to
the deck.

"Now if you want to picnic," he told the astonished and frightened
excursionists, "go to it!"

With entire indifference to the water, he vaulted over the low rail and
splashed away. The rivermen and the engineer who had accompanied him
lingered only long enough to start up the band.

"Now you're safe as a cow tied to a brick wall," said the Rough Red,
whose appearance alone had gone far toward overawing the passengers. "Be
joyful. Start up the music. Start her up, I tell you!"

The band hastily began to squawk, very much out of time, and somewhat
out of tune.

"That's right," grinned the Rough Red savagely, "keep her up. If you
quit before I get back to work, I'll come back and take you apart."

They waded through the shallow water in the cornfield. After them wafted
the rather disorganised strains of WHOA, EMMA. Captain Simpson was
indulging in what resembled heat apoplexy. After a time the LUCY BELLE'S
crew recovered their scattered wits sufficiently to transport the
passengers in small boats to a point near the county road, whence all
trudged to town. The LUCY BELLE grew in the cornfield until several
weeks later, when time was found to pull her off on rollers.

Arrived at the booms Captain Marsh shook the loose water from his legs.

"All right, sir," he reported to Orde. "I ran 'em ashore yonder."

Orde looked up, brushing the hair from his eyes. He glanced in the
direction of the cornfield, and a quick grin flickered across the
absorbed expression of his face.

"I should think you did," said he briefly. "I guess that'll end the
excursion business. Now take Number Two up below the swing; and then
run down and see if you can discover Tom. He went somewhere after piles
about an hour ago."

Down river the various mill owners were busy with what men they had left
in stringing defences across the river in case Orde's works should go
out. When Orde heard this he swore vigourously.

"Crazy fools," he spat out. "They'd be a lot better off helping here. If
this goes out, their little booms won't amount to a whiff of wind."

He sent word to that effect; but, lacking the enforcement of his
personal presence his messages did not carry conviction, and the
panic-stricken owners continued to labour, each according to his ideas,
on what Orde's clearer vision saw to be a series of almost comical
futilities. However, Welton answered the summons. Orde hailed his coming
with a shout.

"I want a dredge,"