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WEB OE STEEL
By CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY and CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY, Jr.
Author and Clergyman Civil Engineer
CHAPTER XVll—Continued.
-11-
“He wouldn’t be a common work
man, would he?” asked the girl, more
■disappointed than she could express. ,
‘‘Certainly not. He’d be keeping
track of material, or running a transit,
or acting as a gang forema^. Most of
the workmen are foreigners, although
the bridge erectors are Americans.”
“You’re sure that he’s not here?”
“Absolutely.”
“There’s the dam,” said Winters.
■“We’ll try that in the moruiug.”
“What good is it going to do us,
Dick?” asked Rodney a little irritably.
“Even if we do find him, we can’t
make him speak.”
“I don’t know,” answered the woman
slowly. “But if I could just see him
once again, Mr. Rodney”—she spoke
RM
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' n[• । ill Bl WOW
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“He Wouldn’t Be a Common Work
man, Would He?" Asked the Girl.
without hesitation or reserve, and both
men felt deeply for her —“if I could
just speak to him, if he would only—”
“I believe you can persuade him,”
said Winters.
“Yes, perhaps, but I want Shurtliff
to speak first, then we can approach
our friend himself with more confi
dence,” said Rodney.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Brute Force or Finesse.
“What do you want me to say, Mr.
Rodney?” asked Shurtliff, coming
through the door, having caught Rod
ney’s use of his name.
“Oh, Shurtliff—” began Rodney,
somewhat embarrassed at having been
overheard.
“What do you want me to speak
about?” continued the old man sus
piciously, not giving the younger man
time to finish. “And what friend can
you then approach, sir?”
“I’ll tell you what I want,” said
Rodney.
He quickly came to a decision.
Standing up and facing the old man,
he staked everything on one bold
throw. Grasping the situation, Helen
Illingworth held her breath. Winters
moved to take his own part in the
game at the proper time.
“What is it, sir?” asked the secre
tary.
“Shut the door and come in,” was
the answer.
Rodney spoke sharply, and it was
a sort of indication, characteristic of
the difference in station between an
independent young man and a subser
vient old man.
“Here I am, sir,” answered Shurtliff,
closing the door and standing before it.
He shot a quick glance at the young
woman. He observed her tense posi
tion. He saw the emotions that filled
her soul in her face and bearing. All
his old suspicions rose like a flood. For
a moment he no longer cared for her.
He almost hated her. He looked from
her to the dark-faced, determined Rod
ney, to big, powerful, quiet Winters.
Was this a trap? Were they going to
try to force him to speak? He was a
brave man, old Shurtliff, but his heart
beat a little faster as he faced them.
He was quite master of himself,
though, cool, watchful, determined;
In their eyes rather admirable than
■otherwise.
“The time has come for you to tell
us the truth,” began Rodney emphat
ically. “You know that the whole
blame and responsibility for the fail
ure. of the International bridge is
loaded on the wrong man. You know
that you permitted, and even made
possible, the sacrifice of the reputation
of the son for the sake of the fame
of the father. You know that this
girl here is breaking her heart, that
Meade’s life Is ruined, and you’re to
blame. Now the time has come for
you to speak. We know as well as
you that young Meade is innocent.
Here’s our evidence.”
He drew a handful of papers from
his inside breast pocket and shook
them in the face of the old man, who
had shrunk back against the side of
the car and stood staring, white-faced,
I thin-lipped, close-mouthed, inexorably
' resolved still.
“Read them,” continued Rodney.
I “I’ll admit to you that the whole thing
, would not be worth the paper it’s
I written on in a court of law, or even
in a newspaper report, but it’s con
vincing to us, and you can make it
convincing to everybody. You’ve got
to speak.”
“Do you think, sir, that there’s any
power in your stretched-out arm, or
in your rude voice or in your threat
ening gesture to make me speak?”
“By the Lord,” exclaimed Winters,
suddenly whipping out a Colt’s .45
from the holster at his belt—he was
dressed just as he had been when he
rode away from the ranch—“out West
we’ve got ways for persuading men to
speak, and this is one of them.”
