on the hillside. They were roused at last. There came up to Pierre's keen
ears the sound of the river.

"Let us go out," he said; "the river is flooding. You can hear the logs."

They came out and watched. The river went swishing, swilling past, and
the dull boom of the logs as they struck the piers of the bridge or some
building on the shore came rolling to them.

"The dams and booms have burst!" Pierre said. He pointed to the camps far
up the river. By the light of the camp-fires there appeared a wide
weltering flood of logs and debris. Pierre's eyes shifted to the Bridge
House. In one room was a light. He stepped out and down, and the other
followed. They had almost reached the shore, when Pierre cried out
sharply: "What's that?"

He pointed to an indistinct mass bearing down upon the Bridge House. It
was a big shed that had been carried away, and, jammed between timbers,
had not broken up. There was no time for warning. It came on swiftly,
heavily. There was a strange, horrible, grinding sound, and then they saw
the light of that one room move on, waving a little to and fro-on to the
rapids, the cohorts of logs crowding hard after.

Where the light was two men had started to their feet when the crash
came. They felt the House move. "Run-save yourself!" cried the old man
quietly. "We are lost!"

The floor rocked.

"Go," he said again. "I will stay with her."