"Well, we'll soon see," said one of the workmen. "Are you ready, Mr. Swift?"
"All ready," answered Tom.
Tank A, as she was officially known, had come to a stop, as has been said, on the very edge of Tinkle Creek. The banks were fairly solid here, and descended precipitously to the water ten feet below. The shores were about twenty feet apart.
"Suppose the spanners break when you're halfway over, Tom?" asked his chum.
"I don't like to suppose anything of the sort. But if they do, we're going down!"
"Can you get up again?"
"That remains to be seen," was the non-committal reply. "Well, here goes, anyhow!"
Going up into the observation tower, which was only slightly raised above the roof of the highest part of the tank, Tom gave the signal for the motors to start. There was a trembling throughout the whole of the vast structure. Tom threw back a lever and Ned, peering from a side observation slot, beheld a strange sight.
Like the main arm of some great steam shovel, two long, latticed girders of steel shot out from the sides of the tank. They gave a half turn, as they were pulled forward by the steel ropes, so that they lay with their broader surfaces uppermost.
Straight across the stream they were pulled, their clawlike ends coming to a rest on the opposite bank. Then they were tightened into place by a backward pull on the operating cables, and Tom, with a sigh of relief, announced: