During O'Neil's absence work had progressed steadily. On his return he found the grade completed to within a few yards of Gordon's right-of-way. Although he was still unable to walk, he insisted upon going to the front, whither he was helped by Appleton and "Happy Tom."
Into the narrow space between the end of his embankment and that of his rival's a gravel-train was spilling its burden, and a hundred pick-and-shovel men were busy. The opposing forces also seemed hard at work, but their activity was largely a pretense, and they showed plainly that they were waiting for the clash. They were a hard-looking crew, and their employer had neglected no precaution. He had erected barricades for their protection until his grade looked like a military work.
"They haven't showed any guns yet, but I'm sure they're armed," Appleton told his chief.
"How is the place lighted by night?" O'Neil inquired.
"Oil torches," Slater answered. "Ah! We've been recognized. That comes from being fat, I s'pose."
As he spoke a donkey-engine at the right of the proposed crossing set up a noisy rattling, a thin steel cable whipped into view between the rails, and from the left there appeared a contrivance which O'Neil eyed curiously. It was a sort of drag, and rode back and forth upon the rails.
"Humph! They'd better not put much trust in that," Murray grunted, grimly.
"Don't fool yourself; it's no rubber-tired baby-carriage," said Slater. "Our men are afraid of it."
After watching the device scuttle back and forth for a few moments O'Neil said shortly:
"Post a notice at once, offering a thousand dollars for any man who cuts that cable."