A shallow, undulating trough scored the hillside, crossed at short intervals by small logs, split up the middle and laid with their round sides on top.  It looked something like a switchback railway, only that while the incline varied, all the undulations ran down hill.  A few logs rested insecurely on the top skids, and the men put the one Festing had brought below the rest.  Then they threw down their poles and Festing looked about.

Water filled the hollows in the wavy line of skids, which vanished at the edge of a steeper dip and reappeared below, to plunge out of sight again.  Its end was banked up with wet gravel near the track.  Festing could not see the track, but the opposite side of the river was visible, with the island, near which two wire-ropes skimmed the surface of the flood.  A man stood on the skids about half way down and presently waved his arm.

“Watch out below!” he shouted and signed to Festing.  “All clear!  You can start her off.”

Festing seized a handspike and the skids groaned as the big log began to move.  The men helped and sprang back as it gathered speed.  Water flew up, the bark tore off in crumpled flakes, and the wet timber smoked.  The other logs were smaller and easier launched, but they did not gain the momentum of the first, which plunged furiously down hill and flung up its thin end as it leaped over the edge of the dip.

“She’s surely hitting up the pace,” one of the men remarked.

“The mud is greasing the skids,” said Festing, who began to run down the incline when the man below shouted.

Two of the others followed, but stopped at the top of the last pitch, which ended in the bank of gravel close above the track.  The logs, spread out at intervals, rushed down, rising and falling on the uneven skids.  Showers of mud and water marked their progress; there was a crash as a smashed skid was flung into the air, and a roar when the leading mass plowed through fallen gravel.  Stones shot out and Festing saw smoke and sparks, but the logs rushed on, and he wondered anxiously whether the bank would stop them.  So far, it had served its purpose, but he was doubtful about it now, and hoped there was nobody on the track beneath.

The big log reached the bank and ran half way up the short incline before its speed slackened much.  Festing held his breath as he watched, for some gravel cars had come down the track, and he could not tell where they were.  The log was going slower, but he doubted if it would stop.

It plowed on through the gravel, which shot up all round, and then the end of the bank seemed to fall away.  There was a shower of stones; the butt of the log went down and its after end tilted up.  Then it lurched out of sight and there was a heavy crash below.  After this Festing heard a confused din, and imagined, though he could not see, the mass of timber plunging down the precipitous slope, smashing rocks and scattering gravel as it went.  The noise stopped, he heard a splash, and as the following logs leaped the broken bank, the first shot half its length out of water, and falling again, drove down stream.