Charnock went back next morning and examined the chain, but found none of the links or fastenings damaged. This was puzzling, and he wondered whether the man he had seen, knowing that somebody was about, had stolen away without beginning what he came to do. The explanation was plausible, but left Charnock uncertain who the fellow was. He suspected Wilkinson, but only because he could think of nobody else with any ground for wishing to do him or Festing an injury.

On the whole, he thought it better not to tell Festing. It was rather an improbable story, and Stephen might think him imaginative, but he would watch and try to catch the fellow if he came again. For a week, he made excuses for going out after supper, and Festing did not object although he looked surprised, but he saw nothing and it was very cold lurking about the track. Moreover he was generally tired after his day's hard work, and was glad to give up the search.

Some time later, he returned from Norton's office one night and had reached the track when he saw a man coming obliquely up the slope. There was moonlight, and the snow glittered between the shadows of the trees. Charnock saw the other plainly and drew back into the gloom along the bank. The fellow did not seem to mind whether he was seen or not, but Charnock thought he knew his walk and figure, and when he reached the track set off with the object of overtaking him. The loose snow dulled his steps, and he was close upon the man when the latter stopped and turned. Then Charnock saw, without much surprise, that it was Wilkinson.

“What were you doing down there?” he asked.

“I don't see what that has to do with you,” Wilkinson answered coolly.

“The logs in the pond are ours.”

Wilkinson looked amused and Charnock tried to control his temper. He would gain nothing by using force, and thought the other meant to give him no excuse for doing so.

“You don't imagine I meant to steal your logs!” Wilkinson rejoined. “They're too large to carry away, and there's no sawmill to buy them if I sent them down the river.”

“That's obvious,” said Charnock, who thought it prudent not to hint that he had seen the fellow lurking about the pond before. For that matter, he was not certain he had seen Wilkinson.

“You're much more suspicious than you were when I first knew you,” Wilkinson resumed in a mocking tone.

“I was a confiding fool then and trusted my friends. It cost me something.”

“And now you're afraid to let anybody pass your logs in the dark? Well, caution's useful, but it can be overdone.”

“Why did you want to pass the pond?”

“For one thing, because it's the easiest way of getting from the smithy to the track; then this piece of hillside doesn't belong to you. However, as I guess you don't claim it, you no doubt reckoned I meant to play you some shabby trick; turn your logs adrift, for example?”

“I don't think it's impossible.”

Wilkinson laughed. “Well, I might do you an injury if the thing wasn't difficult, but don't let your suspicions make you ridiculous. If you feel uneasy, you can watch the pond. Anyhow, the cold's fierce and I'm going to the bunk-house.”

Charnock let him go and returned thoughtfully to the shack. He did not doubt that Wilkinson had been to the smithy, because one could find out if he had not, but he felt disturbed. The fellow had somehow encouraged him to believe he might tamper with the logs; but would hardly have done so had he meant to set them adrift. He might, of course, have wanted to keep him uneasy without ground; but suppose it was a feint, intended to cover the real attack, made at another point? Charnock determined to be cautious and keep his eyes open.

He saw nothing to cause him fresh anxiety, although he once or twice visited the pond at night. In the daytime his work absorbed his attention, for they were now building a lofty frame on the steepest pitch of the dip. The foot of the longest timber, which was unusually massive, rested in a socket cut in the rock near the water's edge, and it cost them a very hard and dangerous day's work to get the log on end. Indeed, for a few anxious minutes Charnock imagined that the mass would break the tackles and come down. When fixed, it was nearly perpendicular, but its top inclined slightly toward the bank, and Festing sent for Norton and Kerr.

“It's a good post, but I'm not sure we have got spread enough,” he said. “There's not much to resist the outward thrust a heavy train might cause. Still, I don't see how we could have carried the foot farther back.”

“You'd have to go into the water,” Norton agreed. “That would have meant a coffer dam, and the Company won't stand for expensive extras.”

“The ice would have smashed the dam,” said Kerr. “The job meets the plan, which calls for stays to stop the post canting out. Put in an extra king-tie half-way up and I'll pass your bill and find the ironwork.”

