Tweedy made no reply save a pessimistic hunch of his pudgy shoulders. It seemed to him that Bainbridge was decidedly underestimating the extent of the damage done them by the treachery of those cowardly miscreants who, though actually unknown, could not possibly be other than tools of the hostile and unscrupulous Lumber Trust. For practically the entire winter the firm had been pouring out money in wages, supplies, and equipment, expecting to clean up large and immediate profits from as fine a lot of timber as either of the lumbermen had ever seen. To have the entire drive suddenly stranded in this manner was like losing every cent which had been paid out, for Tweedy was not at all sure that anything could be saved from the wreck. He had no great faith in the efficacy of barking. It seemed like throwing good money after bad, and he said as much in very decided terms when they were back in the office shanty making hurried preparations for instant departure. He was overruled, however, by both Bainbridge and Griggs, who were quite certain the logs could be saved at an expenditure of about a fifth of their value. And since Bob was in charge of the woods end of the business, the older man was forced to give in. There followed, during a hasty breakfast, a brief consultation regarding the steps Tweedy should take toward getting additional credit, at the same time doing his best, of course, to sell at once some of their big stock of manufactured lumber. Griggs was given instructions as to the method of working and the number of men to keep. Then came a hurried farewell between the two partners. The sun had scarcely risen above the fringe of trees around the camp before Tweedy was being driven rapidly toward the nearest railroad station, while Bob, accompanied only by Joe Moose, an Indian guide, was sitting in the stern of a canoe, paddling steadily up Chebargo Stream. CHAPTER III. MORE TREACHERY The Megantic drive, starting from a point some forty miles northwest of Chebargo, was already in motion. Its course would be down the Megantic Stream through several ponds and lakes into the Katahdin River, and thence down the Penobscot to the mills at Bangor. By paddling upstream and making three portages of less than a mile each, Bainbridge and the guide cut off a lot of distance, and struck the Megantic between the second and third lake toward three in the afternoon. Knowing when Pete Schaeffer, the drive boss, had started, Bob calculated that he would have advanced considerably beyond this point, and turned the canoe downstream, keeping a close lookout along the banks for signs which would inevitably be left by a great drive. The country was rough and wild, the stream boiling and tumbling between rather high, rocky banks. Presently, however, these gave place to lower, muddy stretches, which bore no single trace of stranded logs, or the tracks made by the rear crew following along behind a big drive and “sacking” the River.