Part 13

"I thought you would have been down long ago," said Tobin. "Our drive is right behind, and we'll be bumping your rear to-morrow if you don't get some ginger into your crew."

"They're a lazy bunch," said Archer without the flicker of an eyelid. "I just have to do the best I can with them. I've cursed them till my throat went back on me."

Tobin regarded him narrowly. "Let me handle them for twenty-four hours and I'll show you a difference."

"Thanks, but I can run my job myself," said Archer dryly.

"The point is," Joe explained, "that my drive is coming down a-humping, and we need all our time because we have a delivery contract to fill. Can you keep ahead of us, do you think?"

"Couldn't say," returned Archer.

"I don't want to run down on top of you," said Joe. "How would it be if I turned a dozen men into your rear to lend a hand?"

Archer regarded him in silence for a ten-second interval. "When I need your help, bub, I'll ask for it."

"I didn't mean it that way," Joe explained. "I don't suppose you want to delay me. It's about four days to Moore's Rapids. Will you oblige me by booming there till I get through? Of course I'll pay for the time of your crew."

"No," Archer replied. "I have my rights on the river and I don't have to get out of your way. You can tail along behind me."

"The hell we can!" flared Tobin, whose temper was always set on a hair-trigger. "Do you think we ain't onto you, Archer. What's Clancys payin' you for doin' their dirty work?"

Archer put his pipe in his pocket with deliberation. "Any more talk like that, Tobin, and you and me will settle it right here," he announced.

Tobin, nowise loath, would have accepted the challenge instantly, but Joe restrained him and pointed to a man who appeared on the bank.

"It's quite plain what this gentleman is up to, Tobin. There's Rough Shan McCane. I guess any more talk is waste time."

McCane sprang down like a cat and advanced truculently. "Tom," said he to Archer, "I'm going to give this young feller a father of a lickin' an' put the boots to him afterward. You look after the other one."

Joe did not assume any attitude popularly supposed to be one of defence, but the bunched shoulder muscles crept and crawled beneath his shirt, and Archer, eying him carefully, interposed a decided negative.

"No, you won't. I don't want any trouble with Mr. Kent or his crew. If they crowd us it'll be different."

"It'll be a lot different," said Tobin. "You're McCane, are you? I've heard of your doin's this winter. You've got it comin' to you, me buck, tie into that."

Then and there hostilities would have started but for Joe and Archer, who kept cool. Tobin and McCane growled at each other like leashed fighting-dogs.

"Come along, Tobin," Joe ordered. "We're wasting time. You won't reconsider my offer, Archer?"

"No," replied Archer flatly, "I won't. I have the right-of-way, and I'll keep it."

The way he intended to keep it immediately became apparent. His drive travelled with maddening slowness. His rear crew made great pretence of working, but the feint was transparent and the tempers of Kent's men wore under the strain. One or two fights took place, more or less indecisive. Clearly a climax was at hand.

Joe took counsel with his foremen, and they threshed the matter out one night sitting around the fire. It was plain that as long as Clancys' drive kept ahead they could make no speed. Much time had already been lost. They could not pass it on the river, and Archer would not yield his right-of-way at Moore's Rapids. It looked like an impasse. It was quiet Deever who suggested the only way out. Deever usually had little to say. The reverse of Tobin, he was slow to anger, but knew no limit when aroused, as unruly lumber jacks found to their cost. He was rather small of frame, but built of wires and steel springs.

"If we run our drive right on top of them and mix the logs we'll make better time than we're making now," said he. "Then we sack out our own, and they can bring theirs along or not, as they like. There's sortin' booms at Moore's, and we've a strong crew, just spoilin' for a scrap. If we take charge an' cull out all Clancys' logs, why, then we get ahead. It just means a little fight."

The foremen looked at each other and nodded. Then they looked at Joe. "It sounds good," said he. "Of course, we haven't any right to do it."

"Not a right," said MacNutt cheerfully, "but we've got a blame good crew."

