Some time after the accident a doctor arrived and set Festing's arm. He found two ribs were broken and suspected other injuries, but could not question his half conscious patient. When he had done all that was possible in the meantime and had seen Festing lifted carefully into his bunk, he put a dressing on Charnock's bruised face and pulled a chair to the fire.

“I'll keep watch; your partner has got an ugly knock,” he said. “Don't think I'll want anything, and you had better go to bed.”

Charnock could not sleep and spent the night uncomfortably on a chair. He was sore and dazed, but his anxiety would not let him rest, and once or twice he softly crossed the floor to his comrade's bunk. The last time he did so the doctor, whose head had fallen forward, looked up with a jerk and frowned as he signed him to go back. After this, Charnock kept as still as his jarred nerves would permit. Sometimes Festing groaned, and sometimes made a feeble movement, but so far as Charnock could see, his eyes were shut.

About three o'clock in the morning, the doctor stood for some minutes beside the bunk, and Charnock shivered as he watched his face. The shack seemed very quiet except for the throb of the river and the grinding of the ice. Then the doctor gave him a nod that hinted at satisfaction, and told him to refill the iron drum at Festing's feet with hot water. By and by he put fresh wood in the stove, moving cautiously and taking as long as possible, because it was a relief to do something after sitting still in suspense.

At daybreak there was a knock at the door, and Charnock, finding Kerr and Norton outside, looked at the doctor, who put on his fur-coat and went out to them.

“Have you any news for us?” Norton asked.

“No change yet. That's encouraging, as far as it goes.”

“What about breakfast? Ours is ready. Will you join us?”

“I think not. If my patient doesn't come out of his stupor, I must try to rouse him soon. Send a man here and take Mr. Charnock. I expect he needs food.”

“Very well,” said Kerr. “We'll see the cook looks after you; but can you give us no idea about Festing? You see, there are matters, business matters—”

“He has had a bad shock and it will be a long job; a month anyway. I can't stop long and he ought to have a nurse, although it would be difficult to get one to come here. But I can't form an opinion yet.”

He dismissed them and Kerr took Charnock away. It was very cold. The white pines were growing into shape; their tops caught the light in the east and glimmered with a faint warm flush against the dim blue shadow. Smoke and puffs of steam floated up from the gorge, and the ringing clang of steel pierced the turmoil of the river. Charnock felt braced but dizzy. Now he came to think of it, he had eaten no supper, and after a day of laborious effort the night's watch had fatigued him. Besides, his face smarted under the bandage, and his back was sore.

When he sat down in Norton's shack, where a plate was put for Kerr, he felt ravenously hungry and did not talk much until the meal was over. Then Norton made him sit near the stove.

“It's an awkward business,” he said. “To begin with, what are we going to do about a nurse? This is hardly the place for a woman, and I doubt if we could get anybody to undertake the job.”

“I'll write to Mrs. Festing.”

“Would she come out?”

“I imagine so,” said Charnock thoughtfully. “Still she doesn't know much about nursing.”

“His wife is the proper person to look after him,” Kerr interposed. “Then I have a young fellow in the rail gang who could help; found him useful once or twice when the boys got hurt. In fact, I suspect he's had some medical training, though I didn't ask why he quit.”

Norton smiled. It is not unusual to find men whose professional career has been cut short working on a Western track.

“That simplifies matters. If you had wanted a lawyer or an accountant, I could have sent a man. However, there's another thing—”

“There is; it's important,” Kerr agreed. “Who's going to carry on the contract?”

Charnock leaned forward eagerly. “I'll try. Give me a chance. I think I know my job.”

There was silence for a few moments and Norton looked at Kerr, who slowly filled his pipe.

“I'd like to consent,” he said, “but I'm the Company's servant and there's a risk.” He paused and turned to Norton. “However, it's really your business. If things go wrong, the trouble's coming to you first.”

“Sure. I'm willing to take the risk. I don't expect Charnock will fool the job, but if he does you can get after me. I'll stand for it.”

“Very well! We'll let it go at that.”

Charnock got up, with some color in his bandaged face, because he knew what Norton's confidence meant. He was, so to speak, an unknown man and the contract had been given to Festing, who was an engineer. If he failed, the men who trusted him would be held accountable.

“Thank you both,” he said with feeling. “If labor and money can put the thing over, I won't let you down.”

