ible railway across the mountains, which
should give the Pacific-coast cities a more direct connection with their
eastern neighbors. The survey for this line would occupy him for a year
or more, and in order to have his family near him during this time, he
had made his headquarters in the little mining camp, which the first
prospectors along the canon, some four years before, had christened
"Blue Creek," from the clear, bright waters of the mountain stream. Here
he established his family in the most comfortable house that the town
afforded, and here he had his office, which served as headquarters for
his corps of men, whenever they came in town for a few days. By virtue
of his position as chief of the party, Mr. Burnam often spent weeks at
a time at home, working up his estimates and maps, and only driving out
to camp now and then, for a day or two, to see that all was well in his
absence. Then, just as his family were settling down to the full
enjoyment of his society, he would be sent for, to oversee some
difficult bit of work, and Mrs. Burnam and Allie would be left to the
protection of Howard, and of Ben, the great Siberian bloodhound, who was
as gentle as a kitten until molested, when all his old savage instincts
sprang into life.

One of the early graduates from Cornell, Mr. Burnam had gone West when a
mere boy, fresh from college; and now, at forty, he had made himself a
brilliant reputation in his profession. The chief, as they called him,
was adored by all his men, who knew, from long experience, that however
great the danger and hardship might be, he was always ready to share it
with them, and that he made it a part of his creed never to ask a
subordinate to take a risk which he himself would shun. Quick-tempered
and outspoken in the presence of any suspicion of shirking or deceit, he
was yet a just, honorable man in dealing with his "boys," who loved and
respected him accordingly. At home, he was a different man; for he
threw aside his professional dignity, to tease his wife, or romp with
his children, lavishing upon them all the love of which his great,
generous nature was capable.

For the sake of her husband, Mrs. Burnam had willingly cut herself
adrift from her family and friends in New York, and for sixteen years
she had patiently followed him here and there through the West; now
living in camp for a summer, now boarding at tiny country hotels, in
order to be within driving distance of his party; now le