She leaned forward to speak. Words quivered on her lips. But as she struggled to shape them to utterance, the blast of a boat whistle came screaming up from the water, near and shrill and imperative. Fyfe came out of his chair like a shot. He landed poised on his feet, lips drawn apart, hands clenched. He held that pose for an instant, then relaxed, his breath coming with a quick sigh. Stella stared at him. Nerves! She knew the symptoms too well. Nerves at terrible tension in that big, splendid body. A slight quiver seemed to run over him. Then he was erect and calmly himself again, standing in a listening attitude. "That's the _Panther_?" he said. "Pulling in to the _Waterbug's_ landing. Did I startle you when I bounced up like a cougar, Stella?" he asked, with a wry smile. "I guess I was half asleep. That whistle jolted me." Stella glanced out the shaded window. "Some one's coming up from the float with a lantern," she said. "Is there--is there likely to be anything wrong, Jack?" "Anything wrong?" He shot a quick glance at her. Then casually: "Not that I know of." The bobbing lantern came up the path through the lawn. Footsteps crunched on the gravel. "I'll go see what he wants," Fyfe remarked, "Calked boots won't be good for the porch floor." She followed him. "Stay in. It's cold." He stopped in the doorway. "No. I'm coming," she persisted. They met the lantern bearer at the foot of the steps. "Well, Thorsen?" Fyfe shot at him. There was an unusual note of sharpness in his voice, an irritated expectation. Stella saw that it was the skipper of the _Panther_, a big and burly Dane. He raised the lantern a little. The dim light on his face showed it bruised and swollen. Fyfe grunted. "Our boom is hung up," he said plaintively. "They've blocked the river. I got licked for arguin' the point." "How's it blocked?" Fyfe asked. "Two swifters uh logs strung across the channel. They're drivin' piles in front. An' three donkeys buntin' logs in behind." "Swift work. There wasn't a sign of a move when I left this morning," Fyfe commented drily. "Well, take the _Panther_ around to the inner landing. I'll be there." "What's struck that feller Monohan?" the Dane sputtered angrily. "Has he got any license to close the Tyee? He says he has--an' backs his argument strong, believe me. Maybe you can handle him. I couldn't. Next time I'll have a cant-hook handy. By jingo, you gimme my pick uh Lefty's crew, Jack, an' I'll bring that cedar out." "Take the _Panther_ 'round," Fyfe replied. "We'll see." Thorsen turned back down the slope. In a minute the thrum of the boat's exhaust arose as she got under way. "Come on in. You'll get cold standing here," Fyfe said to Stella. She followed him back into the living room. He sat on the arm of a big leather chair, rolling the dead cigar thoughtfully between his lips, little creases gathering between his eyes. "I'm going up the lake," he said at last, getting up abruptly.