ins toiling without sleep or rest; racing against the
gathering cohorts of a Nature turned vandal, and into the fight and
stress he had thrown himself and all his energies.

That there was even the slimmest of chances to save the poplar, was a
fact due to a peculiar conformation of the levels there, and to
exceptional circumstances.

"Gin'rally we just rolls ther logs down hill when we cuts 'em an' lets
'em lay thar whar they falls in ther creek beds," McGivins had
explained. "Afore ther spring tide comes on with ther thaws an' rains,
we builds a splash dam back of 'em an' when we're ready we blows her
out an' lets 'em float on down ter ther nighest boom fer raftin'. Ef a
flood like this comes on they gits scattered, an' we jest kisses 'em
good-bye. Thet's happenin' right now all along these numerous small
creeks."

But McGivins had cut his timber near a river that could float not only
loose logs but rafts, and in a small lake-like basin hemmed in by
cliffs and separated by a gorge from the river he had gathered them and
bound them into three large rafts. Only such a stage as came with the
"tide" would convert the gorge into a water-way out, and only then wen
the great dam built across it had been dynamited.

Now came this flood, infinitely more powerful than the ordinary rise of
spring. The dam was threatened and must be strengthened and raised
higher. If it gave way, he too must "kiss his logs good-bye."

As the city man speculated on the odds against him Old Man McGivins
himself materialized at his elbow. His lips were tight-set and his
brow was furrowed. For him the situation savored of impending tragedy.
These trees had been reluctantly felled from a virgin tract of forest
heretofore unscarred by the axe, and they had been his long-hoarded
treasure. He had held on to them much as a miser holds to his savings
because he loved them. Even when Brent had offered a good price,
running well into thousands, he had wrestled with himself. When the
axes had rung and the saws whined through the scarlet and golden
autumn, it had almost seemed to him that he was executing living and
beloved friends. Now an inimical force of Nature threatened to rob him
of them and of his remuneration as well. Yet as he stood there, with
the sweat and grime of his labor drying on his forehead, his brooding
eyes held a patriarchal dignity of uncomplaining courage.

"All these hyar men air my neighbors, Mr. Brent," he said with