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BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
* * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Alton of Somasco
Lorimer of the Northwest
Thurston of Orchard Valley
Winston of the Prairie
The Gold Trail
Sydney Carteret, Rancher
A Prairie Courtship
Vane of the Timberlands
The Long Portage
Ranching for Sylvia
Prescott of Saskatchewan
The Dust of Conflict
The Greater Power
Masters of the Wheatlands
Delilah of the Snows
By Right of Purchase
The Cattle Baron's Daughter
Thrice Armed
For Jacinta
The Intriguers
The League of the Leopard
For the Allison Honor
The Secret of the Reef
Harding of Allenwood
The Coast of Adventure
Johnstons of the Border
Brandon of the Engineers
* * * * *
BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
by
HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Johnstone of the Border," "Prescott
of Saskatchewan," "Winston of the Prairie," etc.
[Illustration: "'YOU MUST COME. I CAN'T LET YOU LIVE AMONG THOSE
PLOTTERS AND GAMBLERS.'"--Page 224.]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1916, by Frederick A. Stokes Company
Published in England under the Title "His One Talent"
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Promising Officer 1
II Dick's Troubles Begin 11
III The Punishment 22
IV Adversity 34
V The Concrete Truck 44
VI A Step Up 54
VII Dick Undertakes a Responsibility 65
VIII An Informal Court 75
IX Jake Fuller 85
X La Mignonne 97
XI Clare Gets a Shock 107
XII Dick Keeps His Promise 118
XIII The Return from the Fiesta 129
XIV Complications 140
XV The Missing Coal 151
XVI Jake Gets into Difficulties 161
XVII The Black-Funnel Boat 172
XVIII Dick Gets a Warning 184
XIX Jake Explains Matters 194
XX Don Sebastian 205
XXI Dick Makes a Bold Venture 215
XXII The Official Mind 225
XXIII The Clamp 237
XXIV The Altered Sailing List 247
XXV The Water-Pipe 259
XXVI The Liner's Fate 270
XXVII The Silver Clasp 282
XXVIII Rough Water 294
XXIX Kenwardine Takes a Risk 304
XXX The Last Encounter 314
XXXI Richter's Message 326
XXXII Ida Interferes 336
BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
CHAPTER I
A PROMISING OFFICER
The lengthening shadows lay blue and cool beneath the alders by the
waterside, though the cornfields that rolled back up the hill glowed a
coppery yellow in the light of the setting sun. It was hot and, for the
most part, strangely quiet in the bottom of the valley since the hammers
had stopped, but now and then an order was followed by a tramp of feet
and the rattle of chain-tackle. Along one bank of the river the
reflections of the trees quivered in dark-green masses; the rest of the
water was dazzlingly bright.
A pontoon bridge, dotted with figures in khaki, crossed a deep pool. At
its head, where a white road ran down the hill, a detachment of engineers
lounged in the shade. Their faces were grimed with sweat and dust, and
some, with coats unbuttoned, sprawled in the grass. They had toiled hard
through the heat of the day, and now were enjoying an "easy," until they
should be called to attention when their work was put to the test.
As Lieutenant Richard Brandon stood where the curve was boldest at the
middle of the bridge, he had no misgivings about the result so far as the
section for which he was responsible was concerned. He was young, but
there was some ground for his confidence; for he not only had studied all
that text-books could teach him but he had the constructor's eye, which
sees half-instinctively where strength or weakness lies. Brandon began
his military career as a prize cadet and after getting his commission he
was quickly promoted from subaltern rank. His advancement, however,
caused no jealousy, for Dick Brandon was liked. He was, perhaps, a trifle
priggish about his work--cock-sure, his comrades called it--but about
other matters he was naïvely ingenuous. Indeed, acquaintances who knew
him only when he was off duty thought him something of a boy.
In person, he was tall and strongly made, with a frank, sunburned face.
His jaw was square and when he was thoughtful his lips set firmly; his
light-gray eyes were clear and steady. He was genial with his comrades,
but usually diffident in the company of women and older men.
Presently the Adjutant came up and, stopping near, glanced along the
rippling line that marked the curve of the bridge.
"These center pontoons look rather prominent, as if they'd been pushed
upstream a foot or two," he remarked. "Was that done by Captain
Maitland's order?"
"No, sir," Dick answered with some awkwardness. "For one thing, I found
they'd lie steadier out of the eddy."
"They do, but I don't know that it's much of an advantage. Had you any
other reason for modifying the construction plans?"
Dick felt embarrassed. He gave the Adjutant a quick glance; but the man's
face was inscrutable. Captain Hallam was a disciplinarian where
discipline was needed, but he knew the value of what he called
initiative.
"Well," Dick tried to explain, "if you notice how the wash of the
head-rapid sweeps down the middle of the pool----"
"I have noticed it," said the Adjutant dryly. "That's why the bridge
makes a slight sweep. But go on."
