“Here, now. What’s all the rough house about?”

As the man who was about to jump on Bob heard the shout he turned and Bob sprang to his feet. A cry of joy burst from his lips as he looked about and saw a crowd of men coming toward them.

“Jack Skeets!” he shouted as he recognized the foremost, a swarthy faced giant.

“Bless my buttons if it ’ain’t Bob Golden,” and the big fellow came forward with a leap and grasped Bob by the hand.

Meanwhile the five half-breeds had slunk back and were now making the best time possible in the direction from which they had come.

Bob quickly introduced the big man to Rex as soon as he had shaken hands with Jack.

“Rex, this Jack Skeets, the champion log roller of the Kennebec.”

“I am certainly glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” Rex declared as he grasped his hand. “And you certainly came in the nick of time.”

“Sure did, Jack,” Bob agreed.

“What were those fellows trying to do to ye and why?”

As the rest of the crew drew closer, Bob told of their adventures of the night.

“The brutes,” Skeets said when he had finished. “But let ’em go now. We’re on our way up to the camp and we’ll tend to ’em when we get there,” and he explained that he was in charge of the crew that was to occupy that camp for the season.

There were about thirty in the crew and after a short rest they all started for the camp. It was just after seven o’clock when they arrived. They found Jean much disturbed over their absence and about to start out to look for them. The boys quickly told him what had happened and the Frenchman’s eyes flashed with anger as he listened.

“Dey no come back here, I don’t tink,” he said as Bob finished. “But I find out ver’ queek and if dey did I feex heem bon.”

At first it was impossible to learn that the five men had returned to the camp but, after many inquiries, Jean learned that they had come in about a half hour before the arrival of the crew.

“They were wet to the skin and looked about all in,” the man said who had seen them.

Having learned that they were in camp Jean was not long in finding them. They were in the cook’s quarters huddling close to the stove. They looked up in fright as Jean, followed by the boys, entered.

“You one bon bunch,” Jean declared in disgust as he stood looking at them. “When you geet dry an’ rest, I, Jean Larue, will geeve you beeg lickin’, one at a time.”

They were a thoroughly cowered quintet as they crouched there by the hot stove and Bob could not help but pity them.

“After all,” he whispered to Rex, “they live as they have been brought up.” Then, as a sudden thought struck him, he turned to Jean and drew him away a short distance.

“Jean, isn’t that big fellow Baptiste Deveraux?” he asked.

“Oui, dat heem.”

“I thought so. Haven’t I heard that he claims to be the best log roller in Maine?”

“Heem tink so, oui.”

“Good. Now, Jean, Rex has never seen a log rolling contest and right here are two of the best, Jack Skeets and this Baptiste. Why not settle the question as to which is the better. Tell Baptiste that if he can beat Jack Skeets nothing will be done about last night.”

For a moment Jean was silent, then his face lighted up.

“Dat be one beeg sight, oui,” he declared.

“It’ll be a sight worth coming a thousand miles to see,” Bob declared enthusiastically.

“I see what Baptiste, heem say,” and Jean again approached the group by the stove.

“Hey, Baptiste, you bon at log rolling, oui?” he asked.

Instantly the face of Baptiste lighted up.

“Oui, I beat all mans.”

Jean then proceeded to lay the proposition before him.

“Oui, I roll heem,” he said eagerly as soon as he was made to understand the terms.

“Now if Jack Skeets will only consent,” Bob said to Rex.

Jack Skeets was a Canadian Frenchman, but since early childhood had lived in Skowhegan and spoke English with hardly an accent. He was a splendid type of woodsman and all who knew him respected him for his sterling qualities and good nature. He was jealous of his reputation although by no means a boaster. Bob had little doubt but that he would accept the challenge.

He was not mistaken, for as soon as Jean told him that Baptiste had said that he could roll anyone he readily agreed to give him the opportunity to make good his boast.

“We try eet as soon as they have eat, oui?”

“Suits me,” Skeets replied.

“Well, I wish we could stay and see those logs down,” Bob said a little later as he, together with Rex and Jack, was eating breakfast. “But now that the regular crew is on there is not the slightest doubt but that they will get there in good time. Big Ben won’t dare to try any more of his funny business.”

“And college opens in three more days,” Jack said as he helped himself to hot-cakes.

“And I must be getting back to business,” Rex declared. “But it’ll be fine to go back together.”

“Sure will,” both boys assured him.

“By the way, Bob, how about that story of the corporal you said you would tell me when you got time?” Rex asked.

“That’s a good one,” Bob laughed. “And I’ll just about have time to tell it while we finish.”

“It was this way,” he began. “Over in France, during the war, a corporal was marching a squad of men to a certain town which we will call St. Giles. I’ve forgotten the name of it. It was getting late in the afternoon and the men as well as the corporal were tired and hungry. They met a farmer and asked:

“‘How far is it to St. Giles?’

“‘About two miles,’ was the reply, in French of course.

“Well, they trudged on for another half hour or so when they met another man.

“‘How far to St. Giles?’ the corporal asked him.

“‘Only two miles.’

“After another half hour or more a third man was met. The same question brought the same answer:

“‘Only two miles.’

“‘Well, thank goodness, we’re holding our own,’ the corporal said.”

Rex laughed heartily at the story and soon after they went out in the bright sunshine.

News of the contest had spread through the camp and they found the men in high spirits, gathered about in groups.

“Skeets has got to do his best this time,” they heard one man declared, and they stopped beside the group to listen. “I’ve seen that man, Baptiste, roll, and take it from me he’s no slouch.”