He went out, for he had, in his anxiety about other matters, forgotten his men, and it was now important that no time, which must be paid for, should be wasted. Finding some of the gang at work clearing away the fallen material and some hauling lumber on the hill, he gave them a few orders and returned to the shack. When he got there Festing was conscious and the doctor said he might speak to him.

“How do you feel?” Charnock asked.

“Better than the doctor thinks I ought to feel,” Festing answered with a feeble smile. “You seem to have got knocked about!”

Charnock said he was not much the worse, and Festing resumed: “Have you seen Norton? What does he say about the contract?”

“I have seen him; you needn't bother. He has left the job to me; I'll finish it somehow.”

A look of relief came into Festing's face. “That's comforting news; I was afraid—You're a good partner, Bob!”

“I don't know if I've been of much help so far, and the money I put into the undertaking wasn't mine. There's a third partner, Stephen, and I think she'd like me to see you through.”

Festing gave him a grateful glance and closed his eyes. After a time, he opened them feebly and asked: “Do you know why the frame gave way?”

“Not yet,” said Charnock with some dryness. “I mean to find out!”

Then the doctor interrupted and sent him away. Going back to the scene of the accident, he found the damage less serious than he thought. Part of the wall had fallen and the post, which had broken, had pulled down the timbers attached, but these could be replaced, and Charnock, calling two men, began to clear the snow from the king-tie, which he imagined had given way first. He found the Lewis bolt fixed to its end, but the wedge had gone, and he climbed to the spot where the end of the beam had been fixed. The stone socket had not broken, but pieces of crushed lead lay near the hole. The soft metal had not much holding power and had been used to fill up the crevices.

Sitting down, he began with methodical patience to turn over the snow and loose rubble that remained on the shelf after the large stones had fallen. The odds were against his finding what he sought, but he persevered for an hour and then picked up a piece of broken metal a few inches long. It was half of the wedge, which had broken at the slot, but although he searched carefully he could not find the other part. Putting the piece in his pocket, he went to the forge and, seeing the smith was occupied, sat down and filled his pipe. The door was open and the light reflected from the snow was strong. Charnock was glad of this, because he wanted to see the smith, who presently dropped his hammer and leaned against the hearth.

“How's your partner getting on?” he asked. “Mr. Festing's the kind of man I like; I was sorry to hear he had got hurt.”

Charnock studied the man. His face was pale and wrinkled under the grime, but he looked honest, and if his statement was sincere, as Charnock thought, it seemed to clear the ground. After giving him a few particulars about Festing's injuries, he lighted his pipe.

“Wilkinson's not here to-day,” he remarked.

“He's not always here,” said the smith. “He comes when there are picks and drills that want sharpening.”

“I saw him once or twice when I was in, and thought he was a friend of yours.”

“He can swap a good yarn; kind of handy man and sometimes helps me with the hammer, but I guess that's all there is to it.”

“Just so,” said Charnock carelessly. “This is a warm place for a quiet smoke, and the foreman can't tell how long one ought to stop, particularly as you're sometimes out at the machine-shop. Do you find the boys meddle with your tools if they come in while you're away?”

“No, sir; there'd be trouble if I did! Besides, nobody comes but Wilkinson, and if I'm out he waits.”

Charnock nodded, as if it did not matter. He had found out what he wanted to know and thought he had not excited the smith's suspicions. Taking the broken wedge from his pocket, he put it on the hearth.

“I expect you know what that is! The Lewis smashed when the frame came down.”

“It's the wedge. Don't see why it broke; plenty metal left, though the slot weakened it.”

“What's it made of?”

“Steel. The iron I wanted didn't come; but this is mild, low-carbon stuff.”

“Then what's the matter with it. It did break.”

The smith put the piece into a socket in the anvil and struck it with a hammer. The end broke short, and picking up the fragment he went to the door.

“Nature's gone out of it; I sure can't understand the thing,” he said with a puzzled look. “If I hadn't forged the stuff myself, I'd allow it was burned.”

“You don't often overheat the steel you work.”

“No, sir,” said the smith, who took up a piece of metal, pierced with holes. “Made this out of the same bar, and it took more forging. Now you watch!”

He put the object in a vise and hammered down the end, which did not break. “That's all right, anyhow; tough and most as soft as iron. But steel's sometimes treacherous; you want to be careful—”

“Could you tell by looking at it if a piece was burned?”

