cadging" supplies to the camp that winter
and was a witness at first hand of what happened.

Morden and "Mike" McDonald were "bunkies" in a gang of river-drivers
that had been cutting logs on the Deer River near its junction with
the Magnetawan. Morden was the older, and had a wife and children in
the settlements "up north." He had been working his farm for a spell
and had gone back reluctantly to shantying because he needed the money
in a slack season. But he could see his way ahead now. When at night
they squatted by the fire in their log hut and took turns at the one
pipe they had between them, he spoke hopefully to his chum of the days
that were coming. Once this drive of logs was in, that was the end of
it for him. He would live like a man after that with the old woman and
the kids. Mike listened and smoked in silence. He was a man of few
words. But there was between them a strong bond of sympathy, despite
the disparity in their age and belief. McDonald was a Catholic and
single. Younger by ten years than the other, he was much the stronger
and abler, the athlete of a camp where there were no weaklings.

The water was low and the drive did not get through the lake until
spring was past and gone. It was a good week into June before the last
logs had gone over the canal rapids. The gang was preparing to follow,
to pitch camp on the spot where we were then sitting. Whether because
they didn't know the danger of it, or from a reckless determination to
take chances, the foreman with five of his men started to shoot the
rapids in the cook's punt. McDonald and Morden were of the venturesome
crew. They had not gone halfway before the punt was upset, and all six
were thrown out into the boiling waters. Five of them clung to the
slippery rocks and held on literally for life. Morden alone could not
swim. He went under, rose once, and floated head down past McDonald,
who was struggling to save himself. He put out a hand to grasp him,
but only tore the shirt from his back. The doomed man was whirled down
to sure death.

Just beyond were the most dangerous rocks with a tortuous fall, in
which the strongest swimmer might hardly hope to live. Nothing was
said; no words were wasted. Looking around from his own perilous
perch, the foreman saw Mike let go his hold and make after his
bunkie, swimming free with powerful strokes. The next moment the fall
swallowed both up. They were seen no more.

Three days they camped in the clear