XV

Joe Kent tore himself away from his new happiness, visited Tobin's and

Deever's camps, spent a few days at each, and wound up at Wind River.

The banking grounds were full--great piles of timber stretching along

the water's edge waiting the going of the ice. The winter roads were

failing fast and the last logs were coming out the woods in half loads.

Most of the hauling was done by night, for then the roads hardened with

frost. By day the air was mild and the depth of snow sank sensibly. Then

came the first rain of the season, destroying the roads utterly.

All the men, save the driving crew, were paid off. Since a lumber camp

is a self-contained community including a store or "van" at which the

hands purchase most of their simple necessaries, paying off involves an

adjustment of accounts, A lumber jack seldom keeps a record of his

purchases, and is thus dependent upon the honesty of his employer's

bookkeeping. The custom is to run rapidly over the account of each man

in his presence. If he remembers the purchases and is satisfied, as he

is in the majority of cases, well and good. If he does not remember or

is not satisfied after reasonable explanation he is tendered a check and

told to see a lawyer. But there have been logging firms who have robbed

their men shamelessly.

"Jack," one employer is alleged to have said, "you remember that pair of

socks you got in December?"

Jack, after an effort, remembered.

"That's one pair," said the employer, and went on rapidly. "And you

remember the pair you didn't get in January--that's two pairs." And Jack

agreed. Keener men have been flimflammed by much the same formula.

But, on the whole, the men get a square deal, few employers being small

enough to charge excessive prices for supplies, much less to make

fictitious entries against them. There was no dissatisfaction among

Kent's men. Differences of opinion never reached the point of absolute

assertion.

"Well, Billy," MacNutt would say, "there's the entry in our books made

at the time. If you say flat you didn't get the goods we'll let it go,

because we know you're a straight man, and think you're right. But if

you just say you don't remember, why, then, our books show we do."

This unusual but effective system had been installed by William Kent and

worked like a charm. Seldom did a man, having it put up to him in that

way, flatly contradict the books. And then it prevented all friction.

After the surplus men had been paid off, the weather hardened. A bitter

wind held in the north by day; the nights were still, clear, and cold.

Ice actually made and thickened in the river.

It was unheard-of. Each morning the rivermen rose, cocked wise eyes at

the sky, and cursed the weather. Each night they sat around the stove,

for the cold was penetrating.

"It's the qualified adjective moon," said Cooley. "The weather will

break when she changes."

"She'll break when she gets ready," said Jackson. "This will make a late

drive."

"But high water when it does come," said another.

Joe Kent took to looking into the sleeping camp for an hour or so each

night. He had brought a banjo with him, and he exhausted his song

repertory. The men enjoyed it thoroughly. It was, perhaps, bad for

discipline, but it developed a feeling of comradeship. His authority was

not in danger, for they had seen him hold his own against the

redoubtable Mike Callahan, who was a dangerous fighter; and he had also

bested big Finn Clancy, who had whipped many a good man in his day.

Suddenly the weather changed. One morning a southerly wind and a cloudy

sky greeted them; by noon there was a warm rain slashing against the

earth; at night mists and fog hung everywhere.

"She breaks up this time," said Cooley, who was engaged in saturating

his driving boots with oil and hot tallow, not with intent to keep his

feet dry, but to preserve the leather.

"An' time it is," said Regan, busy with a file at the inch spikes which

studded the soles of his footgear. "She's a fortnight later nor she

should be."

This was so, but it had caused Joe little uneasiness, for his margin

seemed ample. His plan was to drive the Wind River cut down the Wind to

the Mattawagan. Tobin and Deever would drive down the Missabini to the

latter stream. The drives would unite at McColl's Sney, where the main

drive would be formed. Thence it would proceed down that great water

artery past Falls City to Wismer & Holden's booms. It was all very

simple--on paper.

But it took a week for the ice to move in the Wind. The driving crew

chafed and cursed, for they regarded Kent's interests as their own, and

they longed to feel a rocking log beneath their feet once more. When the

ice finally moved they attacked the rollways with fury, and the huge

piles of great sticks cascaded thunderously into the water like huge

amphibians. At that point the river was deep and had little current.

