“Go!” he commanded, with a momentary flare of passion. “Beat it, and don’t let me set eyes on you again--understand? I won’t be so easy on you the next time. Here, take that scum with you. He’s only stunned.” He waited, staring from under lowered lids, until the gang had disappeared in the bushes, half dragging, half carrying their stunned leader with them. Then, with a long sigh, he turned slowly and smiled at Peters. “All right, Jack,” he said quietly. “I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble here. Just hustle all you can to make up for this delay.” Peters grinned, and snapped out some orders to the men which sent them flying along the bank and even out on the stream over the tumbling logs. But as they went they cast glances of open, unadulterated admiration at the young man coolly brushing a bit of mud from one shoulder, and their comments to each other left no trace of doubt of their thorough approval of everything he had said and done. Bob heard some of them, and when the men had gone on he smiled a bit. To get that drive down successfully he knew he must have the men with him. He knew also that deliberate planning could not have accomplished that result half so well as this encounter with the tools of the Lumber Trust. The whole affair had proved a great piece of luck for him, thought the young lumberman. His meditation was broken in upon by the sound of a strange voice. “I had no idea lumbering was such a strenuous occupation.” A moment later Bainbridge was looking into a pair of pleasant, friendly eyes set in the handsome face of a man of about fifty. He was roughly dressed in well-worn, but finely made fishing clothes, and carried a good trout rod in one hand. There was, too, about the stranger an air of forceful capability which attracted the younger man. “It’s not usually quite so full of incident,” said Bob; “but I don’t believe you’d ever find it exactly tame.” The stranger smiled, and made a comprehensive gesture with his hands. “And this is your idea of incident,” he murmured whimsically. “I should call it something decidedly stronger.” He hesitated for an instant, then moved closer to Bob. “You’re going downstream, aren’t you? Do you mind if I walk along with you? My camp’s down that way.” Bainbridge acquiesced readily. There was something very taking about the stranger, and within ten minutes he found himself chatting as if to an old friend. His companion turned out to be Wolcott Sears, of Boston, on a two weeks’ trip in the Maine woods. The name was only vaguely familiar, but Bob felt sure from his manner that he was a man of affairs. He was tremendously interested in hearing all about the peculiar conditions of this particular drive, and before Bainbridge realized it he had given a brief narrative of his fight with the Lumber Trust and the events which had grown out of it.