“I'm driving this river, and that's my dam-keeper you've got hid away somewhere here, and that's my water you're planning to waste!”
“What?” repeated the Rough Red, but in a different tone of voice.
“That's right,” said Orde.
In a tone of vast astonishment, the Rough Red mentioned his probable deserts in the future life.
“Luk here, Jack,” said he after a moment, “here's a crew of white-water birlers that ye can't beat nowheres. What do you want us to do? We're now gettin' four dollars a day AN' board from that murderin' ould villain, Heinzman, SO WE CAN AFFORD TO WURRK FOR YOU CHEAP.”
Orde hesitated.
“Oh, please do now, darlint!” wheedled the Rough Red, his little eyes agleam with mischief. “Sind us some oakum and pitch and we'll caulk yure wanigan for ye. Or maybe some more peavies, and we'll hilp ye on yure rollways. And till us, afore ye go, how ye want this dam, and that's the way she'll be. Come, now, dear! and ain't ye short-handed now?”
Orde slapped his knee and laughed.
“This is sure one hell of a joke!” he cried.
“And ain't it now?” said the Rough Red, smiling with as much ingratiation as he was able.