Some time later, he returned from Norton's office one night and had reached the track when he saw a man coming obliquely up the slope. There was moonlight, and the snow glittered between the shadows of the trees. Charnock saw the other plainly and drew back into the gloom along the bank. The fellow did not seem to mind whether he was seen or not, but Charnock thought he knew his walk and figure, and when he reached the track set off with the object of overtaking him. The loose snow dulled his steps, and he was close upon the man when the latter stopped and turned. Then Charnock saw, without much surprise, that it was Wilkinson.

"What were you doing down there?" he asked.

"I don't see what that has to do with you," Wilkinson answered coolly.

"The logs in the pond are ours."

Wilkinson looked amused and Charnock tried to control his temper. He would gain nothing by using force, and thought the other meant to give him no excuse for doing so.

"You don't imagine I meant to steal your logs!" Wilkinson rejoined. "They're too large to carry away, and there's no sawmill to buy them if I sent them down the river."

"That's obvious," said Charnock, who thought it prudent not to hint that he had seen the fellow lurking about the pond before. For that matter, he was not certain he had seen Wilkinson.

"You're much more suspicious than you were when I first knew you," Wilkinson resumed in a mocking tone.

"I was a confiding fool then and trusted my friends. It cost me something."

"And now you're afraid to let anybody pass your logs in the dark? Well, caution's useful, but it can be overdone."

"Why did you want to pass the pond?"

"For one thing, because it's the easiest way of getting from the smithy to the track; then this piece of hillside doesn't belong to you. However, as I guess you don't claim it, you no doubt reckoned I meant to play you some shabby trick; turn your logs adrift, for example?"

"I don't think it's impossible."

Wilkinson laughed. "Well, I might do you an injury if the thing wasn't difficult, but don't let your suspicions make you ridiculous. If you feel uneasy, you can watch the pond. Anyhow, the cold's fierce and I'm going to the bunk-house."

Charnock let him go and returned thoughtfully to the shack. He did not doubt that Wilkinson had been to the smithy, because one could find out if he had not, but he felt disturbed. The fellow had somehow encouraged him to believe he might tamper with the logs; but would hardly have done so had he meant to set them adrift. He might, of course, have wanted to keep him uneasy without ground; but suppose it was a feint, intended to cover the real attack, made at another point? Charnock determined to be cautious and keep his eyes open.

He saw nothing to cause him fresh anxiety, although he once or twice visited the pond at night. In the daytime his work absorbed his attention, for they were now building a lofty frame on the steepest pitch of the dip. The foot of the longest timber, which was unusually massive, rested in a socket cut in the rock near the water's edge, and it cost them a very hard and dangerous day's work to get the log on end. Indeed, for a few anxious minutes Charnock imagined that the mass would break the tackles and come down. When fixed, it was nearly perpendicular, but its top inclined slightly toward the bank, and Festing sent for Norton and Kerr.

"It's a good post, but I'm not sure we have got spread enough," he said. "There's not much to resist the outward thrust a heavy train might cause. Still, I don't see how we could have carried the foot farther back."

"You'd have to go into the water," Norton agreed. "That would have meant a coffer dam, and the Company won't stand for expensive extras."

"The ice would have smashed the dam," said Kerr. "The job meets the plan, which calls for stays to stop the post canting out. Put in an extra king-tie half-way up and I'll pass your bill and find the ironwork."

Festing was satisfied with this, and the post was stayed with chains while they got the braces fixed. This took some days, for the men were forced to work on dangerous snowy ledges and boards, hung from the top. Where there was most risk and difficulty Festing went himself, but he looked anxious.

"It's the worst part of the job and perhaps the most awkward thing I've done," he said one night. "If the frame came down with the rockwork filling, it might start the rest and shake some length of road."

"But there's no reason it should come down," Charnock argued.

"Not in a way, but I'm glad Kerr authorized the extra brace. We'll use the heaviest stuff we can, and although the fastenings may give some trouble, we haven't come to them yet. Perhaps I'm getting nervous. We're up to schedule and doing pretty well, but it will be a relief to get the contract finished."

Charnock told him about Wilkinson, and he looked thoughtful.

"I can't see his object, particularly since he left the chain alone. Of course he may have meant some mischief, but gave it up when he found you on his track."

"Somehow I don't think that was it," said Charnock, who went to open the door.

Kerr came in and after a time began to talk about the fastenings for the main tie-beam.

"As the rock is sound and can be thawed, I think we could use a bolt on the Lewis plan. Give me some paper and I'll make a sketch you can take to the smith."

Charnock examined the drawing and noted that the holding part of the bolt was shaped like the letter Y, except that the stalk was split. A wedge was sketched to fit the split, and would obviously expand the upper arms to fit tightly into a fan-shaped hole with a narrow mouth.

"I've not seen this kind of fastening before," he said. "It ought to grip well, but something depends upon the wedge."

Kerr nodded. "The wedge must be properly forged and fit tight, but there's a cross bolt to stop it backing out. So long as it doesn't break under the hammer, it can't come loose. Something depends on the way the hole is cut and the rock, but the stuff you're working is hard enough."

Next morning Charnock took the drawing to the smith, and calling at the forge a day or two later, found Wilkinson sitting on a box. He had brought a pick to be mended and made a few ironical remarks, until the smith showed Charnock some irons he had forged.

"I guess that's what you want, but I haven't finished the Lewis yet. Reckoned I'd wait until I could get a bit of horseshoe iron for the wedge when the new stores come along."

"What's that bar in the corner?" Charnock asked.

"Steel," said the smith. "A bit off the end would make a wedge, but you want to be careful you don't overheat the steel in the forge if it's to stand hammering after. Horseshoe iron's better for your particular job. Come back in a day or two and I'll have the thing ready."

Charnock left him and one afternoon soon afterwards helped Festing to notch and bore the heavy cross-tie to fit the post and the ends of the timbers it was to hold in place. These were intended to strengthen the frame, of which the post and tie were the most important members, and Festing had waited until their other ends were securely fixed. When the light was fading he beckoned Charnock.

"You might get the Lewis bolt. The smith sent word it's ready and I want to fasten the tie before we stop."

When Charnock reached the forge the smith was absent, but he blew the fire until the light flickered about the shop and looked for the bolt. He found it in a corner and took the wedge to the hearth. It was properly shaped and slotted for a cross-bolt, but it looked rough and scaly, and giving the blower a few more strokes he tapped it once or twice. The scale fell off and the metal looked sound. Then while the flame spread about the fuel he glanced round the shop. There was no horseshoe iron, but the bar of steel had recently been cut, and he thought the wedge had been forged out of its end.

Charnock did not think this mattered much. Festing had urged the smith to finish the job, and the man knew his business. Since he had been forced to use steel, he had no doubt taken the necessary precautions. It was dark when Charnock got back to the frame, but a blast-lamp threw out a dazzling glare and he climbed to a beam on which Festing sat. At the timber's inner end a fire burned on a shelf of rock and a man was stirring something in an iron pot.

