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.