Long before reaching the point of obstruction it became evident that another jam had formed. The current grew more and more sluggish, and the progress of the logs downstream became slower and slower, until at length the entire surface of the water was covered with floating timber. These in turn crowded upon one another with a rapidity which threatened to equal that first jam unless something was swiftly done.
Hurrying on, Bob presently caught up with a throng of his own men, who had apparently just landed from the dangerous, constantly shifting surface of the river. They looked at him with a frank curiosity, as if wondering what he meant to do in this emergency. On the faces of a few were expressions of grim, anticipatory amusement, but Bainbridge heeded these no more than he had the others. Without pausing even glancing to right or left, he strode on, and reached the scene of action.
On the same bank, a little way back from the water, stood a small building, so hastily thrown together that the roof was not yet completed. One or two men were standing near it, staring interestedly at the crowd gathered about something at the water’s edge which Bob at once saw to be one end of a massive, well-constructed log boom. The other end, out beyond the middle of the river, was supported by some stout spiles, and the whole affair took up so much of the stream’s width that Bainbridge’s drive had jammed against it hard and fast.
All this Bob took in without slackening his pace. Reaching the outer edge of the circle, he pushed through to where Jack Peters, his jam boss, stood facing a compact group of six or eight strangers, gathered closely about the end of the boom, Jack was florid with rage, and choking with impotent fury. The strangers composing the little group instantly struck Bob as being singularly strong and rugged. They looked as if they had been picked for their physical efficiency. Each one was armed with rifle or pistol, while their leader, a competent-looking person with red hair and whiskers, held in one hand a snub-nosed, businesslike automatic.
“Well, Jack,” Bainbridge said curtly, as he reached the foreman’s side, “what’s the trouble?”
Before Peters could reply the red-haired man took a single step forward and faced Bob.
“I can tell you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” he snapped viciously. “This river hog o’ yours thinks he kin play the devil with my boom, but he’s got another guess comin’. I own this land an’ that sawmill. I got a right to run my booms out in the river same as anybody else. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, but the first man as tries any monkey business wants to look out, that’s all.”
Bainbridge raised his eyebrows, and let his gaze wander leisurely from the man’s head to his heels with an expression which brought an added touch of color to the already flushed cheeks.
“Indeed!” he drawled. “Who are you?”
“Who be I?” retorted the other angrily. “Humph! I don’t see that it makes no difference, but my name’s Joyce—John Joyce. An’ I ain’t the kind as backs down an’ takes water, believe me!”