hes were
ragged. He thought only of the Great Work.

In the Present, which came to him with tight-clenched, iron fingers
gripping the promise which he must rend from them with the strength of
brain and brawn, there was only the Great Work. The Past extended back
only to the day when Bat Truxton had fallen and he had been called to
take the place of command; and since then there had been only the
Great Work. And the Future, mocking him now, smiling upon him the next
day, then hiding her face in her misty veil, held high above his head
the success or the failure of the Great Work.

And as he grew haggard and tense-nerved and unkempt, little lines
formed about the corners of his mouth which would have told William
Conniston, Senior, that there had been wrought in his son a change
which was not of the body, not of the mind alone, but even of the
secret soul.

He thought that he should have heard from Mr. Crawford by now, and yet
no word had reached him. When the day's work had been done upon the
dam he rode the ten miles into Crawfordsville and inquired at the
Western Union office for a telegram. No, nothing had come. The next
day he was as short-spoken as Bat Truxton had been the day before
Hapgood had tempted him, as irritable. He saw half a dozen men
struggling with a great rugged mass of rock, and cursed them for their
slowness. And then he turned away from the Lark's curious eyes, biting
his lips. For he knew that they were doing all that six big
iron-bodied men could do, and that he was not fit.

Again that night he rode to Crawfordsville. He thought that the
telegraph agent grinned maliciously as he tossed a yellow envelope
upon the counter.

"Sign here, Mr. Conniston," he said.

Conniston signed and, stepping outside, read the words which drove a
groan to his lips:

"WILLIAM CONNISTON, Jr.,

"General Supt., Crawford Reclamation, Crawfordsville.

"No success yet. May have to go to St. Louis for the money.
Hope to have men in four or five days.

"JOHN W. CRAWFORD."

He did not see Jocelyn Truxton in front of the post-office as he rode
past, did not see Hapgood come out of the two-story building and join
her. He saw only the days which were rushing down upon him, offering
him a broken, blunt weapon to fight a giant.

Never once had Conniston doubted as he doubted now. Never before had
all glint of hope been lost in rayless blackness. If he had the five
hundred men, _if he had t