MAY-TIME IN THE FOREST 49 



was an everyday condition. Any man who 

 changed his clothes because they were wet would 

 be laughed out of camp. Poised on a single log 

 and balancing themselves with pick-poles or cant- 

 dogs, they ran down through the whirling current, 

 stamping their feet up and down as if dancing a 

 jig, as the stick rolled beneath them. 



The spring of 1903 was hard for the lumber 

 industry. No rains came to keep the lakes at 

 high level, and day by day the water dropped. 

 Half-way between the upper and the lower lakes 

 the stream ran for a short distance over a wide 

 rocky ledge. In the space of fifty yards it dropped 

 some ten feet, and over this pitch the water was 

 spread very thin. At this point the logs were con- 

 tinually hanging. Whenever a stick began to slow 

 up, or twist about so that its end might be forced 

 out on the bank, two or three men rushed into 

 the rapid water and made the white spray fly, 

 while with their cant-dogs they pried the log out 

 into the centre of the stream. In spite of all they 

 could do, the timber sometimes jammed on this 

 ledge, and then from bank to bank the logs lay in a 

 tangled mass like huge jackstraws. 



Here was danger ; but without a moment's hesi- 

 tation the nimble-footed rivermen ran out upon 

 the interwoven timber, and with poles and peavies 

 tugged and heaved until the strain was lessened, 



