t 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.

Dennis, in attempting this, had slipped upon the rock, and his heavy
boot had been caught and held between the log and the rock. Below was
a boiling rapid; above the river swirled in a heavy, oily mass.
Dennis, to save his life, held tight on to the rock. He was in the
position of the drunken Scot who dared not abandon his grip of the
rail of the refreshment bar, because if he let go he would fall down,
and if he did not let go he must miss his train. Dennis held on with
both hands. If he endeavoured to unfasten his boot, he would be swept
into the rapid; if he did not let go, and none came to his rescue, the
log would grind his leg to powder.

Tom happened to see him and plunged into the river. Dennis had crawled
on to the rock from the other side, a feat easily achievable. Tom
might have gone round; any other man in the camp would have done so.
The odds were slightly against his reaching the rock, for the river
was running like a mill-race.

Five minutes later both men, dripping wet, were safely ashore, and the
log was careering down stream!

"Ye've saved my life," gasped Dennis.

"Never seen such a blamed fool as you in all my days," replied Tom, as
he stared savagely into Dennis's mild blue eyes. "You'd hurt yerself
rockin' a baby's cradle, you would. 'Bout time you quit men's work,
ain't it?"

"Not yet," said Dennis.

During these weeks upon the river Dennis had not seen anything of
Mamie. Tom Barker, as supreme boss, visited all crews, and then
returned to his wife, with either a leer or a frown upon his face. She
had come to loathe the leer more than the frown. In the different
camps the boys told the same story--

"He knocks the stuffin' out of her!"

The stay-at-home Briton, warm with roast beef and indigestion, will
wonder that one man amongst a hundred should be suffered to ill-treat
a thin, dough-faced little woman. Why did they not arise and slaughter
him? Had Tom stolen a colt in the cattle-country he would have been
lynched. Let publicists resolve the problem!

Finally, one Sund