swung lightly over the wet hummocks of the clearing, to
come to a stop opposite the men. Orde leaned forward against his knees.

"Hullo, boys!" said he cheerfully.

No one replied, though two or three nodded surlily. Orde looked them
over with some interest.

They were a dirty, unkempt, unshaven, hard-looking lot, with bloodshot
eyes, a flicker of the dare-devil in expression, beyond the first youth,
hardened into an enduring toughness of fibre--bad men from the Saginaw,
in truth, and, unless Orde was mistaken, men just off a drunk, and
therefore especially dangerous; men eager to fight at the drop of
the hat, or sooner, to be accommodating, and ready to employ in
their assaults all the formidable and terrifying weapons of the
rough-and-tumble; reckless, hard, irreverrent, blasphemous, to be gained
over by no words, fair or foul; absolutely scornful of any and all
institutions imposed on them by any other but the few men whom they
acknowledged as their leaders. And to master these men's respect
there needed either superlative strength, superlative recklessness, or
superlative skill.

"Who's your boss?" asked Orde.

"The Rough Red," growled one of the men without moving.

Orde had heard of this man, of his personality and his deeds. Like
Silver Jack of the Muskegon, his exploits had been celebrated in song. A
big, broad-faced man, with a red beard, they had told him, with little,
flickering eyes, a huge voice that bellowed through the woods in a
torrent of commands and imprecations, strong as a bull, and savage as
a wild beast. A hint of his quality will suffice from the many stories
circulated about him. It was said that while jobbing for Morrison and
Daly, in some of that firm's Saginaw Valley holdings, the Rough Red had
discovered that a horse had gone lame. He called the driver of that team
before him, seized an iron starting bar, and with it broke the man's
leg. "Try th' lameness yourself, Barney Mallan," said he. To appeal to
the charity of such a man would be utterly useless. Orde saw this point.
He picked up his reins and spoke to his team.

But before the horses had taken three steps, a huge riverman had planted
himself squarely in the way. The others rising, slowly surrounded the
rig.

"I don't know what you're up here for," growled the man at the horses'
heads, "but you wanted to see the boss, and I guess you'd better see
him."

"I intend to see him," said Orde sharply. "Get out of the way and let m