"Well, bub," said he, "didn't know but we'd lost you. Feed your face,
and we'll go upstream."

Bob ate rapidly. After breakfast Welton struck into a well-trodden foot
trail that led by a circuitous route up the river bottom, over points of
land, around swamps. Occasionally it forked. Then, Welton explained, one
fork was always a short cut across a bend, while the other followed
accurately the extreme bank of the river. They took this latter and
longest trail, always, in order more closely to examine the state of the
drive. As they proceeded upstream they came upon more and more logs,
some floating free, more stranded gently along the banks. After a time
they encountered the first of the driving crew. This man was standing on
an extreme point, leaning on his peavy, watching the timbers float past.
Pretty soon several logs, held together by natural cohesion, floated to
the bend, hesitated, swung slowly and stopped. Other logs, following,
carromed gently against them and also came to rest.

Immediately the riverman made a flying leap to the nearest. He hit it
with a splash that threw the water high to either side, immediately
caught his equilibrium, and set to work with his peavy. He seemed to
know just where to bend his efforts. Two, then three, logs, disentangled
from the mass, floated away. Finally, all moved slowly forward. The
riverman intent on his work, was swept from view.

"After he gets them to running free, he'll come ashore," said Welton, in
answer to Bob's query. "Oh, just paddle ashore with his peavy. Then
he'll come back up the trail. This bend is liable to jam, and so we have
to keep a man here."