The Rush of Doom
To bring a drive of logs down Big Creek Brook required skill, patience and
courage. It was a nasty, crooked stream, filled with sunken rocks, bad
bends and stretches of shallow water. Rodgers & Peterson had their logs in
the stream early, and everything pointed to a successful season's work.
For awhile all went well, but then mishap after mishap held them back. The
logs jammed in several places, and days were lost in getting them cleared.
Then they grounded upon bars and shoals, which caused a great delay. But
the most serious of all was the hold-up in Giant Gorge. This was the most
dreaded spot in the whole stream, and seldom had a drive been brought
through without some disaster. Much blasting had been done, and a number
of obstacles blown away. But for all that there were rocks which defied
the skill of man to remove. Two flinty walls reared their frowning sides
for several rods along the brook. Between these an immense boulder lifted
its head, around which the waters incessantly swirled. But when the stream
was swollen high enough the logs would clear this obstacle at a bound,
like chargers leaping a fence, and plunge into the whirling eddies below.
When the "R & P" drive, the name by which it was commonly known, reached
Giant Gorge, it was confidently believed that there was enough water to
carry it safely through. But such reckoning was wrong. As the logs came
sweeping down and were sucked into the Gorge they began to crowd, and,
instead of rushing through loose and free, they jammed against the rocky
walls, while a huge monster became wedged on the sunken boulder, and,
acting as a key log, held in check the whole drive. Then began a wild
scene, which once beheld can never be forgotten. Stopped in their mad
career, the logs presented the spectacle of unrestrained passion. The
mighty, heaving, twisting mass groaned, pressed and writhed for freedom,
but with the awful grip of death the sturdy key log held firm. Steadily
the jam increased in size, and whiter threw the foam, as one by one those
giant logs swept crashing down, to be wedged amidst their companions as if
driven by the sledge of Thor.
The drivers stood upon the bank and watched the logs piling higher and
higher. Well did they know what the delay might mean to Rodgers &
Peterson. Much depended upon that drive coming out, and for it to be held
up during summer meant almost ruin to the firm. They were a hardy body of
men who stood there late that afternoon discussing the matter. They were
great workmen these, well versed in woodland lore. All winter long had
they taken their part in that big lumber operation, and, now that the work
was almost completed, it was certainly aggravating to be thus checked.
As the men talked, and several lighted their pipes, one strapping fellow
stood on the bank, his eyes fixed upon that immovable key log. During the
whole winter Tony Stickles had been the butt as well as the curiosity of
the men. His long, lank figure was the source of much ridicule, while his
remarks, which were always slow and few, were generally greeted with
merriment. From the first night in camp he had been a marked man. Ere he
threw himself into the rude bunk he had knelt down on the floor in the
presence of them all, and said his evening prayer. A boot had been thrown
at his head, and a laugh had gone about the room. Tony had risen from his
knees, and with a flushed face sought his couch, surprised at the action
on the part of these men. But one middle-aged man of great stature and
strength had watched it all. He sat quietly smoking for several minutes
after the laughter had subsided.
"Boys," he said at length, taking his pipe from his mouth, "I'm real sorry
at what ye've done to-night. I've six little ones of me own, an' I hope to
God when they grow up they'll not be afeered to kneel down an' do as yon
lad has done to-night. I'm not a good man meself, more's the pity. But
that boy's had a good mother's teachin'. I honour her an' 'im. An' let me
tell ye this, men, if I ketch ye doin' agin what ye did to-night, ye'll
have to reckon with me. So jist try it on, an' I won't give a second
warnin'."
Jake Purdy calmly resumed his smoking, and the men looked at one another
in silence. They knew very well from certain past unpleasant experiences
what it meant to cross this quiet, plain-spoken man. He said little, and
never entered into a quarrel without some reason. But when he did there
was cause for the stoutest heart to quake.
Tony listened to it all concealed away in his bunk. His heart thumped
beneath his rough shirt, and he wished to thank Jake for taking his part.
But strive as he might he never had the opportunity. The big woodsman
never seemed to notice him. Days passed into weeks, and still Tony did not
utter the gratitude which was lying in his heart. To him Jake was more
than ordinary--a hero. He watched him as he chopped, and drank in greedily
the few words he let fall from time to time in the camp.
"Boys, that drive must go through."
It was the boss who spoke, as he jerked his thumb towards the Gorge. "Yes,
it's got to go through to-night, or it's all up. The water's falling off
fast, and if we wait till to-morrow, we'll wait till next fall. I've
always said there should be a dam at the head of the Gorge, and I say it
now more emphatically than ever. But as it is not there, it's up to us to
get this d--n thing through as best we can. I've never been stuck yet in
bringing out a drive, and I hope this won't be the first time."
