Neale heard the low murmur of voices of the crowd, and the slow
puffing of the two engines, head on, only a few yards apart, so
strikingly different in shape. Then followed the pounding of hoofs
and tread of many feet, the clang of iron as the last rail went
down. How clear, sweet, spanging the hammer blows! And there was the
old sighing sweep of the wind. Then came a gun-shot, the snort of a
horse, a loud laugh.
Neale heard all with sensitive, recording ears.
"Mac, yez are so dom' smart--now tell me who built the U. P.?"
demanded Pat.
"Thot's asy. Me fri'nd Casey did, b'gorra," retorted McDermott.
"Loike hell he did! It was the Irish."
"Shure, thot's phwat I said," McDermott replied.
"Wal, thin, phwat built the U. P.? Tell me thot. Yez knows so much."
McDermott scratched his sun-blistered, stubble-field of a face, and
grinned. "Whisky built the eastern half, an' cold tay built the
western half."
Pat regarded his comrade with considerable respect. "Mac, shure yez
is intilligint," he granted. "The Irish lived on whisky an' the
Chinamons on tay.... Wal, yez is so dom' orful smart, mebbe yez can
tell me who got the money for thot worrk."
"B'gorra, I know where ivery dollar wint," replied McDermott.
And so they argued on, oblivious to the impressive last stage.
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