inish that way."

"Well, you'll have your troubles," declared Coffee. "Troubles!... Do
you imagine I'm going to think of MYSELF?" retorted Neale. These fellows
were beginning to get on his nerves. Coffee grew sullen, Blake shifted
uneasily from foot to foot, Colohan beamed upon Neale. "Come on with
them orders," he said.

"Right!... Send men up on the hills to cut and trim trees for piles and
beams.... Find a way or make one for horses to snake down these timbers.
Haul that pile-driver down to the river and set it up.... Have the
engineer start up steam and try out.... Look the blacksmith shop over
to see if there's iron enough. If not, telegraph Benton for more--for
whatever you want--and send wagons back to the end of the rails....
That's all for this time, Colohan."

"All right, chief," replied the boss, and he saluted. Then he turned
sneeringly to Blake and Coffee. "Did you hear them orders? I'm not
takin' none from you again. They're from the chief."

Colohan's manner or tone or the word chief amazed Coffee. He looked
nasty.

"Go on and work, then, you big Irish Paddy," he said, violently. "Your
chief-blarney doesn't fool us. You're only working to get on the right
side of your new boss.... Let me tell you--you're in this Number Ten
deal as deep--as deep as we are."

It had developed that there was hatred between these men. Colohan's face
turned fiery red, and, looming over Coffee, he looked the quick-tempered
and dangerous nature of his class. "Coffee, I'm sayin' this to your face
right now. I ain't deep in this Number Ten deal.... I obeyed orders--an'
damn strange ones, some of them."

Neale intervened and perhaps prevented a clash. "Don't quarrel, men.
Sure there's bound to be a little friction for a day or so. But we'll
soon get to working."

Colohan strode away without another word. His brawny shoulders were
expressive of a doubt.

"Get me my plans for Number Ten construction," said Neale, pleasantly,
for he meant to do his share at making the best of it.

Blake brought the plans and spread them out on the table.

"Will you both go over them with me?" inquired Neale.

"What's the use?" returned Coffee, disgustedly. "Neale, you're
thick-headed."

"Yes, I guess so," rejoined Neale, constrainedly. "That's why General
Lodge sent me up here--over your clear heads."

No retort was forthcoming from the two disgruntled engineers. Neale went
into the tent and drew a seat up to the table. He wanted to