Joe laughed. "Go to it, then," said he. "Slam the whole drive down on top of them as soon as you can."

The speed of a drive depends upon the work of the crew, for although logs can travel no faster than the current the more that are kept in the current the faster the whole will travel. Kent's men sailed into the work like demons. No log had a chance to rest. Soon the two drives tangled and became one, although naturally Clancys' leading logs were far in advance of Kent's. The latter's crew left the other logs religiously alone, but Clancys' men soon began to shove Kent's logs toward the shallows.

"Leave them logs alone!" roared Big Cooley savagely, detecting a man in the act. The man swore back at him defiantly and shoved another log shoreward. Cooley jumped from the log on which he stood, alighting on the one ridden by the offender, and knocked him into the water.

In two minutes the crews were more tangled than the logs. More of Kent's men piled downstream and joined the melee. Finally Clancys' rear crew, badly whipped, left the field to their opponents.

When Archer heard of the fight he came back at once. "I won't stand this," said he. "You've got no right to run into my drive."

"Keep it out of my way, then," said Joe. "I gave you your chance; I'm going to drive clean through you."

"We'll see about that," said Archer, and took his departure.

Thereafter his crew worked hard but avoided trouble. Nevertheless the drives were hopelessly entangled, and they drew near Moore's Rapids.

The booms at Moore's had been put in and were maintained by the various lumber firms for their own convenience, so that one had as much right to them as another. This was lucky for Kent, for had the booms been owned by a river improvement company, as were those on the lower river, he could not have carried out the high-handed act he contemplated. As it was, the question resolved itself into whether he could seize the booms and hold control of them while he sorted the logs. By so doing he laid himself open to an action for damages, but he could better afford that than further delay.

Twenty-four hours before any logs could reach Moore's, McKenna chose a picked crew and took possession of the booms, forestalling Archer, who intended to do that very thing himself. Therefore when he arrived with a picked crew of his own some hours later he became righteously indignant.

"I have the right-of-way, McKenna," said he, "and my logs are going down that channel first. You can sort out yours and wait your turn."

"I hear what you say," said McKenna from the boom. "You're making a little mistake, Archer. _Ours_ are going through first."

"What?" cried Archer, suddenly realizing the situation. "Do you know what the law is? The leading drive has precedence in booms, chutes, and slides. You'd better be careful!"

"I know all that," retorted McKenna. "That's the law--_and we're going to break it_. You'd hog the river on us, would you? Well, we'll hog the booms and channel on you!"

Archer spat into the stream and swore. "I have nothing against you, McKenna, but you nor no other man can hang my drive. I'll bring down my crew and clear you off the booms. If I can't do that I'll cut them and let the whole shootin' match go down together."

"That's big talk," said McKenna. "Now you listen here. We're doing this cold because we have to, and you know it. We won't stop at anything. Bring down your crew and try to clean us out if you like. We expect it. But if you try to cut the booms it's different." He pointed to a pier out in the current. On it in a state of splendid isolation, sat Davy Cottrell. "That man out there has a rifle and he can hit birds flying with it. He'll shoot the first man that touches the booms. If you don't believe that, get somebody to try."

Shortly afterward the first logs began to arrive, and with them Archer's entire crew. Immediately they made a determined attempt to seize the booms, but as these were already occupied by Kent's men, against whom they could advance only in single file, their numbers gave them little advantage. The fight raged along the length of the slippery, swaying boom-logs. Men knocked off into the river swam and climbed up again, or cunningly seized others by the ankles and upset them, taking the chance of being kicked in the face by spiked boots. Gradually Archer's men pushed McKenna's backward and might have driven them from the booms altogether had not the rest of Kent's crew arrived, thirsting for battle.

Archer's crew, now hopelessly outnumbered, fought gamely. The fight spread from booms to shore. Tobin went for Archer and met his match. MacNutt tried to get to Rough Shan, but could not. Quiet Deever, white-faced and eyes ablaze, his lips lifting at the corners in a wolfish snarl, was before him.

