The dams were first run at full speed, and then shut down. Hardly a drop of water flowed in the bed of the stream. The crews set laboriously to work to pull and roll the logs out in such flat fashion that a head of water should send them out. This was even harder work than the other, for they had not the floating power of water to help them in the lifting. As usual, part of the men worked below, part above. Jimmy Powers, curly-haired, laughing-faced, was irrepressible. He badgered the others until they threw bark at him and menaced him with their peaveys. Always he had at his tongue's end the proper quip for the occasion, so that in the long run the work was lightened by him. When the men stopped to think at all, they thought of Jimmy Powers with very kindly hearts, for it was known that he had had more trouble than most, and that the coin was not made too small for him to divide with a needy comrade. To those who had seen his mask of whole-souled good-nature fade into serious sympathy, Jimmy Powers's poor little jokes were very funny indeed. “Did 'je see th' Swede at the circus las' summer?” he would howl to Red Jacket on the top tier. “No,” Red Jacket would answer, “was he there?” “Yes,” Jimmy Powers would reply; then, after a pause--“in a cage!” It was a poor enough jest, yet if you had been there, you would have found that somehow the log had in the meantime leaped of its own accord from that difficult position. Thorpe approved thoroughly of Jimmy Powers; he thought him a good influence. He told Wallace so, standing among the spectators on the cliff-top. “He is all right,” said Thorpe. “I wish I had more like him. The others are good boys, too.” Five men were at the moment tugging futilely at a reluctant timber. They were attempting to roll one end of it over the side of another projecting log, but were continually foiled, because the other end was jammed fast. Each bent his knees, inserting his shoulder under the projecting peavey stock, to straighten in a mighty effort. “Hire a boy!” “Get some powder of Junko!” “Have Jimmy talk it out!” “Try that little one over by the corner,” called the men on top of the jam. Everybody laughed, of course. It was a fine spring day, clear-eyed and crisp, with a hint of new foliage in the thick buds of the trees. The air was so pellucid that one distinguished without difficulty the straight entrance to the gorge a mile away, and even the West Bend, fully five miles distant. Jimmy Powers took off his cap and wiped his forehead. “You boys,” he remarked politely, “think you are boring with a mighty big auger.” “My God!” screamed one of the spectators on top of the cliff. At the same instant Wallace Carpenter seized his friend's arm and pointed.