Title: The Golden Boys on the River Drive
Author: Wyman, L. P. (Levi Parker)
Language: English
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                   THE GOLDEN BOYS ON THE RIVER DRIVE



[Illustration: Rex had some trouble at first in keeping his balance, but
he was quick to catch on to the knack.]



                          THE GOLDEN BOYS
                         ON THE RIVER DRIVE

                       By L. P. WYMAN, Ph.D.
               Dean of Pennsylvania Military College

                             AUTHOR OF

           “The Golden Boys and Their New Electric Cell,”
           “The Golden Boys at the Fortress,”
           “The Golden Boys in the Maine Woods,”
           “The Golden Boys with the Lumber Jacks.”

                         A. L. BURT COMPANY
                        Publishers New York



                       THE GOLDEN BOYS SERIES
         A Series of Stories for Boys 12 to 16 Years of Age

                       By L. P. WYMAN, Ph.D.
             Dean of the Pennsylvania Military College

            The Golden Boys and Their New Electric Cell
            The Golden Boys at the Fortress
            The Golden Boys in the Maine Woods
            The Golden Boys with the Lumber Jacks
            The Golden Boys on the River Drive
            The Golden Boys Rescued by Radio
            The Golden Boys Along the River Allagash

                          Copyright, 1923
                       By A. L. BURT COMPANY

                 THE GOLDEN BOYS ON THE RIVER DRIVE

                         Made in “U. S. A.”



                 THE GOLDEN BOYS ON THE RIVER DRIVE



                             CHAPTER I

                          THE BREAKING UP


“Hurrah! She’s breaking up.”

Two boys were standing on a little wharf looking out over the ice
covered surface of Moosehead Lake in northern Maine. They were fine
specimens of American boyhood. Bob Golden, nineteen years old,
lacked but a trifle of standing six feet and was possessed of a body
perfectly proportioned to its height. His brother Jack, a year
younger, was not quite so tall but his body was as perfectly
developed. Except when at school they had for years lived in the
great out-of-doors, in the Maine woods and on the Maine lakes, and
the free and open life coupled with the invigorating air of the Pine
Tree State had given them “mens sana in corpore sano.”

They had arrived at the lumber camp belonging to their father the
day before, having driven up from their home in Skowhegan, a small
town about fifty miles to the south. The Fortress, a military
college in Pennsylvania, where they were cadets, had closed for a
three weeks’ vacation and they had lost no time in reaching the
camp.

“She’s breaking up,” Jack repeated, dancing about like a wild man,
on the end of the wharf. “Just look at that crack run out into the
lake, will you,” he added, as a heavy booming sound reverberated
through the vast forest.

“And just think,” Bob declared, as he grabbed his brother by the arm
and held him fast, “by night there won’t be a speck of ice to be
seen anywhere on the lake. I wonder where it all goes to so
quickly.”

Jack was about to reply when the loud call of a horn rang through
the air.

“I don’t know, but I do know where I’m going,” he cried as he turned
and sprang for the shore. “Come on or I’ll eat all the flapjacks,”
he called back, as he saw that his brother was still watching the
ice.

“Be with you in a minute,” Bob shouted, his eyes still on the lake.

It was a fascinating sight, the ice slowly heaving with a suppressed
restlessness as though loath to give up its sovereignty of the lake.
But hunger soon overcame his desire to watch the lake and he was but
a few minutes later than his brother in entering the long mess room.

Breakfast was on the long table, along the two sides of which about
forty men were doing their best to make way with the huge piles of
hot cakes and bacon and eggs, to say nothing of doughnuts and
coffee.

“You ver’ near mees der grub, oui,” shouted big Jean Larue, as Bob
took his seat beside Jack.

“Guess there’s plenty left,” he laughed, as he glanced about the
table.

“Oui, dar’s allays pleenty der grub here,” declared another Kanuck,
a huge six footer, named Pierre, from his seat near the foot of the
table.

Pierre’s statement was correct, for Mr. Golden believed in giving
his men good food and plenty of it, and there was never any fault
found with the bill of fare in any of his camps.

“We geet the first raft heetched up tomorrow,” Jean said, as he
helped himself to another pile of cakes.

“Sure we will, eef you not eat so mooch you no can stir,” Pierre
shouted, and a roar of laughter filled the vast room in which Jean
joined. His appetite was a standing joke with the men, and he really
seemed to take pride in it.

“Dat all right,” he said, as the laughter subsided. “After breakfast
I, Jean Larue, put you on your back ver’ queek. You tink I eat too
mooch, hey?”

“You mean you try. What you call eet? You spell able once,” Pierre
grinned, as another roar of laughter greeted his words.

“Better get a wiggle,” Jack advised his brother, as he helped
himself to two more doughnuts. “I wouldn’t miss seeing that match
for a farm.”

“Nor I, but I’ll be there. Don’t you worry,” Bob replied, as he
reached for the plate of fresh cakes which the cook’s helper had
just brought in.

Both boys knew that a wrestling match between Jean Larue and Pierre
le Blanc would be worth going miles to see. Both were big men and
well known for their deeds of strength and athletic ability. Pierre
was a good-natured, generous fellow and was a favorite with his
companions. Jean, at the beginning of the winter, had been the bully
of the camp. An arrogant braggart, he had been feared and hated by
the greater part of the crew. Just after Christmas Bob, who with his
brother had come to the camp for their winter vacation, had had a
fight with the Frenchman and, thanks to his superior knowledge of
boxing, had given him a sound whipping. This seemed to have broken
the man’s spirit; but, a short time later, the boys saved his life
and to their great joy he became a different man. All his old
arrogance was gone and he became one of the most popular members of
the crew.

“Come on dar,” Pierre shouted, as he pushed back his chair. “You
hav’ now eat enough for two men. Eef you eat mooch more eet will be
no fun to put you on your back.”

“Huh, I, Jean Larue, will geeve you all der fun you want in one
leetle minute,” Jean retorted, as he too jumped up from his chair
and started for the door, followed by the entire crew.

The snow still lay deep in the woods, but in front of the bunk house
it was packed hard, making a smooth although a slippery floor. Once
outside in the crisp air, the two men quickly pulled off their heavy
mackinaws and thick woolen shirts.

“My, what men,” Bob whispered, as they stood there stripped to the
waist.

Physically, at least, they were deserving of the exclamation. Big
and thick set, without an ounce of superfluous flesh on their
torsos, the muscles played in ripples beneath the smooth skin.

No complicated set of rules governed an impromptu match of this
kind. No getting of three points on the ground was necessary to win.
The first man down was the loser, and in case both came down
together, the man on top was the winner.

A stranger would have thought, from the appearance of the men, that
it was to be a fight to the finish, but all present knew that the
two were great friends and that the loser would take his defeat in
good part and hope to win the next time. However, they had seen the
two men wrestle before and knew that each would exert himself to the
utmost to win.

For some moments the two giants circled around each other, watching
with hawk-like keenness for an opening. The right hold meant half
the battle, as they well knew, and a false hold might well mean
defeat. Suddenly, seeing his chance, Pierre leaped forward and
caught his opponent about the waist. And then the real struggle
began.

“Just look at those muscles will you,” Jack whispered to Bob.

It was little wonder that the display excited the boy’s admiration.
The huge muscles stood out like immense cords as the two men
strained with all their might to upset each other. Pulling and
pushing they whirled about on the smooth snow, neither seeming to be
able to gain the advantage. Once Jean slipped, and the boys thought
that he was going down, but he quickly recovered his footing and, in
a second, seemed on even terms again. Both men were breathing hard
and it seemed as though one or the other must yield soon, but as to
which one it would be there was no indication.

Then suddenly the end came. The boys saw Jean’s powerful arms creep
upward, then quickly he bent his back, and Pierre, taken by
surprise, flew over his head, landing on his back nearly ten feet
away. For a moment he lay there striving to regain his breath, which
had been driven from his body. Then eager hands pulled him to his
feet and he ran for Jean, who was already pulling on his shirt.

“Dat one ver’ bon hold,” he said as he grasped the victor by the
hand.

“Oui, she one ver’ fine hold,” Jean agreed, accepting the
outstretched hand with a broad grin. “I thot you had me one time,”
he added as he drew on his mackinaw.

“Oui, I ver’ near geet you,” Pierre grinned as he began to dress.

“It’s fine that those men can go through a match like that and still
be good friends,” Bob declared as he and Jack hurried away to the
wharf.

Even they, accustomed as they were to the rapidity with which the
ice breaks up when it once starts, were surprised at the change
which one short hour had wrought. What had been a broad expanse of
frozen surface now was a heaving mass of huge cakes of ice,
interspersed with stretches of open water.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jack asked as he gazed at the sight.

“Nothing finer,” Bob agreed. “But come on, let’s get the rods and
try for trout in some of those open stretches.”

The finest fishing in the lakes of northern Maine is just as the ice
goes out. Then the big trout are hungry after the long winter
beneath the ice, and lucky is the fisherman who is there at the
time.

As the boys returned to the wharf with their rods it happened that
there was an open space just out in front. Bob was first to have a
fly lazily floating on the surface of the water, but it had hardly
struck the surface before it disappeared and a tug at the line told
the boy that he had hooked the first fish of the season. From the
way the reel whined as the line ran out he knew that it was a big
one. He pressed on the drag as hard as he dared but it seemed to
have little effect.

“You’ll have to make it snappy or you’ll lose him,” Jack shouted.
“That opening’s going to close in a minute or two, and if he gets
under the ice, good night.”

Bob saw that what his brother had said was true, and, for the
moment, was uncertain what was best to be done. But just then he
noticed that the line was slacking and he hastened to reel in. He
had recovered about half of the line when the fish darted off again
and he was forced to let the line run.

“You’ll have to pull him,” Jack shouted. “He’ll be under that cake
in another minute.”

Bob, realizing the truth of Jack’s statement, quickly lowered the
light rod and caught hold of the line. Now it was simply a question
of the strength of the line. Would it hold or would it break?

“It’s a good thing that’s a new line,” Jack cried, dancing about in
his excitement as Bob began to pull in carefully, hand over hand.

“Nothing very sportsmanlike about this way of landing a fish,” he
declared. “But we need that fellow for dinner.”

Slowly, foot by foot, the fish came in until finally it was flapping
at their feet.

“Eight pounds if he’s an ounce,” Jack declared, as he picked the
fish up by the gills and held it out at arm’s length.

For nearly two hours they fished, watching their chance whenever an
open space gave them opportunity to cast. They lost several on
account of the ice closing in before they could get them out, but
more were landed successfully and by ten o’clock they had enough for
dinner for the crew. They were all good-sized fish, none weighing
less than three pounds, but the first one caught remained the prize
of the lot by a good margin.

“Now I guess it’s up to us to clean ’em,” Jack said, as he reeled in
his line. “That’s a dandy mess if I do say it.”

They had thrown the fish as they unhooked them into a packing box,
and each taking hold of an end, they started for the mess house.
They had stepped from the wharf when Jack chanced to look back
toward the lake.

“What’s that out there?” he cried, setting his end of the box down
on the snow.

“Looks like a man,” Bob replied, as he followed suit with his end.

“I’ll get the glasses,” Jack shouted, starting on the run for the
office only a few rods away.

He was back in almost no time and, running to the end of the wharf,
quickly raised the glasses to his eyes.

“It’s a man all right,” he declared after a moment, as he handed the
glasses to his brother.

The man was probably a mile and a half from the shore, on a cake of
ice about twenty feet in diameter. Bob could see that he was sitting
in the center of the cake.

“I can’t see him move a bit,” he said, as he lowered the glass from
his eyes.

“Don’t suppose he’s dead do you?” Jack asked anxiously.

“Seems to me that he’s sitting up too straight for that,” Bob
replied slowly.

For a moment the two boys looked at each other. Each knew what was
passing in the other’s mind. They well knew that the cake of ice
which was supporting the man was liable to break up at any moment,
and that the strongest swimmer could not live long in the icy water.
All the men were off in the woods back of the camp, loading the last
of the season’s cut. To go for them might mean that it would be too
late.

“Let’s get the canoe quick,” Bob said, as he started on the run for
the office slowly followed by Jack.

The canoe, which was in a little shed back of the office, was a
small canvas affair, good enough for a short trip in smooth water,
but far too frail to be safe amid the floating ice. But it was the
only means they had of reaching the man and they did not hesitate.
To get it down to the wharf was the work of but a few moments.
Carefully they lowered it to the water, there being at the moment a
large clear space in front of the wharf.

“This is going to be a mighty dangerous trip all right,” Bob
declared, as he took his place in the stern while Jack crouched in
the bow. “We’ve got to be careful of the ice or we’ll get a hole in
her and then——”

There was no need to finish the sentence. They both knew what a hole
in the frail canoe would mean.

The wind, which had been light during the morning, had freshened
during the past hour and now was coming strong from the northwest,
directly in their faces. All over the lake the huge cakes of ice
were bobbing up and down, the spaces of clear water between them
constantly increasing and decreasing in size.

From the start their progress was very slow, as they were obliged to
follow a zigzag course wherever the open spaces would permit. In
twenty minutes they were but a few hundred feet nearer the man than
when they started.

“Can we ever do it?” Jack panted, as he dug his paddle deep in the
water and exerted all his strength to avoid a cake which threatened
to smash into the side of the canoe.

“We’ve got to,” Bob returned, a look of determination in his face.
“We’ll do it if his cake holds out long enough,” he encouraged, as
with a strong push he sent the canoe forward through a narrow lane
between two large cakes.

Now the open spaces were larger and they were able to make better
time. They were nearly half way to the man and urging the canoe
between two immense floes when suddenly Jack realized that the cakes
were rapidly approaching each other.

“Dig for all you’re worth or we won’t get through,” he shouted.

They did their best but it was not enough. Realizing that they could
not make it, Jack stopped paddling and shouted:

“We’ll have to jump for it.”

Bob quickly took in the situation and, throwing his paddle to the
bottom of the canoe, he too watched the huge floe as it approached.
They saw that the cake to their right would reach the boat first.

“Make it snappy,” Bob shouted, as the cake was upon them.

With hands gripping the side of the canoe they crouched, waiting for
the cake of ice to reach them.

“Now!” Bob shouted, and on the instant both sprang for the ice, then
turned and dragged the canoe after them.

They were not a moment too soon for, as they drew the canoe from the
water, the two floes met with a grinding crash.

“Mighty close call that,” Bob gasped, as he gazed about.

“Too close for comfort, but, thank God we made it,” Jack agreed.
“But come on. There’s no time to lose. This ice looks mighty rotten
to me, and that cake he’s on may be worse.”

The cake on which they found themselves was a large one, fully a
hundred feet across. A glance told them that between their cake and
that on which the man sat was mostly open water; and, encouraged by
the sight, they began dragging the canoe over the ice. To get it
again in the water and to embark without swamping the frail craft
took all their skill. But working carefully, they finally
accomplished it and pushed off just as, with a loud crack, the big
floe broke up into a dozen smaller ones.

“Our lucky day all right,” Jack shouted, as he dug his paddle into
the water. “Pray God it holds,” he added in a lower tone.

They now made good time, as only occasionally did a small cake cause
them to change their course, and in a few minutes they were only a
few rods away from their destination.

The stranded man had risen to his feet and as Jack raised his head
he waved his arms vigorously.

“Look, Bob,” the boy shouted, as he recognized the man. “It’s
Jacques Lamont.”

The words had hardly left his lips when a loud cracking sound
reached their ears and, to their horror, the cake parted in the
middle, and before the man had time to jump, the icy water had
swallowed him. One moment he had been standing there waving his hand
at them and the next he was gone.



                             CHAPTER II

                               TOWING


By the time the boys had recovered from their first shock of horror,
the space between the two halves of the ice floe had widened to
several feet, and with powerful strokes they sent the canoe toward
the lane of water.

“It was about here,” Bob shouted, as he stopped paddling and swung
the canoe around.

At that moment the man’s head popped above the surface of the water
only a few feet away. A few powerful strokes brought him quickly to
the side of the canoe.

“Jacques,” cried both boys, as the man seized the side of the canoe
with his hand.

“You come der right time, oui,” he said, his teeth chattering so
that he could hardly speak.

“Get in as quick as you can,” Bob ordered.

Jacques Lamont was a large man and the canoe was small, barely large
enough to carry three full-sized men. Under less skillful handling
it would surely have upset, but the Frenchman knew just how to go
about it, and the boys were but slightly less adept, and in almost
no time he was in.

“You let me tak’ paddle,” he said to Jack. “Need work keep warm,
oui.” Carefully the two changed places and in another moment the
canoe was speeding back. Rapidly the lake was clearing of ice and
only occasionally did they have to swerve from a straight course to
avoid a floe, and soon they reached the wharf.

“Hurry up to the office now,” Bob ordered, as he sprang from the
canoe.

Fortunately they found a good fire roaring in the office stove. Tom
Bean, the camp foreman, was at the desk doing something with a big
account book as they pushed open the door.

“Bejabbers, and it looks like ye’d been in the drink, so it does,”
he declared, as he got up from his chair and greeted the big
Frenchman with a hearty hand shake.

“Oui, dat water he ver’ wet,” Jacques grinned, as he stretched out
his hands to the grateful heat of the stove.

“Got anything he can put on, Tom?” Bob asked. “He must get into
something dry right away.”

“Sure and it’s meself thot’ll find something,” the Irishman assured
him, as he disappeared into the little bedroom which opened out of
the office.

Jacques Lamont was an old friend of the Golden boys. He had worked
for their father many years, but this winter he had spent in
trapping away up over the Canadian line. About fifty years old, his
out-of-door life and clean living had caused the passing years to
deal very lightly with him and he would readily have passed for
fifteen years younger.

Tom was back in a few minutes with an armful of clothes.

“Thar, I gess thot’ll fix ye,” he declared, as he threw them on a
chair. “They may be a bit small but they’re the biggest I’ve got.”

Jacques quickly stripped and, after a brisk rub with a coarse towel,
proceeded to don the clothing which Tom had supplied.

“You haven’t told us how you came to be on the ice,” Jack said.

By this time Jacques was nearly dressed and told them how he had
been down to Greenville, a small town about twenty miles down the
lake, to sell his furs. He had come up to the Kineo House, a large
summer hotel on the other side of the lake, the day before, to see a
man on a matter of business. But the man was not there, and learning
that he would not be there until the next day, he had started across
the lake early that morning to see his friends at the camp.

“I tink der ice no go out so soon,” he explained. “But she bust up
ver’ queek and I geet caught, oui. You boys save my life. I, Jacques
Lamont, never forgeet heem.”

“That’s all right, old man,” Bob assured him, with a hearty slap on
the back. “Just forget it.”

“Non, no forgeet,” the Frenchman insisted. “Some time I do sumtin
for you, oui.”

“As if you hadn’t fifty times over,” Jack broke in. “But come on.
There goes the dinner horn and I’m hungry enough to eat all the cook
has got, so if you folks want anything, you’d better get a hustle
on.”

“How about those trout?” Bob asked, as he started for the door.

“Guess they’ll have to wait for supper,” Jack called back. “I
noticed that they were still down there in the box,” he added, as
Bob caught up with him.

“Well, we’ll dress them after dinner and they’ll go pretty good
tonight I reckon, even if I did have my mouth all made up for them
for dinner.”

Dinner over, they, together with Jacques, cleaned the fish and took
them to the kitchen where the cook promised to give them a big feast
that night.

About four o’clock the three friends went down to the wharf for a
look at the lake. Not a single bit of ice was to be seen.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jack asked, as he looked out over the heaving
water. “Where do you suppose it all goes to so soon?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Bob replied, and then asked: “How about it,
Jacques? Where does the ice go?”

“Non, I not know. Eet jest goes, I tink.”

Both boys laughed at the Frenchman’s explanation, and just then Tom
joined them.

“Thar, begorra, the last of the cut is hauled and termorrow we’ll
begin rollin’ in and buildin’ the fust raft. The Comet’ll be up
’bout noon and I want ter have things ready so’s she kin begin
towin’ as soon’s she gits here.”

The supper that night was all that the cook had promised. The big
trout, baked with slices of bacon, were delicious; and the hot
biscuits, so light that Jack declared they looked more like cream
puffs, seemed to almost melt in the mouth. The crew were in high
spirits and many was the joke thrown across the big table as the
food disappeared.

“You’ve got to hump yourself, Bob, to beat these biscuits,” Jack
declared, as he reached for his sixth.

“Yes, I’ll have to yield the palm to Joe,” Bob laughed. “He’s got me
beaten six ways of Sundays.”

“Don’t you believe it,” Jack returned loyally. “You can make just as
good ones, but I don’t think these can be beat.”

“Thanks for the flattery,” Bob smiled. “Pass the spuds down this way
and we’ll let it go at that.”

As usual, breakfast the next morning was eaten by lamplight, and
dawn was just breaking in the east when the crew started work by the
side of the lake.

Some of the logs, enough to make the first raft, were already in the
water, having been piled on the ice and fastened together here and
there by ropes so that they would not float away.

“Now then, we’ll get at thot boom fust thing and swing her round
these logs,” Tom shouted, as the boys joined him at the water’s
edge.

About a dozen of the men had been told off for this work, while the
rest of the crew started, with their peaveys, rolling the big spruce
logs from the huge piles into the water.

A large spike was driven into the end of a log, and to this a short
piece of strong rope was tied. The other end was then secured to
another spike driven into the end of another log, leaving enough
leeway between the ends for flexibility. This was continued until a
boom was completed long enough to reach entirely around the raft.
These rafts contain about 30,000 logs and will yield approximately
2,000,000 feet of lumber.

The boys, together with all the rest of the crew, had discarded
their moccasins and were wearing heavy shoes, the soles of which
were thickly studded with short but sharp brads, which prevented any
possibility of slipping on the logs.

By a little past ten the boom was completed and fastened around the
huge raft, which was then ready to be towed across the lake to the
East Outlet, where the waters of the lake emptied into the Kennebec
River.

“Hurrah! There she comes,” Jack shouted, a few minutes later, as his
sharp eyes spied a thin stream of smoke far down the lake.

“Begorra, and ye kin depend on Cap’n Seth to git here in time for
dinner,” Tom Bean laughed, as he picked up his sledge and started
for the office.

The boys, from the little wharf, watched the approaching steamer,
the Comet, one of the fleet of The Coburn Steamboat Company.

“There’s the Twilight, I’ll bet a nickle,” Bob declared, pointing to
a second stream of smoke some distance behind the Comet. “I suppose
she is going to tow Big Ben’s first raft across.”

“Probably,” Jack agreed. “I only hope that we can get across first
and get our logs started ahead of his. He’ll, of course, do all he
can to hold us up on the way down the river, and if he gets started
ahead of us he can give us a lot of trouble.”

Big Ben Donohue, a man of Irish descent and a local political boss,
owned a big lumber camp a few miles down the lake. Having been
under-bid, in a large contract with The Great Northern Star Paper
Company by Mr. Golden the summer previous, he had tried in many ways
during the winter to delay their work, but thanks to the two boys,
he had failed to accomplish his purpose.

“There’s Cap’n Seth,” Jack shouted, as a large middle-aged man swung
his cap to them from the deck of the small steamer as she steamed up
to the wharf.

“Hello, Cap’n Seth,” both boys shouted, as they heard the bell on
the boat ring for “back water.”

Cap’n Seth was an old timer on Moosehead Lake. He had worked on the
lake as boy and man as far back as he could remember, and no one
knew the lake better than he.

“How’s the byes?” he greeted them, as he sprang to the wharf and
threw a half hitch of the rope which he held in his hand about a
stout post at the end of the wharf.

“Fine and dandy, and how’s yourself?” Bob asked, as he shook hands.

“If I felt any better I’d be scared,” Cap’n Seth declared, biting
off a large hunk of “sailor’s delight.”

“Is the Twilight going to tow for Ben?” Bob asked, as they started
toward the office.

“Ah huh, but I know what you’re a thinkin’ and ye needn’t worry.
We’ll beat her across easy. He hasn’t got his boom mor’n half done
and won’t get started ’fore ’bout three o’clock, an’ we ought ter be
half way across by that time,” the captain assured them.

“We’re all ready fer ye to start, Cap’n,” Tom Bean said, as they
entered the office where the foreman was busy putting some papers
away. “’Spose ye’ve had yer dinner,” he added, with a wink at the
boys.

“Wall neuw,” Cap’n Seth began scratching his head. “I kinder
cal’lated to git a little snack ’fore we started. If this wind
freshens up much more it’ll be a long trip an’ we’ll be hungry afore
we get back.”

“Oh, quit your teasing, Tom,” Jack laughed, as he saw the wistful
look in the captain’s face. “Don’t you mind him, Cap’n Seth.
Dinner’ll be ready in about five minutes now, and we’re not going to
start till we get filled up.”

Cap’n Seth, much relieved in his mind with the assurance that he
would get his dinner, shook his fist in mock anger at the foreman.
“I reckon ye think yer mighty smart scarin’ a feller outter a year’s
growth with yer tomfoolery. Do ye ever read the Bible?” he asked
suddenly, changing the conversation.

“Do I iver rade the Bible is it?” Tom almost shouted, for it was his
proud boast that he was a great Bible scholar. “Sure and it’s meself
thot fergits more about the Bible ivery night than ye iver knowed.”

“Is that so?” Cap’n Seth replied, a most serious look on his face.
“Then mebby ye kin settle a pint fer me that’s bin givin’ me a lot
o’ trouble.”

“Mebby I kin,” Tom assured him, sticking out his huge chest. “If
it’s in the Bible ye’ve come ter the right man and don’t ye fergit
it. What is it?”

“Wall,” Cap’n Seth began slowly, scratching his head. “It’s like
this. I’ve wanted fer a long time ter know why Moses didn’t take iny
giraffes inter the ark.”

The big foreman slowly and thoughtfully scratched his head. He felt
that his reputation as a Bible scholar was at stake and did not want
to make a mistake. He thought for a moment without speaking, then, a
look of relief coming to his face, he asked:

“And how do yer know thot he didn’t?”

“Tom, I’m surprised at yer. I thought ye knew sumpin about the
Scriptures and yer don’t even know that Moses didn’t take any
giraffes inter the ark. Wall, wall, kin ye beat it?”

Tom, feeling more than ever uncertain of his ground, hastily
endeavored to regain his lost prestige by saying:

“Ter be sure I knowed it, but I jest wanted ter be sure as how ye
knowed it.”

“That’s a leetle too thin, Tom, but we’ll let it go if ye kin give
me the rason,” Cap’n Seth declared, with a sly wink at the boys.

“Sure and that’s aisy,” he declared, after a moment’s deep thought.
“It was because the blamed critters were too tall fer the ark, of
course.”

“Too tall yer eye,” the captain snorted. “Ye got ter do better’n
that or go ter the foot o’ the class.”

Tom, seeing that his answer had failed to satisfy and none too sure
of his ground in his own mind, scratched his head for several
moments in deep thought. Finally he said:

“It’s meself thot’ll bet a good five cent cigar thot thot ere
question ain’t answered at all in the Bible.”

“An’ I’ll take the bet,” Cap’n Seth quickly replied. “An’ we leave
it ter Bob ter say who wins.”

“Right ye are. Jest a minute and I’ll git me Bible,” Tom said,
starting toward the bedroom which opened out of the office.

“Port yer helm there,” the captain shouted. “We don’t need nary
Bible ter settle this bet.”

“And why not?” Tom asked, turning back.

“Because I kin give yer the answer,” the captain assured him.

“Oh, ye kin, eh? Wall, what is it?” Tom asked.

“Wall, ye see it’s like this, I reckon. Moses didn’t take any
giraffes inter the ark cause Moses wasn’t born till about a thousand
years after the ark had finished her voyage. Noah had charge o’ that
cruise, ye poor fish.”

For an instant a puzzled expression stole over the face of the
Irishman, and then, as the fact that he had been made the butt of a
joke worked its way into his mind, he burst out laughing, and the
boys joined in heartily. Great was the Irishman’s relief when he
realized that, after all, his reputation as a Bible scholar had not
suffered.

“I owe ye the cigar all right, all right,” he declared, as soon as
he could speak. “Sure and thot’s a good one, so it is. I’ll spring
thot on Father Maginnis the next time I see him, so I will.”

Just then the dinner horn sent its welcome blast through the vast
forest and the captain quickly leaped to his chair and, followed by
the others, started for the mess house. The meal was a hurried one,
as they were anxious to get the big raft started despite the
captain’s assurance that Big Ben would be far behind them. They all
knew the advantage of getting the first raft of logs over the big
dam at the outlet.

In addition to the captain, the Comet boasted of a crew of two. Tim
Sullivan, engineer and fireman combined, was a big Irishman with red
hair and was, of course, called Reds by all who knew him. The other
member of the crew was a half-breed by the name of Joe Gasson. Joe
was a small man, about thirty years old, but what he lacked in size
he more than made up for in strength and quickness.

“That Joe, he’s quicker nor a cat,” Cap’n Seth was wont to say.

Joe Gasson was deck hand and general utility man.

“Can’t say as how I jest like the looks o’ that weather,” Cap’n Seth
said to Bob, as he cast a weather eye toward the west.

“You think it’s going to storm?”

“Can’t say fer sartain this time o’ year, but I’m kinder afeard of
it.”

The Comet had just left the wharf and was backing up to the raft.

“Hold her thar now,” Tom shouted from his position on the raft,
where he stood holding the big three-inch hawser which was already
fastened to the key of the raft. The stern of the steamer was now
almost touching the log and Tom threw the rope to Joe who quickly
made it fast to the snubbing post.

“All right now. Let her go,” Tom shouted, as he turned and ran over
the logs toward the shore.

Slowly the steamer started forward, the hawser straightening out
until there was a space of about fifty feet between the boat and the
raft. Then it tightened and the steamer came to an abrupt stop. It
takes a vast amount of pulling to overcome the inertia of 30,000 big
logs and the water boiled and churned at the stern as the blades of
the propeller beat it into foam. The Comet, built on the lines of a
tug boat, was a powerful craft and soon began to move slowly through
the water again, while the raft gradually took on the shape of a
huge flatiron.

“Hurrah! She’s moving,” Jack shouted.

Bob and Jack, together with a half dozen of the men of the camp,
were to cross with the raft, and the two boys were standing in the
stern eagerly watching the starting of the logs. The big hawser,
tight as a steel cable, groaned with the tremendous strain.
Fortunately the wind, which had been blowing from the northwest, had
died down to a light breeze. One would hardly think that an opposing
wind would make much difference, as the logs lying so low in the
water offer but a small surface to it; but when the surface of each
log above the water line is multiplied by 30,000, the product is an
enormous area. As a matter of fact, it is impossible for a boat to
tow a raft against a very strong wind, and often, in spite of its
great pulling power, the steamer is dragged backward sometimes at a
rate of several miles an hour.

It was all of a half hour before the raft was fairly in motion and
even then, as Jack declared, “you’d have to sight by a tree or
something to be sure that you were moving.”

“Well, we’re off at last, Cap’n Seth,” Bob said, as the captain
joined them in the stern.

“Yep, we’re on the move,” he replied, as he examined the hawser to
see if it was securely fastened.

“How about the weather?” Jack asked.

