"She's bringing up concrete blocks for the dam," Fuller resumed. "We use
them large in the lower courses, and I had the bogie car they're loaded
on specially built for the job; but I'm afraid we'll have to put down
some pieces of the line again. The grade's pretty stiff and the curves
are sharp."
Ida was not bored by these details. She liked her father to talk to her
about his business, and her interest was quickly roused. Fuller, who was
proud of her keen intelligence, told her much, and she knew the
importance of the irrigation scheme he had embarked upon. Land in the
arid belt could be obtained on favorable terms and, Fuller thought, be
made as productive as that watered by the natural rainfall. It was,
however, mainly because he had talked about finding her scapegrace
brother employment on the work that Ida had made him take her South.
As she glanced at the track she noted that room for it had been dug out
of the hillside, which was seamed by gullies that the rails twisted
round. The loose soil, consisting largely of volcanic cinders, appeared
to offer a very unsafe support. It had slipped away here and there,
leaving gaps between the ties, which were unevenly laid and at the
sharper bends overhung the steep slope below. In the meantime, the small
locomotive came nearer, panting loudly and throwing up showers of sparks,
and Ida remarked how the rails bent and then sprang up again as the
truck, which carried two ponderous blocks of stone, rolled over them. The
engine rocked, sparks flashed among the wheels as their flanges bit the
curves, and she wondered what the driver felt or if he had got used to
his rather dangerous work.
As a matter of fact, Dick Brandon, who drove the engine, felt some
nervous strain. He had applied for the post at Kemp's suggestion, after
the latter had given him a few lessons in locomotive work, and had since
been sorry that he had obtained it. Still he had now a room to himself at
the shed where the engine was kept, and a half-breed fireman to help him
with the heavier part of his task. He preferred this to living in a hot
bunk-house and carrying bags of cement in the grinding mill, though he
knew there was a certain risk of his plunging down the ravine with his
engine.
The boiler primed when he started and was not steaming well. The pistons
banged alarmingly as they compressed the water that spurted from the
drain-cocks, and his progress was marked by violent jerks that jarred the
couplings of the bogie truck. Though Dick only wore a greasy shirt and
overall trousers, he felt the oppressive heat, and his eyes ached with
the glare as he gazed up the climbing track. The dust that rolled about
the engine dimmed the glasses, the footplate rattled, and it looked as if
his fireman was performing a clumsy dance.