“What time is it?” Pat demanded.
“Close on seven o’clock.”
“B’ dad, an’ they’ll make it, then; for yon’s the ten-mile stake. Yis, an’ I hope they do, even if I have to pay the $10,000 myself.”
Rail by rail it was, with the sweaty forms staggering after, in the wake of the little rail-truck. Rail by rail—only a few more needed——
What! The ten-mile stake? Hooray! And seven o’clock precisely! Ten miles of track, laid in ten and one-half hours’ working time, or almost at the rate of a mile an hour! A world’s record, by the Central Pacific Railroad.
“Finish out the truck-load, boys,” bade Mr. Minkler. “Give the U. P. good measure.”
And they finished the truck-load.
“Ten miles and 200 feet extra, gentlemen,” Mr. Crocker announced. “Are you satisfied?”
“You win,” smiled General Dodge.
The track-crews eased their weary back, and tried to smile, too; but they drooped as they leaned upon their tools. The panting rail-carriers threw themselves flat, exhausted.