“That’s all right.  They now use steel for many jobs instead of iron, and the softer kinds are quite as tough.  Anyhow, we can trust the smith not to burn the metal.  Help Black while I get the tie ready for fastening.”

Half an hour later the big cross-beam was in position and Charnock watched Festing fit the bolt into its fan-shaped socket.  He did so with fastidious care and then standing on the beam swung the hammer a workman gave him.  The blast-lamp roared upon a timber overhead, throwing down waves of light that flooded the rock face, but the twinkling brightness rather puzzled the eye.  For all that, Festing struck the wedge squarely and drove it home with a few heavy blows.  Then he fastened the cross-bolt and Charnock filled a ladle with the melted lead.  A blue flame flickered about the cavity as he poured in the stuff, there was an angry sputtering, and he afterwards found some holes in his coat.  Festing dropped his hammer with a gesture of satisfaction.

“That’s an awkward piece of work finished, and I feel happier now!  You can put out the lamp and quit, boys; I’ll mark you up full time.”

Then they got down from the frame and went home to supper, earlier than usual.  In the morning they began to build a wall of roughly-cut stones among the timber, filling in the space behind with rubble; and kept on until at noon, a day or two later, heavy snow began to fall.  It was impossible to work, and they lounged about the shack, smoking and reading, all next day.  Charnock was thankful for the rest, but Festing grumbled and now and then walked impatiently to the door.  Late at night the former was wakened by a distant rumbling.  It sounded like thunder, and he called to his comrade.

“What’s that?  Had we better get up?”

“Sounds like a big snow-slide,” said Festing, raising himself in his bunk.  “Won’t harm us; shack’s on top of the ridge and we’re safer here than anywhere else.”  He stopped and listened to the swelling roar and then resumed:  “I’m glad we got that frame braced.  It’s a big slide and will probably come down the gully near the bridge.  They’re going to snowshed that piece of track and we’ll haul out the posts if we can’t get on with the other job.”

He lay down again, but Charnock waited.  This was the first snow-slide he had heard and he felt awed by the din.  Growing in a long crescendo, it rolled down the hill in a torrent of sound, but by and by he thought he could distinguish different notes; the crash of trees carried away by the avalanche and the scream of gravel grinding across rocky scraps.  He could imagine the stones being planed away and the mass of broken trunks riding on top of the huge white billow.