, they had no difficulty in finding the gate-levers, but these
were heavy, necessarily so, operating somewhat after the manner of a
sweep in an old-fashioned well.

Tom and Hippy threw themselves upon one of the two big levers that
operated the gates, and began tugging with all their strength. In the
meantime Willy Horse had reached the lumberjacks' bunk-house.

"Dam go out! Water come down!" he shouted to make himself heard. "Big
Boss say come quick."

The fiddler ceased playing, and the dancers gazed at the Indian, not
fully understanding.

"Water come down! Come quick! Run!"

This time they understood. Uttering a shout the jacks burst out through
the narrow doorway, and ran for the river, followed by the Overland
girls on flying feet, and meeting Joe Shafto on the way to the scene of
the disaster.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE RIOT OF THE LOGS

"We'll have to be quick!" shouted Tom to make himself heard above the
roaring of the waters. "Beardown hard!"

"I can't. I'm slipping!" gasped Hippy.

"The gates are moving! Keep it up!"

The two men struggled and fought, gaining a few inches at a time but not
enough to permit the jam of logs that was rushing down the stream to
pass through the gates in the flood.

At this juncture the Overland girls and the jacks came running down the
bank. They saw the two men struggling with the gates, and at the same
instant they saw something else. In the reflected light of the moon,
they saw a white crest sweeping around a bend in the river, hurling logs
into the air, which came tumbling and shooting ahead like huge black
projectiles. A warning scream from the girls was unheard by either of
the struggling men. A dozen lumberjacks leaped to the cap-log to go to
the assistance of Tom and Hippy, who they knew were in great peril.

"Come back! Boys, come back! You can't help them now," cried Grace in an
agony of apprehension.

"The fools! Why don't they run?" raged Joe Shafto, and the pet bear
growled in sympathy with her at the unusual sounds.

It was a terrifying moment for those who could do no more than stand
helplessly watching. The jacks by this time were well out on the
cap-log, with Willy Horse in the lead and red-headed Spike close at his
heels. They were suddenly halted by a report that sounded like an
explosion of heavy artillery.

An advance log, rushing straight towards the gates, swerved when within
a few feet of them, and, rearing half its dripping length, h