ht and quick. He snatched up
the gun.

"Coffee, you and Blake are to understand you're fired," said Neale.
"Fired off the job and out of camp, just as you are."

Fifteen days later the work-train crossed Number Ten on a trestle and
the construction progressed with new impetus.

Not many days later a train of different character crept slowly foot by
foot over that temporary bridge. It carried passenger-coaches, a private
car containing the directors of the railroad, and General Lodge's
special car. The engine was decorated with flags and the engineer
whistled a piercing blast as he rolled out upon the structure. Number
Ten had been the last big obstacle.

As fortune would have it, Neale happened on the moment to be standing
in a significant and thrilling position, for himself and for all who saw
him. And that happened to be in the middle of the stream opposite
the trestle on the masonry of the middle pier, now two feet above the
coffer-dam. He was as wet and muddy as the laborers with him.

Engineer, fireman, brakemen, and passengers cheered him. For Neale the
moment was unexpected and simply heart-swelling. Never in his life had
he felt so proud. And yet, stinging among these sudden sweet emotions
was a nameless pang.

Presently Neale espied General Lodge leaning out of a window of his car.
He was waving. Neale pointed down at his feet, at the solid masonry; and
then, circling his mouth with his hands, he yelled with all his might:

"Bed-rock!"

His chief yelled back, "You're a soldier!"

That perhaps in the excitement and joy of the moment was the greatest
praise the army officer could render. Nothing could have pleased Neale
more.

The train passed over the trestle and on out of sight. Upon its return,
about the middle of the afternoon, it stopped in camp. A messenger came
with word for Neale to report at once to the directors. He hurried to
his tent to secure his papers, and then, wet and muddy, he entered the
private car of the directors.

It contained only four men--General Lodge, and Warburton, Rogers, and
Rudd. All except the tall, white-haired Warburton were comfortable in
shirt-sleeves, smoking with a table between them. The instant Neale
entered their presence he divined that he faced a big moment in his
life.

The chiefs manner, like Larry King's when there was something in the
wind, seemed quiet, easy, potential. His searching glance held warmth
and a gleam that thrilled Neale. But he was cer