“Wall neuw,” and the captain took a hasty glance toward the west.
“I’m a thinkin’ we’ll have a bit o’ weather afore dark, but I’m
hopin’ as how we may git across afore it strikes us. It’s twelve
miles straight across to East Outlet an’ we kin make it in about
five hours if the pesky wind don’t blow any harder nor it is neuw,
but I don’t jest like the looks o’ that bank o’ clouds over thar,”
and he pointed toward the west where the boys could see a heavy
looking fringe of leaden colored clouds.

Very slowly the steamer gained speed until the captain assured them
that they were making almost three miles an hour, which is
considered very good unless the wind is in the right direction.

“That bank of clouds is getting higher all the time, Jack,” Bob
declared, as for the hundredth time he cast an anxious glance toward
them.

“And the wind is blowing harder than it was too,” Jack returned. “I
don’t believe we’re making more’n a couple miles an hour.”

“We’re not exactly exceeding the speed limit,” Bob grinned, as he
glanced down at the water.

They had been on the way for nearly two hours and were about a third
of the way across. Off to the left, about a half a mile distant, was
Sugar Island, the largest of the many islands which dot the lake.
Sugar Island has an area of some 5,000 acres.

“We’re not going to make it before dark, that’s certain,” Bob said
about an hour later. “We’re not making more’n a mile an hour I’ll
bet and the wind is getting stronger every minute.”

The sky, which during the day had been nearly free of clouds, was
now entirely overcast with dark rapidly moving banks of mist, and
the wind had increased from a light breeze to a strong blow which
came in fitful gusts.

“We’re jest barely holdin’ our own,” declared Cap’n Seth, who again
joined them. “If she gits any stronger we’ll begin to drift. Ought
ter had better sense than ter start out when my rheumatics kept
tellin’ me that a storm was a comin’. Them ere rheumatics are better
nor a barometer for ter tell when a storm’s a comin’. Never knew ’em
ter tell a lie yet,” and he slowly shook his head as he glanced up
at the sky.

Even as he spoke the first drop of the coming storm began to beat
against their faces, and in less than five minutes the rain was
coming down in earnest.

“Me for the engine room,” Bob shouted, as he left the stern and made
his way forward followed by Jack and the captain.

“Givin’ her all ye got, Reds?” the latter asked, as he reached the
open door of the engine room.

“Sure an’ I am thot,” Reds replied, glancing at the steam gage.
“Faith an’ she’s pullin’ fer all she’s worth.”

“Gee, listen to that wind,” Jack said a little later, from his perch
on the coal bin. “I’ll be a fig we’re not holding our own now,” he
added, as he jumped down. “Come on Bob, let’s put on these rubber
coats and go out and see what’s doing.”

Outside in the stern of the boat they found the captain and the rest
of the men watching the big raft as it heaved and groaned in the
heavy sea.

“We’ll hit Sugar Island in another ten minutes,” he shouted, as he
caught sight of the boys.

The rain was now falling in torrents and the wind was roaring in
furious blasts which shook the little steamer in all her timbers.
Darkness was falling rapidly, although it was still light enough for
them to see the island now only a few rods astern. Already the
captain was loosening the hawser preparatory to casting it off as
soon as the raft should strike.

“Will she break up, Cap’n?” Bob shouted.

“Dunno, she may hold together and she may not,” was the
unsatisfactory reply.

At that moment the farther end of the big raft struck the beach and
with a grinding crash the logs began to pile up as the wind drove
them forward. At the same instant the captain slipped the last coil
of the rope from the snubbling post and the boat, freed from its
drag, leaped forward.



                            CHAPTER III

                        WHERE IS THE COMET?


From Moosehead Lake to Waterville, by the way of the Kennebec River,
is about one hundred miles. A log, starting from the lake and making
the trip without a stop, would make the trip in from two to three
days. The annual drive of logs, comprising upward of 100,000,000,
usually starts the first of May, and on account of jams and other
delays, it is usually a matter of several weeks before a given log
reaches its destination.

The boys knew that their father had been very anxious to get that
particular raft of logs over the dam and started down the river at
the earliest possible moment, as the contract called for delivery of
not less than ten thousand logs by the first of June.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t have got across with that raft,” Bob
declared a few minutes later, after he had returned to the engine
room accompanied by Jack and the captain. “What are we going to do
now?” he asked, as he removed his dripping coat.

“I told Joe to head her back to the camp,” the captain replied.
“It’ll prob’ly take several days ter git them logs off the island
ready ter tow agin, an’ knowin’ as how yer dad is in a hurry, it’ll
be quicker ter start with another one soon’s this storm blows out.”

It was as Jack declared, “dark enough to cut with a knife,” by the
time they reached the wharf. The rain had ceased and the wind had
nearly died down. A few stars were visible, dimly peeking through
the rifts in the clouds, giving promise of a fair day on the morrow.

Tom Bean was on the wharf as Cap’n Seth carefully warped the steamer
in.

“Did ye git the raft across?” he asked anxiously, as Bob jumped from
the boat.

“Sure and I feared as mooch,” he said, after Bob had told him that
the raft was beached on Sugar Island. “It’s too bad, so it is, but
we got another one ready ter be towed afore the storm struck, but
it’s meself as thought as how we were goin’ ter lose it entirely fer
awhile when the wind was blowin’ the hardest. But we managed ter
hold her and yer kin start the first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, we’ll have to let those logs rest there till we get some
started down the river,” Bob said, as he glanced up at the sky. “I
guess it’ll be a good day tomorrow and I don’t think the boom broke
so I guess they won’t scatter any.”

It was intensely dark in the bunk house when Bob awoke. It was so
unusual for him to wake up during the night that for a moment he lay
wondering what had disturbed him. All was still except for a variety
of snores from members of the crew, but he was used to them and knew
that they were not responsible. A glance at the luminous face of his
watch told him that it was but a little past two o’clock. He turned
over and settled himself to go to sleep again, when suddenly he
realized that he was very thirsty.

Pulling a small flashlight from beneath his pillow, he quietly
slipped from the bunk and stole softly across the room toward the
door which opened into the kitchen.

“Of course the pail is empty,” he muttered a moment later. “Well,
that means that I’ve got to get dressed and go out to the pump. I
can’t go to sleep till I get a drink, that’s sure.”

So stealing quietly back to his bunk, he quickly: drew on his
clothes and a moment later the front door had closed quietly behind
him.

The pump from which they obtained drinking water was close to the
office building, some three hundred yards from the bunk house, and
almost half that distance from the lake. It was not nearly as dark
as in the early part of the night, as the moon was shining through
the light clouds making it possible to see for some little distance.

Just before he reached the pump an opening in the woods gave him a
view of the wharf.

“Well, what do you know about that?” he said aloud, as he came to a
sudden stop. “Where in the world is the Comet?” and the next moment
he was running rapidly down the path toward the lake.

His question was soon answered, for as he reached the end of the
wharf he could see, in the dim light, the form of the boat some
hundred yards off shore.

“Mighty funny how she got loose,” he muttered, as he looked about
him. Then, seeing that the rope was still tied to the post, he
stooped down and quickly pulled it in. It was a short job, as only a
few feet of it remained. Eagerly he examined the end.

“Looks as though she had chafed it through,” he declared, as he saw
the frayed end. “I don’t understand it though, as Cap’n Seth is too
careful a man to tie up a boat so that it would chafe.”

A very light breeze was blowing and he could not, for the moment,
see that the boat was moving; but, as he watched it, he realized
that it was slowly drifting down the lake.

“Guess I’d better go get Cap’n Seth,” he thought, as he turned back
toward the camp.

He was half way to the bunk house when he stopped as a thought
struck him.

“Pshaw,” he said half aloud. “There’s no use in waking him up. I can
take the canoe and bring her in myself. I know how to run her.”

He turned and ran back to the little shed behind the office where
the canoe was kept, stopping only long enough at the pump to get his
delayed drink. A few moments later he was sending the light craft
rapidly through the water toward the drifting steamer.

“Guess I’d better be careful,” he thought, as he got to within a few
yards of the boat. “It’s just possible that there might be someone
aboard her.”

So for a time he let the canoe drift, as he strained his ears to
listen. But no sound, save the soft lapping of the water against the
side of the steamer came to him, and dipping his paddle noiselessly
in the water, he soon grasped the side of the boat. Again he waited
and listened.

“I guess it’s all right,” he thought, as he stepped softly into the
stern of the steamer and lifting the light canoe from the water
placed it bottom up across the back of the boat.

This accomplished, he crept softly forward toward the engine room,
stopping every few feet to listen. The door of the engine room was
closed, and as he reached it he again paused and placed his ear
against it. Was it fancy or could he hear someone inside the room
breathing?

“I don’t know whether I’m hearing things or not,” he thought as he
stepped back a bit, “but it sounds as though there’s somebody in
there asleep.”

After thinking the matter over for a few minutes, he drew the
flashlight from his pocket and stepping forward, placed his hand on
the door knob. Carefully, without making the slightest sound, he
pushed open the door a few inches and again listened. No longer was
there any doubt as to the room being occupied. The deep breathing of
a man was plainly audible. He pushed the door open still farther and
quickly threw the light of the flash within the room. There on the
floor in front of the furnace, with his back against the coal bin,
was a man fast asleep. Bob recognized him at once as an employee of
Big Ben Donahue. A few months before, as recorded in a previous
volume, Bob had prevented him from selling or giving liquor to the
men of his father’s crew. It was the same man beyond the shadow of a
doubt, and Bob grinned as he quietly closed the door, as the
remembrance of his former encounter with the man flashed through his
mind.

He had closed the door and crept back to the stern of the boat in
order to have time to consider what was best to be done. There was
not much doubt in his mind as to the way things lay. That it was a
move on the part of Big Ben to delay them in getting a raft of logs
started down the river he did not doubt. Knowing that the wind was
blowing down the lake, he would figure that it would not be
necessary to start the engine. The wind would carry the boat
directly past his camp, where the man would be taken off and the
steamer allowed to drift wherever the wind blew it after that. The
man had frayed the end of the rope, thus making it appear that it
had chafed in two. The one weak point in his scheme was that his man
had fallen asleep on the job.

“So far so good,” Bob mused. “And now what’s the next move?” he
asked himself.

For a moment he considered hitting him with a stick of wood just
hard enough to stun him, but he immediately dismissed that plan
knowing that he would never be able to bring himself to hit a
sleeping man. He had been aware of a strong odor of cheap whiskey in
the engine room and the knowledge that the man was undoubtedly drunk
was, he considered, a point in his favor, and he determined to try
to tie him up without waking him. He had, during the trip the
previous day, noticed several pieces of small rope in the engine
room, and had no doubt about being able to quickly find something to
answer his purpose. His mind once made up, he hesitated no longer.

Quickly he stepped to the door and again pushed it open. His light
showed him that the man had not moved. A bracket lamp was fastened
to the wall just inside the door and making as little noise as
possible he struck a match and lighted it. Still the man did not
move. He found the bits of rope without difficulty and selecting two
pieces suitable for his purpose he knelt in front of the sleeping
man. Carefully he raised first one foot and then the other, and
slipped the rope beneath them. He was congratulating himself that
the man was too sound asleep to be easily awakened, when suddenly
without the slightest warning, he sprang to his feet. Bob quickly
followed his example and for an instant the two stood facing each
other.

For only a moment however did the man hesitate, then stepping
quickly forward he aimed a vicious blow at Bob’s head with his huge
fist. Bob dodged the blow easily, and as the man’s impetus carried
him slightly off his balance, the boy succeeded in getting in a good
stiff punch just behind the ear. The blow staggered the man for an
instant and he reeled against the side of the room. Had Bob followed
up the blow he might have ended the fight at once, as the man was
more or less dazed from the blow coming when he was only half awake.
But he failed to take advantage of the opportunity and in another
minute it was too late. The man quickly recovered himself, and
maddened to the point of frenzy by the blow, he rushed at the boy.
The room was so small that there was little space to dodge, and
although Bob succeeded in getting in another blow on the nose, which
started the blood, the man seized him about the waist in his
powerful arms and in another instant they were rolling over and over
on the floor.

Almost instantly Bob realized that so far as mere strength went he
was no match for the burly Frenchman. He must pit his skill against
the strength of his antagonist. Almost at once the Frenchman secured
a grip on Bob’s throat, but he had managed to free himself before
the man could shut off his wind. It was this hold that he feared and
he exerted all his skill to prevent a recurrence of it and for a
time was successful. But soon, despite his best efforts, the
Frenchman again got his huge hand on his throat and this time the
boy was not able to squirm free. Quickly the man’s grasp tightened
and Bob realized that unless something happened the fight would soon
be over. At that instant, just when the man’s grip had tightened so
that he was hardly able to breathe, the thought of a trick which he
had learned some years before, flashed into his mind.

The Frenchman had only one of his hands about Bob’s throat and the
other was pressing against his left shoulder. Quickly working his
right hand beneath the man’s arm, he seized hold of his wrist with
both hands, and exerting all his strength, gave it a quick twist.
The bone snapped with an audible crack and the man, with a cry of
pain, leaped to his feet and Bob at once did likewise.

For a moment the Frenchman seemed too dazed to speak, then as he
tried in vain to lift the injured arm, he whispered hoarsely:

“You hav’ bust dat arm.”

Bob saw at once that all the fight had been taken out of the man.

“It’s too bad it had to be done,” he said not unkindly, “but it was
the only way I could keep you from choking me to death. Now,” he
continued in a firm tone, as the Frenchman looked at him, his face
contorted with both anger and pain, “if you want to save yourself a
good deal of trouble with that arm you’ll not try to hinder me but
let me get this boat back to the wharf as soon as possible.”

“Oui, I no bother you,” the man groaned, as he sank into an old
chair.

Bob at once threw open the door of the furnace, and seeing that the
fire was in fair shape, he put on a couple of shovelsfull of coal
and opened the drafts. There was nothing more he could do until he
had a head of steam.

“Arm pain you much?” he asked, as he sat down on the doorstep.

“Oui, she hurt plenty mooch,” the man growled.

“Why did you try to steal the boat?”

“Non. I no try steal boat,” the Frenchman denied. “I been up North
East Carry. Geet lost comin’ back and ver’ tired. See boat, and geet
in to tak’ rest. Dat rope she must bust. Boat drift off. I know
nuttin ’bout it till I wake up, see you try tie me up.”

“Hum, it’s mighty strange how a boat could chafe an inch and a half
rope in two with almost no wind blowing,” Bob returned shaking his
head. “No, I’m afraid it won’t go down. I’m sorry about your arm,
but I didn’t much fancy being choked to death. Tom Bean will set it
for you and he can do as good a job as any doctor.”

“But I lose my wages,” the man whined.

“I suppose so,” Bob replied. “But that’s your fault. You tried to
kill me and I had to protect myself.”

By this time a glance at the steam gage told Bob that there was
enough steam to start the boat, and opening the valve he soon had
the boat moving slowly through the water.

“Now I’ll have to go to the pilot-house to steer her,” he announced,
“and if you try any funny business you’ll be a long time getting
that arm fixed.”

Without waiting for the man to reply, Bob quickly made his way to
the pilot-house. The boat was headed down the lake and he swung her
in a long curve and soon had her pointed toward the camp. He had set
the steam for slow speed and as the boat was within about a hundred
feet of the wharf he rushed back to the engine room and shut it off.
The man still sat in the chair and had apparently not moved. Quickly
returning to the pilot-house, he saw that the boat had made more
progress than he had judged she would, and realized that she would
hit the wharf too hard for safety. So he had to throw the wheel over
as far as he could. The boat responded nobly, but even so he missed
the wharf by only a few inches.

“That was a bit too close for comfort,” he declared, as the boat
moved slowly up the lake.

The steamer was fully a hundred feet from the wharf when she finally
lost headway.

“It’s a whole lot harder to run a steamboat alone than I thought,”
he said aloud. “I wonder if I can pole her in. Here goes for a try
anyhow.”

Bob knew that there was a long pole out on the deck, and in another
minute he was trying to use it but the water was too deep. He was
unable to touch bottom.

“So near and yet so far,” he grinned, as he laid the pole down on
the deck. “Guess I’ll have to wait till the wind carries her in a
bit.”

Fortunately the wind, what there was of it, was in the right
direction and soon he could see that the boat was slowly but surely
getting nearer the wharf. He waited a few minutes and then tried
again with the pole. This time he could easily touch bottom, and
soon the bow of the boat gently hit the wharf. It was the work of
but a moment to make her fast and then he returned to the engine
room.

“All right now,” he greeted the Frenchman, who still sat in the
chair looking, as he afterward told Jack, as though he had lost his
last friend. “Come on and we’ll get Tom out of bed and he’ll set
your arm.”

It was a little after four o’clock when they reached the office. The
door was not locked, and opening it Bob stepped inside closely
followed by his patient.

Tom Bean slept in a little bedroom which opened out of the office.
The door of this room was closed, and as soon as he had a light
going, Bob knocked loudly on it.

“Who’s there?” came a sleepy demand.

“It’s I, Tom,” Bob replied. “Can I come in?”

“Sure you kin,” and Bob pushed open the door and entered the room.

“Faith and what do yer mane by wakin’ an honest mon at this time o’
night?” Tom demanded as he sat up in bed.

Bob sat down on the edge of the bed and quickly told him what had
happened.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” the foreman said, when he had finished.
“Ye sure do bate the bugs when it comes ter gettin’ into scrapes, so
yer does. But,” he added hastily, “Yere like a cat and allays land
on yer fate.”

“But hurry up and get some clothes on, Tom. The poor fellow must be
suffering and his arm needs looking after. I’ll get a fire going
while you get dressed.”

It only took Tom a few minutes to get into his clothes, but by the
time he was dressed Bob had a fire roaring in the stove.

“So ye’ve been tryin’ some more of yer dirty work, hey,” Tom said
sternly, as he stepped close to the Frenchman who was standing near
the stove.

“Non, non, I——” he began, but Tom stopped him.

“Sure and ye might as well save yer breath cause I wouldn’t belave
yer on a stack o’ Bibles.” But although he spoke roughly, the
kind-hearted Irishman was as gentle as a woman as he set about his
work. It was not a bad break, he assured the man after a careful
examination.

Setting a broken arm was nothing new to Tom, and, as Bob had
declared, he could do it as well as a doctor. In the lumber camps of
the Big Maine woods, broken arms and legs are common and in many
cases it would be a long time before a doctor could be reached. So
Tom had learned how to do the work, and in his years of lumbering
had had considerable practice.

The Frenchman stood the operation with a sullen stoicism, although
the pain must have been severe.

“Thar, begorra, thot’s as good a job as iny doc’d do,” Tom declared,
as he finished binding the arm to a strip of board. “Ye’ll have as
good a flipper as ever in three or four weeks, but if ye want to
enjoy good health it’s meself as advises ye ter give us a wide
berth.”

The Frenchman gave no word of thanks, but announced that he would be
on the way. Bob helped him on with his coat and in another minute he
was gone.

“He sure’s a hard nut,” Tom declared. “And you want ter look out fer
him. He’ll do yer dirt if ever he gits a chance.”

It was nearly five o’clock and they decided that a game of checkers
would be the best way to kill time until breakfast. So Bob got out
the board and soon they were deep in the interest of the game.



                             CHAPTER IV

                              THE RACE


“That’s three games to your four,” Bob announced a little later, as
the loud blast of a horn told them that breakfast was ready.

“Sure and yer no nade ter rub it in. It’s meself as knows that yer
now siven games ahead, but I’ll be after catchin’ up wid yer ’fore
the spring’s over.” Tom grinned as he put the board away. “But come
on, let’s be after makin’ it snappy. We want ter git started wid
thot raft jest as soon as we kin, or Big Ben’ll be after gittin’ in
forninst us.”

It was barely light when the Comet was hitched to the second raft
ready for another try. Bob and Tom agreed that it would be best to
say nothing about the adventure of the night to anyone except Jack
and Cap’n Seth. The captain, of course, had to be told, as he was
quick to notice that the steamer was not tied as he had left her,
and Bob had no hesitation in telling his brother.

“That must have been a peach of a fight,” the latter declared, after
Bob had told him about it.

“It was while it lasted,” Bob assured him. “I’m mighty sorry that I
had to break his arm, but it was that or have the life choked out of
me and——”

“You did just right, of course,” Jack interrupted. “No one could
blame you, so don’t worry about it.”

“Look, Jack,” Bob suddenly cried, as he caught his brother by the
arm.

“There’s the Twilight towing one of Ben’s rafts.”

“Sure’s your born,” Jack agreed. “It’s going to be a race to see
who’ll get across first.”

“It’ll be a race all right,” Bob said quietly. “A race of snails at
about two miles an hour.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Jack laughed. “But the Comet can beat
the Twilight any day so I don’t think we need to worry.”

“I’m not so sure about that last part of what you said,” Bob replied
soberly. “It’s true that the Comet is the faster boat in an even
race, but unless I’m much mistaken, the Twilight is hitched on to a
smaller raft than the one we’re towing.”

“Jimminy crickets, you’re right. I never thought about that,” and
Jack too looked sober. “Let’s go and ask Cap’n Seth what he thinks
about it.”

They found the captain in the pilot-house steering.

“I dunno,” he replied in answer to their question. “Course the
Comet’s the faster boat, but if the Twilight’s hitched on to a
smaller raft she might beat us. Reckon we’ll jest hav’ ter wait an’
see. Give her all she’ll stand, Reds,” he shouted through the
speaking tube.

The wind, which was light, was with them this time, and they were
making good progress, but so was the Twilight. The two boats were
now about two miles apart and it was plain, from the dense clouds of
black smoke, that they were issuing from the Twilight’s stack, that
her captain also was pushing her to the limit.

“Cap’n Bill may be nuthin’ but a kid, but he knows how ter git out
o’ the Twilight all the speed that’s in her,” Cap’n Seth told them
as he cast an anxious eye from the window toward the other boat.
“An’ he ain’t got more’n about 20,000 logs in that raft, an’ we’ve
got thirty, an’ it takes a lot o’ power ter pull that extra 10,000
through the water, let me tell yer.”

An hour passed and still another, and it could not be seen that
either boat had gained on the other. Their course toward the same
goal was bringing them, all the time, closer together and now they
were not more than a mile apart.

“Tom made a mistake when he didn’t fix up a small raft for us to tow
across,” Bob declared, as he leaned on the rail and watched the
other boat. “Then we’d have been there first without any trouble.”

“No doubt about that,” Jack agreed, “but it’s too late now and I
believe we’ll win out at that.”

Two more hours slipped by without any change in the relative
positions of the two boats. They were making about two miles an hour
and were about half way across the lake.

During the last hour Bob had been in the pilot-house with Cap’n
Seth, but now he joined his brother who was standing in the stern.

“Of all the slow races this takes the cake,” he grumbled, as he sat
down on a coil of rope.

“Yep, it’s all of that and then some,” Jack agreed. “I don’t believe
either boat has gained a foot in the last four hours. Suppose we
both get there at the same time?”

“I don’t know what we’d do in that case unless we flipped a coin for
it,” Bob smiled.

The boats were now not more than a mile apart and, in the clear air,
the boys could see a number of men in the stern of the Twilight.

“I believe that’s Ben himself on board there,” Bob said.

“Not much doubt of that,” Jack replied. “There’s no one else up here
as big as he is.”

The outlet of Moosehead Lake into the Kennebec River is closed by a
large dam, near the center of which was a sluice through which the
logs were emptied into the river ten or twelve feet below the level
of the lake. Watertight gates close the passageway when desired, so
that by throwing the gates open the water in the river can be raised
a number of feet in a few minutes. During the latter part of the
driving season, when the water in the river is low, these gates are
usually opened once each day, sending what is called the “head” down
the river.

Toward this dam the two boats were towing their rafts. Big Ben as
well as the boys knew that it was a case of first come first served
in the matter of getting the logs first through the sluice. Could he
but get there first and get his logs started down the river ahead of
the Golden logs, he felt sure that abundant opportunity would
present itself to cause delays. He hated the Goldens, first because
Mr. Golden had beaten him in bidding on a big contract the summer
before, and also because Bob and Jack had frustrated his attempts
during the winter to delay their work. Another sore point was in
regard to a very valuable tract of timber land, situated between the
two camps. He had found, a short time before the previous Christmas,
Mr. Golden’s deed to the land, and instead of returning it had kept
it, and by means of a forged deed had claimed the tract as his own.
But the boys had found the missing deed and Mr. Golden had had
little trouble in proving his title to the property.

Big Ben Donahue was pacing the deck of the Twilight chewing
nervously on a big black cigar. Every minute or two his glance would
stray to the Comet, as he paced slowly back and forth.

“We seem to be just about holding our own and no more,” he said to
the captain, a young man in his early twenties, as he stopped by the
pilot-house.

“Just about,” the latter replied, as he shifted the wheel a few
points to the right. “They’ve got a bigger raft than we have, but
the Comet is a faster boat.”

“Hum, well, it’ll be twenty dollars in your pocket if we get there
ahead,” the man said, as he again glanced toward the other boat.

“Nothin’ doin,” the young captain replied quickly. “You hired this
boat and it’s my duty to get your logs across as soon’s I can an’
I’m a doin’ it, but I don’t want your money.”

Big Ben’s eyes snapped as he looked the boy in the face, but the
latter met his glance with a steady gaze and, without saying
anything more, the men soon walked away.

“I hope we lose this race though I’ve got to do my best to win it,”
the young captain muttered, as he too glanced at the Comet.

Big Ben stopped at the door of the engine room. The fireman was
leaning back in a chair in front of the furnace door, and as his
eyes were closed Ben judged that he was asleep.

“Hey, there,” he shouted. “What do you think this is, bed time?”

The fireman, a half-breed named Joe Cooley, slowly opened his eyes.

“I no sleep,” he stammered. “I jest restin’, oui.”

“Well, you tend to business and get some wood on the top of that
coal and see if you can’t get a little speed out of this tub,” Big
Ben ordered.

“She no stan’ more. She bust, you put on wood, oui,” the fireman
asserted as he glanced at the steam gage.

“Bust your eye,” Big Ben snorted. “Why, you’ve only got thirty
pounds there.”

“Cap’n, him say nev’ geet more thirty pounds, she bust sure. Dat
safety valve, she no work, geet stuck, oui,” and the man shook his
head.

“I believe the fellow’s lying,” Big Ben muttered to himself, as he
walked toward the stern. “She ought to carry forty pounds all
right.”

A few minutes later, as he again paused at the door of the engine
room, he saw that no one was there. For a moment he hesitated as
though undecided what to do; then, glancing quickly and seeing the
coast was clear, he stepped into the room and threw open the furnace
door.

“Hump, that’s not half a fire,” he muttered, as he glanced about
him.

In a small bin to one side of the furnace he saw a few sticks of
wood, and moving with great quickness he threw four of the largest
pieces in on top of the coal.

“There, I guess that’ll get some action out of her,” he muttered, as
he closed the furnace door and quickly left the room.

The action was not long in manifesting itself, but not in the way he
desired. Big Ben was again up forward talking with the captain, when
a dull explosion came to their ears.

“There, that old engine’s blown out a cylinder head again,” the
captain declared, as he left the wheel and started for the engine
room, closely followed by the angry man.

By the time they reached the room the engine had stopped and the
room was filled with steam.

“We’ll have to wait till she cools down,” the captain declared.
“Where’s Joe? I told him not to let her get above thirty pounds. She
blows off at thirty-two and the valve’s been sticking lately.
Haven’t had time to fix it yet.”

Big Ben, knowing that he had lost the race through his own foolish
action, said nothing but turned away mentally kicking himself for a
meddling fool.

“Oh, Bob, something has happend to the Twilight. See, she stopped,”
Jack shouted to his brother, who at that moment was talking with the
captain in the pilot-house.

Bob, hearing the shout, came running out.

“So she has,” he agreed, as soon as he got to his brother’s side.
“Well, here’s hoping that she stays stopped till we get a good lead
on her. Wonder what happened?”

“If Ben had any reason for wanting to get ahead of us except to make
father lose out on his contract, I might feel sorry for him; but, as
it is, I don’t think that I shall shed any tears in his behalf.” And
Jack grinned cheerfully as he started toward the pilot-house.

It was just four o’clock when they arrived at the dam. After some
discussion it was decided that it would be best to wait until
morning before beginning to shoot the logs through the sluice. There
was a fairly comfortable boarding house near the outlet and in it
the boys stayed, together with the members of the crew, who had been
chosen to drive this first batch of logs to its destination.

They were up early the following morning, and the sun was barely
showing itself when the gates were thrown open and the big logs
began to shoot down into the waters of the Kennebec. To the boys it
was a glorious sight to see the logs taking their initial dive into
the foaming water below the dam.

The drivers, with their calked boots, were running here and there on
the logs, busy with their peaveys in keeping them running free so
that there would be no jam in the sluiceway. In this work the boys
took no part, as it was work requiring a high degree of skill, which
could be acquired only by long experience. Often situations arose
where a misstep or a moment’s hesitation would be fatal, as the
current was very swift and to be drawn into the sluiceway meant
almost certain death.

By nine o’clock the last log was through, and the river, below the
dam, was filled with the floating logs. The boys were to assist in
driving them down, and in a very short time after the last of them
were out of the lake they found themselves, peaveys in hand, slowly
floating down the river.

It was strenuous work to keep all the logs in motion. Those at the
sides were forever catching along the bank of the river and must be
pried loose, and there was always the likelihood of a jam resulting
should any of the front logs catch on an obstruction in the river.
Then the logs behind, urged on by the irresistible force of the
current, would pile up in a tangled mass, often many deep. It was at
such times that seconds counted. Could the key log be located and be
pried out in time the mass would begin to move again, but often this
would be impossible and dynamite would have to be used.

Big Jean Larue was in charge of the crew and, as Tom Bean often
declared, a better river driver never handled a peavey.

A few miles from the lake the river makes a sharp bend. Here the
current is very swift and it is a place dreaded by the drivers as it
requires quick and hard work to avoid a jam. Shallow water and large
rocks, many of which are only a short distance beneath the rapidly
swirling water, add to the difficulties. But at this time of year
the melting snow makes the river higher than usual, and all hoped
that they would be able to get past the bend without trouble.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when the head of the drive
reached the rapids.

“Now for some fun and a fast ride,” Jack shouted, as the speed of
the log he was riding increased.

“You be mighty careful,” yelled Bob, who was on a big log some forty
feet to the right. “This is a nasty place for a spill.”

The boys were within a few logs of the head of the drive, Jack being
near the center of the river and Bob well over toward the right
bank. Four of the men, including Jean, were near the left bank where
they were having all they could do in keeping the logs from jamming
up on the shore.

“They’re running mighty close,” Jack declared to himself, as he saw
the head of the drive start to take the curve.

The river at this point was not more than a hundred feet wide and
the words had hardly left his lips when the thing which they had all
dreaded happened. The logs were crowded too closely together and as
they reached the sharp bend they suddenly jammed.

“Back for your life,” Bob shouted; and Jack, quick to see what had
happened, turned and ran from log to log diagonally back toward the
right bank.

He reached the shore in safety, and as he stopped beside Bob he
gasped:

“Just look at them pile up.”

“Some mess, I’ll say,” Bob returned, as he watched the huge logs,
urged on by the rapid current, pile one on top of the other, until
many of them were several feet above the level of the river.

