Man alive,
A'd never heard them words till that night."

"What night?" asked Wayland, quietly.

"Oh, 'twas a hot night, Wayland, my boy; an' hot for more reasons than
one. Th' tin horns an' the plugs an' the toots had come up t' our
construction camp, an' of a Monday mornin' after Sunday's spree, y' cud
count fifty dead navvies, Chinks an' Japs an' dagoes, washed down th'
river after gamblers' fights an' chucked up in the sands o' Kickin'
Horse! Well, a lot o' big fellows o' th' railway company had come
thro' that day on the first train. There was Strathcona, who was plain
Donald Smith in them days, an' Van Horn, who was manager, an' Ross, who
was contractor! A'd been workin' m' crews on the high span bridge,
there,--y' don't know,--well no matter, 'tis the highest in the Rockies
an' dangerous from a curve! A didn't want that train load o' directors
to risk crossin': wasn't safe! M' crew hadn't one main girder placed;
but Ross was a headstrong dour man; an' Smith--Smith wud a' sent a
train thro' Hell in them days to prove that railway could be built.
Full lickety smash their train came onto that bridge o' mine off the
sharp curve: the dagoes went yellow as cheese wi' fear, th' Chinks
chattered in their jaws, an' the Japs: well the Japs hung on to the
girder an' the cranes. A saw th' bridge heave an' swerve, an' th'
girder went smashin' to th' bottom o' yon creek bed so far below y'
could scarcely see the water; Ross was ridin' wi' th' engineer. Ross
kept his head, ordered them to throw throttle open. All that saved
that train load o' directors was th' train got across before th' weight
smashed thro'; way a quick skater can cross thin ice. Man alive, but A
was mad, riskin' m' crew o' two hundred workmen for a train load o'
rash directors! Th' train stopped! A dashed up! Ross opened out, his
throttle was full open: so was mine; an' th' steam an' smoke escapin'
from yon big mogul,--well, Wayland, them was my unregenerate days! A
may as well confess, Wayland, A gave him back all he'd given with
sulphur thrown in extra; till Donald Smith poked his head out o' th'
private car callin', 'Go on, Ross! Go on, what are you delayin' for?'
Well, then, three of us contractors and th' company doctor was summoned
to th' coast next week. We were all so mad at the fool rashness, we
had our resignations in our pockets. They had our pay checks ready;
but when they saw all four of us had our resignations written, well,