One of the men produced a white handkerchief and tied it to a stick. Then holding the flag of truce aloft, King, the squatter, headed for the log house. The posse held their breaths for a moment, thinking that those in the shack would fear a trick and shoot him; but he advanced in safety and they saw the door of the shack open long enough to admit him.
When King arrived at the shack, he was met by Barrows, who demanded to know what message was sent. In a few words King told them, then he added some words of his own. These were directed to the lumberjacks. King spun a yarn out of whole cloth and told the jacks, who by this time were almost ready to desert the ship, that another posse was on the way.
Barrows was for disregarding the message as a trick, but King clinched the argument by offering immunity to all the lumberjacks except the bosses and camp officers. They demanded that one of their number go and see if the dynamite was really there.
Barrows and his lieutenants were not strong enough to cope with the lumberjacks, and it was finally agreed that one lumberjack and the red headed cookee go and inspect the blasting apparatus. Each faction—for there were two now in the log house—insisted on having a representative sent, for neither was willing to trust the word of the other. King agreed to remain behind as a hostage for the safety of the messengers.
The two set out on their quest, and in a few minutes were back, post haste.
“It’s there, boss; enough to blow us all into the next world,” gasped the cookee, who was now frightened half to death.
His words being corroborated, the lumberjacks insisted on an immediate surrender. Barrows saw that the jig was up, and he ordered an evacuation. Jean LeBlanc’s face was livid, and he spat out a torrent of abuse at Barrows. But for all his braggadocio, Barrows was a coward under the skin, and he saw there was nothing to be gained by a fight except a longer prison term. Even now he was figuring on bargaining with Mr. Boone for his freedom, by giving away the interests who had hired him to do their dirty work.
Once outside the door, they found the guns of the men in the trucks trained on them, and they were marching quietly to be disarmed and probably bound, when suddenly, with a loud scream of defiance, Jean LeBlanc turned and bounded away with the speed of a stricken deer. A dozen shots flew after him, and one must have struck him, for they heard him give a screech of pain, then he reached the sanctuary of the woods, and dodging for safety from tree to tree dashed for the lake. Three of the men took after him, but he had taken them by such great surprise when he fled, that he got a flying start.
LeBlanc reached the lake and dived in. He had seen at the same moment as the men who were following, the one chance to save his hide. The motor boat had been repaired, and in it were three or four of the men concerned in the timber thefts. Among them was Jean’s brother Baptiste.
Swimming under water, the halfbreed made for the craft. The men in the launch opened fire on the pursuers. A rope was thrown to Jean by his brother, which he grasped, and then without taking the time to haul him aboard, the boat put about and made for the other side of the lake.