"We're melting lead to fill up the hole, though I don't know if it's necessary," Festing said. "Have you got the bolt?"

"It's here. He has made it out of steel; the iron he expected hasn't arrived."

"That's all right. They now use steel for many jobs instead of iron, and the softer kinds are quite as tough. Anyhow, we can trust the smith not to burn the metal. Help Black while I get the tie ready for fastening."

Half an hour later the big cross-beam was in position and Charnock watched Festing fit the bolt into its fan-shaped socket. He did so with fastidious care and then standing on the beam swung the hammer a workman gave him. The blast-lamp roared upon a timber overhead, throwing down waves of light that flooded the rock face, but the twinkling brightness rather puzzled the eye. For all that, Festing struck the wedge squarely and drove it home with a few heavy blows. Then he fastened the cross-bolt and Charnock filled a ladle with the melted lead. A blue flame flickered about the cavity as he poured in the stuff, there was an angry sputtering, and he afterwards found some holes in his coat. Festing dropped his hammer with a gesture of satisfaction.

"That's an awkward piece of work finished, and I feel happier now! You can put out the lamp and quit, boys; I'll mark you up full time."

Then they got down from the frame and went home to supper, earlier than usual. In the morning they began to build a wall of roughly-cut stones among the timber, filling in the space behind with rubble; and kept on until at noon, a day or two later, heavy snow began to fall. It was impossible to work, and they lounged about the shack, smoking and reading, all next day. Charnock was thankful for the rest, but Festing grumbled and now and then walked impatiently to the door. Late at night the former was wakened by a distant rumbling. It sounded like thunder, and he called to his comrade.

"What's that? Had we better get up?"

"Sounds like a big snow-slide," said Festing, raising himself in his bunk. "Won't harm us; shack's on top of the ridge and we're safer here than anywhere else." He stopped and listened to the swelling roar and then resumed: "I'm glad we got that frame braced. It's a big slide and will probably come down the gully near the bridge. They're going to snowshed that piece of track and we'll haul out the posts if we can't get on with the other job."

He lay down again, but Charnock waited. This was the first snow-slide he had heard and he felt awed by the din. Growing in a long crescendo, it rolled down the hill in a torrent of sound, but by and by he thought he could distinguish different notes; the crash of trees carried away by the avalanche and the scream of gravel grinding across rocky scraps. He could imagine the stones being planed away and the mass of broken trunks riding on top of the huge white billow.

It was impossible to sit still, and jumping down, he lighted the lamp, but found it hard to replace the glass. The shack throbbed, the table on which he put the matches shook, and there was a rattle of crockery, but this was drowned by an overwhelming roar. The avalanche was pouring down a gully near the shack, and he leaned against the table, deafened, until it passed. Then he heard the turmoil of a tremendous cataract and imagined the snow was plunging into the river and deflecting the current upon the other bank. The sound gradually died away and he could hear detached noises; great pines, broken rocks, and soil, rushing down behind the fallen mass. There were heavy splashes, and then a strange, unnatural silence.

"It's finished," Festing remarked. "Rather alarming for the first time, but one gets used to it. You can put out the light and go back to bed."

Charnock did so and soon went to sleep. In the morning they found that the most part of the avalanche had fallen into the river, but its tail remained, resting in a steep cone of snow and broken trees and soil, against the bank on which they had built the frames. The top of the cone extended far up the hill, but, owing to the sharpness of the pitch, its bottom, which covered the frames and rockwork, was thin. Festing sent half the men to cut this portion away, and the others up the hill to haul posts for the snowshed to the top of the slides. It was obvious that a very heavy weight rested on the buried work, but the pressure was uniform, unlike the jarring of a train, and he did not feel disturbed.

About four o'clock in the afternoon he came to see how much progress the shovel gang had made, and Charnock, who superintended their labor, showed him what they had done. They had cut a gap in the cone, and part of the rockwork was exposed nearly to the bottom. On each side, the snow ran down to the water in a uniform smooth slant, except where broken trees projected from the surface. Above, the mass of snow rested on the shelf that would carry the track and on the top of the half-finished work. It glittered with a yellow flush where it caught the fading light, but in the hollow its color was a dull, cold blue.

By and by they examined the wall. So far as they could see, the stonework bore the unusual load well, but in one spot there was a crack between two courses.

"I'll get up there in the morning and see if it's worth while to drive in a few wedges," Festing remarked. "You had better watch that bank of snow. Some of it will probably break away."

"We have had two or three small falls," said Charnock, and Festing beckoned one of the men.

"Come up the hill in the morning, Tom. I'm going to clear the log-slide or break a new one. Which d'you think would be best?"

While they talked about it, a shower of snow fell on Charnock, who stepped back.

"Watch out!" he cried. "There's more coming!"

Festing moved a pace or two and went on talking, but Charnock fixed his eyes on the snow. The part above the track overhung the gap in a bulging cornice, as if it was moving down hill, and in a few moments a heavier shower began. The bulge got more prominent, but the cornice did not break off, and while he watched it, wondering whether he should call out the men, a stone fell from the wall and dropped at his feet. This was ominous, but next moment a mass of snow struck his head, nearly knocking him down, and when he recovered his balance and wiped his face he noted with alarm that the stones were opening and the big post leaned outwards.

"Jump for your lives, boys!" he shouted, and throwing himself on Festing, drove him back.

Then there was a roar of falling stones and a crash. The massive post lurched towards him and the air was filled with snow. He heard struts and braces crack as the post tore them out, and thought Festing turned round in order to see what was happening. He pushed him away, and then sank into loose snow and fell. Before he could get up there was a deafening noise, something struck him a heavy blow, and he was buried.

After a short struggle he got his head out, and finding that he was thinly covered, made an effort to extricate himself. When he had done so, he saw the men some distance up the bank. They were all there except Festing, but he noticed a heap of big stones and broken beams close by.

"Back here, boys! The boss is underneath!" he shouted, and threw himself upon the stones as the others ran up.

For a minute or two they worked desperately, flinging the lumps of rock about and dragging away the beams; and then stopped as they uncovered Festing. His face looked very white, although a red stain ran down his forehead. Charnock shivered and glanced at the break in the white mass above the track.

"It's risky, but we've got to pull him out before some more snow comes down," he said in a hoarse voice. "Scrape the snow off carefully, Tom. Get hold here with me, Pete."

After two or three minutes' cautious work they lifted Festing out of the hole. He was unconscious and his arm looked short and distorted. Charnock felt horror-struck and dizzy, but pulled himself together.

"Go for Kerr, one of you," he said. "Then I want the stretcher and a hand-sledge. Bring a blast-lamp; ours is smashed."

The men scattered, except for one who stayed with him, and kneeling in the snow he opened Festing's fur-coat and took off his cap. His head was cut and his arm broken, but Charnock did not think this altogether accounted for his unconsciousness. He suspected broken ribs, but could detect nothing unusual when he felt his comrade's side.

Kerr arrived first and looked at Festing.

"Unconscious all the time?" he asked, and when Charnock nodded resumed: "Most important thing's to get a doctor, and I'll see to that. Then I'll get some brandy."

