“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!”
Slowly, with the calm certainty of irresistible might, the big drive was on its way. The logs ground at the anchor pier and thrust and bumped at it. The feeble rays of the upheld lanterns threw a short circle of light on the field of timber as it slid smoothly downstream. Joe’s heart, for the first time, skipped a beat. The boom had gone out.
McKenna leaped out on the moving logs. MacNutt caught him.
“Come back, Dinny! What do you think you can do?”
McKenna’s seamed face was absolutely colourless as he turned to Joe.
“He’s right, Mr. Kent. I can’t do a damned thing. It’s my fault. I should ’a’ backed the boom with another.”
His voice was vibrant with sorrow and self-accusation. He knew what it meant to his employer. The logs, driven by the wind, would go down the rapids and be flung far and wide over Thirty Mile Lake. To gather them up would be a task of weeks; they could not be delivered on time.
Joe met the blow like a man. “That’s all right, Dinny,” he said. “It was up to the company, not to you. Their boom was weak somewhere, that’s all. Now what can we do about it? They have two steamers below. We’ll need ’em right away. Mac, you tell ’em to get fire under their boilers, quick. Promise ’em anything. Say you’ve got the company’s orders—but get ’em. Tobin, rouse out the boys and get ’em down to the boats double-quick. Take every foot of rope and chain you can find or steal. Deever, you open the channel boom and let everything go that will go. Dinny, you come with me.”