Therefore the logs strung out slowly and in an orderly manner with a

dignity befitting their weight and age.

When the drive began to string with the slow current, MacNutt sent part

of the crew downstream to keep the logs moving and prevent jams. The

remainder divided and strung along either bank, releasing such sticks as

grounded in the shallows or caught in the "sweepers" from the banks.

Last of all came the "wanegan," also known as the "sweep." This was a

long, heavy, flat bottomed scow, of primitive but enormously strong

construction. It was the base of supplies for the driving crew. It held

tents, provisions, clothing, and tools, and it was manned by the cook,

cookees, and blacksmith. For propulsion it possessed long sweeps; but

since it had merely to keep pace with the logs and the logs moved no

faster than the current, these were used only for guidance. In slow

water the life of its crew by day was one of dreamy, idyllic ease; but

in fast water this condition was reversed. The scow was big, heavy, and

unwieldly. It refused to be guided, checked or restrained; it bumped

malevolently against boulders, grounded on sandbars, scraped its crew

against overhanging limbs, and dragged them, cursing, into the water

when they tried to line it down a fast, obstructed current.

For the first few days they always endeavoured to control their craft;

after that they let it go and trusted to luck, clinging perfunctorily to

the sweeps and damning the grinning rivermen who shouted sarcastic

comment and advice from the banks and solitary logs.

At night the crew sought the wanegan and ate voraciously. They were

always wet to the waist and often to the ears. They changed and dried

their soaked clothing on pole racks by roaring fires, smoked, and slept

in little tents pitched ready for them. Before the first light they had

breakfasted, and they stepped into ice water in the gray dawn. But with

it they were happy and contented, for the drive was the crowning glory

of the year.

The drive made average progress. There were small jams, easily broken,

minor delays which always occur, but both MacNutt and Joe were pleased.

"The late opening won't matter," said the former as they spread their

blankets in the little wedge tent. "The head will hit the first dam

to-morrow, sometime. We ought to sluice her through inside two days.

Then there's the second dam. If we have luck we'll tie into the main

drive pretty near on time. The others'll be about as late as we are."

"I hope so," said Joe. "We don't want to hang up anywhere. I suppose

McCane's drive will be out of our way?"

"Sure to ---- unless he jams somewhere," said MacNutt. "Lebret Creek is

faster than the Wind and opens earlier. It's good drivin'. He ought to

be through the second dam by now."

Lebret Creek joined the Wind above the second dam. They were then some

twenty-five miles from the confluence, and four miles above the first

dam.

The day broke clear and splendid. Joe and MacNutt set off down stream

for the dam half an hour behind a dozen of the crew. They cut through

the woods across a three-mile bend of the stream and came suddenly upon

it again.

"By the G. jumping Jasper!" cried MacNutt.

The river seemed to have shrunk. Logs lay along the banks, were caught

in shallows, rocked in the feeble current. As far as the eye could reach

stretched the shaggy backs of the brown herd, motionless or nearly so.

The ancient bed of the stream appeared as it had been before the dams

were built--a flat, rocky bottom over which a foot or so of water

brawled noisily and ineffectively, utterly useless from the standpoint

of a logger. The drive was plugged for want of water.

A man appeared through the trees. He was running. "Dam's gone out!" he

shouted as he came within hailing distance.

Joe and the foreman looked at each other. There was no need to put the

single thought into words.

"Come on," said Joe briefly, and broke into a trot.

They found the men gathered by the remnants of the dam. The wings of the

structures sagged forlornly, and through the wrecked centre the stream

poured over a rocky bed. The debris had been swept downstream by the

rush of released water, and the ruin was beautifully complete. The cause

of its going out must remain speculation merely.

"What's the best thing to do?" Joe asked MacNutt.

"Ward," said MacNutt, "you hike. Bring every man here, a-jumping. Load

up a peakie with tools, blocks and tackle and dynamite and run her down

river somehow. Load up another with tents, blankets, and grub, and tell

the cook to bring her down. Camp is here till we move the logs. Get a

move on you, now!"

