es," said Frisbie doubtfully. "But that is only a way station.
What we need is Green Butte and the Pacific coast outlet over the S. L &
E.; and they stand to euchre us out of that, hands down. What's to
prevent their making that traffic contract with the Mormon people right
now?"

"Nothing; if the S. L & E. management were willing. But just here the
political situation in Mormondom fights for us. Last year the
Transcontinental folk turned heaven and earth over to defeat the Mormon
candidate for the United States Senate. The quarrel wasn't quite mortal
enough to stand in the way of a profitable business deal; but all things
being equal, the Salt Lake line will favor us as against its political
enemy."

"You're sure of that?" queried Frisbie.

"As sure as one can be of anything that isn't cash down on the
nail--with the money locked up in a safety deposit vault. By the
sheerest good luck, the Mormon president of the S. L & E. happened to
be in New York at the time when Adair had his ear to the
Transcontinental keyhole. Adair hunted him up and made a hypothetical
case of a sure thing: if our Western Extension and the Transcontinental,
standard-gauged, should be knocking at the Green Butte door at the same
time, what would the S. L & E. do? The Mormon answer was a bid for
speed; first come, first served. But Adair was given to understand,
indirectly, that on an equal footing, our line would be given the
preference as a friendly ally."

"Bully for the Mormon! But you say Copah--this summer. When we reach
Copah we are still one hundred and forty miles short of Green Butte. And
if you can broaden the Plug Mountain in three weeks--which you'll still
allow me to doubt--the Transcontinental ought to be able to broaden its
Green Butte narrow gauge in three months."

"If you had cross-sectioned both lines as I have, you wouldn't stumble
over that," said Ford, falling back, as he commonly did, upon the things
he knew. "We shall broaden the Plug Mountain without straightening a
curve or throwing a shovelful of earth on the embankment, from beginning
to end. On the other hand, the Green Butte narrow gauge runs for seventy
miles through the crookedest canyon a Rocky Mountain river ever got lost
in. There is more heavy rock work to be done in that canyon than on our
entire Pannikin division from start to finish."

"That's bully for us," quoth the first assistant. "But, all the same, we
shouldn't stop at Copah, this fall."

"We