He frowned as he thought there was no physical reason he should feel shaken. He was used to strenuous effort, and danger could not be avoided when one engaged in construction work. It was mental strain that was wearing him out; the constant endeavor to finish a task in less than the necessary time. Want of money was, however, the main cause of his difficulties, and when he had got his cheque it would be possible to take things easier. Comforting himself with this reflection, he got up and led the horses down-hill.
The clang of hammers and rattle of shovels rose from the gorge, sharply distinct at times, but melting when the throb of the river swelled and a gust roared among the trees. A dark skeleton of steel that stood out against pulsating flame, with blurred reflections below, marked the central pier of the bridge; the line of track was picked out by twinkling fires. Then the scream of a whistle pierced the sound and the lights went out. The men were going back to the bunk-house and Festing envied them. Their work was finished for the day and they could rest, free from care, until the whistle roused them to begin again. Many were, no doubt, tired, but that was man's common lot, and muscular fatigue in moderation was no hardship. The strain came when one had to make the dollars go round and see that every effort paid its cost. Among the mountains, the cost was high.
Charnock joined him when he was grooming the horses in the rude stable, because the teams must be cared for before the men thought of food. Supper was ready when they went in, and when they had eaten they sat by the hearth, drying their damp clothes and enjoying the warmth. They had scarcely spoken to one another during the day; as a rule, it was only after supper one could indulge in talk.
Presently Charnock took his pipe from his mouth. “It's luxuriously warm, but one can't expect the Chinook to last. I imagine we'll have some use for a stove after all.”
“We're not out of danger yet,” Festing replied. “Norton's cheque has still to be earned, but I begin to feel hopeful. If we can hold out for a few more days, I think we'll turn the corner. Anyhow, the plan you made prevents any trouble from Wilkinson for a time. Do you think he has had enough and will leave us alone?”
“I can't tell, but it doesn't matter much. We mustn't exaggerate the fellow's importance; he's a very poor sample of the theatrical villain. Besides, I imagine you seldom meet the latter in real life; it's an unnecessary part.”
“You mean we're up against enough without a plotting antagonist? Well, I must agree. Considering the weather—”
Charnock stopped him with a smile. “I don't mean the weather, though one can't leave that out. In a new country, man must make the best fight he can against Nature; but she's not his worst enemy. It's our passions, our virtues sometimes, that lead us into a coil. Looks as if they didn't want much help from outside.”
“That kind of speculation's not much in my line.”
“Just so. You're what you call practical, and your mind runs upon the number of yards of rockwork you can put up in a day or the logs you can cut. Very useful, but it doesn't take you far enough. In fact, if you had thought more about other matters, you wouldn't be here now. Nor would I.”