Here General Lodge bent a stern and piercing gaze upon his former lieutenant.

“Neale, you failed me when you quit your job,” he said.  “You were my right-hand man.  You quit me in my hour of need.”

“General, I—­I was furious at that rotten commissioner deal,” replied Neale, choking.  What he had done now seemed an offense to his chief.  “My work was ordered done over!”

“Neale, that was nothing to what I’ve endured.  You should have grit your teeth—­and gone on.  That five miles of reconstruction was nothing—­nothing.”

In his chief’s inflexible voice, in the worn, shadowed face, Neale saw the great burden, and somehow he was reminded of Lincoln, and a passion of remorse seized him.  Why had he not been faithful to this steadfast man who had needed him!

“It seemed—­so much to me,” faltered Neale.

“Why did you not look at that as you have looked at so many physical difficulties—­the running of a survey, for instance?”

“I—­I guess I have a yellow streak.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” went on the chief.  Evidently he had been disappointed in Neale.

“I might have come—­only Larry, my friend—­he got into it, and I was afraid he’d kill somebody,” replied Neale.

“That cowboy—­he was a great fellow, but gone wrong.  He shot one of the bosses—­Smith.”

“Yes, I know.  Did—­did Smith die?”

“No, but he’ll never be any more good for the U. P. R., that’s certain....  Where is your friend now?”

“I left him in Benton.”

“Benton!” exclaimed the chief, bitterly.  “I am responsible for Benton.  This great work of my life is a hell on wheels, moving on and on....  Your cowboy friend has no doubt found his place—­and his match—­in Benton.”

“Larry has broken loose from me—­from any last restraint.”

“Neale, what have you been doing?”

And at that Neale dropped his head.

“Idling in the camps—­drifting from one place to the next—­drinking, gambling, eh?”

“I’m ashamed to say, sir, that of late I have been doing just those things,” replied Neale, and he raised his gaze to his chief’s.

“But you haven’t been associating with those camp women!” exclaimed General Lodge, with his piercing eyes dark on Neale.

“No!” cried Neale.  The speech had hurt him.

“I’m glad to hear that—­gladder than you can guess.  I was afraid—­ But no matter....  What you did do is bad enough.  You ought to be ashamed.  A young man with your intelligence, your nerve, your gifts!  I have not had a single man whose chances compared with yours.  If you had stuck you’d be at the head of my engineer corps right now.  Baxter is played out.  Boone is ill.  Henney had to take charge of the shops in Omaha....  And you, with fortune and fame awaiting you, throw up your job to become a bum... to drink and gamble away your life in these rotten camps!”