Jerry, on account of his experience, had at once been assigned to active outside work as the aid of one of the many junior assistant engineers. At night he would tell Bob of the day’s work and with him that his lot was not as exciting. But at lunch hour and after work was over for the day, Bob found a chance to investigate the outside work. It was fascinating. Along one side of the valley the river had been forced by means of a temporary dam into an artificial channel, called the spillway, so that the river bottom where the dam was to be built should be clear of water. From the river bed rose the rough foundations of the permanent dam.
It was like a giant staircase on the side which would not come against the water. It was about half finished when Bob first got there, but each day it rose higher and higher. Bob examined it all. Each operation he came to fascinated him, and by using his eyes he soon grew to understand much of the method by which results were achieved.
It was weeks before there came a break in the monotony of his work. He had forced himself to be cheerful about his stupid job and not to show by the least sign that he was not content with the work he had been set to do. Mr. Taylor, who since the of the Chief, had taken charge of the office work, to Mr. Whitney. “That boy, Hazard, is a good lad,” he said. “Although the beggar won’t own up, I think he is eating his heart out at the draughting board. I can get along without him, so give him a chance outside if you can.”
“A little office work won’t do him any harm,” commented Mr. Whitney. “I asked you to put him to work there on purpose. I don’t want him to get too an idea of the romance of engineering. But I’ll remember what you said and if something turns up I’ll see what I can do.”
The time was to come sooner than either Taylor or Whitney expected. The Chief Engineer had been so busy familiarizing himself with all the details of the outside work that he had spent little time in the office and so had not often seen Bob. Not an activity, from the operation of the railway branch to the pouring of a new of concrete on the dam itself, had escaped his . He wanted to know all the foremen of the different gangs, to size them up, and to gain their personal . The long experience he had had in bossing men, taught him that being human and approachable did not discipline. Besides, in times of emergency, the men could be more counted on.
From the men with whom he came into contact, Bob Hazard realized that his boss was rapidly becoming very popular. Every one was singing his praises and the general feeling was that the work was going ahead at a pace never equalled under the preceding engineers. All this was pleasing to the boy who had idolized the man, and helped him to be content with the work at which he had been placed.
It was not of course the sort of life he had pictured. That had been rather a vague idea of khaki-clad figures, perched with their instruments on peaks and over yawning ; and a general idea of romance had run through his dreams. To be put into an office to do sums was little better than going to school. That his drawing board faced a window below which the job spread out, was a help, for while his mind mechanically did the figuring that was necessary, he could imagine himself out on the work with the crowd.
One part of the activity drew him especially. This was the cableway system. Between the towers set up on the high ground on each side of the river, the of wire rope were suspended. Along them ran great pulleys from which the buckets hung. The buckets would flash across Bob’s vision endlessly, carrying loads of mixed concrete, of sand, of anything that was needed.
Their flight was swift, something like a bird’s. From one tower the bucket would speed, only to stop silently and, almost before its crossways movement had ended, it would drop to the surface of the work. An instant to unload the bucket and in a flash it was up and like the wind back to its starting point.
There was something so fascinating, so in this operation, that Bob had difficulty in tearing his eyes away and concentrating on his work.
One morning, however, something new occurred to distract his attention. Happening to glance out of the window, he saw Jerry coming up the path to the office, running with all the speed of which he was capable.
The door of the draughting room was open into the hall where the telephone central was seated. Her job was trying to keep in touch with all the different division chiefs so that they might be found if any emergency should occur. Therefore Bob knew that he would hear what was the cause of this especial emergency that had galvanized Jerry into such a tremendous haste.
“The Chief!” he heard Jerry pant as the footsteps ended in the hall. “Where is he?”
“Mixer last!” snapped the girl, plugging in and ringing her call at the same time. “I’ll see if he’s still there!”
“Meantime, where’s Mr. Taylor? He’d help—”
“Can’t get him—gone to Las Cruces. Yes, hello, Mixer? The Chief? Gone? Yes, yes! Where? North end spillway! Right! ’Bye.” She pulled out the plug and said to Jerry, “Started for spillway ten minutes ago. No phone there yet. Take fifteen minutes get messenger there—can you wait?”
“No,” said Jerry. “Mr. Rutherford, my chief, wants him. Wall of spillway this side of the river giving way—will flood all the . We’re shoring it, but Mr. Rutherford wants the Chief and in a hurry. I’m off but I’m afraid I’ll get him too late! If he calls up send him to Mr. Rutherford at once!” With this Jerry shot out of the office and down the hill, evidently planning to make his legs take him to the Chief.
Inside, Bob had been listening with wide open ears and his mind pictured the scene Jerry had left to find Mr. Whitney and filled out the holes the winded boy had left in his description. He knew the auxiliary spillway and the harm it could do if it should fail to carry its burden. It was a temporary affair of wood to be used only until a system of drains could be built to take care of the excess water that collected below the coffer dam. His mind’s eye saw Rutherford and Jerry at the dangerous place: Rutherford, young and inexperienced, doing what he could to disaster, but , probably badly so. He wanted Mr. Whitney or somebody with practical knowledge and he had sent Jerry off to bring help. All Bob could do was to hope that the wall would hold.
Reluctantly he started to take up his work but on the way to the board, his eyes glanced through the window and rested on a grab bucket that was speeding through the air. For a second the sight meant nothing special to him, then suddenly it brought him to his feet. Without a word to the other draughtsmen he dashed out of the room, not waiting to snatch his cap.
A plan had come to him in a flash. Whitney was needed and needed in a hurry. He was on the other side of the river valley at the head of the spillway. The opposite cableway tower over there was near this spot—if the buckets could go over, couldn’t he? He’d try anyway!
With all the speed he could he ran towards the cable tower, thanking his stars that the control station was on this side of the river, and that he knew one of the lever men. It was this fellow’s job to dispatch the buckets and and lower them.
“Trouble below, Billy!” Bob as he came to the shed that protected the operator from the rays of the sun. “Need the Big Boss. He’s over at the spillway. Shoot me over?”
“’Gainst rules, son,” was the man’s answer, pulling a lever which made a great bucket shoot up from the depths.
“But this—this is serious,” cried the boy. “Rules don’t count! They’ve got to have him!”
“Sorry,” was the short response, “but orders are orders. Nothing doing.”
Bob continued to waste a few precious seconds in a vain endeavor to move his friend Billy, but kept his eye on the returning bucket. It came almost to Billy’s shed and then, in response to a sharp jerk on a lever, it dropped into the mixing shed of the concrete plant.
A way of overcoming this obstacle came to Bob. Without wasting any more time talking he rushed down to the concrete shed to get there just as the loading gang had finished changing the great hook of the cableway from the empty bucket to a full one. The foreman had his hand raised to signal Billy to hoist away when Bob in and jumped onto the bucket.
The foreman was so surprised that involuntarily his hand made the signal and a second later Bob was climbing through space, faster than a rocket!
The wind whistled in his ears and he was choked by the rapid , yet the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. It was like riding in the fastest elevator he’d ever been in—at triple the speed.
Not until the bucket had reached the height of the cableway was he able to take any interest in looking about him. The second or so that had elapsed since he had taken passage on the concrete conveyor had been occupied in putting himself in a position where he could hold on and not be in danger of being tipped over the side. Worming himself around he found he could seat himself comfortably in the hook that held the bucket and clasp his arms around the great iron ball that hung just under the many sheaved pulley.
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CHAPTER VII THE PROJECT
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CHAPTER IX THE DAM
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