FESTING GETS TO WORK
Mist rolled among the pines and it was raining hard when Festing led his
team down the hill. He wore big rubber boots and slickers, and a heavy
log trailed behind the horses through the mud. Some distance above the
river the slope was gradual, and it was necessary to haul the logs to
the skidway he had built. They would then run down without help; indeed,
the difficulty was to stop them when they reached the track. Festing was
wet and dirty, and the sweating horses were splashed. When he stopped
to unhook the chain, three or four men came up with cant-poles, and
struggling in the churned-up mire, rolled the log to the top of the
incline.
A shallow, undulating trough scored the hillside, crossed at short
intervals by small logs, split up the middle and laid with their round
sides on top. It looked something like a switchback railway, only that
while the incline varied, all the undulations ran down hill. A few logs
rested insecurely on the top skids, and the men put the one Festing had
brought below the rest. Then they threw down their poles and Festing
looked about.
Water filled the hollows in the wavy line of skids, which vanished at
the edge of a steeper dip and reappeared below, to plunge out of sight
again. Its end was banked up with wet gravel near the track. Festing
could not see the track, but the opposite side of the river was visible,
with the island, near which two wire-ropes skimmed the surface of the
flood. A man stood on the skids about half way down and presently waved
his arm.
“Watch out below!” he shouted and signed to Festing. “All clear! You can
start her off.”
Festing seized a handspike and the skids groaned as the big log began
to move. The men helped and sprang back as it gathered speed. Water flew
up, the bark tore off in crumpled flakes, and the wet timber smoked. The
other logs were smaller and easier launched, but they did not gain the
momentum of the first, which plunged furiously down hill and flung up
its thin end as it leaped over the edge of the dip.
“She's surely hitting up the pace,” one of the men remarked.
“The mud is greasing the skids,” said Festing, who began to run down the
incline when the man below shouted.
Two of the others followed, but stopped at the top of the last pitch,
which ended in the bank of gravel close above the track. The logs,
spread out at intervals, rushed down, rising and falling on the uneven
skids. Showers of mud and water marked their progress; there was a crash
as a smashed skid was flung into the air, and a roar when the leading
mass plowed through fallen gravel. Stones shot out and Festing saw smoke
and sparks, but the logs rushed on, and he wondered anxiously whether
the bank would stop them. So far, it had served its purpose, but he was
doubtful about it now, and hoped there was nobody on the track beneath.
The big log reached the bank and ran half way up the short incline
before its speed slackened much. Festing held his breath as he watched,
for some gravel cars had come down the track, and he could not tell
where they were. The log was going slower, but he doubted if it would
stop.
It plowed on through the gravel, which shot up all round, and then the
end of the bank seemed to fall away. There was a shower of stones; the
butt of the log went down and its after end tilted up. Then it lurched
out of sight and there was a heavy crash below. After this Festing
heard a confused din, and imagined, though he could not see, the mass
of timber plunging down the precipitous slope, smashing rocks and
scattering gravel as it went. The noise stopped, he heard a splash, and
as the following logs leaped the broken bank, the first shot half its
length out of water, and falling again, drove down stream.
The rope at the island caught it while a trolley ran down, but the
straining wire curved and parted, and the trolley fell into the river as
the log swept on. The others followed and vanished in a turmoil of muddy
foam, and Festing went down to the track. Things might have been worse,
for nobody was hurt, although some yards of road-bed had been carried
away and a derrick he had built to put the logs on the cars was smashed.
As he studied the damage a wet and angry engineer ran up.
“You have got to stop your blamed logs jumping down like that! They've
broken a steel rope and there's a new trolley-skip in the river!”
“I'm sorry,” Festing answered. “I'll try to get the skip out as soon as
possible, and you can trust me to stop more logs getting away, for my
own sake.”
“There'll be trouble if you let your lumber loose on me, and I want the
skip soon,” said the other. “A stranger asked for you a few minutes ago
and I sent him up the hill.”
He went away and Festing's men came up.
“Pretty rough luck, boss!” one remarked. “What are we going to do about
it?”
“We'll grade up the gravel dump to begin with, and then make a new
derrick,” Festing answered gloomily. “It doesn't look as if I'd get much
profit on the first week's work.”
He moved off, and as he scrambled up the bank met a man coming down.
Both stopped abruptly and Festing frowned.
“What in thunder has brought you, Bob?” he asked.
“They told me you were up the hill,” Charnock said, smiling. “I came in
on the last construction train.”
“But why did you come?”
“I suppose you mean--Why did I come to bother you again? Well, the
explanation will take some time, and it's confoundedly muddy and raining
hard. When are you likely to be unoccupied?”
Festing tried to control his annoyance. The accident had disturbed him
and he was not pleased to see Charnock, whom he did not wish to make
free of his shack.
“What have you been doing since you arrived?” he asked.
“Sitting in the bunk-house and waiting for the rain to stop. Then I got
dinner with the boys, and afterwards went to see a rather nice young
fellow called Dalton. I told him I was a friend of yours, and he half
promised to give me a job.”
“You don't seem to know who he is?” Festing remarked.
