With the ice, and following it, came the drift-logs. In a number of
cases booms had been broken, and the work of months ruined in an
instant. For a hundred miles or more these logs were scattered along
the river, drifting with the tide, caught in coves, and mouths of
creeks, or stranded upon the shore. To collect as many of these as
possible was a big task. Yet it was important, for these logs
represented much money, and their entire loss would spell ruin to some
lumbermen.

In less than two days after the ice had gone out, a notice was posted
at the store. It told of the offer of ten cents for each drift-log.
There were men who made a regular business of this every spring. They
bought all the logs which had been collected by the inhabitants along
the river, took them to the city, where they were sorted out according
to private marks, and sold to their respective owners at an excellent
profit.

Formerly, Captain Josh had paid no attention to such posted notices.
The work of gathering drift-logs he considered beneath the dignity of
an old sea-captain. "I'm not a scavenger," he had often told people,
when they had asked him why he didn't collect the logs which always
floated near his shore, and into the little cove just below his house.
"If I can't make a livin' without doin' sich work, then I'll give up."

But this spring the captain studied the notice most carefully, and he
walked back to the Anchorage in a very thoughtful mood. He was
thinking of the scouts. He was anxious that they should make more
money, and here was a fine opportunity. They had already two hundred
dollars in the bank, for the bear and the wreaths had added another