A host of other Chinamen were gathered, chattering and laughing, to watch the work begin.
Now the U. P. men had a good chance to size up the C. P. track-crew and grade-builders—mainly those “haythen Chinese” who lived on tea, rice and pork (and rats, as Pat asserted); who fed no “roaring” towns, who did not get drunk, who gave no trouble to the bosses, and who asked only their dollar-a-day, and tended strictly to business; but who had been buried by snow in the Sierras, had worked in the fire-light on the soda-whitened Nevada desert, and now were arrayed to “show the Melicans.”
The track boss was white—Hi Minkler; Mr. H. H. Minkler, that is. He was passing to and fro, with sly words to keep the crews on edge. The man who met the U. P. officials and ushered them on to Governor Stanford and the other Central officials was Mr. James Campbell, superintendent of the C. P. Salt Lake Division. Mr. Strobridge, the C. P. construction superintendent, shook hands with the U. P. superintendent, Mr. Reed; and Mr. Crocker, the C. P. chief of construction, who ranked the same as General Casement, bustled anxiously here and there, on last inspections.
“Gee! They’d better begin,” spoke George.
“Longer they wait, the better for us,” proposed Terry.
“Don’t you want ’em to win out?”
“I dunno. Why—yes, sure! If they can do it, let ’em. I guess they deserve it, and ’twon’t harm anybody. The U. P. is through. We beat to Promontory.”
Mr. Strobridge had been looking at his watch. He snapped it shut, instantly caught Track Boss Minkler’s eyes—“Go ahead!” he barked.
“Lay to it!” roared Boss Minkler.
The air rocked to a sudden peal of cheers; but before the first note had issued, four rails at once were being laid; the nearest two rails on either side of the rail-car had been seized, each, by two men with tongs or nippers, carried forward at a run, and plunked down upon the ties as a starter!