“Young man, can you put permanent piers in that sink-hole?”

“Yes.  They are started, on bed-rock,” replied Neale.

“Bed-rock!” he repeated, and remained gazing at Neale fixedly.  Then he turned to Lodge.  “Do you remember that wild red-head cowboy—­ Neale’s friend—­when he said, ‘I reckon thet’s aboot all?’ ...  I’ll never forget him ...  Lodge, say we have Lee and his friend Senator Dunn come in, and get it over.  An’ thet’ll be aboot all!”

“Thank Heaven!” replied the chief, fervently.  He called to his porter, but as no one replied, General Lodge rose and went into the next car.

Neale had experienced a disturbing sensation in his breast.  Lee!  Allison Lee!  The mere name made him shake.  He could not understand, but he felt there was more reason for its effect on him than his relation to Allison Lee as a contractor.  Somewhere there was a man named Lee who was Allie’s father, and Neale knew he would meet him some day.

Then when the chief walked back into the car with several frock-coated individuals, Neale did recognize in the pale face of one a resemblance to the girl he loved.

There were no greetings.  This situation had no formalities.  Warburton faced them and he seemed neither cold nor hot.

“Mr. Lee, as a director of the road I have to inform you that, following the reports of our engineer here, your present contracts are void and you will not get any more.”

A white radiance of rage swiftly transformed Allison Lee.  His eyes seemed to blaze purple out of his white face.

And Neale knew him to be Allie’s father—­saw the beauty and fire of her eyes in his.

“Warburton!  You’ll reconsider.  I have great influence—­”

“To hell with your influence!” retorted Warburton, the lion in him rising.  “The builders—­the directors—­the owners of the U. P. R. are right here in this car.  Do you understand that?  Do you demand that I call a spade a spade?”

“I have been appointed by Congress.  I will—­”

“Congress or no Congress, you will never rebuild a foot of this railroad,” thundered Warburton.  He stood there glaring, final, assured.  “For the sake of your—­your government connections, let us say—­let well enough alone.”

“This upstart boy of an engineer!” burst out Lee, in furious resentment.  “Who is he?  How dare he accuse or report against me?”

“Mr. Lee, your name has never been mentioned by him,” replied the director.

Lee struggled for self-control.  “But, Warburton, it’s preposterous!” he protested.  “This wild boy—­the associate of desperadoes—­his report, whatever it is—­absurd!  Absurd as opposed to my position!  A cub surveyor—­slick with tongue and figures—­to be thrown in my face!  It’s outrageous!  I’ll have him—­”

Warburton held up a hand and impelled Lee to silence.  In that gesture Neale read what stirred him to his soul.  It was coming.  He saw it again in General Lodge’s fleeting, rare smile.  He held his breath.  The old pang throbbed in his breast.