over ears in his task.  By now he knew every man by name, and he addressed each personally.  He had no idea of what was to be done to start this riverful of logs smoothly and surely on its way; he did not need to.  Afloat on the river was technical knowledge enough, and to spare.  Bob threw his men at the logs as he used to throw his backs at the opposing line.  And they went.  Even in the whole-souled, frantic absorption of the good coach he found time to wonder at the likeness of all men.  These rivermen differed in no essential from the members of the squad.  They responded to the same authority; they could be hurled as a unit against opposing obstacles.

Bob felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and whirled to stare straight into the bloodshot eyes of Roaring Dick.  The man was still drunk, but only with the lees of the debauch.  He knew perfectly what he was about, but the bad whiskey still hummed through his head.  Bob met the baleful glare from under his square brows, as the man teetered back and forth on his heels.

“You got a hell of a nerve!” said Roaring Dick, thickly.  “You talk like you was boss of this river.”

Bob looked back at him steadily for a full half-minute.

“I am,” said he at last.

XVI

Roaring Dick had not been brought up in the knowledge of protocols or ultimatums.  Scarcely had Bob uttered the last words of his brief speech before he was hit twice in the face, good smashing blows that sent him staggering.  The blows were followed by a savage rush.  Roaring Dick was on his man with the quickness and ferocity of a wildcat.  He hit, kicked, wrestled, even bit.  Bob was whirled back by the very impetuosity of the attack.  Before he could collect his wits he was badly punished and dazed.  He tripped and Roaring Dick, with a bellow of satisfaction, began to kick at his body even before he reached the ground.

But strangely enough this fall served to clear Bob’s head.  Thousands of times he had gone down just like this on the football field, and had then been called upon to struggle on with the ball as far as he was able.  A slight hint of the accustomed will sometimes steady us in the most difficult positions.  The mind, bumping aimlessly, falls into its groove, and instinctively shoots forward with tremendous velocity.  Bob hit the ground, half turned on his shoulder, rolled over twice with the rapid, vigorous twist second-nature to a seasoned halfback, and bounded to his feet.  He met Roaring Dick half way with a straight blow.  It failed to stop, or even to shake the little riverman.  The next instant the men were wrestling fiercely.

Bob found himself surprisingly opposed.  Beneath his loose, soft clothing the riverman seemed to be made of steel.  Suddenly Bob was called upon to exert every ounce of strength in his body, and to summon all his acquired skill to prevent himself from being ignominiously overpowered.  The ferocity of the rush, and the purposeful rapidity of Roaring Dick’s attack, as well as the unexpected variety thereof, kept him fully occupied in defending himself.  With the exception of the single blow delivered when he had regained his feet, he had been unable even to attempt aggression.  It was as though he had touched a button to release an astonishing and bewildering erratic energy.