Читать книгу Brandon of the Engineers - Harold Bindloss - Страница 12

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It was very hot in the deep hollow that pierced the mountain range behind Santa Brigida on the Caribbean Sea. The black peaks cut against a glaring sky and the steep slopes of red soil and volcanic cinders on one side of the ravine were dazzlingly bright. The other was steeped in blue shadow that scarcely seemed to temper the heat, and the dark-skinned men who languidly packed the ballast among the ties of a narrow-gage railroad that wound up the hill panted as they swung their shovels. At its lower end, the ravine opened on to a valley that got greener as it ran down to the glittering sea, on the edge of which feathery palms clustered round Santa Brigida.

The old city, dominated by its twin, cathedral towers, shone ethereally white in the distance, with a narrow fringe of flashing surf between it and the vivid blue of the Caribbean. It was a thriving place, as the black dots of steamers in the roadstead showed, for of late years American enterprise had broken in upon its lethargic calm. The population was, for the most part, of Spanish stock that had been weakened by infusions of Indian and negro blood, but there were a number of Chinamen, and French Creoles. Besides these, Americans, Britons, and European adventurers had established themselves, and the town was a hotbed of commercial and political intrigue. The newcomers were frankly there for what they could get and fought cunningly for trading and agricultural concessions. The leading citizens of comparatively pure Spanish strain despised the grasping foreigners in their hearts, but as a rule took their money and helped them in their plots. Moreover, they opened a handsome casino and less reputable gambling houses with the object of collecting further toll.

Such wealth as the country enjoyed was largely derived from the fertile soil, but the district about Santa Brigida was less productive than the rest and had been long neglected. There was rain enough all round, but much of the moisture condensed on the opposite side of the range and left the slopes behind the town comparatively arid. To remedy this an irrigation scheme was being carried out by American capitalists, and the narrow-gage railroad formed part of the undertaking.

A man dressed in rather baggy, gray clothes and a big, soft hat sat in the shadow of the rock. His thin face had been recently browned by the sun, for the paler color where his hat shaded it showed that he was used to a northern climate. Though his pose was relaxed and he had a cigar in his mouth, there was a hint of energy about him and he was following the curves of the railroad with keenly observant eyes. A girl in white dress of fashionable cut sat near him, holding a green-lined sunshade, for although they were in the shadow the light was strong. The likeness between them indicated they were father and daughter.

“I expect you’re feeling it pretty hot,” Fuller remarked.

“It is not oppressive and I rather like the brightness,” the girl replied. “Besides, it’s cool enough about the tent after the sun goes behind the range. Of course, you are used to the climate.”

“I was, but that was twenty-four years ago and before you were born. Got my first lift with the ten thousand dollars I made in the next state down this coast, besides the ague and shivers that have never quite left me. However, it’s pretty healthy up here, and I guess it ought to suit Jake all right.”

Ida Fuller looked thoughtful, and her pensive expression added to the charm of her attractive face. She had her father’s keen eyes, but they were, like her hair, a soft dark-brown; and the molding of brows and nose and mouth was rather firm than delicate. While her features hinted at decision of character, there was nothing aggressive in her look, which, indeed, was marked by a gracious calm. Though she was tall, her figure was slender.

“Yes,” she agreed, “if he would stay up here!”

Fuller nodded. “I’d have to fix him up with work enough to keep him busy, and ask for a full-length report once a week. That would show me what he was doing and he’d have to stick right to his job to find out what was going on.”

“Unless he got somebody to tell him, or perhaps write the report. Jake, you know, is smart.”

“You’re fond of your brother, but I sometimes think you’re a bit hard on him. I admit I was badly riled when they turned him down from Yale, but it was a harmless fool-trick he played, and when he owned up squarely I had to let it go.”

“That’s Jake’s way. You can’t be angry with him. Still, perhaps, it’s a dangerous gift. It might be better for him if he got hurt now and then.”