It was all over in a few minutes, and where a short time before had
been a scene of swiftly moving logs, now there was no motion
visible, only a confused mass reaching from shore to shore, hiding
the water, and stationary.

To be sure only at the head and reaching back a distance of some
thirty feet were the logs piled up to any extent. Back of them the
logs had been brought to a stop more gently and had not “climbed.”
But it was bad enough and both boys looked sober as they waited for
Jean, who was rapidly making his way across the logs toward them.

“I tink we hav’ one mess, oui,” he declared, as he joined them.

“I know it,” Bob agreed. “What are you going to do?”

“Mebby one log hold ’em,” he said, as he waved his hand to the rest
of the crew who were still some distance away. “We find heem an’
geet heem loose, all the logs go mebby. No find heem we hav’ use der
powder.”

As soon as the rest of the crew came up, they started for the middle
of the river.

“She one ver’ bad jam,” Jean declared, as they reached the very
front of the drive.

For an hour they all worked, first at one log and then at another,
hoping to locate one which would prove to be the “key.” Several
times they thought they had hit it as, a log being pried loose, they
were conscious of a quiver in the mass. But each time it was a false
alarm, and at the end of the hour Jean declared that it was no use
to try any longer.

He called to Bob, who at the moment was a little to his right, and
as soon as he came to his side he said:

“I tink we put ’bout three sticks right dar,” pointing to a place
where several logs were closely massed together, “mebby she start,
hey?”

“You’re the doctor,” Bob said, shaking his head. “But it looks to me
as though nothing short of an earthquake would start them.”

“Well, we try heem,” Jean said, as he started back toward the rear
of the drive.

He was back in a few minutes, carrying the dynamite together with a
battery outfit which he had gotten from the big scow, which always
accompanies the drive, loaded with supplies.

“Now we feex heem,” Jean declared, and in a short time the three
sticks of dynamite had been placed where Jean thought they would do
the most good.

Soon the wires were connected and laid over the logs to the shore,
and all was ready to close the circuit.

“Let her go,” Jean shouted, and Bob pressed the button.

But, to their surprise, nothing happened. Again and again he closed
the circuit, but with no result.

“Guess we got a bum connection somewhere,” he declared, as he began
to inspect the wire.

“Every connection’s all right now,” he declared a few minutes later,
after he had examined the last one.

But again nothing happened when he pressed the button.

“Must be the batteries are dead,” Jack volunteered.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” Bob agreed, as he began to examine the cells.
“They look like old ones.”

“I go see eef Bill got more,” Jean said, and started back on a run.

“Heem no more have, but I got one bon piece fuse he had. I feex heem
ver’ queek,” Jean said, as he returned a few minutes later.

It was the work of but a moment to substitute the fuse for the wire,
and the boys from their position on the bank soon saw the Frenchman
strike a match and apply the light to the end of the fuse which was
about a foot long. Instantly it began to sputter, and turning
quickly Jean started for the bank. He had made but three or four
steps, however, when, to their horror, they saw him stumble and
fall. A log had rolled beneath his feet.

“Make it snappy,” Bob shouted at the top of his voice.

“His foot’s caught,” Jack yelled, and Bob saw that what his brother
had said was true.

They could see that the Frenchman was making Herculean efforts to
free himself.

“He may not be able to do it in time,” Bob gasped, as he started on
the run across the logs.

The boy knew that the fuse would burn but a short minute, and that
if he failed to reach it in time, he as well as Jean would probably
be killed. But the man was in the greatest danger and the boy never
hesitated. As he jumped from log to log he breathed a prayer that he
might get there in time. He could see the fuse sputtering fiercely
and growing rapidly shorter. How heavy his feet felt. It seemed like
some hideous nightmare. He could hear Jack shouting for him to come
back, but he paid no heed to the commands. But one thought filled
his mind. He must get to that fuse before the fire reached the
dynamite.

“I must, I must,” he said aloud, as he took the logs with flying
leaps.

The end of the fuse had disappeared as he reached the spot, and he
knew that only an inch or two remained. Quickly he shoved his hand
between the two logs, and grabbing hold of the fuse he gave it a
sharp jerk and flung it far out into the water. As it went flying
through the air, he could see that less than two inches remained.

A strange feeling of weakness stole over him as he realized how near
he had been to death, and he sank down on a log and buried his face
in his arms.

In another minute Jack had his arms about him, and the tears running
down his cheeks was imploring him to look up. Bob had not fainted
and after a moment his strength began to come back and he got slowly
to his feet.

“It was close, awful close, Jack boy,” he whispered. “But thank God
I made it in time.”

“And it was the bravest thing I ever saw,” Jack declared.

Then, as if by one impulse, the brothers knelt there on the logs,
and, with arms about each other, they thanked God for His goodness.

“But we must see to Jean,” Bob cried, as he sprang to his feet.

They found the Frenchman still tugging to get his foot free.

“Just a minute, old fellow, and we’ll have you out,” Bob said, as he
bent to examine the log which held the man prisoner. “Catch hold
here, Jack, and when I give the word lift as hard as you can.”

It was a hard lift, but by exerting all their strength they were
able to move the log enough to permit Jean to pull his foot out.
Fortunately, except for a little skin rubbed off in his efforts to
get the foot free, the man was uninjured.

“You save my life one more time, oui,” the Frenchman said soberly,
as they made their way to the shore. “I, Jean Larue, never forgeet
heem. Sometime I pay you back, oui.”



                             CHAPTER V

                   BOB AND JACK RECEIVE SOME NEWS


In spite of the protests of both Bob and Jack that he wait until
they could get some new cells, Jean got another fuse from the scow
and soon he was again speeding for the shore, leaving the sputtering
fuse behind him. This time he reached the bank in safety, and a
moment later the explosion came, with a roar which shook the earth
beneath their feet. It seemed to the boys as though a mighty hand
was tearing the huge logs apart. Breathlessly they waited to see
what the result of the blast would be.

“Hurrah, she’s moving,” Jack shouted a moment later. “If only they
don’t get caught again.”

The blast, however, had been placed at the right point, and soon the
entire drive was again in motion.

About three miles farther down the river was the first of their
camps, where they were to spend the night. These camps are large,
low structures, built of unpeeled logs and fitted with many bunks
and equipment for preparing meals. They are situated at intervals of
eight or ten miles and are owned and used by all the different
companies which are engaged in the logging industry along the
Kennebec and its tributaries.

From this point the logs are left much to themselves to make their
way down the river. The drivers follow after and keep a close watch
along the banks for stray logs which have caught and been left
behind. Except in case of a jam the main drive is always ahead of
the men.

It was nearly dark when they reached the camp, and they were all
tired from the strenuous work of the day. A roaring fire was soon
sending its grateful heat through the room and in less than an hour
the cook gave the welcome signal that supper was ready. If any of my
readers want to see men really consume food, let him visit the camp
of a crew of river drivers.

“Gee, it looks as though Sam had been getting supper for eighty men
instead of eight,” Jack declared, as he drew his chair up to the
table.

“But I’ll bet you there won’t be much left just the same,” Bob
laughed.

And he was right, for at the end of the meal the cook declared that
there wasn’t enough left to feed a cat.

Breakfast was a thing of the past by the time the sun was up the
next morning, and by six o’clock they were off down the river. The
boys were in the boat, together with the cook and a couple of the
other men. The rest of the crew, two on each side of the river, made
their way on foot over the frozen snow, stopping now and then to
start a tardy log afresh on its journey.

A little before noon, just as the boat rounded a bend in the river,
they saw, to their surprise, that the logs were again at a
standstill.

“Jammed again,” Bob said in a disgusted tone. “Now what do you know
about that?”

“She no ought be stuck here,” Jean declared, as he leaped from the
boat to the nearest of the logs.

The boys quickly followed him, and running rapidly over the floating
logs they were not long in finding out what had happened. At the
point where the head of their drive had stopped, the largest of its
tributaries joins the Kennebec. Dead River, as this stream is
called, is about one half as large as the Kennebec. Where it empties
into the larger river is a small village by the name of The Forks.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” Jack gasped, as they rounded a second turn
and came to the head of their logs.

As far down the river as they could see was one solid mass of logs
packing the river so tightly that no water was visible.

“Do you know whose logs they are,” Bob asked, turning to Jean, who
stood poised on a log.

“Oui, I know,” the Frenchman replied, as he pointed to a huge pine a
few feet in front of him. “You know dat mark, oui?”

Bob’s eyes followed the outstretched hand and he had no difficulty
in seeing the two XX cut into the bark.

“Sure, that’s Ben Donahue’s brand, but I didn’t know that he was
cutting on Dead River this year, did you?”

“Oui. I know he had camp ’bout five mile up river, but I no tink
heem cut dar dis winter,” and the Frenchman slowly shook his head.

“Well, it sure looks as though he had us bottled up all right and
could keep us here till he gets ready to move on,” Jack broke in.
“Do you suppose he jammed those logs on purpose?”

“Well, of course it’s impossible to say for sure, but I wouldn’t put
it past him,” Bob replied calmly; but Jean, shaking his fist angrily
at the offending logs, cried:

“I tell you dem logs no geet stuck dar demselves. I drive on dis
river ver’ many year. Never know jam dar like dat. Non, heem jam
’em, hold us up. You come and we ask Sim. He mebby know,” and Jean
started off toward the little village, closely followed by the two
boys.

Sim Smith kept the general store at The Forks. The boys had met him
a number of times but could not be said to be acquainted with him.
But the Frenchman knew him well, as he did almost every man along
the river.

“Howdy, Jean,” the storekeeper greeted them, as they entered the
store a few minutes later.

It was now noon and Sim was alone in the store.

“Glad see you, Sim,” Jean responded, as he shook hands with him.
“Deese Bob and Jack Golden,” he added, nodding toward the boys.

“Sure, I’ve seen them before,” and the genial storekeeper shook each
heartily by the hand.

“When dem logs come down?” Jean asked, as soon as the greetings were
over.

“Day afore yesterday,” Sim replied. “Looks as though Ben had the
whip hand on ye this time.”

“Sure does,” Bob replied. “But do you happen to know how his logs
got jammed there,” he asked.

“Wal, now, that’s a purtty hard question. Ben wasn’t with ’em, as
you prob’ly know. Ike Smithers was in charge o’ the gang. Had about
a dozen men with him. They seemed ter be goin’ all right till the
last of ’em got into the river an’ then, all of a sudden, they
stopped. I dunno what made ’em. Don’t often have a jam here.”

“Did they try to start them?” Bob asked.

“Can’t say fer sure, but Jeb Steps, he was in here an’ lowed as how
they was a workin’ at it, but he did say that they didn’t seem ter
be a workin’ hard ’nough ter hurt ’em any,” and the man grinned as
much as to say that Jeb was probably right.

“But there’s no one working on them now,” Jack broke in.

“No, that’s a fact. You see Jeb he lowed as how Ike told him that
they couldn’t start ’em without dynamite, and that he was goin’ ter
Skowhegan ter git some. Anyhow, they all left bout three o’clock
that same day, an’ I hain’t seen nothin’ of ’em since.”

“And I’ll bet you won’t see them again, not for some time,” Bob
said.

“Shouldn’t wonder nor you’re right, son,” Sim grinned.

At that moment the door opened and the rest of their men entered.
Jean quickly explained the situation to them, and they all agreed
that it was a put-up job to hold up their logs.

“But can’t we start them?” Jack asked, as soon as he had finished.

“Mebby. We go tak’ one look,” Jean replied, as he led the way out of
the store.

The drive of logs which blocked the river was a big one, and it was
fully twenty minutes before they reached the head.

“She packed in bon,” Jean declared, as he gazed ruefully at the huge
logs which, piled up several deep, were holding back the thousands
behind.

“She no be easy start,” he added, shaking his head.

Bob and Jack could readily see that what he said was true. The
current at this point was swift, and whatever had been the cause of
the jam had done its work thoroughly.

“Well, let’s go back and get something to eat, and then we’ll decide
on what’s best to be done,” Bob proposed, and all were heartily in
favor of his motion.

The Forks boasted of a small but well-kept hotel, and they were soon
in the dining room disposing of an excellent dinner.

“How much powder you got,” Jean asked, as he finished his fourth cup
of coffee. He always called dynamite powder, as did most of the
drivers.

Sam Reddy, the man who had charge of the supplies, and of whom he
asked the question, looked down at his plate, a guilty expression on
his bronzed face.

“Jean, I got not another stick,” he said, after the Frenchman had
repeated the question. “I forgot to get it when I came up from
Skowhegan, and those three sticks wus all I had.”

For an instant Jean looked black, but evidently realizing that it
was no use to cry over spilt milk or missing dynamite, he only said:

“Dat too bad, oui. Mebby we do it widout der powder.”

But they were doomed to disappointment; for although they worked
hard all the afternoon, they were unable to locate the key log. Five
o’clock found the logs as tightly jammed as ever.

“She no use,” Jean panted, as he leaned on his peavey. “We got have
powder.”

The nearest town was several miles down the river, and it was
doubtful if they would be able to get any dynamite there. But Jean
declared that he was going to start, as soon as he could get his
supper.

“I keep goin’ till I find powder,” he declared, as he led the way
back to the hotel.

It was understood that the others would have another try at the logs
in the morning.

“Might as well be doin’ sumpin,” Sam said, with a mournful shake of
his head.

Jean started as soon as he had swallowed his supper, and Bob and
Jack wandered into the little office, which at that time was
deserted.

“First time I’ve seen a paper for three days,” Bob declared, as he
picked up the Boston Globe from the counter. “This is only two days
old,” he smiled, as he gave part of it to Jack.

They had been reading but a few minutes, when suddenly Bob started
up with an exclamation of astonishment.

“Great guns, Jack, listen to this,” he said. “Here’s a piece from
Philadelphia about Rex Dale.” And, while Jack listened, he read:

“Much anxiety is being felt regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Rex
Dale, the son of Mr. William Dale, the well-known business man of
this city. Young Mr. Dale left Philadelphia eight days ago for
Maine. He was to go to Presque Isle, where he was to be joined by an
Indian guide. They were then to start for Musquacook Lake, expecting
to reach there in time for the first of the trout fishing. It has
been learned that Mr. Dale reached Presque Isle and, together with
his guide, started for the lake named above, but since then nothing
has been heard from him. Mr. Dale expected to be away only six days,
as important business demanded his presence in this city two days
ago.”

“Now, what do you know about that?” he asked, as he finished.

“Do you know where that lake is?” Jack asked.

“Sure, I never was there, but I know that Lake Musquacook is not far
from Lake Chemquasso-banticook, where we were last January when we
went after Nip. If I’m not very much mistaken it is only a few miles
northeast of where we had the scrap with him, not more than four or
five I should say.”

“But what do you suppose could have happened to him?” Jack asked
anxiously.

“Of course there are plenty of things which might have happened,”
Bob replied slowly. “He might have been drowned, or he might have
gotten lost, or the Indian might have done away with him for his
money.”

“But this paper is two days old and of course he may be home safe
and sound by this time,” Jack suggested.

“That’s so, of course.” Bob looked slightly relieved, for Rex Dale
had helped him at a time when he had been desperately in need of
help, and the thought that his friend might be in serious danger or
worse was worrying him not a little.

“But just the same I’m going to send a telegram and see if I can
find out anything,” he said, jumping up and going to the telephone.
“Hope the Skowhegan office isn’t closed.”

After some delay he finally got the office and sent a wire to Mr.
Dale asking if he had heard from Rex.

“There, we ought to get an answer as soon as the office is open in
the morning,” he declared as he hung up.

Tired though he was, it was long before Bob slept that night. Over
and over again he told himself that Rex was probably safe at home by
now and that he was foolish to worry. But the fear that all might
not be well with him persisted in spite of himself. He well knew the
vastness of the Maine woods, and the Indian guides were not always
to be trusted. But finally, after he had heard the clock down in the
office strike eleven, twelve and one, he fell into a troubled sleep.

It was nearly eight o’clock when he awoke. Jack was still sleeping
and, without waking him, Bob hurriedly dressed and, running down to
the office, he called the telegraph office at Skowhegan. But no
answer to his wire had been received. He requested the operator to
call him as soon as the reply came, and then went into the dining
room and ordered breakfast. He had hardly started on the meal when
Jack joined him.

“Heard anything?” the latter asked.

“Not yet,” Bob replied.

“Mebby your message wasn’t delivered till this morning,” Jack
ventured.

Just then, before Bob had time to answer, he heard the ’phone
ringing in the office.

“That may be it,” he said, as he jumped from his chair.

He returned in a moment with a serious look on his face.

“Get it?” Jack asked.

“Yes. It was from Mrs. Dale,” Bob replied slowly. “She says that Mr.
Dale is sick with pneumonia and that nothing has been heard from
Rex.”

Bob sank down in his chair, and for a moment the two looked at each
other without a word. The same thought was in both of their minds.
At length Jack said:

“Guess it’s up to us to get busy, old man.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Bob replied soberly.

“How far from here is that lake and how do we get there?” Jack
asked, as though the matter were already settled.

“Let’s see,” Bob replied slowly. “It’s twenty-eight miles from here
to Jackman. We can probably get a ride that far, but from there
we’ll have to strike off cross country and it must be all of eighty
miles or more from there, and I don’t believe there’s even a house
on the way.”

“I guess it’s a pretty wild country, but we’ve been in wild country
before,” Jack said, as he drank the last of his coffee. “Come on.
What’s the first move?” he asked, as he pushed back his chair.

“The first thing is to find out what time the stage leaves here for
Jackman. Then we’ll have to go over to Sim’s and see what we can do
in the way of picking up an outfit.” And Bob, followed by his
brother, went into the office, where he found the proprietor busily
engaged in sweeping the floor.

“What time does the stage leave for Jackman?” Bob asked.

“Supposed to leave right after dinner,” the man replied. “But,” he
added, as he swept the dirt out the front door, “Sandy’s usually
late this time er year. Roads are purtty bad and he apt not ter git
here till long about two o’clock. You byes thinkin’ o’ goin’ up with
him?”

“Why, yes, we thought we would,” Bob replied.

A few minutes later they were in the store across the way.
Fortunately Sim had everything they needed, including sleeping bags.
The storekeeper evinced a good deal of curiosity regarding their
trip, and finally Bob told him all about it.

“Wall, of all things,” he said, as soon as he had finished. “I wus a
readin’ ’bout that feller in the paper the other day. And you boys
are agoin’ ter try ter find him, hey?”

“Try is right,” Jack assured him.

“Wall, from what I’ve heard ’bout you byes ye kin do it if anyone
kin.”

“Would you advise us to take snow-shoes?” Bob asked.

“Sure would,” Sim replied. “Ye see, while the snow’s gittin’ prutty
thin in spots round here, up thar in the thick woods whar the sun
don’t git more’n a peek in, ’twill be prutty deep an’ they’re light
ter carry. I got two pair o’ good ones here that I’ll lend yer.”

The boys thanked him both for his advice and the loan of the shoes.

“How about guns? Ye got any?” Sim asked.

“Why, no. You see, I hadn’t thought about taking any.”

“Ye’d better think right serious about it,” Sim declared. “Never kin
tell what yer goin’ ter run into up thar in that wilderness. Might
run into wolves, though ’tain’t likely.”

“We know it’s possible though,” Jack declared, and proceeded to give
the old storekeeper an account of the fight they had had, only a few
months before, with a big pack of timber wolves.

“Yer don’t say,” Sim said, as soon as he had finished. “’Tain’t
often a pack o’ those fellers gets down so far south now-a-days. But
it’s best ter be on the safe side and yer better take guns along. I
gotta fine 32 Winchester an’ a couple o’ automatics that ye’re
welcome to.”

The boys thanked him again for his kindness, and by ten o’clock they
were all ready to start so far as equipment went.

“I hope Sandy won’t be late,” Bob said, as they made their way back
to the hotel.

Back in the office once more, Bob called his father’s office in
Skowhegan. He got the connection almost at once, and after telling
him about the hold-up with the drive, he informed him regarding
their plans. Mr. Golden listened without interrupting until he had
finished.

“It looks to me as though it might be a serious matter,” he
declared, after Bob had told him all he knew. “But, for the life of
me, I don’t see how you can well do otherwise. But be very careful
and don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

Bob promised that they would be careful, and after a few more
minutes of talking he hung up.

It seemed to the anxious boys that noon would never come. They
walked about the little village and spent some time on the jam of
logs. It was warm in the sun and the snow was melting rapidly,
making heavy going for a team.

“I don’t suppose it makes much difference, after all, if he is
late,” Bob said, as they were slowly making their way back to the
hotel. “We won’t get up to Jackman in time to make a start from
there till morning anyway, but the time sure does drag.”

Dinner was ready by the time they got to the house, and they lost no
time in sitting down at the table. As soon as they had finished they
got their belongings together on the porch, for they knew that the
stage might show up at any moment. But the moments lengthened into
hours, and it was almost three o’clock before they heard the sound
of sleigh bells.

“I guess he’s coming at last,” Bob declared, as he jumped up and ran
out to the road.

He was right, for, as he reached the road, the stage whirled around
a curve, and a moment later the steaming horses were brought to a
stop close to the porch.

“Sure and of all the soft slushy goin’ I ever seed this is the
worse,” the driver declared, as he jumped from the stage, or rather
sled, for that is what it was. A long sled, fitted with a body
having sides about a foot high, which boasted of three seats capable
of accommodating three passengers each, it is much used in northern
Maine in the winter. The natives call it a pung.

While Sandy was snatching a hasty bite in the dining room, a fresh
span of horses was substituted for the tired beasts which had drawn
the pung for nearly forty miles since morning.

It happened that Sandy had no passengers and the pung was empty save
for a couple of mail bags and a few packages.

“Jim tells me thot you boys is a wantin’ to go up ter Jackman,”
Sandy greeted them as he came out picking his teeth.

“That’s right,” Bob assured him.

“Foine, an’ it’s meself thot’ll be glad ter have company, but I
dunno when we’ll be after gittin’ thar, what wid all the slush an’
mud. But throw yer traps in an’ we’ll be after startin’,” and the
sandy-haired Irishman jumped to the driver’s seat and gathered the
reins in his hand.

They found the driver very much inclined to talk and very
inquisitive as to the object of their journey; but Bob, thinking it
best not to be too candid, made evasive answers to his rather
pointed questions. The road was, as Sandy had declared, in bad
shape. In places the snow had entirely disappeared, and where it
still lay it was so soft that the horses sank nearly to their knees
in many places. Several times the pung nearly overturned as it slued
into a washout.

At the end of an hour they had covered about three miles and Sandy
declared, with a shake of his head, that they would be lucky if they
reached the end of their journey by midnight.

But along about five o’clock it began to grow colder, and soon the
temperature was falling rapidly.

“We’ll be makin’ better time soon an’ it gits mouch colder,” Sandy
declared, as he buttoned up the collar of his mackinaw.

At six o’clock they stopped to feed the horses and eat the lunch
which they had brought from the hotel. When they started again,
about three quarters of an hour later, they found that the going was
much better. The slush and mud had stiffened until only occasionally
did the horses break through and it was getting harder every minute.
A cold wind had sprung up and the boys were glad to take Sandy’s
advice and get down on the bottom of the pung and wrap themselves in
the blankets, of which there was a generous supply.

It was not long before, in spite of the jolting, Jack fell asleep,
and a little later Bob joined him in slumberland. It seemed to the
latter that he had been asleep a long time when he was awakened by
the sound of loud and angry voices.

“That’s all right, but you keep those hands up in the air,” he heard
an angry voice demand.



                             CHAPTER VI

                             UP A TREE


“It’s a hold-up,” Bob thought, as he nudged Jack, and at the same
time placed his hand over the boy’s mouth.

“What’s the matter?” Jack whispered, in a low tone.

“Looks as though we’d been held up,” Bob replied.

But just then he heard words which reassured him:

“We’ve had our eyes on you for some time, Sandy, and you might as
well come clean. It’ll be the best for you in the end.”

“But I’m a tellin’ yer, Jake, thot I hain’t got a mite o’ liquor on
board,” they heard the Irishman protest.

“Mebby not just now,” came the reply. “But I knew well enough that
you had some on the down trip.”

“So help me——” Sandy began, but the officer cut him short.

“No use in denying it, man. I wouldn’t believe you on a stack of
Bibles. A man that’ll run whiskey’ll lie about it till he’s black in
the face. Anyhow, we’re going to have a look at what you got, and,
mind you, no funny business.”

Bob now thought it was time that they were showing themselves; so,
with a low whisper to Jack, he threw off his blanket and got up on
the seat, and Jack followed him almost as quickly.

It was very dark and at first they were unable to locate the men
they had heard talking. But soon their eyes became accustomed to the
darkness and they made out the forms of three men standing near the
horse’s heads. At the same time a ray of light from an electric
torch struck Bob full in the face.

“Hello, who’s this?” the man who held the light asked, turning to
the driver.

“Jest a couple o’ kids ridin’ up ter Jackman,” Sandy replied.

“Hum, well we won’t take any chances just the same,” the officer
declared. Then, coming close to the side of the sled, he ordered:

“You boys jump out lively now, and I guess you’d better keep your
hands up too till we give you the once over. What’s your names?”

Bob told him, and instantly the man’s attitude changed.

“Bob and Jack Golden, eh,” he repeated, as he flashed his light full
upon them again, “Well, well, so it is. I’ve seen you boys in
Skowhegan often enough to know you. You can put your hands down. I
know you’re all right, but I didn’t expect to see you way off up
here and at this time of night.”

The boys thanked the officer and climbed out of the pung.

“Somebody’s been toting a powerful lot of whiskey from Jackman down
to Skowhegan,” the officer whispered to Bob, “and we’re pretty sure
that Sandy has had a big hand in it. It’s stuff that’s brought
across the border and, of course, there’s a tremendous profit in it.
I don’t suppose that he’s got any on board now, as he’s going the
wrong way; and I told Jim, back there, that it was foolish to stop
him coming this way, but the poor boob couldn’t see it and insisted
on doing it, so we might as well have a look.”

The look was very thorough but, as the officer expected, nothing of
a contraband nature was found.

“Sure an’ it’s meself as told yer that I didn’t have nothin’,” Sandy
declared, as soon as the search was finished.

“I know you did, Sandy,” the officer said, “but we have almost
certain knowledge that you’ve been running whiskey and I want to
tell you now that if you keep it up we’ll get you and it’ll be the
jug for yours. Better cut it out.”

Sandy made no reply and the officers drove off in their light cutter
and the boys took their places once more in the pung.

“How far are we from Jackman?” Bob asked, as he glanced at his watch
and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock.

“Only ’bout four miles,” the driver replied, as he cracked his long
lash over the heads of the horses.

It was evident from his tone that the man was mad and they asked no
more questions and Sandy did not speak again except to shout to the
horses. A little less than an hour later they drew up in front of
the hotel where they were to spend the night.

The boys paid Sandy for the trip, and, in less than a half hour,
were sound asleep.

They were up before daylight, and having arranged the night before
for an early breakfast, they were ready to start on their long and
uncertain tramp just as the sun was showing in the east.

It was a beautiful morning; such, as Jack declared, is made only in
northern Maine. The thermometer on the porch showed an even zero and
the air was still and clear.

“It doesn’t seem possible that we’ll be sweating before noon,” Jack
declared, as he drank in huge gulps of the stinging air. “Are you
sure you can find the way?” he asked, as they strapped their packs
on their backs.

“Well, we want to hit North West Carry first, and I know the way
that far anyhow, as I went over the trail from here once with
father. It was that winter you had pneumonia,” Bob replied, as he
started off at a rapid walk.

They had no need for snow-shoes now, as the crust was hard enough to
hold a horse, so they carried them strapped on top of the packs.

“We ought to make the Carry by noon easy,” he declared, as he swung
along. “It’s not more than fifteen miles from here. We’ll get dinner
there and then we won’t have to start on our supply till night.”

As the sun rose higher and higher, the temperature seemed to more
than keep pace with it, and by nine o’clock they were glad to stop
and take off their heavy mackinaws, which they added to their packs.
The sun was now getting in his work on the snow, and soon they were
obliged to don their snow-shoes. And now their progress became much
slower as the melting snow showed a decided tendency to cling to the
shoes until they became so heavy that they seemed like lead.

“Gee whiz, but this bears a great resemblance to work,” Jack panted,
as he stopped and leaned against a big spruce. “How far do you think
we are from the Carry?” he asked.

“Not more than a mile or two,” Bob replied cheerfully. “Getting
tired?”

“Well, I don’t know as you’d call it tired,” Jack laughed. “But I
never knew snow could get so sticky.”

“It sure is kinder heavy,” Bob smiled. “But you see we’ve been in
the open most of the time where the sun gets a good whack at it.
After we leave the Carry it’ll be most all woods and I hardly think
the snow’ll be so wet. Let’s hope not anyway.”

It was only a little past ten o’clock when they reached the North
West Carry, a small settlement consisting of a few log cabins and a
general store, at the extreme northwestern point of Moosehead Lake.

During the summer and fall it is a busy place thronged with summer
visitors and hunters, but now it was all but deserted. The boys knew
no one there as they had spent the most of their time, when at the
lake, on the other shore.

There was no one in the store as they entered except the man who ran
it, but he greeted them as though they were the first outsiders he
had seen for a long time.

“You look as if you’d found some prutty hard tramping,” he said
after he had shaken them both by the hand.

“Sure is pretty hard going after the snow gets soft,” Bob smiled. “I
wonder if we can get dinner anywhere here?” he asked.

“You wait a minute and I’ll see if the wife can fix you up,” the
storekeeper replied as he left the store by a back door.

He was back again almost immediately with the welcome news that if
they could wait a half hour dinner would be ready for them.

“Where you boys goin’?” he asked as he motioned to them to sit down.
“That is,” he added, “if I hain’t stickin’ my nose inter what’s none
of my business.”

For a second Bob hesitated, then thinking that it could do no
possible harm to tell him, he explained their mission.

The storekeeper, a man about sixty years old, listened intently
until he had finished.

“So you are goin’ ter hike it up ter Musquacook, eh,” he said
slowly.

“Yes. Do you know how far it is from here?” Bob asked.

“Wall, it about sixty-five miles as the crow flies but ye’ll have
ter go ’bout five miles outter yer way ter git round Churchill
Lake,” the man replied. Then, as if a sudden thought struck him, he
asked, “Ye don’t happen ter know what that guide’s name was, do ye?”

“No.” Bob replied. “You see, they went in from Presque Isle.”

“I see,” the man said soberly. “Course I hope yer friend’s all right
but I do know that there’s some mighty onery guys what call
themselves guides over that way.”

Just then a woman stuck her head in at the door and said that dinner
was ready. The boys followed their host into what was evidently the
combined sitting-room and dinning-room back of the store.

“We don’t put on much style here but you’re welcome to what we got,”
he said as he motioned to them to sit up at the table.

In another moment the storekeeper’s wife, a motherly woman of about
his age, brought in a steak which fairly made the boys gasp. She sat
it on the table in front of them with a word of apology.

“If I had known that you were coming I’d have had something fit for
you to eat.”

“My goodness, if that steak isn’t fit to eat I hope I never see one
that is,” Jack gasped as he watched the rich juice oozing out.

