Tesno was rousted out of bed the next morning by Ben Vickers, who
had spent a good part of the night translating his troubles into
arithmetic. He was waving a sheaf of papers which recorded exactly how
bad things were going in terms of dollars and cents, mean feet, and
work days.
Among other things, the figures spelled out what everybody knew
already: with every day of hand drilling, the odds against the tunnel
being finished on time went up. The huge boiler necessary to the use of
compressed air still hadn't arrived at end of track. Even when it did,
there would be the slow and tricky problem of dragging it forty miles
into the mountains.
"What I want you to do is get down to Ellensburg and get on the
telegraph," Ben said. "Find out where that thing is. And on the way,
study the road. Figure out where the trouble spots are going to be.
Maybe we can save time by doing some grading, building a bridge or two."
Tesno agreed grumpily, wondering why Ben couldn't send somebody else.
When Ben had left, he dressed leisurely and went down to the restaurant
for a late breakfast. The thought of the long ride and several days
away from Tunneltown didn't appeal to him. He lingered for a time over
coffee and a cigar, wondering at his own reluctance to get started,
thinking that he might stop by and see Persia before he left.
He had returned to his room and was shaving when Whisky Willie came in.
Willie turned a chair around backwards and straddled it.
"That Madrid p-p-protects crooks," he asserted.