by Rex Beach
XXVI
THE RACE
On April 5th the last of the steel for Span Number One reached thefront, and erection was begun. The men fell to with a vim and anenthusiasm impossible to describe. With incredible rapidity the heavysections were laid in place; the riveters began their metallic song;the towering three bent traveler ran smoothly on its track, and underit grew a web work of metal, braced and reinforced to withstand, inaddition to ordinary strains, the pressure of a hundred-mile-an-hourwind. To those who looked on, the structure appeared to build itself,like some dream edifice; it seemed a miracle that human hands couldwork that stubborn metal so swiftly and with so little effort. Butevery piece had been cut and fitted carefully, then checked and placedwhere it was accessible.
Now that winter had broken, spring came with a rush. The snows began toshrink and the drifts to settle. The air grew balmier with every day;the drip from eaves was answered by the gurgling laughter of hiddenwaters. Here and there the boldest mountainsides began to show, and thetops of alder thickets thrust themselves into sight. Where wood ormetal caught the sun-rays the snow retreated; pools of ice-water beganto form at noon.
The days were long, too, and no frozen winds charged out of the north.As the daylight lengthened, so did the working-hours of the toilers.
On April 18th the span was completed. In thirteen days Mellen's crewhad laid four hundred feet of the heaviest steel ever used in a bridgeof this type. But there was no halt; the material for the secondsection had been assembled, meanwhile, and the traveler began to swingit into place.
The din was unceasing; the clash of riveters, the creak and rattle ofhoists, the shouts of men mingled in a persistent, ear-splittingclamor; and foot by foot the girders reached out toward the secondmonolith which rose from the river-bed. The well-adjusted human machinewas running smoothly; every man knew his place and the duties that wentwith it; the hands of each worker were capable and skilled. But now thehillsides were growing bare, rills gashed the sloping snow-fields, theupper gullies began to rumble to avalanches--forerunners of the processthat would strip the earth of snow and ice and free the river in allits fury. In six days three hundred feet more of steel had been boltedfast to the complete section, and Span Two was in place. But thesurface of the Salmon was no longer white and pure; it was dirty anddiscolored now, for the debris which had collected during the pastwinter was exposing itself. The icy covering was partially inundatedalso; shallow ponds formed upon it and were rippled by the southbreeze. Running waters on every side sang a menace to the workers.
Then progress ceased abruptly. It became known that a part of thematerial for the third span had gone astray in its long journey acrossthe continent. There had been a delay at the Pittsburg mills, then ablockade in the Sierras; O'Neil was in Omar at the end of the cablestraining every nerve to have the shipment rushed through. Mellenbrooded over his uncompleted work: Parker studied the dripping hillsand measured the melting snows. He still smiled; but he showed hisanxiety in a constant nervous unrest, and he could not sleep.
At length news came that Johnny Brennan had the steel aboard his shipand had sailed. A record run was predicted, but meanwhile the southwind brought havoc on its breath. The sun shone hotly into the valleyof the Salmon, and instead of warmth it brought a chill to the heartsof those who watched and waited.
Twelve endless, idle days crawled by. Winter no longer gave battle; shewas routed, and in her mad retreat she threatened to overwhelm O'Neil'sfortunes.
On May 6th the needed bridge members were assembled, and the erectionof Span Three began. The original plan had been to build this sectionon the cantilever principle, so as to gain independence of the riverice, but to do so would have meant slow work and much delay--anexpenditure of time which the terms of the option made impossible.Arrangements had been made, therefore, to lay it on false-work as theother spans had been laid, risking everything upon the weather.
As a matter of precaution the southern half of the span was connectedto the completed portion; but before the connection could be fully madethe remainder of the jam in front of Jackson Glacier, which had causedso much trouble heretofore, went out suddenly, and the river ice moveddown-stream about a foot, carrying with it the whole intricate systemof supporting timbers beneath the uncompleted span. Hasty measurementsshowed that the north end of the steel then on the false-work wasthirteen inches out of line.
It was Mr. Blaine who brought the tidings of this last calamity toEliza Appleton. From his evident anxiety she gathered that the matterwas of graver consequence than she could well understand.
"Thirteen inches in fifteen hundred feet can't amount to much," shesaid, vaguely.
Blaine smiled in spite of himself. "You don't understand. It's as badas thirteen feet, for the work can't go on until everything is inperfect alignment. That whole forest of piles must be straightened."
"Impossible!" she gasped. "Why, there are thousands of them."
He shook his head, still smiling doubtfully. "Nothing is impossible toMellen and Parker. They've begun clearing away the ice on the up-streamside and driving new anchor-piles above. They're going to fit tackle tothem and yank the whole thing up-stream. I never heard of such a thing,but there's no time to do anything else." He cast a worried look at thesmiling sky. "I wonder what will happen next. This is getting on mynerves."
