Part 18 (1/2)
”Well, we'd just better make it,” warned Bob. ”Now I'm going down to the jam to see whether their alarm clock went off this morning.--Now, don't slumber!”
After he had disappeared down the trail, Welton stepped into view.
”Oh, Charley!” he called.
One of the rivermen sprang ash.o.r.e.
”When did the rear leave Murdock's?” he asked without preliminary.
”Thursday.”
”You've made good time.”
”Bet we have,” replied Charley with pride.
”Who's jam boss?”
”La.r.s.en.”
”Who's in charge of the river, then?” demanded Welton sharply.
”Why, young Orde!” replied the riverman, surprised.
”Since when?”
”Since he blew up Murdock's piles.”
”Oh, he did that, did he? I suppose he fired Darrell, too?”
”Sure. It was a peach of a sc.r.a.p.”
”Sc.r.a.p?”
”Yep. That Orde boy is a wonder. He just _ruined_ Roaring d.i.c.k.”
”He did, did he?” commented Welton. ”Well, so long.”
He followed Bob down the river trail. At the end of a half-mile he overtook the young fellow kneeling on a point gazing at a peeled stake planted at the edge of the river.
”Wish I knew how long this water was going to hold out,” he murmured, as he heard a man pause behind him. ”She's dropped two inches by my patent self-adjusting gauge.”
”Young man,” said Welton, ”are you on the payrolls of this company?”
Bob turned around, then instantly came to his feet.
”Oh, you're here at last, Mr. Welton,” he cried in tones of vast relief.
”Answer my question, please.”
”What?” asked Bob with an expression of bewilderment.