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When Orde was driven off that station by Villeneuve on the 9th of April, and retired upon Brest, he had already sent in an application to be relieved from a duty which he himself had sought, and had held for so short a time; alleging a bundle of grievances which show clearly enough the impracticable touchiness of the man. His request was at once granted.
I've got to save my logs." They hesitated; and while they did so Tom North and some others of the crew came running across the jam. "Get a cable to the winch," Orde shouted at these as soon as they were within hearing. "And get Marsh up here with the SPRITE. We've got to get afloat." He paid no more attention to the ejected crew.
He called one of the younger boys to him, Jimmy Powers by name. "Here, Jimmy," said he, "mark one of these piles and keep track of how fast the water rises." For some time the river remained stationary, then resumed its slow increase. Orde shook his head. "I don't like June floods," he told Tom North.
"But you're ready to compromise below the face of the note?" "I am." "Why?" Newmark hesitated. "I'll tell you," said he; "because I know you well enough to realise that there is a point where your loyalty to Heinzman would step aside in favour of your loyalty to your family." "And you think you know where that point is?" "It's the basis of my compromise." Orde began softly to laugh.
In his private soul he was a little amused at the old boy. To his view a man and clothes carried to their last refinement were contradictory terms. Orde ate, dressed, and set out afoot in search of Miss Bishop's address. He arrived in front of the house a little past eight o'clock, and, after a moment's hesitation, mounted the steps and rang the bell.
This was so obviously humourous in intent that its only reception consisted of more grins from everybody. "But," went on Orde more seriously, "it's quite a job. We can't work more than six or eight men at it at a time. We got to work as fast as we can before the old man can interfere." "The nearest sheriff's at Spruce Rapids," commented some one philosophically.
This episode of the big jam was, after all, nothing but part of the day's work to Orde; a crisis, exaggerated it is true, but like many other crises a man must meet and cope with on the river. There was no reason why Carroll should drive the twelve miles between Monrovia and the booms, unless curiosity should take her.
A tree-toad chirped, loudest in all the world of stillness. Suddenly, without warning, the old man scraped back his chair. Bob's heart leaped. Was his one chance escaping him? Then to his relief Samuels spoke. The long duel of silence was at an end. "What might your name be?" inquired Samuels. "Orde." "I heerd of you ... what might you be doing up here?" "I'm just riding through."
"Well, McNeill he agreed to get a gang of bad ones from the Saginaw to run in on the river, and I heard Heinzman tell him to send 'em in to headwaters. And McNeill said, 'That's all right about the cash, Mr. Heinzman, but I been figgerin' on gettin' even with Orde for some myself." "Is that all?" inquired Orde. "That's about all," confessed Charlie.
Immediately the tug churned forward to accomplish the last duty, that of binding the defences together by means of chains and cables. Two men leaped to the floating booms and moved her fore and aft. Orde and the Rough Red set about the task. Methodically they worked from either end toward the middle. When they met finally, Orde directed his assistant to get aboard the tug.
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