"'Rough Shan' they call you," he gritted through set teeth. "Let's see how rough you are, you dirty cur. Come on an' rough it with a littler man, you lousy, camp-burnin' high-banker!" He planted a terrific right in McCane's face, and was himself knocked sideways the next instant by a heavy swing. They went at it hammer-and-tongs.

Joe Kent found himself paired with a smooth-faced, bronzed, shanty lad who fought with a grin and hit with a grunt. His blows were like the kicks of a mule, but his knowledge of boxing was rudimentary. The young boss smashed him almost at will, but the grin never faded. Always he came back for more, and when he landed, it jarred Joe from top to toe. Finally they clenched and wrestled to and fro among the rough stones of the beach. At this game Joe rather fancied himself, but all he ever remembered of the outcome was that suddenly his feet flew into the air--the rest was a shock, accompanied by marvellous constellations.

He came to with water sluicing his face and a hat fanning air into his lungs. He got to his feet rather dizzily, looked around and laughed.

"You cleaned them out, did you?"

Deever, his face battered and swollen and his knuckles cut to raw meat, grinned happily. Tobin, one eye closed and the other blinking, nodded.

"We're sluicin' now."

"We put the run on them," said McKenna, whose leathery face bore the marks of war. "Lucky for us we had the numbers. They're hard lads, but 'tis not like they'll bother us again. Now, boys, the boss is all right. Out on the booms with yez."

Without delay they swarmed out on the booms. Others went upstream to hustle the logs down. The work of sorting and sluicing went forward merrily, for Kent's logs outnumbered Clancys' in the proportion of four to one, and besides the crew was not very particular as to the ownership of individual logs, which could be culled out later. The main thing was speed. Clancys' logs were sided into an inner boom; Kent's were allowed to go down with the current. It took time, but it was worth it.

Thus Kent's big drive passed Clancys' and ran Moore's Rapids in defiance of the law and usage of the river; but every man, from the young boss down, was very sure that the end justified the means, and was quite ready to take any consequences that might accrue from the high-handed act.

XX

Joe Kent preceded his drive to Falls City by a few days. He found Wright in great feather. Several large orders had been placed, proof that the terms of the settlement mentioned by Locke in his letter were being carried out. But when Joe asked the lawyer for more details the latter shook his head.

"I can't mention names, for that was part of the arrangement," said he. "You be satisfied with what you've got. You're a hundred times better off than if you had merely exposed Garwood."

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

"Certain. You've got good orders coming in, haven't you? You won't have anything to complain of hereafter. How about those logs? Can you deliver them on time?"

"I think so," Joe replied.

"Well, you'd better be mighty sure before you take them past your own booms. Wismer will refuse to accept them if he gets half a chance, and see where that would leave you. You couldn't bring them back upstream, and there isn't a concern on the river below Wismer that would buy them, this side of Hughson's Mills. To get there, towing charges and tolls would eat up your profits, and old Hughson would whipsaw you, anyway."

"Crooks says I can do it, and so do my foremen," said Joe. "I've got to sell the logs to meet my liabilities. I'll keep barely enough for my own mill."

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

The situation was made very clear to Joe. He was told plainly that the bank had gone with him as far as it would go. In the event of non-delivery his credit would be cut off and his securities sold. The mortgage company would enforce their rights in any event. Also there was no doubt that Wismer & Holden would enforce to the letter the penalty clause in their contract. These things, taken together, meant bankruptcy. And that would mean that his marriage with Jack must be put off indefinitely. On the other hand, if he delivered the logs he could wipe off most of the debt, put his business on a solid basis, and ask her to become mistress of the old Kent homestead without delay. It was worth fighting for, and Joe's' lean jaw hardened as he swore to himself that nothing should stop his drive.

Business claimed him by day, but the evenings he was able to spend with Jack. They sat in the dusk of Crooks's wide veranda, watching the stars light and wink in the June sky, while soft-winged moths fluttered ghost-like among the shading vines. Neither was overly given to sentiment, but in those brief evenings their confidences grew; and each, looking into the other's inmost mind, found there only honour and loyalty and little of ambition, but a great desire to live straightly and cleanly and truly, thinking evil of none and doing such good as might be.