Winters was a bigger man than Rod
i ney. His life had been wild and rough,
I and his manner when he wanted was
according. He would fain add physical
compulsion under threat of death to
Rodney’s mental insistence.
“And do you think, sir, that I’m
, afraid of any lethal weapon you can
' produce or even use, any more than I
■am of Mr. Rodney’s words?” The old
i man’s eyes flashed, and his knees
shook, but he had all the spirit of
a soldier as he looked into Winters’
stern face, full of threat and menace.
His thin voice took on a certain qual
' ity of courage. It even rang a little,
i His courage was mainly moral, but
I there was some accompanying physical
hardihood, that was undoubted. “You
can beat me, you can even kill me, if
you wish, but you can’t make me say
; a word I don’t want to say of my
own free will,” he cried out at last, his
। voice strangely rising.
“Gentlemen; gentlemen,” said Helen
Illingworth, rising and swiftly inter
■ posing between the secretary and the
1 two angry men. She realized that the
i affair had gone far enough and that
she must intervene. They had certain
ly failed lamentably, almost ludicrous
ly. “You are wrong to threaten Mr.
Shurtliff. He is old enough to be the
father of either of you. Drop your
arm, Mr. Rodney. Put up that pistol,
Mr. Winters. Mr. Shurtliff,” said the
girl quickly, “as I am in a certain sense
your hostess, and as you are in a cer
tain sense my guest here, I apologize
to you for the improper and impulsive
conduct of these young men. They
love Bertram Meade dearly, as I do.
Let that be their excuse. Meanwhile,
they will apologize to you here and
now, I am sure.”
There was a moment of silence. Rod
ney and Winters stared at each other,
and both looked at the girl, confront
ing them so confidently in her superb
and beautiful way. Winters smiled a
little shamefacedly as he shoved his
gun back into its bolster. His had in
deed been the greater offense.
“Mr. Winters, Mr. Rodney,” said the
girl insistently.
“Oh, I apologize. I suppose it was
wrong to threaten him,” said Rodney
disgustedly.
“Hang It,” said Winters, now utterly
forgetful of conventions, “it wasn’t the
thing to do to draw a gun on a little
aid man, and I'm sorry I did it.”
“And now that we’ve apologized
you’ll tell us the truth, won’t you?”
asked Rodney swiftly, with no appre
ciable change of manner.
“Yes, we beg it now, humbly,”
chimed in Winters, with anything but
an humble air or voice.
“I won't have Mr. Shurtliff even ap
pealed to now,” said Miss Illingworth.
“You have threatened him and you
have apologized. Whether he forgives
you or not is for him to decide, but he
shall not be worried, or questioned, or
insulted any more.”
“Thank you, Miss Illingworth. I
came for that book on the desk; your
father wants it,” said Shurtliff grimly,
bowing slightly to her.
He stepped a little tremblingly—the
scene had been unnerving—past the
young men, picked up the book, bowed
again formally and unmistakably to
Miss Illingworth alone, and went out
of the car. The honors of the encoun
ter were certainly his.
“Well, Miss Illingworth,” said Win
ters, “I don’t know whether you made
a mistake or not. I think I could have
scared it out of him with this little
persuader of mine—” He tapped the
butt of the pistol.
“You couldn't have done it if you
had killed him,” said the woman, who
had read the old secretary correctly.
“He isn't what I call a daring man,
but he has courage that would take
him to the stake rather than make
him give way, the courage of endur
ance rather than of action. When he
speaks, if he ever does, it will be of
Ids own free will.”
“Or because you may persuade him,”
said Rodney. “By jove, when I think
it over, it was the finest thing you ever
did.”
“Bert Meade’s a lucky fellow,” said
Winters. “You’re the kind of a girl
that ought to marry out West, where
we try to breed men that will match
up.”
Helen Illingworth laughed a little,
although she felt no Inclination to
merriment.
“That’s a fine compliment,” she said.
