When at last the jolting cars stopped, they found a car waiting, into which the three piled. Once under way, Bob asked Mr. Whitney, “Doesn’t the railroad go into the camp? It seems to me it must be pretty heavy hauling all the big machinery from here across the desert.”
“A railroad goes to the job all right, Bob, but it’s meant for freight and a train runs only three times a week. The line was built by the Service and belongs to the Government. We’ve come the wrong day to catch that train.”
“I see. And does the Service build other things besides dams and railroads?”
“Surely! On a job like this so far away from any regular transportation line the Service has to construct all the necessities of life—and some luxuries. It built the town that we’ll be coming to shortly, put in the electric light system, erected a school and a hospital. In some places we’ve even built a motion picture theatre to keep the men satisfied. Probably there’s one on this job. When I was up here last they were planning it. I bet you never thought Uncle Sam was in the amusement business.”
Bob laughed. “There sure must be a lot of men working up there.”
“It’s a young city. But here we are.”
The road had been steadily climbing and now it topped the crest of the hill. Before their eyes lay a wonderful panorama. To the north, the wide valley of the river stretched into the distance, a winding band of green and gold, flanked on each side by the glowing desert. Immediately below them the peaceful face of nature was broken.
It was the place where the dam was to be built—where already part of it was built. From the height from which they looked the network of cables and railroad tracks and rushing ant-like figures, seemed a confused jumble without a sense of direction. But as the car coasted down the well-made road—also constructed by the Government, Bob learned later—the jumble became clearer. The cables, extending from one side of the hill to the other, carried buckets which rushed incessantly to and fro. These were lowered and hoisted seemingly by chance. The puffing engines pulled cars of rock to the crusher and backed away for new loads. The swarming men now showed themselves as workers, the directing units, and their rushing about was merely carrying out their part of the great work.
Finally the car came to a stop before a large two-story adobe house. The boys followed Mr. Whitney inside. “This is the Quarter-house,” Mr. Whitney explained as they went in. “They have rooms here for the engineering force and it is also used as a hotel if any guests happen to come along. I’ll see if you boys can be put up here until we can find permanent quarters for you.”
Hardly were they over the threshhold, before a short, stocky, middle-aged man came up to them. He rushed up to Whitney with outstretched hands and said, “I certainly am glad to see you, Whitney. Ted Adams has been gone two weeks and I have been expecting you almost any day. I couldn’t get down to meet you at the station, as they needed me over at the spillway. Little matter of extra shoring. It’s all right now.”