“Whoa’p! That won’t do.” General Corse had laughingly objected. “You’re getting outside help. Casement. It isn’t in the bargain.”
“Let the truck alone. Bring on another animal—horse or mule, but bring it on,” stormed General Casement, watch in hand. “Quick, now.”
Pat yelled and waved and danced. People worked fast, but it seemed another long time before a white horse had taken Jenny’s place; and leaving her wet, muddy body lying, the truck rumbled on.
Virgie was still standing in place, her fingers pressing her eyes tight shut.
“Is Jenny dead?”
“I’m afraid she is, Virgie,” answered Terry.
“Then I want to go home,” she sobbed.
But what was that? General Casement had shouted—“Time!” the men had thrown down their tools, and were waiting and gazing and mopping their faces. The truck had not been a quarter emptied, and the stake was still on ahead.
“We couldn’t have made it, anyway, mule or no mule,” announced the general, calmly. “But we did our best. It’s a record to be proud of. The Central will know we’re on the job, at this end.”
“They’re quitting!” George gasped.