“She no ought be stuck here,” Jean declared, as he leaped from the boat to the nearest of the logs. The boys quickly followed him, and running rapidly over the floating logs they were not long in finding out what had happened. At the point where the head of their drive had stopped, the largest of its tributaries joins the Kennebec. Dead River, as this stream is called, is about one half as large as the Kennebec. Where it empties into the larger river is a small village by the name of The Forks. “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” Jack gasped, as they rounded a second turn and came to the head of their logs. As far down the river as they could see was one solid mass of logs packing the river so tightly that no water was visible. “Do you know whose logs they are,” Bob asked, turning to Jean, who stood poised on a log. “Oui, I know,” the Frenchman replied, as he pointed to a huge pine a few feet in front of him. “You know dat mark, oui?” Bob’s eyes followed the outstretched hand and he had no difficulty in seeing the two XX cut into the bark. “Sure, that’s Ben Donahue’s brand, but I didn’t know that he was cutting on Dead River this year, did you?” “Oui. I know he had camp ’bout five mile up river, but I no tink heem cut dar dis winter,” and the Frenchman slowly shook his head. “Well, it sure looks as though he had us bottled up all right and could keep us here till he gets ready to move on,” Jack broke in. “Do you suppose he jammed those logs on purpose?” “Well, of course it’s impossible to say for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past him,” Bob replied calmly; but Jean, shaking his fist angrily at the offending logs, cried: “I tell you dem logs no geet stuck dar demselves. I drive on dis river ver’ many year. Never know jam dar like dat. Non, heem jam ’em, hold us up. You come and we ask Sim. He mebby know,” and Jean started off toward the little village, closely followed by the two boys. Sim Smith kept the general store at The Forks. The boys had met him a number of times but could not be said to be acquainted with him. But the Frenchman knew him well, as he did almost every man along the river. “Howdy, Jean,” the storekeeper greeted them, as they entered the store a few minutes later. It was now noon and Sim was alone in the store. “Glad see you, Sim,” Jean responded, as he shook hands with him. “Deese Bob and Jack Golden,” he added, nodding toward the boys. “Sure, I’ve seen them before,” and the genial storekeeper shook each heartily by the hand. “When dem logs come down?” Jean asked, as soon as the greetings were over. “Day afore yesterday,” Sim replied. “Looks as though Ben had the whip hand on ye this time.” “Sure does,” Bob replied. “But do you happen to know how his logs got jammed there,” he asked.