October comes."

"But," demurred Conniston, "Swinnerton and his corporation are doing
nothing actively to retard our work--can do nothing. If--"

"He isn't?" snorted Garton. "That's all you know about it! How do we
get all of our implements, our supplies, all of our men? They come to
us by rail, don't they? And that means they come to us over the P. C.
& W., doesn't it? And the P. C. & W. is scared out of its life,
praying every day to its little gods for Crawford's failure. What
happens? We get delayed shipments, we wait for our stuff, and it lies
sidetracked somewhere; we get our men stolen from us before they ever
get to Bolton, and shunted off to work for the opposition! There are
a hundred ways in which Swinnerton and the bigger men in with him can
slip their knife into us every day of the week. And they are not
missing very many bets, either. Oh, Gray's all right; he's square
enough and willing enough to stand by his word. But he can't do
everything. It takes time to get matters up to him, and it takes time
for him to adjust them. And right now he's in San Francisco attending
a railroad conference, and he'll be there fifteen days, I suppose.
What sort of service do you suppose we get in the mean time? You get
that idea out of your head that Swinnerton isn't doing anything
actively to retard us. He's doing everything he can think of, and I
told you at the jump that the man has brains."

As well as a man could understand it without actually going over the
ground, Conniston learned that afternoon all that Bat Truxton's
assistant could tell him. He learned, roughly, of course, how much had
been done already, what remained to be done first, what could be
allowed to wait until more men came to swell the forces now at work,
what chief natural difficulties and obstacles lay across the path of
the great venture.

Little Tommy Garton's enthusiasm was so keen a thing, so spontaneous,
so whole-souled, that long before time came for the noon meal
Conniston felt his own blood pounding and clamoring for action.
Swiftly he was granted the first true glimpse which had ever come to
him of the real nature of work. Such work as he was now about to
engage in was so infused with the elements of hazard, of risk, of
uncertainty, of opposition, that it was shot through with a deep,
stern fascination. It was not drudgery, and almost until now he had
looked upon all work as that. It was a great game, the greatest game
in the world. He