ng down so fast--he came with a wild, white face--that he all
but knocked the foreman over; and the foreman was white himself. And
what that eighteen-ton column would have done to the bridge, and the
boys on it, had it crashed down those three hundred and twenty-five
feet, is still a subject of awed discussion.

All this time a dozen men have been swarming over the strut, hammering
bolts, tightening nuts, hitching fast the "falls," making sure that all
parts are rigid and everything ready for the lifting. At the front of
the traveler two foremen, "pushers" they are called, yell without
ceasing: "Hey, Gus! Hey! Hey, Jimmie! Put that winch in! Slack away them
falls! What the mischief are you doing? Hey! Hey!" And they shake their
hands and dance on their toes, for all the world like a pair of mad
auctioneers.

The men work faster under this vigorous coaching. Four or five are
stretched flat on their stomachs along the top girder, as many more
cling to steep slanting braces, and some hang fast to the uprights, with
legs twisted around them like Japanese pole-climbers. No matter what his
position, every man plies a tool of some sort--wrench, chisel, or
sledge, and presently all is ready.

Now the niggerheads start with a pounding and sputtering that make the
bridge quiver. The big spools haul fast on the ropes, the falls stiffen,
the booms creak, and with shouts from every one, the strut heaves and
lifts and hangs suspended. The "pushers" yell at the niggerheads to
stop. The men swarm over the load, studying every joint, then wave that
all is well, and come sliding, twisting down just as the engines start
again, all but two men, who sit at the ends and ride along with the
hoist. Meantime the others are racing up the side frames, from slant to
slant to the top of the truss, where they wait eagerly, yelling the
while, at the points on either side, where presently the strut-ends must
be adjusted and then bolted fast.

It seems like some mad school-boy game of romps. Now we'll all swing
over this precipice! Whoop-la! Now we'll all run across this gulf! Wow!
wow! wow! Every man in that scrambling crew is facing two deaths, or
three deaths, and doing hard work besides. Look! There comes the strut
up to its place, and nearly crushes Jimmie Dunn with its sharp edge, as
a strut _did_ crush another lad not so long ago. And see that man hang
out in a noose of a rope, hang out over nothing, and drive in bolts. And
see this fellow k