Festing was satisfied with this, and the post was stayed with chains while they got the braces fixed. This took some days, for the men were forced to work on dangerous snowy ledges and boards, hung from the top. Where there was most risk and difficulty Festing went himself, but he looked anxious.

“It's the worst part of the job and perhaps the most awkward thing I've done,” he said one night. “If the frame came down with the rockwork filling, it might start the rest and shake some length of road.”

“But there's no reason it should come down,” Charnock argued.

“Not in a way, but I'm glad Kerr authorized the extra brace. We'll use the heaviest stuff we can, and although the fastenings may give some trouble, we haven't come to them yet. Perhaps I'm getting nervous. We're up to schedule and doing pretty well, but it will be a relief to get the contract finished.”

Charnock told him about Wilkinson, and he looked thoughtful.

“I can't see his object, particularly since he left the chain alone. Of course he may have meant some mischief, but gave it up when he found you on his track.”

“Somehow I don't think that was it,” said Charnock, who went to open the door.

Kerr came in and after a time began to talk about the fastenings for the main tie-beam.

“As the rock is sound and can be thawed, I think we could use a bolt on the Lewis plan. Give me some paper and I'll make a sketch you can take to the smith.”

Charnock examined the drawing and noted that the holding part of the bolt was shaped like the letter Y, except that the stalk was split. A wedge was sketched to fit the split, and would obviously expand the upper arms to fit tightly into a fan-shaped hole with a narrow mouth.

“I've not seen this kind of fastening before,” he said. “It ought to grip well, but something depends upon the wedge.”

Kerr nodded. “The wedge must be properly forged and fit tight, but there's a cross bolt to stop it backing out. So long as it doesn't break under the hammer, it can't come loose. Something depends on the way the hole is cut and the rock, but the stuff you're working is hard enough.”

Next morning Charnock took the drawing to the smith, and calling at the forge a day or two later, found Wilkinson sitting on a box. He had brought a pick to be mended and made a few ironical remarks, until the smith showed Charnock some irons he had forged.

“I guess that's what you want, but I haven't finished the Lewis yet. Reckoned I'd wait until I could get a bit of horseshoe iron for the wedge when the new stores come along.”

“What's that bar in the corner?” Charnock asked.

“Steel,” said the smith. “A bit off the end would make a wedge, but you want to be careful you don't overheat the steel in the forge if it's to stand hammering after. Horseshoe iron's better for your particular job. Come back in a day or two and I'll have the thing ready.”

Charnock left him and one afternoon soon afterwards helped Festing to notch and bore the heavy cross-tie to fit the post and the ends of the timbers it was to hold in place. These were intended to strengthen the frame, of which the post and tie were the most important members, and Festing had waited until their other ends were securely fixed. When the light was fading he beckoned Charnock.

“You might get the Lewis bolt. The smith sent word it's ready and I want to fasten the tie before we stop.”

When Charnock reached the forge the smith was absent, but he blew the fire until the light flickered about the shop and looked for the bolt. He found it in a corner and took the wedge to the hearth. It was properly shaped and slotted for a cross-bolt, but it looked rough and scaly, and giving the blower a few more strokes he tapped it once or twice. The scale fell off and the metal looked sound. Then while the flame spread about the fuel he glanced round the shop. There was no horseshoe iron, but the bar of steel had recently been cut, and he thought the wedge had been forged out of its end.

Charnock did not think this mattered much. Festing had urged the smith to finish the job, and the man knew his business. Since he had been forced to use steel, he had no doubt taken the necessary precautions. It was dark when Charnock got back to the frame, but a blast-lamp threw out a dazzling glare and he climbed to a beam on which Festing sat. At the timber's inner end a fire burned on a shelf of rock and a man was stirring something in an iron pot.

“We're melting lead to fill up the hole, though I don't know if it's necessary,” Festing said. “Have you got the bolt?”

“It's here. He has made it out of steel; the iron he expected hasn't arrived.”

“That's all right. They now use steel for many jobs instead of iron, and the softer kinds are quite as tough. Anyhow, we can trust the smith not to burn the metal. Help Black while I get the tie ready for fastening.”

