Callahan and the linemen were spreading both ways through the timber on
the plateau opposite, but the snow made the work extremely difficult,
and the short day allowed hardly more than a start. On the hill
Glover's men advanced barely a hundred feet in three hours: darkness
spread over the range with no sign of the missing man, and with the
forebodings that none could shake off of what the night's exposure,
even if he were uninjured, might mean.
Supper was served to the men in the relief trains, and outside fires
were forbidden by Glover, who asked that every foot of the track as far
as the gap be patrolled all night.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Glover, supperless, reached the car with
his dispositions made for the night. While he talked with the men,
Clem, the star cook of the Brock family, under special orders grilled a
big porterhouse steak and presently asked him back to the dining-table,
where, behind the shaded candles, Gertrude waited.
They sat down opposite each other; but not until Glover saw there were
two plates instead of one, and learned that Gertrude had eaten no
dinner because she was waiting for him, did he mutter something about
all that an American girl is capable of in the way of making a man
grateful and happy. There was nothing to hurry them back to the other
end of the car, and they did not rejoin Mr. Brock and Bucks, who were
smoking forward, until eleven o'clock. Callahan came in afterward, and
sitting together Mr. Brock and Gertrude listened while the three
railroad men planned the campaign for the next day.
Parting late, Glover said good-night and left with Callahan to inspect
the rotary. The fearful punishment of the day's work on the knives had
shown itself, and since dark, relays of mechanics from the Sleepy Cat
shops had been busy with the cutting gear, and the companion plough had
already been ordered in from the eighth district.
Glover returned to the car at one o'clock. The lights were low, and
Clem, a night-owl, fixed him in a chair near the door. For an hour
everything was very still, then Gertrude, sleeping lightly, heard
voices. Glover walked back past the compartments; she heard him asking
Clem for brandy--Bill Dancing, the lineman, had come with news.
The negro brought forward a decanter and Glover poured a gobletful for
the old man, who shook from the chill of the night air.
"The boys claim it's imagination," Dancing, steadied by the alcohol,
continued, "but it's a fire way over below the second bridge. I've
watched it for an hour; now you come."
They went away and were gone a long time. Glover returned alone--Clem
had disappeared; a girlish figure glided out of the gloom to meet him.