"Now you see, boys," he said, digging his fists into his eyes, "if
you'd put up a row, what we'd have got into. No blue-coats in mine,
thank you. Well, push the grub pile, and then get at those logs.
It's a case of flood-water now."

But Reed, having recovered from his astonishment, had still his say.

"I tell ye, I'm not done with ye yet," he threatened, shaking his
bony forefinger in Orde's face. "I'll sue ye for damages, and I'll
GIT 'em, too."

"See here, you old mossback," said Orde, thrusting his bulky form to
the fore, "you sue just as soon as you want to. You can't get at it
any too quick to suit us. But just now you get out of this camp,
and you stay out. You're an old man, and we don't want to be rough
with you, but you're biting off more than you can chew. Skedaddle!"

Reed hesitated, waving his long arms about, flail-like, as though to
begin a new oration.

"Now, do hop along," urged Orde. "We'll pay you any legitimate
damages, of course, but you can't expect to hang up a riverful of
logs just on a notion. And we're sick of you. Oh, hell, then! See
here, you two; just see that this man leaves camp."

Orde turned square on his heel. Reed, after a glance at the two
huge rivermen approaching, beat a retreat to his mill, muttering and
wrathful still.