XLIV
By noon of the following day, Port Agnew was astounded by news broughtby the crew of one of the light draft launches used to tow log raftsdown the river. Donald McKaye was working for Darrow. He was theirraftsman; he had been seen out on the log boom, pike pole in hand,shoving logs in to the endless chain elevator that drew them up to theseas. As might be imagined, Mrs. Daney was among the first to gleanthis information, and to her husband she repeated it at luncheon withevery evidence of pleasure.
"Tut, tut, woman," he replied carelessly, "this is no news to me. Hetold me yesterday after service that he had the job."
The familiar wrinkle appeared for an instant on the end of her nosebefore she continued: "I wonder what The Laird thinks of that,Andrew?"
"So do I," he parried skilfully.
"Does he know it?"
"There isn't a soul in Port Agnew with sufficient courage to tellhim."
"Why do you not tell him?"
"None of my business. Besides, I do not hanker to see people squirmwith suffering."
She wrinkled her nose once more and was silent.
As Mr. Daney had declared, there was none in Port Agnew possessed ofsufficient hardihood to inform the Laird of his son's lowly status andit was three weeks before he discovered it for himself. He had goneup the river to one of his logging camps and the humor had seized himto make the trip in a fast little motor-boat he had given Donald atChristmas many years' before. He was busy adjusting the carburetor,after months of disuse, as he passed the Darrow log boom in themorning, so he failed to see his big son leaping across the logs,balancing himself skilfully with the pike pole.
It was rather late when he started home and in the knowledge thatdarkness might find him well up the river he hurried.
Now, from the Bight of Tyee to a point some five miles above Darrow,the Skookum flows in almost a straight line; the few bends are wideand gradual, and when The Laird came to this home-stretch he urged theboat to its maximum speed of twenty-eight miles per hour. Many a timein happier days he had raced down this long stretch with Donald at thehelm, and he knew the river thoroughly; as he sped along he steeredmechanically, his mind occupied in a consideration of the dishonorthat had come upon his clan.
The sun had already set as he came roaring down a wide deep stretchnear Darrow's mill; in his preoccupation he forgot that hiscompetitor's log boom stretched across the river fully two-thirds ofits width; that he should throttle down, swerve well to starboard andavoid the field of stored logs. The deep shadows cast by the suckergrowth and old snags along the bank blended with the dark surface ofthe log boom and prevented him from observing that he was headed forthe heart of it; the first intimation he had of his danger came tohim in a warning shout from the left bank--a shout that rose above theroar of the exhaust.
"Jump! Overboard! Quickly! The log boom!"
Old Hector awoke from his bitter reverie. He, who had once been ariver hog, had no need to be told of the danger incident to abruptprecipitation into the heart of that log boom, particularly when itwould presently be gently agitated by the long high "bone" the racingboat carried in her teeth. When logs weighing twenty tons come gentlytogether--even when they barely rub against each other, nothing livingcaught between them may survive.
The unknown who warned him was right. He must jump overboard and takehis chance in the river, for it was too late now to slow down and puthis motor in reverse. In the impending crash that was only a matter ofseconds, The Laird would undoubtedly catapult from the stern sheetsinto the water--and if he should drift in under the logs, knew theriver would eventually give up his body somewhere out in the Bight ofTyee. On the other hand, should he be thrown out on the boom he wouldstand an equal chance of being seriously injured by the impact orcrushed to death when his helpless body should fall between the logs.In any event the boat would be telescoped down to the cockpit and sinkat the edge of the log field.
He was wearing a heavy overcoat, for it was late in the fall, and hehad no time to remove it; not even time to stand up and dive clear. Sohe merely hurled his big body against the starboard gunwale andtoppled overboard--and thirty feet further on the boat struck with acrash that echoed up and down the river, telescoped and drove underthe log boom. It was not in right when old Hector rose puffing to thesurface and bellowed for help before starting to swim for the logboom.
The voice answered him instantly: "Coming! Hold On!"
Handicapped as he was with his overcoat, old Hector found it aprodigious task to reach the boom; as he clung to the boom-stick hecould make out the figure of a man with a pike pole coming toward himin long leaps across the logs. And then old Hector noticed somethingelse.
He had swum to the outer edge of the log boom and grasped the lightboom-stick, dozens of which, chained end to end, formed the floatingenclosure in which the log supply was stored. The moment he rested hisweight on this boom-stick, however, one end of it submergedsuddenly--wherefore The Laird knew that the impact of the motor-boathad broken a link of the boom and that this broken end was nowsweeping outward and downward, with the current releasing the millionsof feet of stored logs. Within a few minutes, provided he should keepafloat, he would be in the midst of these tremendous Juggernauts, for,clinging to the end of the broken boom he was gradually describing acircle on the outside of the log field, swinging from beyond themiddle of the river in to the left-hand bank; presently, when the boomshould have drifted its maximum distance he would be hung upstationary in deep water while the released logs bore down upon himwith the current and gently shoulder him into eternity.
He clawed his way along the submerging boom-stick to its other end,where it was linked with its neighbor, and the combined buoyancy ofboth boom-sticks was sufficient to float him.
"Careful," he called to the man leaping over the log-field towardhim. "The boom is broken! Careful, I tell you! The logs are movingout--they're slipping apart. Be careful."
