“I have it!” he cried aloud.
But he would not tell what he had. After the noon hour he instructed a half-dozen men to provide themselves with saws, axes, picks, and shovels, and all marched in the direction of the mill.
When within a hundred yards or so of that structure the advancing riverman saw the lank, black figure of the mill owner flap into sight, astride a bony old horse, and clatter away, coat-tails flying, up the road and into the waiting forest.
“Now, boys!” cried Orde crisply. “He'll be back in an hour with the sheriff. Lively!” He rapidly designated ten men of his crew. “You boys get to work and make things hum. Get as much done as you can before the sheriff comes.”
“He'll have to bring all of Spruce County to get me,” commented one of those chosen, spitting on his hands.
“Me, too!” said others.
“Now, listen,” said Orde, holding them with an impressive gesture. “When that sheriff comes, with or without a posse, I want you to go peaceably. Understand?”
“Cave in? Not much!” cried Purdy.
“See here,” and Orde drew them aside to an earnest, low-voiced conversation that lasted several minutes. When he had finished he clapped each of them on the back, and all moved off, laughing, to the dam.
“Now, boys,” he commanded the others, “no row without orders. Understand? If there's going to be a fight, I'll give you the word when.”