The woman flushed with pleasure at the praise and, a moment later,
brought in a large dish of potatoes fried a rich brown, and a plate
of fresh biscuits.

“There, I hope you’ll be able to make out,” she said as she sat the
last dish down.

“If we can’t we ought to starve,” Bob declared as he helped himself
to a piece of the steak which was all of three inches thick.

And as he told Jack afterward, it was just as good as it looked. So
tender that they could almost cut it with a fork, they both declared
that it was the best steak they had ever eaten. For dessert they had
a huge piece of apple pie covered with rich yellow cream.

“I never ate a better dinner in my life,” Bob declared as he pushed
back his chair. And Jack heartily seconded the statement.

Both the man and his wife seemed much pleased at their praise.

“And now how much do I owe you?” Bob asked as he pulled out his
pocketbook.

“Not a cent,” the man shook his head. “You are welcome to what ye
had.”

Bob started to insist but the man refused to listen and, seeing that
he would be offended if he pushed the matter further, he gave up the
argument and both boys thanked the man and his wife for their
kindness.

“I only hope that we may be able to do as much for you sometime,”
Bob declared.

“Talk about being goodhearted,” Jack said a little later, when they
were again on their way. “That man’s a king and his wife’s a queen,
and I can lick the fellow who disputes it.”

“Well, you won’t have to lick me on that score,” Bob laughed. “I
most heartily indorse your sentiments.”

Almost as soon as they left the Carry they plunged into thick woods.
Here the snow was much deeper than out in the open but, as Bob
hoped, it was not so wet and the traveling was easier, although it
was by no means good.

They had gone but a short distance when Bob stopped and pulled a map
out of his pocket.

“Now here’s a map of this part of the state,” he explained. “Here’s
where we are now and there’s where we want to go. I’ve got my
compass with me and I’m going to lay a course and keep by it as
closely as I can. As near as I can figure it out,” he said a moment
later, after carefully studying the map, “Musquacook Lake is about
twenty points east of north, and that’s just about that way,” and he
pointed with his finger. “We must do our best to keep it straight as
we don’t want to lose any more time than we can help.”

It was impossible to make anything like fast time and the boys were
too wise to tire themselves out by trying to hurry. A steady easy
pace they knew would result in the most speed in the end. So they
ploughed steadily forward only stopping now and then to consult the
compass.

“My, but this is great timber up here,” Bob declared after they had
covered some miles. He stopped as he spoke and looked about him at
the mighty spruce trees which lifted their lofty heads high up into
the air. “I’ll bet it would cut close on to 15,000 feet to the acre
right here.”

“Wouldn’t wonder,” Jack replied. “I wonder who owns it.”

“Don’t know, but whoever does has got one pretty bit of timber,” Bob
replied.

They started on again, but had gone a short distance when Jack, who
was leading, stopped suddenly and, pointing ahead, said,

“I say, Bob, look at that spruce will you.”

Bob looked and saw, a few feet ahead of them, a queer looking
spruce. It stood in the center of a small clearing, perhaps twenty
feet across. The middle branches had been trimmed away in a broad
ring, leaving the tufted top and the bushy bottom, with only the
bare trunk in between.

“What, in the world, do you make of that?” Jack asked.

For a moment Bob did not reply. He was deep in thought. Then, as
Jack was about to ask him again, he said:

“Unless I’m very much mistaken that’s a lop stick.”

“Come again, please,” Jack laughed.

“I said it is a lop stick.”

“Well, it’s lopped all right, all right,” Jack declared. “But how
did it get that way?”

“Some Indian trimmed it that way,” Bob explained. “You see,” he went
on, “it’s a kind of a talisman or mascot. I remember reading, not
long ago, that a certain tribe of Indians do that to trees. You see
an Indian trims a certain tree that way and then he believes that,
in some way, his fate is linked with it. That’s about all I know
about it.”

“Well, they can’t be very abundant around here,” Jack said as they
started off again.

About four o’clock it began to grow colder and as the sun sank lower
in the west, the snow began to stiffen, and they were able to make
better time. Rapidly the temperature fell with the sun and soon they
stopped and put on their mackinaws.

“I believe the crust will hold in another half hour,” Jack declared.
“But I’m ready to call it a day. How about you?”

“I’m pretty tired myself and as soon as we find a good place to
camp, I move that we do it. We must have made pretty near twenty
miles from the Carry.”

It was after five o’clock and it had been a hard day.

“How about that for a place?” Jack asked a few minutes later as they
came to a small clear place. “We can dig away the snow at the foot
of that big pine and there’s lots of water in that little brook.”

“I guess it’ll do as well as any other,” Bob decided after a hasty
glance around.

They quickly threw off their packs and, breaking through the light
crust, they soon had a hole about six feet long by four wide, down
to the bare ground, using the snow-shoes as shovels.

“I’ll make the beds if you’ll get the fire going,” Bob said and to
this Jack readily agreed.

He had no trouble in finding plenty of dead branches and in a short
time a brisk fire was burning near the “bedroom.” In the meantime
Bob had been cutting spruce boughs with a small hatchet which Sim
had loaned them. These he spread on the ground in the hole which
they had dug, until he had a bed nearly a foot thick. Over them he
spread a thick blanket and the bed was ready.

“Gee, but I’d like another whack at that steak,” Jack said a little
later as they sat by the fire eating their supper of sandwiches
washed down with huge mouthsful of hot coffee. “These sandwiches are
all right, but oh you beefsteak.”

“You said a mouthful then,” Bob laughed as he drained the coffee pot
into his tin dipper.

Darkness was silently stealing through the vast forest as they
finished the simple meal and by the time they had washed their
plates and cups in the brook, it was almost dark.

“We want to be off as soon as it is light in the morning,” Bob said
as he threw a couple of big logs, which he had found near the camp,
on to the fire.

“If we get started early enough we ought to make twenty miles or
more before the snow gets soft, so I move that we hit the hay right
off.”

“I guess you mean hit the boughs,” Jack laughed. “But anyhow if you
have the idea of going to bed in your mind I’m with you. I’m tired
enough to go to sleep standing up.”

So they lost no time in crawling into the sleeping bags, which lined
with sheep’s wool, were very warm, and pulling over themselves
another blanket, they were soon lost to the world.

The next day was Sunday and they never did any traveling on that day
if it could be avoided. But, in the present case, they both felt
that it was perfectly justifiable.

Long ago Bob had acquired the ability to wake at any time he desired
and, before going to sleep, he had set his mental alarm clock, as he
called it, for four o’clock, and almost to the minute he opened his
eyes. It was still dark and for an instant he wondered where he was.
Then memory, aided by the heavy scent of the spruce boughs, returned
and moving quietly, so as not to disturb his brother, he crawled out
of his bag.

A few live embers still smouldered among the ashes of last night’s
fire and, with the aid of a few bits of birch bark, he soon had the
blaze leaping toward the sky.

Jack was a much sounder sleeper than his brother and, knowing that
the boy would need all his strength for the strenuous day ahead, he
let him sleep until breakfast was ready.

“Why didn’t you let me sleep all day and be done with it,” Jack
growled when Bob finally woke him.

“It’s all right, dear boy,” Bob smiled. “There was no need of both
of us getting up so early and I was awake and so I got up.”

“Of course you didn’t have it planned or anything like that. Oh no,
of course not. You always want to do all of your own work and a good
part of mine too.”

Bob laughed.

“Never mind the bouquets,” he said. “Come and get some of these
flapjacks under your belt and we’ll be hitting the long trail.”

Dawn was just breaking when they started. It was cold and not a
sound, save the soft creak of the frozen snow beneath their
moccasins, broke the silence. One by one, as it seemed, the stars
faded from out the cloudless sky as the darkness gave way to light.
The sharp air, heavily laden with the odor of spruce and of balsam,
made their lungs tingle with life as they drew in great gulps.

“My, but it’s great just to be alive a morning like this,” Bob
declared.

“And especially up here in the Maine woods,” Jack added.

“You said it,” Bob smiled. “It beats me how a man can be content to
spend his life in a city and never know what the great out of doors
is like.”

Their way led through dense woods nearly all the time, and thanks to
the heavy shade, the snow did not begin to soften until nearly
eleven o’clock. By that time Bob estimated that they had made all of
twenty miles and perhaps a little more.

“Guess this is a good place for dinner,” he said as they came to a
tiny stream about a foot wide. The land here was evidently rocky as
the water was running with great swiftness. “I’ll bet this stream
will be a rod wide in a few days, when the snow begins to go in good
earnest,” he said as he threw off his pack.

“We better rest for an hour,” Bob suggested after they had eaten
their simple lunch. “We’ll more than make up for it. No use in
wearing ourselves out and the going from now till night is going to
be pretty heavy, let me tell you.”

They had been sitting on an old log for several minutes when,
suddenly, a short distance away to their right, came a sound which
made Bob jump to his feet. It sounded like the noise which a small
boy makes when he blows on a horn made from a pumpkin vine.

“That’s a bull moose,” Bob said in a low tone, “and I’m afraid he’s
coming this way.”

The boys had seen a number of deer since leaving the Carry the
previous day, but although they had crossed a number of tracks, they
had sighted no moose. Usually unless wounded a moose will run from
man, but if hurt they will not hesitate to attack, striking with
their fore feet and horns. A single blow from one of the sharp hoofs
is almost always fatal.

“What of it?” Jack asked as he too got to his feet. “This isn’t the
mating season and he’ll run as soon as he sees us.”

“He will unless he happens to be hurt,” Bob agreed as he peered
through the thick trees.

Just then the call sounded and this time it was much nearer.

“He’s coming all right and it sounds to me as though he was mad
about something. There he comes, see,” and Bob pointed with his
hand.

The moose, a magnificent specimen, as large as a large horse, was
slowly making his way toward them, sinking nearly to his belly in
the deep snow. A moose’s sense of smell is very keenly developed but
a fairly strong wind was blowing toward the boys and, as they kept
very quiet, he was unaware of their presence until he was less than
thirty feet from them.

“If he charges jump for that tree,” Bob whispered.

As soon as the moose saw the two boys he stopped and for a moment
stood gazing at them as though undecided what to do about it.

“Look, Bob,” Jack whispered, “No wonder he’s mad. Look at that right
shoulder.”

Bob looked and saw that the shoulder was badly torn and was bleeding
freely.

Bob did not have time to speak for, at that moment the moose,
evidently deciding that, in some way, the two boys were responsible
for his injury, lowered his head and with an angry snort plunged
forward.

“Quick old man. He’s coming. Grab your snow-shoes,” he shouted as he
made for a big spruce with low branches.

Fortunately their packs were at the foot of this tree and as Bob
leaped for the lowest bough and swung himself up Jack quickly handed
them to him. Although the snow was deep and the moose was unable to
make fast time, there was no time to lose and Jack barely escaped
the horns as he swung himself up beside Bob.

“I thought you’d never get those bags up,” Bob said with a sigh of
relief.

The moose stood at the foot of the tree angrily pawing the snow and
sending call after call through the forest.

“Sorry we can’t accept your kind invitation and come down,” Jack
chuckled from his perch some ten feet above the moose’s head. “But
really I don’t like the looks of those horns. I say, Bob, how long
do you think our friend will favor us with his company?”

“That’s hard to say,” Bob replied shaking his head. “But they’re
mighty persistent critters once they get their mind fixed on an
idea, and this boy seems to have his fixed pretty firmly on us just
at present.”

“Well, I hope he gets another idea pretty soon so we can be on our
way,” Jack said as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

“Great Scott, Jack, I forgot all about Rex for the minute,” Bob
cried in alarm. “We can’t stay here. Think what it may mean to Rex.
An hour sooner or later may make all the difference.”

“Spoken like a general,” Jack declared. “But our friend below seems
to be master of ceremonies just now.”

“Don’t you think we’d be justified in shooting him?” Bob asked.

“Have you got the Winchester?”

“Sure. It was tied to my pack.”

“Then I believe I’d do it. It looks to me as though he’d bleed to
death in time anyhow, and we certainly ought to be on our way as you
said.”

“I hate to do it, but I honestly think it’s the only way out,” Bob
said slowly as he reached for the rifle. “He’s apt to keep us here
for hours.”

As he cocked the rifle the moose turned slightly and exposed his
left side. Bob took careful aim at a spot just back of the fore leg
and pulled the trigger. For a second the moose stood as if
surprised, then slowly he began to totter and, with a low moan, sank
to the ground.

“Right through the heart,” Jack cried. “He never knew what hit him.”

“I feel almost like a murderer,” Bob declared as he lowered himself
to the snow. “I certainly do hate to shoot anything.”

“Well, I do too for that matter, but it couldn’t be helped. In this
case there’s no good in feeling bad about it,” Jack assured him as
he began to fasten on his snow-shoes.

Again the going was heavy and their progress slow. Still they
expected it and so took it philosophically. After they had been
trudging about an hour they suddenly came to a large lake.

“This must be Churchill Lake,” Bob declared as he stopped and took
out his map. “See. We must be right here and if so then we’ve kept a
mighty straight course.”

“Funny the ice hasn’t gone yet,” Jack said as he looked out over the
frozen surface.

“Not so strange,” Bob assured him. “The ice goes out of some of
these lakes much earlier than others, and I guess this must be one
of the late ones.”

“Think it’ll be safe to cross it?” Jack asked.

“Not on your life,” Bob answered quickly. “That ice must be pretty
rotten by now and, anyhow, we wouldn’t gain much as our way is
nearly straight up past it.”

“About how long is it?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “But from the map I should say that it
was ten or fifteen miles. These maps are not much good when it comes
to estimating distance.”

“Well, I guess we go up the left side don’t we?” Jack asked.

“I should say so,” Bob replied studying the map. “If this map gives
the right shape of the lake it would be quite a lot out of our way
to go around that point on the right side.”

They had made seven or eight miles more, keeping the lake in sight
the most of the time when, suddenly, they came to a large stream,
still covered with ice. As is apt to be the case there was but
little snow over the ice.

“Suppose that ice’ll hold?” Jack asked as he stopped on the bank.

“Looks pretty good, but you never can tell this time of year. Let me
try it first,” Bob said as he started to take off his snow-shoes.

“Not much, you won’t,” Jack replied as he hastily kicked off his
shoes and started across the ice heedless of Bob’s orders to wait.

Jack had reached the other bank in safety when he heard a loud crash
and a frightened cry. He turned and, for an instant, his heart
stopped beating. Bob was nowhere in sight, but a large hole in the
ice near the middle of the stream, told only too plainly what had
become of him.



                            CHAPTER VII

                        THE END OF THE TRAIL


For an instant Jack stood as if paralyzed gazing at the hole in the
ice. He was, for the moment, incapable of movement. Then his heart
gave a leap of joy as he beheld Bob’s head emerge from the water.
Higher and higher his head rose until he was standing only up to his
waist in the water.

“Come on in. The water’s fine,” he shouted as he shook the water
from his head.

Jack was still too frightened to laugh and suddenly started out on
the ice toward Bob.

“Go on back,” the latter shouted. “There’s no use in you getting wet
too. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The ice gave way several times as he tried to climb out on to it,
but at last it held and he was soon on the bank. Fortunately he had
had presence of mind to throw his snow-shoes away from him when the
ice broke and they were on the ice not far from the shore.

“Now you hustle and get into my bag while I get a fire going,” Jack
ordered and Bob, his teeth chattering as with ague, hurried to obey.
As quickly as possible he stripped off the wet clothes and crawled
into the sleeping bag which Jack had ready for him.

“T-t-t-that water is c-c-c-old,” he chattered as he snuggled down in
the bag.

“Well, I guess it has a right to be at this time of year,” Jack
replied as he struck a match and applied it to a handful of birch
bark.

Fortunately there was plenty of dead wood close at hand and in a
very few minutes a roaring fire was crackling. Cutting two stout
sticks Jack stuck them firmly in the snow and stretched a piece of
strong cord between them making a serviceable clothesline. Then he
undid Bob’s pack, which was of course, soaking wet, and, after
wringing out as much of the water as possible, he hung them together
with his clothes on the line.

“There, I guess they’ll dry pretty soon,” he declared as he came
close to Bob, who was lying on the snow as near the fire as he dared
get.

“How are you feel—” he started to ask but before he could finish a
big lump rose in his throat, and, bending over his brother, the boy
burst into tears.

“Why, what’s the matter, old fellow?” Bob asked as he pulled one arm
out of the bag and threw it about his brother’s neck.

“I-I-thought you were d-d-drowned,” the boy sobbed.

“So did I, for a second,” Bob said soberly. “You see, although the
water is only about three feet deep there, when I broke through, I
struck a slippery stone and my feet went out from under me and I
thought I’d never get them under me again. But, thank God, I’m all
right now and as snug as a bug in a rug.”

Jack soon dried his tears and set about arranging camp for the
night, for they knew that, by the time Bob’s clothes were dry, it
would be too late to go any farther that day.

“We’ve made pretty good time at that,” Bob declared. “Thirty-five or
forty miles of this kind of going is a good day’s tramp.”

It was after four o’clock by the time Jack had things all shipshape
for the night, and, soon after, he started to get supper. It was not
so cold as the night before although, as night came on, it was well
below freezing. The heat from the fire had prevented Bob’s clothes
from freezing and by the time the boys were ready to retire for the
night, they were fully dried.

Fortunately Bob suffered no ill effects from his bath, and, as soon
as it was light the next morning, they were again on the trail.

“Let me know when you are tired,” Bob said as they started off. “I’m
going to hit a pretty stiff clip and I think we ought to pretty
nearly get there before the snow gets soft enough for the shoes. It
can’t be more than twenty miles at the most.”

In a little over an hour they reached the upper end of Churchill
Lake and began the ascent of a range of lofty hills. A good part of
the way it was steep and the slippery crust made their footing
insecure.

“It’s a good thing that we haven’t got the toboggan to pull up
here,” Jack panted as they stopped for a breathing spell about half
way to the top.

“You said a lot then,” Bob agreed. “It’s hard work enough pulling
ourselves up here. When we get to the top I’m going to climb a tree.
It seems to me that we ought to be able to see the lake from there,
that is if there aren’t any more hills in the way. My, but this is a
pretty wild country all right.

“Wild is right,” Jack agreed. “You’d think there was enough timber
right here in Maine to supply the world for the next hundred years.

“You’d think so but I guess they’re cutting it off a good bit faster
than it grows.” Bob said as he started off again.

It took them the better part of an hour to reach the top of the
range and both were breathing hard when, with a sigh of relief, Bob
threw his pack to the ground and sank down upon it.

“Wait till I get my breath back and I’ll get up that tall spruce and
see what I can see,” he said.

Jack quickly followed his example and for some moments neither boy
spoke. But Bob soon got his wind back and, getting up, announced
that he was ready for the climb.

“Guess I might as well go along,” Jack declared as he swung himself
into the lower branches, followed by Bob.

It was a beautiful vision which unfolded itself to them as they
paused well up toward the top of the lofty spruce and peered out
between the branches. No less than a half dozen lakes, some large
and others small, could be seen, all but one free of ice. Over
toward the northwest the waters of a large river sparkled like
silver as the rays of the morning sun struck it.

“That’s the St. Lawrence,” Bob pointing with his hand.

“And which is Musquacook Lake?” Jack asked. “That’s the main
question just now.”

Bob pulled the map from his pocket, and getting a firm seat on a big
limb began to study it. Jack was on a limb just above him from which
he could easily see the map.

“Here we are,” Bob declared. “You see those two lakes down there
only a few miles apart. Well according to this map that one to the
left is Long Lake and the other must be Musquacook.”

“It doesn’t look more than a couple of miles from here,” Jack
declared as Bob folded the map and replaced it in his pocket.

“I’ll bet it’s nearer ten though,” he said as he started downward.
“You know in this clear air a thing always looks a good bit nearer
than it really is,” he explained as he dropped to the ground. “But
we’ll make it in a couple of hours if nothing happens. We can make
good time going down hill.” Bob was pretty nearly right in his
estimate both as to distance and time, for exactly two hours later
they reached the foot of the lake, which they felt sure was their
destination.

“Just ten o’clock,” Bob announced as he glanced at his watch.

“And what’s next on the program?” Jack asked.

“Well, there must be some kind of a cabin here somewhere and I
suppose the next thing is to find it. We may have to go clear round
the lake before we come to it but I sure hope not.”

“All right. Which way’ll we go?”

“Since Rex came in from Presque Isle he’d strike the lake to our
right and I guess that way’ll be our best bet,” Bob argued.

By this time the snow had begun to soften and they had gone but a
short distance when they were obliged to resort to the snow-shoes.
They had trudged along for a matter of four or five miles, keeping
as close to the lake as possible, when Bob, who was leading the way,
suddenly came to a stop and held up his hand as a signal to keep
quiet.

“There’s a cabin just ahead of us,” he whispered. “And there’s smoke
coming out of the chimney. I guess that’s pretty good evidence that
there’s somebody there. Now the question is whether or not it’s
Rex.”

“How are we going to find out?” Jack whispered.

“Well, the way I figure it we’ve got to be mighty careful, because
the chances are that if Rex is there, he’s being kept against his
will, and a man that would do that is sure to be a pretty desperate
character. I guess the best thing we can do is to just wait here and
watch awhile and see if anything happens that’ll put us wise.”

From where they stood they had a fair view of one end of the cabin
but it is doubtful if anyone could have seen them from the house so
dense were the branches of a number of trees which stood close to
the cabin.

For nearly half an hour they waited and then the smoke, coming from
the chimney, all at once increased in volume, evidence that fresh
wood had been placed on the fire. A moment later they heard a door
slam and, peering between the branches, they saw a man come to the
end of the porch and, for a moment stand there as he knocked the
ashes from his pipe. He was a large man, well over six feet and
broad shouldered in proportion. A thick black stubble nearly covered
his face, but they could plainly see a pair of piercing eyes beneath
shaggy brows.

“Looks interesting, doesn’t he?” Jack whispered.

The man soon went back into the cabin but came out again almost
immediately and the boys soon caught sight of him disappearing in
the thick woods in front of the cabin. He was on snow-shoes and they
could see that he carried a rifle. After he had had time to get some
distance from the cabin Bob said:

“Now’s our chance.”

“But suppose he comes back?”

“That’s a risk we’ve got to take, but seeing that he had his rifle
with him, I imagine that he’s gone some distance. He wouldn’t have
taken it if he was coming right back.”

“Still he might,” Jack insisted. “And he’s a pretty tough looking
customer, I’ll say.”

For a moment Bob hesitated.

“Well,” he said finally. “You may be right. Anyhow it’s a lot better
to be careful than to be sorry, so I’ll tell you how we’ll work it.
No doubt there’s a back door to the shack. Now I’ll try to get in
while you stay here and watch. If you see him coming just give your
imitation of a wild cat. You can do it well enough to fool anyone,
and if I hear it I’ll slip out the back way and come around here.
He’ll have to take off his snow-shoes before he can come in and that
will give me plenty of time to make a get away.”

This plan seemed good to Jack and he readily agreed to it.

Bob removed his snow-shoes and was about to start when a sudden
thought struck him.

“Great guns, Jack, I forgot all about the tracks,” he said.

“Well, what do you know about that?” and for a moment Jack’s face
looked the picture of despair.

“He’d spot them the minute he came back and then it’d be all up,”
Bob declared.

“And he’ll probably be back long before it freezes tonight,” Jack
lamented.

For a moment both boys were silent each trying to find some solution
to the problem.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Bob finally proposed. “I’ll make a
detour round back and mebby I can find a way to get up to the house
without leaving any tracks. He may have a path out the other side or
at the back. If I’m not back in about ten minutes you will know that
I’ve found a way.”

Jack could think of no better plan so he agreed and Bob started.
Jack leaned against a tree and waited. Slowly the minutes passed.

“I guess he found a way,” he thought as his watch told him that the
ten minutes were up.

Meanwhile Bob, making a wide detour approached the cabin from the
back as, contrary to the usual custom, it faced away from the lake.
As he had hoped, a well beaten path led down to the lake.

“This is luck,” he thought as he slipped off his snow-shoes and
stood them against a big pine.

Quickly he ran up the path and, as he had thought, found that there
was a back door. It was not locked and without hesitation he opened
it and stepped inside. The cabin was not a large one and had but one
room, which was living room, dining room and kitchen all combined.
For a moment, as he stood still and listened, a feeling of intense
disappointment swept over him, the room was empty of anyone so far
as he could see.

Had they had their long trip all for nothing?

But just then he heard a slight sound which seemed to come from a
bunk which stood on the opposite side of the room.

“You didn’t make a very long trip.”

It was Rex’s voice, and his heart gave a leap as he ran to the side
of the bunk.

“Rex.”

“Who are you? It can’t be, but by jove it is, Bob Golden.”

“Sure is,” Bob said.

“But, how in the world, did—,” Rex began, but Bob interrupted him.

“We came to find you. Jack’s outside watching.”

Then, he saw that Rex was tied hand and foot to the bunk.

“When did you get here?” Rex asked.

“It was nearly an hour ago, I guess. We watched till we saw somebody
leave the cabin and then I went round back and found the path and,
and here I am,” and Bob, having taken his knife from his pocket
while he was talking, started to cut the rope with which Rex was
bound.

“Hold on a minute,” the latter cautioned him before he had time to
use the knife. “I don’t think you’d better do that, not now. If
Parry, he’s the half-breed you saw, should come back and find you
here there’d be the deuce to pay. He probably won’t be back for an
hour or more but you can never tell.”

“But what does it mean?” Bob asked putting his knife back in his
pocket.

“It means that I was a fool to trust the fellow, I suppose. But I’ll
tell you all about it and then you can judge for yourself. I came up
here to fish as I suppose you know. I’ve never been here before and
had a guide engaged who had been recommended by a friend of mine who
has been here a number of times. Well, when I got to Presque Isle I
found that the fellow had been taken suddenly sick and, being in a
hurry as my time was limited, I took the first fellow I could get.
We got here just the day before the ice went out and then for two
days we had some of the best fishing you ever saw. Parry was very
kind and seemed all right and I congratulated myself on getting so
fine a guide.

“But that night I noticed a change in his manner. He seemed nervous
and a trifle irritable. We had made all preparations to start back
the next morning and you can imagine my surprise when he demanded
ten thousand dollars as the price of taking me back. I argued and
threatened all to no purpose. Here I was and here I was going to
stay till I came across. Can you beat it? Of course, I told him that
I didn’t have the money and so couldn’t give it to him, but he said
that I could write for it. Then I tried to show him how easy it
would be for me to have him arrested after we got back, but that
didn’t work. He said he was going to hit the trail for some place
way up in Canada, and I’d never be able to get him. It was mighty
important for me to be home several days ago but I just wouldn’t
give in. You know I’ve got a pretty well developed stubborn streak
in me and I do hate to be made do a thing like that.

“But haven’t you tried to get away?” Bob asked.

Rex grinned.

“If you knew Parry as well as I do you wouldn’t need to ask that
question. I’m fairly good at a rough and tumble and know something
about boxing. I tried once to mix it up with him and I stood about
as much show as an icicle would in—well, in a furnace. Honestly,
he’s positively the strongest man I ever saw. He didn’t beat me up.
Just held me with one hand and laughed. Oh, I got in a few good
punches which had about as much effect as so many rain drops.”

“He must be good if he did that,” Bob declared.

“Good is right. You see that big poker there by the fireplace. Well,
I saw him bend that till the ends touched with just his hands and
then he straightened it out just as easily, and I couldn’t bend it a
bit even over my knee. Believe me, if that fellow should ever get a
chance at Dempsey, we’d have a new champ in less’n three rounds.”

“But does he keep you tied up all the time?” Bob asked.

“Oh no. Only at night and when he goes out, and then, believe me, he
makes a good job of it.”

“So I see,” Bob agreed as he examined the rope. “But what are we
going to do, Rex? There’s got to be some way.”

“Well,” Rex began slowly, “I’ve been thinking ever since you came
in. A rough and tumble is out of the question. I know you’re good
with your fists and all that, but against Parry Magloire the three
of us would be like so many children, and I would hate like blazes
to shoot him or anything of that sort. You see, in a way, I admire
the man and so would you if you knew him.”

“That’s all right, but—,” Bob began when Rex interrupted.

“We’ve got to think fast, Bob. Now I’ve got a sort of a plan. Parry,
like most breeds, is very superstitious. There’s an old story, which
has been handed down in his family for generations about a giant
wolf which has killed the eldest son of each era. He was telling me
all about it the other night. He has never seen the wolf, but he
said that he had heard it more than once. Of course, it’s all bosh
but he believes it and, the point is he’s the eldest son of his
father. He said that, for a good many years back, the eldest son of
each family had disappeared and there was no doubt, in his mind, but
that the wolf had gotten him.”

“I rather think that he wants that money so that he can go away off
somewhere where he thinks he’ll be safe. I guess it’s the only thing
in the world that he’s afraid of but that wolf certainly has got him
bluffed all right.”

“And you think we might scare him away?” Bob asked as the other
paused.

“That’s the idea,” Rex said. “And it’s the only plan I can think
of.”

“Well we can try,” Bob began, but just then the shrill cry of a wild
cat rang out.

“That’s Jack telling me that the breed’s coming back. I must hustle,
but keep a stiff upper lip. We won’t be far away,” and Bob hurried
out the back way.

He ran down the path quickly and, finding his snow-shoes where he
had left them, he was soon back with his brother.

“We’d better get back a mile or so,” he said as he picked up his
pack and slung it on his back. “I’ll tell you all about it as soon
as we get to a safe place.”

About a mile back, over the way they had come, they found a good
place for a camp, in a dense growth of pines, and decided to make it
their headquarters. Quickly Bob told how he had found their friend
and his plan of action.

“But we’ve got to act quickly, old man, because that chap is apt to
find our tracks at any time and if he does—goodnight.”

“But do you think we can get away with it?” Jack asked anxiously.

“That remains to be seen, but we’ll do our best.”

They ate a cold lunch, not daring to build a fire lest the smoke
betray them. Lunch finished they got into their sleeping bags, for
the sky had clouded over and it was cold and damp. All through the
long afternoon they discussed plans until, just as dusk was
beginning to fall, they agreed upon a course of action.

“It may work and it may not, but it’s the best in the shop,” Bob
declared as he looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain or snow
before the night’s over,” he predicted.

Bob had hardly left the cabin when the front door swung open and the
giant half-breed entered.

“We have rabbit stew for dinner, oui,” he said as he came to the
side of the bunk and held up, for Rex’s inspection, a large rabbit.

“That’ll be fine,” Rex declared. “I’m a bit fed up on trout. But
untie the ropes, will you?”

“Oui, I do dat, in one leetle minute,” the breed said as he placed
the rabbit on the table.

“There, that feels better,” Rex declared a moment later as he got
out of the bunk and stretched himself. “Some day I’m going to get
the jump on you, Parry, and then you want to look out.”

“Bet’ not try heem. Wid deese hands I could bust you, oui,” and he
held out two hands which, in Rex’s mind, fully justified his boast.

“I tink mebby, you send for dat money today, oui?” the breed asked
as he began to skin the rabbit.

“Not today or any other day,” Rex declared emphatically. “As I’ve
told you a dozen times, Parry, you’re just wasting your time here.
I’d die before I’d give in to you. That’s the kind of a fellow I am
and the sooner you understand it the better.”