“I don't; but I thought he looked hard at me when he heard my name.
However, don't disturb yourself on my account; I'm pretty comfortable in
the bunk-house.”
“Very well. You had better come to my shack when work stops. I can't
leave my men now.”
Charnock strolled off with his usual languid air, and Festing resumed
his work. He could not imagine what Charnock wanted, but wished he had
stopped away. In the meantime, he had much to do and drove his men hard,
until a steam-whistle hooted and they threw down their tools. His supper
was ready when he reached the shack, but Charnock had not arrived, and
although this was something of a relief, he felt annoyed. He had told
him to come when work stopped, but the fellow was never punctual. An
hour later Charnock walked in.
“I thought I'd better wait until after supper,” he said. “My coming now
leaves you more at liberty to turn me out.”
“To begin with, I'd like to know why you came at all?”
“Sadie thought it was time I did something useful, and I agreed. It's
obvious that if anything useful can be done, I'm the proper person to
undertake the job. Now you understand me, shall I go on?”
Festing nodded. Charnock's careless good humor had vanished; he looked
embarrassed but resolute, as if he meant to carry out a disagreeable
task. This was something new for Bob.
“Very well,” the latter resumed. “In order to clear the ground, do you
imagine I'm in love with your wife?”
“I'm sure Helen is not in love with you,” Festing rejoined.
“That's much, but we have got to talk about the other side of the
matter,” said Charnock quietly. “I went to your home with Sadie because
I thought she and Helen could learn something from each other; while
I suspect she thought your society was good for me. It's obvious
that Helen agreed, and Sadie and I will always be grateful for her
staunchness in sticking to us, although you disliked it. Whether I'm
worth the quarrel or not is another thing. I hope you understand me as
far as I've gone.”
Festing made a sign and Charnock continued: “Very well. There was a time
when I loved Helen, or honestly thought I did, but I imagine we had both
found out our mistake when I gave her up. It's certain that she would
not have been satisfied with me. Our romance came to nothing and was
done with long since; there's now no woman who could rouse the feeling I
have for my wife.”
He got up and leaned upon his chair, with his eyes fixed on Festing.
“When I told you I was going to be married, you showed your confounded
supercilious pity! You thought I was making a fatal mistake. Well,
you're not a clever fellow, Stephen, but that was the worst blunder you
ever made. Marrying Sadie is perhaps the only wise thing I have done.
She has borne with my follies, hustled me when I needed it, and helped
me to fight my weaknesses; and if there's any hope of my being a useful
man, I owe it to her. Now it's obvious that I can't draw comparisons,
but I think you see where this leads.”
“I do see,” said Festing, who felt somewhat moved. He had not
heard Charnock talk like this before, and the note in his voice was
significant. He smiled, to ease the strain, as he replied: “Comparisons
would be particularly awkward just now, Bob. Besides, they're
unnecessary, I'm convinced!”
“Then there's no reason you shouldn't go home, and I've come to take you
back.”
Festing shook his head. “There are two reasons. In the first place, I've
taken a contract.”
“That fellow, Dalton, would probably let you off.”
“It's uncertain, and I don't mean to ask. You don't seem to know that
Dalton is Helen's brother.”
Charnock laughed. “Then I've no doubt he knows who I am; his manner
ought to have given me a hint. The situation has a touch of ironical
humor, and perhaps the strangest thing is that we should now be better
friends than we have been yet. But what still prevents your going back?”
“Helen's money. I can't beg from her, after refusing the only thing she
has asked.”
“You're a bit of a fool,” Charnock remarked with a grin. “I've begged
from Sadie often and imagine she liked me for it; anyhow she expected
it. But if you have made up your mind, I expect I can't persuade you.”
Festing's gesture indicated an unshaken resolve, and Charnock said:
“Then I'm going to stop and see you through.”
“That's ridiculous!” said Festing, who was strongly moved now. “You must
think of Sadie. You can't stop; I won't allow it!”
Charnock's eyes twinkled. “I expect Sadie will bear the separation. For
one thing, we lost our crop and she'll save money while I'm away. She's
not parsimonious, but she hates to waste dollars, and must have found me
expensive now and then. Then I mean to earn something, and can imagine
her surprise when I show her my wages check.”
On the surface, his mood was humorous, but Festing got a hint of
something fine beneath. “But,” he said, “you mustn't stay, and I'd
sooner you didn't joke.”
“Then I'll be serious; but after this there's no more to be said. Don't
imagine it's altogether for your sake I'm going to stay. You know what
I owe Sadie, and I want to show that her labor has not all been lost.
in fact, I've got my opportunity and mean to seize it. Then if you feel
some reparation is due to your wife, you can finish the work you made
her drop. Help me to cut out liquor and stay with my job, and if you
have trouble with your contract, I'll help all I can. Is it a bargain?”
“It's a bargain,” said Festing quietly. “Now I think we'll talk about
something else.”
He sat still for some time after Charnock left. His bitterness against
his wife had gone, and it was plain that he had been a fool. For all
that, he could not go home yet; the money was still an obstacle. Pride
forbade his letting Helen support him. Moreover, he felt that to act
against his convictions now would cost him her respect. There was
perhaps no ground for supposing she felt much respect for him, but he
meant to keep all she had.