Out on the river swift work was going on. Steam from every availableboiler was carried across the ice in feed-pipes, the night shift hadbeen roused from sleep, and every available man was busied in relievingthe pressure. Pile-drivers hammered long timbers into the river-bedabove the threatened point, hydraulic jacks were put in place, andsteel cables were run to drum and pulley. The men worked sometimesknee-deep in ice-water; but they did not walk, they ran. In anincredibly short time the preparations were completed, a strain was putupon the tackle, and when night came the massive false-work had beenpulled back into line and the traveler was once more swinging steelinto place. It was a magnificent feat, yet not one of those concernedin it could feel confident that the work had not been done in vain; forthe time was growing terribly short, and, although the ice seemedsolid, it was rotting fast.
After the southern half of the span had been completed the warmthincreased rapidly, therefore the steel crew lengthened its hours. Themen worked from seven o'clock in the morning until eleven o'clock atnight.
On the 13th, without warning of any sort, Garfield Glacier began movingforward. It had lain inactive even during the midwinter thaw which hadstarted its smaller brother, but that warm spell had evidently had itseffect upon the giant, for now he shook off his lethargy and awoke. Hestirred, gradually at first and without sound, as if bent uponsurprising the interlopers; then his speed increased. As the glacieradvanced it thrust the nine-foot blanket of lake ice ahead of it, andthis in turn crowded the river ice down upon the bridge. The movementat the camp site on the first day was only two inches, but that wassufficiently serious.
The onset of Garfield at this time was, of course, unexpected; for noforward motion had ever been reported prior to the spring break-up. Theaction of the ice heretofore had been alarming; but now consternationspread, a panic swept the ranks of the builders, for this was noshort-lived phenomenon, this was the annual march of the glacier itselfwhich promised to continue indefinitely. A tremendous cutting-edge,nine feet in thickness, like the blade of a carpenter's plane, wasbeing driven against the bridge by an irresistible force.
Once again the endless thawing and chopping and gouging of ice began,but the more rapidly the encroaching edge was cut away the more swiftlydid it bear down. The huge mass began to rumble; it "calved," it split,it detonated, and, having finally loosened itself from its bed, itacquired increased momentum. As the men with chisels and steam-pointsbecame exhausted others took their places, but the structural gangclung to its perch above, augmenting the din of riveters and thegroaning of blocks and tackle. Among the able-bodied men sleep now wasout of the question, for the ice gained in spite of every effort. Itwas too la
te to remove the steel in the uncompleted span to a place ofsafety, for that would have required more time than to bridge theremaining gap.
Piling began to buckle and bend before that irresistible push; thewhole nicely balanced mass of metal was in danger of being unseated.Mellen cursed the heavens in a black fury; Parker smiled through whitelips; O'Neil ground his teeth and spurred his men on.
This feverish haste brought its penalty. On the evening of the 14th,when the span was more than three-quarters finished, a lower chordsection fouled as it was lifted, and two loading-beams at the top ofthe traveler snapped.
On that day victory had been in sight; the driving of the last bolt hadbeen but a question of hours, a race with the sliding ice. But with thehoisting apparatus out of use work halted. Swiftly, desperately,without loss of a moment's time, repairs began. No regrets were voiced,no effort was made to place the blame, for that would have causeddelay, and every minute counted. Eleven hours later the broken beamswere replaced, and erection had recommenced.
But now for those above there was danger to life and limb. During thepause the ice had gained, and no effort could relieve the false-work ofits strain. All knew that if it gave way the workmen would be caught ina chaos of collapsing wood and steel.
From the morning of May 14th until midnight of the 16th theiron-workers clung to their tasks. They dropped their tools and ran totheir meals; they gulped their food and fled back to their posts. Theweaker ones gave out and staggered away, cursed and taunted by theircompanions. They were rough fellows, and in their deep-throatedprofanity was a prayer.
The strong ones struggled on, blind with weariness, but upheld by thatdesperate, unthinking courage that animates a bayonet charge. It seemedthat every moment must see the beginning of that slow work ofdemolition which would send them all scurrying to safety; but hourafter hour the piling continued to hold and the fingers of steel toreach out, foot by foot, for the concrete pier which was their goal.
At midnight of the 16th the last rivet was driven; but the ice hadgained to such an extent that the lower chord was buckled down-streamabout eight inches, and the distance was growing steadily. Quickly thetraveler was shifted to the false-work beyond the pier, and the menunder Mellen's direction fell to splitting out the blocking.
As the supports were chopped away the mass began to crush the last fewwedges; there was a great snapping and rending of wood; and some one,strained to the breaking-point, shouted:
"Look out! There she goes!"
A cry of terror arose, the men fled, trampling one another in theirpanic. But Mellen charged them like a wild man, firing curses andorders at them until they rallied. The remaining supports were removed;the fifteen hundred tons of metal settled into place and restedsecurely on its foundations.
O'Neil was the last man ashore. As he walked the completed span fromPier Three the barricade of piling beneath him was bending and tearing;but he issued no orders to remove it, for the river was doing that. Inthe general haste pile-drivers, hoists, boilers, and various odds andends of machinery and material had been left where they stood. Theywere being inundated now; many of them were all but submerged. Therewas no possibility of saving them at present, for the men were halfdead from exhaustion.
