craft relentlessly dragged him forward. In vain he braced and
struggled. The end of the rope came to the tree; he clung for a
moment, then let go, and ran around the tree to catch it before it
should slip into the water.

By this time the wanigan had caught the stronger current at the bend
and was gathering momentum. Charlie tried to snub at a sapling, and
broke the sapling; on a stub, and uprooted the stub. Down the banks
and through the brush he tore at the end of his rope, clinging
desperately, trying at every solid tree to stop the career of his
runaway, but in every instance being forced by the danger of jamming
his hands to let go. Again he lost his derby. The landscape was a
blur. Dimly he made out the howls of laughter as the outfit passed
a group of rivermen. Then abruptly a ravine yawned before him, and
he let go just in time to save himself a fall. The wanigan,
trailing her rope, drifted away.

Nor did she stop until she had overtaken the jam. There, her
momentum reduced by the closer crowding of the logs, she slowed down
enough so that Newmark and the cookees managed to work her to the
bank and make her fast.

That evening, after the wanigan's crew had accomplished a hard
afternoon's work pitching camp and drying blankets, the first of the
rear drifted in very late after a vain search for camp farther up
stream.

"For God's sake, Charlie," growled one, "it's a wonder you wouldn't
run through to Redding and be done with it."