The boatman fastened the painter and resumed his outer clothing.  O’Neil lit a cigar and asked: 

“Tell me, why did you insist on coming?”

“I was afraid something might happen to you.”

He raised his brows, and she flushed.  “Don’t you understand?  Dan would never have forgiven me, and—­and—­I just had to come, that’s all.  It’s corking material for me—­I thought you might upset, and I—­I don’t know why I insisted.”  She bent over her stubborn boots, hiding her face.  She was flaming to the ears, for suddenly she knew the reason that had prompted her.  It rushed upon her like a sense of great shame.  She recalled the desperate grip at her heart when she had seen him ready to leave, the wildness of her longing to share his danger, the black fear that he might meet disaster alone.  It had all come without warning, and there had been no time for self-consciousness, but now she realized the truth.  The poignant pain of it made her fingers clumsy and sent that flood of scarlet to her neck and ears.

When Natalie arrived they cast off, and the remaining miles were made in a few hours.

Appleton joined them for lunch in the tent they remembered so well, and professed to be shocked at the report of his sister’s foolhardiness.  But whatever may have been Natalie’s fear of ridicule, it promptly disappeared under his complete indorsement of her wisdom in refraining from such a mad adventure.  As if to put her even more at ease, O’Neil was especially attentive to her; and Eliza reflected gloomily that men, after all, dislike bravado in women, that a trapeze artist or a lady balloonist inspires only a qualified admiration.

During O’Neil’s absence work had progressed steadily.  On his return he found the grade completed to within a few yards of Gordon’s right-of-way.  Although he was still unable to walk, he insisted upon going to the front, whither he was helped by Appleton and “Happy Tom.”

Into the narrow space between the end of his embankment and that of his rival’s a gravel-train was spilling its burden, and a hundred pick-and-shovel men were busy.  The opposing forces also seemed hard at work, but their activity was largely a pretense, and they showed plainly that they were waiting for the clash.  They were a hard-looking crew, and their employer had neglected no precaution.  He had erected barricades for their protection until his grade looked like a military work.

“They haven’t showed any guns yet, but I’m sure they’re armed,” Appleton told his chief.

“How is the place lighted by night?” O’Neil inquired.

“Oil torches,” Slater answered.  “Ah!  We’ve been recognized.  That comes from being fat, I s’pose.”

As he spoke a donkey-engine at the right of the proposed crossing set up a noisy rattling, a thin steel cable whipped into view between the rails, and from the left there appeared a contrivance which O’Neil eyed curiously.  It was a sort of drag, and rode back and forth upon the rails.