Coffee fell with the overturned table out in the sand.
His gun dropped as he dropped. Neale was there light 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.
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