“And no more is Skeets,” spoke up another. “Two to one on Skeets.”

But no one seemed inclined to take the bet and they moved on toward the river, where they could see Jean and Skeets.

“Dis ees one bon place,” Jean was saying as they drew near.

“Going to pull it off right now?” Bob asked.

“Oui. I tink dis one bon time. Den we geet deese logs started,” Jean replied.

Just below where the logs had jammed was a little bay where the current had worn away the bank. There the water was deep and comparatively still. A perfect place, as Jean had said, for the log rolling contest.

“Here he comes,” Jack shouted as he caught sight of Baptiste, followed by nearly all of the crew, making his way rapidly down the bank.

“You peek out your log,” Jean ordered as soon as Baptiste had joined them.

It was some time before a log was found which suited both of them, but finally they agreed on a spruce about thirty feet long and perhaps twenty inches in diameter. The log tapered but little but still there was a slight difference in the size of the two ends.

Jack Skeets drew a coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air, catching it as it fell.

“Odd or even, Baptiste?” he asked.

“Even,” the Frenchman called.

“1906. You win,” Skeets declared as he glanced at the date.

This meant that Baptiste was entitled to the larger end of the log, giving him a slight advantage.

Quickly the log was pried out from its position by a number of the men and dragged to the clear water. After measuring its length Jean, with an axe, cut a wide gash exactly in the middle. Neither man must cross that mark although they were allowed to come as near it as they might wish.

Baptiste jumped to his end and, giving the log a slight push, Skeets followed. Slowly the log floated out in the water until it was some fifteen or twenty feet from the jam.

“All set?” Jean called.

“Oui?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

For a moment neither man moved, each waiting for the other to open the battle. Then Skeets, standing sideways, began to revolve the log with his feet. Faster and faster the log turned until it seemed that both men were running at the top of their speed.

“My gracious, but I never thought a log could roll so fast,” Rex gasped as he looked on fascinated at the sight.

“Wait till they really get to going,” Jack said, and Rex gasped again.

It had seemed to him that they could not possibly make the log roll any faster, but he was soon to learn that it was not only possible but that they could do it. Faster and faster it rolled until it seemed to Rex that the men’s feet failed to touch the log at all.

Then, suddenly, Skeets stopped and threw all his weight to the front. The log stopped, as it seemed to Rex, almost at once. Baptiste had, however, been expecting just that move and so was on his guard and did not have to exert himself unduly to keep his balance. Having failed in his first attempt, Skeets waited, hoping that Baptiste would take the lead. But he seemed loath to do it and after a moment or two had passed and some of the men had begun to shout and urge them to action, Skeets again began to roll. This time he did not roll as fast as before, and both Bob and Jack knew that he had something else in mind.

“Keep your eyes peeled and you’ll see something in about a minute,” Bob whispered to Rex.

They did not have long to wait, for suddenly Skeets, with a wild yell, sprang from the log high into the air. Rex held his breath expecting to see the man fall back into the water. But no. Skeets’ feet struck the log fair and square and, although he had to struggle for an instant to regain his balance, he did not lose his footing. As Skeets left his end of the log the other end of course sank deeper in the water and when his two hundred pounds again landed, Baptiste’s end came up with a violent jerk.

“He’s a goner,” someone shouted, as the Frenchman wavered back and forth in his efforts to keep his balance.

He succeeded but, as Bob declared, “it was by the skin of his teeth.”

And now Baptiste had evidently made up his mind that it was high time for him to start something. Quickly he ran to the middle of the log, stopping only when he was close to the dividing mark. Skeets did the same, and as Baptiste started the roll the two men were standing only about a foot apart.

“This is a new one to me,” Bob whispered.

“Me too,” Jack replied. “Wonder what he’s up to.”

They soon found out, for after getting the log to revolving nearly as rapidly as at first, Baptiste, with a marvelous display of agility, ran back to his end and, turning, started to move his feet the other way. The move gave the log a sudden wrench and Skeets was for the moment hard put to it to stick on.

“Pretty near had him that time,” declared a man who was standing close to Rex.

Baptiste plainly showed his disappointment at the failure of the trick, and for a moment both men rested, Skeets moving slowly back to his end.

“Aw, mix it up,” someone shouted from the shore.

All this time the log had been drifting slowly down the river and now it was all of a hundred feet from the jam.

But the end was near at hand. Skeets began jumping up and down at the extreme end of the log. Baptiste had no trouble in following the movement, but after Skeets had the log bobbing up and down to his satisfaction he suddenly gave it a violent twist by throwing all his weight to one side. The move caught Baptiste unawares, and at once threw him off his balance. Desperately he struggled to save himself, but Skeets, taking quick advantage of his opportunity, gave the log another sudden twist and the next instant Baptiste was in the water.

“Hurrah for Skeets,” shouted a dozen men all at the same time, and the forest echoed with the cheers.

“It was great,” Rex declared as they moved toward the shore. “I wouldn’t have missed it for a farm.”

The contest ended, the entire crew set to work, and in less than an hour had cleared away enough of the logs to permit of the boom being repaired. This accomplished, it was not difficult to start the logs in motion again, and by the end of another hour they were running smoothly past either side of the island.

The boys and Rex were to leave after dinner, going down river as far as Solon on the stage. There they could connect with the afternoon train for Skowhegan.

The stage was, for a wonder, on time, and all the men gathered by the roadside and gave them a farewell cheer as they started.

“Best time I ever had,” Rex declared as he sank back in his seat.