Part 17

Twilight was gathering when they spied a clearing some distance along on the right bank of the river. As they approached they saw that it contained several long, low, log cabins.

“There’s the camp,” said Ben, and he headed the bow of the canoe toward shore.

As he drew closer he shouted. Immediately some men made their appearance in the doorway of one cabin, and, seeing the canoe, came outside. Two of them left the group and started slowly toward the water. When they had come near enough to recognize Ben, they called to him and pointed to a suitable landing-place. As soon as the bow of the canoe touched bottom, they pulled it from the water, and the three occupants stepped out.

“Howdy, Ben,” greeted the two lumbermen.

“Helloa, Ned! Helloa, Jim!” replied the guide, shaking each of them by the hand. Then he motioned to the boys. “These are young friends of mine, Ed Williams and George Rand; they’ve been spending the winter with me. Boys, shake hands with Ned Crawford and Jim Halliday. Crawford is foreman of this crew, and Jim is the greatest log-rider in the country.”

Ed and George unloaded their packs from the canoe and, manfully refusing an offer of assistance, shouldered the loads and followed Ben toward the cabins. They saw Ned wink at the guide and nod toward them approvingly, and they were glad they had declined help and “rustled” for themselves.

“The boys are at supper,” explained the big foreman, indicating the cabin with the smoking chimney. “I’ll take you fellows over to the bunk-house, and you can leave your ‘turkeys,’ and wash up a bit. Then we’ll mosey over and have something to eat.”

The lads looked about them curiously when they entered the great house with its rows of bunks. Along the first half of each side were long benches. In the center of the room was a huge, round stove, and, although it contained no fire--for the nights were not cold enough to require one--many articles of clothing were hung upon it to dry. A large kerosene-filled lamp, suspended from overhead in the middle of the room, furnished what light there was.

“You can leave your ‘turkeys’ over there; take those two bunks,” said Crawford, designating the proper ones.

Ben promptly tossed his pack into one of them and smiled broadly when the boys looked at him in some confusion.

“Your pack, or ‘duffle,’ is your ‘turkey,’” laughed the guide. “Put yours in that lower bunk.”

“Yep, that’s what we call it,” the foreman explained. “Now, you’ll find the basin and a pail of water outside by the door, and here’s a clean towel. When you’re all fixed up handsome like, come over and join us in the ‘grub-shanty,’” he said, and left them.

When they had stowed away their belongings, they went outside and washed at the battered tin basin. While they were going through this interesting and necessary ceremony several lumbermen came up to shake hands with Ben. Then they went to the “grub-shanty,” or dining-cabin, where the foreman was waiting to welcome them.

A long pine table, flanked on either side by low, continuous benches, extended almost the length of the room. At it sat the lumber crew--deep-chested, quick-eyed men of the wilderness. Ben readily called most of them by name as he and the boys took seats.

Soon a big, swarthy-faced man, who wore a soiled apron and had his sleeves rolled above his elbows, came scuffling in and placed three smoking bowls of oatmeal--“oats” he called it--before the new-comers. Then he struck the guide a resounding whack between the shoulders, as proof of his delight at seeing him.

“Helloa, Charley!” said Ben, when he had recovered sufficient breath. “Why didn’t you hit me with an ax?--it wouldn’t have hurt so much.”

The cook roared his delight at the compliment to his strength, and Ben introduced Ed and George. “Remember to always keep on the proper side of the cook, and you’ll come out all right,” laughed the guide.

They watched Charley disappear into a sort of out-shanty, where several other men in aprons seemed to be fussing about with pots and pans. Presently he reappeared and supplied them with cups of tea, “sour-dough bread,” and a plentiful portion of baked beans.

“Pile into it strong,” he urged. “You’ll never get the gout from any fancy dishes of mine.”

The boys did not delay. The trip and the spring air had sharpened their appetites. They instantly became popular with the cook by their devotion to the substantial fare set before them, and from time to time they cast curious glances at the long rows of jolly, brown-faced men with whom they sat.

