It had not stopped before it was being reloaded at top pace; and back it charged, for end o’ track again. The Chinamen in its path barely sprang aside; then bent once more to their jobs.
The track had been lengthened by half a mile! “Toot, toot!” and “Toot, toot!” signaled the two engines at rear. Here they came, too, with their fresh supplies, halted upon the newly laid track, dumped more ammunition, and backed out, to clear.
The work never slackened for the trotting rail-layers to ease their arms. The spikers and bolters pushed them hard—the Chinamen rarely uttered a word, as they shuffled forward, machine-like. Every man on the job was dripping with sweat. The car crew—Chinamen, they—strained and panted as they shoved at the heavy car; suddenly at a word they fell out and another crew dived into their places.
Along the squads from rear to front and back to rear hurried the water-carriers, with dippers and splashing buckets, ladling right and left.
To keep up with the rails the crowd had to be constantly on the move, themselves; end o’ track was always getting away from them.
It all was so exciting that time flew, like the track.
“Major Hurd says eight-thirty—one hour,” uttered George. “And now look at where they started, at those last tents. Back a mile and a half, or more!”
“Don’t believe they can keep it up.”
“They’ve got 4,000 men to draw on; mostly Chinks.”
“Only so many can work at once. It takes a lot of practice to lay rails and drive spikes just right.”