Brandon of the Engineers Part 7

"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 f.l.a.n.g.es 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, d.i.c.k 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-c.o.c.ks, and his progress was marked by violent jerks that jarred the couplings of the bogie truck. Though d.i.c.k 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 gla.s.ses, the footplate rattled, and it looked as if his fireman was performing a clumsy dance.

By and by he rather doubtfully opened the throttle to its widest. If the boiler primed again, he might knock out the cylinder-heads, but there was a steep pitch in front that was difficult to climb. The short locomotive rocked and hammered, the wheels skidded and gripped again, and d.i.c.k took his hand from the lever to dash the sweat from his eyes.

They were going up, and he would be past the worst if he could get his load round the curve ahead. They were half way round when there was a clang behind him and the engine seemed to leap forward. Glancing over his shoulder as he shut off steam, d.i.c.k saw the fireman gazing back, and a wide gap between the concrete blocks and his load of coal. The couplings had snapped as they strained round the bend and the truck would run down the incline until it smashed through the sheds that held the grinding and mixing plant at the bottom. He saw that prompt action was needed, and reversing the machinery, gave the fireman an order in uncouth Castilian.

The fellow looked at him stupidly, as if his nerve had failed, or he thought the order too risky to obey. There was only one thing to be done, and since it must be done at once, d.i.c.k must undertake it himself. The engine was now running down the line after the truck, which had not gathered much speed yet, and he climbed across the coal and dropped upon the rear buffer-frame. Balancing himself upon it, he waited until the gap between him and the truck got narrower, and then put his hand on top of the concrete and swung himself across. He got his foot upon the side of the car and made his way along, holding the top of the block, while the dust rolled about him and he thought he would be jolted off. Indeed, there was only an inch-wide ledge of smooth iron to support his foot, which slipped once or twice; but he reached the brake-gear and screwed it down. Then, crawling back, he hooked on the spare coupling and returned, breathless and shaky, to his engine. A minute or two later he brought it to a stop and had got down upon the line when somebody called him.

Looking round, he saw Fuller standing near, and knew him as the man who had given him the dollar in the American town. He had heard that his employer had come out to see what progress was being made, but had not yet encountered him. He did not notice Ida, who was sitting in the shadow of the rock.

"You were smart," said Fuller. "There'd have been an ugly smash if the blocks had got away down the grade. But why didn't you stick to the throttle and send your fireman?"

"I don't think he understood what he ought to do, and there was no time to explain."

Fuller nodded. "So you did it yourself! But why didn't you push the car?

You could have held her up better then."

"I couldn't get behind it. The loop-track down at the switches has caved in."

"I see. But it's a stiff grade and you didn't seem to be hustling your engine much."

"The boiler was priming and I was afraid of the cylinders."

"Just so. You pumped up the water pretty high?"

"No; it was at the usual working level," said d.i.c.k, who paused and resumed thoughtfully: "I can't account for the thing. Why does a boiler prime?"

There are one or two obvious reasons for a boiler's priming; that is to say, throwing water as well as steam into the engine, but this sometimes happens when no cause can be a.s.signed, and Fuller saw that d.i.c.k did not expect an answer to his question. It was rather an exclamation, prompted by his failure to solve a fascinating problem, and as such indicated that his interest in his task was not confined to the earning of a living.

Fuller recognized the mind of the engineer.

"Well," he replied, "there's a good deal we don't know yet about the action of fluids under pressure. But do you find the grade awkward when she's steaming properly?"

"I can get up. Still, I think it will soon cost you as much in extra fuel as it would to relay this bit of line. Two hundred cubic yards cut out at the bend would make things much easier."

"Two hundred yards?" said Fuller, studying the spot.

"Two hundred and fifty at the outside," d.i.c.k answered confidently, and then felt embarra.s.sed as he saw Miss Fuller for the first time. His clothes were few and dirty and he was awkwardly conscious that his hands and face were black. But his employer claimed his attention.

"What would you reckon the weight of the stuff?"

d.i.c.k told him after a short silence, and Fuller asked: "Two-thousand-pound tons?"

"Yes; I turned it into American weight."

