Brandon of the Engineers

The lengthening shadows lay blue and cool beneath the alders by the

waterside, though the cornfields that rolled back up the hill glowed a

coppery yellow in the light of the setting sun. It was hot and, for the

most part, strangely quiet in the bottom of the valley since the hammers

had stopped, but now and then an order was followed by a tramp of feet

and the rattle of chain-tackle. Along one bank of the river the

reflections of the trees quivered in dark-green masses; the rest of the

water was dazzlingly bright.

A pontoon bridge, dotted with figures in khaki, crossed a deep pool. At

its head, where a white road ran down the hill, a detachment of engineers

lounged in the shade. Their faces were grimed with sweat and dust, and

some, with coats unbuttoned, sprawled in the grass. They had toiled hard

through the heat of the day, and now were enjoying an "easy," until they

should be called to attention when their work was put to the test.

As Lieutenant Richard Brandon stood where the curve was boldest at the

middle of the bridge, he had no misgivings about the result so far as the

section for which he was responsible was concerned. He was young, but

there was some ground for his confidence; for he not only had studied all

that text-books could teach him but he had the constructor's eye, which

sees half-instinctively where strength or weakness lies. Brandon began

his military career as a prize cadet and after getting his commission he

was quickly promoted from subaltern rank. His advancement, however,

caused no jealousy, for Dick Brandon was liked. He was, perhaps, a trifle

priggish about his work--cock-sure, his comrades called it--but about

other matters he was naïvely ingenuous. Indeed, acquaintances who knew

him only when he was off duty thought him something of a boy.

In person, he was tall and strongly made, with a frank, sunburned face.

His jaw was square and when he was thoughtful his lips set firmly; his

light-gray eyes were clear and steady. He was genial with his comrades,

but usually diffident in the company of women and older men.

Presently the Adjutant came up and, stopping near, glanced along the

rippling line that marked the curve of the bridge.

"These center pontoons look rather prominent, as if they'd been pushed

upstream a foot or two," he remarked. "Was that done by Captain

Maitland's order?"

"No, sir," Dick answered with some awkwardness. "For one thing, I found

they'd lie steadier out of the eddy."