ade a Boss;
and now, when he called for volunteers, every unmarried man in camp
responded, with the exception, of course, of Walley Johnson, whose
limited vision unfitted him for such a venture. The Boss chose Bird
Pigeon and Andy White, because they were not only "smart" axemen, but
also adepts in the river-men's games of "running logs."

With a jaunty air the two young men spat on their hands, gripped their
axes, and sprang out along the base of the jam. Every eye in camp was
fixed upon them with a fearful interest as they plied their heavy
blades. It was heroic, of a magnificence of valour seldom equalled on
any field, the work of these two, chopping coolly out there in the
daunting tumult, under that colossal front of death. Their duty was
nothing less than to bring the toppling brow of the jam down upon
them, yet cheat Fate at the last instant, if possible, by leaping to
shore before the chaos quite overwhelmed them.

Suddenly, while the two key-logs were not yet half cut through, the
trained eye of the Boss detected a settling near the top of the jam.
His yell of warning tore through the clamour of the waters. At the
instant came a vast grumbling, like underground thunder, not loud
apparently, yet dulling all other sounds. The two choppers sprang
wildly for shore, as the whole face of the jam seemed to crumble in a
breath.

At this moment a scream of terror was heard--and every heart stopped.
Some thirty yards or so upstream, and a dozen, perhaps, from shore,
stood Rosy-Lilly, on a log. While none were observing her she had
gleefully clambered out over the solid mass, looking for spruce-gums.
But now, when the logs moved, she was so terror-stricken that she
could not even try to get ashore. She just fell down upon her log, and
clung to it, screaming.

A groan of horror went up. The awful grinding of the break-up was
already under way. To every trained eye it was evident that there was
no human possibility of reaching the child, much less of saving her.
To attempt it would be such a madness as to jump into the hopper of a
mill. The crowd surged to the edge--and sprang back as the nearest
logs bounded up at them. Except Walley Johnson. He leaped wildly out
upon the nearest logs, fell headforemost, and was dragged back,
fighting furiously, by a dozen inexorable hands.

Just as Johnson went down, there arose a great bellowing cry of rage
and anguish; then Red McWha's big form shot past, leaping far out upon
the