“Well, this has rather shaken me, and
THE BULLETIN. IRWINTON. GEORGIA.
I’m going to ask you gentlemen to ex
cuse me.”
“We’ll see if he is working on the
dam tomorrow.”
“You will stay all night, Mr. Win
ters?”
“Your father invited me to take a
bunk in his car, and, to be perfectly
frank with you. I’d sleep out in the
open rain rather than miss a chance
of being in on the end of a game like
this.”
The girl bowed and left them.
“Dick,” said Rodney slowly at last,
as the two sat smoking together in the
silence of complete understanding and
good comradeship, which requires no
expression in talk, “you’re not the only
man who thinks that girl would be a
good wife to a man.”
“Ah,” said Winters, “sits the wind
in that quarter. Rod?”
“Yes,” answered the other, “but I’m
fighting this thing through for Meade.”
“Well, by George,” said the big
: ranchman, “you’re as good a man as
| Meade any day, fine fellow as he is.
: I wish I had some chance to get in
. this game and make myself worthy of
। the two of you, let alone the lady.”
It was a rare confidence that Rodney
had vouchsafed to his friend, and like
every other Anglo-Saxon, having said
his say, he did not wish to discuss it
■ further.
“Do you know,” he began, changing
the subject abruptly, “I think things
have turned out pretty well in spite
of our foolishness a while ago. I be
lieve if there’s a spark of human grati
tude in Shurtliff’s heart, the girl’s in
terposition when you and I were threat
ening him, and her refusal to allow
him to be questioned later, will fan it
into flame. And I have an idea that
when he thinks it over he’ll be about
ready to tell.”
“Are you sure he has anything to
tell?”
“Certain.”
“Well, I guess you’re right. It sort
of consoles me for having drawn my
gun, without using it, too. And if he
tells in the morning and we find Meade,
everything will be lovely.”
“For everybody but me,” said Rod
ney.
“I’ll tell you ■what, old man, when
this thing’s over, you’re coming out to
spend the rest of the winter with me
on the ranch. It’s the greatest place
on earth for a man to buck up. There’s
no woman within fifty miles.”
Rodney laughed a little grimly.
“I’ll go you,” he said.
CHAPTER XIX.
The Battle From Above.
The rain had stopped by morning,
to the great relief of Colonel Illing
worth, Severence and Curtiss, and the
satisfaction of Helen. There was little
sun to dry the big, red sandstone mesa,
its sides seamed into fantastic shapes,
which rose grandly between the val
ley of the Picket Wire and the ravine
of the Kicking Horse, and which the
young woman intended to cross In her
walk toward the dam with Rodney and
Winters. The siding near the steel
arch bridge was close to the rock wall
of the ravine, which here had been so
scoured out of the rocky side of the
mesa by torrents of other days that
it could fairly be called a gorge. Con
sequently the bank of clouds above the
horizon to the northwest was hid be
hind the big butte from the occupants
of the two private cars. Although the
day did not promise to be fair, they
lit
—
“Out West We’ve Got Ways for Per
suading Men to Speak.”
had no idea of the further threat of
storm presaged by the black masses to
the northwest.
In sandy, porous soils, su«h as here
prevailed, the rain is absorbed quickly.
They could traverse the trails carpet
-1 ed with the needles of centuries that
ran through the dripping pines, with
out getting muddy, and with nothing
more to fear than a wetting. Colonel
Illingworth, Severence and Curtiss an
nounced their intention of going back
to the town to continue their consulta
tions and observations concerning the
This Is a Thrilling Story
of American Life as Strong,
Courageous Men Live It
progress of work on the bridge. Shurt
liff, who went about his business grave
ly reserved, frigidly cold and self-con
tained, had work to do at his desk.
The woman and the two young men
were for the dam.
After an early breakfast, therefore,
the second car was uncoupled, and the
engine backed it down around the mesa
toward the viaduct twenty miles below.