Half an hour later the big cross-beam was in position and Charnock watched Festing fit the bolt into its fan-shaped socket. He did so with fastidious care and then standing on the beam swung the hammer a workman gave him. The blast-lamp roared upon a timber overhead, throwing down waves of light that flooded the rock face, but the twinkling brightness rather puzzled the eye. For all that, Festing struck the wedge squarely and drove it home with a few heavy blows. Then he fastened the cross-bolt and Charnock filled a ladle with the melted lead. A blue flame flickered about the cavity as he poured in the stuff, there was an angry sputtering, and he afterwards found some holes in his coat. Festing dropped his hammer with a gesture of satisfaction.

“That's an awkward piece of work finished, and I feel happier now! You can put out the lamp and quit, boys; I'll mark you up full time.”

Then they got down from the frame and went home to supper, earlier than usual. In the morning they began to build a wall of roughly-cut stones among the timber, filling in the space behind with rubble; and kept on until at noon, a day or two later, heavy snow began to fall. It was impossible to work, and they lounged about the shack, smoking and reading, all next day. Charnock was thankful for the rest, but Festing grumbled and now and then walked impatiently to the door. Late at night the former was wakened by a distant rumbling. It sounded like thunder, and he called to his comrade.

“What's that? Had we better get up?”

“Sounds like a big snow-slide,” said Festing, raising himself in his bunk. “Won't harm us; shack's on top of the ridge and we're safer here than anywhere else.” He stopped and listened to the swelling roar and then resumed: “I'm glad we got that frame braced. It's a big slide and will probably come down the gully near the bridge. They're going to snowshed that piece of track and we'll haul out the posts if we can't get on with the other job.”

He lay down again, but Charnock waited. This was the first snow-slide he had heard and he felt awed by the din. Growing in a long crescendo, it rolled down the hill in a torrent of sound, but by and by he thought he could distinguish different notes; the crash of trees carried away by the avalanche and the scream of gravel grinding across rocky scraps. He could imagine the stones being planed away and the mass of broken trunks riding on top of the huge white billow.

It was impossible to sit still, and jumping down, he lighted the lamp, but found it hard to replace the glass. The shack throbbed, the table on which he put the matches shook, and there was a rattle of crockery, but this was drowned by an overwhelming roar. The avalanche was pouring down a gully near the shack, and he leaned against the table, deafened, until it passed. Then he heard the turmoil of a tremendous cataract and imagined the snow was plunging into the river and deflecting the current upon the other bank. The sound gradually died away and he could hear detached noises; great pines, broken rocks, and soil, rushing down behind the fallen mass. There were heavy splashes, and then a strange, unnatural silence.

“It's finished,” Festing remarked. “Rather alarming for the first time, but one gets used to it. You can put out the light and go back to bed.”

Charnock did so and soon went to sleep. In the morning they found that the most part of the avalanche had fallen into the river, but its tail remained, resting in a steep cone of snow and broken trees and soil, against the bank on which they had built the frames. The top of the cone extended far up the hill, but, owing to the sharpness of the pitch, its bottom, which covered the frames and rockwork, was thin. Festing sent half the men to cut this portion away, and the others up the hill to haul posts for the snowshed to the top of the slides. It was obvious that a very heavy weight rested on the buried work, but the pressure was uniform, unlike the jarring of a train, and he did not feel disturbed.

About four o'clock in the afternoon he came to see how much progress the shovel gang had made, and Charnock, who superintended their labor, showed him what they had done. They had cut a gap in the cone, and part of the rockwork was exposed nearly to the bottom. On each side, the snow ran down to the water in a uniform smooth slant, except where broken trees projected from the surface. Above, the mass of snow rested on the shelf that would carry the track and on the top of the half-finished work. It glittered with a yellow flush where it caught the fading light, but in the hollow its color was a dull, cold blue.

By and by they examined the wall. So far as they could see, the stonework bore the unusual load well, but in one spot there was a crack between two courses.

“I'll get up there in the morning and see if it's worth while to drive in a few wedges,” Festing remarked. “You had better watch that bank of snow. Some of it will probably break away.”

“We have had two or three small falls,” said Charnock, and Festing beckoned one of the men.

“Come up the hill in the morning, Tom. I'm going to clear the log-slide or break a new one. Which d'you think would be best?”

