"Scat! I guess you don't know
me. I'm Jack Orde. Jimmy and I together could do a dozen of you."
He menaced them until, muttering, they had turned away.
"Well, Jimmy," said he humorously, "you look as if you'd been run
through a thrashing machine."
"Those fellers make me sick!" growled the Rough Red.
Orde looked him over again.
"You look sick," said he.
When the buckboard drew into camp, Orde sent Bourke away to repair
damages while he called the cookee to help unpack several heavy
boxes of hardware. They proved to contain about thirty small
hatchets, well sharpened, and each with a leather guard. When the
rear crew had come in that night, Orde distributed the hatchets.
"Boys," said he, "while you're on the work, I want you all to keep a
watch-out for these "H" logs, and whenever you strike one I want you
to blaze it plainly, so there won't be any mistake about it."
"What for?" asked one of the Saginaw men as he received his hatchet.
But the riverman who squatted next nudged him with his elbow.
"The less questions you ask Jack, the more answers you'll get. Just
do what you're told to on this river and you'll see fun sure."
Three days later the rear crew ran into the head of the pond above
Reed's dam.
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