Then he got up and straightened the blankets in his bunk. The sooner he
finished his contract, the sooner he could return, and there was much to
be done next morning. The job had not begun well.
He got up at sunrise and spent several days repairing the damage the
accident had caused, after which, for a time, things went smoothly.
Then, one morning, he stood on a rocky ledge of the island, waiting
while two of his men dragged an iron pulley backwards and forwards along
a trolley wire.
The morning was clear and cold, and the snow had crept nearer the belt
of dwindling pines that looked like matches tufted with moss. They grew
in size as they rolled down the tremendous slopes, until they towered
above the track in tall, dark spires. The mist had gone; rocks and
trees and glistening summits were sharply cut, but the valley was rather
marked by savage grandeur than beauty. There was something about its
aspect that struck a warning note. It had a look of belonging to a
half-finished world, into which man might only venture at his peril.
The river had fallen and its turbid green had faded, for the frost had
touched the glaciers that fed it on the heights, but the stream ran
fast, swirling round the island and breaking into eddies. In one place,
a white streak marked a rebound of the current from an obstacle below,
and it was across this spot the men dragged the pulley. A chain and hook
hung from the latter, and they were fishing for the skip that was lost
when the log broke the rope.
Festing had spent the most part of the previous day trying different
plans for grappling the skip, but the fast currents and smooth side
of the big steel bucket had baffled him. His efforts had cost time and
money, and he began to realize that he must give it up or try dangerous
means. The chain stopped and tightened as the hook struck something
below the surface, but next moment it moved on again, and when this had
happened a number of times Festing raised his hand.
“You can quit, boys,” he said, and turned to a man close by. “She must
have fallen with the shackles where the hook can't get hold, but I think
she's only about three feet under water.”
The other studied the broken surface. The water was not transparent, but
here and there a darker patch indicated a rock below. The eddies made
a revolving slack along the bank, but near the skip joined the main
current in its downstream rush.
“I've a notion there's a gully between her and us,” he remarked.
“Anyhow, we'll try to wade, if you like.”
Festing threw off his jacket and plunged in. When he had gone a few feet
he was up to his waist and it cost him an effort to keep his feet. After
two or three more steps, the bottom fell away and, floundering savagely,
he sank to his shoulders. Then his companion pulled him back.
“The gully's there all right,” the man remarked when they clambered out.
“Say, that water's surely cold.”
“It will be colder soon when the ice comes down, and if the skip's to be
got out, we must get her now. I think I could reach her by swimming.”
The other looked doubtful, but Festing took off his heavy boots, and
picking up the end of the rope they had used to move the pulley, walked
to the edge of the island. He was now a short distance above the skip,
and hoped the eddies would help him to reach the ledge it rested on
before he was swept past; but he must avoid being drawn into the main
stream, since there was not much chance of landing on the foam-swept
rocks lower down. Making sure he had enough slack rope, he plunged in.
An eddy swung him out-shore, towards the dangerous rush; the cold
cramped his muscles and cut his breath, but he was already below the
spot he had left, and there was no time to lose. The white streak that
marked the skip seemed to forge up-stream to meet him, and he swam
savagely until he was in the broken water and something struck his foot.
Then he arched his back and dived, groping with his hands. He grasped
the slippery side of the skip and felt the shackle loop. With some
trouble he got the rope through, and then tried to put his feet on the
bottom. They were swept away and he came up gasping, knowing he had made
a mistake that might cost him dear.
He held the end of the rope, but had been carried several yards
down-stream, and the lost ground must be regained. The rope was rather
a hindrance than a help, since the men on the bank could only haul him
back to the skip and drag him under water, while he must pull the slack
through the loop as he struggled to land. If he got out of the eddies he
would be swept past the island, but he did not mean to let the rope go
yet.
A revolving eddy swung him in-shore, but the reflux caught and drove
him a few yards lower down. The men were shouting, but he could not tell
what they said. The roar of water bewildered him, and he fixed his eyes
upon the rocks that slid past until a wave washed across his face. For
a moment or two he saw nothing, and then was vaguely conscious that a
trolley was running down the wire above. An indistinct object hung from
the trolley and next moment fell away from it. A dark body splashed into
the water, vanished, and came up close by. Then he was seized by the
shoulder and driven towards the bank.
The men had stopped shouting and ran into the water at the island's
lower end. Festing drifted towards them, but it looked as if he would be
carried past. The drag of the rope kept him back, and his strength was
going, but he braced himself for an effort and felt a helping push. Then
somebody seized his hand, he was pulled forward, and felt bottom as he
dropped his feet. In another few moments he staggered up the bank and
gave the nearest man the end of the rope.
“Stick to that,” he gasped, and turned to see who had helped him.
“Bob!” he exclaimed.
Charnock dashed the water from his hair and face. “Thought you mightn't
make it and jumped on a trolley they were loosing off. But we had better
change our clothes.”
“Come to my shack,” said Festing. “Signal them to send a trolley, boys.”