The Road Builders Part 13

"Perfectly."

"He's having the devil's own time himself, Carhart. The mills are going back on us steady with the rails. They just naturally don't s.h.i.+p 'em. I'm beginning to think they don't want to s.h.i.+p 'em."

Carhart stopped short, plunged in thought. "Maybe you're right," he said after a moment. "I hadn't thought of that before."

"No, you oughtn't to have to think of it. That's our business, but it's been worrying us considerable. Then there's the connections, too.

The rails have to come into Sherman by way of the Queen and c.u.mberland,--a long way 'round--"

"And the Queen and c.u.mberland has 'Commodore Durfee' written all over it."

"Yes, I guess it has."

"And knowing that, you fellows have been sitting around waiting for the Commodore to deliver your material. No, Tiffany, don't tell me that; I hate to think it of you."

"I know we're a pack of fools, Carhart, but--" the sentence died out.

"But what can we do, man? We can't draw a new map of the United States, can we? We've got our orders from the old man--!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Look here, Tiffany,' Carhart began, 'something's going to happen to this man Peet.'"]

"Could you have the stuff sent around by the Coast and Crescent, and transferred over to Sherman by wagon?"

"Wait a minute; who owns the Coast and Crescent? Who's got it all b.u.t.toned up in his pants pocket?"

"Oh," said Carhart. They stood for a little while, then sat down on a pile of culls which had been brought up by the tie squad for supporting tent floors. "It begins to occur to me," Carhart went on, "that we are working under the nerviest president that ever--But perhaps he can't help it. He's fixed pretty much as Was.h.i.+ngton was in the New Jersey campaign; he's surrounded by the enemy and he's got to fight out."

"That's it, exactly," cried Tiffany. "He's got to cut his way out. He ain't a practical railroad man, and he's just ordered us to do it for him. Don't you see our fix?"

"Yes," Carhart mused, "I see well enough. Look here, Tiffany; how far can I go in this business,--extra expenses, and that sort of things?"

Tiffany's face became very expressive. "Well," he said, "I guess if you can beat the H. D. & W. to Red Hills there won't be any questions asked. If you can't beat 'em, we'll all catch h.e.l.l. Why, what are you thinking of doing?"

"Not a thing. My mind's a blank."

From Tiffany's expression it was plain that he was uncertain whether to believe this or not.

"It comes to about this," Carhart went on. "It all rests on me, and if I'm willing to run chances, I might as well run 'em."

Tiffany's eyes were searching the lean, spectacled face. "I guess it's for you to decide," he replied. "I don't know what else Mr. Chambers was thinking of when he the same as told me to leave you be."

"By the way, Tiffany,"--Carhart was going through his pockets,--"how long is it since you people left Sherman?"

"More than a week. Mr. Chambers wanted some shooting on the way out."

"Do you suppose he knows about this?" And Carhart produced the torn sheet of the _Pierrepont Enterprise_.

Tiffany read the headlines, and slowly shook his head. "I'm sure he don't. There was no such story around Sherman when we left. But we found a message waiting here to-day, asking Mr. Chambers to hurry back; very likely it's about this."

"If it were true, if Commodore Durfee does own the line, what effect would it have on my work here?"

"Not a bit! Not a d--n bit!" Tiffany's big hand came down on his knee with a bang. "This line belongs to Daniel De Reamer, and Old Durfee's thievery and low tricks and kept judges don't go at Sherman, or here neither. It's jugglery, the whole business; there ain't anything honest about it." Carhart looked away, and again restrained a smile; he was thinking of where the money came from. "And I'll tell you this," Tiffany concluded, "if anybody comes into my office and tries to take possession for Old Durfee, I'll say, 'Hold on, my friend, who signed that paper you've got there?' And if I find it ain't signed by five judges--_five_, mind!--of the Supreme Court of the United States sittin' in Was.h.i.+ngton, I'll say, 'Get out of here!' And if they won't get out, I'll kick 'em out. And there's five hundred men in Sherman, a thousand men, who'll help me to do it. If it's court business, I guess our judges are as good as theirs. And if it comes to shooting, by G.o.d we'll shoot!"

"I agree with you, on the whole," said Carhart. "Mr. De Reamer and Mr.

Chambers have put me here to beat the H. D. & W. to Red Hills, and I'm going to do it. But--"

"That's the talk, man!"

"But let's get back to Peet. He could help us a little if he felt like it. You told me last month, Tiffany, that Peet had given you a list of the numbers of all my supply cars, with an understanding that they wouldn't be used for anything else. Have you got that list with you?"

"No; it's in my desk, at Sherman."