Rodney and Winters prepared to go
with Miss Illingworth across the wood
ed island, with its cresting of stone,
so to speak, that lay between the ra
vine and the valley. The conductor
of the train, a local employee of the
railroad, told them that the shortest
way was directly over the mesa. The
sandstone of which this huge mound
was mainly composed had been broken
and disintegrated on all sides by cen
turies of erosion and weathering, and
there were practicable ascents and de
scents at both ends. The nearest ascent
was at the side of the big tableland di
rectly opposite which the car was
placed.
The trails through the pines which
covered the hill up to the very foot
of the big butte were unfrequented
and in bad repair, but practicable if
the traveler was prepared for a wet
ting. The shortest and on the whole
the easiest way to the dam would be
to make their way to the foot of the
mesa, climb it through the big ravine
and cross it to the lower end. less than
two miles away, where there was an
easy descent to the dam.
“And if you get caught in the rain,”
said the conductor, “which ain't likely,
for it’s already rained more in the last
twenty-four hours than in the last
■ twenty-four years, it seems to me,
; there’s a hut, half stone and half tim
ber, up on the mesa that campers
sometimes make use of when they want
to see the sun rise, which is a mighty
fine sight from there. It was in pretty
fair shape when I visited it last year,
and you can find shelter there. It’s
at the highest point on the mesa. You
can see a long way up the gulch there,
and a longer way down and up the
Picket Wire valley. Above the dam it
used to show a level, fertile stretch
between the hills, but it’s all a lake
now.”
Shurtliff, of course, declined Miss
Illingworth’s invitation to accompany
the party on plea of urgent duties and
important papers to prepare. He had
spoken no words to Rodney or Winters,
and those gentlemen made no effort
to engage him in conversation. They
were, in truth, a little ashamed of their
actions of the night before. They were
exceedingly anxious as to whether their
theories as to the possible effect of
Miss Illingworth's action would be jus
tified, so they carefully avoided the
secretary, letting the leaven work if it
would. To their disappointment, it
gave no sign of life or action.
Os the four most interested in Meade,
Winters was the only one who had
slept soundly that night. Rodney was
too much in love with the woman ever
to sleep soundly again, he thought—
certainly not until her future had been
settled and her. relations to Mea^
finally determined. Shurtliff’s feelings
were painful in the extreme. Torn be
tween the old habit of affection for
the dead, his new habit of affection
for the woman, his oft-recurring com
punction of conscience, his immediate
resentment of the treatment of the two
men. his acknowledgment of the splen
did action of the woman, his suspi
cions, his uncertainty, as to how the
younger Meade would take it if he
told the truth, he slept not at all.
Into Helen Illingworth’s mind also
had come, although, to her credit be it
said, not until she had retired and had
thought over her action in the light of
the hints given, that perhaps her gen
erous interposition in behalf of Shurt
i liff might move his gratitude and that
he might at last vouchsafe her the help
! which she felt more certain than ever
ihe alone could give. She was glad
i when the thought came to her that she
; could look herself squarely in the face
: and declare to her conscience that it
I had not been back of her action,
which had been purely spontaneous.
The possibility, although a faint one.
that Meade might be working on the
dam and that she might see him on
the morrow would have sufficed to give
her a wakeful night. Rodney was a more
careful observer than Winters, but
even the cattleman noticed that she
looked worn and strained as he helped
her out of the car for their tramp
across the mesa to the dam.
“You know,” he said, with rough
i and-rendy sympathy, “we haven't the
least assurance that Meade Is there.
It's only a chance, and probably a long
one.”
“I shall nevqr rest until it is decided
absolutely one way or the other,’’ said
the woman.
“Well, I’m not much of a walker.”
said the cattleman. “I generally pre
fer to get over the ground astride of a
broncho, but I guess I can keep up
with the party for two miles, if that's
the distance.”
It was dark and damp and wet under
the pines. Although the two men
cleared the way for her. holding
, branches back nnd shaking the water
1 off the drooping boughs, it was welt
Copyright by Fleming H. Revel! Co.
