Under pressure, the
mighty cakes, weighing hundreds of tons, were shot into the air like
peas. The frigid anarchy increased its riot, and the men had to shout
into one another's ears to be heard. Occasionally the racket from the
back channel could be heard above the tumult. The island shuddered with
the impact of an enormous cake which drove in squarely upon its point. It
ripped a score of pines out by the roots, then swinging around and over,
lifted its muddy base from the bottom of the river and bore down upon the
cabin, slicing the bank and trees away like a gigantic knife. It seemed
barely to graze the corner of the cabin, but the cribbed logs tilted up
like matches, and the structure, like a toy house, fell backward in ruin.
"The labor of months! The labor of months, and the passage home!" Davy
wailed, while Montana Kid and the policeman dragged him backward from the
woodpiles.
"You'll 'ave plenty o' hoppertunity all in good time for yer passage
'ome," the policeman growled, clouting him alongside the head and sending
him flying into safety.
Donald, from the top of the pine, saw the devastating berg sweep away the
cordwood and disappear down-stream.
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