"But what's your plan?" asked one. "Hadn't ye better pick one of us to go
down into that hell-hole, an' cut that key log?"
"No, that isn't my plan," and the boss scratched the back of his head.
"I'm not going to be responsible for the carcase of any man. If I say to
one 'Go,' and he goes and gets pinched, I'll worry about it to my dying
day. I'd rather go myself first. But if we draw for it, then it's off my
shoulders, and I stand the same chance as the rest of ye. I believe that
whatever is to be will be, and the right man to go down there will be
chosen. Do you agree to that, boys?"
"Ay, ay," came the response. "Go ahead, Tim. We'll stand by the
agreement."
Some brown paper was accordingly found, and cut with a big jack-knife into
twenty pieces, according to the number of the men. On one of these a large
X was marked with a blue lead-pencil, which one of the men had in his
pocket. A tin lunch can was next produced, and into this the pieces of
paper were all thrown and the cover shut down tight. When the can had been
thoroughly shaken, the men came up one by one, shut their eyes, put in
their hands and drew forth a slip. A tense silence reigned during this
performance, and the hearts of these sturdy men beat fast as each glanced
at his paper to see what it contained. Jake Purdy was one of the last to
approach, and, thrusting in a huge, hairy hand, jerked forth his piece,
and as he looked upon it his face turned pale, though he said not a word
as he held up the slip for all to see the fatal X scrawled upon it. At
that instant Tony Stickles started forward, and confronted Jake. His eyes
were wide with excitement, and his long, lank figure was drawn up to its
full height.
"You mustn't go!" he cried. "No, no! You've got six little ones at home,
an' a wife who wants ye. I'll go in yer place."
Big Jake looked at Tony in surprise, and into his strong, determined face
came an expression of tenderness which the men had never seen before.
"No, lad," he replied, "it can't be. The lot's fallen to me, an' I'm the
one to do it. I thank ye kindly all the same."
Tony waited to hear no more. His eyes glanced upon an axe lying near.
Springing towards this he seized it, and before a restraining hand could
be laid upon him he bounded towards the Gorge, sprang down the bank and
leaped upon the logs.
Big Jake rushed after him, calling and imploring him to come back. But his
cries were unheeded. Tony was now between the rocky walls, working his way
over those tossed and twisted monsters, deaf to all entreaties from the
shore.
"Come back, Jake!" roared the men from behind. "It's no use for you to go
now. He's taken the matter into his own hands, an' one's enough."
Reluctantly he obeyed, and stood with the rest watching with breathless
interest to see what would happen.
Tony had now reached the front of the jam, and was carefully picking his
way to the gripping key log. Balancing himself as well as he could he
chose a spot where the strain was the greatest. Then the axe cleaved the
air, the keen blade bit the wood, and the whirling chips played about his
head. Deeper and deeper the steel ate into the side of the giant spruce.
Suddenly a report like a cannon split the air, the axe was hurled like a
rocket out into midstream to sink with a splash into the foaming eddies.
Tony turned, leaped like lightning back upon the main body of logs, and
started for the shore. But he was too late. With a roar of pent-up wrath
the mighty drive moved forward. Down through the Gorge it surged, gaining
in speed every instant from the terrible pressure behind. And down with it
went Tony, enwrapped with foam and spray. Nobly he kept his feet. He
leaped from one log to another. He dodged monster after monster, which
rose on end and threatened to strike him down. It was a wild race with
death. Should he miss his footing or lose his head only for an instant he
would have been ground to pieces in that rush of doom. The watching men
stood as if transfixed to the spot. They saw him speeding onward and
drawing nearer to the shore at the sharp bend in the stream. It looked as
if he would gain the bank, and a cheer of encouragement rang out over the
waters. But the words had scarcely died upon their lips ere they beheld
the logs part asunder right beneath Tony's feet, and with a wild cry he
plunged into the rushing current below. Frantically he clutched at the
nearest logs, and endeavoured to pull himself up from that watery grave.
At times he managed to draw himself part way out, but the swirling waters
sucked him down. It needed only a little help, but the logs were wet and
slippery, and there was nothing on which to obtain a firm grip. His body
was becoming numb from the icy waters, and at each terrible struggle he
felt himself growing weaker. He knew he could last but little longer in
such a position. Was he to drown there? His thoughts flashed to his little
home in Glendow. Were they thinking of him? he wondered. What would his
mother say when they carried her the news? Oh, if he could only feel her
strong hand in his now, how soon he would be lifted from that awful place.
