XX

Joe Kent preceded his drive to Falls City by a few days. He found Wright

in great feather. Several large orders had been placed, proof that the

terms of the settlement mentioned by Locke in his letter were being

carried out. But when Joe asked the lawyer for more details the latter

shook his head.

"I can't mention names, for that was part of the arrangement," said he.

"You be satisfied with what you've got. You're a hundred times better

off than if you had merely exposed Garwood."

"I know it," Joe admitted; "but are you sure the arrangement will be

carried out?"

"Certain. You've got good orders coming in, haven't you? You won't have

anything to complain of hereafter. How about those logs? Can you deliver

them on time?"

"I think so," Joe replied.

"Well, you'd better be mighty sure before you take them past your own

booms. Wismer will refuse to accept them if he gets half a chance, and

see where that would leave you. You couldn't bring them back upstream,

and there isn't a concern on the river below Wismer that would buy them,

this side of Hughson's Mills. To get there, towing charges and tolls

would eat up your profits, and old Hughson would whipsaw you, anyway."

"Crooks says I can do it, and so do my foremen," said Joe. "I've got to

sell the logs to meet my liabilities. I'll keep barely enough for my own

mill."

"All right--if you're dead-sure," said Locke.

The situation was made very clear to Joe. He was told plainly that the

bank had gone with him as far as it would go. In the event of

non-delivery his credit would be cut off and his securities sold. The

mortgage company would enforce their rights in any event. Also there was

no doubt that Wismer & Holden would enforce to the letter the penalty

clause in their contract. These things, taken together, meant

bankruptcy. And that would mean that his marriage with Jack must be put

off indefinitely. On the other hand, if he delivered the logs he could

wipe off most of the debt, put his business on a solid basis, and ask

her to become mistress of the old Kent homestead without delay. It was

worth fighting for, and Joe's' lean jaw hardened as he swore to himself

that nothing should stop his drive.

Business claimed him by day, but the evenings he was able to spend with

Jack. They sat in the dusk of Crooks's wide veranda, watching the stars

light and wink in the June sky, while soft-winged moths fluttered

ghost-like among the shading vines. Neither was overly given to

sentiment, but in those brief evenings their confidences grew; and each,

looking into the other's inmost mind, found there only honour and

loyalty and little of ambition, but a great desire to live straightly

and cleanly and truly, thinking evil of none and doing such good as

might be.

Being ordinary young people they did not put these things into words.

They rather shied from the sentimental and high-flown, preferring the

more accustomed planes of speech and thought. But they understood each

other, and so were content. The only shadow, and a constantly recurring

one, was the question of the drive.

"If I don't make it I'm busted," said Joe practically, "and so I've got

to make it. There's no reason why I shouldn't. Now, it's this way." For

the twentieth time he went over the problem.

"Dad says you can make it," Jack agreed. "It's a week to Steven's Ferry.

Down to Burritt's Rapids is two days more. Then allow time to tow

through Thirty Mile Lake--oh, you can make it with nearly a week to

spare."

"Of course I can," said Joe, "and then, Jack, I think we'd better get

married."

She flushed to the roots of her brown hair.

"In the fall, Joe?"

"No--right away. What's the use of waiting? My business will be solid

then, and I deserve a holiday. Let's take one together."

"Well"--she considered the question gravely, without affected

hesitation--"I'd like that. I'll see what dad says about it."

"It's up to you."

"Yes--I know. Still, we'd better not leave him out."

"I don't want to. He's as good a friend as I have. What he says goes, of

course; but he won't object if you don't."

"I won't." Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Oh, Joe, you've got to deliver those logs! You've got to, you've got

to!"

"Jack," he said grimly, "I'd deliver 'em now if the whole blamed river

dried up. Come down to-morrow and see them go through. We'll cut out

enough to run the mill, but the main drive will go straight ahead and

I'm going with it. I'll wire you as soon as we strike Burritt's Rapids.

I can tell then how it's going to go."

"Do you think I'll stay here?" she cried. "Dad and I are going down to

see the drive come into Wismer & Holden's booms. You'll probably see us

at Thirty Mile."

The sun was barely risen when the first logs of the big drive swung down

leisurely, their pace accelerating as the faster current above the falls

gripped them. This vanguard was run into Kent's booms, and the rivermen

cheered as they caught sight of the young boss, and cheered again for

William Crooks and his daughter who stood beside him. They ran gaily

along the slippery brown logs and danced lightly across their backs,

pushing, pulling, prodding, guiding and restraining, and the booms

filled magically.

