“That settles it,” said Welton, turning away.
“You aren't going to quit!” cried Orde.
“Certainly. You're crazy!” said Welton with some asperity. “If they can't stop a little jam with iron, what are your wooden defences going to amount to against the whole accumulation? When those logs hit the tail of this jam, she'll go out before you can wink.”
He refused to listen to argument.
“It's sure death,” said he, “and I'm not going to sacrifice my men for nothing, even if they'd stay.”
Other owners among the bystanders said the same thing. An air of profound discouragement had fallen on them all. The strain of the fight was now telling. The utmost that human flesh and blood was capable of had been accomplished; a hard-won victory had been gained by the narrowest of narrow margins. In this new struggle the old odds were still against them, and in addition the strength that had pushed aside Redding's best effort, augmented by the momentum of a powerful current. It was small wonder they gave up.
Already the news was spreading among the workers on the jams. As man shouted to man, each shouldered his peavy and came running ashore, eager question on his lips. Orde saw the Government driver below casting loose from her moorings. A moment later her tug towed her away to some side bayou of safety out of the expected rush to the Lake.
“But we can hold her!” cried Orde in desperation. “Have a little nerve with you. You aren't going to quit like that!”
He swept them with his eye; then turned away from them with a gesture of despair. They watched him gravely and silently.
“It's no use, boy,” said old Carlin; “it's sure death.”