“Then what are you doing in charge of this river?”

“Why, don’t you see—­”

“I see you’ve destroyed property and let us in for a big damage suit.  I see you’ve discharged our employees without authority to do so.  I see you’re bossing my men and running my drive without the shadow of a right.”

“But something had to be done,” expostulated Bob.

“What do you know about river-driving?” broke in Welton.  “Not a thing.”

“Men who told me did—­”

“A bunch of river-hogs,” broke in Welton contemptuously.  “It strikes me, young man, that you have the most colossal cheek I’ve ever heard of.”

But Bob faced him squarely.

“Look here,” he said decidedly, “I’m technically wrong, and I know it.  But good men told me your measly old drive would hang if it stayed there two days longer; and I believed them, and I believe them yet.  I don’t claim to know anything about river-driving, but here your confounded drive is well on its way.  I kicked that drunk off the river because he was no good.  I took hold here to help you out of a hole, and you’re out.”

“But,” said Welton, carefully, “don’t you see that you took chances on losing me a lot of property?”

Bob looked up at him a moment wearily.

“From my point of view I have nothing to regret,” said he stiffly, and turned away.

The humorous lines about Welton’s eyes had been deepening throughout this interview.

“That tops it off,” said he.  “First you get me into trouble; then you fire my head man; then you run off with my property; finally you tell me to go to hell!  Son, you are a great man!  Shake!”

Bob whirled in surprise to search Welton’s good-natured jolly face.  The latter was smiling.

“Shake,” he repeated, relapsing, as was his habit when much in earnest, into his more careless speech; “you done just right.  Son, remember this:—­it’s true—­it ain’t doing things that makes a man so much as deciding things.”

One of his great chuckles bubbled up.

“It took some nerve to jump in the way you did; and some sand to handle the flea-bitten bunch of river-hogs——­”

“You’re mistaken about them,” Bob broke in earnestly.  “They’ve been maligned.  They’re as good and willing a squad as I ever want to see——­”

“Oh, sure,” laughed Welton; “they’re a nice little job lot of tin angels.  However, don’t worry.  You sure saved the day, for I believe we would have hung if we hadn’t got over the riffles before this last drop of the water.”

He began to laugh, at first, gently, then more and more heartily, until Bob stared at him with considerable curiosity and inquiry.  Welton caught his look.

“I was just thinking of Harvey and Collins,” he remarked enigmatically as he wiped his eyes.  “Oh, Bobby, my son, you sure do please me.  Only I was afraid for a minute it might be a flash in the pan and you weren’t going to tell me to go to hell.”