Neale ate at a mess-table with the laborers, and enjoyed his meal.
The Paddies always took to him. One thing he gathered early was the
fact that Number Ten bridge was a joke with the men. This sobered
Neale and he left the cheery, bantering company for a quiet walk
alone.
It was twilight down in the valley, while still daylight up on the
hilltops. A faint glow remained from the sunset, but it faded as
Neale looked. He walked a goodly distance from camp, so as to be out
of earshot. The cool night air was pleasant after the hot day. It
fanned his face. And the silence, the darkness, the stars calmed
him. A lonely wolf mourned from the heights, and the long wail
brought to mind Slingerland's cabin. Then it was only a quick step
to memory of Allie Lee; and Neale drifted from the perplexities and
problems of his new responsibility to haunting memories, hopes,
doubts, fears.
When he returned to the tent he espied a folded paper on the table
in the yellow lamplight. It was a telegram addressed to him. It said
that back salaries and retention of engineers were at his
discretion, and was signed Lodge. This message nonplussed Neale. The
chief must mean that Blake and Coffee would not be paid for past
work nor kept for future work unless Neale decided otherwise.
Pages:
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380