They had heard and read so much about the “lumber-jacks,” and they wanted to find out what sort of fellows they were. They were compelled to laugh outright at the quaint expressions used by these men in asking for the various things on the table.

“Hey, Joe, chase the cow down here, will you?” And at once Joe understood and passed the milk down the table toward several of his friends, who were calling, “Co boss, co boss.” “Roll along the spuds” meant to pass the potatoes. “Say, Charley, I’m shy a stabber,” was replied to by the gift of a fork. A spoon was alluded to as a “dipper,” and so on through the entire list. Ben laughingly explained each phrase as it was employed, and the boys memorized it with the purpose of trying it on the family at home.

When the meal was finished, they accompanied Ben to the canoe for the string of fish, which he presented to Ned, with the compliments of the young anglers.

“There’s sure one dandy fish in that bunch, and that’s calling it something, ’cause they’re all dandies,” declared the foreman, holding the trout at arm’s length, so that all might admire it.

Then they went into the bunk-house and took places on “the mourners’ bench,” which was what Ben said the lumbermen had christened the seats along the sides of the cabin.

“When do you figure on running your logs?” he asked, when Ned came in and seated himself beside them.

“To-morrow, if things go as we expect. Got all our booms stretched, and the water ought to be right if she slides down a notch or two before morning. Quite a gang of the boys along the river now--boom gangs,” he explained.

“Well, boys, we’re just in time to see the fun, and I guess Ned won’t mind if we stay around a day or two,” said Ben. “You see, Ned, I’d like these fellows to see something of a real log-drive before they go home.”

“The latch-string of this here camp is always out for you and your friends, Ben; and the longer your hat hangs on the peg, the better we like it,” was the foreman’s reply.

For some time the men talked together in little groups ranged along the wall. The guide seized the opportunity to make Ed and George familiar with some famous characters of the logging country. There was “Shorty” Brundage, a square-shouldered, stockily built young fellow, who bore the proud distinction of having loosened more jams than any other man in the crew. Several times he had escaped death by the merest margin. Next to him sat “Red” Thompson, who had achieved fame by “riding” a log through the first set of rapids. Slightly farther along, a dark-skinned man was stooped over unlacing his “larrigans.” Ben said that he was the renowned Pierre La Valley, known throughout the big woods wherever an ax was swung. With a double-headed ax he could fell a tree quicker than any two men. At each swing he turned the blade so that every stroke was made with an alternate edge. His fame as an axman had traveled abroad over the entire lumber country, and scores of good men had been matched against him; but as yet he was undefeated. At the far end of the bench was “Jake” Grant, champion “birler” of the crew. The boys asked what “birler” meant, and were told they would learn before they left the camp.

This roll-call of heroes was interrupted when some one called for Tony and his fiddle. A tall youth, with the features and hair of an Indian, brought forth a violin and seated himself at the head of “the mourners’ bench.”

“He’s a half-breed,” whispered Ben.

“Cut her loose, Tony!”

“Open her up wide!”

“Wat you fellows want?” asked the fiddler.

“‘Turkey in the Straw,’” cried some.

“‘Old Dan Tucker,’” urged others.

Tony favored those making the most noise, and started the lively strains of “Turkey in the Straw,” a jig dear to the heart of every backwoodsman. The men kept time with feet and hands, and before long the boys joined in. “Lanky” Jack Stewart brought out a mouth-organ, and added his efforts to those of Tony. Then the foreman produced an accordion, and the home-made orchestra was complete. The music was loud and lively; and, unable to restrain their buoyant spirits, several of the “lumber-jacks” jumped to their feet and began to dance a “shake-down.”

The lads soon found themselves yelling like the rest, for the fun was contagious. Ben looked at them and smiled across at the foreman, who was rocking his body to the accompaniment of the notes from his accordion.

The merrymaking finally wound up with an impromptu Virginia Reel, in which the three visitors were compelled to dance. It was no gentle affair, that “going down the line.” Resounding whacks stung the bodies of the good-natured victims who gamely ran the gantlet between lines of whooping dancers. The boys, too, were soundly spanked before they reached the end of it. They retaliated enthusiastically on the couples that followed.