As he hurried away three or four men came down the hill with the sledge and stretcher, and one rigged and lighted a powerful lamp. Accidents are common at construction camps, and one of Norton's gang examined Festing.

"He's sure got it badly; arm's not the worst," he said. "We'll tend to that and then slide him gently on the stretcher. Carrying him might be dangerous; we'll fix the whole outfit on the sled."

While they were occupied a plume of smoke shot up above the pines, and Charnock knew Kerr had sent off a locomotive to bring help. When they had put Festing on the stretcher a man arrived with brandy, but Festing could not swallow, and seizing the sledge traces, they started up the hill. Norton was in the shack when they reached it, and felt Festing's clothes.

"Not damp; it would be safer to let him lie until the doctor comes," he said, and sent the men away. Then he turned to Charnock sharply. "Sit right down!"

Charnock swayed, clutched the chair, and sank limply into the seat. The floor heaved and the quiet figure on the stretcher got indistinct. Then Norton held out a glass.

"Drink it quick!"

Charnock's teeth rattled against the glass, but he swallowed the liquor, and sat motionless for a moment or two.

"Seemed to lose my balance. Bit of a shock you know, and I expect that stone hit me pretty hard."

"So I imagine; there's an ugly bruise on your face," said Norton, giving him back the glass. "The first dose braced you. Take some more."

"I think not," said Charnock, with a forced smile. "Dangerous remedy if you have suffered from my complaint. Didn't know my face was hurt until you told me. When d'you think the doctor will come?"

"There's a man at Jackson's Bench. Loco ought to make the double trip in about two hours."

"Two hours!" said Charnock faintly, and braced himself to wait.



CHAPTER XXIX

FOUL PLAY

Some time after the accident a doctor arrived and set Festing's arm. He found two ribs were broken and suspected other injuries, but could not question his half conscious patient. When he had done all that was possible in the meantime and had seen Festing lifted carefully into his bunk, he put a dressing on Charnock's bruised face and pulled a chair to the fire.

"I'll keep watch; your partner has got an ugly knock," he said. "Don't think I'll want anything, and you had better go to bed."

Charnock could not sleep and spent the night uncomfortably on a chair. He was sore and dazed, but his anxiety would not let him rest, and once or twice he softly crossed the floor to his comrade's bunk. The last time he did so the doctor, whose head had fallen forward, looked up with a jerk and frowned as he signed him to go back. After this, Charnock kept as still as his jarred nerves would permit. Sometimes Festing groaned, and sometimes made a feeble movement, but so far as Charnock could see, his eyes were shut.

About three o'clock in the morning, the doctor stood for some minutes beside the bunk, and Charnock shivered as he watched his face. The shack seemed very quiet except for the throb of the river and the grinding of the ice. Then the doctor gave him a nod that hinted at satisfaction, and told him to refill the iron drum at Festing's feet with hot water. By and by he put fresh wood in the stove, moving cautiously and taking as long as possible, because it was a relief to do something after sitting still in suspense.

At daybreak there was a knock at the door, and Charnock, finding Kerr and Norton outside, looked at the doctor, who put on his fur-coat and went out to them.

"Have you any news for us?" Norton asked.

"No change yet. That's encouraging, as far as it goes."

"What about breakfast? Ours is ready. Will you join us?"

"I think not. If my patient doesn't come out of his stupor, I must try to rouse him soon. Send a man here and take Mr. Charnock. I expect he needs food."

"Very well," said Kerr. "We'll see the cook looks after you; but can you give us no idea about Festing? You see, there are matters, business matters—"

"He has had a bad shock and it will be a long job; a month anyway. I can't stop long and he ought to have a nurse, although it would be difficult to get one to come here. But I can't form an opinion yet."

He dismissed them and Kerr took Charnock away. It was very cold. The white pines were growing into shape; their tops caught the light in the east and glimmered with a faint warm flush against the dim blue shadow. Smoke and puffs of steam floated up from the gorge, and the ringing clang of steel pierced the turmoil of the river. Charnock felt braced but dizzy. Now he came to think of it, he had eaten no supper, and after a day of laborious effort the night's watch had fatigued him. Besides, his face smarted under the bandage, and his back was sore.

When he sat down in Norton's shack, where a plate was put for Kerr, he felt ravenously hungry and did not talk much until the meal was over. Then Norton made him sit near the stove.

"It's an awkward business," he said. "To begin with, what are we going to do about a nurse? This is hardly the place for a woman, and I doubt if we could get anybody to undertake the job."

"I'll write to Mrs. Festing."

"Would she come out?"

"I imagine so," said Charnock thoughtfully. "Still she doesn't know much about nursing."

"His wife is the proper person to look after him," Kerr interposed. "Then I have a young fellow in the rail gang who could help; found him useful once or twice when the boys got hurt. In fact, I suspect he's had some medical training, though I didn't ask why he quit."

Norton smiled. It is not unusual to find men whose professional career has been cut short working on a Western track.

"That simplifies matters. If you had wanted a lawyer or an accountant, I could have sent a man. However, there's another thing—"

"There is; it's important," Kerr agreed. "Who's going to carry on the contract?"

Charnock leaned forward eagerly. "I'll try. Give me a chance. I think I know my job."

There was silence for a few moments and Norton looked at Kerr, who slowly filled his pipe.

"I'd like to consent," he said, "but I'm the Company's servant and there's a risk." He paused and turned to Norton. "However, it's really your business. If things go wrong, the trouble's coming to you first."

"Sure. I'm willing to take the risk. I don't expect Charnock will fool the job, but if he does you can get after me. I'll stand for it."

"Very well! We'll let it go at that."

Charnock got up, with some color in his bandaged face, because he knew what Norton's confidence meant. He was, so to speak, an unknown man and the contract had been given to Festing, who was an engineer. If he failed, the men who trusted him would be held accountable.

"Thank you both," he said with feeling. "If labor and money can put the thing over, I won't let you down."

He went out, for he had, in his anxiety about other matters, forgotten his men, and it was now important that no time, which must be paid for, should be wasted. Finding some of the gang at work clearing away the fallen material and some hauling lumber on the hill, he gave them a few orders and returned to the shack. When he got there Festing was conscious and the doctor said he might speak to him.

"How do you feel?" Charnock asked.

"Better than the doctor thinks I ought to feel," Festing answered with a feeble smile. "You seem to have got knocked about!"

Charnock said he was not much the worse, and Festing resumed: "Have you seen Norton? What does he say about the contract?"

"I have seen him; you needn't bother. He has left the job to me; I'll finish it somehow."

A look of relief came into Festing's face. "That's comforting news; I was afraid—You're a good partner, Bob!"

"I don't know if I've been of much help so far, and the money I put into the undertaking wasn't mine. There's a third partner, Stephen, and I think she'd like me to see you through."

Festing gave him a grateful glance and closed his eyes. After a time, he opened them feebly and asked: "Do you know why the frame gave way?"

"Not yet," said Charnock with some dryness. "I mean to find out!"