“We see,” Parry grinned. “Mebby you change mind pretty quick,” and a
fierce look appeared, for a moment, in his eyes.

During all the time that Rex had been held prisoner, his captor
never allowed him to get behind him and Rex had given up the idea of
taking him unaware.

Parry was an excellent cook and Rex thoroughly enjoyed the rabbit
stew.

“Tell me, Parry,” Rex asked when they had finished eating. “What
kind of a noise does that wolf of yours make? Is it like the howl of
an ordinary wolf?”

Instantly into the eyes of the breed sprang a frightened expression.
Rex had greatly regretted that he had not time to plan with Bob, but
he knew the boy and did not doubt but that, before the night was
over, something would happen. So he had resolved to keep Parry
wrought up to the highest pitch possible.

“Oui,” he replied slowly. “Eet sound lik’ a wolf but much beeger
sound. Eet is ter’ble. Sometime heem geet me,” and the man made the
sign of the cross on his breast.

“When did you hear it last?” Rex asked.

“’Bout five-six month ago.”

“Where was it?”

“Right here, Eet sound lak’ eet down by lake.”

“And what did you do?”

“I leave here queek. Go back Presque Isle ver’ queek.”

“But, Parry, don’t you have some sort of a charm that will protect
you?” Rex asked, determined to keep him on the subject as long as
possible.

“Non,” he replied, shaking his head. “Dere is no charm can keep dat
sort of wolf away. Heem ’fraid nottin’, non.”

“And you really think that he’ll get you sometime?”

“Oui, heem geet me pret’ soon. I older now dan der others. My time
come soon oui.”

“But why hasn’t some one shot him? Did anyone ever try it?” Rex
asked.

“Oui. My uncle, heem try eet once. Heem see heem and geet good sight
on heem, but bullet go right troo heem, no hurt. Bullet no bon wid
dat wolf, non, non,” and the man shook his head sadly.

During the afternoon and early evening, Rex, from time to time,
harked back to the subject of the spectral wolf, and, by the time
dusk had fallen he was pleased to note that the breed was in a
highly nervous condition. After supper was finished, he fell to
pacing back and forth across the room, and seemed constantly to be
listening.

“What’s the matter with you, Parry? You make me nervous,” Rex asked
after the breed had been pacing up and down for the better part of
an hour.

“I tink I hear sometin’ leetle while ago.”

“What did it sound like?” Rex asked, “I thought I heard a howl off
in that direction,” and he pointed toward the west.

“Oui. Dat what I hear,” the breed said as he stopped and listened
intently.

But no sound save the gentle rustling of the spruce boughs as they
swayed in the wind and the patter of rain drops on the window panes,
came to their ears.

“Well, I guess I’ll hit the hay,” Rex declared a little later.

It was a long time before the breed followed his example and lying
in his bunk, Rex could see him pacing back and forth. But finally he
put out the light and tumbled into his bunk, which was on the
opposite side of the room. As usual Rex was tied securely in his
bunk. He had resolved not to sleep as he was certain that the boys
would make an attempt to rescue him before morning. Slowly the
minutes passed and soon he knew, by the sound of heavy breathing,
that Parry had fallen asleep.



                            CHAPTER VIII

                           THE WOLF GHOST


The little clock on the mantle over the fireplace had struck ten and
in spite of his resolve, Rex had drifted off into sleep, when
suddenly he was awakened. Yes, it was no dream. From far off in the
woods came the long drawn out howl of the wolf. He smiled as he lay
there listening. The boys had started something, but just what they
had planned he could only guess. Soon came another howl and now it
was nearer. A movement, on the other side of the room assured him
that Parry was awake, but he did not speak.

“Let it soak in,” he muttered.

Again and again the howls rang through the forest, each time coming
nearer. The sound of the cry was deep and long drawn out.

“That kid’s a peach,” Rex smiled as he listened. “He’s got that howl
down to perfection.”

“You hear dat?” Parry finally asked in a frightened tone after a
particularly loud cry had boomed through the woods.

“Yes, of course I heard it. I’m not deaf. What do you make of it?”
Rex said, grinning to himself.

“I tink eet dat wolf,” Parry whispered.

“Well, if it is I only hope it isn’t after me,” Rex declared. “But
don’t you think you ought to untie me, Parry?” he asked putting all
the fear he could into his voice. “I’d be perfectly helpless the way
I am if he gets in here.”

“Heem no want you,” Parry declared as he got out of his bunk and
crossed the room. “Heem after me. You tink heem can get in here?”

“Well, of course, no ordinary wolf could,” Rex replied slowly, “but
if that’s a spirit wolf as you seem to think, I don’t imagine a
little thing like a door would bother him much.”

“I untie you, you try help me, oui?” the breed promised as another
howl, now evidently very near, came to their ears.

“Sure, I’ll help you if I can. But if that fellow really gets in,
good night.”

Parry quickly untied the ropes and Rex sat up on the edge of the
bunk.

Parry had lighted the little lamp and Rex could see that the man was
in a bad way. His swarthy face was as pale as a face of that hue
could get and his hands trembled violently as he replaced the
chimney on the lamp.

Never had he seen such fear in a man’s face and a wave of pity swept
over him as he watched.

“But he deserves all that’s coming to him,” he thought.

All this time the cries had been coming nearer. Until now it seemed
that the wolf must be close at hand. Then, for a time they stopped.
What was coming next Rex wondered. But he did not have long to wait.
Soon the sound of the patter of feet was heard on the roof. Patter,
patter, they sounded as thought some large animal was running across
the roof.

Parry sank down in a chair, his face livid.

“Heem geet me ver’ queek,” he muttered.

Just then, down the big chimney came a deep booming howl, and then
all was still for several minutes.

Although, of course he was not frightened, Rex was keyed up to a
high pitch wondering what would happen next.

“Look, Parry,” he suddenly cried, pointing to the window.

There, pressed close against the pane, was the face of an enormous
wolf, but such a wolf as Rex had never dreamed of seeing. A long red
tongue hung from its half open mouth and the eyes glowed like balls
of fire, while streams of fire seemed to dart from the pointed nose.

Parry gave one look and started to his feet. Then, suddenly, with a
hoarse cry, he threw up his hands and fell in a crumpled heap, on
the floor. Rex was quick to grasp his chance, and, picking up the
ropes, with which he had been tied, he soon had the breed trussed up
so that there was little chance of his being able to get free. This
done he threw open the front door and shouted.

“All right, boys, you can come in now.”

Bob and Jack, the latter carrying the wolf’s head on the end of a
short stick, were quick to accept the invitation.

“You certainly did the trick, all right,” Rex declared as he pointed
to the form lying on the floor. “That head was too much for him and
he tumbled over, and I don’t wonder. It was enough to scare anyone
out of a year’s growth.”

“He isn’t dead is he?” Bob asked anxiously.

“Not a bit of it,” Rex replied. “He just fainted and I’ll bet it’s
the first time such a thing ever happened to him. His kind don’t
keel over easily but he was scared half to death before he saw that
thing and that was the last straw.”

“You are sure you’ve got him good and fast?” Bob asked.

“I think so, but, perhaps, you had better take a look. I guess you
know more about such things than I do.”

But, after a hasty examination, Bob declared that it was a good job.

“Couldn’t have done a better myself,” he said.

“How, in the name of common sense, did you fix up that thing?” Rex
asked, pointing to the wolf’s head, which Jack had thrown on the
floor.

“We were lucky,” Bob laughed, as he picked up the head. “You see we
found the skeleton of a sheep and took the head and made it larger
with some birch bark and spruce twigs smeared over with pitch which
we got off a pine tree. Jack’s under shirt had to suffer to supply
the tongue. Mine isn’t red. Then we got that fire effect by using
the heads of pretty near a whole box of matches. It’s pretty crude
you see, when you get close to it, but at a distance, I guess it
looked real enough.”

“I should say it did,” Rex declared as he picked up the head. “If I
hadn’t known that you were back of it I’m not sure but what I’d have
gone with Parry.”

“What did you think of Jack’s howls?” Bob asked.

“They were perfect,” Rex replied. “He hadn’t the least doubt, but
that his wolf was after him.”

Just then the breed gave a low moan, and, as Rex bent over him, he
slowly opened his eyes.

“He’s coming round all right,” Rex said as he straightened up.

“Did wolf geet in?” Parry asked in a weak tone.

“Not exactly,” Rex replied. “But something else did,” and he glanced
at the two boys who were standing close together a little to one
side.

Parry followed his gaze and, as he saw the boys, he gave Rex a
questioning look.

“They are two friends of mine,” Rex explained.

“Then dere was no wolf, non?”

“I’m afraid not,” Rex replied.

“But der head. I seed heem.”

“There it is on the table.”

Parry gave one glance at the object and as the thought that he had
been tricked worked its way into his brain, he seemed to notice, for
the first time that he was tied. Instantly his face grew dark with
anger and he began to strain at his bonds. But Rex had done his work
well and with all his great strength, he could not loosen them. Rex
let him struggle until, panting, he gave it up.

“It’s no use, Parry,” he said. “Your game is up and you might as
well make the best of it. Be a sport. You had your innings and now
it’s my turn.”

For the space of a minute the breed glared at him. Evidently a
struggle was going on in his mind. He was licked for the time being,
at any rate.

“All right. I geet up. I be sport lak’ you be.”

“That’s the talk,” Rex declared. “Nothing like knowing when you’re
licked.”

“What you do wid me, eh?” Parry asked humbly.

“We haven’t got to that yet,” Rex said. “I guess that’ll need some
figuring,” he added turning to Bob and Jack. “But first let’s get
the fire going. It’s getting rather cold in here.”

As soon as the fire was sending its shower of sparks up the chimney,
at Rex’s suggestion, they lifted the breed into his bunk and drew a
thick blanket over him. He said no word, but lay with a look of
dejected resignation on his face.

“Now we’ll get together by the fireplace and go into executive
session of the ways and means committee,” Rex said, as he drew a
chair up close to the fire. “It don’t look to me as though we were
out of the woods yet,” he added as the boys followed his example.

“Not by a good many long miles,” Bob agreed.

“Literally and figuratively both,” Rex laughed.

“Looks to me as though we had a white elephant on our hands,” Jack
said hitching his chair nearer the fire.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Rex agreed. “We’ve got to decide what
to do with Parry. We can’t leave him here to starve to death and I
don’t see how we can take him with us either. So there we are,
betwixt the devil and the deep sea. I tell you,” he whispered, “we
must take absolutely no chance of his getting loose. The fat would
be in the fire for sure if he did.”

“Well, have you any plan?” Bob asked.

“Not a glimmer, have you?”

“No, I can’t see a way out yet. How about you, Jack?” and Bob looked
at his brother.

“Guess I’m about in the same boat as the rest of you,” the boy
replied.

“The only thing I’ve thought of so far is for one of us to go to
Ashland, I believe that’s the nearest town, and get help while the
others stay here and watch him.”

“Well, I’d like to know what’s the matter with that plan?” Rex
smiled.

“Ashland is only twelve miles from here and one of us could be back
with help tomorrow night easily enough. What do you say, Bob?”

“Sounds good to me,” Bob replied. “I’ll go.”

“Not much you won’t,” Rex objected. “This is my job.”

“Now look here, Rex,” Bob began, “You know as well as I do that it’s
best for me to go. I don’t want to brag, but I can make a good deal
better time on snow-shoes than you can and besides you don’t know
the woods as well as I do, and you could easily lose your way and
then we would be in a fix.”

Rex realized the force of Bob’s argument and gave in.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But I hate to have you do all
the hard work.”

“Bosh on that hard work stuff,” Bob laughed.

“Well, have it your own way,” Rex smiled. “But I haven’t thanked you
for—”

“Just lay off the thanks,” Jack interrupted. “We’ll take all that
for granted, eh Bob?”

“Sure we will, Rex, old man.”

“Well it was mighty good and plucky of you just the same,” he
declared.

“And now you fellows better turn in and get some sleep. I’ll keep
watch of our friend here.”

The boys tried to object but Rex would not listen, declaring that he
had been sleeping from twelve to fourteen hours a day and did not
need any more for a week.

It was nearly midnight by this time and, in spite of the excitement,
both boys were asleep almost as soon as they tumbled into the bunk,
which, fortunately, was wide enough to hold them both.

As soon as he was sure that they were asleep Rex went over to Parry
and examined his bonds. The breed did not say a word and, after
assuring himself that he had not loosened them, he went back to his
chair by the fire.

When Bob woke the light was still burning as daylight had not yet
come. But a glance at his watch told him that it was nearly five
o’clock. Rex was getting breakfast and turned as Bob got out of the
bunk.

“All quiet along the Potomac?” the latter asked.

“Fine’s a fiddle,” Rex assured him “and breakfast will be ready just
as soon as the coffee boils.”

The rain had stopped but a glance outside told Bob that the weather
had not entirely cleared.

“It’s going to be a pretty hard tramp on that wet snow,” he thought
as he stepped back into the room.

He woke Jack and in a few minutes Rex announced that breakfast was
ready. As soon as they were finished they lifted Parry from his bunk
and placed him in a chair.

“Now, Parry, I’ll feed you,” Rex said.

“You untie hands, I be bon.” The breed declared with an imploring
look.

But Rex shook his head.

“No, my friend. I’ve seen what you can do with those hands and I’m
not going to take a chance.”

So he had to submit to being fed, an operation which took some
little time as he was a big feeder.

“Well I guess I’ll be on my way,” Bob said as soon as the first
gleam of the coming dawn showed in the east.

“Sure you can find the way?” Rex asked anxiously.

“Sure. I’ve got a map here and my compass. I’ll be all right and I
ought to be back here by three or four o’clock. You be careful with
that fellow and don’t let him get loose,” he cautioned as he
fastened the thongs of his snow-shoes.

“Well so long,” he said as he shook hands with them.

As he had feared the snow was very wet and sticky and the going was
hard from the start. But he was used to it and a merry whistle
floated back to the two on the porch as they watched him until the
mighty forest swallowed him.

“He’s a boy in a thousand,” Rex declared as they turned back into
the cabin, and Jack heartily agreed with him.

Before washing the dishes Rex again examined their prisoner’s bonds
and assured himself that all was well.

“We must not let him out of our sight for a minute,” he whispered to
Jack. “His strength is really marvelous and he might wiggle out of
those ropes and if he should, he’d make short work of us.”

“Will you go back with them when they come after Parry?” Jack asked
as he was drying the dishes.

“I thought I’d like to go with you,” Rex said. “You see that
business, which I was supposed to attend to, has been settled long
before this and there is really no hurry about my getting back now.”

“That’ll be the finest ever,” Jack declared, delighted at the
thought of having their friend with them on the homeward trip.
“We’ll show you how they drive logs down the river. Say did you ever
see a log rolling contest?”

“No. I never did, but I’ve read about them. It must be fun.”

“I’ll say it is.”

Meanwhile Bob was plowing his way through the wet snow toward
Ashland. Before he had gone far the sun broke through the clouds and
it began to grow warm and he was soon forced to remove his mackinaw.

How the snow did stick to his shoes. It seemed as though he was
lifting a heavy weight every time he raised a foot.

“I guess it’ll be night before I get there,” he thought and it was
only a little after ten o’clock when, from the top of a small hill,
he looked down upon the little town, nestling at its foot.

The town boasted a telegraph office and, making his way thither, he
sent a message to Rex’s father in Philadelphia, telling him that he
was all right. He also telegraphed to his own father telling him
that they had found Rex and would start for Moosehead Lake next day.
This done he explained matters to the operator and asked him to whom
he should apply.

“Jim Dugan is a deputy. He lives right across the street in that
white house. Guess you better see him,” the man advised.

Bob found Jim Dugan a genial man about fifty years old and anxious
to help him after he had heard the story.

“But I can’t hardly believe it of Parry Magloire,” he declared when
Bob told him what happened. “I know Parry well. He’s been guiding
round here for all of five years and I never heard of his cutting up
any tricks before. Guess he must have had a brain storm. Now I’ll
get hold of Joe Hinkson and after we get a bite ter eat we’ll start
back with you. We can drive up to within about a mile of the lake
all right.”

Bob was very glad to know that he would not have to tramp all the
way back.

Joe Hinkson was a young man but a few years older than Bob, but he
was, as Bob could see, a powerfully built man.

They found the road in fair shape for that time of year and it was
only a little past two o’clock when the deputy announced.

“We’ll ave ter hoof it from here.”

They donned snow-shoes and at once struck off through the thick
woods.

“Ter think that Parry’d do a thing like that,” Joe said as they
trudged along.

“It sure do beat the Dutch,” the deputy agreed.

Soon the cabin hove in sight and Bob gave a loud whoop which brought
Rex and Jack out on the porch.

“Well, you sure did make it snappy,” Jack said as he grasped his
brother’s hand. “I didn’t expect you for two hours.”

Bob introduced his companions and they all went into the cabin.

“Well, well, what you been up to, Parry?” the deputy greeted the
prisoner.

“Hello, Jeem. I think I mak’ one beeg fool out of myself, oui,” the
breed answered.

“Yes, I guess you have,” Dugan replied severely.

Then turning to Bob he said, “You can untie him now. I’ll be
responsible for him.”

Bob did as he asked and Parry stretched himself with a sigh of
relief.

“I’m mighty sorry that a thing of this sort should have happened,”
the deputy said, turning to Rex. “I’m afraid that it’ll give you a
mighty bad impression of us up here in Maine. But I never knowed a
thing of this sort ter happen afore. Parry, I’m sure ashamed of
you.”

Parry hung his head but said nothing.

“Well, we’ll be getting back,” the deputy announced. “Get your duds
on, Parry. I suppose you boys will wait till morning afore you
start?” he asked turning to Bob.

“Why, I hardly know, but probably we will as it’s pretty late to
start now,” Bob replied. “We are certainly very grateful to you for
coming to our aid.”

“Oh, that’s nothin’. All in the day’s work,” the deputy declared.
Then turning to Rex he asked:

“What charge do you want ter make ’gainst this feller, Mr. Dale?”

“Why, er I don’t think I want to make any,” Rex said after a
moment’s thought. “Really I have no hard feelings against him and I
believe that he’s been punished enough. How about it Parry?”

“I ver’ sorry. I, I don’t know what mak’ me do heem,” the breed said
as he stood with downcast eyes.

“Then suppose we let it go at that,” Rex suggested.

“Just as you say,” the deputy agreed. “But I’ll be blest if many
would do it. Parry, you don’t deserve it.”

“The man actually had tears in his eyes,” Bob declared, after they
had gone.

“I honestly think that he’s a good fellow at heart,” Rex declared.

It did not take them long to decide against starting back that
afternoon.

“We’ll hit the hay early tonight and get off by daylight,” Bob said
as he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. “The
wind has shifted into the northwest,” he announced, a moment later
as he came back. “It’s growing colder and that just suits us. If it
will only freeze tonight we can make twenty or twenty-five miles
before it gets soft.”

“Who owns this cabin?” Jack asked turning to Rex.

“It belongs to a friend of Dad’s in Philadelphia. His name is Brown
and he comes up here every summer for a couple of months.”

The cabin was well stocked with supplies and Rex said that they were
at liberty to take what they wished with them. Before going to bed
that night they got everything ready so that there might be no delay
in getting off in the morning.

As Bob had hoped it froze hard during the night and when they
started just as the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, they found
a good hard crust. They were all in high spirits as they slung their
packs onto their backs and fastened the snow-shoes on top of them.

“Here’s where we make a record,” Jack shouted as he took the lead.

“Now, son, don’t you go to hitting it up too fast. Remember Rex
isn’t in training for a long hike,” Bob cautioned.

“Don’t you hold back on my account,” Rex said. “I’m a pretty good
walker and if I get winded, I’ll let you know.”

Jack knew that Rex was game, but he also realized the truth of Bob’s
statement, so he set a slower pace than he would have taken had they
been by themselves. Still they made good time, considering the big
hill which they had to climb. Rex was puffing, as Jack declared,
like a young porpoise, by the time they reached the top and he
laughingly acknowledged the indictment.

“Guess I’m too fat,” he laughed as he leaned against a tree.

They rested for a while before starting down the hill, and after
that Rex seemed to get his second wind and it was only a little past
ten o’clock when they reached the bank of the stream where Bob had
taken his plunge two days before. The ice had, in the meantime, gone
out of the stream and the lake as well.

“How, in the world, are we ever going to get across?” Jack asked as
he gazed at the swollen stream, the waters of which were rushing
madly by.

“That seems to be the main question, just at present,” Bob agreed as
he threw his pack to the ground and slowly scratched his head. “If
it was summer we could wade across, but believe me that water is
mighty wet and cold. I know, because I tried it,” and he told Rex of
his experience on the up trip.

“Do you know how far it would be to go around it?” Rex asked.

“No, but judging from its size here, it would be a good many miles,”
Bob replied.

“Well, there’s only one way so far as I can see,” Jack declared.

“Well, spring it,” Bob said.

“You see, up the stream a bit there are some pines growing pretty
close to the edge,” he began pointing with his finger. “Now, if we
can find one that will do, what’s the matter with cutting it down so
that it’ll fall across the drink and then we’ll have a bridge?”

“I guess it’s the only way, so let’s get busy.”

“Just a minute till I get the ax out of my pack.”

It did not take them long to find a tree which Bob declared would
do, and they at once set to work. It was hard and slow cutting as
the ax was a small one not adapted to felling so large a piece of
timber. But, by taking turns, they accomplished it in a little more
than a half hour. The tree fell true and, as the banks were high on
both sides of the stream they had a bridge well above the rushing
water.

It did not take them long to make the crossing and soon they were
all safe on the other side.

“All that work just to use it for a minute,” Jack declared in a
disgusted tone as he leaped to the bank, the last one over.

“That’s often the way in this world, son,” Rex said soberly. “We’ll
be fortunate if things always turn out as well.”

By this time the snow had softened so that the crust would no longer
bear their weight and they were forced to take to their snow-shoes.
Each day lowered the snow perceptibly, but it was still too deep to
wade through. However, it did not get actually wet and so did not
greatly impede their progress and they continued to make fair time.
They camped that night not far from where Bob had shot the moose,
and were again on their way at daybreak.



                             CHAPTER IX

                              HELD UP


“Are you sure this is the place?” Jack asked a little later.

“Sure. That’s the tree we climbed, but where’s the moose?” Bob
replied.

They had stopped at the place where they had had the encounter with
the moose, but to their surprise, the animal had disappeared. They
had already told Rex about it and he had expressed a great desire to
see the animal.

“Don’t it beat the Dutch?” Jack said as he glanced about. “How could
anyone have taken him away without leaving tracks?”

“That part of it is easy,” Bob replied. “If they did it the next
morning, while the snow was frozen hard, their tracks wouldn’t
amount to much and that rain would have wiped out all trace of them.
It’s who did it that’s got me guessing. You see,” he continued
turning to Rex, “I broke the law when I shot that fellow and if the
game warden has found him before I have a chance to report and
explain the circumstances, it might go hard with me. It’s a pretty
serious thing up here to shoot a moose out of season.”

“I suppose so,” Rex agreed. “But I imagine your word would be taken
all right.”

“I sure hope so,” Bob said. “But that don’t help explain the
mystery.”

“Probably some Indians or half-breeds found the body and carried it
off,” Jack suggested.

“Likely enough,” Bob agreed.

“Are there any Indians around here?” Rex asked.

“A few,” Bob replied. “You know there’s a tribe that live over at
Oldtown and sometimes they get over as far as Moosehead Lake, but
not often.”

“But there’s plenty of breeds,” Jack declared.

“Well, I guess it’s no use standing here talking about it any
longer,” Bob declared. “Whoever got it has made a good get-away, and
if we’re going to make the Carry tonight we’ve got to be moving.”

They had made a few more miles when, suddenly, Bob, who was in the
lead, stopped and held up his hand.

“Listen,” he said.

Faintly the sound came to their ears.

“Wolves?” Rex asked.

“No, dogs,” Jack replied. “I guess somebody’s coming this way with a
dog team.”

As they started on again it was soon evident that the dogs were
approaching rapidly as the sound of the yelping grew louder. Soon,
peering through the trees, Bob caught sight of them. Four huskies
were drawing a sled and they were accompanied by four breeds, big
burly fellows with villainous appearing faces.

As the two parties met, one of the breeds ordered the dogs to halt.
The sled was heavily loaded as they could see by its tracks in the
snow, but with what they could only guess as it was completely
covered with canvass.

“How.” One of the breeds, a man who stood easily six feet two,
greeted them.

“Good morning,” Bob replied pleasantly.

“Where you come from, eh?”

“From Lake Musquacook.”

“Where you go?”

“We’re going down to Moosehead,” Bob replied.

For a moment the man hesitated.

“You meet man up dar?” he asked.

“No, we have seen no one since we left the lake.”

“Mebby you tell lie, oui,” the man hissed with an insolent leer.

Bob shrugged his shoulders.

“I have told you the truth,” he declared. “Whether or not you choose
to believe it is up to you,” and he started to go on motioning Rex
and Jack to follow him.

But he had taken but a step when one of the other breeds blocked his
way.

“You no be in hurry, non,” he demanded.

“There’s where you’re wrong,” Bob replied his temper beginning to
come to the surface. “We’re in a great hurry.”

“You go when we geet ready,” the man who had first spoken snapped.

“Well, what do you want?” Bob snapped back.

“We want know where you see man.”

“I’ve told you once that we’ve seen no one,” Bob replied.

The four breeds drew off to one side and began talking in low tones,
making violent gesticulations with their arms.

“Think there’ll be any trouble?” Rex whispered, stepping close to
Bob.

“I guess not. There’s usually a good bit of bluff to these fellows.
That sled is probably loaded with booze and they’re probably trying
to get away from some deputy,” Bob replied in a low whisper.

“How about making a run for it?” Rex whispered.

“No use. They’d catch us in no time. Some of these breeds are like a
streak of lightning,” Bob replied. “Leave it to me and I guess it’ll
be all right.”

In another minute the big leader came back to them.

“You go back with us, oui,” he demanded.

“Not so you’d notice it,” Bob said.

“Mebby you lak’ geet beat up.”

“Not particularly.” Bob again shrugged his shoulders as though it
did not much matter.

He was, however, much more concerned than his manner showed. He saw,
by the looks of the man’s face, that he meant business, and he was
racking his brains to think of some way out. He had no doubt but
that they had guns, although none were in sight, and he was just as
certain that they would not hesitate to use them provided they
thought the occasion demanded it.

“Why do you want us to go with you?” he temporized.

“Dat our beesness. You come, oui?”

“Yes, we will—not,” Bob snapped, exasperated by the man’s insolent
manner.

“I tink mebby you change mind, oui,” the man sneered, as he, with a
move so quick that the eye could hardly follow it, pulled from an
inner pocket an ugly looking revolver.

Bob’s heart sank, as he had been relying on the fact that they all
three had revolvers as a last resort. But now it was too late, as he
knew the man would shoot if they made the least movement toward
drawing them.

“Well, I guess that does put a slightly different light on the
proposition,” and he turned to the others with a look which told
them that it was useless to resist.

But Rex was not satisfied.

“See here,” he began, addressing the big breed. “If it’s money you
want——”

“You got money, eh,” the breed interrupted, and instantly Rex
realized that he had made a bad blunder. “We get der money after
while. You come now,” he ordered, motioning to one of his companions
to start the dogs.

“We’ll have to take our medicine,” Bob whispered. “Don’t do anything
to make them mad. It won’t do any good and most of these fellows
have ungovernable tempers.”

But at that moment, just as the driver swung his long lash over the
backs of the dogs and gave the order “mush,” a startling
interruption came.

“Hands up there, Red Joe, and all the rest of you,” came in stern
tones from their right.

Instantly the breeds obeyed the order and the boys turned to see
three men, all carrying automatics in their hands, step from behind
trees only a few feet away.

“That’s right,” said one, as he stepped forward. “Just keep ’em up.
The first one who makes a move will be bored. Now drop that gun,
Joe.”

The breed obeyed without a word but, as Jack afterward declared, if
looks would kill, the officer would not have had a chance.

One of the men quickly picked up the gun and dropped it into his
pocket.

“Frisk ’em, Bill,” the leader ordered, “while I keep ’em covered.”

“Now you can put ’em down,” he said, after one of his men had taken
a revolver and a wicked looking knife from each of them.

“You mak’ one beeg meestake, oui,” the breed whom the officer had
called Red Joe, began. “Dis team belong to dees boys.”

The officer laughed.

“It won’t work, Joe. We’ve had an eye on you for some time and know
all about you.” Then, turning to Bob, he asked: “Mind telling us who
you are? We’re revenue men and we’ve been after these fellows for a
long time and now it looks as though we’d got ’em with the goods.”

Bob quickly explained their presence.

“That’s all right and I’m mighty glad to know you,” and he held out
his hand. “My friend, Jim Blake, told me, just before I came up here
from Washington, how you helped him locate a still over on Mount
Bigelow last summer.”

“And I’m very glad to shake hands with a friend of Jim Blake,” Bob
declared, as he grasped the outstretched hand.

Introductions followed all around.

“You certainly came at the right time for us,” Rex declared.

“Yes, I rather guess we did. They’re a bad bunch and might have made
you uncomfortable to say the least,” the officer said, with a glance
at his prisoners who were standing, in a sullen group, guarded by
one of his men.

“Now, Hen,” he said, addressing the other man, “let’s see what
they’ve got under that canvass. Bill’ll look out for ’em.”

“Just as I thought,” he declared a moment later, as, the canvass
being stripped off, a large quantity of jugs and bottles were
disclosed. “You see these birds brought this stuff across the border
and were taking it down to Jackman. We heard about it and started to
meet ’em, but they must have got wind some way that we were after
’em and were beating it back over the line.

“How’d you know we were after you, Joe?” he called to the breed.

But Joe refused to answer.

“Oh, well, have it your own way,” the officer said indifferently.
“We got you with the goods and that’s the main thing.”

“Are you going back?” Bob asked.

“No. I wish we could go with you boys, but we’ve got to take these
birds to Presque Isle and I guess we’d better be moving.”

As he spoke, the officer took from his pocket four pairs of
handcuffs, and a moment later they were adorning the wrists of the
half-breeds.

“Well, I’m mighty glad to have met you boys, and only wish that we
were going your way,” he said, as he again shook the hand of each of
them. A moment later and the thick forest had hid them from view.

“Whew! But that was a close one all right,” Bob declared, as he
watched them disappear. “I tell you I was a good deal more scared
than I let on. Some of those breeds are mighty tough customers, and
would think no more of killing a man than they would of eating.”

“Well, ‘All’s well that ends well,’” Jack quoted, as they started
off once more. “But I do hope we get back without any more
adventures,” he added with a laugh.

“Getting fed up on them are you?” Rex asked.

“Well, I don’t mind adventures provided they don’t come too quick
and fast,” he said.

“To tell the truth, this last one was quite enough to last me
personally for some time. You know I’m not so used to these
hairbreadth escapes as you and Bob are,” Rex laughed.

“Adventure is the spice of life,” Bob declared.

“I suppose so for you youngsters,” Rex agreed. “But by the time you
get old like me, you’ll wish for a more quiet life,” and both boys
laughed heartily, for Rex was only about three years older than Bob.

“Think we’ll make the Carry?” Jack asked a little later.