The main drive did not halt at all. The river was crowded with logs, and

they were fed through the huge water-gates of the slides as fast and as

thick as they would run. It was beautiful, clean, uninterrupted work,

and when the last stick had shot through Joe bade Jack good-bye and

followed.

Now, at last, the drive was on the homestretch with a few days to

spare--a narrow margin, but still a margin. It was then the fifteenth of

June, and the river was at its best. Taking into consideration the high

water and consequently more rapid current, Joe hoped to reach Burritt's

Rapids by the twenty-third. That would give one week from that point to

Wismer & Holden's mills, a distance of thirty-five miles. Below

Burritt's Rapids, however, was Thirty Mile Lake, a shallow, almost

currentless expansion of the river, some thirty miles long and varying

in width from half a mile to two miles, through which the drive would

have to be towed by steamers owned by a river improvement company, who

also owned the booms above the rapids. The time occupied by towing would

depend on the weather. Therefore, although the probabilities were in

Joe's favour there was always a doubt. He must remain on the anxious

seat till the actual event.

Because of the good water the drive made Burritt's on the twenty-second

instead of the twenty-third. They made it in a heavy downriver gale with

an accompaniment of slashing rain that soaked every one to the skin.

Because a drive turned down the rapids would simply float all over the

lake and have to be gathered up again, a task involving much time and

trouble, the logs were always put through a narrow, inner channel

protected by cribwork and booms, and caught in other booms below. There

steamers took them in tow and turned them loose down other rapids at the

foot of the lake, which were about three miles above Wismer & Holden's

booms. Accordingly, when they made Burritt's with some daylight to spare

the dripping crew ran the drive into the booms and started to feed down

the inner channel. When darkness fell they winched a boom across the

narrow mouth and quit.

The ground was wet, the tents were wet, and so were the blankets.

Although it was June the wind was raw and cutting. The rain slashed and

sputtered at the fires. Clothes hung before them steamed, but

accumulated moisture faster than they dried. Altogether it was

miserable, and the rivermen cursed the weather heartily. They squatted

on the sodden ground beneath canvas that let through fine spray with

every gust, and big teardrops which had an aggravating habit of landing

on the back of the neck, and juggled tin plates piled with pork and

beans on their knees, wiping them up with huge wedges of bread.

"A curse of a night," grumbled Haggarty, shifting away from a drop which

threatened to become a stream. "Black as a cord of black cats, an'

rainin' fit to flood hell! An' not a dry stitch to me back, an' the

blanket's soaked, an' all. Fill up me plate again, you, cookee, an' slap

a dose of molasses on her. Praise be, me hide is waterproof an' the

inside of me's dry."

"An' that's more nor mine will be this day week," said big Cooley,

licking his lips in pure anticipation. "A hard winter, an' a long drive.

The throat of me aches for the rasp of a drink of the good stuff!"

"For sure, for sure," Chartrand agreed with him. "I'll be dry, me, lak

one sap maple in August. When dat drive is finish', by dam' I stay dronk

for one mont'. Hooray!"

"An' you see me so," Cooley promised. "I'll find that McCane an' put the

boots till him till he can't crawl. A dirty dog! An' Tom Archer is no

better--no, nor his bosses."

In another tent Joe and his foremen ate supper and listened to the rain,

the wind, the roar of the rapids, and the swirl of the current as it

talked against the booms. MacNutt went out and came back dripping.

"Can't see a thing," he reported. "The wind is gettin' worse, an' the

water's risen nigh a foot. How is them booms, Dinny? Our whole drive is

down by now, an' there's an awful weight on them with this wind an' the

high water."

"I went over them when we came down," returned McKenna. "They're all

right. The big lower one is three logs, and well anchored."

"They should have another anchor-pier in the middle of it," growled

MacNutt. "It has an awful belly. If it went out on us----" He paused and

shook his head.

The boom referred to was directly above the rapids, strung at an angle

across the river. Upon it came all the pressure of the logs above. It

was a massive affair, built of three logs fastened side by side and

chained to other threes end to end. The ends of the boom were secured to

huge, stone-filled piers. It appeared capable of holding any weight of

logs.

"What's the use of talkin' like that, Mac?" said Tobin, half angrily.

"You're borrowin' trouble for every one. The boom's all right. I looked

at it myself after Dinny did." Nevertheless he went out ten minutes

later and was absent sometime. "She sure has a belly on her," he said

when he returned. "She'll hold, though. I think the wind's dropped

some."

