The scow was picked up, whirled around,
carried bodily a hundred feet, and deposited finally with a crash.
The instant the craft steadied and even before any one could tell
whether or no the danger was past, Tom cut loose the hammer and
drove that pile!
"I put you in that carrier to be DROVE!" he shouted viciously, "and
drove you'll be, if we ARE goin' to hell!"
When the SPRAY shouldered the scow back to position that one pile
was left standing upright in the channel, a monument to the blind
determination of the man.
Fortunately the wing break carried with it but a few logs; but it
sufficed to show, if demonstration were needed, what would happen if
any more serious break should occur.
Orde was everywhere. Long since he had lost his hat; and over his
forehead and into his eyes the strands of his hair whipped tousled
and unkempt. Miles and miles he travelled; running along the tops
of the booms, over the surface of the jam, spying the weakening
places, and hurrying to them a rescue. He seemed tireless,
omnipresent, alive to every need. It was as though his personality
alone held in correlation these struggling forces; as though were he
to relax for an instant his effort they would burst forth with the
explosion of long-pent energies.
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