Being ordinary young people they did not put these things into words. They rather shied from the sentimental and high-flown, preferring the more accustomed planes of speech and thought. But they understood each other, and so were content. The only shadow, and a constantly recurring one, was the question of the drive.

"If I don't make it I'm busted," said Joe practically, "and so I've got to make it. There's no reason why I shouldn't. Now, it's this way." For the twentieth time he went over the problem.

"Dad says you can make it," Jack agreed. "It's a week to Steven's Ferry. Down to Burritt's Rapids is two days more. Then allow time to tow through Thirty Mile Lake--oh, you can make it with nearly a week to spare."

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

She flushed to the roots of her brown hair.

"In the fall, Joe?"

"No--right away. What's the use of waiting? My business will be solid then, and I deserve a holiday. Let's take one together."

"Well"--she considered the question gravely, without affected hesitation--"I'd like that. I'll see what dad says about it."

"It's up to you."

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

"I don't want to. He's as good a friend as I have. What he says goes, of course; but he won't object if you don't."

"I won't." Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Oh, Joe, you've got to deliver those logs! You've got to, you've got to!"

"Jack," he said grimly, "I'd deliver 'em now if the whole blamed river dried up. Come down to-morrow and see them go through. We'll cut out enough to run the mill, but the main drive will go straight ahead and I'm going with it. I'll wire you as soon as we strike Burritt's Rapids. I can tell then how it's going to go."

"Do you think I'll stay here?" she cried. "Dad and I are going down to see the drive come into Wismer & Holden's booms. You'll probably see us at Thirty Mile."

The sun was barely risen when the first logs of the big drive swung down leisurely, their pace accelerating as the faster current above the falls gripped them. This vanguard was run into Kent's booms, and the rivermen cheered as they caught sight of the young boss, and cheered again for William Crooks and his daughter who stood beside him. They ran gaily along the slippery brown logs and danced lightly across their backs, pushing, pulling, prodding, guiding and restraining, and the booms filled magically.

The main drive did not halt at all. The river was crowded with logs, and they were fed through the huge water-gates of the slides as fast and as thick as they would run. It was beautiful, clean, uninterrupted work, and when the last stick had shot through Joe bade Jack good-bye and followed.

Now, at last, the drive was on the homestretch with a few days to spare--a narrow margin, but still a margin. It was then the fifteenth of June, and the river was at its best. Taking into consideration the high water and consequently more rapid current, Joe hoped to reach Burritt's Rapids by the twenty-third. That would give one week from that point to Wismer & Holden's mills, a distance of thirty-five miles. Below Burritt's Rapids, however, was Thirty Mile Lake, a shallow, almost currentless expansion of the river, some thirty miles long and varying in width from half a mile to two miles, through which the drive would have to be towed by steamers owned by a river improvement company, who also owned the booms above the rapids. The time occupied by towing would depend on the weather. Therefore, although the probabilities were in Joe's favour there was always a doubt. He must remain on the anxious seat till the actual event.

Because of the good water the drive made Burritt's on the twenty-second instead of the twenty-third. They made it in a heavy downriver gale with an accompaniment of slashing rain that soaked every one to the skin.

Because a drive turned down the rapids would simply float all over the lake and have to be gathered up again, a task involving much time and trouble, the logs were always put through a narrow, inner channel protected by cribwork and booms, and caught in other booms below. There steamers took them in tow and turned them loose down other rapids at the foot of the lake, which were about three miles above Wismer & Holden's booms. Accordingly, when they made Burritt's with some daylight to spare the dripping crew ran the drive into the booms and started to feed down the inner channel. When darkness fell they winched a boom across the narrow mouth and quit.