“Well,” said the smith thoughtfully, “it's not always easy, but if the thing was badly scaled, I'd be suspicious. Of course, there might be some scale—”

“But the wedge looked all right when you finished it?”

“It certainly did,” said the smith, who hesitated. “Say do you reckon it was the bolt going that let down your frame?”

“So far, I imagine it was the weight of snow. The pile ran back up the hill and must have made a crushing load. For all that, I'm curious about the wedge.”

“Well,” said the other, “If it was the wedge, I'm surely sorry! The blamed thing is burned, though I don't know how. But if she was loaded up too much, she might have broken anyhow, burned or not.”

“I expect so,” said Charnock, getting up. “You needn't bother about the matter; I'm not blaming you.”

His face got very grim when he went out, for what he had learned fitted in with his suspicions. Wilkinson had heard the smith say that steel could be easily spoiled, and sometimes came to the forge when the man was away. Then there was the rough, scaly look of the wedge, which had been put out of the smith's sight, inside the split shank of the bolt. Everything was plain; Charnock knew why the tie gave way and allowed the frame to fall.

The thought of the treacherous injury made his blood boil. The thing had been so easily done; five minutes' work at the blower, a few strokes with a big hammer when the steel was dangerously hot, and then, perhaps, a sudden quenching in the snow, when the steel ought to have slowly cooled. He had been wrong in thinking men would not risk much for the sake of revenge. Wilkinson had foully struck his comrade and perhaps crippled him for life. But the cunning brute must be punished, and driven from the camp, and when he left should carry marks that would make it difficult to forget his offense.

Charnock, however, could not at once seek out his antagonist. He had promised Festing to carry on the contract; they had had a number of setbacks, and the accident would cost them much. Wages were high and it was essential that the men should be usefully employed, while there was now nobody but himself to superintend the work. Besides, the doctor might want him and he must call at the shack every now and then to see how Festing was getting on. It looked as if he must leave Wilkinson alone until he had more leisure in the evening.

It was a trying day. The doctor sent him errands and sometimes allowed him to come in for a few minutes, but his reports were not favorable, and Festing was either asleep or too feeble to talk. When work stopped and Charnock went to the shack after some hours' absence the doctor looked very grave.

“I'm sorry I must keep you out,” he said. “You mean well, but you're clumsy, while the young fellow Mr. Kerr sent has had some training and knows his job.”

“Then my partner's worse?”

“Well, I'll own that I'm anxious about to-night; but if he gets over the early morning, I'll have hope. Go to the engineer's shack and I'll send you a report, if possible.”

Charnock tried to brace himself as he went away. So far, he had not imagined that Festing might die. He had got a shock, but must not let it overwhelm him. Thinking hard, he walked to Norton's shack to get some food. He was worn out and felt some pain.

Norton gave him supper and offered him room for the night, and Charnock forced himself to eat. When the meal was over he lounged in a comfortable chair with his eyes shut for a time, and then got up and put on his coat.

“Where are you going?” Norton asked.

“I've some business at the camp,” Charnock replied in a very grim voice.

He went out and as he walked down the track met the locomotive engineer, who stopped.

“Is that you, Mr. Charnock? Cold's pretty fierce to-night. How's Mr. Festing?”

Charnock had not felt the cold until then, but he shivered and beat his hands as he replied that Festing was badly hurt. Then he asked: “Are you going out with the loco?”

“Thought I'd finished, but they've wired that the cars are wanted on the next section and I've got to run them along.”

“Ah,” said Charnock. “Have you seen Wilkinson?”

“Met him going to the bunk-house just before you came up.”

Charnock went on, and presently entered the big wooden shed, which was full of tobacco smoke and the smell of hot iron and food. The warmth made him dizzy after the cold outside. A group of men had gathered about the stove, others sat at the dirty table with pipes and newspapers, and a few were quarreling about a game of cards, but Charnock could not see them distinctly.

One or two looked round as he stopped near the door, dazzled by the light. He had pulled off the bandage, and there was a large, dark bruise on his face, which was set. His mouth made a firm line and his eyes glittered. Then the foreman got up.

“Well,” he asked harshly, “what do you want?”

