which the flying train snailed for hours, until
Jim, watching eagerly, saw the sand give way to low grassy hills, the
hills merge into ridges and the ridges into pine-clad mountain slopes.

For the last two days of the trip the train swung through dizzy spaces,
slid through dim, dripping canyons, crossed trestles even greater than
the trestles of Jim's boyhood dreams; twisted about peaks that gave
unexpected, fleeting views of other peaks of other ranges until Jim
crawled into his berth at night sight-weary and with a sense of
loneliness that appalled him.

At noon of a bright day, Jim landed at a little way station from which a
single-gauge track ran off into apparent nothingness. Puffing on the
single-gauge track was a "dinky" engine, coupled to a flat car. Wooden
benches were fastened along one end of the car. The engineer and fireman
were loading sheet iron on the other end. They looked Jim over as he
approached them.

"Do you go up to the dam?" he asked.

"If we ever get this stuff loaded," replied the engineer.

"I'd like to go up with you," said Jim. "I've got a job up there."

The engineer grunted. "Another cub engineer. All right, sonny. Load your
trousseau onto the Pullman."

Jim grinned sheepishly and heaved his trunk and suit case up on the flat
car. Then he lent a hand with the sheet iron and climbed aboard.

"Let her rip, Bill," said the fireman. And she proceeded to rip. Jim
held his hat between his knees and clung to the bench with both hands.
The dinky whipped around curves and across viaducts, the grade rising
steadily until just as Jim had made up his mind that his moments were
numbered, they reached the first steep grade into the mountain. From
this point the ride was a slow and steady climb up a pine-covered
mountain. Just before sunset the engine stopped at a freight shed.

"Go on up the trail," said the fireman. "We'll send your stuff up to the
officers' camp."

Jim saw a wide macadam road leading up through the pines. The
unmistakable sounds of great construction work dropped faintly down to
him. His pulse quickened and he started up the road which wound for a
quarter of a mile through trees the trunks of which were silhouetted
against the setting sun. Then the road swept into the open. Jim stopped.

First he saw ranges, stretching away and away to the evening glory of
the sky. Then, nearer, he saw solitary peaks, etched black against the
heavens, and groups of peaks whose mighty fla