The Riverman | Page 9

man, "fixed it with the doctor all right?"
"Yes," replied Newmark, in his brief, dry manner, "thanks! I think I ought to tell you that the sheriff is not at Spruce Rapids, but at the village--expecting trouble."
Orde whistled, then broke into a roar of delight.
"Boys," he called, "old Plug Hat's got the sheriff right handy. I guess he sort of expected we'd be thinking of cutting through that dam. How'd you like to go to jail?"
"I'd like to see any sheriff take us to jail, unless he had an army with him," growled one of the river-jacks.
"Has he a posse?" inquired Orde of Newmark.
"I didn't see any; but I understood in the village that the governor had been advised to hold State troops in readiness for trouble."
Orde fell into a brown study, eating mechanically. The men began an eager and somewhat truculent discussion full of lawless and bloodthirsty suggestion. Some suggested the kidnapping and sequestration of Reed until the affair should be finished.
"How'd he get hold of his old sheriff, then?" they inquired with some pertinence.
Orde, however, paid no attention to all this talk, but continued to frown into space. At last his face cleared, and he slapped down his tin plate so violently that the knife and fork jumped off into the dirt.
"I have it!" he cried aloud.
But he would not tell what he had. After the noon hour he instructed a half-dozen men to provide themselves with saws, axes, picks, and shovels, and all marched in the direction of the mill.
When within a hundred yards or so of that structure the advancing riverman saw the lank, black figure of the mill owner flap into sight, astride a bony old horse, and clatter away, coat-tails flying, up the road and into the waiting forest.
"Now, boys!" cried Orde crisply. "He'll be back in an hour with the sheriff. Lively!" He rapidly designated ten men of his crew. "You boys get to work and make things hum. Get as much done as you can before the sheriff comes."
"He'll have to bring all of Spruce County to get me," commented one of those chosen, spitting on his hands.
"Me, too!" said others.
"Now, listen," said Orde, holding them with an impressive gesture. "When that sheriff comes, with or without a posse, I want you to go peaceably. Understand?"
"Cave in? Not much!" cried Purdy.
"See here," and Orde drew them aside to an earnest, low-voiced conversation that lasted several minutes. When he had finished he clapped each of them on the back, and all moved off, laughing, to the dam.
"Now, boys," he commanded the others, "no row without orders. Understand? If there's going to be a fight, I'll give you the word when."
The chopping crew descended to the bottom of the sluice, the gate of which had been shut, and began immediately to chop away at the apron. As the water in the pond above had been drawn low by the morning's work, none overflowed the gate, so the men were enabled to work dry. Below the apron, of course, had been filled in with earth and stones. As soon as the axe-men had effected an entry to this deposit, other 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