Bob paused here only a minute or two before starting on toward the location of the dam. He realized perfectly the futility of such a move. He knew as well as if they were looking upon the ruin that the dam had been destroyed or rendered utterly useless. The mere opening of the gates could have no such far-reaching effect as this. Nevertheless, he felt that he must see it with his own eyes before he could bring himself to plan for the future. And so he kept on. He was right, of course. They found the concrete structure utterly ruined. More than half its surface had been blown away, leaving a great, gaping, ragged fissure through which the water must have rushed, a veritable flood. Long before that could be repaired the spring freshets would have ceased entirely. It would be a physical impossibility to bring the head of water back to its original level until next season. The great drive of finest white pine stranded back in that mudhole was doomed to lie there a prey to rot and destructive boring insects for the better part of a twelvemonth, and in the end was quite likely to prove an almost total loss. Such a catastrophe would be a serious blow to any firm, no matter how great their resources might be. To a concern whose credit had already been strained almost to the breaking point, it would quite likely mean ruin. CHAPTER II. THE INDOMITABLE SPIRIT “My country!” gasped Tweedy, suddenly clenching a fat fist, and shaking it fiercely. “Sixty thousand dollars gone to pot! How in thunder can you stand there, Bobby, and not say a word? Don’t you realize that near half our season’s work is lost? That timber can’t be got out this year any way you think of, an’ by next spring the logs’ll be so full o’ worms they won’t be worth touching hardly. It’s Crane and his gang that’s put one over on us! The trust’s been after us ever since you started that reform racket, and now they’ve got us good!” The stout man fairly choked in the excess of his fury, thrusting a purpling face close to Bainbridge’s. “It’s sixty thousand dollars as good as thrown into the gutter,” he sputtered. “For the love of Heaven, Bobby, can’t you wake up and say something?” The young man’s gaze turned slowly from where it had been resting thoughtfully on that last wrecked boom with the shadowy masses of logs sprawling behind it, and he moved his shoulders impatiently. “What’s the use in saying anything until there’s something to say?” he inquired, with some tartness. “I’m not quite a fool, John. I know Crane’s turned a rotten trick, which is going to cripple us badly. I’m trying to think of a way out.” “Humph!” granted Tweedy despondently. “There ain’t any that I can see. I tell you, son, every penny of that sixty is gone beyond the reach of anybody.” “Not quite,” Bob said curtly, turning to Griggs. “What’s it cost a thousand to bark white pine, Harvey? About a dollar, isn’t it?” “Round that,” nodded the foreman.