hey had partitions around
them."

"Queer climate anyway," agreed Carpenter.

Excepting always for the mill, the little settlement appeared asleep.
The main booms were quite deserted. Not a single figure, armed with
its picturesque pike-pole, loomed athwart the distance. After awhile
Hamilton noticed something.

"Look here, Carpenter," said he, "what's happening out there? Have some
of your confounded logs SUNK, or what? There don't seem to be near so
many of them somehow."

"No, it isn't that," proffered Carpenter after a moment's scrutiny,
"there are just as many logs, but they are getting separated a little so
you can see the open water between them."

"Guess you're right. Say, look here, I believe that the river is
rising!"

"Nonsense, we haven't had any rain."

"She's rising just the same. I'll tell you how I know; you see that
spile over there near the left-hand crib? Well, I sat on the boom this
morning watching the crew, and I whittled the spile with my knife--you
can see the marks from here. I cut the thing about two feet above the
water. Look at it now."

"She's pretty near the water line, that's right," admitted Carpenter.

"I should think that might make the boys hot," commented Hamilton. "If
they'd known this was coming, they needn't have hustled so to get the
drive down.

"That's so," Wallace agreed.

About an hour later the younger man in his turn made a discovery.

"She's been rising right along," he submitted. "Your marks are nearer
the water, and, do you know, I believe the logs are beginning to feel
it. See, they've closed up the little openings between them, and they
are beginning to crowd down to the lower end of the pond."

"I don't know anything about this business," hazarded the journalist,
"but by the mere look of the thing I should think there was a good deal
of pressure on that same lower end. By Jove, look there! See those logs
up-end? I believe you're going to have a jam right here in your own
booms!"

"I don't know," hesitated Wallace, "I never heard of its happening."

"You'd better let someone know."

"I hate to bother Harry or any of the rivermen. I'll just step down to
the mill. Mason--he's our mill foreman--he'll know."

Mason came to the edge of the high trestle and took one look.

"Jumping fish-hooks!" he cried. "Why, the river's up six inches and
still a comin'! Here you, Tom!" he called to one of the yard hands, "you
tell Solly to get steam on that tug double