“My work is open to inspection or investigation, now or at any time, and I think we need not discuss that point,” he said, when he could force himself to say it calmly.  “We were speaking of the advisability of taking the Nadia and a pleasure party over a piece of raw construction line, and into an environment which, to put it mildly, could hardly be congenial to—­to the ladies of the party.  You know, or ought to know, the MacMorroghs:  their camps are not exactly models of propriety, Mr. Colbrith.”

This was merely waving a red flag at an already exasperated bull.  The president got upon his feet, and his shrill falsetto cut the air like a knife.

“Mr. Ford, when I wish to be told what is or is not proper for me to do, I’ll ask you for an opinion, sir.  But this is quite beside the mark.  Will you order this car out, or shall I?”

Ford looked at his watch imperturbably.  Now that the president was thoroughly angry, he could afford to be cool.

“It is now five o’clock; and our end-of-track is fully one hundred and ten miles beyond the summit of the pass.  Do I understand that you wish to take the added risk of a night run, Mr. Colbrith?  If so, I’ll give the order and we’ll pull out.”

“I desire to go now!” was the irascible reply.  “Is that sufficiently explicit?”

“It is,” said Ford; and he left the presence to go forward to the cab of the waiting engine.

“You are to take the car over the mountain, Hector,” he said briefly, to the beetle-browed giant in blue denim, when he had climbed to the foot-plate.  “I’ll pilot for you.”

“How far?” inquired the engineer.

“Something like a hundred and ten miles.”

“Holy smoke!  Over a construction track—­in the night?”

“It’s the president’s order—­none of mine.  Let’s get a move.”

The big man got down from his box and made room for Ford.  “I’ll be pilin’ ’em in the ditch somewhere, as sure as my name’s Bill Hector,” he said.  “But we’ll go, all the same, if he says so.  I’ve pulled Mr. Colbrith before.  Down with you, Jimmy Shovel, and set the switch for us.”

The fireman swung off and stood by the switch, and Hector backed his one-car train from the siding.  When he had picked up the fireman and was ready to assault the mountain, Ford thrust a query in between.

“Hold on a minute; how is the water?” he asked.

Jimmy Shovel climbed over the coal to see, and reported less than half a tankful.

“That settles it,” said the chief to Hector.  “You’ll have to back down to Saint’s Rest and fill up.  You’ll get no more this side of Pannikin Upper Canyon.  We haven’t had time to build tanks yet.”

Hector put his valve-motion in the reverse gear and began to drop the train down the grade on the air.  A dozen wheel-turns brought a shrill shriek from the air-signal whistle.  Mr. Colbrith evidently wished to know why his train was going in the wrong direction.  Hector applied the brakes and stopped in obedience to the signal.