Determined to find the drive, and have a settlement that night, he stubbornly continued to paddle long after darkness had fallen, and when they could not see much more than a boat length in any direction. At length, however, there was forced upon him a realization of his folly. It would be much wiser to land now and camp, continuing the journey at daybreak, rather than try to make headway through this pitchy blackness. Still reluctant to pause, Bob milled this over in his mind for ten minutes or more before finally giving the word to Moose, who had made no comment of any sort. The Indian obeyed stolidly, driving the canoe toward the right bank. Within five minutes the two men were hunting dry sticks for a fire. Later, as he sat relaxed before the grateful blaze, consuming the rough supper with an appetite which only life in those wonderful north woods can give, Bainbridge remained preoccupied, his forehead wrinkled thoughtfully, and his brooding eyes fixed upon the dancing flames. CHAPTER IV. THE JAM ON MEGANTIC There was no time lost either in turning in that night or in rising next morning. So early was Bainbridge astir that the cold, gray half-light dawn had barely begun to lighten the velvety blackness. The two men had embarked and were paddling vigorously upstream before it was possible to see more than the vague, indistinct shadows of concrete things. Bob’s rage at the treachery of his trusted drive boss had not lessened greatly. There was mingled with it, however, a bitter hatred for the man higher up, and a dogged determination not only to thwart Elihu Crane in his attempt to ruin the independent firm, but to carry the war into the enemies’ camp with a zest and vim which his more or less impersonal blocking of the Lumber Trust’s game had hitherto lacked. Before sunrise they had reached and crossed the first of the three lakes, which was little more than a good-sized pond. Two miles northwest of the inlet another stream, almost as large, joined the Megantic. The juncture was scarcely passed before Bainbridge became aware of the slackening current, and unnaturally low level of water in the stream. Something was holding it back, and that something could be nothing less than a jam of unusual size and extent. Bob’s eyes narrowed ominously, and three deep, vertical lines flashed suddenly into view above the straight nose. Downstream there were several spots which had always been more or less dreaded by river drivers. There all the skill and care in the world could not always prevent trouble. To the northward, however, was comparatively clear sailing. The most ordinary skill in driving, and just average attention to business would make the forming of a jam impossible.