"Well," said Fuller, "you must get on with your job now, but come up to my tent after supper."

d.i.c.k started his locomotive, and when it panted away up the incline Fuller looked at his daughter with a smile.

"What do you think of that young man?"

"He has a nice face. Of course he's not the type one would expect to find driving a locomotive."

"Pshaw!" said Fuller. "I'm not talking about his looks."

"Nor am I, in the way you mean," Ida rejoined. "I thought he looked honest, though perhaps reliable is nearest what I felt. Then he was very professional."

Fuller nodded. "That's what I like. The man who puts his job before what he gets for it naturally makes the best work. What do you think of his manner?"

"It was good; confident, but not a.s.sertive, with just the right note of deference," Ida answered, and then laughed. "It rather broke down after he saw me."

"That's not surprising, anyhow. I expect he's used to wearing different clothes and more of them when he meets stylish young women. It doesn't follow that the young fellow isn't human because he's professional.

However, I want to see what the boys are doing farther on."

CHAPTER VI

A STEP UP

Dusk was falling when d.i.c.k went to keep his appointment with his employer. Fireflies glimmered in the brush beside the path, and the lights of Santa Brigida flashed in a brilliant cl.u.s.ter on the edge of the shadowy sea. High above, rugged peaks cut black against the sky, and the land breeze that swept their lower slopes brought with it instead of coolness a warm, spicy smell. There was more foliage when d.i.c.k reached the foot of a projecting spur, for a dark belt of forest rolled down the hill; and by and by he saw a big tent, that gleamed with a softened radiance like a paper lantern, among a clump of palms. It seemed to be well lighted inside, and d.i.c.k remembered having heard orders for electric wires to be connected with the power-house at the dam.

Fuller obviously meant to give his daughter all the civilized comfort possible, and d.i.c.k was glad he had been able to find a clean duck suit, though he was not sure he had succeeded in removing all the oily grime from his face. Nothing could be done with his hands. The knuckles were scarred, the nails broken, and the black grease from the engine had worked into his skin. Still, this did not matter much, because he had gradually overcome his fastidiousness and it was not likely that Miss Fuller would notice him.

She was, however, sitting outside the tent, from which an awning extended so as to convert its front into a covered veranda, and d.i.c.k was half surprised when she gave him a smile of recognition that warranted his taking off his hat. Then Fuller, beckoning him to come forward, switched on another lamp and the light fell on a table covered with plans. d.i.c.k stopped when he reached it and waited, not knowing how his employer meant to receive him.

"Sit down," said Fuller, indicating a chair, and then gave him one of the plans, some paper, and a fountain pen. "Study that piece of digging and let me know the weight of stuff to be moved, the number of men you'd use, and what you think the job would cost."

d.i.c.k set to work, and at once became absorbed. Twenty minutes pa.s.sed and he did not move or speak, nor did he see the smile with which Ida answered Fuller's look. In another ten minutes he put down the pen and gave Fuller his calculations.

"I think that's near it, sir. I'm reckoning on the use of colored peons."

Fuller nodded. "You haven't left much margin for what we call contingencies. But they're going to bring us some coffee. Will you take a cigar?"

A Chinaman brought out a silver coffee-pot on a tray, which he placed on a folding table in front of Ida, and since it was two or three yards from the other, d.i.c.k got up when she filled the cups. She gave him two, which he carried back, but remained where she was, within hearing but far enough away not to obtrude her society upon the others. d.i.c.k, who lighted his cigar, felt grateful to Fuller. It was some time since he had met people of any refinement on friendly terms, and until he took up his quarters in the locomotive shed had been living in squalor and dirt.

There was not much furniture outside the tent, but the neat folding tables, comfortable canvas chairs, delicate china, and silver coffee-pot gave the place a luxurious look, and though Miss Fuller was, so to speak, outside the circle, the presence of a well-dressed, attractive girl had its charm. Indeed, d.i.c.k felt half embarra.s.sed by the pleasantness of his surroundings. They were unusual and reminded him poignantly of the privileges he had enjoyed in England.

"Where did you learn to make these calculations?" Fuller asked after a time.

"In the British Army, Royal Engineers," d.i.c.k answered with a flush.