He hurried away, pausing at the office long enough to find the man sent by the electric light company, and to set him at work.  The arc lamps had been placed, for the most part, where they would best illuminate the annex and the cupola of the elevator, and there was none too much light on the tracks, where the men were stumbling along, hindered rather than helped by the bright light before them.  On the wharf it was less dark, for the lights of the steamer were aided by two on the spouting house.  Before seven o’clock Bannon had succeeded in getting two more lights up on poles, one on each side of the track.

It was just at seven that the timbers suddenly stopped coming in.  Bannon looked around impatiently.  The six men that had brought in the last stick were disappearing around the corner of the great, shadowy structure that shut off Bannon’s view of the wharf.  He waited for a moment, but no more gangs appeared, and then he ran around the elevator over the path the men had already trampled.  Within the circle of light between him and the C. & S. C. tracks stood scattered groups of the laborers, and others wandered about with their hooks over their shoulders.  There was a larger, less distinct crowd out on the tracks.  Bannon ran through an opening in the fence, and pushed into the largest group.  Here Peterson and Vogel were talking to a stupid-looking man with a sandy mustache.

“What does this mean, Pete?” he said shortly.  “We can’t be held up this way.  Get your men back on the work.”

“No, he won’t,” said the third man.  “You can’t go on with this work.”

Bannon sharply looked the man over.  There was in his manner a dogged authority.

“Who are you?” Bannon asked.  “Who do you represent?”

“I represent the C. & S. C. railroad, and I tell you this work stops right here.”

“Why?”

The man waved his arm toward the fence.

“You can’t do that sort of business.”

“What sort?”

“You look at that fence and then talk to me about what sort.”

“What’s the matter with the fence?”

“What’s the matter with it!  There ain’t more’n a rod of it left, that’s what.”

Bannon’s scowl relaxed.

“Oh,” he said, “I see.  You’re the section boss, ain’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all right then.  Come over here and I’ll show you how we’ve got things fixed.”

He walked across the track, followed by the section boss and Pete, and pointed out the displaced sections of the fence, each of which had been carefully placed at one side.

“We’ll have it all up all right before morning,” he said.

The man was running his fingers up under his cap.

“I don’t know anything about that,” he replied sullenly.  “I’ve got my orders.  We didn’t make any kick when you opened up in one place, but we can’t stand for all this.”

He was not speaking firmly, and Bannon, watching him closely, jumped at the conclusion that his orders were not very definite.  Probably his superintendent had instructed him to keep a close eye on the work, and perhaps to grant no privileges.  Bannon wished he knew more about the understanding between the railroad and MacBride & Company.  He felt sure, however, that an understanding did exist or he would not have been told to go ahead.