l last
night, and to-day again, and here it is going on midnight. I'm going
to tell you the schedule for to-morrow to calm your mind, then you
roll into your blankets. At nine o'clock in the morning all hands
except the cooks go at the drills and stay by them till the stretch is
holed. Whenever that's done, which should be about evening, we shoot
the chunk. And after that we hit the bottom with every scraper and
fresno and horse and man, with the cooks fighting the coffee-boilers,
and never come out of the ditch till the last lump of dirt is moved.
That's the programme. I figure it will be about midnight when the last
card's turned, maybe an hour or so after. I promised the men double
wages and a box of cigars apiece out of the store and a few other
things perhaps--I don't remember. So you get your sleep, for there's a
big day ahead to-morrow. That dirt all goes out before you'll have
another chance to hit the hay."

Bryant arose next morning at seven. The sky was overcast and the
thermometer was sixteen below zero when he examined it. Across the
snow he could see the north camp stirring to life, awakening in the
frosty, pallid light of dawn. Stretching thither ran uneven snowy
ridges, save at one place where they lay bare and brown--the banks of
the canal. When the small interval still undug was moved, the ditch
would be finished from river to ranch, from the Pinas down to Perro.
And this was to be the last day of toil! To-day the camps were to hurl
themselves at that short remaining strip of earth and tear it out; the
furrow so long pressed ahead through the iron ground was to be brought
to an end; the enemy, frost, was to be conquered at last. When he
thought of the inexorable labour done under heart-breaking conditions,
in spite of cold and wind and snow, and with sufferings and
deprivations little considered. Bryant felt for the workmen, rough
though they were, a strong affection. They had done the bitter work.

"Out goes the chunk to-day," was Pat's greeting that morning.

A spirit of eagerness, almost of enthusiasm, pervaded the crews that
first went forth in the cold to work at the drills. It was the final
attack, and they went from their steaming breakfast with jests and
laughter that rang back over the snow. Sixteen below zero, and they
laughed! Bryant had a sudden conviction that nothing could stop such
men--neither weather, nor elements, nor fate itself. They were heroes
not to be daunted. They swung the