“Tom made a mistake when he didn’t fix up a small raft for us to tow across,” Bob declared, as he leaned on the rail and watched the other boat. “Then we’d have been there first without any trouble.” “No doubt about that,” Jack agreed, “but it’s too late now and I believe we’ll win out at that.” Two more hours slipped by without any change in the relative positions of the two boats. They were making about two miles an hour and were about half way across the lake. During the last hour Bob had been in the pilot-house with Cap’n Seth, but now he joined his brother who was standing in the stern. “Of all the slow races this takes the cake,” he grumbled, as he sat down on a coil of rope. “Yep, it’s all of that and then some,” Jack agreed. “I don’t believe either boat has gained a foot in the last four hours. Suppose we both get there at the same time?” “I don’t know what we’d do in that case unless we flipped a coin for it,” Bob smiled. The boats were now not more than a mile apart and, in the clear air, the boys could see a number of men in the stern of the Twilight. “I believe that’s Ben himself on board there,” Bob said. “Not much doubt of that,” Jack replied. “There’s no one else up here as big as he is.” The outlet of Moosehead Lake into the Kennebec River is closed by a large dam, near the center of which was a sluice through which the logs were emptied into the river ten or twelve feet below the level of the lake. Watertight gates close the passageway when desired, so that by throwing the gates open the water in the river can be raised a number of feet in a few minutes. During the latter part of the driving season, when the water in the river is low, these gates are usually opened once each day, sending what is called the “head” down the river. Toward this dam the two boats were towing their rafts. Big Ben as well as the boys knew that it was a case of first come first served in the matter of getting the logs first through the sluice. Could he but get there first and get his logs started down the river ahead of the Golden logs, he felt sure that abundant opportunity would present itself to cause delays. He hated the Goldens, first because Mr. Golden had beaten him in bidding on a big contract the summer before, and also because Bob and Jack had frustrated his attempts during the winter to delay their work. Another sore point was in regard to a very valuable tract of timber land, situated between the two camps. He had found, a short time before the previous Christmas, Mr. Golden’s deed to the land, and instead of returning it had kept it, and by means of a forged deed had claimed the tract as his own. But the boys had found the missing deed and Mr. Golden had had little trouble in proving his title to the property. Big Ben Donahue was pacing the deck of the Twilight chewing nervously on a big black cigar. Every minute or two his glance would stray to the Comet, as he paced slowly back and forth.