CHARNOCK MAKES PROGRESS
Deep snow covered the hillside and the pines, with lower branches bent,
rose in somber spires against the dazzling background. The river had
shrunk and the dark water rolled in angry turmoil between ice-glazed
rocks. Streaks of gray haze rose a foot or two into the nipping air, and
the clash of shovels had a new, harsh ring. It was nearly dinner time,
and Festing noted that his men had not done much since breakfast as he
walked down the beaten hollow in the middle of the track. One could not
tell how long the cold-snap would last, but it had already embarrassed
him.
He stopped above an excavation where Charnock and another were cutting
a hole in the frozen gravel. The former held a steel bar in blue,
frost-cracked hands and twisted it in the cavity while his companion
struck the end. He knelt, in a cramped pose, in the snow, and Festing
smiled. Bob was fond of comfort, and it was strange to see him occupied
like this. Then, noting the length of the bar, he thought they would not
sink the hole deep enough for the blasting charge before dinner, which
was unfortunate, because the powder fumes are poisonous and would hang
about the spot for some time.
A few moments later the whistle blew, but Charnock and his companion did
not stop, and Festing heard the thud of the hammer as he went on. This
rather puzzled him. The work was hard and he had not expected Charnock's
assistant to continue his task longer than he need. Festing was
fastidiously just, and thought it shabby to steal a workman's time;
moreover, he imagined that if he had asked the fellow to go on after the
whistle blew he would have refused.
Curiosity led him to wait farther along the track until the thud of the
hammer stopped. It looked as if Charnock was putting in the dynamite,
and Festing hoped he would be careful with the detonator. By and by he
heard a warning shout, and a moment or two afterwards saw a blaze of
light. Then there was a curious sharp report, and pieces of broken rock
splashed into the river. The gorge rang with echoes and a mass of gravel
roared down the slope. It was obviously a good shot and had moved more
spoil than Festing expected. A glance at his watch showed that the
others had given up a quarter of an hour of their short noon rest.
Festing set off again, and in the meantime, Charnock, holding his breath
as he stood on the snowy bank, looked down into the hole the explosion
had made.
“I think we've made a first-class job,” he said, stepping back out of
reach of the fumes. “I like the company's taste in powder.”
“It's better than ours,” his companion agreed with a chuckle.
“Much better. The company is richer than us. It would have saved us some
hard work if you had hooked a few more sticks.”
“They're a mean crowd,” said the other. “Blamed suspicious how they
tally out their stores, but I'll see what I can do. I'd sooner use good
powder than cut frozen gravel with the pick.”
“The pick's no tool for white men. We won't use it unless we're forced,”
Charnock answered, and both laughed.
He went to the shack, and while they were at dinner Festing asked: “How
did you persuade Jim Brown to stop until you fired the shot?”
“I didn't persuade him. I took it for granted he would stop.”
“He's a good man, but sometimes sulky if one wants him to do what
he thinks is outside his job. I don't imagine I'd have found him so
obliging if I'd asked him to keep on.”
Charnock laughed. “Perhaps not; our methods are different. You would
have explained logically why the thing ought to be finished; but that's
a mistake. There are not so many logical people as you think. Instead of
arguing, I made a silly joke.”
“You certainly get on with the boys,” said Festing thoughtfully.
“They're a careless, irresponsible crowd. I'm irresponsible, too, and
they understand me. They trust you, but you sometimes puzzle them.
Perhaps that accounts for the thing.”
Festing talked about something else until they went back to work. Next
morning he climbed the hill to a level bench where some of his men were
busy hauling logs to the top of the skids. It was easier to move the big
trunks across the snow, and he had seized the opportunity to get some
out, but was surprised when he saw the number ready to be sent down.
While he examined them, Charnock, sprinkled with dusty snow, came up,
leading a heavy Percheron team. They dragged a log into place, and then
Charnock unhooked the chain and beat his hands. His skin-coat was ragged
and his fur-cap battered, but he looked alert and virile as he stood
by the steaming horses' heads. The gray trunks of the pines made a good
background for his tall figure, which had an almost statuesque grace.
