o show his face on this river again!"

The saloon-keeper demurred, blustering slightly after the time-tried
manner of his sort.

"Look here, young fellow, you can't talk that way to me."

"Can't I!" snapped Bob; "well, you turn around and get out of here."

The man met full the blaze of the extra-normal powers not yet fallen
below the barrier in the young fellow's personality. He gathered up the
reins and drove away.

Bob watched him out of sight, his chest rising and falling with the
receding waves of his passion. He was a strange young figure with his
torn garments, his tossed hair, the streak of blood beneath his eye, and
the inner fading glow of his face. At last he drew a long, shuddering
breath, and turned to the expectant and silent group of rivermen.

"Boys," said he pleasantly, "I don't know one damn thing about
river-driving, but I do know when a man's doing his best work. I shall
expect you fellows to get in and rustle down those logs. Any man who
thinks he's going to soldier on me is going to get fooled, and he's
going to get his time handed out to him on the spot. As near as I can
make out, unless we get an everlasting wiggle on us--every one of
us--this drive'll hang up; and I'd just as soon hang it by laying off
those who try to shirk as by letting you hang it by not working your
best. So get busy. If anybody wants to quit, let 'em step up right now.
Any remarks?" He looked from one to another.

"Nary remark," said one man at last.

"All right. Now get your backs into this. It's _team work_ that counts.
You've each got your choice; either you can lie like the devil to hide
the fact that you were a member of the Cedar Branch crew in 1899, or you
can go away and brag about it. It's up to you. Get busy."

XVII

Two days later Welton swung from the train at Twin Falls. His red, jolly
face was as quizzical as ever, but one who knew him might have noticed
that his usual leisurely movements had quickened. He walked rapidly to
the livery stable where he ordered a rig.

"Where's the drive, Hank?" he asked the liveryman.

"Search me!" was his reply; "somewhere down river. Old Murdock is up
talkin' wild about damage suits, and there's evidently been one hell of
a row, but I just got back myself from drivin' a drummer over to
Watsonville."

"Know if Darrell is in town?"

"Oh, _he's_ in town; there ain't no manner of doubt as to that."

"Drunk, eh?"

"Spifflicated, pie-eyed, loaded, soshed,