“Well, we’ve got quite a piece to go yet, and it’ll probably be
pretty late when we get in. Are you fellows game to try it, or had
you rather camp out another night?”

“I’m game,” Rex declared, and Jack also agreed.

At noon they stopped by the side of a small brook and ate a cold
lunch, not even waiting to make coffee.

“If the crust would only hold we’d have no trouble in making it,”
Bob said, as he munched a cracker. “But it’s pretty hard sledding on
snow-shoes, and I don’t know as we’d better try it.”

But both the others were eager to make the attempt, and he allowed
himself to be easily persuaded.

“If only we don’t get tangled up with an elephant or some other
trifle,” Jack laughed, as they fastened on their snow-shoes and
again set their faces to the south. Mile after mile they left behind
them, but going was heavy and when darkness began to steal through
the forest they still had several miles to go.

“Are you sure you can find the way in the dark?” Rex asked
anxiously.

“I can if the stars come out,” Bob replied, as he cast an anxious
look overhead. “But I’m afraid it’s going to cloud up and if it does
I’m not so sure.”

“Well, I don’t see how you find your way even in the daytime through
this wilderness,” Rex declared. “I’d be running in circles in less
than no time if I tried to find my way.”

“It’s a matter of getting used to it,” Bob said. “But you can always
tell which way is north by the bark on the trees, and then of
course, you can get the other points of the compass. But even so,
I’ve made a circle in the woods more than once.”

Bob’s fears regarding the weather were soon realized; for, although
the stars came out fairly bright as night settled down, their
brightness was short lived. One by one they grew dim and went out,
until finally the last one had disappeared.

“It’s no use,” Bob declared, as he watched the star which had been
his guide fade from view. “I haven’t got a single thing to go by
now, and it’s a clear case of hit or miss, with the odds
tremendously in favor of the miss. You see,” he explained, “there
are three hundred and sixty points to the compass, and, as we’ve got
to hit just one of them, our chances are three hundred and
fifty-nine to one. No man living could be sure of his way in this
blackness.”

Bob used the word in its literal sense, for it was so dark that they
could hardly see their hand before their face. To be sure they had
electric torches, but in the immensity of the forest they were of
little or no use in blazing a trail.

“Well, what’s to be done?” Rex asked.

“Make a camp,” Bob replied. “You see we may be very near the Carry
and then again we may be still several miles away. It’s impossible
to tell.”

“All right then, let’s go to it,” proposed optimistic Rex.

It was slow work in the darkness, finding wood for the fire, but
after a good deal of hunting a sufficient quantity was collected and
soon a cheerful blaze was lightening the gloom of the forest.

“It’ll seem more cheerful when we get some supper under our belts,”
Jack laughed, as he filled the coffee pot with snow and placed it on
the fire.

“Who said anything about not being cheerful?” Rex demanded.

Supper was finally ready and cheerfulness was certainly prominent as
they squatted about the fire, drinking coffee and eating flapjacks.

“Speaking about adventures,” Rex said, after they had cleaned up, “I
had a funny one a few weeks ago, although I don’t know as it was so
funny after all, but it was certainly strange.”

“All right, spring it,” Jack said, as he snuggled into his sleeping
bag.

“Well, it has been said that truth is stranger than fiction, but I
have never believed it until after I had this adventure, but now I
know that it can be, at least sometimes. There have been a lot of
hold-ups in Philly and the country round about, and as I have to do
a lot of driving by night I got a permit from the chief of police to
carry a revolver for self protection. Well, one night, about the
first of last February, I was driving home along from West Chester
where I had been to attend a meeting. It was about half-past eleven
and I was about three miles from the city when I saw a car standing
by the side of the road. I slowed down, as I always do when passing
a standing car. You never can tell when some one is going to dart
out from behind the other car and start to cross the road without
looking.

“Well, I was nearly to the car when, all at once, a man stepped out
into the road and held up his hand. I thought sure it was a hold-up
and, as I stopped the car, I reached my hand into my pocket for my
gun. But before I had time to pull it, the man, in a pleasant voice,
explained that something was the matter with his engine and would I
see if I could make it go. From the sound of his voice I decided
that I had judged him wrong and, of course, I jumped out to see if I
could help him out. He jostled me once or twice while I was leaning
over the engine, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“I was only a few minutes finding out what was wrong. A bit of dirt
under the needle valve, and soon his engine was running all right
again. He thanked me very profusely, almost too much so, I thought
at the time. I had barely got started when I felt for my watch, to
see how late it was, and it was gone. Believe me, I was mad. It was
a hold-up after all I thought, and the stalled engine was a put-up
job. Well, I resolved then and there to have that watch or to know
the reason why. So I turned, as quickly as possible, and, believe
me, I burned the road going back. I saw him ahead of me, after
running about three miles, and, as soon as possible, I drove up
alongside of him, and motioned for him to stop. He was not going
very fast and at once obeyed my signal. I got out of my car and came
to the side of his, and the next minute, pointing my gun full in his
face, I demanded:

“Hand over that watch, now, and be quick about it.”

“He didn’t say a word but handed me the watch. Whether or not he
recognized me as the man who had helped him out a few minutes before
I don’t know. Well, I dropped the watch in my pocket and he drove
on. I turned again and, a half hour later, was home.”

“Mother was in the living room as I let myself in the house. She had
been out somewhere and had just come in. I told her about my hold-up
and explained I had gotten the watch back. I noticed that she was
looking at me kinder funny, but she didn’t say anything till I had
finished; then, with a puzzled look on her face, she told me that I
had left my watch in the bath-room that evening and that she had put
it in my room. You can believe that I wasn’t very long in pulling
that watch out of my pocket. It was almost exactly like mine, but it
only needed a glance to show that it wasn’t my watch at all.

“‘Great Scott,’ I groaned, as I sank down in a chair. ‘I held that
man up at the point of a gun and robbed him of his watch.’ You can,
perhaps, imagine about how I felt. I was a sure enough highwayman,
and a successful one at that. Just then Father came in, and of
course I had to tell him all about it. I thought he’d die laughing
at first, but in a moment the serious side of it occurred to him and
he sobered up mighty quick.”

“What in the world did you do?” Bob laughed, as Rex paused.

“Well, there was only one thing I could do,” Rex said. “Early the
next morning I took the watch to police headquarters and explained
matters to the captain. I thought he’d throw a fit, but finally,
after he’d called in all the officers about the place and told them
about it and they had nearly laughed their heads off, he said that
he’d fix it up all right and I was glad to get away. Of course I
didn’t blame them for laughing. I’d have laughed myself if it had
happened to anyone else.”

“And did he get the watch back to the owner?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes,” Rex replied. “The man came in that very day to lodge a
complaint and the matter was explained to him.”

“Did the captain tell him who the man was that had held him up?” Bob
asked.

“No,” Rex replied. “He told me afterward that he had explained to
the man that it would be best not to tell him who it was, and he was
very nice about it and said he thought the same way. But, oh my,
suppose I meet him sometime and he recognizes me. I’ll feel like a
plugged thirty cent piece.”

“Oh, well, he’d probably not recognize you anyhow,” Jack consoled
him.

“That’s the funniest story I ever heard for a true one,” Bob
declared, as he settled himself in a comfortable position and said
goodnight.

How still it was in the solitude of the vast forest. Not a breath of
air stirred the branches above them. The boys were tired from their
long tramp and, as Jack declared, did not have to be rocked to
sleep.

How long Bob had been asleep he did not know, nor did he know what
had awakened him. He was conscious of no sound as he started up
fully awake in an instant. And yet he knew that a noise of some kind
had disturbed his sleep. Raising himself on his elbow, he listened.

“There, I knew it was something,” he whispered to himself, as a low
sound stole through the darkness.

At first he could not make out what it was.

“Sounds, for all the world, like a baby crying,” he thought. “But,
of course, it can’t be. Jimminy crickets, but it is too,” he
muttered a moment later, as the sound reached his ears more plainly.

Moving as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the others, he
got out of his bag and, listening a moment to make sure of the
direction, he stole softly away through the woods. He had not
stopped to put on his snow-shoes, and although a crust had formed on
the surface of the snow it was not yet strong enough to bear his
weight and he sank to his knees with every step.

Stopping every few steps to make sure that he was getting nearer the
source of the sound, which he was now certain was a baby crying, he
flashed his electric torch ahead. He had not gone more than about
thirty feet when, close to the trunk of a big pine, he found that
for which he was searching. It was indeed a baby, being not more
than four years old. The child was sitting on the snow, the crust
being strong enough to support its weight, at the foot of the tree,
sobbing as if its little heart would break.

“Now what do you know about that?” Bob asked himself, as he hastened
forward and, despite the struggles of the child, picked it up in his
arms.

“There, there, now baby, I’m not going to hurt you.” He soothed the
child, which was, he noticed, dressed in a thick warm cloak.

Gradually, under the influence of his words and tone, the child
seemed to lose its fear.

“Now what are you doing way out here in the woods?” Bob asked, as
soon as the child had calmed sufficiently to answer.

“Baby no way off,” the child sobbed. “Baby live back there,” and the
chubby arms pointed in the direction in which Bob had been going.

“Did you run away?” Bob asked kindly.

“Baby no run way. Bad mans come in house. Hurt my mama,” the child
sobbed.

Instantly Bob was on the qui vive.

“Is the man there now?” he asked quickly.

“Yeth, he hurt my mama,” the child repeated.

“How many bad men are there?” he asked.

“One man—two.” The baby gulped down its sobs.

“Better not take any chances,” Bob muttered, as he retraced his
steps as quickly as possible to where Rex and Jack were sleeping.

“It’s all right, little one,” he assured the child, whom he carried
in his arms. “I’ve got some friends, and just as soon as I can get
to them we’ll go and drive the bad men away.”

He gave first Jack and then Rex a violent shake, as soon as he
reached the spot.

“Wake up there and be quick about it,” he ordered.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Jack began sleepily. Then, as he forced
open his eyes and, by the light of Bob’s torch, saw the child in his
brother’s arms, he rose to a sitting position.

“For the love of Mike, where’d you get it?” he gasped.

“Do they raise them on trees up here?” Rex, who was sitting up,
asked.

“It’s no time to answer questions,” Bob declared in a low tone, and
he quickly told them what he had gathered from the child. “It’s
probably some breeds or Indians trying to rob the house. But come
on, there’s no time to lose.”

Still carrying the child in his arms, Bob led the way back through
the snow to the tree where he had found the child.

“You live that way?” he asked, pointing.

“Yeth, wite over dare.”

“Quiet now,” Bob whispered to the others.

In less than twenty steps they suddenly came to a clearing, and to
his great surprise Bob saw that the place was the North West Carry.

“What do you know about that,” he whispered, turning to Rex who was
just behind him. “We were within two minutes’ walk of the place and
never knew it.”

“Hush,” Rex whispered.

“Do you live in the store?” Bob asked the child.

“Yeth, baby live in store.”

“Come on,” Bob ordered. “It’s the store they’re trying to rob.”

The store was only a few feet from where they had stopped, and in
another minute they were on the little porch.

“Hush,” Rex again whispered. “I can hear voices.”

“Yes, there’s someone in there all right,” Bob agreed, as the sound
of angry voices came plainly to their ears.

“The lock on the door’s smashed,” he announced in a whisper, as he
pushed the door open and followed by the others stepped softly into
the store.

“For the last time, will you tell us where that money is?”

The words came to them plainly, even through the closed door at the
back of the store. At the sound, Bob gave a sudden start. There was
something strangely familiar in the sound of that voice. He sat the
child down in a chair by the big stove, and, motioning to the others
with his light, he ran for the back of the store. For just a second
he hesitated. Then, with a shout, he flung open the door.



                             CHAPTER X

                       THE BOYS TO THE RESCUE


The room was fairly well lighted from a large lamp on a table near
the center. A glance was all that was necessary for them to take in
the situation. In a chair to the right sat the wife of the
storekeeper, tied hand and foot. The storekeeper himself was
similarly placed on the opposite side of the room. His feet were
bare and one man was holding one of them, while it was evident that
the other was about to apply the flame of a candle, which he held in
his hand, to the sole of the foot. The man holding the candle, Bob
noticed, was a hunchback.

As the door burst open the two men turned. With an oath the larger
dropped the storekeeper’s foot and reached for his hip pocket. He
did not, however, have time to draw his gun, for, with a yell, Bob
was upon him.

It was, as Rex afterward declared, a beautiful tackle. Bob dove for
the man’s legs and they came to the floor in a heap. But the man was
a powerful brute, and shaking off the boy’s hold he was on his feet
again almost instantly. Bob too sprang to his feet. For a second the
two, man and boy, stood facing each other. Then, with a roar like an
angry bull, the man sprang. Bob neatly sidestepped and the blow
merely grazed his cheek.

Smack! Before the man could regain his balance Bob had turned and
driven his fist with all his strength against his jaw. The blow
staggered the man, but he did not fall.

“I’ll get you,” the man hissed through his teeth.

“Better be quick while the getting’s good,” Bob taunted.

As far as brute strength went, Bob well knew that he was no match
for his opponent, but the boy was a skillful boxer, while as he knew
from past experience the man knew nothing of the art.

Again the man rushed and again the boy dodged the blow, and, as
before, landed a heavy one in return. This time the blow caught the
man fairly on the nose and brought a stream of blood from the
nostrils. The pain of the blow maddened the man to the point of
frenzy, and throwing caution to the winds he rushed in and threw his
powerful arms about the boy’s neck, heedless of the blows that Bob
showered on him. Back and forth they swayed for a moment.

But Bob knew that there could be but one end to a struggle of this
kind, as the man was hugging him closer and closer in his arms. His
hold must be broken and that quickly. Watching his chance, Bob
suddenly exerting all his strength brought his knee up against the
man’s abdomen. With a grunt of pain and surprise, he loosened his
hold for an instant, and Bob was quick to take advantage of the
opportunity. Like an eel he slipped from his grasp, and before his
opponent could recover his hold, he drove his right fist to his jaw.

Smack! It was a beautiful blow, landing exactly on the right spot.
Its force was enhanced by the fact that the man was springing
forward at the time. Down he went without a sound and lay still on
the floor.

Meanwhile, at the instant Bob had made the dive for his man, Rex had
sprung for the other. The hunchback, though not large, was wiry, and
it seemed to Rex, as they rolled over and over on the floor,
possessed of the strength of ten wild cats.

Jack, confident that Bob could take care of himself, but not so sure
of Rex, was dancing about trying to get a hold on the hunchback. But
so rapidly did the two thrash about that, for what seemed a long
time, he was unable to help his friend. But as it proved, his help
was not needed, for Rex finally succeeded in getting a firm grasp of
the other’s throat and soon had him under control. Seeing that Rex
was all right, Jack turned to see how Bob was making out, just in
time to see the blow which knocked him out.

“Gee, but that was a peach,” he declared, as he stepped quickly to
Bob’s side. “Did he hurt you any?”

“Nary a bit,” Bob replied, as he glanced at the man on the floor.

It was but a moment’s work to release the man and his wife, and they
were profuse in their thanks. But without waiting to listen to them,
the boys took the ropes with which they had been tied, and soon had
the two men tied good and fast. The hunchback made no resistance as
his hands and feet were securely bound, and the other man did not
begin to show signs of life until after the job was completed.

“Well, Nip, it seems that our paths are bound to cross,” Bob said,
as he stood in front of the hunchback. “I guess we’ve got you and
Jake with the goods this time, and you’ll eat at the expense of the
State for some time.”

Those of my readers who have read the previous volumes of this
series, need no introduction to Nip and his friend, Jake. For the
benefit of those who have not, it will be sufficient to say that the
pair were as fine a couple of rogues as you would want to meet. As
Bob had said, their paths had crossed before, and the boys had
gotten the better of them but they had escaped.

Nip made no reply to Bob’s remark. He was a sullen brute and
realized that the boys once more had the upper hand.

“It’s a pretty low business, Nip, when you come to torturing a
helpless old man and his wife, but I’m not surprised.”

Just then a groan came from Jake, who was still lying on the floor,
and a moment later he opened his eyes and looked about him. He was,
as Jack declared, a sight. His face was covered with blood from the
blow on his nose, and one of his eyes was nearly closed and was
beginning to turn black.

“Well, Jake, I’m sorry I had to cut you up so,” Bob began, as he
stood over the man, “but you certainly had it coming to you.”

“I’ll get you sometime,” Jake growled, as he struggled to free his
hands.

“Mebby,” Bob replied. “But I rather think that you’ll be kept pretty
busy for some time. No use to waste your strength on that rope, man.
It’s a good strong one and it’s tied to stay. I’ll get some water
and wash the blood off your face. You don’t look a bit pretty.”

The storekeeper’s wife quickly brought some water in a basin and
soon Bob had the man’s face cleaner than it had been for a long
time, as Jack asserted.

“Well, boys,” the storekeeper said, after Bob had introduced Rex to
him and his wife, “You certainly came in the nick o’ time, as the
sayin’ is. That feller’d a had that candle against my foot in
another minute and I gess I’d a had ter give in. You saved me close
ter two thousand dollars an’ Jeb Slocum ain’t one ter ferget it.”

Before Bob had time to reply, the little child that he had found in
the woods came running into the room.

“Are the bad mans gone, mamma?” she asked.

“No, they ain’t gone but they can’t hurt us now,” her mother
replied, as she hugged the little girl to her breast.

Then Bob told them how he had found the child and how she had told
them what was happening.

“I was worried to death ’bout what had become of Dot,” the woman
said, as she kissed the child again and again.

“Those fellers come in here ’bout an hour ago,” Mr. Slocum explained
in answer to Bob’s question. “They must have got wind ter the fact
that I had a lot o’ money in the house. Yer see there ain’t another
soul ’sides us here just now. Everybody’s gone down ter Greenville
fer one thing or a nother. Well, they jumped us an’ tied us up and
demanded ter know where my money was, and when I wouldn’t tell ’em
they got real mad an’ ’lowed as how they’d burn my feet off if I
didn’t tell, an’ I guess they’d a done it if you hadn’t come along
jest when you did.”

Mrs. Slocum insisted on getting the boys something to eat, and it
was close to ten o’clock by the time they had finished. Jeb insisted
that the boys go to bed while he sat up and watched the prisoners.

“Land sakes,” he declared, when Bob announced his intention of
serving as watchman. “I couldn’t sleep no mor’n a cat after all this
excitement,” and seeing that he was determined, Bob soon gave up the
argument and together with Rex and Jack, followed Mrs. Slocum to a
room upstairs where were a couple of most comfortable looking beds.

“I hope you’ll find those beds all right,” she said, as she bade
them goodnight.

“I should say they were all right,” Jack declared a moment later, as
he nearly sank out of sight in the soft feather tick.

They were up at daybreak the next morning, and by the time they had
recovered their packs and snow-shoes from where they had left them
the night before, Mrs. Slocum had breakfast ready for them.

“Another one of those steaks,” Jack sighed with joyful anticipation,
as he sat down at the table.

“I’ve eaten some pretty good steaks in my lifetime,” Rex declared a
little later, “but, honestly, Mrs. Slocum, I never knew till now
what a really good steak was.”

The woman flushed with pleasure at the words of praise.

“And I’ve eaten French fried before,” Jack declared, “but these, Oh,
boy, these are in a class all by themselves.”

As soon as they had finished, the prisoners were fed one at a time,
their hands being freed for the moment and then securely fastened.

By eight o’clock they were ready to start. The two prisoners had
snow-shoes and these were tied to their backs. Then their feet were
untied but their hands were kept securely fastened behind their
backs.

“Think I’ll go along with you,” Jeb Slocum said, as they were about
to start. “I got to go in a day or two, and I’d like the job of
lodging a complaint against these fellers.”

The boys expressed their pleasure at having his company, and after
bidding Mrs. Slocum goodbye Bob turned to the two prisoners, who
were standing sullenly a few feet away.

“Now you two listen to me,” he began. “We’re going to take you down
to Jackman and turn you over to the police. It’s not safe to have
men of your stripe loose about the country. Now we’ve got some
pretty good persuaders here and we know how to use them; and if you
try to get away we won’t hesitate to shoot,” and he held out one of
the guns so that they could see it.

The men made no reply, but Bob fancied he caught a queer look in the
eyes of Jake as he glanced at the hunchback.

“I’ll keep a mighty close watch on you,” he thought.

“Never saw the snow hang on so long seems like,” Jeb declared, as
they started, the two prisoners a few feet to the front.

The morning was clear and cold and the crust hard enough to bear
their weight. They made good time and reached the town in time for
dinner in spite of the fact that they had to resort to the
snow-shoes for the last few miles. They had met no one on the trip
and the two prisoners had made no attempt to escape, although Bob
felt sure that it was due to their watchfulness that they had not.

Jackman boasted of no police station but did have a lockup and to
this building they marched their men. The keeper of the lockup was
at home, and after lodging a formal complaint against them and
seeing them behind the bars they all went to the hotel for dinner.

To their great satisfaction the boys learned that Sandy, the stage
driver, was about to start for The Forks, and they had no trouble in
engaging passage. They barely had time to eat and say goodbye to Jeb
when Sandy was ready for the start. Although the road was in
terrible shape, the ride down was without incident and they arrived
in good time for supper.

Greatly to his surprise, Bob had learned from Sandy that they had
not as yet succeeded in starting the jam.

“Leastwise they hadn’t when I came up day afore yesterday,” he
declared.

“What’s the trouble?” Bob asked.

“I dunno,” Sandy replied. “I heard Sim say as how they’d shot off
enough dynamite ter blast out a whole mountain, but they hadn’t
budged.”

“It’s very strange,” Bob said, and let the matter drop.

The first man they saw as they entered the hotel office was their
father.

“Dad!” shouted both the boys, as they made a rush for him.

“Thought it was about time you youngsters were getting back,” Mr.
Golden declared, after he had embraced them and greeted Rex.

“But what are you doing up here?” Bob asked.

“I just got here about an hour ago,” Mr. Golden replied. “Jean
’phoned that they couldn’t get the jam started and I thought I’d
better come up and see about it. It’s pretty important that we get
those logs going down the river rather soon, you know,” he smiled.

Bob knew, more from his father’s looks than from what he said, that
he was worried over the delay.

“Why can’t they get them started?” Jack asked impatiently.

“No one seems to know, as far as I can find out,” his father
replied.

“It sure looks fishy to me,” Jack declared.

“I saw Donahue just before I left home and he declared that he was
as anxious to get them started as I was, but I’m afraid he was
stretching it a bit,” Mr. Golden told them, as he led the way into
the dining room.

“I don’t doubt for a single minute but that he had his men jam those
logs there on purpose,” Bob declared, as he drew his chair up to the
table. “But what I can’t understand is how they could fix them so
that dynamite won’t start them.”

“You just wait till we get at ’em and we’ll start something,” Jack
asserted, as he helped himself to a huge plate of baked beans.

“You’re great on starting things,” Bob laughed, “but how about
finishing them?”

“None of your kidding,” Jack laughed back. “I guess I’ve finished
more than one job that you started. There, I guess that’ll hold him
for a while,” he declared with a wink at Rex.

Bob made no reply to the indictment, for he well knew that his
brother was very efficient both at beginning and finishing tasks.

They were about half through supper when Jean Larue, his usually
smiling face wearing a deep frown, entered the dining room.

“Well, Jean, what’s the matter now?” Mr. Golden asked, as the
Frenchman drew his chair up to the table.

“Dem logs, heem no mean to start,” Jean growled, as he reached for
the dish of beans.

“Don’t you worry, Jean,” Bob gibed. “Jack is going out after he eats
his supper and push ’em off for you.”

Jean glanced at the speaker, a puzzled expression on his face. He
always had difficulty in deciding whether or not Bob was serious.
But as he caught the twinkle in the boy’s eyes, a broad grin spread
over his face.

“I tink mebby I better hurry an’ go down der river and tell ’em to
clear der way, oui,” he said soberly.

“Never mind, Jean,” Jack assured him. “They’ll have to take their
chances down below.”

“What seems to be the main trouble,” Bob asked seriously. “Can’t you
find the key log?”

“Oui, we find heem all right, one, two, three, many time, but when
we find heem and blow heem out, heem no key log one time,” Jean
declared with a seriousness which made them all laugh.

It was dark before they had finished supper, and Mr. Golden and the
three boys went at once to their rooms on the second floor, where
they sat for some time discussing the situation.

“Mr. Donahue promised that he would have his crew up here by noon
tomorrow,” Mr. Golden told them. “But,” he added, with a shake of
his head, “you know as well as I do how much dependence can be
placed on what he promises.”

“You bet we do,” Jack said. “I’ll believe it when I see them and not
before. But it seems to me that there must be a key log there that’s
holding these logs. Oh, I know that Jean forgets more about log jams
every night than I ever knew,” he hastened to add, as he saw that
Bob was about to speak. “But you know, ‘fools rush in where angels
fear to tread,’ and I might be lucky enough to find it even when he
can’t. Anyhow, I’m going to have one good look for it in the
morning, and I may surprise you all.”

“Here’s hoping,” Bob smiled, as he began to pull off his clothes.

The boys were tired from their long trip and by nine o’clock they
were sound asleep.

“They certainly are wedged in good and tight.”

It was the next morning. They had eaten an early breakfast and,
accompanied by their father, the boys had hastened out to the jam.
Jean and his small crew were already at work with their peavies
prying out a log here and there. But, as Rex declared, it seemed
like a hopeless task where there were so many thousands of them.

Bob and Jack had put on their calked boots, but Rex and Mr. Golden
were wearing their ordinary shoes.

“They sure are,” Bob answered his brother’s remark, “But it’ll be
all right just as soon as Jack gets his eyes on that key log,” and
he gave Rex a sly wink.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never harm me,”
Jack laughed as he moved out toward the middle of the river.

The boy stepped slowly from log to log close to the head of the jam.
The dark water swirled out from beneath the logs as though trying to
tear them loose. Carefully he examined log after log, hoping that he
might be able to locate the one which might be causing all the
trouble. He had, before now, seen jams held up for days, while the
drivers sought for the key log, when all that was needed to start
the entire mass in motion was a slight movement of a certain log. It
was this log, if such there were, that he was trying to locate. Of
course he was aware that Jean and his men had examined them a number
of times, and having failed to find it he knew that his chances of
success, where they had failed, were slight. But this did not deter
him from his determination to find it, provided it existed.

Slowly he worked his way along until he had reached the center of
the river. Here the logs were piled three or four deep in what
seemed like a hopelessly tangled mass. For some minutes he stood on
one end of a large spruce which reached out for five or six feet
over the water. A significant appearance of the water two or three
feet beneath him had caught his eye.

“There’s a big rock down there, unless I’m very much mistaken,” he
muttered to himself, as he stretched out at full length on the log
in order to get his eyes nearer the water. Eagerly he strained his
eyes to pierce the rushing water. Then, as the sun suddenly came
from behind a cloud, he straightened up.

“I thought so,” he whispered. “And the key log is jammed tight
against it.”

“Found your key log?” Bob called, as Jack started back toward them.

“Mebby,” he replied, as he reached the log on which they were
standing.

“Do you really mean it, Jack?” Mr. Golden asked anxiously.

“Well, of course I can’t be sure, but there’s a big rock out there
in the middle. It’s about a foot and a half under water and there’s
a big log jammed tight up against it.”

“Let’s go look at it,” Bob proposed, as he started jumping from log
to log, closely followed by Jack.

Mr. Golden and Rex followed much more slowly, as they had to be more
careful where they stepped.

“I don’t see any rock,” Bob declared a moment later, as he stood on
the log reaching out over the water.

“Neither could I till I got my eyes close down to it,” Jack
retorted.

“You’re right, as usual,” he acknowledged a moment later, after he
had followed Jack’s example. “And what’s more, I believe that’s the
log that’s doing the trick.”

By this time Mr. Golden and Rex had joined them, and after they too
had stretched out on the log, they agreed with Bob.

“Hello, Jean!” Mr. Golden shouted.

Jean, who at the moment was working well over toward the opposite
shore, raised his head at the shout.

“Come here a minute,” Mr. Golden ordered, beckoning with his hand.

Jean, peavey in hand, came running to them.

“What do you think of it?” Bob asked a moment later, after Jack had
pointed out the situation to him.

“I tink heem bout right,” and the Frenchman cast an admiring glance
toward Jack. “I tink heem key log, oui.”

“See if you can budge it,” Mr. Golden proposed.

But although Jean sank the sharp end of his peavey deep into the log
and exerted all his great strength, he was unable to move it.

“Have to feex heem wid powder, oui,” he panted after he had pushed
and pulled for some minutes.

“It’s going to be a pretty hard job to get the dynamite in the right
place don’t you think, Jean?” Jack asked.

“Oui, heem be ver’ hard but I feex heem,” and the Frenchman started
for the shore while the others sat down on a log to await his
return.

It was only a short time before they saw him coming back unwinding a
coil of wire as he stepped from log to log.

“Where are you going to place it?” Jack asked, as Jean reached them
and took two sticks of dynamite from his pocket.

“I have geet heem down close by dat rock, oui,” Jean replied as he
took off his heavy calked boots and rolled up his trousers.

“He isn’t going to step in that ice cold water, is he?” Rex
whispered to Jack, who was standing close by him.

“He doesn’t mind that,” Jack laughed. “You see a river driver’s feet
are wet about all the time he is on the drive, and they get used to
it.”

“But I should think they would catch their death of cold,” Rex
declared.

“So would I, but they don’t seem to,” Jack laughed. “I guess they
must be immune or something of the kind.”

While they were talking the object of Rex’s concern had walked out
on the overhanging log and had swung himself off to the rock. As he
stood on it the icy water was well above his knees, but as Rex
afterward declared he did not so much as shiver, Feeling with his
toes he soon found a place to his liking and in another minute he
had the two cylinders of dynamite securely fastened between the rock
and the key log.

“Now we soon know if she go bust,” he declared as he jumped back to
the log and quickly drew on his heavy woolen socks and boots.

They all followed him to the shore where he had left the battery.

“You found the key, if that’s the one, and it’s up to you to press
the button, Jack,” Mr. Golden declared, as they waited for the rest
of the crew to join them.

“All right, now. Let heem go bust,” Jean shouted, as the last of the
men jumped to the shore.

Immediately Jack pressed the button while they all held their
breath. A heavy explosion followed and a mass of water was thrown in
the air. For an instant there seemed to be no movement of the logs
and Jack was about to voice his disappointment, when suddenly a
shudder seemed to shake the jam and, with a rending sound, the
foremost logs began slowly to writhe.

“Hurrah! She go bust!” Jean shouted, jumping up and down in his
excitement.

“Bust is right,” Mr. Golden agreed; then turning to Jack, he
declared:

“My hat off to you, son. You’re the champion key log finder of the
outfit.”

“And I’ll take back all I said,” Bob declared, giving his brother a
hearty slap on his back. “You’re it, all right.”

By this time Jean and his men were out in the middle of the river
working like mad as the whole mass of logs, now in motion, was
moving with the current. There was great danger that another log
might catch on the rock and another jam form at any minute.

“We ought to have thirty or forty men here now,” Mr. Golden told
Rex, as he watched the movement of the logs. “Still they may be able
to handle them. You see,” he explained, “if once the head, that is
the part where the logs are piled up, gets past that rock, there is
not much danger of any of the others catching, as the rock is too
far beneath the surface to bother where there is only one layer of
logs.”