While they talked about it, a shower of snow fell on Charnock, who stepped back.

“Watch out!” he cried. “There's more coming!”

Festing moved a pace or two and went on talking, but Charnock fixed his eyes on the snow. The part above the track overhung the gap in a bulging cornice, as if it was moving down hill, and in a few moments a heavier shower began. The bulge got more prominent, but the cornice did not break off, and while he watched it, wondering whether he should call out the men, a stone fell from the wall and dropped at his feet. This was ominous, but next moment a mass of snow struck his head, nearly knocking him down, and when he recovered his balance and wiped his face he noted with alarm that the stones were opening and the big post leaned outwards.

“Jump for your lives, boys!” he shouted, and throwing himself on Festing, drove him back.

Then there was a roar of falling stones and a crash. The massive post lurched towards him and the air was filled with snow. He heard struts and braces crack as the post tore them out, and thought Festing turned round in order to see what was happening. He pushed him away, and then sank into loose snow and fell. Before he could get up there was a deafening noise, something struck him a heavy blow, and he was buried.

After a short struggle he got his head out, and finding that he was thinly covered, made an effort to extricate himself. When he had done so, he saw the men some distance up the bank. They were all there except Festing, but he noticed a heap of big stones and broken beams close by.

“Back here, boys! The boss is underneath!” he shouted, and threw himself upon the stones as the others ran up.

For a minute or two they worked desperately, flinging the lumps of rock about and dragging away the beams; and then stopped as they uncovered Festing. His face looked very white, although a red stain ran down his forehead. Charnock shivered and glanced at the break in the white mass above the track.

“It's risky, but we've got to pull him out before some more snow comes down,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Scrape the snow off carefully, Tom. Get hold here with me, Pete.”

After two or three minutes' cautious work they lifted Festing out of the hole. He was unconscious and his arm looked short and distorted. Charnock felt horror-struck and dizzy, but pulled himself together.

“Go for Kerr, one of you,” he said. “Then I want the stretcher and a hand-sledge. Bring a blast-lamp; ours is smashed.”

The men scattered, except for one who stayed with him, and kneeling in the snow he opened Festing's fur-coat and took off his cap. His head was cut and his arm broken, but Charnock did not think this altogether accounted for his unconsciousness. He suspected broken ribs, but could detect nothing unusual when he felt his comrade's side.

Kerr arrived first and looked at Festing.

“Unconscious all the time?” he asked, and when Charnock nodded resumed: “Most important thing's to get a doctor, and I'll see to that. Then I'll get some brandy.”

As he hurried away three or four men came down the hill with the sledge and stretcher, and one rigged and lighted a powerful lamp. Accidents are common at construction camps, and one of Norton's gang examined Festing.

“He's sure got it badly; arm's not the worst,” he said. “We'll tend to that and then slide him gently on the stretcher. Carrying him might be dangerous; we'll fix the whole outfit on the sled.”

While they were occupied a plume of smoke shot up above the pines, and Charnock knew Kerr had sent off a locomotive to bring help. When they had put Festing on the stretcher a man arrived with brandy, but Festing could not swallow, and seizing the sledge traces, they started up the hill. Norton was in the shack when they reached it, and felt Festing's clothes.

“Not damp; it would be safer to let him lie until the doctor comes,” he said, and sent the men away. Then he turned to Charnock sharply. “Sit right down!”

Charnock swayed, clutched the chair, and sank limply into the seat. The floor heaved and the quiet figure on the stretcher got indistinct. Then Norton held out a glass.

“Drink it quick!”

Charnock's teeth rattled against the glass, but he swallowed the liquor, and sat motionless for a moment or two.

“Seemed to lose my balance. Bit of a shock you know, and I expect that stone hit me pretty hard.”

“So I imagine; there's an ugly bruise on your face,” said Norton, giving him back the glass. “The first dose braced you. Take some more.”

“I think not,” said Charnock, with a forced smile. “Dangerous remedy if you have suffered from my complaint. Didn't know my face was hurt until you told me. When d'you think the doctor will come?”

“There's a man at Jackson's Bench. Loco ought to make the double trip in about two hours.”

“Two hours!” said Charnock faintly, and braced himself to wait.