Scott Burton, Forester

by Edward G. Cheyney

Ormand had ridden logs a little the summer before while his class was at Itasca Park and the ease with which Greenleaf rode that particular log piqued him into a desire to show his skill. He knew it was a ticklish undertaking and one not likely to add much to his credit but nerve was not among the things he lacked and he was willing to take the chance. When Greenleaf jumped ashore Ormand grasped the pole boldly and sprang onto the log with apparent confidence. He landed squarely on the center of the log, which, propelled by his momentum, glided smoothly out into the stream. His success astonished him more than it did the others who did not know how little experience he had had. Had the log been straight and had fate not doomed it to strike a snag in the river Ormand might have landed successfully with a brilliant reputation as a riverman. But it was decreed otherwise.

As soon as the log floated out of the eddies near the shore it was caught by the current and turned down stream, but it was still working out toward the center of the river. Ormand did not like this for he knew that his success so far was due almost entirely to luck, and he did not want to tempt providence too far. He began paddling with the pole in an attempt to work the log back toward the shore. He was making a little progress but his work with the pole had a tendency to make the log turn slowly over in the water. He moved cautiously to keep on top and was a little surprised when the log stopped twisting as though one side of it were weighted. The other boys on the shore were cheering and keeping pace with the log, each eager for his turn to come. Just as Ormand was beginning to have hopes of making a graceful landing the center of the log touched a snag which was fast to the bottom of the river. The log twisted slowly a few inches in the same direction as before and then suddenly whirled over like a thing bewitched. Ormand was not looking for the sudden change of speed. His feet were jerked from under him and he fell backwards into the river. A shout of laughter arose from the boys on the shore for they knew Ormand was a good swimmer and considered it a huge joke to see him ducked.

Scott alone had noticed that Ormand’s head had seemed to strike the log as he fell and when he did not see him come up immediately he dived into the river without hesitation much to the surprise of the others. Scott was a splendid swimmer and even encumbered with his heavy shoes and his clothes he covered the fifty feet between the log and the shore in a few powerful strokes.

“Have you seen him?” he called to the boys on the shore.

“No,” yelled Morgan, now thoroughly scared, “he has not come up yet.”

Scott dived beside the snag and came up almost immediately with Ormand grasped firmly by the collar. He swam straight for the shore with his burden.

Greenleaf’s experience on the drive helped him now. “You help them out,” he called to Morgan, “while I build a fire.” He dashed back to the timber at the edge of the grass swamp and collected some wood.

In spite of Scott’s best efforts the current carried him quite a way down the stream. It was hard work and he was glad when Morgan relieved him by grasping the unconscious Ormand and, dragging him out on solid ground, lent him a helping hand. Together they carried the limp body to the fire.

Greenleaf, who had seen several such cases on the river, immediately took charge. “First we must get the water out of him,” he said, and turning Ormand on his face he grasped him around the waist and raised his body.

“Pull his tongue out, Scotty,” he said.