50 WILD BROTHER 
and under the weight of water that for the time 
being was backed up behind the jam, the whole 
mass trembled, then slowly started down-river. 
Now the men turned toward the bank, for the jam 
was gaining speed. The logs seemed to be alive; 
they twisted and shook themselves, and as they 
struck the rocks, the air resounded with the reso- 
nant voice of the booming timber. Like squirrels, 
the men jumped from one stick to another and 
gained the shore. 
Some of these fellows are so adept that they are 
called “bubble walkers”; it is said of them that, 
if no logs offer a footing, they can come ashore on 
the bubbles. But in spite of their supple bodies 
and their nimble feet, the drive each spring claims 
its victims from among them. One afternoon 
there came into our camp a silent group of men on 
their way out to the village. They bore in their 
midst a litter, and on it lay, under a sheet of can- 
vas, a river-driver, a young Indian. That morn- 
ing he had been working with several other drivers 
at a jam on a distant stream. When it broke, 
everyone leaped for the bank. Suddenly the end 
of a stick thrust itself up from the water in front 
of the Indian. He tripped over it and fell into the 
grinding mass. Two logs came together, and he 
was between them. Others piled on top. It was 
all over in a moment. And now the men were 
