er men with
shovels and picks began to remove the filling.

The work had continued nearly an hour when Orde commanded the fifty or
more idlers back to camp.

"Get out, boys," he ordered. "The sheriff will be here pretty quick now,
and I don't want any row. Get out of sight."

"And leave them to fight her out alone? Guess not!" grumbled a tall,
burly individual with a red face.

Orde immediately walked directly to this man.

"Am I bossing this drive, or am I not?" he demanded.

The riverman growled something.

SMACK! SMACK! sounded Orde's fists. The man, taken by surprise, went
down in a heap, but immediately rebounded to his feet as though made
of rubber. But Orde had seized a peavy, and stood over against his
antagonist, the murderous weapon upraised.

"Lie down, you hound, or I'll brain you!" he roared at the top strength
of his great voice. "Want fight, do you? Well, you won't have to wait
till the sheriff gets here! You make a move!"

For a full half minute the man crouched breathless, and Orde, his ruddy
face congested, held his threatening attitude. Then he dropped his peavy
and stepped aside.

"March!" he commanded. "Get your turkey and hit the hay trail. You'll
get your time at Redding."

The man sullenly arose and slouched away, grumbling under his breath.
Orde watched him from sight, then turned to the silent group, a new
crispness in his manner.

"Well?" he demanded.

Hesitating, they turned to the river trail, leaving the ten still
working at the sluice. When well within the fringe of the brush, Orde
called a halt. His customary good-humour seemed quite restored.

"Now, boys," he commanded, "squat down and lay low. You give me an ache!
Don't you suppose I got this thing all figured out? If fight would do
any good, you know mighty well I'd fight. And the boys won't be in jail
any longer than it takes to get a wire to Daly to bail them out. Smoke
up, and don't bother."

They filled their pipes and settled down to an enjoyment of the
situation. Ordinarily from very early in the morning until very late at
night the riverman is busy every instant at his dangerous and absorbing
work. Those affairs which do not immediately concern his task--as the
swiftness of rapids, the state of flood, the curves of streams, the
height of water, the obstructions of channels, the quantities of
logs--pass by the outer fringe of his consciousness, if indeed they
reach him at all. Thus, often he works all day up t