precision. Over his shoulder he carried a long percussion-lock
shotgun. Not thirty feet away, perched along the bank, for all the
world like a row of cormorants, sat the rivermen, watching him
solemnly and in silence.

"What's the matter?" inquired Orde, approaching.

The old man surveyed him with a snort of disgust.

"If the law of the land don't protect me, I'll protect myself, sir,"
he proclaimed. "I give ye fair warning! I ain't a-going to have my
property interfered with no more."

"But surely," said Orde, "we have a right to run our logs through.
It's an open river."

"And hev ye been running your logs through?" cried the old man
excitedly. "Hev ye? First off ye begin to tear down my dam; and
then, when the river begins a-roarin' and a-ragin' through, then you
tamper with my improvements furthermore, a-lowerin' the gate and
otherwise a-modifyin' my structure."

Orde stepped forward to say something further. Immediately Reed
wheeled, his thumb on the hammer.

"All right, old Spirit of '76," replied Orde. "Don't shoot; I'll
come down."

He walked back to the waiting row, smiling quizzically.