Deep snow covered the hillside and the pines, with lower branches bent, rose in somber spires against the dazzling background. The river had shrunk and the dark water rolled in angry turmoil between ice-glazed rocks. Streaks of gray haze rose a foot or two into the nipping air, and the clash of shovels had a new, harsh ring. It was nearly dinner time, and Festing noted that his men had not done much since breakfast as he walked down the beaten hollow in the middle of the track. One could not tell how long the cold-snap would last, but it had already embarrassed him.

He stopped above an excavation where Charnock and another were cutting a hole in the frozen gravel. The former held a steel bar in blue, frost-cracked hands and twisted it in the cavity while his companion struck the end. He knelt, in a cramped pose, in the snow, and Festing smiled. Bob was fond of comfort, and it was strange to see him occupied like this. Then, noting the length of the bar, he thought they would not sink the hole deep enough for the blasting charge before dinner, which was unfortunate, because the powder fumes are poisonous and would hang about the spot for some time.

A few moments later the whistle blew, but Charnock and his companion did not stop, and Festing heard the thud of the hammer as he went on. This rather puzzled him. The work was hard and he had not expected Charnock's assistant to continue his task longer than he need. Festing was fastidiously just, and thought it shabby to steal a workman's time; moreover, he imagined that if he had asked the fellow to go on after the whistle blew he would have refused.

Curiosity led him to wait farther along the track until the thud of the hammer stopped. It looked as if Charnock was putting in the dynamite, and Festing hoped he would be careful with the detonator. By and by he heard a warning shout, and a moment or two afterwards saw a blaze of light. Then there was a curious sharp report, and pieces of broken rock splashed into the river. The gorge rang with echoes and a mass of gravel roared down the slope. It was obviously a good shot and had moved more spoil than Festing expected. A glance at his watch showed that the others had given up a quarter of an hour of their short noon rest.

Festing set off again, and in the meantime, Charnock, holding his breath as he stood on the snowy bank, looked down into the hole the explosion had made.

“I think we've made a first-class job,” he said, stepping back out of reach of the fumes. “I like the company's taste in powder.”

“It's better than ours,” his companion agreed with a chuckle.

“Much better. The company is richer than us. It would have saved us some hard work if you had hooked a few more sticks.”

“They're a mean crowd,” said the other. “Blamed suspicious how they tally out their stores, but I'll see what I can do. I'd sooner use good powder than cut frozen gravel with the pick.”

“The pick's no tool for white men. We won't use it unless we're forced,” Charnock answered, and both laughed.

He went to the shack, and while they were at dinner Festing asked: “How did you persuade Jim Brown to stop until you fired the shot?”

“I didn't persuade him. I took it for granted he would stop.”

“He's a good man, but sometimes sulky if one wants him to do what he thinks is outside his job. I don't imagine I'd have found him so obliging if I'd asked him to keep on.”

Charnock laughed. “Perhaps not; our methods are different. You would have explained logically why the thing ought to be finished; but that's a mistake. There are not so many logical people as you think. Instead of arguing, I made a silly joke.”

“You certainly get on with the boys,” said Festing thoughtfully.

“They're a careless, irresponsible crowd. I'm irresponsible, too, and they understand me. They trust you, but you sometimes puzzle them. Perhaps that accounts for the thing.”

Festing talked about something else until they went back to work. Next morning he climbed the hill to a level bench where some of his men were busy hauling logs to the top of the skids. It was easier to move the big trunks across the snow, and he had seized the opportunity to get some out, but was surprised when he saw the number ready to be sent down. While he examined them, Charnock, sprinkled with dusty snow, came up, leading a heavy Percheron team. They dragged a log into place, and then Charnock unhooked the chain and beat his hands. His skin-coat was ragged and his fur-cap battered, but he looked alert and virile as he stood by the steaming horses' heads. The gray trunks of the pines made a good background for his tall figure, which had an almost statuesque grace.

