“Yes; and we ain’t there yet,” said Starbuck, who seemed to have acquired a pessimistic slant.
Maxwell swung far out as they were rounding the great curve and got a clear view of the small smelter-town yard. Straightening up, he pulled the whistle cord to attract Bascom’s attention, and then leaned out and made the necessary hand-signal to run through the small town without stopping.
In some inexplicable way the signal, or rather the giving and receiving of it, proved fatal. Bascom looked back to nod his understanding, and when he faced about again he saw, too late, that a box-car, set out by one of the lately passing freights on the smelter-loading track, had “drifted” down the siding to a point at which it would not clear the main line. There was a ripping crash, a roar of steam escaping through a broken cylinder, and the race, so far as Engine Nine-fifteen was concerned, was over.
When the four passengers had picked themselves up out of the heap into which the sudden stop had piled them, they went forward to see what was to be done. There was nothing to be done locomotive-wise; but there was still plenty of time, even if the six remaining miles should have to be covered by a picked-up team borrowed from the smelter folk.
But the team expedient proved unnecessary. At the Nophi station they found a section gang at work, with a hand-car available; and on the “pump special” they made their entry, some thirty minutes past five, into the Grafton Brothers’ camp at the eastern tunnel approach.
Stribling, a handsome young fellow with a frank, open face and honest eyes, was on hand to meet them.
“By Jove, Mr. Maxwell!” he said, with what was apparently a most palpable relieving of anxious strain, “I was afraid you weren’t coming, and I’d just about made up my mind to ’phone over to Lopez to tell Canby and the rest of them that we’d postpone. I’ve got my record to make yet, most of it, and I couldn’t afford to turn that power on and start an engine through until after you and Benson have gone over the completed installation with me.”
“Well,” Maxwell rejoined, “that’s what we’re here to do. You know Starbuck, my brother-in-law? I thought so. Now shake hands with my friend Sprague, of the Department of Agriculture, and we’ll go through with you.”
Starbuck was watching Stribling’s face when the young electrical engineer shook hands with the big man from Washington. There was a query in the younger man’s eyes, and Starbuck saw it. Also, he marked the half-second of hesitation which came between the introduction and its acknowledgment. But a moment later they were all on their way to the black-mouthed tunnel, Stribling walking ahead with the superintendent and Sprague, and Starbuck following with Benson.
For convenience in his work Stribling had set up a small steam-driven dynamo at his camp and had strung the tunnel with incandescents, hence there was plenty of light in the long bore for the examination of the power wiring. When they plunged underground the construction man was still walking ahead with Maxwell and Sprague, explaining, for the benefit of the superintendent’s guest, the design of the catenary brackets and the double set of insulators.