The Riverman | Page 8

It's a more serious
matter than you think. In a little while the water will be so low in the

river that it will be impossible to take out the logs this year. That means
a large loss, of course, as you know."
"I don't know nothin' about the pesky business, and I don't wan to,"
snorted Reed.
"Well, there's borers, for one thing, to spoil a good many of the logs.
And think what it will mean to the mills. No logs means no lumber.
That is bankruptcy for a good many who have contracts to fulfil. And
no logs means the mills must close. Thousands of men will be thrown
out of their jobs, and a good many of them will go hungry. And with
the stream full of the old cutting, that means less to do next winter in
the woods--more men thrown out. Getting out a season's cut with the
flood-water is a pretty serious matter to a great many people, and if you
insist on holding us up here in this slack water the situation will soon
become alarming."
"Ye finished?" demanded Reed grimly.
"Yes," replied Orde.
The old man cast from him his half-whittled piece of pine. He closed
his jack-knife with a snap and thrust it in his pocket. He brought to
earth the front legs of his chair with a thump, and jammed his ruffled
plug hat to its proper place.
"And if the whole kit and kaboodle of ye starved out-right," said he, "it
would but be the fulfillin' of the word of the prophet who says, 'So will
I send upon you famine and evil beasts, and they shall bereave thee,
and pestilence and blood shall pass through thee; and I will bring the
sword upon thee. I the Lord have spoken it!'"
"That's your last word?" inquired Orde.
"That's my last word, and my first. Ye that make of God's smilin' land
waste places and a wilderness, by your own folly shall ye perish."
"Good-day," said Orde, whirling on his heel without further argument.

The young man, who had during this colloquy sat an interested and
silent spectator, arose and joined him. Orde looked at his new
companion a little curiously. He was a very slender young man,
taut-muscled, taut-nerved, but impassive in demeanour. He possessed a
shrewd, thin face, steel-gray, inscrutable eyes behind glasses. His
costume was quite simply an old gray suit of business clothes and a
gray felt hat. At the moment he held in his mouth an unlighted and
badly chewed cigar.
"Nice, amiable old party," volunteered Orde with a chuckle.
"Seems to be," agreed the young man drily.
"Well, I reckon we'll just have to worry along without him," remarked
Orde, striking his steel caulks into the first log and preparing to cross
out into the river where the work was going on.
"Wait a minute," said the young fellow. "Have you any objections to
my hanging around a little to watch the work? My name is Newmark--
Joseph Newmark. I'm out in this country a good deal for my health.
This thing interests me."
"Sure," replied Orde, puzzled. "Look all you want to. The scenery's
free."
"Yes. But can you put me up? Can I get a chance to stay with you a
little while?"
"Oh, as far as I'm concerned," agreed Orde heartily. "But," he
supplemented with one of his contagious chuckles, "I'm only river-
boss. You'll have to fix it up with the doctor--the cook, I mean," he
explained, as Newmark look puzzled. "You'll find him at camp up
behind that brush. He's a slim, handsome fellow, with a jolly expression
of countenance."
He leaped lightly out over the bobbing timbers, leaving Newmark to
find his way.

In the centre of the stream the work had been gradually slowing down
to a standstill with the subsidence of the first rush of water after the
sluice-gate was opened. Tom North, leaning gracefully against the shaft
of a peavy, looked up eagerly as his principal approached.
"Well, Jack," he inquired, "is it to be peace or war?"
"War," replied Orde briefly.

III
At this moment the cook stepped into view, and, making a trumpet of
his two hands, sent across the water a long, weird, and not unmusical
cry. The men at once began slowly to drift in the direction of the camp.
There, when the tin plates had all been filled, and each had found a
place to his liking, Orde addressed them. His manner was casual and
conversational.
"Boys," said he, "the old mossback who owns that dam has come up
here loaded to scatter. He's built up the sill of that gate until we can't
get a draw on the water, and he refuses to give, lend, or sell us the right