"Dennis Brown knows that I think the world of
that cur."
Within a fortnight, by an admittedly amazing coincidence, Dennis, the
man, was caught in a precisely similar fashion. As a "river-driver"
Dennis was beginning to "catch on." But he had not yet learned what he
could or could not do. River-drivers wear immense boots, heavily
spiked. Dennis upon this occasion had been sent with a crew to what is
technically called "sweep the river" after a regular drive. Such logs
as have wandered ashore, or been hung up in back eddies, are collected
and sent on to join the others. This is hard work, but exciting, and
not without its humours. Certain obstinate logs have to be coaxed down
the river. It would almost seem as if they knew the fate that awaited
them in the saw-pits, and in every fibre of their being exercised an
instinct for self-preservation. For instance, a log may refuse to pass
a certain rock in the river which has offered no obstruction whatever
to other logs. Then the lumberman, armed with his long pole, with its
spike to push and its sharp hook to pull, must reach that rock and
pull and prod the recalcitrant traveller on his appointed way.
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