“Red Thompson and Miss Hank Davis are going down the line!” shouted Crawford, as the two “lumber-jacks,” one of whom played “lady,” turned to make their rush. And again: “Mr. and ‘Mrs.’ Ben Adams are going down the line,” as Ben and his partner, Jim Halliday, made their way to the end of the column. The boys laughed heartily when their turn came, and Ned called out, “A pair of bantams are going down the line.”

At last the music ceased, and the foreman said he guessed it was time to turn in. Pushing and wrestling good-naturedly, the men made their way to the bunks. Then Crawford extinguished the lamp, and the cabin became dark and quiet.

XXIV A DARING RESCUE

The boys were awakened before daylight by the “turning out” of the crew. They found Ben up and ready for breakfast, and, hastening into their clothes, they joined the line of jolly men waiting their turn at the tin wash-basin. Having finally reached it, they completed their toilet and followed Ben into the “grub-shanty.”

The merry meal was soon over, and, with an invitation to come and see them at work, the lumbermen started for the woods and the river. Ned, the foreman, was too busy to give much attention to his guests, and telling the guide where he might find him at work, he quickly followed after his men.

Left alone, Ben and the boys, feeling thoroughly at home, began a closer inspection of the camp. Charley, the cook, came out and joined them, and they found him a quaint and interesting character. He told of his experiences in the lumber woods, and, of course, made a great impression on Ed and George. When they had been sitting there some little time, the guide rose and pointed toward the river.

“They’re running; here comes the head of the drive!” he cried.

Plowing their way swiftly down the current, the boys saw an advance-guard of huge logs. Close behind were others, and as the boys hurried to the water’s edge, they saw the river was dotted with logs as far up as they could look. The majority drifted rapidly past, well out in the middle of the stream. Occasionally, however, one would swerve and bang against the bank, or become temporarily stranded on a sand-bar or pebbly beach.

Suddenly they saw Jim Halliday sweep into view around a turn of the river. He was standing erect on one of the drifting logs, boldly “riding” it down the stream. The boys watched him in wide-eyed amazement as he came gliding along, balancing himself with a long peavey-pole, which he held horizontally. When he was opposite, the “lumber-jack” waved his arm, and they cheered him. Jim skilfully steered the log into a quiet eddy beyond, and, jumping into the water, sent his “wooden horse” down the river and waded briskly ashore.

“That’s what they call log-riding,” explained Ben.

Halliday had been despatched back to camp on an errand, and had taken advantage of the opportunity for his first ride of the season. When he was ready to return up-river, he asked Ben and the boys to accompany him, declaring that there was “a barrel of fun” going on up there.

They followed Jim several miles along a winding river trail, until they came to a large clearing where the men were at work. Here the crew were rolling logs down the steep bank into the water. Strong-armed, quick-footed fellows started a huge log, and then jumped nimbly out of its way as it went bumping down the incline to land in the river. There other men, immersed to their waists, tugged and pushed till they worked it into the current and started it on its long, uncertain course to the distant mill. The great collection of logs extended well back into the woods. As fast as the front ones were moved more were dragged forward by the teams. It was an absorbing scene of bustling activity. As Jim had said, there was plenty of sport. They saw several of the crew pushed from the bank by their frolicsome comrades. The victims always took their ducking good-humoredly, and scrambled from the water determined to retaliate.

Just before noon a long, high-prowed boat, resembling a fisherman’s dory in its general lines, was seen slowly approaching against the current. This was the bateau. Two broad-shouldered fellows were at the oars, and in the bow was another, pole in hand, prepared to fend off drifting logs. In the stern sat no less a personage than Charley, the cook.

At sight of the boat Ned called a halt in the work, and then the real fun began. The men seized each other in rough sport, until almost the whole crew were wrestling about on the ground.

“This way, Charley; bring it up here,” ordered the foreman.