Then the doctor interrupted and sent him away. Going back to the scene of the accident, he found the damage less serious than he thought. Part of the wall had fallen and the post, which had broken, had pulled down the timbers attached, but these could be replaced, and Charnock, calling two men, began to clear the snow from the king-tie, which he imagined had given way first. He found the Lewis bolt fixed to its end, but the wedge had gone, and he climbed to the spot where the end of the beam had been fixed. The stone socket had not broken, but pieces of crushed lead lay near the hole. The soft metal had not much holding power and had been used to fill up the crevices.

Sitting down, he began with methodical patience to turn over the snow and loose rubble that remained on the shelf after the large stones had fallen. The odds were against his finding what he sought, but he persevered for an hour and then picked up a piece of broken metal a few inches long. It was half of the wedge, which had broken at the slot, but although he searched carefully he could not find the other part. Putting the piece in his pocket, he went to the forge and, seeing the smith was occupied, sat down and filled his pipe. The door was open and the light reflected from the snow was strong. Charnock was glad of this, because he wanted to see the smith, who presently dropped his hammer and leaned against the hearth.

"How's your partner getting on?" he asked. "Mr. Festing's the kind of man I like; I was sorry to hear he had got hurt."

Charnock studied the man. His face was pale and wrinkled under the grime, but he looked honest, and if his statement was sincere, as Charnock thought, it seemed to clear the ground. After giving him a few particulars about Festing's injuries, he lighted his pipe.

"Wilkinson's not here to-day," he remarked.

"He's not always here," said the smith. "He comes when there are picks and drills that want sharpening."

"I saw him once or twice when I was in, and thought he was a friend of yours."

"He can swap a good yarn; kind of handy man and sometimes helps me with the hammer, but I guess that's all there is to it."

"Just so," said Charnock carelessly. "This is a warm place for a quiet smoke, and the foreman can't tell how long one ought to stop, particularly as you're sometimes out at the machine-shop. Do you find the boys meddle with your tools if they come in while you're away?"

"No, sir; there'd be trouble if I did! Besides, nobody comes but Wilkinson, and if I'm out he waits."

Charnock nodded, as if it did not matter. He had found out what he wanted to know and thought he had not excited the smith's suspicions. Taking the broken wedge from his pocket, he put it on the hearth.

"I expect you know what that is! The Lewis smashed when the frame came down."

"It's the wedge. Don't see why it broke; plenty metal left, though the slot weakened it."

"What's it made of?"

"Steel. The iron I wanted didn't come; but this is mild, low-carbon stuff."

"Then what's the matter with it. It did break."

The smith put the piece into a socket in the anvil and struck it with a hammer. The end broke short, and picking up the fragment he went to the door.

"Nature's gone out of it; I sure can't understand the thing," he said with a puzzled look. "If I hadn't forged the stuff myself, I'd allow it was burned."

"You don't often overheat the steel you work."

"No, sir," said the smith, who took up a piece of metal, pierced with holes. "Made this out of the same bar, and it took more forging. Now you watch!"

He put the object in a vise and hammered down the end, which did not break. "That's all right, anyhow; tough and most as soft as iron. But steel's sometimes treacherous; you want to be careful—"

"Could you tell by looking at it if a piece was burned?"

"Well," said the smith thoughtfully, "it's not always easy, but if the thing was badly scaled, I'd be suspicious. Of course, there might be some scale—"

"But the wedge looked all right when you finished it?"

"It certainly did," said the smith, who hesitated. "Say do you reckon it was the bolt going that let down your frame?"

"So far, I imagine it was the weight of snow. The pile ran back up the hill and must have made a crushing load. For all that, I'm curious about the wedge."

"Well," said the other, "If it was the wedge, I'm surely sorry! The blamed thing is burned, though I don't know how. But if she was loaded up too much, she might have broken anyhow, burned or not."

"I expect so," said Charnock, getting up. "You needn't bother about the matter; I'm not blaming you."

His face got very grim when he went out, for what he had learned fitted in with his suspicions. Wilkinson had heard the smith say that steel could be easily spoiled, and sometimes came to the forge when the man was away. Then there was the rough, scaly look of the wedge, which had been put out of the smith's sight, inside the split shank of the bolt. Everything was plain; Charnock knew why the tie gave way and allowed the frame to fall.

The thought of the treacherous injury made his blood boil. The thing had been so easily done; five minutes' work at the blower, a few strokes with a big hammer when the steel was dangerously hot, and then, perhaps, a sudden quenching in the snow, when the steel ought to have slowly cooled. He had been wrong in thinking men would not risk much for the sake of revenge. Wilkinson had foully struck his comrade and perhaps crippled him for life. But the cunning brute must be punished, and driven from the camp, and when he left should carry marks that would make it difficult to forget his offense.

Charnock, however, could not at once seek out his antagonist. He had promised Festing to carry on the contract; they had had a number of setbacks, and the accident would cost them much. Wages were high and it was essential that the men should be usefully employed, while there was now nobody but himself to superintend the work. Besides, the doctor might want him and he must call at the shack every now and then to see how Festing was getting on. It looked as if he must leave Wilkinson alone until he had more leisure in the evening.

It was a trying day. The doctor sent him errands and sometimes allowed him to come in for a few minutes, but his reports were not favorable, and Festing was either asleep or too feeble to talk. When work stopped and Charnock went to the shack after some hours' absence the doctor looked very grave.

"I'm sorry I must keep you out," he said. "You mean well, but you're clumsy, while the young fellow Mr. Kerr sent has had some training and knows his job."

"Then my partner's worse?"

"Well, I'll own that I'm anxious about to-night; but if he gets over the early morning, I'll have hope. Go to the engineer's shack and I'll send you a report, if possible."

Charnock tried to brace himself as he went away. So far, he had not imagined that Festing might die. He had got a shock, but must not let it overwhelm him. Thinking hard, he walked to Norton's shack to get some food. He was worn out and felt some pain.

Norton gave him supper and offered him room for the night, and Charnock forced himself to eat. When the meal was over he lounged in a comfortable chair with his eyes shut for a time, and then got up and put on his coat.

"Where are you going?" Norton asked.

"I've some business at the camp," Charnock replied in a very grim voice.

He went out and as he walked down the track met the locomotive engineer, who stopped.

"Is that you, Mr. Charnock? Cold's pretty fierce to-night. How's Mr. Festing?"

Charnock had not felt the cold until then, but he shivered and beat his hands as he replied that Festing was badly hurt. Then he asked: "Are you going out with the loco?"

"Thought I'd finished, but they've wired that the cars are wanted on the next section and I've got to run them along."

"Ah," said Charnock. "Have you seen Wilkinson?"

"Met him going to the bunk-house just before you came up."

Charnock went on, and presently entered the big wooden shed, which was full of tobacco smoke and the smell of hot iron and food. The warmth made him dizzy after the cold outside. A group of men had gathered about the stove, others sat at the dirty table with pipes and newspapers, and a few were quarreling about a game of cards, but Charnock could not see them distinctly.

