stooping, locked his thick fingers about a spoke, set his great shoulder against the tire and with legs spread wide, heaved upward. The load trembled, hesitated an instant, and moved slowly, the big boss fairly lifting the wheel up the short incline. A moment later it rolled away toward the flat cars, followed by the boss and his crew.

"Beef and bluff," grinned Connie to himself as the crowd of passengers returned to the coaches.

Connie found Mike Gillum busily stowing potatoes in an underground root cellar. "He's almost as big as the man with the red shirt," thought the boy as he watched Mike read the note Waseche Bill had given him before he left Ten Bow.

The man paused in the middle to stare incredulously at the boy. "D'ye mane," he asked, in his rich Irish brogue, "thot ut's yersilf's the pardner av Waseche Bill—a kid loike you, the pardner av him?"

Connie laughed; and unconsciously his shoulders stiffened. "Yes," he answered proudly, "we've been partners for two years."

Still the man appeared incredulous. "D'ye mane ye're the wan thot he wuz tellin' thrailed him beyant the Ogilvies into the Lillimuit? An' put in the time whilst he wuz in the hospital servin' wid the Mounted? Moind ye, lad, Oi've be'n in the Narth mesilf, an' Oi know summat av it's ways."

"Yes, but maybe Waseche bragged me up more than——"

Mike Gillum interrupted him by thrusting forth a grimy hand. "Br-ragged ye up, is ut! An-ny one thot c'n do the things ye've done, me b'y, don't nade no braggin' up. Ut's proud Oi am to know ye—Waseche towld me ye wuz ondly a kid, but Oi had in me moind a shtrappin' young blade av mebbe ut's twinty-foor or -five, not a wee shtrip av a lad loike ye. Come on in the house till Oi wash up a bit, thim praties has got me back fair bruk a'ready."

The big Irishman would not hear of the boy's putting up at a hotel, and after supper the two sat upon the foreman's little veranda that overlooked the river and talked until far into the night.

"So ye've got to kape yer oye on um, lad," the Irishman concluded, after a long discourse upon the ins and outs, and whys and wherefores of the logging situation on Dogfish. "Ut's mesilf'll give you all the help Oi can, faylin' raysponsible fer sindin' him to Waseche. There's divilmint in the air fer this winter. The Syndicate's goin' to put a camp on Dogfish below ye, same as last winter. Oi've wor-rked fer um long enough to know ut's only to buck you folks they're doin' ut, fer their plans wuz not to do an-ny cuttin' on the Dogfish tract fer several years to come. Whin Oi heard they wuz goin' to put a camp there Oi applied fer the job av bossin' ut, but they towld me Oi wuz nayded over on Willow River." Mike Gillum knocked the dottle from his pipe and grinned broadly. "'Twuz a complimint they paid me," he said. "They know me loike Oi know thim—av there's crooked wor-ruk to be done in a camp, they take care that Oi ain't the boss av ut. But Willow River is only tin miles back—due narth av the McClusky tract."

MIKE GILLUM TOOK CONNIE TO THE RIVER WHERE MILES OF BOOMS HELD MILLIONS OF FEET OF LOGS

The next morning Mike Gillum took Connie to the river where miles of booms held millions of feet of logs which awaited their turn at the sawmills whose black smoke belched from stacks at some distance downstream where the river plunged over the apron of the dam in a mad whirl of white water.

"How can they tell which mill the logs are to go to?" asked the boy, as he gazed out over the acres of boomed timber.

"Each log carries uts mark, they're sorted in the river. We'll walk on down where ye c'n see um jerked drippin' to the saws."

"Does Hurley live here?" asked Connie, as the two followed the river bank toward the dam.

"Naw, he lives at Pine Hook, down the road a ways. Ut's about time he wuz showin' up, though. He lays in his supplies an' fills in his crew here. He towld me last spring he wuz goin' to run two camps this winter." They were close above the dam and had to raise their voices to make themselves heard above the roar of the water that dashed over the apron.

"Look!" cried Connie, suddenly, pointing toward a slender green canoe that floated in the current at a distance of a hundred yards or so from shore, and the same distance above the falls. "There's a woman in it and she's in trouble!" The big Irishman looked, shading his eyes with his hands.

"She's losin' ground!" he exclaimed. "She's caught in the suck av the falls!" The light craft was pointed upstream and the woman was paddling frantically, but despite her utmost efforts the canoe was being drawn slowly toward the brink of the white water apron.

With a roar the big Irishman sprang to the water's edge and raced up the bank toward a tiny wharf to which were tied several skiffs with their oars in the locks. Connie measured the distance with his eye. "He'll never make it!" he decided, and jerking off coat and shoes, rushed to the water. "Keep paddling, ma'am!" he called at the top of his lungs, and plunged in. With swift, sure strokes the boy struck out for the canoe. The woman saw him coming and redoubled her efforts.

"Come back, ye idiot!" bellowed a voice from the bank, but Connie did not even turn his head. He had entered the water well upstream from the little craft, and the current bore him down upon it as he increased his distance from shore. A moment later he reached up and grasped the gunwale. "Keep paddling!" he urged, as he drew himself slowly over the bow, at the same time keeping the canoe in perfect balance. "Where's your other paddle?" he shouted.

"There's—only—this," panted the woman.

"Give it here!" cried the boy sharply, "and lie flat in the bottom! We've got to go over the dam!"

"No, no, no!" shrieked the woman, "we'll be killed! Several——"

With a growl of impatience, Connie wrenched the paddle from her hands. "Lie down, or I'll knock you down!" he thundered, and with a moan of terror the woman sank to the bottom of the canoe. Kneeling low, the boy headed the frail craft for a narrow strip of water that presented an unbroken, oily surface as it plunged over the apron. On either hand the slope showed only the churning white water. Connie gave one glance toward the bank where a little knot of men had collected, and the next moment the canoe shot, head on, straight over the brink of the falls. For an instant it seemed to hang suspended with half its length hanging over, clear of the water. Then it shot downward to bury its bow in the smother of boiling churning, white water at the foot of the apron. For a moment it seemed to Connie as though the canoe were bound to be swamped. It rolled loggily causing the water it had shipped to slosh over the clothing and face of the limp form of the woman in the bottom. The boy was afraid she would attempt to struggle free of it, but she lay perfectly still. She had fainted. The canoe hesitated for a moment, wobbling uncertainly, as the overroll at the foot of the falls held it close against the apron, then it swung heavily into the grip of an eddy and Connie at length succeeded in forcing it toward the bank, wallowing so low in the water that the gunwales were nearly awash.

Eager hands grasped the bow as it scraped upon the shore, and while the men lifted the still form from the bottom, Connie slipped past them and made his way to the place he had left his coat and shoes.

Mike Gillum met him at the top of the bank.

"Arrah! Me laddie,