Molly Silent had seen her husband’s train pull in. She watched for it to go out again. The whistle blew twice. Something was wrong. She left her place in time to see Silent, his face shining ghastly pale under the soot, pull himself up from the “battle-ship” where he had been leaning. Estrada, sent by Rickard to find out why the train did not pull out, saw him the same instant as did Molly. Silent swayed, waving them back unseeingly, like a man who is drunk.
“God, man, you can’t go like that!” cried Estrada.
“Who’s going?” demanded Silent, his tongue thick with thirst and exhaustion. The whistle blew again.
“I will!” The train moved out on the trestle, as the whistle blew angrily twice. Only Molly and Silent saw Estrada go. Silent staggered unseeingly up the bank, toward the camp, Molly heavily following.
Workers and watchers felt a queer light playing on their faces, but no one stopped to look at the lamps swinging across the channel, or they would have seen that they were growing dim. The test of strength was coming; no time to brush the damp hair from their eyes. The river was humping out yonder; the rolling mass came roaring, flank-on, against the dam.
“Quick, for God’s sake, quick,” yelled Rickard. His signals sounded short and sharp. “Dump it on, throw the cars in!” Marshall was dancing, his mouth full of oaths, on the bank edge. Breathlessly, all watched the rushing water fling itself over the dam. For several hushed seconds, the structure could not be seen. When the foam fell, a cheer went up. The dam was standing. Silent, it was supposed, was bringing in his train.
Above the distant jagged line of mountains, rose a red ball. A new day began. The light fell on the facet of the fighting men; Indians and Caucasians alike black with river mud and soot. The work went on. And again the Dragon rose; a mountain of water came rolling damward.
“Hump yourselves,” screamed Marshall. The signals sounded like hoarse cries.
Three trains ran steaming on the rails.
“We’ll get those rocks over before the river kicks,” cried Rickard. “Be ready, Irish, to run in when they come back. Don’t stop now to blast the big ones. Pour ’em on!”