One or two looked round as he stopped near the door, dazzled by the light. He had pulled off the bandage, and there was a large, dark bruise on his face, which was set. His mouth made a firm line and his eyes glittered. Then the foreman got up.

"Well," he asked harshly, "what do you want?"

Charnock gave him a careless glance. The fellow was truculent and had bullied Charnock when he worked in his gang, while the latter had sometimes replied to his abuse with witty retorts that left a sting. Afterwards, he had beaten his persecutor badly in the dispute about the borrowed workmen.

"I'm looking for Wilkinson."

"What d'you want him for?" the foreman asked suspiciously.

"That's my business."

"Then this is my bunk-house; anyhow, I'm in charge. Guess you'd better get back to the bosses' shacks, where you belong."

Charnock noted the sneer, but said quietly, "I'll go as soon as I've had a word with Wilkinson."

He tried to see if Wilkinson was there, and did not think he was, but could not be certain. The foreman's manner hinted that he meant to protect the fellow.

"You'll go now! D'you want me to put you out?"

For a moment Charnock stood still, and then suddenly lost his self-control in a fit of savage rage. He had suffered at the hands of the brute, who was trying to prevent his finding Wilkinson. But he did not mean to be baulked, and stepped forward with his fists clenched.

He could not remember who struck first, but got a blow on his body that made him gasp. Then he felt his knuckles jar on his antagonist's face, and the next moment staggered and fell against a bench that upset with a crash. He recovered, bent from the waist to dodge a blow that would have felled him, and struck over the other's arm.

The foreman reeled, but did not fall, and closed with Charnock, who could not get away because of the table. The latter felt his antagonist's strength, and there was no room for skill. When he tried to break loose his feet struck the upset bench, and the wall was close by. Breathing hard, they rocked to and fro in a furious grapple, striking when a hand could be loosed, and then fell apart, exhausted. Both were bleeding but determined, for deep-rooted dislike had suddenly changed to overpowering hate. Moreover Charnock knew the foreman was Wilkinson's friend, and half suspected him of a share in the plot.

In the meantime the men gathered round, scarcely giving the fighters room, and some, crowded off the floor, mounted the table. Nobody, however, interfered. They had no part in the quarrel and did not know what it was about, but while a number sympathized with Charnock, it was dangerous to offend their boss.

Charnock resumed the attack, advancing with a savage rush. The foreman gave ground, but stretched out his foot and Charnock, tripping over it, plunged forward and fell among the legs of the nearest men. They crowded back, and as he got up awkwardly the foreman seized a heavy billet of cordwood and flung it at his head. The billet struck his shoulder, but he was on his feet, his face set and white, and his eyes vindictively hard. It was a foul blow, but there are few rules to hamper men who fight in a Western construction camp, and Charnock thought his antagonist meant to use a stove-iron that lay close by. Feinting at the other, he dodged and seized a pick-handle he had noticed on the floor. He was just in time, for the foreman struck at him with the iron. It clashed upon the pick-handle, but Charnock got the next blow home and the foreman fell upon the table, on which Charnock pinned him down. Then getting his right arm loose, he struck with blind fury.

He was seized from behind, and while he struggled to get loose somebody gasped: "That's enough! Do you want to kill the man?"

"Yes," said Charnock hoarsely. "Let me go!"

"Help me choke him off! He's surely mad!" cried the man behind.

Somebody else got hold of Charnock. He was dragged back, hustled away from the table and towards the door. Then the bar was torn from his hands and a man pushed him out in the snow.

"You have fixed him good," said somebody in a breathless voice. "Go home and cool off!"

"If Wilkinson's inside, I'm coming back," Charnock declared.

The man laughed. "Wilkinson lit out through the store-shed 'bout a minute after you came in."

Charnock felt faint and dizzy, but tried to think when the fellow banged the door. It looked as if Wilkinson knew why he had come, and had stolen away after seeing the struggle begin. Moreover he had friends who might go after him and tell him what had happened to the foreman. Then he remembered that the locomotive engineer had been ordered to move some cars, and set off for the track.

The snow was rough, he fell into holes, and stubbed his feet against the ties, but stumbled on until he heard the locomotive snort. Then there was a jar of iron, wheels rattled, and a dark mass in front began to roll away. He was too late, and when he stopped and tried to get his breath two men came down the track.

"Did any of the boys go out on the train?" he asked.

"Only Wilkinson," one replied.

"Where's he going?"

"I don't know," said the other. "As he took his clothes-bag, it doesn't look as if he was coming back."

Charnock set off for Norton's office. He did not know how he got there, because a reaction had begun, and he sat down feeling powerless and badly shaken.



CHAPTER XXX

UNDERSTANDING

At midnight, Charnock, sitting drowsily in a chair in Norton's office, roused himself with a jerk. He was too anxious about Festing to go to bed, but bodily fatigue reacted on his brain and dulled his senses. For all that, he thought he heard steps in the snow, and getting up quickly went to the door. The bitter cold pierced him like a knife and he shivered. A man stood outside, and his dark figure, silhouetted against the snow, was somehow ominous. Charnock tried to brace himself, for he feared bad news.

"Well?" he said hoarsely.

"It's Musgrave; the doctor sent me along. Your partner's taken a turn. He's going the right way now."

Charnock looked at the messenger. His relief was overwhelming and he could not speak.

"That's all, but I guess it's good enough, and you can go to sleep," the other resumed, and went away.

When he vanished among the trees Charnock returned to his chair. He thought he ought to have brought the man in and made him some coffee, but he was horribly tired and did not want to move about and talk. Besides, he was conscious of a poignant satisfaction that prevented his thinking about anything else. While he indulged it a wave of fatigue swept over him and his head drooped. He tried to open his eyes but could not, and a few minutes later he was sound asleep.

When he awoke the sun shone into the office and he felt stiff and cramped, but not cold. This was strange, and he glanced at the stove, which he had expected to find nearly out. The iron, however, glowed a dull red and he could hear the cordwood snapping. Somebody must have put in fresh fuel, and looking at his watch he got up with a start. The men had been at work for two hours, with nobody to superintend them. Then he heard a movement and turning round saw one in the room.

"Feeling better, boss?" the fellow asked. "Mr. Kerr told me to come and see if you were awake. Said you'd find breakfast ready if you went to his place."

"I expect you thought waiting for me to wake was easier than rolling logs," Charnock suggested.

"Oh, well!" said the other; "you won't find we've fooled away much time."

Charnock went to Festing's shack and the doctor nodded and indicated his comrade's bunk. As Charnock stopped beside it Festing turned his head.

"Things going all right, Bob?"

"They were last night," said Charnock, with some embarrassment. "I don't know about this morning because I've just got up. But how are you?"

Festing smiled. "Much better; imagine I'm not knocked out yet. You needn't bother about being late. The boys are a pretty good crowd, and they like you. I'm rather glad you didn't hustle them as much as I wanted."

"That's enough," said the doctor, who followed Charnock to the door and gave him a hopeful report.

