The others rising, slowly
surrounded the rig.
"I don't know what you're up here for," growled the man at the
horses' heads, "but you wanted to see the boss, and I guess you'd
better see him."
"I intend to see him," said Orde sharply. "Get out of the way and
let me hitch my team."
He drove deliberately ahead, forcing the man to step aside, and
stopped his horses by a stub. He tied them there and descended, to
lean his back also against the log walls of the little house.
After a few moments a huge form appeared above the river bank at
some forty rods' distance.
"Yonder he comes now," vouchsafed the man nearest Orde.
Orde made out the great square figure of the boss, his soft hat, his
flaming red beard, his dingy mackinaw coat, his dingy black-and-
white checked flannel shirt, his dingy blue trousers tucked into
high socks, and, instead of driving boots, his ordinary lumberman's
rubbers. As a spot of colour, he wore a flaming red knit sash, with
tassels. Before he had approached near enough to be plainly
distinguishable, he began to bellow at the men, commanding them,
with a mighty array of oaths, to wake up and get the sluice-gate
open. In a moment or so he had disappeared behind some bushes that
intervened in his approach to the house.
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