“You look very well, Bob,” Festing remarked. “It's obvious that the pain
has gone.”
“It won't come back while the dry weather lasts; I don't know about
afterwards. These are pretty good logs.”
“I was wondering how you were able to bring up so many.”
“They're here; that's the main thing. You can look after other matters
and leave this to me.”
“If you don't mind, I'd like to see how you did it,” Festing replied.
“Oh, well! You're a persistent fellow; I suppose you had better come
along.”
Festing went with him and stopped where a gang of men were at work
among the fallen trees. Two, swaying backwards and forward with rhythmic
precision, dragged a big crosscut-saw through a massive trunk. Others
swung bright axes, and the wood rang with the noise of their activity.
All were usefully employed, but there were more of them than Festing
expected.
“The two boys with the cantpoles belong to the contractor's
bridge-gang,” he said. “What are they doing here?”
“I think I told you Norton said I could have them when we were moving
the big poles,” Charnock replied. “He saw I needed help.”
“But that was some days since. He sent them to help at a particular job
which you have finished.”
“He hasn't asked me to send them back. Looks as if he'd forgotten them.
Anyhow, they're useful.”
“We have no right to keep the men. How did you get them to stop?”
“That was easy,” said Charnock. “The cooking at the bunk-house isn't
very good, and I told our man to find out what they liked. In fact, I
said we'd stand for it if he put up a better hash.”
Festing laughed. The plan was characteristic of Bob's methods.
“You must send them back,” he said, and went away, doubting if Bob would
do so.
For all that, he admitted that Charnock was doing well. He stuck to his
work, and had a talent for handling men. Nobody was at all afraid of
him; but his sympathetic forbearance with his helpers' weaknesses and
his whimsical humor seemed to pay much better than bullying. He made a
joke where Festing frowned, but the latter felt thoughtful as he
went down-hill. One must make allowance, but Bob was something of a
responsibility.
A week later, he got a jar as he stood with Charnock beside a part of
the track they had laboriously underpinned. The ballast train was coming
down, filling the valley with its roar, and the beaten snow heaved among
the ties as the big cars rolled by. The rails sank beneath the wheels
and then sprang up until the load on the next axle pressed them down
again; the snow flaked off the side of the road-bed, which was built up
with broken rock. Festing thought the movement was too marked and waited
for the locomotive, which was coupled to the back of the train.
The engine was of the ponderous, mountain type, but it ran smoothly,
with steam cut off, and although the ground trembled and the rails
groaned as it passed, there was no threatening disturbance.
“The bank's holding up, and this was about the worst spot,” Charnock
remarked. “We had some trouble in bedding the king posts in the slippery
stuff.”
Then Kerr gave them a nod as he went by. “Looks pretty good, and they
have a full load on the cars.”
“I think we'll wait until the train comes back,” Festing said to
Charnock. “The engineer will open the throttle wide to pull her up the
grade.”
They sat down in a hollow of the bank, for a bitter wind blew through
the gorge, and after a time the roar of falling gravel echoed among the
pines. Then there was a heavy snorting and the locomotive came round
a curve, rocking and belching out black smoke. The cars banged and
rattled, slowing with jarred couplings and rolling on when the driving
wheels gripped. Festing waited anxiously, because the wheels of a
locomotive when driven hard strikes what is called a hammer blow.
By and by the ground began to throb; the vibration got sharper, and
Festing watched the track as the engine passed. Cinders rattled about
him, there was a mist of snow, but he saw the cross-ties start and the
rails spring up and down. Then the clanging cars sped past, and when
they had gone he climbed down the side of the bank.
It was now bare of snow and one could see the stones. Two or three
had fallen, and the edges of the others were a little out of line.
The unevenness was marked, and although one or two of the heads of the
timbers had moved, the movement might not have caught Festing's eye had
he not known the treacherous nature of their support. He did not think
anybody else would notice that they were not quite in their proper
place.
“I'm afraid we're up against trouble, Bob,” he said.
Charnock looked unusually thoughtful. “The engineer had to start from
a dead stop and turn on full steam. That made the jarring worse, but it
wouldn't happen with the ordinary traffic.”
