CHAPTER IV. THE JAM ON MEGANTIC
There was no time lost either in turning in that night or in rising next morning. So early was Bainbridge astir that the cold, gray half-light dawn had barely begun to lighten the velvety blackness. The two men had embarked and were paddling vigorously upstream before it was possible to see more than the vague, indistinct shadows of concrete things.
Bob’s rage at the treachery of his trusted drive boss had not lessened greatly. There was mingled with it, however, a bitter hatred for the man higher up, and a dogged determination not only to thwart Elihu Crane in his attempt to ruin the independent firm, but to carry the war into the enemies’ camp with a zest and vim which his more or less impersonal blocking of the Lumber Trust’s game had hitherto lacked.
Before sunrise they had reached and crossed the first of the three lakes, which was little more than a good-sized pond. Two miles northwest of the inlet another stream, almost as large, joined the Megantic. The juncture was scarcely passed before Bainbridge became aware of the slackening current, and unnaturally low level of water in the stream. Something was holding it back, and that something could be nothing less than a jam of unusual size and extent.
Bob’s eyes narrowed ominously, and three deep, vertical lines flashed suddenly into view above the straight nose. Downstream there were several spots which had always been more or less dreaded by river drivers. There all the skill and care in the world could not always prevent trouble. To the northward, however, was comparatively clear sailing. The most ordinary skill in driving, and just average attention to business would make the forming of a jam impossible.
Bob set his teeth, and drove the canoe ahead swiftly. He made no comment, nor did the guide. For ten minutes or so they paddled in silence. Bainbridge was quite aware that under ordinary conditions such a proceeding would have been foolhardy to a degree. For all he knew the jam might be started at any moment; the swirling, tumbling logs might sweep down upon them with irresistible force, overwhelming them before they could even reach the shore. But these were not ordinary conditions. Having allowed the jam to form with malicious intent, there was not one chance in a hundred of Schaeffer’s doing anything to break it unless absolutely forced to.
Events proved the accuracy of this judgment. Some three miles above the juncture of the two streams the Megantic curved suddenly to the westward almost at a right angle, narrowing around the bend to less than two-thirds its usual width. It was at this narrow spot that Bainbridge expected to find the jam, and before they had circled the bend he saw above the low fringe of bushes on the point the jagged, bristling line of logs thrust high above the surface of the choked and dwindling stream by the tremendous pressure of well-nigh the whole drive behind it.
There was not the slightest hint of hesitation or indecision in the manner of Bainbridge now. He had evidently made up his mind exactly what course to take, and he proceeded to take it without delay. His face was no longer impatient or angry, but stern and determined, while his black eyes gleamed with satisfaction that the tedious delay was over at last and he could begin to act.
Speaking briefly in a low tone to the Indian, he turned the canoe inshore and drove the bow deftly up on the gently sloping bank. Giving Moose a hand in carrying the light craft well back into the bushes, Bainbridge straightened up and pushed through the undergrowth toward the scene of action.
From the location of the jam came the sound of intermittent clinking, as of peavies languidly applied. Mingled with it was a vast deal of loud talk and raucous laughter which brought Bob’s lips together tightly, and made him flush darkly under his tan. He uttered not a word of comment, even to himself. His muscular fists were clenched as he strode on.