XVIII
PROPHETS OF EVIL
The difference between success and failure is sometimes only a hair'sbreadth, the turning of a hand, and although the man who loses isfrequently as deserving of commendation as the man who wins he seldomreceives it, and Bruce knew that this would be particularly true of hisattempt to shoot the dangerous rapids of the river with heavily loadedboats. If he accomplished the feat he would be lauded as a marvel ofnerve and skill and shrewdness, if he failed he would be known in theterse language of Meadows as "One crazy damn fool."
While the more conservative citizens of the mountain towns refrainedfrom publicly expressing their thoughts, a coterie known as the "OldTimers" left him in no doubt as to their own opinion of the attempt.Each day they came to the river bank as regularly as though they hadoffice-hours and stationed themselves on a pile of lumber near whereBruce caulked and tarred the seams of the three boats which were to makethe first trip through the rapids. They made Bruce think of so manyancient ravens, as they roosted in a row croaking disaster. By the timethe machinery was due to arrive they spoke of the wreck of the boats assomething foreordained and settled. They differed only as to where itwould happen.
"I really doubts, Burt, if you so much as git through the Pine-Crickrapids."
"No?"
"I mind the time Jake Hazlett and his crew was drowned at the 'WildGoose.' It seems the coroner was already there a settin' on a corp' thathad come up in the eddy. 'Go on through, boys!' he hollers to 'em, 'I'llwait for you down below. It'll save me another trip from Medders'."
Bruce worked on, apparently unperturbed by these discouragingreminiscences.
"They say they's a place down there where the river's so narrow it's bentover," volunteered a third pessimist, as he cut an artistic initial in aplank with the skill of long practice. "And you'll go through the BlackCanyon like a bat out o' hell. But I has no notion whatsoever thatyou'll ever come up when you hits that waterfall on the other end. Whenher nose dips under, heavy-loaded like that, she'll sink and fill rightthar. Why--"
"Do you rickolect," quavered a spry young cub of eighty-two who talkedof the Civil War and the Nez Perce uprising as though they were theevents of yesterday, "do you remember the time 'Death-on-the-Trail' losthis hull outfit tryin' to git through the 'Devil's Teeth'? The idee ofan old feller like him startin' out alone! Why he was all of seventy."
"An' the time 'Starvation Bill' turned over at Proctors's Falls?"chortled another. "Fritz Yandell said the river was full ofgrub--cracker cans, prunes and the like o' that, for clost to a week. Inever grieved much to hear of an accident to him for we'd had a railroadin here twenty years ago if it hadn't been for Bill. The survey outfittook him along for helper and he et up all the grub, so the Injin guidequit 'em cold and they couldn't go on. I allus hoped he'd starve todeath somm'eres, but after a spell of sickness from swallerin' aham-bone, he died tryin' to eat six dozen aigs on a bet."
"Talkin' of Fritz Yandell--he told me he fished him a compass andtransit out'n the river after them Governmint Yellow-Legs wrecked onButcher's Bar." The speaker added cheerfully: "Since the Whites comeinto the country I reckon all told you could count the boats that's gotthrough without trouble on the fingers of one hand. If these boats wasgoin' empty I'd say 'all right--you're liable to make it,' but sunk deepin the water with six or eight thousand pounds--Burt, you orter haveyour head examined."
But Bruce refused to let himself think of accident. He knew water, hecould handle a sweep; he meant to take every precaution and he could, he_must_ get through.
The river was rising rapidly now, not an inch at a time but inches, forthe days were warmer--warm enough to start rivulets running fromsheltered snowbanks in the mountains. Daily the distance increased fromshore to shore. Sprawling trees, driftwood, carcasses, the year'srubbish from draws and gulches, swept by on the broad bosom of theyellow flood. The half-submerged willows were bending in the current andwater-mark after water-mark disappeared on the bridge piles.
Bruce had not realized that the days of waiting had stretched his nervesto such a tension until he learned that the freight had really come. Hefelt for a moment as though the burdens of the world had been suddenlyrolled from his shoulders. His relief was short-lived. It changed toconsternation when he saw the last of the machinery piled upon the bankfor loading. It weighed not fifty thousand pounds but all ofninety--nearer a hundred! Dumfounded for the moment, he did not see howhe could take it. The saving that he had made on the purchase price waseaten up by the extra weight owing to the excessive freight rates fromthe coast and on the branch line to Meadows. More than that, Jenningshad disobeyed his explicit orders to box the smaller parts of eachmachine together. All had been thrown in the car helter-skelter.
