The Rules of the Game

  XIV

  Near noon of the following day a man came upstream to report a jambeyond the powers of the outlying rivermen. Roaring Dick, after a shortabsence for examination, returned to call off the rear. All repaired tothe scene of obstruction.

  Bob noticed the slack water a mile or so above the jam. The river wasquite covered with logs pressed tight against each other by the force ofthe interrupted current, but still floating. A little farther along theincreasing pressure had lifted some of them clear of the water. Theyupended slightly, or lay in hollows between the others. Still fartherdownstream the salient features of a jam multiplied. More timbers stuckout at angles from the surface; some were even lifted bodily. An abattisformed, menacing and formidable, against which even the mighty dynamicsof the river pushed in vain. Then at last the little group arrived atthe "breast" itself--a sullen and fearful tangle like a gigantic pile ofjackstraws. Beneath it the diminished river boiled out angrily. By thevery fact of its lessened volume Bob could guess at the pressure above.Immediately the rivermen ran out on this tangle, and, after a momentdevoted to inspection, set to work with their peavies. Bob started tofollow, but Welton held him back.

  "It's dangerous for a man not used to it. The jam may go out at anytime, and when she goes, she goes sky-hooting."

  But in the event his precaution turned out useless. All day the menrolled logs into the current below the dam. The _click!_ clank! clank!of their peavies sounded like the valves of some great engine, soregular was the periodicity of their metallic recurrence. They madequite a hole in the breast; and several times the jam shrugged, creakedand settled, but always to a more solid look. Billy, the teamster,brought down his horses. By means of long blocks and tackle they set toyanking out logs from certain places specified by Roaring Dick. Stillthe jam proved obstinate.

  "I hate to do it," said Roaring Dick to Welton; "but it's a case ofpowder."

  "Tie into it," agreed Welton. "What's a few smashed logs compared tohanging the drive?"

  Dick nodded. He picked up a little canvas lunch bag from a stump where,earlier in the day, he had hung it, and from it extracted several sticksof giant powder, a length of fuse and several caps. These he prepared.Then he and Welton walked out over the jam, examining it carefully, andconsulting together at length. Finally Roaring Dick placed his chargefar down in the interstices, lit the fuse and walked calmly ashore. Themen leisurely placed themselves out of harm's way. Welton joined Bobbehind a big burned stub.

  "Will that start her sure?" asked Bob.

  "Depends on whether we guessed right on the key log," said Welton.

  A great roar shook the atmosphere. Straight up into the air spurted thecloud of the explosion. Through the white smoke Bob could see the flameand four or five big logs, like upleaping, dim giants. Then he dodgedback from the rain of bark and splinters.

  The immediate effect on the jam was not apparent. It fell forward intothe opening made by the explosion, and a light but perceptible movementran through the waiting timbers up the river. But the men, running outimmediately, soon made it evident that the desired result had beenattained. Their efforts now seemed to gain definite effects. Anuneasiness ran through the hitherto solid structure of the jam. Timberschanged position. Sometimes the whole river seemed to start forward afoot or so, but before the eye could catch the motion, it had againfrozen to immobility.

  "That fetched the key logs, all right," said Welton, watching.

  Then all at once about half the breast of the jam fell forward into thestream. Bob uttered an involuntary cry. But the practised rivermen musthave foreseen this, for none were caught. At once the other logs at thebreast began to topple of their own accord into the stream. The splashesthrew the water high like the explosions of shells, and the thunderingof the falling and grinding timbers resembled the roar of artillery. Thepattern of the river changed, at first almost imperceptibly, then moreand more rapidly. The logs in the centre thrust forward, those on thewings hung back. Near the head of the jam the men worked like demons.Wherever the timbers caught or hesitated for a moment in their slowcrushing forward, there a dozen men leaped savagely, to jerk, heave andpry with their heavy peavies. Continually under them the footingshifted; sullen logs menaced them with crushing or complete engulfmentin their grinding mill. Seemingly they paid no attention to this, butgave all their energies to the work. In reality, whether fromcalculation or merely from the instinct that grows out of longexperience, they must have pre-estimated every chance.

  "What bully team work!" cried Bob, stirred to enthusiasm.

  Now the motion quickened. The centre of the river rushed forward; thewings sucked in after from either side. A roar and battling of timbers,jets of spray, the smoke of waters filled the air. Quite coolly therivermen made their way ashore, their peavies held like balancing polesacross their bodies. Under their feet the logs heaved, sank, groundtogether, tossed above the hurrying under-mass, tumultuous as aclose-packed drove of wild horses. The rivermen rode them easily. For anappreciable time one man perched on a stable timber watching keenlyahead. Then quite coolly he leaped, made a dozen rapid zigzag stepsforward, and stopped. The log he had quitted dropped sullenly fromsight, and two closed, grinding, where it had been. In twenty secondsevery man was safely ashore.

  The river caught its speed. Hurried on by the pressure of water longdammed back, the logs tumbled forward. Rank after rank they swept past,while the rivermen, leaning on the shafts of their peavies, passed themin review.

  "That was luck," Welton's voice broke in on Bob's contemplation. "It'sjust getting dark. Couldn't have done it without the dynamite. Itsplinters up a little timber, but we save money, even at that."

  "Billy doesn't carry that with the other supplies, does he?" asked Bob.

  "Sure," said Welton; "rolls it up in the bedding, or something. Well,John Harvey, Junior," said he to that youth, "what do you think of it? Alittle different driving this white water than pushing logs with a pikepole down a slack-water river like the Green, hey?"

  "Yes, sir," the boy nodded out of his Indian stolidity.

  "You see now why a man has to start young to be a riverman," Welton toldBob, as they bent their steps toward camp. "Poor little John Harvey outon that jam when she broke would have stood about as much chance as abeetle at a woodpecker prayer meeting."