u'll find me cheaper. So
long."

He drove on, chuckling.

"I didn't think old Larsen had the spunk," he repeated after a time.
"Guess I ought to have put him in charge in the beginning."

He drove to a point where the erratic road turned inland. There he tied
his horse to a tree and tramped on afoot. After a little he came in
sight of the rear--and stopped.

The men were working hard; a burst of hearty laughter saluted Welton's
ears. He could hardly believe them. Nobody had heard this sullen crew of
nondescript rivermen from everywhere exhibit the faintest symptoms of
good-humour or interest before. Another burst of laughter came up the
breeze. A dozen men ran out over the logs as though skylarking, inserted
their peavies in a threatened lock, and pried it loose.

"Pretty work," said the expert in Welton.

He drew nearer through the low growth until he stood well within hearing
and seeing distance. Then he stopped again.

Bob Orde was walking up and down the bank talking to the men. They were
laughing back at him. His manner was half fun, half earnest, part
rueful, part impatient, wholly affectionate.

"You, Jim," said he, "go out and get busy. You're loafing, you know you
are; I don't give a damn what you're to do. Do something! Don't give an
imitation of a cast-iron hero. No, I won't either tell you what to do. I
don't know. But do it, even if you have to make it up out of your own
head. Consider the festive water-beetle, and the ant and other
industrious doodle-bugs. Get a wiggle on you, fellows. We'll never get
out at this rate. If this drive gets hung up, I'm going to murder every
last one of you. Come on now, all together; if I could walk out on those
logs I'd build a fire under you; but you've got me tied to the bank and
you know it, you big fat loafers, you!"

"Keep your hair on, bub; we'll make it, all right"

"Well, we'd just better make it," warned Bob. "Now I'm going down to the
jam to see whether their alarm clock went off this morning.--Now, don't
slumber!"

After he had disappeared down the trail, Welton stepped into view.

"Oh, Charley!" he called.

One of the rivermen sprang ashore.

"When did the rear leave Murdock's?" he asked without preliminary.

"Thursday."

"You've made good time."

"Bet we have," replied Charley with pride.

"Who's jam boss?"

"Larsen."

"Who's in charge of the river, then?" demanded Welton sharply.

"Why, young Orde!" replied the riverman, surprised.