"It's his orders," Tom told her.
Mellen was staring at the jam below, over which the Salmon was hurling a flood of ice and foaming waters. The stream was swelling and rising steadily; already it had nearly reached the level of the timberline on the left bank; the blockade was extending up-stream almost to the bridge itself. Mellen said something to Parker, who shook his head silently.
Dan Appleton shouldered his way out of the crowd, with Natalie at his heels. She had dressed herself in haste: her hair was loose, her jacket was buttoned awry; on one foot was a shoe, on the other a bedroom slipper muddy and sodden. Her dark eyes were big with excitement.
"Why don't you make Murray come in?" Dan demanded sharply.
"He won't do it," muttered Slater.
"The jam is growing. Nobody knows what'll happen if it holds much longer. If the bridge should go—"
Mellen whirled, crying savagely: "It won't go! All hell couldn't take it out."
From the ranks of the workmen came a bellow of triumph, as an unusually heavy ice-floe was swept against the breakers and rent asunder. The tumult of the imprisoned waters below was growing louder every moment: across the lake came a stentorian rumble as a huge mass was loosened from the front of Garfield. The channel of the Salmon where the onlookers stood was a heaving, churning caldron over which the slim bridge flung itself defiantly.
Eliza plucked at her brother's sleeve imploringly, and he saw her for the first time.
"Hello, Sis," he cried. "How did you get here?"