Near her were rivermen who were waiting for their suppers. She was aware of a very tender feeling toward those men who had been risking their lives in the rapids in order to indulge her in a hope which she had made known to them. She reflected on what the sarcastic Crowley had said when he told her that in that region she was among he-men. “If you’re not careful, you’ll start something you can’t stop,” he had threatened. Could she stop these men from going on to violent battle? Would she be honest with her grandfather and Latisan if she did try to prevent them from winning their fight? All past efforts would be thrown away if Skulltree dam were not won.
Out on the deadwater were several floating platforms; the men called them “headworks.” On the platforms were capstans. The headworks were anchored far in advance of the drifting logs, around which were thrown pocket booms; men trod in weary procession, circling the capstans, pushing against long ashen bars, and the dripping tow warp hastened the drift of the logs.
As the men of the sea have a chantey when they heave at a capstan, so these men of the river had their chorus; it floated to her over the quiet flood.
Come, all, and riffle the ledges! Come, all, and bust the jam!
And for aught o’ the bluff of the Comas gang we don’t give one good—
Hoot, toot and a hoorah!
We don’t give a tinker’s dam!
“That’s exactly how they feel, miss,” said the old man. “They’re on their way. They can’t be stopped.”
But the declaration depressed rather than cheered her. Those men had taken up her cause valiantly and with single-hearted purpose, and she was obliged to assume responsibility for what they had done and what they would do to force the situation at Skulltree. In the rush of the drive, with the logs running free, the river was open to all and Latisan’s task was in the course of fulfillment and the Flagg fortunes were having fair opportunity in the competition. But now competition must become warfare, so it seemed. She shrank from that responsibility, but she could not evade it—could not command those devoted men to stop with the job half finished.
The priest’s promise to find Latisan had been living with her, consoling the hours of her waiting. Her load had become so heavy that her yearning for Latisan’s return had become desperate and anguished.
The slow drag of the logs in the deadwater gave her time for pondering and she was afraid of her thoughts.
She was not accusing Latisan of being an inexcusable recreant where duty was concerned; she was understanding in better fashion the men and the manners of the north country and she realized the full force of the reasons for his flight and why the situation had overwhelmed him. Her pity and remorse had been feeding her love.
But the priest had promised. Latisan must know. Why did he not come to her and lift the dreadful burden in her extremity?