ntration of the townsfolk was a sign of an unmanly dread of those
first settlers whom they wished to drive away unjustly, subjugate and
ruin.

Throughout the mountains blazed a fierce resentment of the railroad
builders' presence and their work; in no heart did it burn more fiercely
than in poor Joe Lorey's, for the fear obsessed him that a member of the
army of invaders had succeeded in depriving him of the last chance of
getting that which, among all things on earth, he longed for most--Madge
Brierly's love. He did not stop to think that before the "foreigner" had
come the girl had more than once refused to marry him, begging him to
remain her good, kind friend. Such episodes, in those days, had not in
the least disheartened him. He had always thought that in the end the
girl _would_ "have him." But now he was convinced his chance was gone,
his last hope vanished. The "foreigner" had fascinated Madge, made him
look cheap and coarse, uncouth and undesirable.

As he had walked along the roads which, later in the morning, Madge had
followed, he had frowned blackly at the sunrise and the waking birds,
kicked viciously at little sticks and stones which chanced along his
way. Never a smile had he for chattering squirrel or scampering
chipmunk; fierce, repellant was the brown brow of the mountaineer,
despite the glory of the morning, and black the heart within him with
sheer hatred of Frank Layson and the class he represented.

His journey was much longer than the girl's, for it did not end till he
had reached the rude construction camp of the advancing railroad
builders in the valley far below the little mountain-store. There he
gazed at what was going on with a child's wonder, which, at first,
almost made him lose his memory of what he thought his wrongs, but,
later, aggravated it by emphasizing in his mind his own great ignorance.

Through a tiny temporary town of corrugated iron shanties, crude
log-and-brush and rough-plank sheds, white canvas tents, ran the raw,
heaped earth of the embankment. About it swarmed a thousand swarthy
laborers, chattering in a tongue less easy to his ears than the harsh
scoldings of the squirrels he had seen while on his way. Back behind
them stretched two lines of shining rails, which, even as he watched,
advanced, advanced on the embankment, being firmly spiked upon their
cross-ties so as to form a highway for the cars which brought more dirt,
more dirt, more dirt to send the raw embankm