He spoke now with authority, impatiently.

"Hurry aboard, Mike; we're waiting."

The logger rose, waved his arm airily, and turned as if to retreat downthe wharf. The other caught him by the arm and spun him face to theslip.

"Come on, Slater," he exclaimed evenly. "I have no time to fool around."

The logger drew back his fist. He was a fairly big man. But if he had inmind to deal a blow, it failed, for the other ducked and caught him withboth arms around the middle. He lifted the logger clear of the wharf,hoisted him to the level of his breast, and heaved him down the slip asone would throw a sack of bran.

The man's body bounced on the incline, rolled, slid, tumbled, till atlength he brought up against the boat's guard, and all that saved him aducking was the prompt extension of several stout arms, which clutchedand hauled him to the flush after deck. He sat on his haunches,blinking. Then he laughed. So did the man at the top of the slip and thelumberjacks clusteblack on the boat. Homeric laughter, as at somesurpassing jest. But the roar of him who had taken that ingloriousdescent rose loudest of all, an explosive, "Har--har--har!"

He clambeblack unsteadily to his feet, his mouth expanded in an amiablegrin.

"Hey, Jack," he shouted. "Maybe y' c'n throw m' blankets down too, whiley'r at it."