“Perhaps not,” Festing agreed. “Still, you see, the frequent repetition
of a smaller shock--”
Charnock stopped him. “It's those confounded posts! If we pull them out,
we'll have to cut down to the rock to find a solid bed, and there's a
mass of stone to move. What would the job cost?”
He said nothing for a minute after Festing told him, and then remarked:
“It's Kerr's business to find fault, and he looked satisfied.”
“He doesn't know as much about it as we do.”
“Then I wish we knew less. How long do you think the track would stand
if we left it alone?”
“Until we got paid,” said Festing. “It might stand for some time
afterwards.”
He fixed his eyes on Charnock and waited. Bob had expressed some
praiseworthy sentiments about making a good job, but this was a
different thing from living up to them when it would cost him much.
What they ought to do was plain, but Festing admitted that the sacrifice
required an effort. Then, somewhat to his surprise, Charnock looked up
with a smile.
“You're not sure of me yet, Stephen, and I don't know that you can be
blamed. It's a nasty knock, but we have got to bear it. Stop there a few
minutes.”
“Where are you going?”
“To bring Kerr back and show him the damage. He'll have to lay off the
gravel gang while we pull down the bank.”
Festing waited. Bob would stand by him, but he felt anxious. It would
be an expensive business to rebuild the track and the frost would make
things worse. In fact, if they had any more trouble of the kind, they
might be ruined. Then he got up as he saw Kerr coming along the line.
In an hour or two the rails were up and they began to pull down the
rockwork that faced the bank. The ragged stones cut their numbed hands,
their backs ached with lifting heavy weights, and they stumbled under
the loads they carried up the snowy incline. They had, however, help
enough, for Charnock went away for a time and came back with three or
four men from the construction gang. Festing noted that although he made
them useful, he did not give them the hardest work. He refrained from
asking how Charnock got the men, but was not surprised when the foreman
arrived and inquired in forcible language what they were doing there.
“Let me answer him,” said Charnock. “I feel in the mood. It's my first
chance of letting myself go; as long as you're working for wages the
advantage is with the boss. Besides, I think I ought to do something for
the boys, who can't talk back.”
Festing admitted that he talked very well. Charnock had a keen eye for
the ridiculous and a pretty wit, and was no longer handicapped by the
fear of being dismissed. While the foreman replied with coarse but
rather meaningless abuse, Charnock's retorts had a definite aim and
hit their mark. He indicated with humorous skill the defects in
his antagonist's looks and character, and Festing's gang laughed
uproariously, while the borrowed workmen applauded as loudly as they
durst. At length, the foreman, breathless and red in face, gave up the
unequal contest and returned to his first question.
“If you came for an argument, you've got it, and I can go on for some
time yet,” Charnock replied. “However, if you really want to know why
the boys are helping me, you can ask Mr. Norton at the bridge.”
The foreman retired, muttering, but not towards the bridge, and Festing
looked hard at Charnock.
“I was anxious for a moment,” Charnock admitted. “But I didn't think
he'd go. For one thing, I knew he knows Norton doesn't like him.”
“Then I'll leave you to deal with Norton if he hears about the matter.
Now you have had your amusement, we had better get on.”
The short rest and laughter had refreshed the gang and they made good
progress. As the holes between the frames deepened, the work got harder
and the footing bad, because they were forced to stand on slippery
ledges while they passed the heavy stones from man to man. Charnock was
ready with jocular sympathy if one fell or a stone bruised somebody's
hand, and his jokes spurred on the weary. It got dark soon in the
hollow, but as the light faded the flame of a powerful blast-lamp sprang
up and threw out a dazzling glare. The lamp belonged to the company, and
Festing did not ask Charnock how he had got it. Bob had his own methods,
and it was better to leave him alone. When the whistle blew, the latter
turned to the borrowed men.
“Go to our shack, boys, and get supper there. I told the cook to fix up
something extra, and dare say you'll find it better hash than yours. I'd
like you to come back to-morrow, but am afraid it's risky.”