Among the latter Nan
spied Rafe.
"There he is, Uncle!" she cried. "Oh! He's jumped out on that
log, see?"
"He's all right, girl, he's all right," said Uncle Henry
comfortingly. "Rafe's got good calks on his boots."
The boy sprang from log to log, the calks making the chips fly,
and with a canthook pushed off a log that had caught and swung
upon a small bank. He did it very cleverly, and was back again,
across the bucking logs, in half a minute.
Below, the foreman himself was making for a grounded log, one of
the first of the drive. It had caught upon some snag, and was
swinging broadside out, into the stream. Let two or three more
timbers catch with it and there would be the nucleus of a jam
that might result in much trouble for everybody.
Tim Turner leaped spaces of eight and ten feet between the logs,
landing secure and safe upon the stranded log at last. With the
heavy canthook he tried to start it.
"That's a good man, Tim Turner," said Mr. "Sherwood, heartily.
"He's worked for me, isn't afraid of anything, Ha! But that's
wrong!" he suddenly exclaimed.
Turner had failed to start the stranded log. Other logs were
hurtling down the foam-streaked river, aimed directly for the
stranded one.
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