"Well, Thorsen?" Fyfe shot at him. There was an unusual note of sharpness in his voice, an irritated expectation.
Stella saw that it was the skipper of the Panther, a big and burly Dane. He raised the lantern a little. The dim light on his face showed it bruised and swollen. Fyfe grunted.
"Our boom is hung up," he said plaintively. "They've blocked the river. I got licked for arguin' the point."
"How's it blocked?" Fyfe asked.
"Two swifters uh logs strung across the channel. They're drivin' piles in front. An' three donkeys buntin' logs in behind."
"Swift work. There wasn't a sign of a move when I left this morning," Fyfe commented drily. "Well, take the Panther around to the inner landing. I'll be there."
"What's struck that feller Monohan?" the Dane sputtered angrily. "Has he got any license to close the Tyee? He says he has—an' backs his argument strong, believe me. Maybe you can handle him. I couldn't. Next time I'll have a cant-hook handy. By jingo, you gimme my pick uh Lefty's crew, Jack, an' I'll bring that cedar out."
"Take the Panther 'round," Fyfe replied. "We'll see."
Thorsen turned back down the slope. In a minute the thrum of the boat's exhaust arose as she got under way.
"Come on in. You'll get cold standing here," Fyfe said to Stella.