akwaters?" asked Neale, sharply.

"Breakwaters?" ejaculated Coffee. His surprise was sincere.

"Yes, breakwaters," retorted Neale. "I drew plans for breakwaters to
be built up-stream so that in high water the rapid current would be
directed equally between the piers, and not against them."

"Oh yes! Why--we must have got--it mixed," replied Coffee. "Thought they
were to be built last. Wasn't that it, Blake?"

"Sure," replied his colleague, but his tone lacked something.

"Ah--I see," said Neale, slowly.

Then the big Irishman got up to extend a huge hand. "I'm Colohan," he
boomed.

Neale liked the bronzed, rough face, good-natured and intelligent. And
he was aware of a shrewd pair of gray eyes taking his measure. Why these
men seemed to want to look through Neale might have been natural enough,
but somehow it struck him strangely. He had come there to help them, not
to discharge them. Colohan, however, did not rouse Neale's antagonism as
the others had done.

"Colohan, are you sick of this job?" queried Neale, after greeting the
boss.

"Yes--an' no," replied Colohan.

"You want to quit, then?" went on Neale, bluntly. The Irishman evidently
took this curt query as a foreword of the coming dismissal. He looked
shamed, crestfallen, at a loss to reply.

"Don't misunderstand me," continued Neale. "I'm not going to fire
you. But if you are sick of the job you can quit. I'll boss the gang
myself... The rails will be here in ten days, and I'm going to have a
trestle over that hole so the rails can cross. No holding up the work
at this stage of the game... There's near five thousand men in the
gangs back along the line--coming fast. They've all got just one
idea--success. The U. P. R. is going through. Soon out here the rails
will meet.... Colohan, make it a matter of your preference. Will you
stick?"

"You bet!" he replied, heartily. A ruddy glow emanated from his face.
Neale was quick to sense that this Irishman, like Casey, had an honest
love for the railroad, whatever he might feel for the labor.

"Get on the job, then," ordered Neale, cheerily. "We'll hustle while
there's daylight. We'll have that trestle ready when the rails get
here."

Coffee laughed scornfully. "Neale, that sounds fine, but it's impossible
until the trains get here with piles and timbers, iron, and other stuff.
We meant to run up a trestle then."

"I dare say," replied Neale. "But the U. P. R. did not start that way,
and never would f