“Thar’s a train soon. I calkilated to stay over a day. But the sooner the better.... Lass, will you run off or tell him?”
“I’ll tell him. He can’t stop me, even if he would.... The gold will save him from ruin....He will let me go.”
She stooped to pick up the little leather note-book and placed it in her bosom. Her heart seemed to surge against it. The great river rolled on—rolled on—magnified in her sight. A thick, rich, beautiful light shone under the trees. What was this dance of her blood while she seemed so calm, so cool, so sure?
“Does he have any idea—that I might return to him?” she asked.
“None, lass, none! Thet I’ll swear,” declared Slingerland. “When I left him at Roarin’ City the other day he was—wal, like he used to be. The boy come out in him again, not jest the same, but brave. Sendin’ thet gold an’ thet little book made him happy.... I reckon Neale found his soul then. An’ he never expects to see you again in this hyar world.”
35
Building a railroad grew to be an exact and wonderful science with the men of the Union Pacific, from engineers down to the laborers who ballasted and smoothed the road-bed.
Wherever the work-trains stopped there began a hum like a bee-hive. Gangs loaded rails on a flat-car, and the horses or mules were driven at a gallop to the front. There two men grasped the end of a rail and began to slide it off. In couples, other laborers of that particular gang laid hold, and when they had it off the car they ran away with it to drop it in place. While they were doing this other gangs followed with more rails. Four rails laid to the minute! When one of the cars was empty it was tipped off the track to make room for the next one. And as that next one passed the first was levered back again on the rails to return for another load.
Four rails down to the minute! It was Herculean toil. The men who fitted the rails were cursed the most frequently, because they took time, a few seconds, when there was no time.