The cook and his three assistants struggled up the bank with the supplies for a hot dinner. Grouped in a circle on the ground, each man was equipped with a tin plate, a knife, a fork, and a spoon, and a large tin bowl which was speedily filled with hot stew. After that came heaping dishes of hot beans and steaming cups of coffee. Like the others, Ben and the boys ate the outdoor meal with keen relish.

As neither Ed nor George had seen a birling contest, and had no idea what it was like, Ned arranged one for their benefit.

A large log was towed out into fairly deep water in a near-by eddy of the river. Then Jake Grant, the champion of this particular sport, jumped from the bank and landed on the log. He caught his balance and drove the long, nail-like calks of his shoes deep into the bark. His action was intended as a challenge, or “defi,” to any one to jump on the other end and enter the contest.

There was a cry of “Sandy,” and, amid cheers from his comrades, “Sandy” Donaldson accepted the challenge. Moving their feet up and down together, the men whirled the log over and over beneath them. From time to time one or the other would jam his spiked shoes down hard in an endeavor to stop the log and throw his adversary into the water. First one way, then the other, they spun the log faster and faster. The excitement on shore was intense, for each contestant had his partisans. Once Grant lost his balance for a second, and a wild yell went up. It looked as though his long term of championship was about to end. By wonderful agility he saved himself, and another cheer broke forth.

“Toss him, toss him, Jake!” cried Grant’s friends.

“Bump him off, Sandy; you nearly caught him that time!” yelled the partisans of Donaldson.

Then the experience of the champion came to his aid. He worked backward toward the extreme end of the log, and started it spinning as fast as his nimble feet could work. Donaldson kept stride with him, and those on shore waited in breathless suspense for the outcome of what they believed a clever bit of stratagem.

Suddenly the champion jammed his spikes down hard, and Donaldson tottered. Before he could recover his balance Grant jumped into the air. Instantly his end of the log rose, and that on which his opponent swayed sank--not much, but enough to do the trick--and Donaldson went over backward into the river. Jake was still champion, for he landed squarely on top of the log and waved his hand to the cheering crowd.

“I wouldn’t have missed that for anything,” said Ed, when he had ceased cheering.

“Nor I,” declared George. “Say, we’ll try that some time, Ed. What do you call it, Ben?”

“Birling,” explained the guide.

The cook, who with his crew had waited to see the outcome of the contest, approached Ben and offered to take them back in the boat. That was certainly better than “hiking,” and presently they were gliding swiftly down the river.

That night there was less frolicking in the bunk-house. The first day’s river work had tired the men, and they sat about quietly smoking and telling yarns and singing a few lumbermen’s songs before they turned in.

Next morning they paddled their canoe some distance down-river to see a big restraining boom. They were obliged to dodge floating logs, which dotted the river as far as they could see. A collision would have smashed their light craft. However, Ben kept safely out of the way, and, searching the water far in advance, he chose open channels, down which he piloted them in safety.

They saw many logs which had grounded along the shore, but they learned that these would be all found and set afloat by the “reardrive” men, who followed the last of the logs down the river for that purpose. Occasionally they passed members of the river patrol, who stood on the banks and waved to them as they floated by. Ben pointed out several bark shanties, or lean-tos, in which these men sheltered themselves until the drive was over.

Then, at a narrow place in the river, they saw a great jagged pile of logs. Others were constantly crashing into it and momentarily adding to the tangle.

“There’s a jam, and a nasty one!” said Ben, carefully working the canoe toward shore. “Wonder if any one is about?”

“Yes, I see a man,” declared George. “There he is, right under the big log that sticks out. Gee whiz! Did you see that one rise right up on end and sail past his head?”

They landed and ran along the bank until they drew near the spot. At the foot of the towering pyramid a red-shirted man was balancing on a slippery log and prying and pulling with all his might in an effort to free the log which was the key of the jam. Each moment he stayed there he was risking death from the grinding, crunching, splintering logs which the river was raising on end and throwing into the pile behind him. Calm and undismayed by his peril, he turned a flushed, perspiring face and called to Ben:

“Hey, run back up the trail a piece, till you see a box nailed to a big white pine. You’ll find a telephone inside. Tell ’em to send some men down here, quick, an’ to stop shovin’ in any more sticks till we git this straightened out.”

