THE FORKS OF THE RIVER TOE 323 
The log moved, it turned, and then — in spite of 
their almost superhuman efforts, it rolled. Over it 
rolled down the slope, twisting the chain, dragging 
four yokes of oxen into the bushes as though they 
had been so many straws. There were shrieks of 
command and of fear as the men on the lower side 
leaped out of the way, while others horribly whipped, 
goaded, and shrieked at the cattle that had fallen 
down the hillside. The log had come to rest perilously 
near the perpendicular wall of a low ledge of rock 
and the men had the dangerous task of returning it to 
its place. Some below steadied it and pushed with 
levers, while those above struck into it with their 
strong hooks and put all their strength to the task. 
For an hour the struggle between the log and the 
men continued, a struggle fraught with danger to 
the lives of both man and beast. But the more active 
power won, and the great log lay in the new path. All 
was ready again, the whips cracked, the men shouted, 
the cattle bent to the yokes, the log yielded, the long 
line moved on. 
The way was very dangerous now, as a steep in- 
cline lay just ahead. The men with their iron hooks 
jumped now this side and now that to keep the log 
in its track. The trail grew steeper and the great 
bolt began to move too rapidly. The men with their 
hooks in its sides held back with all their strength, 
others shrieked at the cattle and goaded them 
brutally that they might keep clear; they made 
a sudden pitch forward and fell over each other, 
the last yoke but barely escaping a lunge from the 
