Big Junko leaned forward to obey, kicking strongly his caulks into the barked surface of the boom log.The spikes, worn blunt by the river work already accomplished, failed to grip.Big Junko slipped, caught himself by an effort, overbalanced in the other direction, and fell into the stream.The current at once swept him away, but fortunately in such a direction that he was enabled to catch the slanting end of a "dead head" log whose lower end was jammed in the crib.The dead head was slippery, the current strong; Big Junko had no crevice by which to assure his hold.In another moment he would be torn away.
"Let go and swim!" shouted Thorpe.
"I can't swim," replied Junko in so low a voice as to be scarcely audible.
For a moment Thorpe stared at him.
"Tell Carrie," said Big Junko.
Then there beneath the swirling gray sky, under the frowning jam, in the midst of flood waters, Thorpe had his second great Moment of Decision.He did not pause to weigh reasons or chances, to discuss with himself expediency, or the moralities of failure.His actions were foreordained, mechanical.All at once the great forces which the winter had been bringing to power, crystallized into something bigger than himself or his ideas.The trail lay before him; there was no choice.
Now clearly, with no shadow of doubt, he took the other view: There could be nothing better than Love.Men, their works, their deeds were little things.Success was a little thing; the opinion of men a little thing.Instantly he felt the truth of it.
And here was Love in danger.That it held its moment's habitation in clay of the coarser mould had nothing to do with the great elemental truth of it.For the first time in his life Thorpe felt the full crushing power of an abstraction.Without thought, instinctively, he threw before the necessity of the moment all that was lesser.It was the triumph of what was real in the man over that which environment, alienation, difficulties had raised up within him.
At Big Junko's words, Thorpe raised his hammer and with one mighty blow severed the chains which bound the ends of the booms across the opening.The free end of one of the poles immediately swung down with the current in the direction of Big Junko.Thorpe like a cat ran to the end of the boom, seized the giant by the collar, and dragged him through the water to safety.
"Run!" he shouted."Run for your life!"
The two started desperately back, skirting the edge of the logs which now the very seconds alone seemed to hold back.They were drenched and blinded with spray, deafened with the crash of timbers settling to the leap.The men on shore could no longer see them for the smother.The great crush of logs had actually begun its first majestic sliding motion when at last they emerged to safety.
At first a few of the loose timbers found the opening, slipping quietly through with the current; then more; finally the front of the jam dove forward; and an instant later the smooth, swift motion had gained its impetus and was sweeping the entire drive down through the gap.
Rank after rank, like soldiers charging, they ran.The great fierce wind caught them up ahead of the current.In a moment the open river was full of logs jostling eagerly onward.Then suddenly, far out above the uneven tossing skyline of Superior, the strange northern "loom," or mirage, threw the specters of thousands of restless timbers rising and falling on the bosom of the lake.
Chapter LVI
They stood and watched them go.
"Oh, the great man! Oh, the great man! murmured the writer, fascinated.
The grandeur of the sacrifice had struck them dumb.They did not understand the motives beneath it all; but the fact was patent.
Big Junko broke down and sobbed.
After a time the stream of logs through the gap slackened.In a moment more, save for the inevitably stranded few, the booms were empty.A deep sigh went up from the attentive multitude.
"She's GONE!" said one man, with the emphasis of a novel discovery;and groaned.
Then the awe broke from about their minds, and they spoke many opinions and speculations.Thorpe had disappeared.They respected his emotion and did not follow him.
"It was just plain damn foolishness;--but it was great!" said Shearer."That no-account jackass of a Big Junko ain't worth as much per thousand feet as good white pine."Then they noticed a group of men gathering about the office steps, and on it someone talking.Collins, the bookkeeper, was ****** a speech.
Collins was a little hatchet-faced man, with straight, lank hair, nearsighted eyes, a timid, order-loving disposition, and a great suitability for his profession.He was accurate, unemotional, and valuable.All his actions were as dry as the saw-dust in the burner.
No one had ever seen him excited.But he was human; and now his knowledge of the Company's affairs showed him the dramatic contrast.
HE KNEW! He knew that the property of the firm had been mortgaged to the last dollar in order to assist expansion, so that not another cent could be borrowed to tide over present difficulty.He knew that the notes for sixty thousand dollars covering the loan to Wallace Carpenter came due in three months; he knew from the long table of statistics which he was eternally preparing and comparing that the season's cut should have netted a profit of two hundred thousand dollars--enough to pay the interest on the mortgages, to take up the notes, and to furnish a working capital for the ensuing year.These things he knew in the strange concrete arithmetical manner of the routine bookkeeper.Other men saw a desperate phase of firm rivalry;he saw a struggle to the uttermost.Other men cheered a rescue: he thrilled over the magnificent gesture of the Gambler scattering his stake in largesse to Death.
It was the ****** turning of the hand from full breathed prosperity to lifeless failure.
