“No—­no,” replied Neale, almost violently.  He could not bear the thought of parting with Allie, now just when he had found her.  Then the chief’s suggestion had reminded Neale of the possibility of Allie’s father materializing.  And the idea was attended by a vague dread.

“I appreciate how you feel.  Don’t worry about it, Neale.”

“What’s this snag the engineers are up against?” queried Neale, abruptly changing the subject.

“We’re stuck.  It’s an engineering problem that I hope—­and expect you to solve.”

“Who ran this survey in the first place?”

“It’s Baxter’s work—­with the men he had under him then,” replied the chief.  “Somebody blundered.  His later surveys make over one hundred feet grade to the mile.  That won’t do.  We’ve got to get down to ninety feet.  Baxter’s stuck.  The new surveyor is floundering.  Oh, it’s bad business.  Neale...  I don’t sleep of nights.”

“No wonder,” returned Neale, and he felt suddenly the fiery grip of his old state of mind toward all the engineering obstacles.  “I’m going out to look over the ground.”

“I’ll send Baxter and some of the men with you.”

“No, thanks,” replied Neale.  “I’d rather—­take up my job all alone out there.”

The chief’s acquiescence was silent and eloquent.

Neale strode outdoors.  The color of things, the feel of wind, the sounds of men and horses all about him, had remarkably changed, just as he himself had incalculably changed; General Lodge had said—­ transfigured!

He walked down to the construction line and went among the idle men and the strings of cars, the piles of rails and the piles of ties.  He seemed to absorb in them again.  Then he walked down the loose, unspiked ties to where they ended, and so on along the graded road-bed to the point where his quick eyes recognized the trouble.  They swiftly took in what had been done and what had been attempted.  How much needless work begun and completed in the building of the railroad!  He clambered around in the sand, up and down the ravine, over the rocks, along the stream for half a mile, and it was laborious work.  But how good to pant and sweat once more!  He retraced his steps.  Then he climbed the long slope of the hill.  The wind up there blew him a welcome, and the sting and taste of dust were sweet.  His steps was swift.  And then again he loitered, with keen, roving glance studying the lay of the ground.  Neale’s was the deductive method of arriving at conclusions.  Today he was inspired.  And at length there blazed suddenly his solution to the problem.

Then he gazed over the rolling hills with contemplative and dreamy vision.  They were beautiful, strong, changeless—­and he divined now how they might have helped him if he had only looked with seeing eyes.

Late that afternoon, tired and dusty, he tramped into the big office room.  General Lodge was pacing the floor, chewing at his cigar; Baxter sat over blueprint papers, and his face was weary; Colonel Dillon, Campbell, and several other young men were there.