“How?  I’m always open to conviction.”

“By leaving the S. L & W. survey at Horse Creek, following up to the low divide at Emory’s Mine, and crossing to enter Copah from the southeast instead of from the northeast.  I came out that way from Copah five days ago.  It’s perfectly feasible; straight-away, easy earth work for the greater part, and the only objection is that it adds about twelve running miles to the length of the extension.  It’s for you to say whether or not the added distance will be warranted by the lessened cost and the assurance of safety in operating.  If we cut through that lower canyon cliff it will be only a question of time until we bury somebody, no matter how closely it is watched.”

Ford took time to consider the proposal.  There were objections, and he named one of them.

“The MacMorroghs have based their bid on the present survey:  they will not want to let that piece of rock work drop out of sight.”

“They’ll have to, if you say so.  And you can afford to be pretty liberal with them on the substituted twelve miles.”

“I’ll have to think about it over night,” was Ford’s final answer.  “Arrange to give me an hour to-morrow morning and we’ll go over the maps and your notes together.”

Frisbie slept soundly on the gained inch, hoping to make it the coveted ell in the morning.  He knew the chief objection, which was that Ford, too, was a “short-line” engineer; a man who would lay down his railroad as the Czar of Russia did the St. Petersburg-Moscow line—­by placing a ruler on the map and drawing a straight mark beside it between the two cities—­if that were an American possibility.  But he knew, too, that the safety clause would weigh heavily with Ford, and there was no minimizing the danger to future traffic if the canyon route should be retained.

It turned out finally as the first assistant had hoped and believed it would.  Ford spent a thoughtful hour at his office in the Guaranty Building before Frisbie came down—­the little man being trail-weary enough to sleep late in the comfortable room at the Brown Palace.  The slight change of route was hardly a matter to be carried up to the executive committee, and Ford’s decision turned upon quite another pivot—­the addition of twelve miles of distance.  As against this, safety and economy won the day; and when Frisbie came in the talk was merely of ways and means.

“Fix up the change with the MacMorroghs the best way you can,” was Ford’s concluding instruction to his lieutenant.  “They will kick, of course; merely to be kicking at anything I suggest.  But you can bring them to terms, I guess.”

“By my lonesome?” said Frisbie.  “Aren’t you going over to see the new route with your own eyes?”

“No.  I’m perfectly willing to trust your judgment, Dick.  Besides, I’ve got other fish to fry.  I’m going east to-night to have one more tussle with the steel mills.  We must have quicker deliveries and more of them.  When I get back, we’ll organize the track-layers and begin to make us a railroad.”