boy, he prayed to the low-pressure cylinder."

"Not half bad a thing to pray to, either. He's propitiating his own
Gods now, and he wants to know what Mother Gunga will think of a
bridge being run across her. Who's there?" A shadow darkened the
doorway, and a telegram was put into Hitchcock's hand.

"She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a _tar_. It
ought to be Ralli's answer about the new rivets.... Great Heavens!"
Hitchcock jumped to his feet.

"What is it?" said the senior, and took the form. "_That's_ what
Mother Gunga thinks, is it," he said, reading. "Keep cool, young 'un.
We've got all our work cut out for us. Let's see. Muir wires, half an
hour ago: '_Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out._' Well, that gives
us--one, two--nine and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut and
seven's sixteen and a half to Latodi--say fifteen hours before it
comes down to us."

"Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is two
months before anything could have been expected, and the left bank is
littered up with stuff still. Two full months before the time!"

"That's why it happens. I've only known Indian rivers for five and
twenty years, and I don't pretend to understand. Here comes another
_tar_." Findlayson opened the telegram. "Cockran, this time, from the
Ganges Canal: '_Heavy rains here. Bad._' He might have saved the last
word. Well, we don't want to know any more. We've got to work the
gangs all night and clean up the river-bed. You'll take the east bank
and work out to meet me in the middle. Get everything that floats
below the bridge: we shall have quite enough river-craft coming down
adrift anyhow, without letting the stone-boats ram the piers. What
have you got on the east bank that needs looking after?"

"Pontoon, one big pontoon with the overhead crane on it. T'other
overhead crane on the mended pontoon, with the cart-road rivets from
Twenty to Twenty-three piers--two construction lines, and a
turning-spur. The pile-work must take its chance," said Hitchcock.

"All right. Roll up everything you can lay hands on. We'll give the
gang fifteen minutes more to eat their grub."

Close to the veranda stood a big night-gong, never used except for
flood, or fire in the village. Hitchcock had called for a fresh horse,
and was off to his side of the bridge when Findlayson took the
cloth-bound stick and smote with the rubbing stroke that brings out
the full thunder of the metal.

Lon