BERTIE AND GERTRUDE
"Those young fellows are lost!"
Such was the cry from more than one old lumberman standing on the river bank, as Dale and Owen disappeared from view amid the flying spray and upheaving timbers of the log jam.
That it was a dangerous position, fully as perilous as that from which old Herrick had emerged but a short while before, was beyond question. The drive behind was extra large, and the logs were piling up with a rapidity almost indescribable.
As Dale went down, flat on his back on two of the largest of the logs, he gave a shudder he could not repress. Like a flash he had a mental vision of being hurled under the drive, and of the others finding his crushed body long afterwards—his body and that of his chum, too.
But life is sweet to every one, and Dale did not intend to give up without a struggle. As quickly as he could he turned over, and clutching at a log that was rising above the others, he pulled himself up. Then his arm touched Owen's shoulder, and he grabbed his chum.
"Get up, quick!" he gasped. "We must get to shore somehow, or we'll go under!"
"All right, come on!" came pantingly from Owen, and off they started across the logs.
The drive was shifting in all directions, and logs rose and fell in front and on each side of them. Often they would be on the point of taking a step, when the log would bob out of sight, leaving nothing but water in its place. Then a timber would turn on them just as they hopped to another. Once Dale straddled a log, but Owen got him up in time to save him from having his leg crushed. So they kept on, gradually drawing closer to the shore.