Another shot followed. But the marksman was evidently shooting at random, and without having a target. At any rate, the logger kept right on creeping toward the shack, and it began to look as though he were bound to get there, too.
But would he be successful in getting the logs to burn?
Jack was rather inclined to doubt it, though of course much depended on whether they were fairly dry, or wet with the spray that may have dashed up over the raft when the wind, being up-river, had made a choppy sea.
“What if the whole blooming raft goes up in smoke?” was the awful suggestion which Josh put forward.
George laughed out loud, it seemed to strike him as so absurd.
“Yes, and worse still, Josh, whatever will we do if we set the river on fire? They’ll certainly have it in for us, believe me. But one thing sure, no danger of you ever setting the river afire with any scheme you think up.”
“Shucks! I don’t believe it’ll work a cent,” remarked Josh. “’Cording to my calculations it’d take more’n that kindlin’ to set logs a-goin’.”
“Don’t forget the oiled rags, Josh,” said George, tauntingly; “yes, and the little bottle of gasolene I let our friend have. Seems to me all that’s going to build up some fire. And as for the rest we’ll have to trust to luck. Perhaps it’ll catch fire, and again she may kick and balk.”
“Like some engines we know about, f’r instance,” Josh wound up with.
“You never saw a motor do better than mine did coming down river, and you know it. I have had a lot of trouble with the thing in the past; but that’s all over now; and I’m on Easy Street with my dandy Wireless. Oh! you can laugh all you want to, Josh, but wait and see.”