Helen was protected from the wet. I
She had tramped hills and mountains
many a time, camp and forest were fa
miliar to her. She wore a short
skirted dress, stout boots and leg
gings, and a yellow western slicker.
The exertion of the upward climb,
stumbling over broken branches and
uprooted logs and floundering through
boggy places on the trail, brought a
touch of color to her face, and though
damp, the air sweet and fragrant,
clean and pure, refreshed and pleased
her greatly: the men, too. It was a
hard pull, and she was out of breath
when she reached the broken coulee,
or ravine, which led to the top of the
big red sandstone plateau.
“I’m terribly out of practice,” she
said to the two men, “but I don’t be
lieve I'm in any worse state than you
are, Mr. Winters.”
“I told you I wasn't any good on
foot,” said Winters, who was blowing
like a grampus.
Rodney laughed at the two of them.
“Look at me,” he said. “I’m as fresh
as when I began.”
“Well, you’re used to walking.” re
turned Winters. “It’s this plugging
along this broken trail that has
' knocked us out. The rich, they ride
! on —bronchos, you know.”
“When we get on top of the mesa
we will find it easier going.” said Rod
ney encouragingly.
“Let us start,” said the girl, sud
denly serious, as she thought what
might be at the end of the journey.
“Before we go any farther.” said
Winters, staring up the ravine at the
sky which showed about it, “just take
a look at that.”
He pointed to the black clouds rap
idly rising, apparently against the
wind, which swayed rather violently
the tops of the tallest pines, although
■ they were protected and in compara
tive quiet where they stood in the ra
vine.
“It looks as if there were more rain
there,” said Rodney.
“It’s incredible,” answered Winters,
“after what we’ve had.”
“But it certainly is coming down
again, and if I’m any judge, it will be
another cloudburst.”
“Perhaps we’d better go back.'' sug^
gested Winters to Miss Illingworth.
“Go back!” exclaimed the girt
“When I’m as near as this?”
“But it’s only a possibility, you
know.”
“Possibility or not, it would take
a deluge in my path to stop me.
Come.”
It was an entirely practicable climb,
but rather a hard one on the wet.
crumbling rocks. It did not take the
three young people long to surmount
the difficulties, however, and after a
few minutes they stood on top of the
mesa.
Near at hand was the hut of which
the conductor had spoken. It stood
upon a little rise above the general
level, and from it one could see far in
every direction. Between the hills and
over the lower crest of Baldwin’s
knob they could even see dimly the
far-off plains, a little sickly yellow
light stili lingering there before the
advance of the storm.
The hut was made of stone and logs.
They had not any more than reached
it before the storm began. Claps of
thunder, flashes of lightning under
which the-army on the dam were fight
ing. were heard and seen with tenfold
clearness by the little group on the
huge upland.
It was a sight to awe the very soul
of humanity. Miles and miles down
the mountain side and among the hills
the whirling battalions of clouds rolled
and tumbled and tossed and clashed
like aerial armies. The lightning,
while it was not in sheets, was prac
tically continuous, flash succeeding
flash in uncountable and blinding suc
cession. Again they noticed the strange
coruscating, bursting effect as bolt
after bolt apparently struck some gran
ite ledge and was then thrown back in
splinters of fire. The heavy, awful roll
of the thunder was continuous and ter
rific.
They stood staring through door and
windows in silence. Meade and their
quest forgot in the appalling tem
pest by all except the woman. It was
she who recalled them.
“Let us hasten on.” she said, and she
had almost to scream to make herself
heard in the wild tumult. “It's mag
nificent, wonderful, but —”
As a matter of fact, all the mani
festations of nature at its grandest
would not have sufficed to turn her
I head away from her lover’s face if she
1 could have seen him.
“You can’t go now,” said Winters
! decisively, “the rain’s bad enough as
' it is. and that cloud will burst in a
minute. Old Noah’s flood won't be a
circumstance to it.”
“I'm protected from the rain.” she
answered.
Winters shook his head.
The weight of it would almost
beat you down, Miss Illingworth.”