Not since he had raged at "Slim" had Bruce been so furious, but therewas little time to indulge his temper for there was now an extra boat tobuild upon which he must trust Smaltz as front sweepman.
They all worked early and late, building the extra barge, dividing theweight and loading the unwieldy machinery, but the best they could do,counting four boats to a trip instead of three, each barge drew fromeight to twelve inches of water.
Though he gave no outward sign and went on stubbornly, the undertakingunder such conditions--even to Bruce--looked foolhardy, while thecroakings of the "Old Timers" rose to a wail of lamentation.
The last nail was driven and the last piece loaded and Bruce and hisboatmen stood on the banks at dusk looking at the four barges, securelytied with bow and stern lines riding on the rising flood. Thirty-sevenfeet long they were, five feet high, eight feet wide while the sweepswere of two young fir trees over six inches in diameter and twenty feetin length. A twelve foot plank formed the blade which was boltedobliquely to one end and the whole balanced on a pin. They were clumsylooking enough, these flat-bottomed barges, but the only type of boatthat could ride the rough water and skim the rocks so menacingly closeto the surface.
"There's nothin' left to do now but say our prayers." Smaltz'sjocularity broke the silence.
"My wife hasn't quit snifflin' since she heard the weight I was goin' totake," said Saunders, the boatman upon whom Bruce counted most. "If Ihadn't promised I don't know as I'd take the risk. I wouldn't, as it is,for anybody else, but I know what it means to you."
"And I sure hate to ask it," said Bruce answered gravely. "If anythinghappens I'll never forgive myself."
"Well--we can only do the best we can--and hope," said Saunders. "Thewater's as near right as it ever will be; and I wouldn't worry if itwasn't for the load."
"To-morrow at eight, boys, and be prompt. Every hour is counting fromnow on, with two more trips to make."
Bruce walked slowly up the street and went to his room, too tired anddepressed for conversation down below. The weigh-bill from thestation-agent was even worse than he had expected; and the questionwhich he asked himself over and over was whether Jennings'sunder-estimation of the weight was deliberate misrepresentation or badfiguring? Whatever the cause the costly error had shaken his faith inJennings.
Bruce was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. The last thinghe remembered was Smaltz's raucous voice in the bar-room below boastingof the wicked rapids he had shot in the tumultuous "Colo-rady" and onthe Stikine in the far north.
The noise of the bar-room ceased at an early hour and the littlemountain town grew quiet but Bruce was not conscious of the change. Itwas midnight--and long past--well toward morning when in the sleep whichhad been so profound he heard his mother calling, calling in the samedear, sweet way that she used to call him when, tired out with followinghis father on long rides, he had overslept in the morning.
"Bruce! Bruce-boy! Up-adaisy!"
He stirred uneasily and imagined that he answered.
The voice came again and there was pleading in the shrill, staccatonotes:
"Bruce! Bruce! Bruce!"
The cry from dreamland roused his consciousness at last. He sat upstartled. There was no thought in his mind but the
boats--the boats! Inseconds, not minutes, he was in his clothes and stumbling down the darkstairway. There was something ghostly in the hollow echo of hisfootsteps on the plank sidewalk as he ran through the main street of thestill village.
He saw that one boat was gone from its mooring before he reached thebank! He could see plainly the space where it had been. The other boatswere safe--but the fourth--. He stopped short on the bank for one briefsecond weak with relief. The fourth barge, which was holding ittemporarily. The water by some miracle it had jammed against the thirdbarge which was holding it temporarily. The water was slapping againstthe side that was turned to the stream and the other was bumping,bumping against the stern of the third boat but the loose barge wasworking a little closer to the current with each bump. A matter of fiveminutes more at the most and it would have been started on its journeyto destruction.
Bruce sprang to the stern of the third barge and dragged the loosebow-line from the water. It was shorter by many feet--the stout, newrope had been cut! It was not necessary to strike a match--the starlightwas sufficient to show him that. He stared at it, unable to credit hisown eyes. He scrambled over the machinery to the stern. The stern-linewas the same--cut square and clean. If further evidence was needed, itwas furnished by the severed portion, which was still tied around abush.
There was no more sleep for Bruce that night. Bewildered, dumfounded bythe discovery, he rolled himself in a "tarp" and laid down on the boat'splatform. So far as he knew he had not an enemy in the town. Thereseemed absolutely no reasonable explanation for the act.
The Man from the Bitter Roots Page 18
