"Call it what you please," answered Moisio. "You'll mark what I say. I'm answerable for order in this place, and if any harm comes afterwards, I'll call you to account for it. 'Tis no lawful way, to risk men's lives for a bet."

"Moisio's right," cried several among the crowd.

The two headmen consulted in a whisper.

"Ay, if that's the way of it," says Vantti at last, and offers his hand. Falk takes it, and turns to face the crowd.

"Listen," he says aloud. "Vantti, here, and I, we take you to witness that we've called off our bet here and now. So there's none can blame us afterwards. If the two men who've entered for the match will cry off too, there's an end of it. If not, 'tis their own affair."

All eyes were turned towards the two compet.i.tors, who stood facing each other, with their friends around.

One of them, a young man in a bright red coat, lifts his head boldly.

"I'm not afraid of drowning, and not going to drown," he cries.

"You draw back, then," says Moisio to Olof. "He'll not care to make the trip alone. No man's gone down the rapids here and lived--'tis madness to try."

Olof scans the water with a critical eye, the crowd waiting expectantly the while.

"I'll not deny it," says he at last. "Don't think I'm paying no heed to what you say. But I've a reason of my own for doing something more than most would venture--and I'll not draw back." He spoke loudly and clearly; all on the bridge could hear his words.

Moisio said no more, but drew back a little.

"Well, who's to go first?" said Falk.

"Let me," says Redjacket.

"As you please," said Olof.

Moisio turned to the headmen again. "You'll have some men on the farther bank," he said, "in case of accidents."

"Not on my account," puts in Redjacket scornfully. "But if the other man here wants fishing up...."

"Have them there if you like," says Olof. "'Twill do no harm."

The men take up their poles; those on the bridge look expectantly down the river.

Kohiseva Rapids are a lordly sight in spring, when the river is full.

The strong arch of the bridge spans its powerful neck, and just below, the rapids begin, rushing down the first straight reach with a slight fall here and there. Then curving to the right, and breaking in foam against the rocky wall of Akeanlinna--a mighty fortress of stone rising straight up in midstream, with a clump of bushes like a helmet plume on its top. The river then divides, the left arm racing in spate down to the mill, the right turning off through a channel blasted out of the rock for the pa.s.sage of timber going down. A wild piece of water this; the foam dances furiously in the narrow cut, but it ends as swiftly as the joy of life; over a ledge of rock the waves are flung a couple of fathoms down into the whirlpool called Eva's Pool.

Here they check and subside, the channel widens out below, and the water pa.s.ses on at a slower pace through the easier rapids below.

That is Kohiseva. The rock of Akeanlinna would be left untroubled were it not for the lumbermen and their work. In the floating season, the channel between it and the left bank is filled with timber, gathering like a great bridge, against which new arrivals fling themselves in fury, till they are drawn down through the cut.

The task which the rival champions have set themselves to-day is to make their way down the upper rapids as far as Akeanlinna, and there spring off--if they can--at the block--for there is no getting down through the cut on a timber baulk, and none could go over the ledge to Eva's Pool and live.

The men have taken up their places on the bank, and the two compet.i.tors are preparing to start.

"Wouldn't it be as well to send a couple of baulks down first, for whirlpools and hidden rocks?" suggests Olof.

"Ho, yes!" cries his rival. "And get a surveyor to mark it all out neatly on a chart--a fine idea!"

Redjacket's party burst out laughing at this, and all looked at Olof.

He flushes slightly, but says nothing, only bites his lip and turns away to study the river once more.

Redjacket looks at him sneeringly, and, pole in hand, steps out on to the boom, a little way above the bridge. Then, springing over to the raft, he chooses his craft for the voyage--a buoyant pine stem, short and thick, and stripped of its bark.

The young man smiles, with a curious expression, as he looks on.

"Did you see?" whispers one on the bridge to his neighbour. "Mark my words, he knows what he's about."

"Look out ahead!" Redjacket slips his tree trunk under the boom, and steps out on to it. Then with a touch of his foot he sends it round and round--spinning it, and sending up the water on either side.

"Ay, he's a smart lad," say the onlookers on the bridge.

Redjacket stops his manoeuvres now, gives a bold glance towards the bridge, then, with a shrill whistle, fixes the point of his pole in the wood; and, stepping back a little, with his hands on his hips, begins, mockingly, to "say his prayers."

"There! Ever see such a lad?" Redjacket's partisans look round proudly at the rest.

"Look at him--look!"

"Have done with that!" cries a stern voice from the crowd. "'Tis no time for mockery."

"What's it to you whether I choose to sing or pray?" cries Redjacket, with an oath. But he stops his show of praying, all the same, and picks up his pole again. He is nearing the bridge now.

Already the angry water swirls over the stem and laps his boots, but he stands fast.

The speed increases, the log itself disappears in a flurry of foam--those on the bridge hold their breath.

Then it comes up again. The current thrusts against its hinder end, and the buoyant wood answers to it like the tail of a fish, slipping sideways round; the steersman sways, but with a swing of his pole recovers his balance, and stands steady as before.

A sigh of relief from the watchers.

"Tra la la la!" sings Redjacket, undismayed. And he takes a couple of dance-steps on his log.

"He's no greenhorn, anyhow," the crowd agree. And some of them glance at Olof--to see how he takes their praise of his rival.

But Olof does not seem to heed; he is watching the water with a certain impatience--no more.

Just then Redjacket's log strikes a sunken rock, and is thrust backward. A swift movement--the log comes down with a splash into the foam; the man bends over, straightens his body, and stands upright as before, then strikes an att.i.tude, and sails on past the obstacle.

"Well done--well done!"

"'Twas a marvel he cleared it."

The log goes on its way, the man standing easily as ever.

Then once more it collides. The fore end lifts--an oath is heard--next second the red jacket shows in a whirl of water. Then it disappears.

A movement of anxiety on the bridge--the watchers on the bank spring to their feet.