In the afternoon, he had occasion to pass the spot where Festing was occupied, and stopped to watch.  The men were getting a big log on end; two steadying it and supporting part of the weight by a tackle fixed to its top, while Festing and another guided its foot into a hole.  The ground was wet and slippery and their task looked almost beyond their strength, but Charnock knew he would get into trouble if he were seen going to their help.  Since he was not in view of the foreman where he stood on top of the bank, it was prudent to remain there.

The log swayed as its point caught a stone, and Festing’s hands slipped on the muddy bank.  He shouted to the men at the tackle, who bent their backs and hauled, but the timber did not rise as it ought.  Charnock, looking round, noted that the stake the tackle was fastened to was pulling out.

“Get from under!  She’s coming down on top of you!” he cried.

Festing looked up and saw the danger; but if the log fell it would not stop until it and the tackle plunged into the rapid below.

“Stay with it!” he gasped; and he and his companions braced themselves against the crushing weight.

The veins rose on his forehead.  His back was arched and his wet slickers split, but it was plain to Charnock that the men could not hold up the timber, which would injure them if it fell.  But with help they might perhaps move it enough for the point to sink into the hole before the tackle gave way, and Charnock leaped recklessly from the top of the bank.  He knew what he was undertaking when he took hold.  Festing would not let go; he meant to put the log into its socket, or let it start on its plunge to the river over his body.

For a few tense moments they struggled savagely, with slipping hands and labored breath, while Festing, using his head as a ram, pushed the point of the swaying mass nearer the hole.  Then, when all could do no more, the strain suddenly slackened and there was a jar as the log, sliding through their arms, sank into the pit.  After this, it was easier to hold it, while one threw in and beat down the gravel.  Five minutes later, Charnock sat down on the bank.  His face was crimson, his hands bled, and his chest heaved as he fought for breath, but he felt ridiculously satisfied.

“Thanks!” gasped Festing.  “Lucky you came along.  I thought she was going!”

“Blamed silly thing not to let her go,” Charnock replied.  “Some day your confounded obstinacy will ruin you.  Anyhow, we’ve put her in.  Not bad for a cripple!”

Then he sucked his torn fingers, and fearing that he might have to account for the delay, went about his business.  It was curious that the tense exertion had not brought on the pain, but his back and shoulders were sore when he went to Festing’s shack in the evening.  The small, earth-floored room was dry and warm, and smelt pleasantly of resinous wood.  They did not light the lamp, for although it was dark the red glow of the fire flickered about the walls.  Charnock felt a comforting sensation of bodily ease as he lounged in his chair, and when he had smoked a pipe told Festing about his encounter with Wilkinson.