“Charlie’s stirred them up! Hurrah! Who-oo-p! This way!” Tom shrieked. His voice could not have carried half the distance, but almost immediately a second fire flared up. The men ashore could hardly have been able to see the raft, and Tom had no means of making a light, but they would surely know that it would drift down wind. Tom saw the distant scurrying of figures about the shore, and presently a boat pushed off, and then another.
He lost sight of them, but they must have come fast and rowed hard, with the wind behind them. In ten minutes he heard shouts, and he shouted back to give his direction. There was a rattle of oars, and the excited murmur of men’s voices. He saw the boats now, heaving high and low on the waves, and the leading one steered up alongside. Tom hooked it with a pike-pole; the men caught hold, and Mr. Jackson scrambled actively aboard the raft, followed by Joe Lynch and two more men.
“That you, Tom?” cried Mr. Jackson. “Are you all right? How’s the raft?”
“Pretty near breaking up,” Tom shouted back. “I’m all right—a little wet. Tell you about it later. Must get the raft fastened together.”
Mr. Jackson gave Tom’s arm a rough, affectionate squeeze. “Good for you, old boy! We’ll save the timber—don’t fear. Lynch, get the men—”
Big Joe had not needed any orders. With his two men he was already at work on the raft timbers. The other boat came up at this moment, with four more men in her. Lynch ordered two of them to row back to camp at once and bring out all the rope, chain, spikes, and pieces of heavy plank they could lay hands on, for Tom had already used up nearly all the loose material aboard.
That left a crew of five men. They had a doubtful fight before them, for the raft was laboring under the full force of the wind, out in the open lake, and it was already weakened at every joint. But the lumbermen set vigorously to work. In their spiked boots they raced over the shifting logs, retwisting withes, and lashing and spiking cross-bars with a skill that produced more effect than Tom’s inexpert efforts.
Tom still took his share of the work, and so did Mr. Jackson. The lumber dealer ran over the raft as fearlessly and almost as actively as any of the men, encouraging them, taking in the needs of each spot with a quick glance, using ax and pike-pole himself whenever he could. The break-up of the raft seemed checked; the fight seemed a winning one. No more cribs had escaped, and, though the whole framework was badly strained, it seemed capable of holding together at least until the boat came off with more men and material.
But there was no relaxation of effort. Unexpectedly half a dozen of the withed walnut logs broke loose, rolled off the raft, and, being already saturated, went to the bottom almost like stones. All the rope and chain was used up, but the lumbermen brought up more withes and proceeded to make the rest more secure. Tom and his father were bending over among a group of men who bent a thick ironwood sapling. The butt of it was pegged into a huge auger-hole in the lower framework, and it was to be twisted over the walnut and down into the loading timbers beneath. The men put all their brawny arms into it, when the walnut log rolled suddenly with a heave of the raft. The butt of the withe slipped and flew up with the force of a catapult. It touched one man on the shoulder and sent him sprawling, and the full force of it seemed to catch Mr. Jackson on the side of the head. He reeled over, and went off backward into the water.
There was a shout of alarm. Tom poised himself at the edge of the raft, ready to plunge if he should see his father’s head come up. The rest stood ready with pike-poles, but moment and moment passed, and they saw nothing.