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 me an
ache! Don't you suppose I got this thing all figured out? If fight
would do any good, you know mighty well I'd fight. And the boys
won't be in jail any longer than it takes to get a wire to Daly to
bail them out. Smoke up, and don't bother."

They filled their pipes and settled down to an enjoyment of the
situation. Ordinarily from very early in the morning until very
late at night the riverman is busy every instant at his dangerous
and absorbing work. Those affairs which do not immediately concern
his task--as the swiftness of rapids, the state of flood, the curves
of streams, the height of water, the obstructions of channels, the
quantities of logs--pass by the outer fringe of his consciousness,
if indeed they reach him at all. Thus, often he works all day up to
his waist in a current bearing the rotten ice of the first break-up,
or endures the drenching of an early spring rain, or battles the
rigours of a belated snow with apparent indifference. You or I
would be exceedingly uncomfortable; would require an effort of
fortitude to make the plunge. Yet these men, absorbed in the mighty