When general good feeling was restored Murray attempted to make his way out; but his men seemed determined to thank him one by one, and he was delayed through a long process of hand-shaking.  It pleased him to see that they understood from what hardships and disappointments he had saved them, and he was doubly grateful when Walsh rounded up his crew and announced that the night shift would resume work at midnight.

He escaped at last, leaving the men grouped contentedly about huge pans of smoking doughnuts and pots of coffee, which the cook-boys had brought in.  Liquor was taboo in the camp, but he gave orders that unlimited cigars be distributed.

When he reached his quarters he was completely fagged, for the crisis, coming on top of his many responsibilities, had taken all his vitality.

His once cheerless room was warm and cozy as he entered:  he found Natalie sleeping peacefully on his bed and Eliza curled up in his big chair waiting.  She opened her eyes drowsily and smiled up at him, saying: 

“You were splendid, Omar Khayyam.  I’m so glad.”

He laid a finger on his lips and glanced at the sleeping Natalie.

“Sh-h!”

“Where are you going to put us for the night?”

“Right here, of course.”

“Those men will do anything for you now.  I—­I think I’d die, too, if anything happened to the bridge.”

He took her hand in his and smiled down into her earnest eyes a little wearily.  “Nothing will happen.  Now go to bed—­and thank you for making a home for me.  It really is a home now.  I’ll appreciate it to-morrow.”

He tiptoed out and tramped over to Parker’s quarters for the night.

The news of the White River fiasco reached Curtis Gordon in Seattle, whither he had gone in a final attempt to bolster up the tottering fortunes of the Cortez Home Railway.  His disappointment was keen, yet O’Neil from the beginning had met his attacks with such uniform success that new failure did not really surprise him; it had been a forlorn hope at best.  Strangely enough, he had begun to lose something of his assurance of late.  Although he maintained his outward appearance of confidence with all his old skill, within himself he felt a growing uneasiness, a lurking doubt of his abilities.  Outwardly there was reason enough for discouragement, for, while his co-operative railroad scheme had begun brilliantly, its initial success had not been sustained.  As time passed and Eliza Appleton’s exposure remained unrefuted he had found it ever more difficult to enlist support.  His own denials and explanations seemed powerless to affect the public mind, and as he looked back he dated his decline from the appearance of her first article.  It had done all the mischief he had feared.  Not only were his old stock-holders dissatisfied, but wherever he went for aid he found a disconcerting lack of response, a half-veiled skepticism that was maddening.