Brandon of the Engineers

Dick colored, but looked his questioner steadily in the face.

"I was in the army. They turned me out."

The Vice-Consul made a gesture. "I have nothing to do with the reason for

this; but you can see my difficulty. You urge me to meddle with things

that require very delicate handling and with which my interference would

have to be justified. No doubt, you can imagine the feelings of my

superiors when I admitted that I acted upon hints given me by a stranger

in the employ of Americans, who owned to having been dismissed from the

British army."

Dick got up, with his face firmly set.

"Very well. There's no more to be said. I won't trouble you again."

Leaving the house, he walked moodily back to the end of the line. The

Vice-Consul was a merchant and thought first of his business, which might

suffer if he gained the ill-will of corrupt officials. He would, no

doubt, move if he were forced, but he would demand incontestable proof,

which Dick feared he could not find. Well, he had done his best and been

rebuffed, and now the temptation to let the matter drop was strong. To go

on would bring him into conflict with Kenwardine, and perhaps end in his

losing Clare, but he must go on. For all that, he would leave the

Vice-Consul alone and trust to getting some help from his employer's

countrymen. If it could be shown that the enemy was establishing a secret

base for naval operations at Adexe, he thought the Americans would

protest. The Vice-Consul, however, had been of some service by teaching

him the weakness of his position. He must strengthen it by carefully

watching what went on, and not interfere until he could do so with

effect. Finding the locomotive waiting, he returned to his shack and with

an effort fixed his mind upon the plans of some work that he must

superintend in the morning.

For the next few days he was busily occupied. A drum of the traveling

crane broke and as it could not be replaced for a time, Dick put up an

iron derrick of Bethune's design to lower the concrete blocks into place.

They were forced to use such material as they could find, and the gang of

peons who handled the chain-tackle made a poor substitute for a steam

engine. In consequence, the work progressed slowly and Stuyvesant ordered

it to be carried on into the night. Jake and Bethune grumbled, but Dick

found the longer hours and extra strain something of a relief. He had now

no leisure to indulge in painful thoughts; besides, while he was busy at

the dam he could not watch Kenwardine, and his duty to his employer

justified his putting off an unpleasant task.

One hot night he stood, soaked with perspiration and dressed in soiled

duck clothes, some distance beneath the top of the dam, which broke down

to a lower level at the spot. There was no moon, but a row of blast-lamps

that grew dimmer as they receded picked out the tall embankment with jets

of pulsating flame. Glimmering silvery gray in the light, it cut against

the gloom in long sweeping lines, with a molded rib that added a touch of

grace where the slope got steeper towards its top. This was Dick's

innovation. He had fought hard for it and when Jake supported him

Stuyvesant had written to Fuller, who sanctioned the extra cost. The rib

marked the fine contour of the structure and fixed its bold curve upon

the eye.