t one has only to
listen to their conversation in saloon and shanty to recognize the
clean pride in their manhood, and their faith in the destiny of the
land to which they belong. They have also proved their faith by
pitting their unshrinking courage and splendid physical strength
against savage Nature, and, among their other achievements, that track
blown out of the living rock, flung over roaring rivers, and driven
through eternal snow, supplies a significant hint of what they can
bear and do. They buried mangled men in roaring canyon and by giddy
trestle, but the rails crept always on.

Wisbech came to the brink of a gorge which rent the steep hillside. He
could not tell how deep it was, but it made him dizzy to look down
upon the streak of frothing water far below. The gorge was spanned by
the usual Western trestle bridge, an openwork fabric of timber just
wide enough to carry the single track rising out of the chasm on
tapering piers that looked ethereally fragile in that wilderness of
towering trees and tremendous slopes of rock. The chunk of axes and
ringing of hammers jarred through the roar of the stream, and he could
see men clinging in mid-air to little stages slung about the piers,
and moving among the pines below. A man in a ragged duck suit strode
by him with an axe on his shoulder, and Wisbech half-diffidently
ventured to inquire if he could tell where Derrick Nasmyth could be
found. The man, who paid no attention to him, stopped close by, and
shouted to some of his comrades below.

"You ought to get that beam fixed before the fast freight comes
through, boys. There's no sign of her yet," he called in a loud
voice.

Somebody answered him, and the man turned to Wisbech.

"Now, sir," he replied tardily, "you were asking for Nasmyth?"

Wisbech said he wished to see Derrick Nasmyth, and the man nodded.

"Well," said he, "you'll have to wait a few minutes, I guess he's
busy. There's a log they want to put into the trestle before the train
comes along. It's not his particular business, but we're rather
anxious to get through with our contract."

"Ah," returned Wisbech, "then I fancy I know who you must be. In fact,
I'm rather glad I came across you. You are evidently the man who
looked after my nephew when he was ill, and from what Miss Waynefleet
told me, Derrick owes you a good deal."

Gordon looked at Wisbech with a little smile, as he recalled what
Nasmyth had said about the man who had sent him t