Several minutes passed and it seemed that the danger was nearly over
when suddenly, without warning, the movement of the head stopped.

“They’ve caught again,” Bob gasped.

But, even as he spoke, they saw Jean leap to a log which seemed to
be standing nearly on end, and, catching it with his peavey, give it
a sudden twist.

“Good boy, Jean,” Jack shouted.

“He did the trick all right,” Bob added.

“Yes, they’re going again,” Mr. Golden declared, as the mass began
once more to move.

A few minutes later and he heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the
last of the head tumble down.

“There, I think the danger is passed,” he declared in a relieved
tone.



                             CHAPTER XI

                          THE BROKEN BOOM


Along the Kennebec River the camps of the river drivers are located
at intervals of from ten to twelve miles. Each of these camps
supports a crew numbering from twenty to forty men according to the
condition of the river. It is the duty of each crew to see that all
logs get safely by their allotted territory.

The first of the Golden logs had been started down the river before
the camps were filled, as Mr. Golden was anxious to get the first
lot down as soon as possible to avoid all danger of forfeiting his
contract with the paper company. He had figured that the drivers
would be on the job before they got very far on their way, and he
had ordered Jean Lamont and his small crew to go straight through
with the logs to Waterville. It was time now for the different crews
to be in the cabins, and he fully expected that, from now on, he
would have all the help needed.

About two and a half miles down the river from The Forks, is an
island lying nearly in the middle of the stream. It is a bad place
for a jam to form, as the island, occupying a good part of the
river, forms a natural barrier. Still there is little danger of a
jam forming, provided the safety boom is in good shape and does not
give way. This boom is made in the shape of a V, the apex pointing
up the river and fastened securely to a log driven into the river
bed. The sides of the V inclose the island and are firmly secured to
rocks or logs sunk into the river bottom. So long as this boom is in
proper shape, the logs, as they reach the point of the V are shunted
to the channels, on either side of the island. But once let the boom
give way and a jam is inevitable.

As soon as Mr. Golden saw that the jam was really broken and that
there was little danger of another being formed, he called to Jean.

“You’d better get down to the island as soon as you can with your
men. The boom there was all right when I came by yesterday, but, as
you know, there’s a certain man who will do almost anything to hold
back those logs. He said he’d be up here along about noon with a
crew and get them started out of the jam and goodness knows what he
may have done to that boom at the island.”

“Oui, we go ver’ queek, an’ eef heem break that boom heem bet’ look
out,” and the Frenchman’s face, for the moment lost its cheerful
smile.

“I don’t want you to have any trouble with any of his men if it can
be prevented,” Mr. Golden cautioned him.

“Trust Jean for that,” Bob laughed, “But,” he added, “if trouble is
thrust upon him, look out for fireworks.”

“I guess we might as well go along with him,” Jack proposed.

“Now, boys, I want you to be careful and avoid trouble,” Mr. Golden
said soberly. “I’ve got to go back home at once and have just time
to drive to Solon and get the afternoon train. I wish I could stay
and see those logs through, but there’s an important meeting of the
bank directors tomorrow morning and I have to be there, so I’ll have
to leave it to you.” Then, turning to Rex, he asked, “How long can
you stay with the boys?”

“Why, I suppose I ought to go home right away, but you see, sir,
this is all new to me and it’s so interesting that I’m going to stay
a day or two longer, that is, if they want me to,” Rex replied with
a sly glance at the two boys.

“If you stay as long as we want you to you’ll stay till we go back
to college,” Bob laughed as he shook hands with his father.

“Well, stay as long as you can, Rex,” Mr. Golden said as he bade
them goodbye.

“How are we going to get down to that island?” Rex asked after Mr.
Golden had left.

“Go down on the logs, of course,” Jack replied. “You see,” he
explained, “that’s the quickest way to get there. Of course if we
had a boat in the river ahead of the logs we could make better time,
but as we haven’t we’ll have to make the best of it. But Rex ought
to have a pair of calked boots if he’s going to ride the logs down,”
he added turning to Bob.

“That’s so,” Bob agreed. “I guess we can pick up a pair at Sim’s,
but we’ve got to make it snappy.”

They started for the store on the run and, having found a pair of
boots to fit Rex they were back in almost no time, as Jack put it.

“Come on, now, let’s go,” Bob cried as they reached the river, now
filled with the floating logs. “Now Rex, you want to be careful,” he
added. “You can’t slip with those boots on, but, if you step on a
small log its apt to turn on you. Better stick to the big ones.”

They had been running rapidly from log to log while Bob was
speaking. Rex had some trouble at first in keeping his balance, but
he was quick to catch on to the knack and by the time they had
reached the head of the drive, he insisted that he was as good as
any of them.

“I’ll be an old stager in another day,” he laughed as he began to
dance on a giant spruce.

Jean and his men with the exception of the cook, who had been sent
back to follow the drive down in the big scow, were on the foremost
of the logs.

“How do they tell which of these logs belong to who?” Rex laughed.

“That’s easy,” Bob replied. “If you’ll look you’ll see that each log
is marked or rather cut with a certain brand See that X on the end
of that log you’re standing on? Well, that means that the log
belongs to Mr. Ben Donahue, better known as Big Ben.”

“Same’s they brand horses out West,” Rex said. “What’s your mark?”

“All our logs are marked with a T,” Bob explained. “You see it has
to be a mark that can be easily made with an axe.”

“About how fast are we going?” Rex asked, eager to learn all he
could.

“Between two and three miles an hour, I should judge,” Bob replied.

“Don’t the water run faster than that?”

“Some,” Bob replied. “But you see there’s a lot of friction with the
logs rubbing against each other and butting into the banks all the
time and that slows them down so they never quite keep up with the
water. I suppose a single log or two out in the middle would go as
fast as the current, but a big lot together like these never do.”

“Look,” Jack cried at that moment. “Jean and Pierre are going to go
ahead and get down beforehand.”

Rex looked as Jack pointed and saw the two men, one on each end, of
what seemed to him a pretty small log to carry two heavy men, in the
act of pushing the log ahead with their peaveys.

“Why, don’t they take a big one?” Rex asked.

“Because they can make a little one go faster,” Jack laughed.

Rex soon saw that what Bob had told him was true, for as soon as the
single log was well away from the rest it began to forge ahead.
True, its pace was increased by the fact that the two Frenchmen were
using their peaveys for paddles, but he could see that their log had
drawn away from the main drive even before they had began to paddle.

“I’ll say they’re clever,” he declared as he noted the ease with
which the two kept their balance.

“They don’t make ’em any better, not on this river anyway,” Jack
declared with pride.

“That’s nothing,” Bob broke in. “I only hope we can get Jean to have
a log rolling contest with someone before you go back. Then you’d
see something that really is clever.”

“I say, Bob,” Jack said as Jean and his fellow voyager disappeared
around a bend in the river, “If that crew of Ben’s is going to get
up to The Forks by noon it’s funny we haven’t seen anything of them,
don’t you think?”

“Just what I was thinking,” Bob declared. “But,” he added, “you know
that if Ben said they’d be there today some time next week would
more likely be the time they’ll arrive.”

“You’re about right there,” Jack agreed.

“I say, but we’re leaving a lot of logs behind along the shore,” Rex
declared as he glanced about him.

“Sure we are,” Jack agreed. “But that can’t be helped. You see,” he
explained, “we started out with a lot more than enough to make up
the first delivery. The crew’ll get those logs which stick later on
and if enough get by to fill the bill the rest can poke along
later.”

“The crew which belongs on this beat ought to be here in a day or
two at the latest,” Bob broke in, “and they won’t be long in getting
them going again. Speed for the main bunch is what we’re after now.”

By this time they had reached the curve in the river and as they
swept around it they had a clear view of the stream for a distance
of nearly a mile.

“See! There’s the island,” Jack shouted.

The island was in plain view about a mile ahead and, about half way
between them and it they could see the two Frenchmen riding their
log.

“They’re making some time,” Jack said as he caught sight of them.

“Sure are,” Bob agreed.

“I never would have believed that they could make a log go that
fast,” Rex declared.

“I’ll bet there’s something wrong with the boom and they’ve spotted
it,” Jack said. “You know Jean can see about twice as far as most
men with those eagle eyes of his.”

“I’m afraid you’re right because they are certainly making the dust
fly,” Bob declared soberly.

“I’m afraid you’re getting your figures of speech mixed a bit,” Rex
said as he glanced at Jack. “I don’t see anything particularly dusty
about this river.”

“I stand corrected,” Bob laughed. “But I guess you know what I
mean.”

“Oh, we get the idea all right,” Jack assured him.

“Well, dust or no dust, they’re certainly getting that log through
the water at a faster rate of speed than I would have believed
possible,” Rex insisted.

For some time after this no one spoke but all kept their eyes fixed
on the two men ahead. The distance was too great for them to see
much except that they seemed to be making strenuous efforts to get
the utmost speed possible out of their primitive craft, and the
distance was, of course steadily increasing.

“There must be something the matter with that boom,” Jack insisted
as he shaded his eyes with his hand, “They wouldn’t break their
necks to get there so quick if it was all right.”

“Well, I hope they will be able to get it fixed, whatever it is,
before we arrive,” Bob declared. “They’ll have just about twenty
minutes I should judge,” he added a moment later.

It was about ten minutes later when Jack declared that the two
Frenchmen had arrived at their destination.

“They’ve found something wrong,” he announced a little later as he
shifted his position to another log.

By this time both Bob and Rex could see that Jack was right. It was
plainly evident that the two men were busily engaged in repairing
the boom.

“I told you it would be broken,” Jack said. “And what’s more I’ll
bet my last year’s straw hat that I can name the party who is
responsible for it. Any takers?”

“Nothing like betting on a sure thing,” Bob laughed. “I haven’t a
mite of doubt, but that you are right, but we’ll hope that Jean and
Pierre get it fixed in time. They certainly are doing their best all
right.”

Now they could see that both men were in the water up to their
waists, pulling the logs of the broken boom into place and fastening
them with bits of rope which they had had the presence of mind to
take with them.

“They’re not going to get it done in time,” Jack groaned.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Bob agreed. “They’ve only got about five
minutes more at the most.”

Unfortunately the river narrowed slightly just opposite the head of
the island, so that, should the logs catch in the island, a jam
would be inevitable. Jean and Pierre were working as rapidly as
possible, but much still remained to be done and the head of the
drive was now close upon them.

“Eet is no go,” Jean declared as he finished tying two logs
together.

He was correct for, before he could fasten the peak of the boom to
the tying post, the front of the drive struck.

“Never mind, fellows,” Bob shouted as he sprang to the shore. “You
did the best you could.”

“Oui, we try ver’ hard, but some man cut most all the tie pieces and
we no have time to geet all feexed.”

Fortunately the current at this point is not swift and there was no
piling up of the logs. They came to a stop, being wedged into the
two channels on either side of the island, as gently as a feather,
as Jack described it.

“It’ll simply be a case of picking them out one by one until we get
a space big enough to string that boom,” Bob explained to Rex, as
they stood looking up the river.

“Some job,” the latter declared.

“Oh, it won’t take so long as you’d think when we get thirty or
forty men at it,” Jack said as he joined them.

“Ben’s crew ought to be along any time now, though you never can
tell about what he’s up to,” Bob remarked as he glanced toward the
shore.

“Here comes Sam with the grub,” Jack shouted a little later as he
spied the cook coming down the river on the logs carrying a big
basket in his hand.

“There’s a camp over to the right of the island and I move we go
there and get dinner the first thing. It must be about noon,” Bob
proposed.

“Just twelve o’clock and I second the motion,” Jack responded as he
started to lead the way.

Sam soon had a roaring fire going in the cook stove, with which the
cabin was equipped, and Jean and Pierre crowded as close to it as
they could get in order to dry their wet clothes.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch cold?” Rex asked as he joined them.

“Non, we no geet cold. We tough,” Jean grinned, and Pierre nodded
assent.

They had just finished their lunch when the sound of voices were
heard outside.

“Guess that’s Ben’s crew,” Bob said as he started for the door.

He was right and in almost no time, the crew, numbering some thirty
men, had taken possession of the camp. They were a happy-go-lucky
crowd of half-breeds and Irish, in charge of a big Irishmen by the
name of Pat Murphy.

The boys knew Pat slightly and he greeted them with a great show of
cordiality.

“So yez got the jam away from The Forks, did yez?” he asked as he
shook hands with them.

“But we didn’t get very far,” Bob said dryly.

If Pat Murphy noticed the tone of his remark he showed no indication
of it.

“Oh, well, and it’s us as’ll have ’em agoin’ agin before yez know
it,” he promised, as he glanced out of the window toward the river.
“There’s no head ter thot jam and they’ll be after starting aisy I’m
thinkin’.”

It was well after two o’clock before the crew had finished dinner.

“Sure and it’s no use tryin’ ter make them fellers do iny work till
they git filled up,” Pat assured them as he came out of the camp and
joined the boys who were sitting on a log in front of the building.

“I suppose not,” Bob agreed.

“No use at all at all,” Pat repeated. “But we’ll be after gitting at
’em pretty soon now.”

But, as Bob predicted, one excuse followed another and it was nearly
four o’clock before they actually got to work, and even then, it was
plainly evident to the boys that they were instructed to accomplish
as little as possible.

“The lazy loafers,” Rex said after he had watched them for a few
minutes.

“It isn’t that,” Bob explained. “They’re under orders from Big Ben
to hold those logs here as long as they can without coming to a
showdown. If we could prove that they were holding them
intentionally we could make him pay for it as it’s against the law,
but there’s little chance of doing that. They’ll just doddle along
and put up a big front of working and at the same time do just as
little as possible. Oh, he’s a sharp one all right.”

“But we’ve got the best of him more than once and we may this time,”
Jack declared.

Both Jean and Pierre were working with the crew and the boys could
see that they were doing their utmost to make them work faster but
with little success.

At five o’clock they knocked off for the day and Jack declared
bitterly, “They haven’t loosened up enough logs to make a good bunch
of shingles.”

“Them logs are packed in tighter nor I thought,” Pat declared as he
came up the bank.

“I hope none of your men over-exerted themselves,” Bob said looking
him full in the eyes.

Pat turned his head away.

“Well, yez see, they’ve had a long tramp the day and I guess they’re
kinder tired, but we’ll be after showin’ yez some action
ter-morrer.”

Supper was a hilarious meal. The men were in excellent spirits and
jokes and stories ran around the table, interspersed with frequent
snatches of song.

“They know they’ve got a soft thing of it for a few days at least,”
Bob whispered to Rex.

As soon as supper was over the men went outside and gathered in
groups and talked, sang songs and smoked in the twilight.

It was about an hour later when Bob announced that he was going for
a drink of water from a small spring a few rods back in the woods.
He had known of that spring for a long time and often declared that
there was no water quite so good as that.

“Anybody coming along?” he asked.

But both Rex and Jack decided that they were not thirsty, so he
started off alone.

A few feet back of the camp was a small shed used as a store house
for tools. On his way to the spring Bob had to pass close to it and,
as he approached, the sound of voices reached him. He stopped for a
moment and listened. Two men, it was evident, were in the shed
talking earnestly. Under ordinary circumstances Bob would have
scorned the thought of being an eavesdropper, but he had recognized
the voice of one of the men as that of Pat Murphy. He was quite sure
that if Pat Murphy had brought one of his men out to the shed for a
private conversation the matter under discussion concerned him and
his father. So his conscience gave him no pricks as he crept closer
until he was directly beneath a small window at the back of the
shed. He could now hear distinctly all that was being said although
the men were talking in low tones.

“Yez see,” Pat was saying, “we can’t hold them logs here much
longer. ’Tis a cinch ter git ’em started and Jean Larue well knows
thot same.”

“But there’s only six of ’em,” the other man declared, “and what kin
they do wid us? Dem city kids don’t count.”

“I know,” Pat explained, “but Baptiste Lamont and his crew of forty
or more Canucks will be up here sometime tomorrow and Baptiste don’t
stand for no funny work. He thinks as how the sun rises and sets fer
Golden.”

“Wall, an’ whot is it ye want me ter do?” the other asked.

“Ye will pick out three men ye kin trust and go down the river till
ye git ter the rips. It’s only about two miles down. Ye know the
water’s mighty fast thar where the river narrows and if we kin git a
jam thar they’ll pile up till it’ll take all of a week ter get ’em
started agin.”

“But how we goin’ ter start a jam thar?”

“Sure and it’ll be aisy enough. Ye’ll find a scow jest forninst a
big pine thot’s so big ye can’t miss it. The water’s only two or
three fate deep out in the middle thar, and there’s some mighty big
rocks out thar. Now all ye have ter do is ter git out thar wid yer
peaveys and build up a pier like of rocks. Build it up till thar’s
only about three or four inches of water running over it an’ it’ll
do the trick all right.”

“Huh, talk’s cheap, an’ aisy,” the other sneered. “I spose as how ye
think it’ll be a reg’lar picnic wirkin’ in the ice water out thar.”

“Don’t I know it’ll be cold,” Murphy snapped. “Ye dont think as how
I’m expectin’ ye ter do it fer nuttin,’ does yez? It’ll be twenty
dollars fer yez and ten fer each of the men, if ye git a jam thar.
Take it or lave it.”

“Now ye’re sayin’ sumpin’,” the man replied more enthusiastically.
“I’ll take the job an’ we’ll make ’em jam up all right.”

“All right,” Pat said, and Bob could hear him moving as though about
to leave the shed.

“Guess it’s about time I was making a get-away,” he thought as he
moved carefully off toward a thick clump of pines a short distance
from the shed.

As soon as he was certain that he was out of sight from the camp the
hoot of an owl sounded through the woods. The sound was repeated
three times and as the third hoot ended Jack, who was sitting on a
log, a few feet from the door of the camp, whispered to Rex, who was
beside him.

“Listen. I think that’s Bob.”

A moment later the cry came again, whoo, whoo, whoo—whoo, whoo,
whoo—whoo, whoo, whoo.

“That’s Bob and he wants us,” Jack asserted, all doubt gone. “Now
follow me and be mighty careful. Just walk about slowly as though we
were not going anywhere in particular,” he whispered as he got to
his feet.

Taking hold of Rex’s arm he led him slowly about among the groups of
men talking carelessly. Little by little the two worked away until
they were some distance from the camp. It was nearly dark by this
time and Jack felt sure that he had aroused no suspicions in the
minds of any of the men.

“We’ll stand here and talk a few minutes till it gets a bit darker,”
he said.

In another five minutes he felt safe in making a break and with a
word to Rex, he quickly led the way off from the river.

“Just wait a minute, and I’ll find out where he is,” he said after
they had gone a few yards into the thick woods.

“Whoo, whoo, whoo.”

“Whoo, whoo, whoo.”

“He’s right over there,” Jack declared as he turned to the left.

“Got away all right, did you?” Bob’s voice greeted them close at
hand.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“There’s a lot up, or there soon will be if we don’t prevent it,”
Bob declared in a low tone, and he told them what he had heard.

“What do you know about that?” Jack sputtered as soon as he had
finished.

“It’s no more than you would expect, is it?” Bob asked.

“Guess not, but it’s pretty dirty work at that.”

“I should say so,” Rex broke in. “I didn’t suppose they did such
things as that now-a-days.”

“You don’t know Big Ben Donahue,” Bob told him.

“Well, what about it? I suppose it’s up to us,” and Jack waited for
Bob’s answer with an anxious mind.

“I’ve been thinking about it while waiting for you and Rex to get
here, and it seems to me that there’s but one thing to do. Of course
we could get Jean and the rest of our men together and go down and
try to stop them but you know that will mean a fight and I think it
can be avoided.”

“Fight’s our middle name,” Jack laughed. “But if you say no fight,
why no fight has it.”

“I never believe in fighting when there’s a better way out,” Bob
declared. “Now here’s my plan. We’ll let them build up the pier and
then all we have to do is to take that scow, after they have
returned to the camp, and go out and tear it down. It ought not to
be very hard work to do it and I believe we can do it from the boat
without getting into the water at all. What do you think about it?”

“I’ll say it’s a good idea,” Jack quickly agreed. “You certainly
have the thinking apparatus of this firm working in good shape.”

“S-hh,” Bob whispered as his ears caught the sound of steps.
“Someone’s coming.”

In another minute low voices were heard coming nearer and soon four
men, talking in low tones, passed within six feet of them. The boys
kept perfectly still until the men were out of hearing.

“I guess those are the fellows who are to do the dirty work,” Jack
whispered.

“No doubt about it,” Bob agreed. “We’ll wait about an hour and by
that time they ought to be at work. Then we’ll get some peaveys and
follow them down. We can hide in the woods till they get through.”

The weather had turned warm during the day and they were not
uncomfortable as they waited. They could hear the laughter and songs
of the men as they sat around a small fire which they had started a
few yards from the door of the camp. But in the woods men go early
to bed and as the fire died down, by twos and threes they sought
their bunks and, by the time the hour had passed, all about the camp
was silence.

There was no moon and the night was very dark.

“Got your flash with you?” Jack asked.

“Yep, I just happened to have it in my pocket,” Bob replied.

“That’s luck. Mine’s in the camp.”

“Well, let’s get the peaveys and then we’ll be on our way,” and Bob
led the way back to the shed.

But securing the peaveys proved a more difficult task than they had
anticipated.



                            CHAPTER XII

                            A TOUGH TASK


As the boys emerged from the clump of pines Bob, who was in the
lead, suddenly stopped.

“There’s somebody in the shed,” he whispered. “See the light?”

“Now wouldn’t that jar you,” Jack said in a disgusted tone.

“Who do you suppose it can be?” Rex whispered.

“Like’s not the cook is going to sleep there,” Bob replied.

“Well, what’s the next move?” Jack asked.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Bob whispered. “I guess it’s his
move.”

“But what can we do if he does sleep there?” Rex asked anxiously.

“Well,” Bob replied, “those fellows usually sleep as though they
were dead and I guess we can get them without waking him up. We’ll
have a try at it anyhow.”

For all of a half hour they waited while the light continued to
burn, but at last it went out and the boys strained their ears to
catch the sound of any one leaving the shed. But no sound came to
them and they were forced to conclude that the cook or someone else
was to occupy the place for the night.

“Punk luck,” Bob whispered. “But we’ve got to have those peaveys,
cook or no cook.”

“Spoken like a general,” Jack declared as he nudged Rex.

“We’ll give him a few minutes to get to sleep,” Bob said. “Usually
it takes those fellows just about one second to be dead to the
world, but this one might be an exception.”

“Better say he’d be sure to be,” Jack laughed.

Slowly the minutes passed until, when Rex was certain they had
waited not less than an hour, Bob said as he glanced at his watch:

“It’s been ten minutes. He ought to be asleep by this time if he’s
ever going to be. You stay here and I’ll see how the land lays.”

He quickly covered the few yards to the shed, and, a minute later,
was crouching beneath the little window at the rear. At first he
could hear no sound.

“He might have gone back to the camp after all,” he thought.

But a moment later the faint sound of heavy breathing reached his
sharp ears.

“He’s there all right and sound asleep,” he thought as he hastened
back to where he had left the others.

“All right,” he announced. “He’s in slumberland all right.”

“What if there’s more than one there and the other one is awake?”
Rex asked.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take, I guess,” and Bob shrugged his
shoulders.

Still another disappointment awaited them for, when they came around
to the front of the shed, they found to their surprise that the door
was fastened.

“That’s a funny thing,” Jack whispered. “They don’t usually even
have locks on the doors up here.”

“There’s no lock on this one either, unless it’s a bolt on the
inside,” Bob said. “More than likely he’s got something propped
against it.”

“Well, it don’t make much difference either way,” Jack whispered.
“It’s fastened and we want to get in, and the main question is, how
are we going to do it.”

“The only way is the little window at the back. Think you can
squeeze through it? It’s open.”

“I’ll try anything once,” Jack replied as he started back.

The window was all of six feet from the ground, as the shed at the
back rested on piles driven into the soil. It was small and was not
glassed in, a piece of burlap serving to keep out the snow and rain.
But this was now drawn aside.

“Great guns! A good-sized cat couldn’t get through that hole,” Rex
declared as Bob flashed his light upward.

“S-hh,” Bob whispered. “Keep quiet a minute. If there should be
anyone awake in there he’ll see that flash.”

But although they waited several minutes, all was still and only the
sound of the sleeper inside as he breathed came to their ears.

“I guess it’s all right,” Bob whispered. “When it comes to getting
through a small hole Jack’s more than half cat,” he explained to
Rex, who nevertheless shook his head doubtfully.

Meanwhile Jack had been taking off his boots.

“Here goes for a try at it,” he declared as he slipped the
flashlight into his pocket.

The next moment he was standing on Bob’s shoulders. For an instant
he waited listening. Then, letting himself down until he was on his
knees on Bob’s shoulders, he cautiously threw the rays of the torch
into the room. It was littered with all sorts of paraphernalia
pertaining to the driving of logs. Over in one of the farther
corners was a big pile of peaveys, but, although the breathing of
the sleeper came plainly to his ears, no sign of him could he see.

“That’s funny,” he thought as he cast the light about.

Then his heart sank for, as he looked downward, he saw a cot bed
directly beneath the window and on it was stretched a powerfully
built man.

“So near and yet so far,” he groaned as he cast another glance at
the peaveys.

The next moment he had jumped to the ground.

“What’s wrong,” Bob and Rex whispered at the same time.

“Everything, I guess,” Jack explained. “That guy’s got his bed right
under the window, that’s all.”

“Whew! I should say that was enough,” Rex gasped.

“I guess that puts the window out of commission then,” Bob said.

“It sure does,” Jack agreed, as he began to pull on his boots. “Even
Rex’s cat couldn’t get in that window without waking him up and he’s
a giant.”

“What are we going to do?” Rex asked.

“I have another plan which may work and may not,” Jack began. “You
see he’s got a piece of two by four propped against the door. Now I
noticed that there’s a pretty big crack beneath it and if we can get
hold of a lath or something of the sort we may be able to push it
down. Of course it may wake him up when it falls but, as Bob said a
while ago, these fellows usually sleep so sound that a cannon
wouldn’t disturb them. Anyhow it’s the only way I can think of. But
I’m open to suggestions.”

“I think your idea is good,” Bob whispered. “I don’t believe there’s
any other way and if he wakes up, we can beat it.”

“All right then. You wait here and I’ll sneak out back of the camp
and see if I can find a piece of stick thin enough to go under the
door,” and Jack was off before they had a chance to speak.

He was back in less than five minutes with a lath, which he declared
would be just the thing. And so it proved for it slipped through the
crack beneath the door with considerable space to spare.

“Easy now,” Bob whispered as Jack moved the lath back and forth.

“There it is,” he declared as he began to push.

A loud bang from within soon announced his success in knocking down
the prop.

“If that don’t wake him it’s a wonder,” he whispered.

A sound as of a bed creaking reached their ears.

“I guess it woke him all right,” Jack thought as he held his breath.

But, although the sound had evidently disturbed the sleeper it was
soon plain that it had failed to arouse him to full wakefulness, for
in another moment the unmistakable sound of snoring assured them
that he was still asleep.

“Luck seems to be with us at last,” Bob whispered, as he began to
remove his boots.

“Steady there,” Jack laid his hand on his brother’s arm. “I’m going
into get them.”

“Not much you—” Bob began, but Jack interrupted him.

“I know just where they are and I know the lay of the land and you
don’t so it’s up to me. Now don’t be foolish.”

Bob could not help seeing the force of Jack’s argument and after one
more plea, he gave in.

“I’ll have ’em out in two shakes of a dog’s tail,” he promised as he
took off his boots which he had not laced up.

And he was as good as his word. The sleeper stirred and muttered
something just as the boy reached the pile of peaveys, and he held
his breath. But the man did not wake and in another minute Jack was
outside again with three of the peaveys.

“Good boy,” Bob declared.

“Gee, but I thought he was going to wake up once though,” Jack said
as he again pulled on his boots.

The snow had been melting rapidly for the past two days and now
there was only about a foot of it in the woods while many bare
places were to be seen in the open. But the snow, though not deep
was soft and slushy and it was hard walking. But so pleased were
they that they had been successful in getting the peaveys, that they
trudged along in high spirits.

“It’s only a little ways down to the rips and I know right where
that big pine is,” Bob assured them.

Fortunately their boots were nearly enough waterproof so that their
feet remained dry in spite of the wet snow.

“This isn’t exactly like walking on a pavement, is it?” Rex panted.

“Are we going too fast for you?” Bob asked.

“No. I g-guess not,” he replied gamely. “But if you don’t mind I’d
like to rest a bit. Got a bit of a pain in my side.”

“Sure we’ll stop. There’s no hurry. Those fellows can’t be through
yet.”

“We’re over half way there,” Bob assured him as he leaned against a
tree.

Rex quickly recovered his wind and after a short rest they started
off again. It was very dark and they did not dare to use the flash
light for fear that it might be seen by the men.

“There they are,” Jack suddenly announced as he, being in the lead,
came out onto a knoll from where he could see down the river.

The light of two lanterns was visible out on the river but a
considerable distance away.

“Yes, I guess that’s they all right,” Bob agreed.

As they started off again they at once plunged into thick woods
which grew close to the river’s edge. Their progress was very slow
as they had to exercise great care to avoid bumping into the trees.

“This dark is thick enough to cut,” Jack said after he had stumbled
over a hidden stump and had barely escaped falling headlong into the
snow.

It took them nearly another hour before they reached the point
opposite to where they could still see the two lights out on the
water.

“Wonder how long we’ve got to wait now,” Jack growled as he sat down
on a log close to the edge of the river.

“Goodness knows,” Bob replied. “But it seems as though they ought to
be about through by this time. It’s nearly eleven.”

“I’ll bet I could build a pier clear across the river in the time
they’ve been at that job,” Jack declared.

“I guess they’re earning their money all right,” Rex said as he sat
down beside Jack.

“Yes, and the joke is that they won’t get it, not if we succeed,”
Bob laughed.

“Serve ’em right,” Jack declared. “A man who goes in for dirty work
deserves to get stung.”

“I only wish that Ben himself was out there working in that cold
water,” Bob said.

“It’s lucky for them that the weather turned warm,” Rex declared.
“It seems almost like a night in June.”

“But, believe me, it hasn’t had time to warm that water up much,”
Jack assured him. “And to think,” he chuckled, “that they’re doing
it all for nothing.”

“Here they come,” Bob said a few minutes later. “See the lanterns. I
guess they’re through at last and now we must get back in the woods
and hide until they get a good distance off. If they should see us
now it would spoil everything.”

It was so dark that finding a place where there would be no danger
of being seen by the men was, as Jack declared, “the easiest thing
they could do.” All that was necessary was to go back about twenty
feet into the woods and keep perfectly quiet. And this they did.

“Dar, I tink dat pier hold dem log, oui.” Bob nudged Rex as the
sound of the man’s voice came to his ears.

“But I’ll bet they don’t just the same,” he whispered.

“Dees water heem bon cold,” another of the Frenchmen declared, as he
shivered only a few feet from where they were crouched.

“Well, we geet good pay, oui,” still another broke in. “Come on, we
hit trail ver’ queek, geet warm.”

