And if he don't stop them this
side his mill, he'll have to raft and tow them back; and if he don't
stop 'em this side the lake, he may as well kiss them all good bye--
except those that drift into the bayous and inlets and marshes, and
other ungodly places."
"I see," said Newmark drily.
"But don't say a word anywhere," warned Orde. "Secrecy is the
watchword of success with this merry little joke."
The boomerang worked like a charm. The men had been grumbling at an
apparently peaceful yielding of the point at issue, and would have
sacked out many of the blazed logs if Orde had not held them rigidly
to it. Now their spirits flamed into joy again. The sorting went
like clockwork. Orde, in personal charge, watched that through the
different openings in his "boomerang" the "H" logs were shunted into
the river. Shortly the channel was full of logs floating merrily
away down the little blue wavelets. After a while Orde handed over
his job to Tom North.
"Can't stand it any longer, boys," said he. "I've got to go down
and see how the Dutchman is making it."
"Come back and tell us!" yelled one of the crew.
"You bet I will!" Orde shouted back.
He drove the team and buckboard down the marsh road to Heinzman's
mill.
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