It was all over in a few minutes, and where a short time before had been a scene of swiftly moving logs, now there was no motion visible, only a confused mass reaching from shore to shore, hiding the water, and stationary.
To be sure only at the head and reaching back a distance of some thirty feet were the logs piled up to any extent. Back of them the logs had been brought to a stop more gently and had not “climbed.” But it was bad enough and both boys looked sober as they waited for Jean, who was rapidly making his way across the logs toward them.
“I tink we hav’ one mess, oui,” he declared, as he joined them.
“I know it,” Bob agreed. “What are you going to do?”
“Mebby one log hold ’em,” he said, as he waved his hand to the rest of the crew who were still some distance away. “We find heem an’ geet heem loose, all the logs go mebby. No find heem we hav’ use der powder.”
As soon as the rest of the crew came up, they started for the middle of the river.
“She one ver’ bad jam,” Jean declared, as they reached the very front of the drive.
For an hour they all worked, first at one log and then at another, hoping to locate one which would prove to be the “key.” Several times they thought they had hit it as, a log being pried loose, they were conscious of a quiver in the mass. But each time it was a false alarm, and at the end of the hour Jean declared that it was no use to try any longer.
He called to Bob, who at the moment was a little to his right, and as soon as he came to his side he said:
“I tink we put ’bout three sticks right dar,” pointing to a place where several logs were closely massed together, “mebby she start, hey?”