He went up the ladder and stopped at a high platform. The plain was gray and the trees along the bank were bare. The river was dark and black ice covered the slacks. Thin floes drifted down the open channel and broke against the bridge piers. The noise they made was monotonous and like the hum of a small circular saw. All was bleak, the light was going, and the wind was cold. In a few minutes work would stop, but Kit must see Wheeler, and he crossed the bridge.
The office was very hot and smelt of tobacco and kerosene. Wheeler rested his feet on the wood box, and when Kit came in put up some letters and tilted his chair.
“Well?” he said.
“We have fixed the tie.”
“That’s good! I want the heavy braces in before she freezes up; when the ice breaks the piers must stand some thrust. The trouble is, we can’t get the stuff from the rolling mills. Well, do you like it at the bridge?”
“I don’t grumble,” Kit replied. “In fact, if you suggested it, I think I’d hold my job.”
“You’re not a Canadian and the cold is fierce. Unless you wear mittens, you can’t handle iron; anyhow, you can’t let go. I’ve known men frozen by a blizzard a hundred yards from camp.”
“Still you mean to carry on.”
“I doubt if all we can do will meet the pay-roll, but we can’t shut down. We’re up against another company, and the railroad engineers want a number of bridges and tanks. They must have quick construction and are trying us out. We’ll hold on to a small picked gang and push ahead when work is possible. I don’t know if I will be around much, and the man who takes charge must be hard.”
Kit’s heart beat. “If you think I could fill the post, I’ll risk the cold.”