"He's pluck enough," said one.
"He's mad to try it," murmured some of the others sullenly.
The shadow had reached the rock. He laid the pole down at his feet, gave one glance upstream, and stood ready. The axe-head flashed in the air, the echo of the stroke rang from the steep banks. A second blow, and a third—and then dead silence for a moment.
The men on the shore stood bending forward, straining their eyes to see.
The shadow by the rock stood up, grasping his pole, thrust the point lightly into one of the tangled baulks, and pressed with his left hand against the haft. The right hand went up once more, the axe flashed and fell. A thud as the blade came down, and a faint rushing sound….
The men on the bank held their breath and leaned forward again.
The shadow turned once more and cast a long, searching glance up the stream. The right arm swung high, the axe flashed again….
A shrill, seething roar, like that of a rocket, was heard. The mass of timber crashed and groaned, the water thundered like a beast in fury.
The shadow darted like an arrow over the shifting logs, slanting upstream and towards the shore. He was half across the fairway now, the pole swung round, the lithe body made a lightning turn, and he was borne downstream at a furious pace.
Suddenly he lost his footing, fell, and disappeared.