work philosophically. With entire absorption in the task, they dug,
chopped, and picked. The dull sound of blows, the gurgle and
trickle of the water, the occasional grunt or brief comment of a
riverman alone broke the calm of evening. Now that the sluice-gate
was down and the water had ceased temporarily to flow over it, the
work went faster. Orde, watching with the eye of an expert,
vouchsafed to the taciturn Newmark that he thought they'd make it.

Near midnight, however, a swaying lantern was seen approaching.
Orde, leaping to his feet with a curse at the boy on watch, heard
the sound of wheels. A moment later, Daly's bulky form stepped into
the illumination of the fire.

Orde wandered over to where his principal stood peering about him.

"Hullo!" said he.

"Oh, there you are!" cried Daly angrily. "What in hell you up to
here?"

"Running logs," replied Orde coolly.

"Running logs!" shouted Daly, tugging at his overcoat pocket, and
finally producing a much-folded newspaper. "How about this?"

Orde unfolded the paper and lowered it to the campfire. It was an
extra, screaming with wood type. He read it deliberately over.


WAR!