The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1916-08-12
E Words 15c Farmer Classified Ads Phone 1908

serted to the reserve company's pay roll the news reached Allison that a trninload of laborers had been shot in to take their ple"ces-those very types of lnborers which Steve him. self had warned Elliott would not last an hour in the event of trouble. For a week Allison wondered that Vere vas no clash between the dislelced men who believed that the river was thoiru alone and this new corps which Garry Devereau was handling at the lower end of construction, not by phys ical prowess, as Fat Joe had ruled, but just as surely and all because, as Joe himself put it, he could damn a man merely by bidding him good morn ing
 Honey crossed north today to have a look at his winter cut,' Joe would observe to his chief at supper at Thirty Mile, and before the night was many hours older Allison, too, in Man. hattan, would have learned by wire in less picturesque phraseology that Archie wickersham wss missing no chances.
 "They have now finished hauling their logs to the river," Joe told Steve one night aee~r a prolonged scouting trip. "They are turning their atten- ton to their float dams now"
 And when that news was relayed to the biz man who never ceased tn watch he understood why there had been no violence when the rfyermeu went on strike.
 It was the bitterest January that the hill country had known in twenty years, but mile by mile that month the twin line of steel crept steadily into the north under the urgings of Garry's smooth voice. The snowfall for Feb ruary broke all records for half that period, but Steve, with his handful of men at Thirty Mile, put his piline down. And then 1t rained-it rained until small brooks ran torrents and the river tumbled white and thunder ous its entire length.
 The snow went of the last of March that spring, and the gorges conld not carry away the water The sun turn ed summer hot. It burned the higher ridges dry while the valleys still lay hidden in flood. It was August tenn perature the third Sunday in April when Stephen O'Mara stood ant watched beneath the glare of kero. sene torches his bridge at Thirty Mile go into position between dark and dawn. There was no man among them that day who did not show upon his fact the strain they had been under. The, ] were few, they were unshaven ant dirty and lean as hungry hounds, bu they were the men whom Steve hat once bidden Hardwick. Elliott t watch, once they had begun to seen combat. Fat Joe was no longer plump Steve was worn down to actual thin ness. And 1t would have taken care ful eye to have selected. the chief iron their ranks that Sunday.
 The huge tmbers had dropped int place like bits of jig sawed puzzle. A in the afternoon, too tired both il body and soul for elation, Steve watch ed them drive home the last spike an, | heard their hoarse effort at . cheel He had turned to start toward hi | shack, not like man who knows tha l the end of . well nigh hopeless task in sight, but like beaten man. Tn 1 1st of May meant more to Steve thAl
 any clause of the East Coast comps ny's contract could convey. He ha l not had even one letter since he pu
 her upon, her train. Wickersham's ar
 pearance on horseback at the head c the valley, picking his way around tn
 flooded meadow, halted him in h,
 heavy footed climb. A whistle shr1I 1 ed far to the south of them, down th
 completed track. And then, after te years and more, they were face to fac
 again.
 .sThat bridge will have to go down!
 wickersham was breathing hard, fe | all that he had been riding. T ar
 going through with my drive tt
 dayr'
 He had dismounted. Steve smiled [
 him.
 I You're whole week previou
 Wickersham,' he said wearily. "T'
 be signaling for your first load of lod
 in less than sixty hours"
 1 Archibald Wickersham wished thu
 he could have believed it impossibl
 for it would have given him coural
 and lent conviction to his stand B,
 he knew just how fast those few r l maining miles of open roadbed woul I be spanned. His eyes were furtiv
 There was no body to his voice.
 "My men are on the banks" 1 clustered. My first head of logs h,
 started down. It's too late to argy
 now-too late for your promises tn
 none but fools ever believed" IT Il sure irrevocability of what he was sa
 ing blanched his cheeks. T canu
 wait for miracle to be performe l My timber must come out on th
 food"
 I stephen O'Mara had whipped hi
 once, but men had interfered. Tn
 day chance or destiny or fate-wha
 ever you may choose to call it-savt
 him from destruction. The lean al
 weary man who had not been out
 his clothes for three days and thr, nights. save for plungo~tn the it
 river, had taken his first step forwal ! when the whistle screamed a near
 warning. She had told him that she wou
 come to see the finish of his race, bI he had long since stopped believir | IL