“Gentlemen, the five miles of track torn up and rebuilt had precisely the same grade, to an inch!” he declared, with ringing scorn.

Baxter corroborated his statement.  The commissioners roared and the directors demanded explanations.

“I’ll explain it,” shouted Neale.  “Forty-six thousand dollars a mile!  Five miles—­two hundred and thirty thousand dollars!  Spent twice!  Taken twice by the same construction company!”

Warburton, a tall, white-haired man in a frock-coat, got up and pounded the table with his fist.  “Who is this young engineer?” he thundered.  “He has the nerve to back his work instead of sneaking to get a bribe.  And he tells the truth.  We’re building twice—­spending twice when once is enough!”

An uproar ensued.  Neale had cast a bomb into the council.  Every man there and all the thousands in camp knew that railroad ties cost several dollars each; that wages were abnormally high, often demanded in advance, and often paid twice; that parallel with the great spirit of the work ran a greedy and cunning graft.  It seemed to be inevitable, considering the nature and proportions of the enterprise.  An absurd law sent out the commissioners, the politicians appointed them, and both had fat pickings.  The directors likewise played both ends against the middle; they received the money from the stock sales and loans; they paid it out to the construction companies; and as they employed and owned these companies the money returned to their own pockets.  But more than one director was fired by the spirit of the project—­the good to be done—­the splendid achievement—­the trade to come from across the Pacific.  The building of the road meant more to some of them than a mere fortune.

Warburton was the lion of this group, and he roared down the dissension.  Then with a whirl he grasped Neale round the shoulders and shoved him face to face with the others.

“Here’s the kind of man we want on this job!” he shouted, with red face and bulging jaw.  “His name’s Neale.  I’ve heard of some of his surveys.  You’ve all seen him face this council.  That only, gentlemen, is the spirit which can build the U. P. R. Let’s push him up.  Let’s send him to Washington with those figures.  Let’s break this damned idiotic law for appointing commissioners to undo the work of efficient men.”

Opportunity was again knocking at Neale’s door.

Allison Lee arose in the flurry, and his calm, cold presence, the steel of his hard gray eyes, and the motion of his hand entitled him to a voice.

“Mr. Warburton—­and gentlemen,” he said, “I remember this young engineer Neale.  When I got here to-day I inquired about him, remembering that he had taken severe exception to the judgment of the commissioners about that five miles of road-bed.  I learned he is a strange, excitable young fellow, who leaves his work for long wild trips and who is a drunkard and a gambler.  It seems to me somewhat absurd seriously to consider the false report with which he has excited this council.”