... You
kin expect me back some day.... To see the meetin' of the rails from
east an' west--an' to pack you off to my hills."
Neale rode out of Roaring City on the work-train, sitting on a flat-
car with a crowd of hairy-breasted, red-shirted laborers.
That train carried hundreds of men, tons of steel rails, thousands
of ties; and also it was equipped to feed the workers and to fight
Indians. It ran to the end of the rails, about forty miles out of
Roaring City.
Neale sought out Reilly, the boss. This big Irishman was in the
thick of the start of the day--which was like a battle. Neale waited
in the crowd, standing there in his shirt-sleeves, with the familiar
bustle and color strong as wine to his senses. At last Reilly saw
him and shoved out a huge paw.
"Hullo, Neale! I'm glad to see ye.... They tell me ye did a dom'
foine job."
"Reilly, I need work," said Neale.
"But, mon--ye was shot!" ejaculated the boss.
"I'm all right."
"Ye look thot an' no mistake.... Shure, now, ye ain't serious about
work? You--that's chafe of all thim engineer jobs?"
"I want to work with my hands. Let me heave ties or carry rails or
swing a sledge--for just a few days. I've explained to General
Lodge. It's a kind of vacation for me."
Reilly gazed with keen, twinkling eyes at Neale.
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