Charnock gave him a careless glance. The fellow was truculent and had bullied Charnock when he worked in his gang, while the latter had sometimes replied to his abuse with witty retorts that left a sting. Afterwards, he had beaten his persecutor badly in the dispute about the borrowed workmen.

“I'm looking for Wilkinson.”

“What d'you want him for?” the foreman asked suspiciously.

“That's my business.”

“Then this is my bunk-house; anyhow, I'm in charge. Guess you'd better get back to the bosses' shacks, where you belong.”

Charnock noted the sneer, but said quietly, “I'll go as soon as I've had a word with Wilkinson.”

He tried to see if Wilkinson was there, and did not think he was, but could not be certain. The foreman's manner hinted that he meant to protect the fellow.

“You'll go now! D'you want me to put you out?”

For a moment Charnock stood still, and then suddenly lost his self-control in a fit of savage rage. He had suffered at the hands of the brute, who was trying to prevent his finding Wilkinson. But he did not mean to be baulked, and stepped forward with his fists clenched.

He could not remember who struck first, but got a blow on his body that made him gasp. Then he felt his knuckles jar on his antagonist's face, and the next moment staggered and fell against a bench that upset with a crash. He recovered, bent from the waist to dodge a blow that would have felled him, and struck over the other's arm.

The foreman reeled, but did not fall, and closed with Charnock, who could not get away because of the table. The latter felt his antagonist's strength, and there was no room for skill. When he tried to break loose his feet struck the upset bench, and the wall was close by. Breathing hard, they rocked to and fro in a furious grapple, striking when a hand could be loosed, and then fell apart, exhausted. Both were bleeding but determined, for deep-rooted dislike had suddenly changed to overpowering hate. Moreover Charnock knew the foreman was Wilkinson's friend, and half suspected him of a share in the plot.

In the meantime the men gathered round, scarcely giving the fighters room, and some, crowded off the floor, mounted the table. Nobody, however, interfered. They had no part in the quarrel and did not know what it was about, but while a number sympathized with Charnock, it was dangerous to offend their boss.

Charnock resumed the attack, advancing with a savage rush. The foreman gave ground, but stretched out his foot and Charnock, tripping over it, plunged forward and fell among the legs of the nearest men. They crowded back, and as he got up awkwardly the foreman seized a heavy billet of cordwood and flung it at his head. The billet struck his shoulder, but he was on his feet, his face set and white, and his eyes vindictively hard. It was a foul blow, but there are few rules to hamper men who fight in a Western construction camp, and Charnock thought his antagonist meant to use a stove-iron that lay close by. Feinting at the other, he dodged and seized a pick-handle he had noticed on the floor. He was just in time, for the foreman struck at him with the iron. It clashed upon the pick-handle, but Charnock got the next blow home and the foreman fell upon the table, on which Charnock pinned him down. Then getting his right arm loose, he struck with blind fury.

He was seized from behind, and while he struggled to get loose somebody gasped: “That's enough! Do you want to kill the man?”

“Yes,” said Charnock hoarsely. “Let me go!”

“Help me choke him off! He's surely mad!” cried the man behind.

Somebody else got hold of Charnock. He was dragged back, hustled away from the table and towards the door. Then the bar was torn from his hands and a man pushed him out in the snow.

“You have fixed him good,” said somebody in a breathless voice. “Go home and cool off!”

“If Wilkinson's inside, I'm coming back,” Charnock declared.

The man laughed. “Wilkinson lit out through the store-shed 'bout a minute after you came in.”

Charnock felt faint and dizzy, but tried to think when the fellow banged the door. It looked as if Wilkinson knew why he had come, and had stolen away after seeing the struggle begin. Moreover he had friends who might go after him and tell him what had happened to the foreman. Then he remembered that the locomotive engineer had been ordered to move some cars, and set off for the track.

The snow was rough, he fell into holes, and stubbed his feet against the ties, but stumbled on until he heard the locomotive snort. Then there was a jar of iron, wheels rattled, and a dark mass in front began to roll away. He was too late, and when he stopped and tried to get his breath two men came down the track.

“Did any of the boys go out on the train?” he asked.

“Only Wilkinson,” one replied.

“Where's he going?”

“I don't know,” said the other. “As he took his clothes-bag, it doesn't look as if he was coming back.”

Charnock set off for Norton's office. He did not know how he got there, because a reaction had begun, and he sat down feeling powerless and badly shaken.