As he uttered the words a shrieking gust almost laid the tent flat. A

shout and muffled curses followed.

"I'll bet one of the men's tents has blown down," said Joe. "Hear Cooley

swear."

They grinned at each other as Cooley rose to the occasion. The wind grew

worse. The side and roof of the tent bellied in and slatted in the

squalls. Tobin went out and tautened the guy ropes.

"It'd blow the bark from a tree," he cried when he came in.

McKenna sat pulling his grizzled moustache. The wind, the rapidly rising

water, the huge weight of timber, and MacNutt's forebodings were getting

on his nerves. Suddenly he began to pull on his spiked river boots.

"What's up, Dinny?" MacNutt asked.

"I'm going to look at that boom," McKenna replied. "You've got me all

worked up over it. I _know_ it's all right; but all the same----"

"I'll go with you," said Joe, reaching for his boots.

"You're not good enough on the logs yet," said the walking boss bluntly.

"It's pitch dark and blowin' great guns. It's an old hand's job, Mr.

Kent. You'd only hinder me."

Joe realized the truth of the words.

"Well, I'm going," said MacNutt.

"Same here," said Tobin.

"Sure," said Deever.

Each man took a lantern. Joe went with them. Anyway he would go as far

as the first pier. They could hear the logs grumbling and complaining.

"I don't like it," said MacNutt. "It sounds--" He hesitated to put the

thought into words, and swung his lantern high, peering at the

intensified darkness.

"Oh, shut _up!_" snapped Tobin. "What do you want to croak for? Of

course they'll talk with the wind an' current an' all. Funny if they

wouldn't."

They ran out across the almost solid carpet of timber that filled the

head of the channel, and reached the anchor-pier of the big lower boom.

McKenna, in advance, stopped short with a gasp:

"They're moving, boys--they're _moving!_"

Slowly, with the calm certainty of irresistible might, the big drive was

on its way. The logs ground at the anchor pier and thrust and bumped at

it. The feeble rays of the upheld lanterns threw a short circle of light

on the field of timber as it slid smoothly downstream. Joe's heart, for

the first time, skipped a beat. The boom had gone out.

McKenna leaped out on the moving logs. MacNutt caught him.

"Come back, Dinny! What do you think you can do?"

McKenna's seamed face was absolutely colourless as he turned to Joe.

"He's right, Mr. Kent. I can't do a damned thing. It's my fault. I

should 'a' backed the boom with another."

His voice was vibrant with sorrow and self-accusation. He knew what it

meant to his employer. The logs, driven by the wind, would go down the

rapids and be flung far and wide over Thirty Mile Lake. To gather them

up would be a task of weeks; they could not be delivered on time.

Joe met the blow like a man. "That's all right, Dinny," he said. "It was

up to the company, not to you. Their boom was weak somewhere, that's

all. Now what can we do about it? They have two steamers below. We'll

need 'em right away. Mac, you tell 'em to get fire under their boilers,

quick. Promise 'em anything. Say you've got the company's orders--but

get 'em. Tobin, rouse out the boys and get 'em down to the boats

double-quick. Take every foot of rope and chain you can find or steal.

Deever, you open the channel boom and let everything go that will go.

Dinny, you come with me."

In five minutes they were banging at the door of the boom company's

representative, bringing that worthy citizen from his bed to the window.

"Your boom has gone out and my drive is over the rapids into the lake,"

Joe told him. "I haven't got time to talk about damages or liabilities

now. I want your steamers day and night till I sweep my logs up and

every other boat you can hire as well. I want every river man you can

lay your hands on, too. I'll pay for these things at once, pending the

adjustment of any question of responsibility. Will you do your best for

me?"

"Sure I will," said the agent. "Wait till I get my clothes on and I'll

come along. It's funny about that boom. I don't see----"

But Joe and McKenna were already out of earshot, hurrying back to the

river. The camp was buzzing like a hornet's nest. Men were catching up

ropes, chains, peavies, and pike poles and hurrying off into the

darkness. Joe, Tobin, and McKenna followed.

As they passed the head of the channel where Deever and half a dozen men

were stationed the foreman called to them:

"I've got something to show you, Mr. Kent. It won't take five minutes."

He led the way over the logs and down the cribwork and booming of the

channel, and stopped: "One end of the boom swung down here when she went

out," he said, and lowered his lantern. "Look at that!"

They bent low and peered at the ends of three joined boom-timbers. The

ends were white, square, and new.

"Sawed through, by thunder!" cried McKenna.