“You look very well, Bob,” Festing remarked. “It's obvious that the pain has gone.”

“It won't come back while the dry weather lasts; I don't know about afterwards. These are pretty good logs.”

“I was wondering how you were able to bring up so many.”

“They're here; that's the main thing. You can look after other matters and leave this to me.”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to see how you did it,” Festing replied.

“Oh, well! You're a persistent fellow; I suppose you had better come along.”

Festing went with him and stopped where a gang of men were at work among the fallen trees. Two, swaying backwards and forward with rhythmic precision, dragged a big crosscut-saw through a massive trunk. Others swung bright axes, and the wood rang with the noise of their activity. All were usefully employed, but there were more of them than Festing expected.

“The two boys with the cantpoles belong to the contractor's bridge-gang,” he said. “What are they doing here?”

“I think I told you Norton said I could have them when we were moving the big poles,” Charnock replied. “He saw I needed help.”

“But that was some days since. He sent them to help at a particular job which you have finished.”

“He hasn't asked me to send them back. Looks as if he'd forgotten them. Anyhow, they're useful.”

“We have no right to keep the men. How did you get them to stop?”

“That was easy,” said Charnock. “The cooking at the bunk-house isn't very good, and I told our man to find out what they liked. In fact, I said we'd stand for it if he put up a better hash.”

Festing laughed. The plan was characteristic of Bob's methods.

“You must send them back,” he said, and went away, doubting if Bob would do so.

For all that, he admitted that Charnock was doing well. He stuck to his work, and had a talent for handling men. Nobody was at all afraid of him; but his sympathetic forbearance with his helpers' weaknesses and his whimsical humor seemed to pay much better than bullying. He made a joke where Festing frowned, but the latter felt thoughtful as he went down-hill. One must make allowance, but Bob was something of a responsibility.

A week later, he got a jar as he stood with Charnock beside a part of the track they had laboriously underpinned. The ballast train was coming down, filling the valley with its roar, and the beaten snow heaved among the ties as the big cars rolled by. The rails sank beneath the wheels and then sprang up until the load on the next axle pressed them down again; the snow flaked off the side of the road-bed, which was built up with broken rock. Festing thought the movement was too marked and waited for the locomotive, which was coupled to the back of the train.

The engine was of the ponderous, mountain type, but it ran smoothly, with steam cut off, and although the ground trembled and the rails groaned as it passed, there was no threatening disturbance.

“The bank's holding up, and this was about the worst spot,” Charnock remarked. “We had some trouble in bedding the king posts in the slippery stuff.”

Then Kerr gave them a nod as he went by. “Looks pretty good, and they have a full load on the cars.”

“I think we'll wait until the train comes back,” Festing said to Charnock. “The engineer will open the throttle wide to pull her up the grade.”

They sat down in a hollow of the bank, for a bitter wind blew through the gorge, and after a time the roar of falling gravel echoed among the pines. Then there was a heavy snorting and the locomotive came round a curve, rocking and belching out black smoke. The cars banged and rattled, slowing with jarred couplings and rolling on when the driving wheels gripped. Festing waited anxiously, because the wheels of a locomotive when driven hard strikes what is called a hammer blow.

By and by the ground began to throb; the vibration got sharper, and Festing watched the track as the engine passed. Cinders rattled about him, there was a mist of snow, but he saw the cross-ties start and the rails spring up and down. Then the clanging cars sped past, and when they had gone he climbed down the side of the bank.

It was now bare of snow and one could see the stones. Two or three had fallen, and the edges of the others were a little out of line. The unevenness was marked, and although one or two of the heads of the timbers had moved, the movement might not have caught Festing's eye had he not known the treacherous nature of their support. He did not think anybody else would notice that they were not quite in their proper place.

“I'm afraid we're up against trouble, Bob,” he said.

Charnock looked unusually thoughtful. “The engineer had to start from a dead stop and turn on full steam. That made the jarring worse, but it wouldn't happen with the ordinary traffic.”

