A. M. Chisholm

“ Crooks lit a cigar and joined the foremen, to discuss the jam and the probability of breaking it, and yarn of his own experiences with mighty rivermen whose names were now but traditions. The men lay about the fires, smoking and talking. They were tired, and the popular vocalists, shy because there was a girl in the camp, hung back and muttered profane refusals when asked to sing. Jack was disappointed. “I haven't heard a shanty song sung by a crew in ages. I wish they would wake up. Am I the wet-blanket?”
“I'll go over and tell them to sing anything you like,” Joe offered promptly. ”

“ Joe told her bitterly. “I wouldn't have—Jack! Jack, look there!”
Strung along the jam as the men were when it pulled, some of them had no direct route for shore. Among these were McKenna, Dave Cottrell, and Hill and Laflamme of Deever's crew. The last three were noted “white water birlers,” experts upon logs under any and all conditions, and McKenna, the old walking boss, in his best days had never found a man who could put him off a stick of pine. ”

“ He drew McKenna and MacNutt out of earshot, relating his story. Suddenly he stopped. “Look here, Dinny, if this jam don't break mighty soon young Kent goes out of business.”
“Well, I wish t' God I knew how to break her,” said McKenna. “The boys can't work harder than they're doing. We've put in shots 't'd rip a mountain loose, and she just lays back her ears and sits tighter.”
Meanwhile Jack and Joe walked upstream along the bank. Here and there on the flanks of the wooden monster crews of men picked away with peavies. ”