Bidding the boys remain where they were, Ben ran up the trail on his important errand. Anxious to help the plucky lumberman, but knowing themselves powerless, the boys, fearful but fascinated, could only stand and watch the reckless worker out there in that inferno of flying logs.

A great black hulk rose from the foaming water, shot into the air, and came straight at him. An exclamation of horror came from the white-faced spectators on shore. His quick eye and alert brain proved equal to the emergency, however, and he jumped back and just escaped being crushed. A cheer sounded from the lads on the bank, and the “lumber-jack” turned and waved his appreciation.

“It’s ‘Shorty’ Brundage, the champion jam-breaker!” cried Ed.

They watched him in awed silence while he went on with his hazardous task. Dodging and climbing, he seemed to escape destruction by simply the luck for which he was noted. Above him towered the great mass of piled logs. Should it give way, he would be buried beneath an avalanche. On each side great logs shot past within reach of his arm. Below, the river caught and tugged at his legs in an effort to sweep him to destruction. Still he worked on, his one thought the breaking of the jam and the clearing of the stream.

Suddenly he slipped, lost his balance, and fell into the swirling, foam-tossed water. They saw him reappear, a long, red streak showing down the side of his pallid face. He made a desperate effort to climb upon the log from which he had fallen; but two floating timbers caught him between them, and with a despairing gesture “Shorty” collapsed. Half in the water, half across one of the logs, he was in peril of being crushed to a pulp by the massive logs which reared themselves from the water and crashed down on all sides of him.

For a moment the boys stood paralyzed with horror. Then they realized that they were standing there without an effort to save the unconscious man. There was one startled glance at the towering log pile, the raging, white-capped water, and the crashing logs. Then their gaze settled on the helpless red-shirted figure in deadly danger. Instantly they made their choice. With white, set faces the lads ran down the bank and along the edge of the racing water toward the jam.

Out along the top of a slippery log they crawled, one behind the other. They dared not stand erect, for fear of falling into the seething, log-studded pool beneath. The noise was terrific. In some places the raging torrent surged above their waists and threatened to sweep them from the log.

“Hold on with your legs!” shouted Ed.

Then a long, spear-like splinter was thrust at him like a lance. He dodged just in time, and the splinter flew over his back. Again and again the whirling logs nearly crushed their legs. But at last only two feet of open water intervened between them and the log on which lay the victim of the jam.

As they were hesitating, the butt of another log was driven into the space and for the moment wedged fast. In an instant Ed had thrown himself across it to the log that supported Brundage. Quickly he crawled to the prostrate figure, and, placing his hands beneath the powerful shoulders, he tried to pull the man from his perilous position. In an instant George reached his side. After much effort they managed, between them, to lift “Shorty” from the water and drag him some distance along the slippery log over which they had come.

No sooner had they removed him than two great logs were lifted by the water and sent crashing down upon the very log across which his unconscious form had lain.

Lifting, pulling, and tugging with all their strength, Ed and George managed, somehow, to crawl over the wet logs, dragging “Shorty” with them. They had many narrow escapes, but at last the bank was reached. Pulling their man up beyond the reach of the angry river, they dropped beside him, too exhausted to move.

Then Ben, who, as he was returning, had seen the whole daring rescue, rushed breathlessly down the bank and hugged both boys in his arms.

“You fellows are the real thing!” he cried to the blushing boys. “You’ve got sand, and you know when to use it. That was one of the pluckiest pieces of work I ever saw done.”

“What’s--the--matter?” asked Brundage, feebly, opening his eyes and staring about him in bewilderment.

“The matter is that the jam came powerful near getting you, ‘Shorty.’ It would have got you, too, only for these young fellows. They got to you, somehow, and, what’s more wonderful, they got back and brought you with them! That splintered log out there, the one with the three big ones lying across it, is the log you were on,” said Ben.

The “lumber-jack” passed his hand weakly across his forehead, blinked, and sat up. He beckoned the boys to come close; and when they had done so, he reached up and grasped their hands.