He gazed back toward the east, and then with mighty swing he drove a
spike. He loved Allie Lee beyond all conception, and next he loved
the building of the railroad.
When such thoughts came he went back to pure sensations, the great,
bold peaks looming dark, the winding, level road-bed, the smoky
desert-land, reflecting heat, the completed track and gangs of
moving men like bright ants in the sunlight, and the exhaust of the
engines, the old song, "Drill, ye terriers, drill!" the ring and
crash and thud and scrape of labor, the whistle of the seeping sand
on the wind, the feel of the heavy sledge that he could wield as a
toy, the throb of pulse, the smell of dust and sweat, the sense of
his being there, his action, his solidarity, his physical brawn--
once more manhood.
But at last human instincts encroached upon Neale's superlative
detachment from self. It seemed all of a sudden that he stepped
toward an east-bound train. When he reached the coach something
halted him--a thought--where was he going? The west-bound work-train
was the one he wanted. He laughed, a little grimly. Certainly he had
grown absentminded. And straightway he became thoughtful, in a
different way. Not many moments of reflection were needed to assure
him that he had moved toward the east-bound train with the
instinctive idea of going to Allie Lee.
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