He was jubilantly informed by one enthusiast that they were all in luck--that Larry O'Gorman, the woods poet, had picked that crew as his own for that season on the river. The songs of Larry O'Gorman are sung from the Mirimichi to the Megantic. He is analyst as well as bard. He makes it a point--and he still lives and sings--to attach himself only to forces which can inspire his lyre. It was conveyed to the new boss that already was Larry busy on a new song. Ward, his attention directed, beheld the lyricist seated on the edge of the tavern porch, absorbed in composition, writing slowly on the planed side of a bit of board, licking the end of a stubby pencil, rolling his eyes as he sought inspiration. A bit later Larry rehearsed his choristers and Latisan heard the song. Come, all ye bold and bully boys--come lis-sun unto me! 'Tis all abowit young Latis-an, a riverman so free. White water, wet water, he never minds its roar, 'Cause he'll take and he'll kick a bubble up and ride all safe to shore. Come, all, and riffle the ledges! Come, all, and bust the jam! And for all o' the bluff o' the Comas crowd we don't give one good-- Hoot, toot, and a hoorah! We don't give a tinker's dam. Every man in the crowd was able to come in on the simple chorus. They were singing when Echford Flagg appeared to them. He was riding on a jumper, with runners under it, and he was galloping his strapping bay horses down from the big house on the ledges. On the bare ground the runners shrieked, and he snapped his whip over the heads of the horses. "What is this, a singing school or a driving crew?" he demanded, raucously. "The sleds have just come, sir," explained Latisan, who had been marshaling the conveyances. "Listen, all ye!" shouted Flagg. "Nothing but dunnage bags go on those sleds till the runners hit the woods tote road and there's good slipping on the snow. The man who doesn't hoof it till then hears from me." He ordered Latisan to get onto the jumper seat beside him, slashed his horses with the whip, and led the way toward the north. There was no word between the two for many a mile. Near noon they arrived at a wayside baiting place, a log house in a clearing. They ate there and the horses were fed. There was plenty of snow in the woods and the first rains of April had iced the surface so that the slipping had been good. As if the chewing of food had unlocked Flagg's close-set jaws, he talked a bit to Latisan after the meal and while the horses were put to the jumper. "I'm going to swing off here and ride down to Skulltree dam. I'm hearing reports of something going on there." They heard something very definite in the way of reports before they reached Skulltree. The sound of explosions came booming through the trees. It was dynamite. Its down-thrusting thud on the frozen ground was unmistakable.