“I always had a weakness for the bad bets,” said Pat.

“But twelve miles of ditch!”

“And the nights freezing harder every week,” the old contractor added.

“And the days short.”

“Yes, and nerve shorter yet,” said Pat.

The remark was airily given, but the inference was plain.  Lee took a step aside and stood staring across the capitol grounds, with brows knit, with lips compressed, the prey of struggling hopes and doubts.

“Pat,” he said, turning.

“Well?”

“Do you think we could do it?”

“God knows; I don’t.  But we could give the job an awful whirl,” the contractor stated.

“The thing looks impossible, preposterous, but if you see the slightest chance of success I want you to say so.  Dirt moving is your game, not mine.  Ninety days; that’s thirteen weeks.  Almost a mile a week.  Can it be done?  Can you do it?”

Pat at last threw away the cigar that refused to draw.

“With men and teams enough I could build a ditch to tide-water in that time,” said he, with sudden energy.  “Men and scrapers, scrapers and men—­that’s all.  You can rip the insides out of any dirt job on earth if you have the crews.  Of course, it takes money, big wages, to get and hold them.”

“Money!  What do I care for that if we build the canal?  How much more will it take?  How much will you need?”

“Say twenty thousand more.”

“Get out your pencil and begin figuring it.”

“I don’t need a pencil,” Carrigan answered.  “I haven’t been moving dirt for fifty years without figures sticking to my hair.  I’ve digested your blue-prints and know what’s to come out of the ground.  Now I’ll tell you what it would be if there was no frost in the ground, as in summer—­and we’ll afterward allow for the frost; and what’s necessary in men, horses, fresnos, shacks, horsefeed, food, clothes, and general supplies.”

And thereupon Carrigan began to pour forth a stream of data so exact, so comprehensive, so full, that Bryant listened in astonishment.  All carried in his head, ready for use!

“I hope I know my business at your age as you know yours,” Lee exclaimed.

“You will, or ought to.  I’ve paid for what I know in mistakes and miscalculated jobs, as does every man some time or other—­paid in hard cash.  What he learns is all he gets out of losses.  Now, the figures I gave were for summer work; winter dirt moving is another kind of animal.  Work is slower, men are harder to keep, weather is generally bad.”

“This autumn has been later than usual, and it may last,” said Lee.

“And it may not,” Carrigan stated, emphatically.  “It’s that that worries me about this thing.  As it is, the ground freezes on top every night.  Let the thermometer make a low drop, and we won’t be able to stick a plow-point into it anywhere.”

“There’s no moisture to speak of in the soil of the mesa.”