"We found a heavy drag on the center that flattened the curve. Of course,
if we could have pushed it up farther, we'd have got a stronger form."
"Why?"
"It's obvious, sir. If we disregard the moorings, a straight bridge would
tend to curve downstream and open out under a shearing strain. As we get
nearer the arch form it naturally gets stiffer, because the strain
becomes compressive. After making the bridge strong enough for traffic,
the problem is to resist the pressure of the current."
"True," the Adjutant agreed with a smile. "Well, we'll let the pontoons
stand. The traditions of the British Army are changing fast, but while we
don't demand the old mechanical obedience, it might be better not to
introduce too marked innovations. Anyhow, it's not desirable that they
should, so to speak, strike a commanding officer in the eye. Some
officers are conservative and don't like that kind of thing."
He moved on and Dick wondered whether he had said too much. He was apt to
forget his rank and comparative unimportance when technical matters were
discussed. In fact, it was sometimes difficult not to appear
presumptuous; but when one knew that one was right----
In the meantime, the Adjutant met the Colonel, and they stopped together
at the bridge-head.
"I think we have made a good job, but the brigade's transport is pretty
heavy," the Colonel remarked.
"I'm satisfied with the bridge, sir; very creditable work for beginners.
If the other branches of the new armies are as good----"
"The men are in earnest. Things, of course, are changing, and I suppose
old-fashioned prejudices must go overboard. Personally, I liked the type
we had before the war, but we'll let that go. Young Brandon strikes me as
particularly keen."
"Keen as mustard," the Adjutant agreed. "In other ways, perhaps, he's
more of the kind you have been used to."
"Now I wonder what you mean by that! You're something of what they're
pleased to call a progressive, aren't you? However, I like the lad. His
work is good."
"He _knows_, sir."
"Ah," said the Colonel, "I think I understand. But what about the
drawings of the new pontoons? They must be sent to-night."
"They're ready. To tell the truth, I showed them to Brandon and he made a
good suggestion about the rounding of the waterline."
The Colonel looked thoughtful.
"Well, the idea of a combined pontoon and light boat that would carry
troops is by no means new; but these are rather an unusual type and if it
were known that we were building them, it might give the enemy a hint. I
suppose you told Brandon the thing's to be kept quiet."
"Yes; I made it plain," the Adjutant said, and they walked on.
Dick had been sitting on the bridge, but he jumped up as a rhythmic tramp
of feet came down the hillside. Dust rose among the cornfields and hung
in a white streak along the edge of a wood, and then with a twinkling
flash of steel, small, ocher-colored figures swung out of the shadow.
They came on in loose fours, in an unending line that wound down the
steep slopes and reached the bridge-head. Then orders rolled across the
stream, the line narrowed, and the measured tramp changed to a sharp
uneven patter. The leading platoon were breaking step as they crossed the
bridge. Dick frowned impatiently. This was a needless precaution. The
engineers' work was good; it would stand the percussive shock of marching
feet.
He stood at attention, with a sparkle in his eyes, as the hot and dusty
men went by. They were, for the most part, young men, newly raised
infantry, now being hardened and tempered until they were fit to be used
as the army's spear-head in some desperate thrust for which engineers and
artillery had cleared the way. It was some time before the first
battalion crossed, but the long yellow line still ran back up the
hillside to the spot at which it emerged from the deepening shade, and
the next platoon took the bridge with unbroken step. It swayed and shook
with a curious regular tremble as the feet came down; but there was no
giving way of tie and stringer-beam, and Dick forgot the men who were
passing, and thought of fastenings and stressed material.
He was young and the pomp of war had its effect on him, but the human
element began to take second place. Although an officer of the new army,
he was first of all an engineer; his business was to handle wood and iron
rather than men. The throb of the planks and the swing of the pontoons as
the load passed over them fascinated him; and his interest deepened when
the transport began to cross. Sweating, spume-flecked horses trod the
quivering timber with iron-shod hoofs; grinding wheels jarred the
structure as the wagons passed. He could feel it yield and bend, but it
stood, and Dick was conscious of a strange, emotional thrill. This, in a
sense, was his triumph; the first big task in which he had taken a man's
part; and his work had passed the test. Taste, inclination, and interest
had suddenly deepened into an absorbing love for his profession.
After a time, the Adjutant sent for him and held out a large, sealed
envelope.
"These are the plans I showed you," he said. "Colonel Farquhar is driving
to Newcastle, and will stop at Storeton Grange for supper at midnight.
The plans must be delivered to him there. You have a motorcycle, I
think?"
"Yes."
"Very well; it is not a long ride, but I'll release you from duty now.
Don't be late at Storeton, take care of the papers, and get Colonel
Farquhar's receipt."
