Kollock’s flush deepened, and he mumbled something inane about taking a smoke. He found that he had arisen, apparently without volition, and was standing before the other man, who stared at him a long half minute. “This is no rest cure,” said Bob at length. “You’re paid for helping the drive along. I don’t want any loafers in this gang. Understand? Now, get down to the head of the drive--and do something!” Kollock’s face was flaming, and his eyes gleamed angrily. “I don’t take that line of talk from anybody!” he growled, clenching his fists threateningly. “I’ll----” “You’ll do what I said, and do it quick!” Bainbridge’s voice was not raised above a conversational pitch, but there was a ring in it which seemed to take the fight and bluster out of the big riverman with the effectiveness of a keen knife thrust into an inflated bladder. For a second he stood in awkward silence, swallowing hard in his embarrassment. Then he raised his head again. “I don’t need your job,” he said, in a poor imitation of devil-may-care defiance. “I’ll get my time, and----” Bainbridge cut him short. “You’ll get down to the drive and _work_. Beat it now--quick!” Without another protesting word, Kollock turned meekly and obeyed. CHAPTER XII. THE TEST Before he had taken a dozen steps, Kollock was furious with himself, and by the time Bainbridge was out of sight the wrath of the riverman had risen to a white heat. From the first he had tried to dislike Bainbridge. Pete Schaeffer had been his friend, and after he had been whipped Curly made up his mind that there could be no getting along in a crew bossed by the victor. Then came that brief but pointed interview with Bob which affected him so oddly. He had never before had anybody tell him that he was to be trusted; most bosses had been emphatic in saying the opposite thing. Or, if they kept silent, they showed in a dozen obvious ways that they considered him in the same class with his notorious brother. Then there was the incident of the day before. Curly could not help admiring the manner in which Bainbridge had handled the crowd that was trying to hold up the drive. It was exactly the sort of thing he would like to have done himself, and his heart warmed toward the man with the courage and ability to act in that fashion. Moreover, Jack Joyce was an old enemy of his, and the sight of the fellow’s humiliation had inclined the riverman even more strongly toward the man who had brought it about. But that was over now, he told himself furiously as he stamped along the stream, hands clenched and face set in a black scowl. He hated Bainbridge! The man had no right to jump on him that way. How did he know what had been the cause of Kollock’s behavior? He had asked no questions, given Curly no chance to explain even had the latter been inclined to lower himself to that extent. He had taken it for granted that the river jack was loafing in spite of the fact that record as a worker was equal to that of the best.