Joe looked back from the stern of the peakie in which he rode to catch up with the drive. The men had clambered out on the timbers and were busy with axes and saws destroying what had been so laboriously constructed. It had served his turn, but he felt regret. He would have liked it to stand, so that some day he might show Jack the rude, effective structure, and tell her the story of its building. He had had but small part in it, though his hands were blistered and ragged from handling rocks and rough timbers. He did not pose even to himself as a conqueror of difficulties; he gave the credit to MacNutt and his crew.
XVI
MacNutt suddenly struck his head a violent blow with his clenched fist and swore. He and Joe sat before the fire smoking a final pipe before turning in, and the gurgle of the water under the banks was music to their ears, for it meant that the logs were travelling free by night.
“What’s the matter?” Joe asked, sleepily.
“I ought to be kicked!” cried the foreman in tones of bitter self-condemnation. “I’m a saphead. I got no more sense than a hen. McCane blew that dam on us. What’s to hinder his blowing the other when he’s finished sluicing his drive? He may be through now.”
“By heavens, Mac!” Joe ejaculated, appalled by the prospect. With the late season’s start and the delays which had already occurred such an occurrence would be a calamity. “By heavens Mac, we can’t let him get away with it again! We can’t afford to take a chance. We’ve got to be sure he doesn’t.”
MacNutt scowled at the fire, biting his pipe stem. “I can’t think of but one way out,” said he. “We’ve got to put a guard on that dam, and if it comes to a case they must have the nerve to make good.”
“You mean—?”
“Just what I say. If any one starts monkeying with it they must stop him—with lead if they have to. Of course you’ll be held responsible for such an order.”
Joe’s mouth hardened. “Mac,” said he, “this is make or break with me. I’ve got to get these logs out. Pick one man and I’ll go with him myself.”