There was a manufacturing town not far off, and Dick decided to go there
and spend the evening with a cousin of his. They might go to a theater,
or if not, Lance would find some means of amusing him. As a rule, Dick
did not need amusing, but he felt that he must celebrate the building of
the bridge.
Lance Brandon was becoming known as an architect, and he had a good deal
of constructive talent. The physical likeness between him and Dick was
rather marked, but he was older and they differed in other respects.
Lance knew how to handle men as well as material, and perhaps he owed as
much to this as to his artistic skill. His plans for a new church and the
remodeling of some public buildings had gained him recognition; but he
already was popular at country houses in the neighborhood and was courted
by the leading inhabitants of the town.
Dick and he dined at the best hotel and Lance listened sympathetically to
the description of the bridge. He was not robust enough for the army, but
he hinted that he envied Dick; and Dick felt flattered. He sometimes
bantered Lance about his social gifts and ambitions, but he had never
resented the favors his father had shown his cousin. Lance had been left
an orphan at an early age and the elder Brandon--a man of means and
standing--had brought him up with his son. They had been good friends and
Dick was pleased when his father undertook to give Lance a fair start at
the profession he chose. He imagined that now Lance was beginning to make
his mark, his allowance had stopped, but this was not his business. Lance
was a very good sort, although he was clever in ways that Dick was not
and indeed rather despised.
"What shall we do next?" Dick asked when they had lounged for a time in
the smoking-room.
Lance made a gesture of resignation as he stretched himself in a big
chair. He was dressed with quiet taste, his face was handsome but rather
colorless, and his movements were languid.
"You're such an energetic beggar," he complained. "The only theater where
they put on plays worth seeing is closed just now, but there's a new
dancer at the nearest hall and we might look in. I hope my churchwarden
patrons won't disapprove if they hear of it, because they talk about
building an ornamental mission room."
Dick laughed.
"They wouldn't find fault with you. Somehow, nobody does."
"There's some truth in that; the secret is that I know when to stop. One
can enjoy life without making the pace too hot. People aren't really
censorious, and even the narrow-minded sort allow you certain limits; in
fact, I imagine they rather admire you if you can play with fire and not
get singed. Women do, anyhow; and, in a sense, their judgment's logical.
The thing that doesn't hurt you can't be injurious, and it shows
moderation and self-control if you don't pass the danger line."
"How do you know when you have come to the line?"
"Well," smiled Lance, "experience helps; but I think it's an instinct. Of
course, if you do show signs of damage, you're done for, because then the
people who envied you throw the biggest stones."
"Let's start," said Dick. "I'm not much of a philosopher. Building
bridges and digging saps is good enough for me."
"They're healthy occupations, so long as you don't get shot; but,
considering everything, it's strange that they still monopolize your
interest."
Dick colored. He knew what his cousin meant. He had been attracted by a
girl of whom his father approved and who was well-bred, pretty, and rich.
Dick imagined that his father's views were agreeable to Helen's relatives
and that she was not ignorant of this. Still, nothing had been actually
arranged, and although he admired Helen, it would be time enough to think
of marriage when he was a captain, for instance.
"Pontoons and excavations have their charm for men with constructive
tastes," Lance went on; "but you may find later that they don't satisfy
all your needs."
"Get your hat!" Dick returned with a smile, jumping up as he spoke.
The music-hall was badly filled. The audience seemed listless and the
performance dragged. Even the much-praised dancer was disappointing, and
there was an unusual number of shabby loungers in the bar. Dick had come
prepared to enjoy himself after a day of arduous work, and by way of
doing so, he ordered a drink or two that he did not really want. As a
rule, he was abstemious, but the hall was very hot. It struck him as
glaring and tawdry after the quiet dale where the water sparkled among
the stones; and the pallid loungers with their stamp of indulgence
differed unpleasantly from the hard, brown-faced men he led.
"Let's clear out," he said at last. "Is there anywhere else to go?"
"My rooms," Lance suggested.
"Oh, I want something fresh to-night," Dick replied with a smile.
Lance pondered.
"Well, I can show you some keen card-play and perhaps a clever game of
billiards, besides a girl who's a great deal prettier than the dancer.
But it's four miles out of town."
Dick glanced at his watch.
"I can take you on the carrier," he said. "I've plenty of time yet."
They set off, and presently stopped at a tall iron gate on the edge of a
firwood. A glimmer of lights indicated that a house stood at the end of
the drive.
"Kenwardine will be glad to receive you as a friend of mine," Lance said;
"and you needn't play unless you like. He's fond of company and generally
has a number of young men about the place."
"A private gambling club?"
"Oh, no. You're very far from the mark. Kenwardine certainly likes a bet
and sometimes runs a bank, but all he wins wouldn't do much to keep up a
place like this. However, you can see for yourself."
Dick was not a gambler and did not play many games, but he wanted a
little excitement, and he looked forward to it as he followed his cousin
up the drive.