"No," replied Charley.
"That accounts for your loving it, I believe. The Anglo-Saxons are the trail makers for civilization. And by Jove, if any two people on earth are making trails it's you and Dick."
"You're Anglo-Saxon yourself. What is your work but trail making?"
"We aren't all trail makers!" Roger gave a half cynical chuckle. "You know I'm solving the labor question."
"With old Rabbit Tail's gang?"
"Hardly! Yet, by golly, Charley, I don't know but what I'm developing a typical labor situation down here. The Indian gang is working as a favor, you understand, and not from any necessity."
Charley laughed. "If it weren't for you inventors, we all could revert comfortably to Rabbit Tail's philosophy."
"It was to make that philosophy workable that started me inventing. That is, to give every man food and shelter with a minimum of work."
Once fairly launched, Roger gave Charley a rapid picture of the strike and the burning of the factory. When he had finished the two sat long in silence watching the gray veil that roared before them.
At last Charley shook her head. "It's a long trail from the old plow factory to the hieroglyphic spring, Roger."