"It's the bravest man that overcomes himself," she said. "Now, you
have good judgment, Cap'n. My brother is hot-headed. Every one knows
that you are a brave man. You can afford to let him go over the bridge
without--"

"Never!" the skipper howled, in his best sea tones. "You're the last
woman to coax and beg for him, if half what they tell me is true.
He has abused you wuss'n he has any one else. If you and the rest
ain't got any spunk, I have. You'll be one brother out if he comes
slam-bangin' this way ag'in."

She looked at him appealingly for a moment, then tiptoed over the
fragments of the gate, and hurried away through the bridge.

"You ain't no iron-clad, Kun'l Ward," muttered Sproul. "I'll hold
ye next time."

He set to work on the river-bank that afternoon, cutting saplings,
trusting to the squall of the faithful parrots to signal the approach
of passers.

But the next day, when he was nailing the saplings to make a truly
Brobdingnagian grid, one of the directors of the bridge company
appeared to him.

"We're not giving you license to let any one run toll on this bridge,
you understand," said the director, "but this fighting Colonel Ward
with our property is another matter. It's like fighting a bear with
your fists. And even if you killed the bear, the hide wouldn't be