“I think myself he probably would,” agreed Orde.
“Surely,” spoke up Newmark, “whatever the status of the damage suits, you have the legal right to run your logs.”
Orde rolled a quizzical eye in his direction.
“Per-fect-ly correct, son,” he drawled, “but we're engaged in the happy occupation of getting out logs. By the time the law was all adjusted and a head of steam up, the water'd be down. In this game, you get out logs first, and think about law afterward.”
“How about legal damages?” insisted Newmark.
“Legal damages!” scoffed Orde. “Legal damages! Why, we count legal damages as part of our regular expenses—like potatoes. It's lucky it's so,” he added. “If anybody paid any attention to legal technicalities, there'd never be a log delivered. A man always has enemies.
“Well, what are you going to do?” persisted Newmark.
Orde thrust back his felt hat and ran his fingers through his short, crisp hair.
“There you've got me,” he confessed, “but, if necessary, we'll pile the old warrior.”
He walked to the edge of the dam and stood looking down current. For perhaps a full minute he remained there motionless, his hat clinging to one side, his hand in his hair. Then he returned to the grimly silent rivermen.