"All right. I'll call for it day after to-morrow."

"At Sherman?"

"Yes. Peet isn't sending those cars out here, and I'm going to find out where he is sending them."

"There's one thing, Carhart," said Tiffany, as they rose, "I'm sure Peet don't know how bad off you were for water. He was holding up the trains for material."

"He ought to understand, Tiffany. I wired him to send the water anyway."

"I know. But that would be wholesale murder. He didn't realize--"

"I'm going to undertake the job of making him realize, Tiffany."

The whistle of the vice-president's special engine was tooting as they started back. On the one hand, as far as human beings could be distinguished with the naked eye, the groups and the long lines of laborers were shuffling to and from their work on the grade; the picked men of the iron squad, muscular, deep chested, were working side by side with the Mexicans and the negroes, as also were the spikers and strappers and the men of the tie squad. On the other hand, the ladies of the vice-president's party were picking their way daintily back toward Mr. Chambers's private car, where savory odors and a white-clad chef awaited them.

Carhart had time only to wash his face and hands before rejoining the party at the car steps. His clothing was downright disreputable, and he wanted the physique, the height and breadth and muscle display, which alone can give distinction to rough garments. Even his clean-cut face and reserved, studious expression were not positive features, and could hardly triumph over the obvious facts of his dress. Mrs.

Chambers and the young women again glanced toward him, and again they had nothing to say to him. To the truth that this ugly, noisy scene was a resolving dissonance in the harmony of things, that this rough person in spectacles was heroically forging a link in the world's girdle, these women were blind. They had been curious to come; and now that they were here and were conscious of the dirtiness and meanness of the hundreds of men about them, now that the gray hopelessness of the desert was getting on their nerves, they were eager to go back.

And so the bell rang, the driving-wheels spun around, slipping under the coughing engine, the car began to rumble forward, the ladies bowed, the vice-president, taking a last look at things from the rear platform, nodded a good-by, and the incident was closed.

There were a number of things for Carhart to attend to after he had eaten supper and dressed, and before he could get away,--some of which will have to find a place in a later chapter,--and it was eleven o'clock at night when he finally put aside his maps and reports. He then wrote a note to Scribner, telling the engineer of the second division that the last report of his pile inspector was not satisfactory,--the third bent in the trestle over Tiffany Hollow on "mile fifty-two" showed insufficient resistance. He left for Young Van's attention a pile of letters with memoranda for the replies. He sent for Old Van, and went over with him the condition of the work on the first division. And finally he wrote the following letter to John Flint:--

DEAR JOHN: I'm sending forward to-morrow the extra cable and the wheelers you asked for. I have to run back to Sherman to-night, possibly for a week or so, but there'll be time enough to look over your plans for cutting and filling on the west bank when I get back. I haven't figured it out yet, but I'm inclined to agree with you that we can make more of a fill there. But I'll write you again about it.

Thanks to our friend Peet I nearly killed Texas on a ride for water. Got to have another riding horse sent out here. My a.s.sistant's pony had to be shot--that little brown beauty I pointed out to you the morning you started, with the white star.

Yours,

P. C.

P. S. By the way, that Wall-street fight was only the opening skirmish. The Commodore is raiding S. & W. for business. I guess you know how he does these things. The _Pierrepont Enterprise_ says he has already got control of the board, so it will probably be our turn next. If you haven't plenty of weapons, you'd better order what you need at Red Hills right away. And don't forget that you're working for Daniel De Reamer.

P. C.

He folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, addressed it, and then tipped back and ran his long fingers through his hair. He was surprised to find that his forehead was beaded with sweat. "Lovely climate, this," he said to himself; adding after a moment, "Now what have I forgotten?" For several minutes he balanced there, supporting himself by resting the fingers of one hand against a tall case labelled, "A B C Spool Cotton," in the flat, gla.s.s-fronted drawers of which he kept his maps and papers. Finally he muttered, "Well, if I have forgotten anything, I've forgotten it for good," and the front legs of his chair came down, and he reached across the table for his hat.

But instead of rising, he lingered, fingering the wide hat-brim. The yellow lamplight fell gently on his face, now leaner than ever. "I wonder what they think a man is made of," thought he. "Nothing very valuable, I guess, from what an engineer gets paid. I'm in the wrong business. It's my sort of man who does the work, and it's the speculators and that sort who get the money,--G.o.d help 'em!" Again he made as if to rise, and again he paused. "Oh!" he said, "of course, that was it." He clapped his hat on the back of his head, reached out for a letter which he had that evening written to Mrs. Carhart, opened the envelope, and added these words:--