at each other without speaking.

"What does it mean?" almost whispered Carpenter.

"Mean? Foul play!" snarled Thorpe. "Come on, Tim."

The two struck into the brush, threading the paths with the ease of
woodsmen. It was necessary to keep to the high inland ridges for the
simple reason that the pole trail had by now become impassable. Wallace
Carpenter, attempting to follow them, ran, stumbled, and fell through
brush that continually whipped his face and garments, continually
tripped his feet. All he could obtain was a vanishing glimpse of his
companions' backs. Thorpe and his foreman talked briefly.

"It's Morrison and Daly," surmised Shearer. "I left them 'count of a
trick like that. They wanted me to take charge of Perkinson's drive and
hang her a purpose. I been suspecting something--they've been layin' too
low."

Thorpe answered nothing. Through the site of the old dam they found
a torrent pouring from the narrowed pond, at the end of which the
dilapidated wings flapping in the current attested the former structure.
Davis stood staring at the current.

Thorpe strode forward and shook him violently by the shoulder.

"How did this happen?" he demanded hoarsely. "Speak!"

The man turned to him in a daze. "I don't know," he answered.

"You ought to know. How was that 'shot' exploded? How did they get in
here without you seeing them? Answer me!"

"I don't know," repeated the man. "I jest went over in th' bresh to kill
a few pa'tridges, and when I come back I found her this way. I wasn't
goin' to close down for three hours yet, and I thought they was no use a
hangin' around here."

"Were you hired to watch this dam, or weren't you?" demanded the tense
voice of Thorpe. "Answer me, you fool."

"Yes, I was," returned the man, a shade of aggression creeping into his
voice.

"Well, you've done it well. You've cost me my dam, and you've killed
five men. If the crew finds out about you, you'll go over the falls,
sure. You get out of here! Pike! Don't you ever let me see your face
again!"

The man blanched as he thus learned of his comrades' deaths. Thorpe
thrust his face at him, lashed by circumstances beyond his habitual
self-control.

"It's men like you who make the trouble," he stormed. "Damn fools who
say they didn't mean to. It isn't enough not to mean to. They should
MEAN NOT TO! I don't ask you to think. I just want you to do what I tell
you, and you can't even do that."

He threw his shoulder into a