Charnock ate a very good breakfast in Kerr's shack, but his face was grave when he began his work. Luck had put upon him a heavy responsibility, but he must shoulder the load. Sadie and Helen and Festing had given him much, and now the time had come to pay them back. Moreover, with the responsibility had come a chance of proving and, so to speak reinstating, himself. He was entangled in a coil from which there was but one way out; he must stand by his comrade and finish the contract, or own himself a wastrel. The difficulties were obvious, but there was some encouragement. Perhaps the hardest battle had been fought, for he had grappled with his craving for liquor and thought he had won. Then the pain had not troubled him for some time.

The men gave him no trouble, and he imagined they worked with more energy than usual. Now and then one or another stopped to ask, with obvious sincerity, how the boss was getting on; men from the railroad gangs, some of whom he scarcely knew, made inquiries, and Charnock felt moved. His partner's justice had won him respect, but he saw that some of the sympathy was meant for himself.

Two days later he heard the rumble of an approaching supply train and walked up the track to meet it. The locomotive stopped farther off than he expected, and a woman got down. Running forward, he saw that it was Helen.

"Stephen's doing well; that's the first thing you'll want to know," he said when they met.

"I know it already. A man told me as soon as the train stopped; he seemed to guess who I am."

"Ah!" said Charnock; "the boys are very good! It makes me proud to feel they all like Stephen. But why didn't you telegraph us? The Company would have sent on the message."

Helen smiled. "I didn't see much use in doing so. You knew when your letter would arrive and how long it would take me to come. It's significant that you came to meet the train."

"Perhaps it's characteristic that I came too late to help you down! But the engineer stopped short of the usual place, and I really have much to do just now."

Helen gave him a quick glance. Bob had not lost his humor, but had gained something else. He was thin and haggard, but looked determined. Although his smile was frank, his mouth was firm and his eyes were steady.

"I know!" she answered quickly; "I know what you have done for Stephen and what you mean to do. There is nobody else who can help him and if there was, the help would not be like yours."

"Thank you," said Charnock. "I'm afraid you're mistaken about one point, but I have an extra reason for doing the best I can." Then he paused and smiled. "We tried to make the place comfortable, but you'll find things rough. One lives in a rather primitive way at a construction camp."

"Perhaps, so far, I have found things too smooth."

Then Helen asked him about the accident and he told her as much as he thought advisable, until they reached the shack, where the doctor met them at the door.

"I expect you're Mrs. Festing," he said. "You'll find your husband able to talk, but remember that he must be kept calm. I'm going out, but will be back soon, and we'll see about getting you some food."

He took Charnock away, and Festing looked up with a strained expression as Helen crossed the floor. Her eyes were wonderfully gentle, and stooping beside the bunk she kissed him and put her arm round his neck.

"My dear!" she said softly. "My poor hurt dear! I have come to take care of you until you get well."

"I imagine I'll need to be taken care of afterwards," Festing answered, with a forced smile. "It looks as if I hadn't much ground for self-confidence."

Helen pressed his arm. "We have both made mistakes; but we won't talk about that now. Do you really feel you're getting better?"

"Of course," said Festing, smiling. "Very much better! I'll get well remarkably fast now you have come."

Helen brought a chair and for a time they engaged in happy but careless talk. Both knew there was much to be said, but Helen skilfully avoided striking a serious note. The time for that had not arrived yet.

When it got dark the doctor came in and joined them at a meal.

"The engineers have promised to put me up to-night, and I must leave to-morrow when the train goes out," he said. "I'll try to get back, but Musgrave knows what to do and will send for me if necessary. The most important thing is to keep Mr. Festing quiet."

"I'm afraid it will be difficult," Helen answered.

The doctor's eyes twinkled. "So I imagine, but it's your job. If you find it too hard, Musgrave will put your husband in plaster."

He went East next morning with the supply train, and Helen was sorry to see him go. He had done what was needed with quiet efficiency, but she knew he had other patients scattered about a wide district.

Charnock came in for a few minutes now and then during the day, and Musgrave was often about, but Helen was content to be left alone with her husband. His helplessness moved her; he had been marked by such vigor and energy, and it was strange to see him unable to move. Yet, while very pitiful, she felt a vague satisfaction because she could help him and he needed her.

When it was getting dark she went to the door and looked out. The evening was calm and belts of pale-yellow broke the soft gray clouds. The eastern peaks were touched with an orange glow, but the snow lower down faded through shades of blue and purple into gloom. To the west, the pines were black and sharp, with white smears on their lower branches, and a thin haze rose from the river. The coloring of the landscape was harmoniously subdued, but its rugged grandeur of outline caught Helen's eye, and she stood for a few minutes, looking about with half-awed admiration.

"Do you feel the cold, Stephen?" she asked.

"No," said Festing. "Wonderful view, isn't it? But what's it like outside?"

"Very still. Everything has a soft look; the harsh glitter's gone and the air has not the sting it had. Somehow the calm's majestic. The pictures one sees of the mountains hardly give a hint; one feels this is the grandest country in the world, but it looks strangely unfinished."

Festing laughed. "A few ranches, roads, and cornfields would make a difference? Well, they follow the Steel in Canada and it's my job to clear the way. But the soft look promises warmer weather, and Bob will get ahead if a Chinook wind begins to blow. I imagine he hasn't done very much the last few days."

"You mustn't bother about what Bob is doing," Helen said firmly.

"Very well. Light the lamp and sit where I can see you. There's something I want to say."

Helen did so and waited until Festing resumed: "To begin with, I've been a short-sighted, censorious fool about Bob. I'm ashamed to remember that I said he was a shiftless wastrel. The worst is I can't apologize; it wouldn't make things better to tell him what I thought."

"That's obvious," said Helen, with a smile. "Still, in a way perhaps, you were not so very wrong. Bob was something of a wastrel; his wife has made him a useful man."

"Another thing I was mistaken about! I rather despised Sadie. Now I want to take off my hat when I think of her. But it's puzzling. A girl without polish, taste, or accomplishments marries a man who has them all. She has no particular talents; nothing, in fact, except some beauty, rude integrity, and native shrewdness. Yet she, so to speak, works wonders. Puts Bob on his feet and leads him on, when nobody else could have pulled him out of the mire!"

"She loved him," said Helen softly. "Love gave her patience and cleverness. However, I think Sadie did not always lead Bob. She knew when to drive."

Festing was silent for a few moments and then went on: "Well, I have confessed two blunders and think it has done me good; but I'm getting nearer what I want to say. Bob's something of a philosopher and once remarked that events and people seldom force us into coils; our passions and characters entangle us. He was scoffing at the power of the theatrical villain and used Wilkinson for an example."

"But Wilkinson had something to do with our troubles."

"Not very much, after all. Perhaps he's accountable for my broken bones, but it was my obstinacy and ridiculous self-confidence that sent me here. That's what I really mean to talk about."

"Is it necessary?" Helen asked. "I was foolish to be jealous of the farm. Women have sometimes worse grounds for jealousy."

"That would have been impossible for us! Nobody who knew you could be attracted by another woman."

"Bob was attracted," said Helen with a blush. "One must own that he was prudent. I haven't Sadie's courage and patience."

