Up to a certain point this was all very well. Orde took pains not
to countenance it officially, and caused word to be passed about,
that while he did not expect his men to help drive Heinzman's logs,
they must not go out of their way to strand them.
"If things get too bad, he'll have spies down here to collect
evidence on us," said Orde, "and he'll jug some of us for
interference with his property. We don't own the river."
"How about them booms?" asked the Rough Red.
"I did own them," explained Orde, "and I had a right to take them up
when I had finished with them."
This hint was enough. The men did not cease from a labour that
tickled them mightily, but they adopted a code of signals.
Strangers were not uncommon. Spectators came out often from the
little towns and from the farms round-about. When one of these
appeared the riverman nearest raised a long falsetto cry. This was
taken up by his next neighbour and passed on. In a few minutes all
that section of the drive knew that it would be wise to "lie low."
And inside of two weeks Orde had the great satisfaction of learning
that Heinzman was working--and working hard--a crew of fifty men.
"A pretty fair crew, even if he was taking out his whole drive,"
commented Orde.
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