When they finally appeared, Bainbridge held by his side a shapeless package of considerable size. Had not Peters and Calker walked so close beside him as he bent his way leisurely toward the crowd about the jam, it would probably have been noticed that this package was made up of a dozen or more sticks of giant powder fastened securely together, and depending from a sling of stout manila rope. The line of rivermen had turned, and were watching his approach with interested curiosity, but Joyce and his gang could see nothing. Reaching the men, Bob paused, struck a match, and carefully lighted the end of a protruding fuse. As it sputtered up he gave a short, sharp word of command, the line of men opened instantly to let him through, and a second later he stood not a dozen paces from Joyce, deliberately swinging the deadly package round and round his head. For a second there was a breathless hush. Then the red-haired man leaped forward. “Stop!” he roared. “You young whelp, if you----” He broke off with a gurgling sound, and the color left his face. With a final swing, Bob loosened his hold on the bundle, which curved in a perfect arc over the rear of the jam, over the jagged crest, and dropped swiftly out of sight amid the massive timbers upended in confusion along the face and close to the spot where protruded the freshly driven spiles which had caused all the trouble. An instant later the whole throng of men hustled frantically for cover. CHAPTER X. THE POWER BEHIND IT ALL In less than sixty seconds--so close had been Bob’s calculations--came a detonation which shook the earth, making several of the running men stagger and lose their stride. Up spurted a great mass of water, carrying with it massive logs leaping like agonized things alive. They fell back again, followed by a shower of débris mingled with fine spray, which the wind sifted down on the heads of the ducking, dodging men. From his place behind a stump Bainbridge rose swiftly, shielding his face with one crooked arm from the rain of chips and splinters and bits of bark, and stared eagerly toward the jam. It took but a moment to see that the spiles had disappeared, and the boom was shattered. Moreover, the key logs of the jam were so loosened that the whole drive was again on its way downstream. Bob turned to Peters with a gesture of satisfaction. “She’s off, Jack,” he said. “Get a wiggle on, now, and rush her along. The water’s dropping every minute, and we’ve got a mean stretch to cover before we strike the Penobscot. I’ll go back and hustle the rear along----” He stopped abruptly, and whirled around as a voice, shrill and trembling with passion, was raised behind him. “You’ll pay for that, you meddlin’ pup! I’ll teach you to go blowin’ up folks’ property, an’ mighty near committin’ murder! I’ll show you you can’t play tricks on John Joyce an’ get away with it. That game might work with some, but it won’t----”