“This route depends upon the bridge.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s a two years’ job.”

“You offered to complete it this winter, when you talked with Mr. Herman Heidlemann.”

“And—­I can.”

“Then we’ll consider a reasonable price.  But we must know definitely where we stand by next spring.  We have a great deal of capital tied up in the interior; we can’t wait.”

“This delay will cost you something.”

Mr. Blaine shrugged.  “You made that point plain when you were in New York.  We’re accustomed to pay for our mistakes.”

“Will you cover this in the shape of an option?”

“That’s what I’m here for.  If you finish your bridge and it stands the spring break-up, we’ll be satisfied.  I shall expect to stay here and watch the work.”

O’Neil agreed heartily.  “You’re very welcome, Mr. Blaine.  I like your brand of conversation.  I build railroads; I don’t run them.  Now let’s get down to figures.”

The closing of the option required several weeks, of course, but the outcome was that even before mid-winter arrived O’Neil found himself in the position he had longed to occupy.  In effect the sale was made, and on terms which netted him and his backers one hundred per cent. profit.  There was but one proviso—­namely, that the bridge should be built by spring.  The Heidlemanns were impatient, their investment up to date had been heavy, and they frankly declared that failure to bridge the chasm on time would convince them that the task was hopeless.  In a way this was unreasonable, but O’Neil was well aware that they could not permit delay—­or a third failure:  unless his route was proved feasible without loss of time they would abandon it for one they knew to be certain, even though more expensive.  He did not argue that the task was of unprecedented difficulty, for he had made his promise and was ready to stand or fall by it.  It is doubtful, however, if any other contractor would have undertaken the work on such time; in fact, had it been a public bridge it would have required four years in the building.  Yet O’Neil cheerfully staked his fortune on completing it in eight months.

With his option signed and the task squarely confronting him, he realized with fresh force its bigness and the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.  He began the most dramatic struggle of his career, a fight against untried conditions, a desperate race against the seasons, with ruin as the penalty of defeat.

The channel of the Salmon at this point is fifteen hundred feet wide and thirty feet deep.  Through it boils a ten-mile current; in other words, the waters race by with the speed of a running man.  Over this O’Neil expected to suspend a structure capable of withstanding the mightiest strains to which any bridge had ever been subjected.  Parker’s plans called for seventeen thousand yards of cement work and nine million pounds of steel, every part