But at this instant a faint clear whistle sounded from about the wooded bend of the river above.
"Boat coming," said North, "Clear out of the way, boys."
He began at once to operate the winch which drew the long slanting swing boom out of the channel, for the River was navigable water, and must not be obstructed. In a moment appeared the Lucy Belle, a shallow-draught, flimsy-looking double decker, with two slim smokestacks side by side connected by a band of fancy grill-work, a walking beam, two huge paddle boxes and much white paint. She sheered sidewise with the current around the bend, and headed down upon them accompanied by a vast beating of paddle wheels. Bobby could soon make out atop the walking-beam, the swaying iron Indian with bent bow, and the piles of slabs which constituted the Lucy Belle's fuel. Almost immediately she was passing, within ten feet or so of the hut. The water boiled and eddied among the piles, rushing in and sucking back. A fat, ruddy-faced man in official cap and citizen's clothes leaned over the rail.
"Well, you made her to-day," shouted North.
"Bet ye," called the man with a grin. "Only aground once."
The Lucy Belle swept away with an air of pride. She made the trip to and from Redding, forty miles up the River, twice a week. Sometimes she came through in a day. Oftener she ran aground.
Now Bobby reverted to his original idea.
"I'd like to walk on the logs," said he.
"Well, come on, then," said Jimmy Powers.
They retraced their steps along the booms until near the shore.