Timbers
changed position. Sometimes the whole river seemed to start forward a
foot or so, but before the eye could catch the motion, it had again
frozen to immobility.
"That fetched the key logs, all right," said Welton, watching.
Then all at once about half the breast of the jam fell forward into the
stream. Bob uttered an involuntary cry. But the practised rivermen must
have foreseen this, for none were caught. At once the other logs at the
breast began to topple of their own accord into the stream. The splashes
threw the water high like the explosions of shells, and the thundering
of the falling and grinding timbers resembled the roar of artillery. The
pattern of the river changed, at first almost imperceptibly, then more
and more rapidly. The logs in the centre thrust forward, those on the
wings hung back. Near the head of the jam the men worked like demons.
Wherever the timbers caught or hesitated for a moment in their slow
crushing forward, there a dozen men leaped savagely, to jerk, heave and
pry with their heavy peavies. Continually under them the footing
shifted; sullen logs menaced them with crushing or complete engulfment
in their grinding mill.
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