“Yes, I see a man,” declared George. “There he is, right under the big log that sticks out. Gee whiz! Did you see that one rise right up on end and sail past his head?”
They landed and ran along the bank until they drew near the spot. At the foot of the towering pyramid a red-shirted man was balancing on a slippery log and prying and pulling with all his might in an effort to free the log which was the key of the jam. Each moment he stayed there he was risking death from the grinding, crunching, splintering logs which the river was raising on end and throwing into the pile behind him. Calm and undismayed by his peril, he turned a flushed, perspiring face and called to Ben:
“Hey, run back up the trail a piece, till you see a box nailed to a big white pine. You’ll find a telephone inside. Tell ’em to send some men down here, quick, an’ to stop shovin’ in any more sticks till we git this straightened out.”
Bidding the boys remain where they were, Ben ran up the trail on his important errand. Anxious to help the plucky lumberman, but knowing themselves powerless, the boys, fearful but fascinated, could only stand and watch the reckless worker out there in that inferno of flying logs.
A great black hulk rose from the foaming water, shot into the air, and came straight at him. An exclamation of horror came from the white-faced spectators on shore. His quick eye and alert brain proved equal to the emergency, however, and he jumped back and just escaped being crushed. A cheer sounded from the lads on the bank, and the “lumber-jack” turned and waved his appreciation.
“It’s ‘Shorty’ Brundage, the champion jam-breaker!” cried Ed.
They watched him in awed silence while he went on with his hazardous task. Dodging and climbing, he seemed to escape destruction by simply the luck for which he was noted. Above him towered the great mass of piled logs. Should it give way, he would be buried beneath an avalanche. On each side great logs shot past within reach of his arm. Below, the river caught and tugged at his legs in an effort to sweep him to destruction. Still he worked on, his one thought the breaking of the jam and the clearing of the stream.
Suddenly he slipped, lost his balance, and fell into the swirling, foam-tossed water. They saw him reappear, a long, red streak showing down the side of his pallid face. He made a desperate effort to climb upon the log from which he had fallen; but two floating timbers caught him between them, and with a despairing gesture “Shorty” collapsed. Half in the water, half across one of the logs, he was in peril of being crushed to a pulp by the massive logs which reared themselves from the water and crashed down on all sides of him.
For a moment the boys stood paralyzed with horror. Then they realized that they were standing there without an effort to save the unconscious man. There was one startled glance at the towering log pile, the raging, white-capped water, and the crashing logs. Then their gaze settled on the helpless red-shirted figure in deadly danger. Instantly they made their choice. With white, set faces the lads ran down the bank and along the edge of the racing water toward the jam.
Out along the top of a slippery log they crawled, one behind the other. They dared not stand erect, for fear of falling into the seething, log-studded pool beneath. The noise was terrific. In some places the raging torrent surged above their waists and threatened to sweep them from the log.