“Perhaps not,” Festing agreed. “Still, you see, the frequent repetition of a smaller shock—”

Charnock stopped him. “It's those confounded posts! If we pull them out, we'll have to cut down to the rock to find a solid bed, and there's a mass of stone to move. What would the job cost?”

He said nothing for a minute after Festing told him, and then remarked: “It's Kerr's business to find fault, and he looked satisfied.”

“He doesn't know as much about it as we do.”

“Then I wish we knew less. How long do you think the track would stand if we left it alone?”

“Until we got paid,” said Festing. “It might stand for some time afterwards.”

He fixed his eyes on Charnock and waited. Bob had expressed some praiseworthy sentiments about making a good job, but this was a different thing from living up to them when it would cost him much. What they ought to do was plain, but Festing admitted that the sacrifice required an effort. Then, somewhat to his surprise, Charnock looked up with a smile.

“You're not sure of me yet, Stephen, and I don't know that you can be blamed. It's a nasty knock, but we have got to bear it. Stop there a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To bring Kerr back and show him the damage. He'll have to lay off the gravel gang while we pull down the bank.”

Festing waited. Bob would stand by him, but he felt anxious. It would be an expensive business to rebuild the track and the frost would make things worse. In fact, if they had any more trouble of the kind, they might be ruined. Then he got up as he saw Kerr coming along the line.

In an hour or two the rails were up and they began to pull down the rockwork that faced the bank. The ragged stones cut their numbed hands, their backs ached with lifting heavy weights, and they stumbled under the loads they carried up the snowy incline. They had, however, help enough, for Charnock went away for a time and came back with three or four men from the construction gang. Festing noted that although he made them useful, he did not give them the hardest work. He refrained from asking how Charnock got the men, but was not surprised when the foreman arrived and inquired in forcible language what they were doing there.

“Let me answer him,” said Charnock. “I feel in the mood. It's my first chance of letting myself go; as long as you're working for wages the advantage is with the boss. Besides, I think I ought to do something for the boys, who can't talk back.”

Festing admitted that he talked very well. Charnock had a keen eye for the ridiculous and a pretty wit, and was no longer handicapped by the fear of being dismissed. While the foreman replied with coarse but rather meaningless abuse, Charnock's retorts had a definite aim and hit their mark. He indicated with humorous skill the defects in his antagonist's looks and character, and Festing's gang laughed uproariously, while the borrowed workmen applauded as loudly as they durst. At length, the foreman, breathless and red in face, gave up the unequal contest and returned to his first question.

“If you came for an argument, you've got it, and I can go on for some time yet,” Charnock replied. “However, if you really want to know why the boys are helping me, you can ask Mr. Norton at the bridge.”

The foreman retired, muttering, but not towards the bridge, and Festing looked hard at Charnock.

“I was anxious for a moment,” Charnock admitted. “But I didn't think he'd go. For one thing, I knew he knows Norton doesn't like him.”

“Then I'll leave you to deal with Norton if he hears about the matter. Now you have had your amusement, we had better get on.”

The short rest and laughter had refreshed the gang and they made good progress. As the holes between the frames deepened, the work got harder and the footing bad, because they were forced to stand on slippery ledges while they passed the heavy stones from man to man. Charnock was ready with jocular sympathy if one fell or a stone bruised somebody's hand, and his jokes spurred on the weary. It got dark soon in the hollow, but as the light faded the flame of a powerful blast-lamp sprang up and threw out a dazzling glare. The lamp belonged to the company, and Festing did not ask Charnock how he had got it. Bob had his own methods, and it was better to leave him alone. When the whistle blew, the latter turned to the borrowed men.

“Go to our shack, boys, and get supper there. I told the cook to fix up something extra, and dare say you'll find it better hash than yours. I'd like you to come back to-morrow, but am afraid it's risky.”