Orde thrust back his felt hat and ran his fingers through his short,
crisp hair.

"There you've got me," he confessed, "but, if necessary, we'll pile
the old warrior."

He walked to the edge of the dam and stood looking down current.
For perhaps a full minute he remained there motionless, his hat
clinging to one side, his hand in his hair. Then he returned to the
grimly silent rivermen.

"Boys," he commanded briefly, "get your peavies and come along."

He led the way past the mill to the shallows below.

"There's a trifle of wading to do," he announced. "Bring down two
logs--fairly big--and hold them by that old snag," he ordered.
"Whoa-up! Easy! Hold them end on--no, pointing up stream--fix 'em
about ten foot apart--that's it! George, drive a couple of stakes
each side of them to hold 'em. Correct! Now, run down a couple
dozen more and pile them across those two--side on to the stream, of
course. Roll 'em up--that's the ticket!"

Orde had been splashing about in the shallow water, showing where
each timber was to be placed. He drew back, eyeing the result with
satisfaction. It looked rather like a small and bristly pier.

Next he cast his eye about and discovered a partially submerged
boulder on a line with the newly completed structure. Against this