The log was following swiftly and the swish of the flying snow and ice reached his ears plainly. It had scraped a bit at the knob, placing a fraction of a second of time in his favor. But now it came on, bound for the bank of the pond, straight for the young lumberman, as before! It is said that in moments of extreme peril persons will sometimes do by instinct that which they might not have done at all had they stopped to reason the matter out. So it was with Owen in the present case. A short while before, a boy belonging to one of the cooks of the camp had been fishing through a hole in the ice at the edge of the pond. The boy had made for himself a hole two feet in diameter, possibly reasoning that the larger the hole the bigger the fish he might catch. The hole was still there, although covered with a thin skim of ice. As Owen reached the bottom of the slide, the force of gravitation carried him out on the pond, close to the hole. Directly behind him was the heavy log. To escape being struck a blow he knew would be a tremendous one, he dove directly into the hole and out of sight. Like a flash the log slid over the opening, went on across the pond, and brought up against the shore opposite with a crash to be heard a long distance beyond. "Owen is killed!" cried Dale. "The log has smashed him flat!" And for the moment he felt so weak he could scarcely stand. "I--I don't see him," faltered Andrews nervously. He felt that if the young lumberman had really been taken off thus suddenly he would be in a measure responsible. "We should have made certain that the slide was clear before we let the log down," groaned Dale. "Oh, this is dreadful!" "What's the yelling about?" asked another lumberman, rushing up, and soon a dozen or more were assembled at the top of the slide. They could see but little in the gathering darkness, and burning with anxiety to know the exact truth of the catastrophe, Dale began to let himself down the hillside by means of a pair of sharp-pointed sticks. Andrews and two others followed. "There he is, on the ice!" cried Andrews, just before the bottom was reached. "Sure enough!" burst out Dale. "Why, if he isn't crawling from a hole in the ice!" "The log must have knocked him into that hole," said one of the others. "But he doesn't seem to be much hurt." A little lighter in heart, now that he knew his chum was alive, Dale continued on his way to the pond, and reached the edge just as Owen came ashore. The latter limped a little and was dripping from head to feet with icy water. "Owen!" For the moment Dale could say no more. "Did--did----" "I escaped by the sk--skin of mu--mu--my teeth," was the chattered-out answer. "Help me get to wha--wha--where it's wa--wa--warm!"