by the up-river firm for the
purpose of blocking off Thorpe's drive. After serving the injunction,
the official rode away.

Thorpe called his foreman. The latter read the injunction attentively
through a pair of steel-bowed spectacles.

"Well, what you going to do?" he asked.

"Of all the consummate gall!" exploded Thorpe. "Trying to enjoin me from
touching a dam when they're refusing me the natural flow! They must have
bribed that fool judge. Why, his injunction isn't worth the powder to
blow it up!"

"Then you're all right, ain't ye?" inquired Tim.

"It'll be the middle of summer before we get a hearing in court," said
he. "Oh, they're a cute layout! They expect to hang me up until it's too
late to do anything with the season's cut!"

He arose and began to pace back and forth.

"Tim," said he, "is there a man in the crew who's afraid of nothing and
will obey orders?"

"A dozen," replied Tim promptly.

"Who's the best?"

"Scotty Parsons."

"Ask him to step here."

In a moment the man entered the office.

"Scotty," said Thorpe, "I want you to understand that I stand
responsible for whatever I order you to do."

"All right, sir," replied the man.

"In the morning," said Thorpe, "you take two men and build some sort
of a shack right over the sluice-gate of that second dam,--nothing very
fancy, but good enough to camp in. I want you to live there day and
night. Never leave it, not even for a minute. The cookee will bring you
grub. Take this Winchester. If any of the men from up-river try to go
out on the dam, you warn them off. If they persist, you shoot near them.
If they keep coming, you shoot at them. Understand?"

"You bet," answered Scotty with enthusiasm.

"All right," concluded Thorpe.

Next day Scotty established himself, as had been agreed. He did not need
to shoot anybody. Daly himself came down to investigate the state of
affairs, when his men reported to him the occupancy of the dam. He
attempted to parley, but Scotty would have none of it.

"Get out!" was his first and last word.

Daly knew men. He was at the wrong end of the whip. Thorpe's game was
desperate, but so was his need, and this was a backwoods country a long
ways from the little technicalities of the law. It was one thing to
serve an injunction; another to enforce it. Thorpe finished his drive
with no more of the difficulties than ordinarily bother a riverman.

At the mouth of the river, booms of logs chained together at