It was none of Harry Hazelton's particular business to watch whether the tracks sank slightly. That duty could be better performed by the foremen who had had charge of the track laying. Yet Hazelton, as he watched, found himself growing impatient.
“Here!” Harry called to a near-by laborer. “Take my horse, please.”
In another instant the young assistant engineer was on foot, following the slowly moving train as it rolled along over the ground where, months before, not even a man could have strolled with safety.
“Do you see any sagging of the track, Mr. Rivers?” Harry called.
“No, sir. Not as much as a sixteenth of an inch at any point,” responded the foreman. “The job has been a big success.”
“We can tell that better after the track has held loads of from five to eight hundred tons,” Harry rejoined. “I believe, however, that we have the tricks of the savage old Man-killer nailed.”
Exultation throbbed in Harry's heart. Outwardly, he did not trust himself to reveal his great delight. He still followed, watching anxiously, until the train had passed safely over the Man-killer.
Then a great cheer went up from more than a thousand throats, for many people had come out from Paloma to watch the test.
The train had gone a quarter of a mile past the western edge of the huge and once treacherous quicksand. Now the engine was on a temporary turn-table, waiting to be turned and switched back to bring the train back over the Man-killer at a swift gait.
“Where's Mr. Reade?” called the president of the road, gazing backward. “Someone go for him. I wish him to be here to see the test made with the train under fast speed.”