Fuller, who did not answer, watched her, as she pondered. Her mother had died long ago, and Fuller, who was largely occupied by his business, knew that Jake might have got into worse trouble but for the care Ida had exercised. He admitted that his daughter, rather than himself, had brought up the lad, and her influence had been wholly for good. By and by she glanced at Santa Brigida.

“It’s the casino and other attractions down there I’m afraid of. If you had some older man you could trust to look after Jake, one would feel more satisfied.”

“Well,” said Fuller with a twinkle, “there’s nobody I know who could fill the bill, and I’m not sure the older men are much steadier than the rest.”

He stopped as a puff of smoke rose at the lower end of the ravine and moved up the hill. Then a flash of twinkling metal broke out among the rocks, and Ida saw that a small locomotive was climbing the steep track.

“She’s bringing up concrete blocks for the dam,” Fuller resumed. “We use them large in the lower courses, and I had the bogie car they’re loaded on specially built for the job; but I’m afraid we’ll have to put down some pieces of the line again. The grade’s pretty stiff and the curves are sharp.”

Ida was not bored by these details. She liked her father to talk to her about his business, and her interest was quickly roused. Fuller, who was proud of her keen intelligence, told her much, and she knew the importance of the irrigation scheme he had embarked upon. Land in the arid belt could be obtained on favorable terms and, Fuller thought, be made as productive as that watered by the natural rainfall. It was, however, mainly because he had talked about finding her scapegrace brother employment on the work that Ida had made him take her South.

As she glanced at the track she noted that room for it had been dug out of the hillside, which was seamed by gullies that the rails twisted round. The loose soil, consisting largely of volcanic cinders, appeared to offer a very unsafe support. It had slipped away here and there, leaving gaps between the ties, which were unevenly laid and at the sharper bends overhung the steep slope below. In the meantime, the small locomotive came nearer, panting loudly and throwing up showers of sparks, and Ida remarked how the rails bent and then sprang up again as the truck, which carried two ponderous blocks of stone, rolled over them. The engine rocked, sparks flashed among the wheels as their flanges bit the curves, and she wondered what the driver felt or if he had got used to his rather dangerous work.

As a matter of fact, Dick Brandon, who drove the engine, felt some nervous strain. He had applied for the post at Kemp’s suggestion, after the latter had given him a few lessons in locomotive work, and had since been sorry that he had obtained it. Still he had now a room to himself at the shed where the engine was kept, and a half-breed fireman to help him with the heavier part of his task. He preferred this to living in a hot bunk-house and carrying bags of cement in the grinding mill, though he knew there was a certain risk of his plunging down the ravine with his engine.

The boiler primed when he started and was not steaming well. The pistons banged alarmingly as they compressed the water that spurted from the drain-cocks, and his progress was marked by violent jerks that jarred the couplings of the bogie truck. Though Dick only wore a greasy shirt and overall trousers, he felt the oppressive heat, and his eyes ached with the glare as he gazed up the climbing track. The dust that rolled about the engine dimmed the glasses, the footplate rattled, and it looked as if his fireman was performing a clumsy dance.

By and by he rather doubtfully opened the throttle to its widest. If the boiler primed again, he might knock out the cylinder-heads, but there was a steep pitch in front that was difficult to climb. The short locomotive rocked and hammered, the wheels skidded and gripped again, and Dick took his hand from the lever to dash the sweat from his eyes.

They were going up, and he would be past the worst if he could get his load round the curve ahead. They were half way round when there was a clang behind him and the engine seemed to leap forward. Glancing over his shoulder as he shut off steam, Dick saw the fireman gazing back, and a wide gap between the concrete blocks and his load of coal. The couplings had snapped as they strained round the bend and the truck would run down the incline until it smashed through the sheds that held the grinding and mixing plant at the bottom. He saw that prompt action was needed, and reversing the machinery, gave the fireman an order in uncouth Castilian.

