Thurston felt as if his lungs were bursting, his heart throbbed painfully, and something drummed deafeningly inside his head. His vision grew hazy, and he could scarcely see the widening gap in the rough bark into which the trenchant steel cut. It was evident that the steadily increasing jam would rub the bridge piers out of existence long before any two men could hew half way through the great trunk, but, fortunately, the log was now bending like a fully-drawn bow, and the pressure would burst it asunder when a little more of its circumference had been chopped into. So, choking and blinded with perspiration, Geoffrey smote on mechanically, until the man from Mattawa said, "She's about busted."
Just then there was a clamor from the watchers on the piers. Men shouted, "Come back." "Whole jam's starting!" "King log's yielding now!" "Jump for your lives before the wreckage breaks away with you!"
Mattawa Tom leapt shorewards from moving log to log, but for a few moments Thurston, who scarcely noticed his absence, chopped on alone. Filled with the lust of conflict, he remembered only that it was necessary to make sure of victory before he relaxed an effort. Thrice more in succession he whirled the heavy ax above his head, while, with a sharp snapping of fibers, the fir trunk yielded beneath his feet. Flinging his ax into the river he stood erect, breathless, a moment too late. The logs behind the one which perilously supported him were creeping forward ready for the mad rush that must follow a few seconds later.
There remained now but one poor chance of escape and he seized it instinctively. Springing along the sinking trunk, he threw himself clear of it into the river, while running men jostled each other as they surged toward the side of the timber when he sank. A wet head broke the surface, a swinging left hand followed it. The swimmer clutched the edge of a loosely-fitted beam, and held it until strong hands reached down to him. Some gripped his wet fingers, some the back of his coat, one even clutched his hair. There was a heave, then a scramble, and, amid hoarse cheers, the rescued man fell over backwards among his rescuers.
Thurston, who stood up dripping, said, somewhat shakily: "Ah, you were only just in time! I'm vastly grateful to you all."
The last words were lost in a deafening crash as the jam broke up, and the giant logs drove through the opening, thrashing the river into foam. The tree-trunks ground against one another, or smote the slide casing with a thunderous shock; but the stone-backed timber stood the strain, and when the clamor of the passage of the logs ceased, a heavy stillness brooded over the camp as the river grew empty again.
Thurston sought out the man from Mattawa. Laying a wet hand upon his shoulder he said: "Thank you, Tom. I won't forget the assistance you rendered me."
"That's all right," answered the brawny ax-man, awkwardly. "I get my wages safe and regular, and I've tackled as tough a contract for a worse master before."
There was no chance for further speech. Davies, who owned the saw-mill lower down stream, reined in a lathered horse, close by. "Where have all my logs gone to?" he asked. "My foreman roused me to say only a few dozen had brought up in the boom, and as the boys were running them down by scores I figured they'd piled up against your bridge. I don't see any special chaos about here, though you look as if you had been in swimming; but what in the name of thunder have you done with the logs?"
"They're on their way down river," Thurston replied, dryly. "We had some trouble with them which necessitated my taking a bath. But see here, what made you turn a two-hundred-foot red fir loose among them?"