As he lurched up the muddy, uneven street to his quarters Murray felthis fatigue like a heavy burden, for he had been sixty hours withoutsleep. He saw Slater and Appleton and the rest of his "boys"; he sawNatalie and Eliza, but he was too tired to speak to them, or to graspwhat they said. He heard the workmen cheering Mellen and Parker andhimself. It was very foolish, he thought, to cheer, since the river hadso nearly triumphed and the final test was yet to come.
He fell upon his bed, clothed as he was; an hour later the false-workbeneath Span Three collapsed.
Although the bridge was not yet finished, the most critical point ofits construction had been passed, for the fourth and final portionwould be built over shallow water, and no great difficulties were to beexpected even though the ice went out before the work was finished. ButMurray had made his promise and his boast to complete the structurewithin a stated time, and he was determined to live up to the veryletter of his agreement with the Trust. As to the result of thebreak-up, he had no fear whatever.
For once Nature aided him: she seemed to smile as if in approval of hissteadfastness. The movement of the channel ice became irregular,spasmodic, but it remained firm until the last span had been put inplace.
Of this dramatic struggle Eliza Appleton had watched every phase withintensest interest; but when at last she knew that the battle was wonshe experienced a peculiar revulsion of feeling. So long as O'Neil hadbeen working against odds, with the prospect of ruin and failureforever imminent, she had felt an almost painful sympathy, but now thathe had conquered she felt timid about congratulating him. He was nolonger to be pitied and helped; he had attained his goal and the famehe longed for. His success would inevitably take him out of her life.She was very sorry that he needed her no longer.
She did not watch the last bridge-member swung, but went to her room,and tried to face the future. Spring was here, her book was finished,there was the need to take up her life again.
She was surprised when Murray came to find her.
"I missed you, Eliza," he said. "The others are all down at theriver-bank. I want you to congratulate me."
She saw, with a jealous twinge, that exultation over his victory hadovercome his weariness, that his face was alight with a fire she hadnever before seen. He seemed young, vigorous, and masterful once more.
"Of course," he went on, "the credit belongs to Parker, who worked thebridge out in each detail--he's marvelous--and to Mellen, who actuallybuilt it, but I helped a little. Praise to me means praise to them."
"It is all over now, isn't it?"
"Practically. Blaine has cabled New York that we've won. Strictlyspeaking, we haven't as yet, for there's still the break-up to face;but the bridge will come through it without a scratch. The ice may goout any minute now, and after that I can rest." He smiled at hergladly. "It will feel good to get rid of all this responsibility, won'tit? I think you've suffered under it as much as I have."
A little wistfully she answered: "You're going to realize that dreamyou told me about the day of the storm at Kyak. You have conquered thisgreat country--just as you dreamed."
He acquiesced eagerly, boyishly. "Yes. Whirring wheels, a current oftraffic, a broad highway of steel--that's the sort of monument I wantto leave."
"Sometime I'll come back and see it all completed and tell myself thatI had a little part in making it."
"Come back?" he queried. "Why, you're going to stay till we're through,aren't you?"
"Oh no! I'm going south with the spring flight--on the next boat,perhaps."
His face fell; the exultant light gradually faded from his eyes.
"Why--I had no idea! Aren't you happy here?"
She nodded. "But I must try to make good in my work as you have inyours."
He was looking at her sorrowfully, almost as if she had deserted him."That's too bad, but--I suppose you must go. Yes; this is no place foryou. I dare say other people need you to bring sunshine and joy to themjust as we old fellows do, but--I've never thought about your leaving.It wouldn't be right to ask you to stay here among such people as weare when you have so much ahead of you. Still, it will leave a gap.Yes--it certainly will--leave a gap."
She longed desperately to tell him how willingly she would stay if heonly asked her, but the very thought shocked her into a deeper reserve.
"I'm going East to sell my book," she said, stiffly. "You've given methe climax of the story in this race with the seasons."
"Is it a--love story?" he asked.
Eliza flushed. "Yes. It's mostly love."
"You're not at all the girl I thought you when we first met. You'revery--different. I'm sure I won't recognize myself as the hero. Who--orwhat is the girl in the story?"
"Well, she's just the kind of girl that would appeal to a pers
on likeyou. She's tall and dark and dashing, and--of course, she's remarkablybeautiful. She's very feminine, too."
"What's her name?"
Miss Appleton stammered: "Why--I--called her Violet--until I couldthink of a better--"
"What's wrong with Violet? You couldn't think of a better name thanthat. I'm fond of it."
"Oh, it's a good book-name, but for real life it's too--delicate."Eliza felt with vexation that her face was burning. She was sure he waslaughing at her.
"Can't I read the manuscript?" he pleaded.
"Heavens! No! I--" She changed the subject abruptly. "I've left word tobe called the minute the ice starts to go out. I want to see the lastact of the drama."
When O'Neil left her he was vaguely perplexed, for something in herbearing did not seem quite natural. He was forlorn, too, at theprospect of losing her. He wondered if fathers suffered thus, or if alover could be more deeply pained at a parting than he. Somehow heseemed to share the feelings of both.
