a good woman like Carrie, Mr. Thorpe, you
don't give much of a damn for anything else. Sure! That's right! It's
the biggest thing top o' earth!”
Here it was again, the opposing creed. And from such a source. Thorpe's
iron will contracted again.
“A woman is no excuse for a man's neglecting his work,” he snapped.
“Shorely not,” agreed Junko serenely. “I aim to finish out my time all
right, Mr. Thorpe. Don't you worry none about that. I done my best
for you. And,” went on the riverman in the expansion of this unwonted
confidence with his employer, “I'd like to rise to remark that you're
the best boss I ever had, and we boys wants to stay with her till
there's skating in hell!”
“All right,” murmured Thorpe indifferently.
His momentary interest had left him. Again the reactionary weariness
dragged at his feet. Suddenly the remaining half mile to town seemed
very long indeed.