The fellow looked at him stupidly, as if his nerve had failed, or he thought the order too risky to obey. There was only one thing to be done, and since it must be done at once, Dick must undertake it himself. The engine was now running down the line after the truck, which had not gathered much speed yet, and he climbed across the coal and dropped upon the rear buffer-frame. Balancing himself upon it, he waited until the gap between him and the truck got narrower, and then put his hand on top of the concrete and swung himself across. He got his foot upon the side of the car and made his way along, holding the top of the block, while the dust rolled about him and he thought he would be jolted off. Indeed, there was only an inch-wide ledge of smooth iron to support his foot, which slipped once or twice; but he reached the brake-gear and screwed it down. Then, crawling back, he hooked on the spare coupling and returned, breathless and shaky, to his engine. A minute or two later he brought it to a stop and had got down upon the line when somebody called him.

Looking round, he saw Fuller standing near, and knew him as the man who had given him the dollar in the American town. He had heard that his employer had come out to see what progress was being made, but had not yet encountered him. He did not notice Ida, who was sitting in the shadow of the rock.

“You were smart,” said Fuller. “There’d have been an ugly smash if the blocks had got away down the grade. But why didn’t you stick to the throttle and send your fireman?”

“I don’t think he understood what he ought to do, and there was no time to explain.”

Fuller nodded. “So you did it yourself! But why didn’t you push the car? You could have held her up better then.”

“I couldn’t get behind it. The loop-track down at the switches has caved in.”

“I see. But it’s a stiff grade and you didn’t seem to be hustling your engine much.”

“The boiler was priming and I was afraid of the cylinders.”

“Just so. You pumped up the water pretty high?”

“No; it was at the usual working level,” said Dick, who paused and resumed thoughtfully: “I can’t account for the thing. Why does a boiler prime?”

There are one or two obvious reasons for a boiler’s priming; that is to say, throwing water as well as steam into the engine, but this sometimes happens when no cause can be assigned, and Fuller saw that Dick did not expect an answer to his question. It was rather an exclamation, prompted by his failure to solve a fascinating problem, and as such indicated that his interest in his task was not confined to the earning of a living. Fuller recognized the mind of the engineer.

“Well,” he replied, “there’s a good deal we don’t know yet about the action of fluids under pressure. But do you find the grade awkward when she’s steaming properly?”

“I can get up. Still, I think it will soon cost you as much in extra fuel as it would to relay this bit of line. Two hundred cubic yards cut out at the bend would make things much easier.”

“Two hundred yards?” said Fuller, studying the spot.

“Two hundred and fifty at the outside,” Dick answered confidently, and then felt embarrassed as he saw Miss Fuller for the first time. His clothes were few and dirty and he was awkwardly conscious that his hands and face were black. But his employer claimed his attention.

“What would you reckon the weight of the stuff?”

Dick told him after a short silence, and Fuller asked: “Two-thousand-pound tons?”

“Yes; I turned it into American weight.”

“Well,” said Fuller, “you must get on with your job now, but come up to my tent after supper.”

Dick started his locomotive, and when it panted away up the incline Fuller looked at his daughter with a smile.

“What do you think of that young man?”

“He has a nice face. Of course he’s not the type one would expect to find driving a locomotive.”

“Pshaw!” said Fuller. “I’m not talking about his looks.”

“Nor am I, in the way you mean,” Ida rejoined. “I thought he looked honest, though perhaps reliable is nearest what I felt. Then he was very professional.”

Fuller nodded. “That’s what I like. The man who puts his job before what he gets for it naturally makes the best work. What do you think of his manner?”

“It was good; confident, but not assertive, with just the right note of deference,” Ida answered, and then laughed. “It rather broke down after he saw me.”

“That’s not surprising, anyhow. I expect he’s used to wearing different clothes and more of them when he meets stylish young women. It doesn’t follow that the young fellow isn’t human because he’s professional. However, I want to see what the boys are doing farther on.”