The ground was wet, the tents were wet, and so were the blankets. Although it was June the wind was raw and cutting. The rain slashed and sputtered at the fires. Clothes hung before them steamed, but accumulated moisture faster than they dried. Altogether it was miserable, and the rivermen cursed the weather heartily. They squatted on the sodden ground beneath canvas that let through fine spray with every gust, and big teardrops which had an aggravating habit of landing on the back of the neck, and juggled tin plates piled with pork and beans on their knees, wiping them up with huge wedges of bread.

"A curse of a night," grumbled Haggarty, shifting away from a drop which threatened to become a stream. "Black as a cord of black cats, an' rainin' fit to flood hell! An' not a dry stitch to me back, an' the blanket's soaked, an' all. Fill up me plate again, you, cookee, an' slap a dose of molasses on her. Praise be, me hide is waterproof an' the inside of me's dry."

"An' that's more nor mine will be this day week," said big Cooley, licking his lips in pure anticipation. "A hard winter, an' a long drive. The throat of me aches for the rasp of a drink of the good stuff!"

"For sure, for sure," Chartrand agreed with him. "I'll be dry, me, lak one sap maple in August. When dat drive is finish', by dam' I stay dronk for one mont'. Hooray!"

"An' you see me so," Cooley promised. "I'll find that McCane an' put the boots till him till he can't crawl. A dirty dog! An' Tom Archer is no better--no, nor his bosses."

In another tent Joe and his foremen ate supper and listened to the rain, the wind, the roar of the rapids, and the swirl of the current as it talked against the booms. MacNutt went out and came back dripping.

"Can't see a thing," he reported. "The wind is gettin' worse, an' the water's risen nigh a foot. How is them booms, Dinny? Our whole drive is down by now, an' there's an awful weight on them with this wind an' the high water."

"I went over them when we came down," returned McKenna. "They're all right. The big lower one is three logs, and well anchored."

"They should have another anchor-pier in the middle of it," growled MacNutt. "It has an awful belly. If it went out on us----" He paused and shook his head.

The boom referred to was directly above the rapids, strung at an angle across the river. Upon it came all the pressure of the logs above. It was a massive affair, built of three logs fastened side by side and chained to other threes end to end. The ends of the boom were secured to huge, stone-filled piers. It appeared capable of holding any weight of logs.

"What's the use of talkin' like that, Mac?" said Tobin, half angrily. "You're borrowin' trouble for every one. The boom's all right. I looked at it myself after Dinny did." Nevertheless he went out ten minutes later and was absent sometime. "She sure has a belly on her," he said when he returned. "She'll hold, though. I think the wind's dropped some."

As he uttered the words a shrieking gust almost laid the tent flat. A shout and muffled curses followed.

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

They grinned at each other as Cooley rose to the occasion. The wind grew worse. The side and roof of the tent bellied in and slatted in the squalls. Tobin went out and tautened the guy ropes.

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

McKenna sat pulling his grizzled moustache. The wind, the rapidly rising water, the huge weight of timber, and MacNutt's forebodings were getting on his nerves. Suddenly he began to pull on his spiked river boots.

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

"I'm going to look at that boom," McKenna replied. "You've got me all worked up over it. I _know_ it's all right; but all the same----"

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

"You're not good enough on the logs yet," said the walking boss bluntly. "It's pitch dark and blowin' great guns. It's an old hand's job, Mr. Kent. You'd only hinder me."

Joe realized the truth of the words.

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

"Same here," said Tobin.

"Sure," said Deever.

Each man took a lantern. Joe went with them. Anyway he would go as far as the first pier. They could hear the logs grumbling and complaining.

"I don't like it," said MacNutt. "It sounds--" He hesitated to put the thought into words, and swung his lantern high, peering at the intensified darkness.

"Oh, shut _up!_" snapped Tobin. "What do you want to croak for? Of course they'll talk with the wind an' current an' all. Funny if they wouldn't."

They ran out across the almost solid carpet of timber that filled the head of the channel, and reached the anchor-pier of the big lower boom. McKenna, in advance, stopped short with a gasp:

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