The boy come out in him again, not jest the same, but brave.
Sendin' thet gold an' thet little book made him happy.... I reckon
Neale found his soul then. An' he never expects to see you again in
this hyar world."
35
Building a railroad grew to be an exact and wonderful science with
the men of the Union Pacific, from engineers down to the laborers
who ballasted and smoothed the road-bed.
Wherever the work-trains stopped there began a hum like a bee-hive.
Gangs loaded rails on a flat-car, and the horses or mules were
driven at a gallop to the front. There two men grasped the end of a
rail and began to slide it off. In couples, other laborers of that
particular gang laid hold, and when they had it off the car they ran
away with it to drop it in place. While they were doing this other
gangs followed with more rails. Four rails laid to the minute! When
one of the cars was empty it was tipped off the track to make room
for the next one. And as that next one passed the first was levered
back again on the rails to return for another load.
Four rails down to the minute! It was Herculean toil. The men who
fitted the rails were cursed the most frequently, because they took
time, a few seconds, when there was no time.
Then the spikers! These brawny, half-naked, sweaty giants--what a
grand spanging music of labor rang from under their hammers! Three
strokes to a spike for most spikers! Only two strokes for such as
Casey or Neale! Ten spikes to a rail--four hundred rails to a mile!
.
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