Even as he spoke, The Laird realized that the approaching rescuerwould not heed him. He _had_ to make speed out to the edge of themoving logs; if he was to rescue the man clinging to the boom-stickshe must take a chance on those long leaps through the dusk; he _must_reach The Laird before too much open water developed between themoving logs.
Only a trained river man could have won to him in such a brief spaceof time; only an athlete could have made the last flying leap acrosssix feet of dark water to a four-foot log that was bearing gentlydown, butt first, on the figure clinging to the boom-stick. His caulksbit far up the side of the log and the force of his impact started itrolling; yet even as he clawed his way to the top of the log and gotit under control the iron head of his long pike pole drove into theboom-stick and fended The Laird out of harm's way; before the log theman rode could slip by, the iron had been released and the link ofchain between the two boom-sticks had been snagged with the pike hook,and both men drifted side by side.
"Safe--o," his rescuer warned Old Hector quietly. "Hang on. I'll keepthe logs away from you and when the field floats by I'll get youashore. We're drifting gradually in toward the bank below the mill."
The Laird was too chilled, too exhausted and too lacking in breath todo more than gasp a brief word of thanks. It seemed a long, long timethat he clung there, and it was quite dark when his rescuer spokeagain. "I think the last log has floated out of the booming ground.I'll swim ashore with you now, as soon as I can shuck my boots andmackinaw." A few minutes later he cried reassuringly, "All set,old-timer," and slid into the water beside The Laird. "Relax yourselfand do not struggle." His hands came up around old Hector's jaws fromthe rear. "Let go," he commanded, and the hard tow commenced. It wasall footwork and their progress was very slow, but eventually they wonthrough. As soon as he could stand erect in the mud the rescuerunceremoniously seized The Laird by the nape and dragged him high anddry up the bank.
"Now, then," he gasped, "I guess you can take care of yourself. Bettergo over to the mill and warm yourself in the furnace room. I've got tohurry away to 'phone th
e Tyee people to swing a dozen spare links oftheir log boom across the river and stop those runaways before theyescape into the Bight and go to sea on the ebb."
He was gone on the instant, clambering up the bank through the bushesthat grew to the water's edge; old Hector could hear his breath comingin great gasps as he ran.
"Must know that chap, whoever he is," The Laird soliloquized. "Thinkhe's worked for me some time or other. His voice sounds mightyfamiliar. Well--I'll look him up in the morning."
He climbed after his rescuer and stumbled away through the murk towardDarrow's mill. Arrived here he found the fireman banking the fires inthe furnace room and while he warmed himself one of them summonedBert Darrow from the mill office.
"Bert," The Laird explained, "I'd be obliged if you'd run me home inmore or less of a hurry in your closed car. I've been in the drink,"and he related the tale of his recent adventures. "Your raftsman savedmy life," he concluded. "Who is he? It was so dark before he got to meI couldn't see his face distinctly, but I think he's a young fellowwho used to work for me. I know because his voice sounds so veryfamiliar."
"He's a new hand, I believe. Lives in Port Agnew. I believe your manDaney can tell you his name," Darrow replied evasively.
"I'll ask Daney. The man was gone before I could recover enough breathto thank him for my life. Sorry to have messed up your boom, Bert, butwe'll stop the runaways at my boom and I'll have them towed back inthe morning. And I'll have a man put in a new boom-stick and connectit up again."
Bert Darrow set him down at the Tyee Lumber Company's office, and wetand chilled as he was, The Laird went at once to Mr. Daney's office.The latter was just leaving it for the day when The Laird appeared.
"Andrew," the latter began briskly. "I drove that fast motor-boat atfull speed into Darrow's boom on my way down river this evening; I'vehad a ducking and only for Darrow's raftsman you'd be closing down themill to-morrow out of respect to my memory. Bert Darrow says theirraftsman used to work for us; he's a new man with them and Bert saysyou know who he is."
"I think I know the man," Mr. Daney replied thoughtfully. "He's beenwith them about three weeks; resigned our employ a couple of weeksbefore that. I was sorry to lose him. He's a good man."
"I grant it, Andrew. He's the fastest, coolest hand that ever balanceda pike pole or rode a log. We cannot afford to let men like thatfellow get away from us for the sake of a little extra pay. Get himback on the pay-roll, Andrew, and don't be small with him. I'llremember him handsomely at Christmas, and see that I do not forgetthis, Andrew. What is his name?"
"Let me think." Mr. Daney bent his head, tipped back his hat andmassaged his brow before replying. "I think that when he worked forthe Tyee Lumber Company he was known as Donald McKaye."
He looked up. The old Laird's face was ashen. "Thank you, Andrew," hemanaged to murmur presently. "Perhaps you'd better let Darrow keep himfor a while. G--g--good-night!"
Outside, his chauffeur waited with his car. "Home--and be quick aboutit," he mumbled and crawled into the tonneau slowly and weakly. As thecar rolled briskly up the high cliff road to The Dreamerie, the oldman looked far below him to the little light that twinkled on theSawdust Pile.
"She'll have his dinner cooked for him now and be waiting and watchingfor him," he thought.
Kindred of the Dust Page 43
