“You ain't got no right to close off more'n enough to leave us th' nat'ral flow unless by agreement,” he concluded, and opened the gates.
Then it was a question of breaking the jam. This had to be done by pulling out or chopping through certain “key” logs which locked the whole mass. Men stood under the face of imminent ruin—over them a frowning sheer wall of bristling logs, behind which pressed the weight of the rising waters—and hacked and tugged calmly until the mass began to stir. Then they escaped. A moment later, with a roar, the jam vomited down on the spot where they had stood. It was dangerous work. Just one half day later it had to be done again, and for the same reason.
This time Thorpe went back with Shearer. No one was at the dam, but the gates were closed. The two opened them again.
That very evening a man rode up on horseback inquiring for Mr. Thorpe.
“I'm he,” said the young fellow.
The man thereupon dismounted and served a paper. It proved to be an injunction issued by Judge Sherman enjoining Thorpe against interfering with the property of Morrison & Daly,—to wit, certain dams erected at designated points on the Ossawinamakee. There had not elapsed sufficient time since the commission of the offense for the other firm to secure the issuance of this interesting document, so it was at once evident that the whole affair had been pre-arranged by the up-river firm for the purpose of blocking off Thorpe's drive. After serving the injunction, the official rode away.
Thorpe called his foreman. The latter read the injunction attentively through a pair of steel-bowed spectacles.
“Well, what you going to do?” he asked.
“Of all the consummate gall!” exploded Thorpe. “Trying to enjoin me from touching a dam when they're refusing me the natural flow! They must have bribed that fool judge. Why, his injunction isn't worth the powder to blow it up!”
“Then you're all right, ain't ye?” inquired Tim.