"In those days, Bob was a besotted whisky-tank; but we are not going to talk about him. I'm afraid I was forgetful and went my own way like an obstinate fool. It was wrong, ridiculously wrong; I'm not going to excuse myself, but I want you to understand."

He paused, for effort and emotion had tired him, but presently resumed: "I wouldn't use your money, but this wasn't altogether because I was too proud to let you help. I wanted to keep you safe; farming's a risky business, and I couldn't play a niggardly, cautious game. There was the land, waiting to be worked; I couldn't spare labor or money. But since both might be lost, I was afraid to use your fortune as a stake."

"I understand," said Helen. "All the same, I would have been glad to take the risk. I don't think I'm very much afraid of hardship—"

Festing smiled. "You have pluck, but don't know the strain that the wives of the struggling farmers have to bear. My object is to see that you don't know. But there's another thing, harder to explain; you felt that I neglected you, and I fear I did!"

"You didn't mean to neglect me. Perhaps I was foolish, Stephen, but I felt you left me out. There were ways I could have helped."

"I took the wrong line; that's plain now, but we must think of the future and not make the same mistake. You are first with me, Helen, but I must work; it's all I'm fit for. I can't play games and am not an amusing talker—though I'm talking at large to-night. Well, we have made our home on the prairie, and all round us the best wheat-soil in the world is lying waste. They're getting short of food in Europe, America will soon use all she grows, and folks in the older countries fix their eyes on us. Then we have room for an industrious population on our wide plains, cities are waiting to spring up, a new nation is being born. I and the others who were given the land must clear the way. It's our business, our only justification for being there. Sounds romantic and exaggerated, but I think it's true!"

"It is true," said Helen. "Your views are larger than mine."

"Well," said Festing, smiling. "I don't often let myself go and look far ahead. It's my share to tackle the job before my eyes; to drive the tractor plow, and the grading scoop along the road reserve. For all that, it's not a vague sense of duty that really drives me on; I must work, I'm unhappy when I stop! I'm afraid I'll always feel like that. what are we going to do about it?"

"You must let me help more."

"I need help; that's something I have learned, and nobody can help like you. But the strain will slacken soon. The things that will make life easier for you are coming fast; branch railroads, telephones, busy little towns, neighbors, and social amusements. Much that you enjoyed in England will surround you on the plains. But it will not come as a gift, as it did at home; we will have worked for and made it possible."

Helen got up. Her color was higher than usual and her eyes sparkled. She was romantic and Festing had struck the right note, with rude sincerity and unconscious power. She saw visions of the future and the dignity of the immediate task. In this wide, new country, man needed woman's help, and her part was as large as his. Like Sadie, and many another, she heard the call for Pioneers. Crossing the door she stood by Festing's bunk.

"I understand it all, Stephen. We must be patient and allow for small differences in our points of view, for I think, in the main, we see together. You must never leave me out again; I want to do my part."

Festing said nothing, but he pressed her hand and she kissed him.



CHAPTER XXXI

CHARNOCK'S TRIUMPH

Six weeks after the accident Musgrave and Charnock came into the shack one evening. The former had examined Festing in the afternoon, and Helen gave him a meaning look. It hinted that she had expected his visit and meant to encourage him.

"Come near the stove and smoke if you like. It is very cold."

"No sign of the frost's breaking, I suppose?" said Festing, who lay propped up with pillows. "Did you get the particulars I asked for, Bob?"

Charnock gave him a paper with some calculations, and after a time he nodded.

"On the whole, this is satisfactory; things are going better than I thought. But what about the new job across the river?"

"Things are going better than he thought! Isn't that like Stephen?" Charnock remarked to the others, and then turned to Festing. "However, I expect you didn't mean to be rude and you never were very tactful. We haven't begun the job you mentioned, but I don't know that it matters since we're busy at something else, and that's not what I want to talk about. Musgrave has examined you and gives us an encouraging report."

"My opinion is that he can be moved and the journey home won't hurt him if proper care is used."

"But I don't want to be moved just yet," Festing objected.

"No doubt," said Musgrave dryly. "You are an obstinate fellow, but you're in our hands now, and we have to think what is best for you. To begin with, you won't be able to get about in time to be of much use, and you don't get better as fast as you ought. Then I understood you were resigned to going home before the contract is finished."

"If I must; but I don't want to go now. I'm able to arrange things with Charnock in the evenings."

"The fact is he doesn't trust me yet," Charnock remarked with a grin.

"You know that isn't true, Bob!"

"Then prove you trust me by going home with Helen. She has been plucky to stay so long, and now you're fit to be moved, you oughtn't to keep her. There's another thing; to be frank, you don't help much. We need a boss to superintend, which you can't do, and when I want advice I can go to Norton. As a matter of fact, when I come here in the evenings you find fault with what I've done. When I undertake a job I like to feel I'm carrying it out."

Festing stopped him and looked at Helen, for he was not deceived by Charnock's injured tone.

"I imagine this is something like a plot to get me away."

"I think you would get better much faster at home, Stephen. You cannot do anything useful here, and you cannot rest. Mr. Musgrave agrees."

"Certainly. If he stays, Festing will do himself harm and bother his partner."

Festing knitted his brows and was silent for a moment or two. Then he said, "Since it looks as if you had made your plans, I had better go. You're a very good fellow, Bob; but if you can't keep things straight, I'll come back and superintend from a stretcher."

They talked about other matters, but when Charnock left, Helen put on her furs and told Festing she wanted fresh air. Moonlight shone upon the dark pines and sparkled on the snow, and when they came out of the shadow of the trees she thought Charnock's face was grave.

"I'm grateful, Bob," she said. "It's a big thing you have undertaken!"

"I frankly wish it was smaller," Charnock answered. "I fact, I feel I have been horribly rash. I haven't Stephen's constructive talent or, for that matter, his energy, but somehow I mustn't be beaten."

Helen gave him a gentle look. "You won't be beaten. It's unthinkable! We trust you."

Then she went back and read a newspaper to Festing, who was carried down to the supply train next day and made comfortable in the caboose. Charnock talked to him carelessly until the couplings tightened and the locomotive began to snort, but his mouth was firm and his face set as he went back to his work. He knew what he was up against, and there were difficulties he had not told Festing about.

The days got longer, and the frost was relaxing its grip on the white prairie, when Festing left his homestead and walked to the trail-fork to meet the mail-carrier. He returned with some letters and sat down limply. His face was thin and pale.

"I get tired soon, and there's nothing from Bob yet," he grumbled as he turned over the envelopes. "It's curious, because he told us the job was nearly finished and some of the big engineers were coming out to examine the track. They ought to have arrived some days ago, and I've no doubt they'd test the work thoroughly when they were there."

"You get too anxious," Helen replied. "If you had a calmer temperament, you would be stronger now. The engineers can hardly have had time to make a proper test."

"I have some grounds for being anxious. If the fellows aren't satisfied, we won't get paid."

Helen smiled. "You're really afraid that Bob may have been careless and neglected something!"

