Brandon of the Engineers

"She's bringing up concrete blocks for the dam," Fuller resumed. "We use

them large in the lower courses, and I had the bogie car they're loaded

on specially built for the job; but I'm afraid we'll have to put down

some pieces of the line again. The grade's pretty stiff and the curves

are sharp."

Ida was not bored by these details. She liked her father to talk to her

about his business, and her interest was quickly roused. Fuller, who was

proud of her keen intelligence, told her much, and she knew the

importance of the irrigation scheme he had embarked upon. Land in the

arid belt could be obtained on favorable terms and, Fuller thought, be

made as productive as that watered by the natural rainfall. It was,

however, mainly because he had talked about finding her scapegrace

brother employment on the work that Ida had made him take her South.

As she glanced at the track she noted that room for it had been dug out

of the hillside, which was seamed by gullies that the rails twisted

round. The loose soil, consisting largely of volcanic cinders, appeared

to offer a very unsafe support. It had slipped away here and there,

leaving gaps between the ties, which were unevenly laid and at the

sharper bends overhung the steep slope below. In the meantime, the small

locomotive came nearer, panting loudly and throwing up showers of sparks,

and Ida remarked how the rails bent and then sprang up again as the

truck, which carried two ponderous blocks of stone, rolled over them. The

engine rocked, sparks flashed among the wheels as their flanges bit the

curves, and she wondered what the driver felt or if he had got used to

his rather dangerous work.

As a matter of fact, Dick Brandon, who drove the engine, felt some

nervous strain. He had applied for the post at Kemp's suggestion, after

the latter had given him a few lessons in locomotive work, and had since

been sorry that he had obtained it. Still he had now a room to himself at

the shed where the engine was kept, and a half-breed fireman to help him

with the heavier part of his task. He preferred this to living in a hot

bunk-house and carrying bags of cement in the grinding mill, though he

knew there was a certain risk of his plunging down the ravine with his

engine.

The boiler primed when he started and was not steaming well. The pistons

banged alarmingly as they compressed the water that spurted from the

drain-cocks, and his progress was marked by violent jerks that jarred the

couplings of the bogie truck. Though Dick only wore a greasy shirt and

overall trousers, he felt the oppressive heat, and his eyes ached with

the glare as he gazed up the climbing track. The dust that rolled about

the engine dimmed the glasses, the footplate rattled, and it looked as if

his fireman was performing a clumsy dance.