Just what Pat meant by a “grave,” Terry did not know, but he was speedily to find out.
On a morning when he rode out, in advance of U. P. end o’ track, for his regular “time inspection,” the two grades were passing each other at last. The C. P. grade was holding to the higher ground, here. The long line of busy Chinamen (“Crocker’s pets,” they were called, Mr. Charles Crocker being the C. P. superintendent of construction) were toiling away, with pick and spade and wheel-barrow, right above the long line of flannel-shirted Irishmen building the U. P. grade.
The Chinamen were saying scarcely a word, and casting scarcely a glance. They trotted with their barrows, and pecked with short little stabs, but they swarmed like rats. The Irish laughed among themselves, making remarks not at all complimentary to their rivals.
As Terry approached a cut, he suddenly ran into a blast. That is, before ever he saw the red flag of danger, cautious voices in low tone, and sly gestures warned him.
“Whisht, now! Look out. Stand where ye be.”
There was no red flag, and no shout; but heads were being turned, along the grade—in the cut the men were pausing, poised, ready to jump—everybody seemed aware, except the Chinamen above the cut; and amidst a sudden scattering for cover by the cut men, up burst the blast itself.
The rocks soared high, specking the air, and rained down, volleying among the Chinamen. The Chinamen squeaked with fright, and ducked and scurried, but several were bowled over.
This appeared to tickle the Irish graders immensely. They pretended to pay no attention; only grinned broadly, as they resumed work, while the Chinamen yelped protests, and shook helpless fists.
“But maybe you killed some of ’em, Mike,” Terry gasped, considerably flustered, himself.
“Them Chinks?” rasped Big Mike, the grade boss here. “Aw, now, don’t ye worry. Let ’em look out for themselves. Our orders be, to pay no attintion to the C. Pay. grade; we’ve our own work. What are they doin’ here, anyhow, right ferninst the blastin’? They ought to know enough to kape away. An’ a ‘grave’ is a blessin’ to a Chinyman—for as soon as he’s dead, ain’t he sint back to the ould country?”