"What! The dam built by the timber-thieves? It isn't possible. There is not enough water in the dam to cause the roar I hear."
"Plenty water. You fix gates so dam fill up. You know."
"That's so." Hippy ran down to the river to listen, still doubting Willy's assertion that the timber-thieves' dam had burst out.
The Indian had followed and stood silently beside his listening companion, his own ears listening to the distant murmur. Willy, however, did not need to listen. He knew!
"I don't believe it is water that we hear," muttered Lieutenant Wingate.
"Him water," muttered the Indian. "Moon come up. Good!"
The moon at full, after being hidden from view for nearly a week, rose above the tops of the trees, thinning the darkness that lay heavy on the river, the full light not yet having reached the Little Big Branch at that point. Hippy shaded his straining eyes and gazed upstream. All seemed peaceful in that direction, but he suddenly realized that the sound he had heard was increasing in volume. He could now hear a succession of hollow reports, the meaning of which he could not fathom. He asked his companion what it meant.
"Logs him jump up in water. Knock together and make big noise."
Hippy suddenly visualized the scene that the Indian's brief words had pictured.
"Watch it! I'm going for help!" cried Hippy, sprinting for the shack. As he neared it the familiar sounds of the earlier evening greeted his ears. The fiddler was still sawing away; the bang of hob-nailed shoes on the floor of the shack resounded rhythmically, and Hippy thought, as he ran, of the weariness that the Overland girls must feel after their strenuous evening of constant dancing with the rough and ready lumberjacks who knew neither fatigue for themselves nor for their entertainers.