Gabe Smith's one concern after he had discovered his oversight, was to do everything in his power to minimize the consequences. He went at once in search of Keith McBain. The old contractor was out on the grade looking over the ground in the hope that operations might be got under way again first thing in the morning.
Gabe lost no time in unburdening his mind. He gave the packet at once to Keith McBain and then, as briefly and as pointedly as possible, explained to him what King had feared when he made the papers out, and what his plan had been in case anything of an unexpected nature should occur.
Keith McBain took the papers, and opening them, looked through them slowly and quietly, while Gabe told his story. Had Gabe not been accustomed to the ways of his old boss he might have felt crestfallen at the apparent lack of effect which his spirited exposition produced in Old Silent. It is doubtful whether in Gabe's whole life he had ever been so excited—his piping voice was thinner and higher than ever. But when he had finished, Keith McBain failed to respond by so much as a single word. For some minutes he continued to look at the roughly-drawn maps that King had made. He seemed to be reading the specifications over and over again to himself. But Gabe, for all that he was excited, had not failed to catch the look of concern that grew in Keith McBain's face as he lingered over the papers.
When the old contractor spoke at last his face was more serious than it had ever been before, so far as Gabe Smith's memory served him, and his words came only with difficulty.
"You can leave these with me, Gabe," he said, folding the papers again very slowly and allowing his eyes to wander off along the narrowing perspective of the right-of-way as he spoke.
Keith McBain's mind had turned towards things that were beyond Gabe Smith's ken, and conversation was at an end.
Gabe turned and took his way alone back to the camp, but as he was leaving the right-of-way he looked behind him to see what had become of his old boss. He was far up the right-of-way, picking his way carefully along, his hands clasped behind his back, never casting a look behind him.
It was very late that evening when Keith McBain returned to the cabin and sat down to the supper that Cherry had prepared for him. And as he ate he was very silent. At last, when he had finished eating, he spoke, and his voice was very low and quiet.
"Cherry, my girl," he said, "come over here."
Cherry left the couch where she had been sitting and hurried to her father, ready to serve him, as she thought, with something she had forgotten to place on the table. Her face expressed what was in her mind.