"There's only one thing to do," he continued to Kent. "The dam has got

to be put in again. There's no fall to speak of, and four foot of water

will float the best part of the logs. The rest we'll have to sack out.

It means a week, but we can't help it."

Regan, who after examining the wreck narrowly had taken to the bank,

appeared above them. He carried a piece of timber, twisted and riven.

This he dumped down before the boss.

"Found her back in the brush," said he. "They used powder. I knowed that

dam never went out by herself."

"The infernal scoundrels!" said Joe.

Regan looked at him hopefully. "I seen an Injun yesterday. He says

McCane's drive is jammed near the mouth of Lebret. Say the word, boss,

an' we'll mosey over an' half murder every mother's son of them!"

"Thank you, Regan, but I can't say it," said Joe. "I have to get these

logs out. If I don't get them I bust. Tell the boys that."

The men began to arrive. MacNutt divided them into gangs and set them to

work staying and shoring the remnants of the dam. Slight progress was

made that day. The wanegan was looted and the peakies--a peakie is a

flat-bottomed, double-ended river boat--made trip after trip, drawn by

men wading in the shallows, until sufficient supplies were transferred

to the camp by the dam.

Light saw the crew at work. There was nothing fancy about the structure

which MacNutt planned. It was built entirely of logs. Holes were blown

in the bed of the river at intervals of a few feet, and in these were

set buttress-logs slanted sharply upstream to back the timbers when the

weight of the water should come against them. These things took

time--days of the hardest kind of toil--but the impromptu dam was

finally completed, even to the construction of a short slide to run the

logs to the free water below.

The river rose and backed up. The newly laid timbers groaned and

complained. Now and then a startling crack made Joe's heart leap.

"Will she hold, Mac?" he asked anxiously.

"She's got to hold," said the foreman grimly. "I don't mean she's a

permanent job; she ain't. If she'll last till we get through we'll blow

her to glory."

"Why?" asked Joe.

"Because if we don't she may go out herself or some skunk may blow her

for us when we're downstream. Half of us might be drowned and the logs

winged out into the bush."

But the jury-rig held. The water mounted higher and higher. Booms were

strung, forming a funnel of which the sluiceway was the outlet. These

also served to keep the weight of floating timber off the dam structure.

Satisfied with the strength of his work, MacNutt hurried up stream. Many

of the logs were afloat, moving sullenly; others were beginning to rock

in the rising water. The men were working hard and steadily, with

concentrated energy. Their peavies clanked regularly, and the logs

twirled out of their resting places and trundled into the stream. Still

the river rose, and MacNutt judged that it was high enough. Fearful for

the strength of his dam he made an outlet by the simple expedient of

knocking a few timbers loose. The water held at the new level.

Down by the dam the herd of logs thickened and packed tight. The boom

strained with their pressure. It was manned by men with long pike poles.

They pushed here, restrained there, feeding the slide constantly and

evenly, so that a nearly solid stream of timber shot through it into the

good water below. When darkness fell, huge fires were lighted on the

banks and the sluicing continued. Half the crew turned in immediately

after supper; the other half kept the logs going. At two o'clock in the

morning they shifted. By noon the last logs shot through. Then came the

wanegan.

MacNutt picked half a dozen men. "Throw her down little by little,

boys," he ordered. "Don't be in a hurry, and don't use powder till

there's no danger of a wave hitting us. We want a head of water, but not

too much of it. The river's rising now."

Joe looked back from the stern of the peakie in which he rode to catch

up with the drive. The men had clambered out on the timbers and were

busy with axes and saws destroying what had been so laboriously

constructed. It had served his turn, but he felt regret. He would have

liked it to stand, so that some day he might show Jack the rude,

effective structure, and tell her the story of its building. He had had

but small part in it, though his hands were blistered and ragged from

handling rocks and rough timbers. He did not pose even to himself as a

conqueror of difficulties; he gave the credit to MacNutt and his crew.