"Bob's a very good partner; I've confessed that I misjudged him," Festing answered with a touch of embarrassment. "Still, you see, I know his drawbacks, and I know mine. There were two or three pieces of work, done before I left, that I now see might have been better planned."

Helen went to the door, for she heard a soft drumming of hoofs on beaten snow.

"Sadie's coming," she said. "Perhaps she has some news."

Festing followed her and Sadie stopped the horses, but did not get down.

"I've a telegram from Bob; he'll be home to-morrow," she said. "He wants you both to meet him at the station."

"Did he say anything about the job being finished?" Festing asked as he went down the steps.

"No," said Sadie. "He seemed particularly anxious to see you at the depot; my hands are too numb or I'd show you the telegram. I haven't time to come in and don't want the team to stand in the cold."

Then she waved her hand to Helen and drove away.

About six o'clock next evening Helen and Festing walked up and down beside the track at the railroad settlement. There was no platform, but the agent's office stood near the rails, with a baggage shed, and a big tank for filtering saline water near the locomotive pipe. Behind these, three tall grain-elevators, which had not been finished when Festing saw them last, rose against the sky, dwarfing the skeleton frame of a new hotel. The ugly wooden houses had extended some distance across the snow, and Festing knew the significance of this. It was not dark yet, but the headlamp of a locomotive in the side-track flung a glittering beam a quarter of a mile down the line. In the west, a belt of saffron light, cut by the black smear of a bluff, glimmered on the horizon. Festing indicated the settlement.

"It has grown fast, but if things go as some of us expect, the change will soon be magical. In a year or two you'll see a post-office like a palace, and probably an opera-house, besides street cars running north and south from the track."

"I think I should like that," Helen remarked. "When it comes, you will have an office and a telephone, and be satisfied to superintend."

Festing laughed. "It's possible, but there's much to be done first, and I'm not getting on very fast just now. Still I don't feel knocked out and I've walked half a mile."

Glancing at the elevator towers and blocks of square-fronted houses that rose abruptly from the snow, Helen mused. The settlement jarred her fastidious taste, but she had seen Western towns that had, in a few years, grown out of their raw ugliness and blossomed in an efflorescence of ambitious architecture. Such beauty as they then possessed was not refined or subdued, but it was somehow characteristic of the country and harmonized with the builders' optimism. There was no permanence on the prairie; everything was in a fluid state of change and marked by a bold, but sometime misguided, striving for something better. Then she turned to her husband. His face was thin and she noted lines that came from mental strain and physical suffering, but his eyes were calm. She liked his look of quiet resolution.

"You are getting stronger fast," she said. "The days are lengthening, spring is near, and you will soon be able to work again. Well, I will not try to stop you. When the prairie is plowed and covered with wheat I want you to feel that you have done your part. The change that is coming will bring the things women like; comfort, amusements, society. But what about you and the others, the pioneers, when there is no more ground to be broken and the way is cleared?"

Festing smiled. "As a rule, the pioneer sells his homestead and goes on into the wilds to blaze another trail, but I imagine I shall be glad to rest. If not, we're an adaptable people and there are different ways of helping things along. One can learn to use other tools than the ax and plow."

"Ah," said Helen, "You are getting broader. You see clearly, Stephen, and your views are often long, but I sometimes thought you focused them too narrowly on the object in front. Perhaps I shall have done something if I have taught you to look all round. But here's Sadie and the train."

A light sprang out from the distant bluff and grew into a dazzling fan-shaped beam. Then the roar of wheels slackened, and Sadie joined the others as a bell began to toll, and with smoke streaming back along the cars the train rolled into the station. Somebody leaned out from the rails of a vestibule, and Sadie began to run beside the track.

"Come along!" she cried. "It's Bob!"

Festing and Helen followed, and when they reached the vestibule Charnock pushed a door open and took them inside. The car was brightly lighted, but not furnished on the usual plan. A table stood in the middle, the curtained berths were at one end, and there were cases holding books and surveying instruments. It was obviously meant for the use of railroad managers and engineers, and three or four gentlemen stood near the table, as if they had just got up. Festing saw that one was Dalton, who advanced eagerly as Helen came in. He presented his companions to her and Sadie, and a gentleman who was well known on Canadian railroads gave Festing his hand. Another was Norton's employer, a famous contractor.

"Sit down," said the first. "The engineer wants to fill his tank, and they won't pull out until we are ready." Then he turned to Festing. "We have examined a piece of tract you helped build and I must compliment you on a first-class job. As a rule, we are glad to get our contract work up to specification, but you have done better."

"My partner is really responsible for that," Festing replied. "I got knocked out soon after we made a good start and had to leave him to carry on."

The contractor smiled as he interposed: "A good beginning counts for much, and I'm glad to state that Mr. Charnock has kept to your lines. When you were forced to leave it seemed prudent to make some inquiries, but we found that your partner was doing high-grade work, and now we have inspected it, I must admit that Norton's favorable reports were deserved." He paused and turned to Sadie. "If your husband's as good a farmer as an engineer, he'll make progress."

Sadie flushed with pride. "Looks as if he'd made some already, but you didn't run much risk when you trusted him."

"My wife's the farmer and my partner the engineer," Charnock remarked. "I know my limits, but try to keep going when somebody starts me well."

"You have gone farther than our bargain demanded, which doesn't often happen," said the contractor, who turned to Festing. "Mr. Charnock has my cheque for the main job, but there are some accounts to make up and you won't find my cashier disputes the extras. Perhaps that's all I need say, except that you have satisfied me, and, I gather, satisfied your men. In fact, you and Mr. Charnock leave us with general good feeling."

Then they talked about something else until a man came in to say that the locomotive tank was filled, and the engineer and contractor went to the vestibule with their guests. For a minute or two the group stood on the platform, exchanging farewell compliments, while the station agent waited in the snow. Then the engineer said:

"I wanted to meet your husband, Mrs. Festing, and if we have any more difficult work, hope you will let me have him again."

"He came back the worse last time," Helen answered smiling. "I'm not sure I would have the courage to let him go. Besides, he has other work at home. A farm makes many demands on one."

"I have no doubt it does," agreed the engineer. "One imagines that on the Festing farm all demands will be met."

He signed to the agent, the others went down the steps, and the bell began to toll as the lighted cars rolled by. The rattle of wheels got louder, and a plume of smoke trailed back and spread in a dingy cloud, but Helen and Festing stood, a little way from the others, watching the receding train. They felt that something was finished; satisfactorily finished amidst well-earned praise, but done with for good. Festing looked at Helen with a comprehending smile.

"You answered right; I'm not going back! Our work is waiting, here on the plains."

"Ah," said Helen softly, "how much easier you make it when you call it ours!"

They went to the hotel where they had left the team, and as the others followed Sadie turned to her husband with a glow of happy pride. He had come back, so to speak, triumphant, the guest of famous men who had said flattering things about him, and for his sake the train had been held up while the great contractor talked to her.

"Bob," she said, "you have made good! I can't tell you all I feel about it. Some day you'll be a famous man."

THE END