His train came in shortly afterward, and when it had gone Hardie went home for a rubber coat, and then took the trail leading out of the settlement.  He was forced to trudge through the tangled grass beside it because the soft gumbo soil stuck to his boots in great black lumps, and the patches of dwarf brush through which he must smash made progress laborious.  After a while, however, he saw a long trail of black smoke ahead, and sounds of distant activity grew steadily louder.

There was an angry red glare on the western horizon, though the light was beginning to fade, when he reached the end of the new line and found a crowd of men distributing piles of gravel and spiking down the rails which ran back, gleaming in the sunset, lurid, straight and level, across the expanse of grass, until they were lost in the shadowy mass of a bluff.  Near the men stood a few jaded teams and miry wagons; farther on a row of freight-cars occupied a side-track, a little smoke rising from the stacks on the roofs of one or two.  Their doors were open, and on passing, Hardie noticed the dirty blue blankets and the litter of wet clothing in the rude bunks.  As he approached the last car, which served as store and office, a man sprang down upon the line.  He wore wet long boots and an old rubber coat stained with soil, but there was a stamp of authority upon his bronzed face.

“How are you getting on, Mr. Farren?” Hardie inquired.

“Slowly,” said the other; “can’t catch up on schedule contract time.  We’ve had rain and heavy soil ever since we began.  The boys have been giving me some trouble, too.”

“You won’t mind my having a few words with them?”

“Why, no,” said Farren.  “Guess they need it; but I’m most afraid you’ll be wasting time.  The Scandinavians, who’re quiet enough and might agree with you, can’t understand, and it’s quite likely that the crowd you want to get at won’t listen.  Anyway, you can try it after they’ve dubbed the load off the gravel train; she’s coming now.”

He pointed toward a smear of smoke that trailed away across the prairie.  It grew rapidly blacker and nearer, and presently a grimy locomotive with a long string of clattering cars behind it came down the uneven track.  It had hardly stopped when the sides of the low cars dropped, and a plow moved forward from one to another, hurling off masses of gravel that fell with a roar.  Then the train, backing out, came to a standstill again, and a swarm of men became busy about the line.  Dusk was falling, but the blaze of the great electric light on the locomotive streamed along the track.  While Hardie stood watching, half a dozen men dropped their tools and walked up to his companion.

“We’re through with our lot,” announced one.  “We’re going to the Butte and we’ll trouble you for a sub of two dollars a man.”

“You won’t get it,” said Farren shortly.  “I want the ties laid on the next load.”