Suddenly there came into his mind her parting words when he had left home.
"Tony," she had said, "ye may be often in danger out thar in the woods.
But remember what the good Lord said, 'Call upon me in the day of trouble
an' I will deliver ye.'"
And there in the midst of that swirling death he lifted up his voice. "Oh,
Lord!" he cried, "help me! save me!"
And even as he prayed, and made one more mighty struggle, a small hand
reached out and grasped his. It was all that was needed. He felt the
watery grip loosen, and numbed to the bone he sprawled his full length
across a big log at Dan's feet. And not a moment too soon had that helping
hand been stretched forth, for glancing back he saw the logs had closed
again, grinding and tearing as before. They had struck a wild eddy and all
was confusion. He staggered to his feet at the shock and barely escaped a
huge log which suddenly shot up from below. But Dan was not so fortunate,
for a glancing blow sent him reeling back, a helpless, pathetic little
figure. Tony was all alert now. Leaping forward he caught the unconscious
boy in his arms, and started for the shore. Then began a fierce,
determined fight, a hand-to-hand encounter with cold, relentless death.
Step by step Tony staggered forward, baffled here, retreating a few paces
there, but steadily gaining. At first he did not mind Dan's weight, but
after a few minutes the burden began to tell. He was weak anyway from the
terrible strain and experience through which he had recently passed. Could
he hold out until he reached the shore? His face was drawn and tense; his
eyes stared wildly upon those rolling, moving, writhing things beneath his
feet. They seemed like thousands of serpents trying to capture him as he
leaped from one to the other. His brain reeled; he was falling, but at
that moment he felt strong arms about him. His burden was snatched away.
He heard voices, friendly, encouraging and cheering, and then, oblivion.
When Tony opened his eyes he found himself lying upon the shore with
several men standing near, watching him with keen interest. There was no
merriment or ridicule in their faces now, but only anxiety and sympathy.
The hearts of these rough men had been touched by what they had recently
witnessed. Most of them were with the drive, but a few had been told off
to look after the two lads.
"Where's that boy?" asked Tony as the terrible scene flashed back into his
mind.
"Over there," replied one, jerking his thumb to the left.
"Is he all right?" was Tony's next query.
"Can't say. He's not come to yet."
At this Tony struggled to his feet, and walked slowly over to where Dan
was lying, unconscious still, and breathing hard.
"Who is he? Where did he come from?" were the questions which these men
asked one another as they rubbed Dan's body, and bathed his forehead.
Something white sticking from a little pocket in Dan's coat caught Tony's
eye. Reaching down he drew it forth, and as he did so the little crushed
rose dropped to the ground. One of the men picked it up and holding it in
his big, rough hand looked curiously upon it. But Tony did not notice the
flower, for his eyes were fixed upon the paper on which he saw his own
name. Slowly and with difficulty he spelled out the queer letters scrawled
there.
"deR toNy," so the missive began. "cUm hoM qiK they say paRson John sTol
ol bilees goLD i tHINK yoU nO weR IT ISS
"yeR friEND TruLEE
"_Dan_."
Tony held the letter in his hand for some minutes and stared at those
quaint words. He had heard from his mother of the death of old Billy and
the burning of his house. But of the trouble later he knew nothing, for
letters from home had been few. Now a new light dawned upon his mind.
Something must be wrong, and this lad had come all the way for him! But
who was Dan? He had never seen nor heard of him before.
"As he stood there Big Sam drew near. He started with surprise as he saw
the boy lying on the ground, his little pale face resting upon a rough
coat.
"What! what's this?" he exclaimed. "Why, this is the boy who came with me
to-day! Has he fallen into the stream? I warned him to be careful."
"Poor boy! poor boy!" he remarked when the story of the brave deed had
been related. "Do you think he's badly hurt?"
"Can't say," replied one. "But do ye know who he is?"
"Yes," and Big Sam in a few words told all that he knew.
"We must get him away from this as soon as possible," said the former
speaker. "He needs the doctor. Where had we better take him?"
"Look here, boys," said Sam after a moment's thought. "As soon as those
horses have munched their oats they shall head for home. I'll take the boy
with me, and my wife will care for him. The doctor lives near."
Tony stood by listening to it all with his eyes fixed intently upon Dan's
face, while his hand still clutched the letter. He was weak, and ready to
drop. But a burning desire throbbed within his breast. He partly realized
the situation at Glendow. There was trouble, deep, serious trouble, and he
was needed.