“Will she break up, Cap’n?” Bob shouted.
“Dunno, she may hold together and she may not,” was the unsatisfactory reply.
At that moment the farther end of the big raft struck the beach and with a grinding crash the logs began to pile up as the wind drove them forward. At the same instant the captain slipped the last coil of the rope from the snubbling post and the boat, freed from its drag, leaped forward.
CHAPTER III
WHERE IS THE COMET?
From Moosehead Lake to Waterville, by the way of the Kennebec River, is about one hundred miles. A log, starting from the lake and making the trip without a stop, would make the trip in from two to three days. The annual drive of logs, comprising upward of 100,000,000, usually starts the first of May, and on account of jams and other delays, it is usually a matter of several weeks before a given log reaches its destination.
The boys knew that their father had been very anxious to get that particular raft of logs over the dam and started down the river at the earliest possible moment, as the contract called for delivery of not less than ten thousand logs by the first of June.
“It’s too bad we couldn’t have got across with that raft,” Bob declared a few minutes later, after he had returned to the engine room accompanied by Jack and the captain. “What are we going to do now?” he asked, as he removed his dripping coat.
“I told Joe to head her back to the camp,” the captain replied. “It’ll prob’ly take several days ter git them logs off the island ready ter tow agin, an’ knowin’ as how yer dad is in a hurry, it’ll be quicker ter start with another one soon’s this storm blows out.”
It was as Jack declared, “dark enough to cut with a knife,” by the time they reached the wharf. The rain had ceased and the wind had nearly died down. A few stars were visible, dimly peeking through the rifts in the clouds, giving promise of a fair day on the morrow.
Tom Bean was on the wharf as Cap’n Seth carefully warped the steamer in.