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Down the banks and through the brush he tore at the end of his rope, clinging desperately, trying at every solid tree to stop the career of his runaway, but in every instance being forced by the danger of jamming his hands to let go. Again he lost his derby. The landscape was a blur. Dimly he made out the howls of laughter as the outfit passed a group of rivermen.
Each had clung to his peavey, as is the habit of rivermen. Down the current past their feet swept the debris of flood. Soon logs began to swirl by, at first few, then many from the remaining rollways which the river had automatically broken. In a little time the eddy caught up some of these logs, and immediately the inception of another jam threatened.
He made a rapid excursion to the boom camp, whence he returned with thirty or forty of the men who had given up work on the jam below. "Here, boys," said he, "you can at least keep these logs moving in this channel for a couple of hours. This isn't dangerous." He spoke quite without sarcastic intent; but the rivermen, already over their first panic, looked at each other a trifle shamefacedly.
A group of three small log-cabins marked the Johnson, and later the Heinzman, camp. From the chimneys a smoke arose. Twenty or thirty rivermen lounged about the sunny side of the largest structure. They had evidently just arrived, for some of their "turkeys" were still piled outside the door.
"There's no reason you and I shouldn't get along together all right. Maybe we're both a little hard-headed. Let's talk it over." He led the old man ashore, and out of earshot of the rivermen. At the end of ten minutes he returned. "War's over, boys!" he shouted cheerfully. "Get in and break that jam." At once the crew swarmed across the log barrier to a point above the centre pier.
"They have now finished hauling their logs to the river," Joe told Steve one night after a prolonged scouting trip. "They are turning their attention to their float dams, now!" And when that news was relayed to the big man who never ceased to watch he understood why there had been no violence when the rivermen went on strike.
In a few moments the danger was averted, the logs ran free. The rivermen thereupon made their uncertain way back to shore, where they took the river trail up stream again to their respective posts. At noon they ate lunches they had brought with them in little canvas bags, snatched before they left the rollways from a supply handy by the cook.
"They'll have a fine time doing any paddling or steering around here in this race track," suggested Norman gruffly. "How are they goin' to show 'em off? But what do they look like?" "They're not wearing Indian togs much," explained Roy, taking a seat by his friend, "and I've never seen real old full-blood Indian rivermen, but I know these fellows look like 'em.
Then, clean, vigorous, fresh, but somewhat chilly, he packed away his toilet things and started for camp. Whereupon, for the first time, he became aware of one of the rivermen, pipe clenched between his teeth, watching him sardonically. Bob nodded, and made as though to pass. "Oh, bub!" said the older man. Bob stopped.
I am a pioneer; a borderman is an Indian hunter, or scout. For years my cabins housed Andrew Zane, Sam and John McCollock, Bill Metzar, and John and Martin Wetzel, all of whom are dead. Not one saved his scalp. Fort Henry is growing; it has pioneers, rivermen, soldiers, but only two bordermen. Wetzel and Jonathan are the only ones we have left of those great men."
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