urned, relaxing a trifle in the
interest of this discussion. "It was only a little raw, and needed
shaking into shape."

"And you did the shaking."

"I suppose so; but you see it didn't amount to much because I'd had a
lot of experience in being captain."

The stranger chuckled one of his jolly subterranean chuckles again. He
arose to his feet.

"Well, I've got to get along to town," said he.

"I'll trot along, too," said Bob.

They tramped back in silence by the River Trail. On the pole trail
across the swamp the stranger walked with a graceful and assured ease in
spite of his apparently unwieldy build. As the two entered one of the
sawdust-covered streets, they were hailed by Jim Mason.

"Why, Mr. Welton!" he cried, "when did you get in and where did you come
from?"

"Just now, Jim," Welton answered. "Dropped off at the tank, and walked
down to see how the river work was coming on."

XII

Toward dusk Welton entered the boarding house where Bob was sitting
rather gloomily by the central stove. The big man plumped himself down
into a protesting chair, and took off his slouch hat. Bob saw his low,
square forehead with the peculiar hair, black and gray in streaks,
curling at the ends.

"Why don't you take a little trip with me up to the Cedar Branch?" he
asked Bob without preamble. "No use your going home right now. Your
family's in Washington; and will be for a month or so yet."

Bob thought it over.

"Believe I will," he decided at last.

"Do so!" cried Welton heartily. "Might as well see a little of the life.
Don't suppose you ever went on a drive with your dad when you were a
kid?"

"No," said Bob, "I used to go up to the booms with him--I remember them
very well; but we moved up to Redding before I was old enough to get
about much."

Welton nodded his great head.

"Good old days," he commented; "and let me tell you, your dad was one of
the best of 'em. Jack Orde is a name you can scare fresh young rivermen
with yet," he added with a laugh. "Well, pack your turkey to-night;
we'll take the early train to-morrow."

That evening Bob laid out what he intended to take with him, and was
just about to stuff it into a pair of canvas bags when Tommy Gould, the
youngest scaler, pushed open the door.

"Hello!" he smiled engagingly; "where are you going? Been transferred
from the office?"

"On drive," said Bob, diplomatically ignoring the last question.

Tommy sat down on the edge of the bed