“I haven’t had any experience with
it, but I thiuk Winters is right,” said
Rodney.
“I'll go on alone, then," said the girl
passionately, stepping out of the house,
“if you gentlemen don't care to come.”
The next moment, with a culminat
ing scream like the shriek of all the
lost souls of creation heard above the
furious detonating roar of the thunder,
the wind added its quota to the dem
onstration of natural force, and now
the rain fairly dropped upon them In
apparently solid sheets. Os course
clouds do not burst. Such a thing is
scientifically and meteorologically im
possible, but anyone who has ever ex
perienced the suddenness and fury and
weight of a western deluge in a nor
mally dry land will understand the
term. The wind swept over the pla
teau. where it had free course like a
hurricane; the rain came down in
masses apparently. Until their eyes
became accustomed to it. the falling
water blotted out the landscape.
The woman was hurled against the
side of the house by the sudden and
violent assault of the hurricane. The
two men half dragged, half carried her
around to the lee side of the cabin.
The roof of the hut had given way
here and there, and within it was soon
flooded. Where they stood, however,
by chance happened to be the solidest
part of the overhang of the roof, and
they were in some degree protected,
that is, from the direct violence of the
downpour. They were, of course,
drenched in a few minutes in spite of
their raincoats. With one man on ei
ther side of her to give her as much
protection as possible, the woman
leaned against the stone wall and
stared through the rain down the val
ley, seeking to see the dam, perhaps
a mile and a half away. Os course the
maximum of the downpour could not
last any more than the maximum of the
gale, but the deluge was succeeded by
a heavy, driving rain still swept on by
a strong wind.
Below the mesa the lake was
whipped into foam by the beat of the
rain and rolled into waves by the as
sault of the wind. All three of them
knew what this deluge portended. The
i downpour would raise the level of the
■ lake so that it would overflow the
; dam. which would be swept away, the
■ valley would be inundated by a flood,
■ like a tidal wave, the incompleted via-
I duct would be ruined, the town would
be overwhelmed, the loss of life and
property would be appalling.
“The spillway ought to take it,”
shouted Winters, knowing what was
h I I 4
l|||i
Staring Down at the Dam Helen Il
lingworth Took the Glass From Rod
ney.
in the minds of the other two by what
was in his own.
“It's not finished," roared Rodney.
Winters threw up his hands.
“Will the dam hold it?” cried thd
woman, understanding.
“Until the water rises above it. Just
as soon as it begins to wash over, it
will go. and the quicker for these
waves.” answered Rodney at the top
of his voice.
“And the bridge and the town,”
screamed the woman.
I “They, too."
“And father?"
i “He’ll be all right; they’ve had warn
ing. The engineers on the dam must
know the danger now. They're work-
| ing like mad.”
He had brought a small six-power
fieldglass with him nnd he was strain
ing his eyes through it. The violence
of rain and wind had sensibly abated,
i although it was still coming down in
I torrents. With his knowledge of what
would probably be attempted. Rodney
was able to see through his glass some
; thing of what was being done, even at
■ that distance.
“They're building palisades on top
of the dam, and backing it with an
earth mound. See, they are dropping
sandbags over.” he stated, handing the
glass to the other man.
“By heaven," shouted Winters,
“they’re making a magnificent fight.”
In his excitement he left the shelter
of the hut and stalked through the
rain toward the edge of the mesa,
where he could have a better and near
er view. In spite of Rodney's remon
strances, even though backed by his
outstretched arm. the woman followed.
Presently all three, indifferent to the
beat of the rain and the assault of the
wind, stood watching the battle on the
dam. It was abating still more, fortu
nately. or else they could scarcely have
sustained the attack of that wind and
rain, nor could they have seen at all,
even with that glass.
Staring down at the dam after a mo
ment, Helen Illingworth took the glass
from Rodney. She focused it rapidly
and looked steadily through It. She
knew what she was seeking as she
stood steadying herself with splendid
nerve and resolution and swept the
length of the dam back and forth.
I (TO BE CONTINUED.)