Their voices gradually grew fainter and soon they were out of
hearing altogether.

“I’ll bet that water was cold,” Jack laughed as he straightened up
and stretched his arms.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” Bob cautioned. “We want to give them plenty
of time to get far enough away so that they won’t see us as we’ll
probably have to use the flash, and remember, they can’t travel very
fast in this snow.”

So they waited for nearly an hour in spite of Jack’s grumbling.

“Better be careful than sorry,” Bob told him when he urged haste.
“We’ve got all night.”

But finally even careful Bob was convinced that it would be safe to
proceed with their undertaking, and using the flash more freely than
they had heretofore, they made their way down to the river’s edge.
Here, as they expected, they discovered a square-nosed scow about
twelve feet long and nearly half that wide.

“Do you think that there’s any danger of getting tipped over in that
boat?” Rex asked in a tone which he tried to make sound anxious.

“Well, if you sit carefully in the exact center and do not move or
wink except with both eyes at the same time I hardly think that
there is a great deal of danger,” Jack replied in a tone full of
sarcasm, but a chuckle just behind him quickly made him wonder if
perhaps Rex had fooled him instead of the joke being the other way
around.

“My, but you bit beautifully,” Bob said with a slight laugh.

“I guess I did,” Jack acknowledged somewhat sheepishly. “I’ll hand
it to you, Rex. I thought you were in earnest. But come on. Let’s
get this racing cutter afloat and get busy. Believe me, it’s going
to be some job holding her against this current.”

“And it’s apt to take us some time to find the pile of rocks seeing
that they are under water and I don’t imagine they made it very
large,” Bob said as he put his shoulder to the scow and pushed.

The Frenchmen had pulled the heavy boat well up on the shore and it
took the united strength of the three to get her back in the water.

“The Titanic has nothing on this craft when it comes to dead
weight,” Jack panted as the boat finally slid off the bank.

“Where’s the oars?” he demanded as he jumped aboard.

“Don’t believe there are any,” Bob replied as he threw the rays
about the scow.

“Funny they’d take them away.”

“Perhaps they didn’t have any, but pushed her with their peaveys,”
Rex suggested.

“Afraid they wouldn’t be long enough,” Bob said still throwing the
rays of his light about.

“Steady there,” Jack cried. “There’s a couple of long poles up on
the shore and seeing that they looked wet, I deduce that they have
quite recently been in the water.”

“Great, Sherlock,” Bob laughed.

“Well, whether my deductions are right or wrong, one thing is
certain and that is that those poles are going to be in the water in
about three seconds,” Jack declared as he sprang from the boat to
return a moment later carrying the two long poles.

“They used them all right,” Bob declared, and a moment later the
scow was out in the stream.

“As near as I can tell,” Bob said, “we want to go straight out.”

“No trouble to want to do a thing,” Jack panted a moment later as
the full strength of the swift current caught the boat, “but
sometimes it’s a whole lot of trouble to get it, and I guess this is
going to be one of them.”

A few feet out from the shore the water was too deep for Rex to
reach bottom with his peavey and as there were but two of the poles,
he was obliged to sit in idleness while Bob and Jack fought, with
all their strength, to keep the unwieldy craft from being swept down
stream.

“You’re holding your own,” he encouraged them.

“That’s what the corporal said,” Jack laughed. “Tell you the story
later,” he panted.

As they neared the middle of the river the water began to shoal
rapidly.

“This is the shallow place Pat was talking about, anyhow,” Bob
declared, “I guess your peavey’ll reach now, Rex,” he added, and Rex
sprang to his feet eager to do his part.

It seemed to him almost like looking for the proverbial needle in
the haystack to try to find a pile of rocks out there in the
darkness, but he had learned to have great confidence in his
friends’ ability to accomplish things and he had no doubt but that
the “needle” would be found sooner or later.

For some time they pushed the craft about, this way and that without
success. It was, as Jack declared, the hardest kind of hard work,
and before long all three, and especially Rex, were nearly at the
limit of their strength.

“Throw over the drag and we’ll rest awhile,” Bob panted.

At one end of the scow was a heavy rock to which was attached a
rope, and Jack, who was standing at that end, was quick to obey the
order. The boat swung around and, for a moment drifted slowly down
stream.

“Don’t believe she’ll hold,” Jack said. But, even as he spoke, the
rock caught and the drifting stopped.

“Whew!” Bob puffed as he sank down on one of the cross boards. “I
wouldn’t want to keep that up for more than three or four hours at a
stretch.”

“Make it minutes and you’ll be right where I live,” Rex laughed as
he followed suit.

“Let me know when you children get rested and we’ll begin again,”
Jack jeered as he too sat down at the end of the scow.

Neither Bob or Rex deigned to reply to the remark. They were too
busy getting back their breath, and for several moments no one
spoke.

“How about it, children?” Jack asked at the end of perhaps ten
minutes. “Think you can try it again?”

“I guess so, mighty chief,” Rex replied and all laughed.

“Get your poles in behind there, then,” Jack ordered, “while I raise
anchor.”

But the anchor would not rise. He tugged and pulled until his breath
came in gasps, but it would not budge.

“That rock must have got wedged in between two others down there,”
he finally announced as he gave it up for a moment.

“Wait a minute and we’ll push her up above and you can try it the
other way,” Bob suggested.

Both pushing at the rear Bob and Rex forced the scow foot by foot up
against the current until the rope was pulling on the stone from the
other direction. Jack was right in his surmise that the anchor had
gotten wedged in between two other rocks, for a good hard pull now
brought it up.

Twice more they were obliged to “lower anchor” and rest.

“It seems as though we must have stuck these poles into every square
inch of the river within a mile of here,” Jack declared as he
started to pull the stone up for another try. “Do you suppose we’re
anywhere near the old pier?”

“Well, of course, it’s pretty hard to be sure in the dark,” Bob
replied. “But it doesn’t seem as though we can be very far off.
What’s your idea?”

“Don’t know’s I have any,” the boy replied. “Only I’m getting a
little tired of poking holes in the water here and have ’em fill up
so quick that you can’t tell whether we’ve been here before or not.”

“You’re getting a bit mixed I’m afraid,” Bob laughed. “But let’s try
once more and if we don’t hit it we’ll go into a committee of the
whole and discuss ways and means.”

“The moon’s coming up anyhow. Perhaps that will help,” Rex said.

“Mebby, but I don’t see how.”

Rex knew that Jack was trying to be cheerful.

But their search was nearly at an end for they had pushed the scow
hardly fifty feet when its bottom was scraping and in another moment
they had come to a stop.

“Hurrah! I guess we’ve hit it,” Jack shouted as he at once “heaved
the anchor.”

“And it’s about time we did,” Bob added.

A rapid investigation with the peaveys proved that they had at last
hit the right spot and they lost no time in setting about
demolishing the pier. The water, at this point, was only about two
feet deep and Bob explained that in the summer, when the water was
low, a good-sized island occupied the center of the river at that
point.

It was slow work tearing the pier down with their peaveys, for some
of the rocks were as large as a strong man would want to lift, and
there were a good many of them.

“If this water wasn’t so blooming cold we could roll up our trowsers
and do it in a short time,” Bob declared after they had been at work
for the better part of an hour.

“This way suits me all right,” Jack assured him, and Rex also showed
no inclination to adopt Bob’s suggestion.

“I guess you’re about right,” Bob assented. “We’re getting there
slow but sure.”

They kept steadily at the work for another hour and had about
completed the task when a sudden interruption happened.



                            CHAPTER XIII

                     A DIFFERENT KIND OF A RACE


Bob had just announced that he thought they had lowered the pier so
that there would be no danger of the logs catching when Rex, who had
happened to glance toward the shore, said:

“There’s someone over there on the shore.”

The moon had, by this time risen high in the heavens and was giving
light sufficient to enable them to see for some distance.

Light from two lanterns greeted their sight as Bob and Jack looked
quickly shoreward.

“Who do you suppose it is?” Jack whispered.

“Don’t know unless it’s the fellows that built this pier,” Bob
replied. “Seems to me that I can make out four or five forms there,”
he added straining his eyes.

“So can I,” Jack agreed. “But what could have brought them back
here?” he asked.

Before Bob could answer a shout reached their ears.

“What are you up to out thar?”

“Don’t answer,” Bob cautioned.

“You no answer, we come find out,” came another shout.

“They’ll find it pretty wet walking,” Jack chuckled.

“I believe it’s the same fellows,” Bob declared. “That voice sounded
familiar.”

“Well, I don’t see how they’re going to get us out here,” Rex said.

“Nor I,” Bob agreed. “I’m glad it isn’t cold because it looks as
though we might have to spend the rest of the night out here unless
we want to land over on the other side.”

No other shout came to them and soon the lights disappeared, but a
moment later they saw them appear amid the trees.

“Guess they decided that the water was too wet and cold,” Jack
laughed after they had watched the lights as they moved up the bank
of the river.

“Well we might as well put in a little more work here,” Bob
suggested. “We don’t want to go in till we’re sure those fellows
have left for good and we do want to be sure and make a good job of
it here. But where in the name of common sense do you suppose
they’ve been all this time if they didn’t go back to camp?”

Neither Rex nor Jack ventured a guess and for another half hour they
worked at the stones.

“There, that old pier’s as flat as a flounder now,” Jack declared as
he threw his peavey to the bottom of the scow and sat down.

“I guess so,” Bob agreed. “Think it’s safe to go in now?”

“I’m willing to take a chance,” Jack replied. “How about you, Rex?”

“You fellows know best. Whatever you say goes here.”

“All right. I’ll get up the anchor,” Jack said. But before he had
time to get the stone into the boat Bob cried in a low tone:

“Put it down again, Jack. Here comes a boat down the river.”

Jack dropped the rock and looked up. A large row boat, in which they
could see five men, was coming rapidly toward them, and was even
then but a few yards distant.

“Stand by to repel boarders,” Jack shouted as he sprang to his feet
and grabbed a peavey.

Bob and Rex were quick to follow his example.

The men, in the row boat, were not rowing. There was no need of it.
The swift current was rapidly closing the distance between the two
boats.

The row boat was nearly upon them when the man, who was sitting in
the stern, steering with an oar, by a sudden sweep changed their
course and at the same time another threw over an anchor, so that,
in another minute, the two boats were riding opposite each other and
separated by not more than 20 feet of water.

“They’re the men all right,” Bob whispered to Rex.

“What you do here, eh?” asked one of the men, a big ugly half-breed.

“Just sitting here,” Bob replied pleasantly.

“You bust dem rocks, oui?”

“What rocks?” Bob asked, looking about him.

“I tink you know what rocks ver’ well,” the man asserted with a
sneer.

“But I don’t see any,” Bob insisted.

“Mebby you geet out an look, you see heem.”

“Mebby,” Bob repeated. “But it’s too wet to try.”

“Dat mak no matter. You goin’ geet out build up dat pier, oui,” the
breed shouted as he rose in his seat.

“Looks as though he meant business,” Jack whispered.

“Get a hold on that rope and be ready to pull in when I give the
word,” Bob whispered back.

He had risen to his feet again and stood, peavey in hand, as two of
the men were pushing the row boat sideways toward the scow. He
waited until the two boats were but four or five feet apart.

“Now,” he shouted, and at the same instant he threw his peavey with
all his strength.

The sharp point of the peavey went through the bottom of the row
boat as though it had been made of paper. With a gasp of surprise
the two men, who had been pushing with the oars, dropped them and
did just what Bob had hoped for. Both grabbed the peavey and with a
strong wrench, pulled it out.

By this time Jack had the rock off the bottom and the scow quickly
drew away.

“Look out,” Bob shouted, and Jack dodged just in time to escape the
peavey which the maddened breed had hurled at him.

It struck the bottom of the scow but at such an angle that it did no
damage.

“That was mighty close,” Rex gasped. “Another inch and it would have
hit you, Jack.”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” Jack laughed, but both of the others
could see that his face was white.

“What idiots,” Bob said. “If they’d have let that peavey alone it
would have kept the water from coming in fast enough to do much harm
and they could have got us. But I thought they would do that very
thing.”

Looking back they could see that the row boat was sinking rapidly.

“Lucky for them it isn’t deep there,” Jack said.

“That must have made a pretty big hole by the way she’s sinking,”
Rex declared.

“I guess it did,” Bob replied. “But we’d better get to the shore as
soon as possible. They’ll be mad enough to do murder and it won’t
take them long to wade ashore.”

As rapidly as possible they worked the heavy scow toward the bank.

“We’re not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot,” Bob declared a
little later as he saw the men, having abandoned the row boat,
wading toward the shore.

“You’re right,” Jack agreed. “And,” he added, “it’ll be light pretty
soon. And if they get hold of us goodnight.”

A glance toward the east told the others that what Jack had said was
right. Already dawn was lighting up the sky.

“What’ll we do?” Rex asked anxiously.

“Run for it as soon as we get ashore,” Bob replied as he redoubled
his efforts.

Nothing more was said while they were urging the scow shoreward.
Both Bob and Jack, being well acquainted with the nature of the
half-breeds of Northern Maine, knew that the situation was serious.
Should the five men get hold of them, while still maddened at the
wetting and the tearing down of the pier, they would be lucky indeed
to escape serious injury to say the least. But they were careful not
to alarm Rex, hoping that they would be able to escape.

From time to time they cast anxious glances toward the men, who
could be plainly seen in the increasing light. They were making good
progress through the water and, although they would be obliged to
swim a part of the way, both the boys recognized the fact that their
start would be short.

“Think we’d better stick to the scow and let her go down river?”
Jack whispered.

“I don’t know but it would be safer,” Bob replied. “If you and I
were the only ones to be considered I’d say run for it but I’m
afraid Rex wouldn’t hold out. Guess we’d better stick to the ship.”

They were only about ten feet from the shore when they came to this
conclusion and Bob was about to announce their decision to Rex when
his eye caught sight of something, a short distance above them,
which made him change his mind.

“We’ll have to run for it after all,” he whispered to Jack. “See,
there’s a skiff up there and they’d get it and chase us and, as you
know, the rips end only about a half mile below, and in that slow
water, they’d catch us in no time.”

“How about taking the skiff with us?”

“We wouldn’t have time,” Bob answered. “There’s nothing to do but
run for it.”

“Down river,” Bob ordered, as the scow hit the bank, “Caratunk is
only about a mile below here and if we can make the town we’ll be
safe.”

Glancing back, as he spoke, he saw that the foremost of the
Frenchmen was about twenty yards above them and was making the water
fly as he swam with powerful strokes toward the shore only a short
distance away. The others were not far behind.

“We’ve got to make it snappy, now,” he cried as he led the way.

They were by no means in good shape to start on a run through the
snow after their strenuous work of poling the heavy scow, but he
consoled himself with the thought that their pursuers would be even
more winded after their swim. He sat a pace as rapid as he dare. He
knew that Rex would soon give out, should he go as fast as he and
Jack were able.

It was now nearly daylight. The snow was soft and mushy as the night
had been too warm to harden it. It was hard footing as in many
places they sank nearly to their knees. As he pushed on he could
hear Rex puffing a few feet behind him and his heart sank as he
noticed that his friend’s breath was already coming in gasps.

“He’ll stick to it till he drops,” he thought, as he came to a stop
after they had covered about a hundred yards.

“Let’s breathe a minute,” he said.

“S-second the motion,” Rex panted as he leaned against a tree.

“Hear anything?” Bob asked.

“Not a sound,” Jack replied straining his ears.

“Mebby they won’t follow us,” Rex suggested.

“Mebby not,” Bob replied, but he knew that the hope was without much
foundation.

“You’ll get your second wind in a minute or two,” Bob encouraged Rex
as he started again.

But they had made scarcely another hundred yards when, from the
sound close behind him, Bob realized that Rex was near the end of
his endurance.

“If it only wasn’t for that pain in my side,” he panted as Bob
stopped.

“No wonder you have a pain in this going,” Jack declared.

“Now, I’ll tell you what,” Rex began as he got his breath. “You two
go on and I’ll stay here. You see,” he explained as Bob was about to
interrupt, “they don’t know me and I doubt if they’d harm me.”

“Say, Rex, if I didn’t know that you were innocent of any bad
intention I’d sure give you a punch for that,” Jack declared. “To
think that we’d leave you. No sir ree! We stick together, sink or
swim, live or die, survive or perish.”

“Hark!”

“Hear something?” Jack asked.

“I think I can hear them coming this way,” Bob replied. “How about
it Rex, old man? Think you can make another stab at it or shall we
meet them here? They’ll probably catch us anyhow and perhaps it will
be as well to save our strength.”

“The pain’s gone now and I guess I can hold out for awhile, but I
wish you’d do as I said.”

“Nothing doing along that line,” Bob smiled as he started to lead
the way once more.

Rex seemed to have gained his second wind, as Bob had hoped, and for
some time they made good progress considering the going. It was now
broad daylight and the sun was beginning to touch the tops of the
tall pines and spruces with its rays. Both Bob and Jack from time to
time caught the sound of their pursuers and both knew that, in spite
of their best efforts they were gaining steadily on them.

They had covered perhaps half a mile, when Bob again stopped.

“Go on, I’m not winded,” Rex said.

“I know it,” Bob replied, “but it’s no go.”

“What do you mean, no go?”

“Listen.”

Even Rex had now no difficulty in distinguishing the sounds of the
approaching men.

“It’ll be a big advantage to us to have our wind in good shape when
they come,” Bob explained. “And they’d catch us in another hundred
yards or so anyhow.”

“What are you going to do?” Rex asked.

“Depends on circumstances,” Bob replied. “You two let me do the
talking. Remember the odds are five to three and we mustn’t do
anything rash.”

Even as he spoke he caught the sight of the leader crashing through
the thick woods only a few yards away. The man was closely followed
by the other four. The boys could tell by their heavy panting that
they were far from fresh but they well knew that the physical
endurance of many of these men of the woods was little short of
miraculous.

The leader saw them a moment later and stopped in his tracks only a
few feet away. His companions quickly gathered about him and they
all began to talk in French.

Although both Bob and Jack spoke the language fairly well and
ordinarily had no difficulty in understanding it, the men spoke so
rapidly and in such low tones that they were able only to catch a
word here and there. Finally the leader took a few steps toward
them.

“You bust our rocks, an’ you mak’ us geet wet, oui,” he said with an
angry sneer.

“You had no right to build that pier there,” Bob began. “We know
that it was intended to jam our logs.”

“Dat our beesness.” The breed scowled as he took a step nearer.

Bob glanced at Rex. The latter’s face was pale although he showed no
other sign of fear. As for Jack he was leaning against a tree as
nonchalantly as though nothing had happened or was likely to.

“As for getting you wet,” Bob continued. “You have only yourselves
to blame for that. You surely didn’t expect us to stand still and be
beat up, did you?”

“We no would have hurt then but now you geet beat up ver’ queek and
ver’ bon; just soon we rest a leetle minute,” and the leader stepped
back to where the others were standing.

“I’m afraid he means it,” Bob said in low tones. “The question is
had we better take it or fight?”

“I’m going to fight,” Jack declared. “I’m not going to stand still
and let any half-breed beat me without giving him something in
return.”

“I’m mighty sorry we got you into this, Rex,” Bob began, but Rex
quickly interrupted him.

“You needn’t be as far as that’s concerned. It won’t be the first
beating I’ve taken and I flatter myself that I’m fairly good with my
fists. I’ll bet I leave a mark on one of them before he gets me.”

“Here they come,” Bob shouted at that moment. “Don’t let them get
hold of you if you can help it.”

The five men were coming with a rush, no doubt intending to finish
the job in short order. The man who had done the talking was the
first to reach them and he selected Bob for his onslaught. He rushed
at the boy with a hoarse cry of rage and exultation combined.

Bob stepped quickly forward to meet him, an act which seemed to
disconcert the man for an instant. He nearly stopped but, seeing
that the others were close behind him, he came on again. As he came
within striking distance he swung a vicious blow at the boy’s head.
Bob dodged the blow easily and succeeded in landing a glancing blow
in return.

As the man plunged past Bob turned but, before he could set himself
for another blow, his feet were jerked out from under him and he
came down in a heap in the soft snow.

“Now I geet you bon,” the breed cried as he sprang forward.



                            CHAPTER XIV

                            LOG ROLLING


“Here, now. What’s all the rough house about?”

As the man who was about to jump on Bob heard the shout he turned
and Bob sprang to his feet. A cry of joy burst from his lips as he
looked about and saw a crowd of men coming toward them.

“Jack Skeets!” he shouted as he recognized the foremost, a swarthy
faced giant.

“Bless my buttons if it ’ain’t Bob Golden,” and the big fellow came
forward with a leap and grasped Bob by the hand.

Meanwhile the five half-breeds had slunk back and were now making
the best time possible in the direction from which they had come.

Bob quickly introduced the big man to Rex as soon as he had shaken
hands with Jack.

“Rex, this Jack Skeets, the champion log roller of the Kennebec.”

“I am certainly glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” Rex declared
as he grasped his hand. “And you certainly came in the nick of
time.”

“Sure did, Jack,” Bob agreed.

“What were those fellows trying to do to ye and why?”

As the rest of the crew drew closer, Bob told of their adventures of
the night.

“The brutes,” Skeets said when he had finished. “But let ’em go now.
We’re on our way up to the camp and we’ll tend to ’em when we get
there,” and he explained that he was in charge of the crew that was
to occupy that camp for the season.

There were about thirty in the crew and after a short rest they all
started for the camp. It was just after seven o’clock when they
arrived. They found Jean much disturbed over their absence and about
to start out to look for them. The boys quickly told him what had
happened and the Frenchman’s eyes flashed with anger as he listened.

“Dey no come back here, I don’t tink,” he said as Bob finished. “But
I find out ver’ queek and if dey did I feex heem bon.”

At first it was impossible to learn that the five men had returned
to the camp but, after many inquiries, Jean learned that they had
come in about a half hour before the arrival of the crew.

“They were wet to the skin and looked about all in,” the man said
who had seen them.

Having learned that they were in camp Jean was not long in finding
them. They were in the cook’s quarters huddling close to the stove.
They looked up in fright as Jean, followed by the boys, entered.

“You one bon bunch,” Jean declared in disgust as he stood looking at
them. “When you geet dry an’ rest, I, Jean Larue, will geeve you
beeg lickin’, one at a time.”

They were a thoroughly cowered quintet as they crouched there by the
hot stove and Bob could not help but pity them.

“After all,” he whispered to Rex, “they live as they have been
brought up.” Then, as a sudden thought struck him, he turned to Jean
and drew him away a short distance.

“Jean, isn’t that big fellow Baptiste Deveraux?” he asked.

“Oui, dat heem.”

“I thought so. Haven’t I heard that he claims to be the best log
roller in Maine?”

“Heem tink so, oui.”

“Good. Now, Jean, Rex has never seen a log rolling contest and right
here are two of the best, Jack Skeets and this Baptiste. Why not
settle the question as to which is the better. Tell Baptiste that if
he can beat Jack Skeets nothing will be done about last night.”

For a moment Jean was silent, then his face lighted up.

“Dat be one beeg sight, oui,” he declared.

“It’ll be a sight worth coming a thousand miles to see,” Bob
declared enthusiastically.

“I see what Baptiste, heem say,” and Jean again approached the group
by the stove.

“Hey, Baptiste, you bon at log rolling, oui?” he asked.

Instantly the face of Baptiste lighted up.

“Oui, I beat all mans.”

Jean then proceeded to lay the proposition before him.

“Oui, I roll heem,” he said eagerly as soon as he was made to
understand the terms.

“Now if Jack Skeets will only consent,” Bob said to Rex.

Jack Skeets was a Canadian Frenchman, but since early childhood had
lived in Skowhegan and spoke English with hardly an accent. He was a
splendid type of woodsman and all who knew him respected him for his
sterling qualities and good nature. He was jealous of his reputation
although by no means a boaster. Bob had little doubt but that he
would accept the challenge.

He was not mistaken, for as soon as Jean told him that Baptiste had
said that he could roll anyone he readily agreed to give him the
opportunity to make good his boast.

“We try eet as soon as they have eat, oui?”

“Suits me,” Skeets replied.

“Well, I wish we could stay and see those logs down,” Bob said a
little later as he, together with Rex and Jack, was eating
breakfast. “But now that the regular crew is on there is not the
slightest doubt but that they will get there in good time. Big Ben
won’t dare to try any more of his funny business.”

“And college opens in three more days,” Jack said as he helped
himself to hot-cakes.

“And I must be getting back to business,” Rex declared. “But it’ll
be fine to go back together.”

“Sure will,” both boys assured him.

“By the way, Bob, how about that story of the corporal you said you
would tell me when you got time?” Rex asked.

“That’s a good one,” Bob laughed. “And I’ll just about have time to
tell it while we finish.”

“It was this way,” he began. “Over in France, during the war, a
corporal was marching a squad of men to a certain town which we will
call St. Giles. I’ve forgotten the name of it. It was getting late
in the afternoon and the men as well as the corporal were tired and
hungry. They met a farmer and asked:

“‘How far is it to St. Giles?’

“‘About two miles,’ was the reply, in French of course.

“Well, they trudged on for another half hour or so when they met
another man.

“‘How far to St. Giles?’ the corporal asked him.

“‘Only two miles.’

“After another half hour or more a third man was met. The same
question brought the same answer:

“‘Only two miles.’

“‘Well, thank goodness, we’re holding our own,’ the corporal said.”

Rex laughed heartily at the story and soon after they went out in
the bright sunshine.

News of the contest had spread through the camp and they found the
men in high spirits, gathered about in groups.

“Skeets has got to do his best this time,” they heard one man
declared, and they stopped beside the group to listen. “I’ve seen
that man, Baptiste, roll, and take it from me he’s no slouch.”

“And no more is Skeets,” spoke up another. “Two to one on Skeets.”

But no one seemed inclined to take the bet and they moved on toward
the river, where they could see Jean and Skeets.

“Dis ees one bon place,” Jean was saying as they drew near.

“Going to pull it off right now?” Bob asked.

“Oui. I tink dis one bon time. Den we geet deese logs started,” Jean
replied.

Just below where the logs had jammed was a little bay where the
current had worn away the bank. There the water was deep and
comparatively still. A perfect place, as Jean had said, for the log
rolling contest.

“Here he comes,” Jack shouted as he caught sight of Baptiste,
followed by nearly all of the crew, making his way rapidly down the
bank.

“You peek out your log,” Jean ordered as soon as Baptiste had joined
them.

It was some time before a log was found which suited both of them,
but finally they agreed on a spruce about thirty feet long and
perhaps twenty inches in diameter. The log tapered but little but
still there was a slight difference in the size of the two ends.

Jack Skeets drew a coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air,
catching it as it fell.

“Odd or even, Baptiste?” he asked.

“Even,” the Frenchman called.

“1906. You win,” Skeets declared as he glanced at the date.

This meant that Baptiste was entitled to the larger end of the log,
giving him a slight advantage.

Quickly the log was pried out from its position by a number of the
men and dragged to the clear water. After measuring its length Jean,
with an axe, cut a wide gash exactly in the middle. Neither man must
cross that mark although they were allowed to come as near it as
they might wish.

Baptiste jumped to his end and, giving the log a slight push, Skeets
followed. Slowly the log floated out in the water until it was some
fifteen or twenty feet from the jam.

“All set?” Jean called.

“Oui?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

For a moment neither man moved, each waiting for the other to open
the battle. Then Skeets, standing sideways, began to revolve the log
with his feet. Faster and faster the log turned until it seemed that
both men were running at the top of their speed.

“My gracious, but I never thought a log could roll so fast,” Rex
gasped as he looked on fascinated at the sight.

“Wait till they really get to going,” Jack said, and Rex gasped
again.

It had seemed to him that they could not possibly make the log roll
any faster, but he was soon to learn that it was not only possible
but that they could do it. Faster and faster it rolled until it
seemed to Rex that the men’s feet failed to touch the log at all.

Then, suddenly, Skeets stopped and threw all his weight to the
front. The log stopped, as it seemed to Rex, almost at once.
Baptiste had, however, been expecting just that move and so was on
his guard and did not have to exert himself unduly to keep his
balance. Having failed in his first attempt, Skeets waited, hoping
that Baptiste would take the lead. But he seemed loath to do it and
after a moment or two had passed and some of the men had begun to
shout and urge them to action, Skeets again began to roll. This time
he did not roll as fast as before, and both Bob and Jack knew that
he had something else in mind.

“Keep your eyes peeled and you’ll see something in about a minute,”
Bob whispered to Rex.

They did not have long to wait, for suddenly Skeets, with a wild
yell, sprang from the log high into the air. Rex held his breath
expecting to see the man fall back into the water. But no. Skeets’
feet struck the log fair and square and, although he had to struggle
for an instant to regain his balance, he did not lose his footing.
As Skeets left his end of the log the other end of course sank
deeper in the water and when his two hundred pounds again landed,
Baptiste’s end came up with a violent jerk.

“He’s a goner,” someone shouted, as the Frenchman wavered back and
forth in his efforts to keep his balance.

He succeeded but, as Bob declared, “it was by the skin of his
teeth.”

And now Baptiste had evidently made up his mind that it was high
time for him to start something. Quickly he ran to the middle of the
log, stopping only when he was close to the dividing mark. Skeets
did the same, and as Baptiste started the roll the two men were
standing only about a foot apart.

“This is a new one to me,” Bob whispered.

“Me too,” Jack replied. “Wonder what he’s up to.”

They soon found out, for after getting the log to revolving nearly
as rapidly as at first, Baptiste, with a marvelous display of
agility, ran back to his end and, turning, started to move his feet
the other way. The move gave the log a sudden wrench and Skeets was
for the moment hard put to it to stick on.

“Pretty near had him that time,” declared a man who was standing
close to Rex.

Baptiste plainly showed his disappointment at the failure of the
trick, and for a moment both men rested, Skeets moving slowly back
to his end.

“Aw, mix it up,” someone shouted from the shore.

All this time the log had been drifting slowly down the river and
now it was all of a hundred feet from the jam.

But the end was near at hand. Skeets began jumping up and down at
the extreme end of the log. Baptiste had no trouble in following the
movement, but after Skeets had the log bobbing up and down to his
satisfaction he suddenly gave it a violent twist by throwing all his
weight to one side. The move caught Baptiste unawares, and at once
threw him off his balance. Desperately he struggled to save himself,
but Skeets, taking quick advantage of his opportunity, gave the log
another sudden twist and the next instant Baptiste was in the water.

“Hurrah for Skeets,” shouted a dozen men all at the same time, and
the forest echoed with the cheers.

“It was great,” Rex declared as they moved toward the shore. “I
wouldn’t have missed it for a farm.”

The contest ended, the entire crew set to work, and in less than an
hour had cleared away enough of the logs to permit of the boom being
repaired. This accomplished, it was not difficult to start the logs
in motion again, and by the end of another hour they were running
smoothly past either side of the island.

The boys and Rex were to leave after dinner, going down river as far
as Solon on the stage. There they could connect with the afternoon
train for Skowhegan.

The stage was, for a wonder, on time, and all the men gathered by
the roadside and gave them a farewell cheer as they started.

“Best time I ever had,” Rex declared as he sank back in his seat.

                              THE END





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