Reed ran back and forth frantically, disappeared, returned bearing
an antiquated pike-pole, and single-handed and alone attacked the
jam!

Astonishment and delight held the rivermen breathless for a moment.
Then a roar of laughter drowned even the noise of the waters. Men
pounded each other on the back, rolled over and over, clutching
handfuls of earth, struggled weak and red-faced for breath as they
saw against the sky-line of the bristling jam the lank, flapping
figure with the old plug hat pushing frantically against the
immovable statics of a mighty power. The exasperation of delay, the
anxiety lest success be lost through the mulish and narrow-minded
obstinacy of one man, the resentment against another obstacle not to
be foreseen and not to be expected in a task redundantly supplied
with obstacles of its own--these found relief at last.

"By Jove!" breathed Newmark softly to himself. "Don Quixote and the
windmills!" Then he added vindictively, "The old fool!" although,
of course, the drive was not his personal concern.

Only Orde seemed to see the other side. And on Orde the
responsibility, uncertainty, and vexation had borne most heavily,
for the success of the undertaking was in his hands. With a few
quick leaps he had gained the old man's side.

"Look here, Reed," he said kindly, "you can't break this jam. Come
ashore now, and let up. You'll kill yourself."

Reed turned to him, a wild light in his eye.