The foreman swore.
“You cut the wrong log,” said Forest, grimly. “Try it again, and don’t lose an ax unless the jam breaks.”
So Sullivan went out again, but with no better success.
“I believe I could pick out the key log,” declared Frank Merriwell, who had been watching proceedings.
The foreman’s face grew purple, and he suppressed a torrent of angry words with an effort.
“We’ll have ter send to the nearest place fer dynamite,” he said. “That’s the only way ter do now.”
Then Forest gave orders for a man to be dispatched for the dynamite without delay.
The afternoon was slipping away, and it did not look as if the jam would be broken before dark. Forest was impatient at the delay.
“I’d like to try a crack at it,” said Frank, gazing out upon the mountain of logs. “I believe I could do it.”