Chapter XXII: Working Up

The autumn went by as a dream. Winter, warm and mild in that far southern clime, was at hand before Meade realized it. An ordinary engineer of half the ability of Bertram Meade so suddenly reduced to the ranks would have chafed against the position of subordination and would have resented the humble duties with which he was charged. But Meade was happy to be following, even in this extremely modest way, the profession that he loved. And he did his unimportant work with zeal and care. It is not much to say, but he was the most efficient of the junior engineering force on the dam. That compensated for another not quite so admirable fact. He did not mingle with the men. They thought him reserved and unfriendly and but for his unfailing courtesy to everybody and his obvious expertness he would perhaps have become unpopular. Of course, many of the men were far beneath him socially and intellectually, but there was a spirit of democracy among the workers on the dam. Except for the foreigners and others of the manual laborers, rank and station were more or less laid aside after hours. Even Vandeventer himself put on no airs.

It was not because Meade was unsocial that he kept to himself, not at all. From his own galvanized iron quarters, he used to stare longingly at the men grouped around the big camp fires, for the nights were growing chill, smoking and laughing, exchanging experiences and telling stories. Nothing would have pleased him better than to have joined in and he could have told stories and related experiences that would have been unique even in that gay crowd of young adventurers. But he did not dare. He feared to betray himself. What he wanted above everything was to preserve his incognito. It would be fatal to his chances of ever working up to anything worth while if they found out who he was.

And he had a tremendous pride to sustain him. They respected him now. As a matter of fact they put his withdrawal of himself down to vagaries of temperament or causes they could not imagine and they grew rather to like him even as they left him alone. And a few of the men of the humbler sort to whom he had been kind on occasion and helpful, were stoutly devoted to him. Little indications gave him the feeling that Vandeventer had his eye on him and that if it were possible he would get a chance. He was not moody or morose. He was just afraid, afraid he would be found out, questioned, pitied. So when the others gathered together in jolly fellowship after working hours Meade, perforce, wandered away alone.

The idleness of an aimless life did not appeal to him even in his off-duty periods. Doing nothing had no attraction. He could not get relief that way. Even rambling alone about the hills would not serve. So quick and active a man, so vigorous and buoyant a spirit, so strong a body and mind were not calculated for aimless wandering.

Meade was a very accomplished engineer indeed. There was no branch of the art about which he did not know a little, although hydraulics and structural steel were the things that most appealed to him. He got relief in the duality of his affections for these branches of his profession. Neither one of them ever palled on him because he did not work monotonously at either of them. He had a natural instinct for topography, and instead of purposelessly strolling about the country, he made a careful inspection of the valley which was to be converted into a huge reservoir by the dam.

The dam itself was, perhaps, an eighth of a mile long at the bottom and, as it touched the receding hill on one side and the spur of Spanish Mesa on the other at the top, it there exceeded that basic extent considerably, perhaps twice. It was a huge mound of earth with a clay core extending from side to side at the narrowest part of the valley, near the south end of Spanish Mesa and a few miles above Baldwin's Knob, the highest but by no means the most picturesque hill or mesa in the valley of the Picket Wire. When completed the dam would be one hundred and twenty-five feet high above the old river bed with a roadway twenty feet broad on the top of it.

The engineers had fortunately found a long flat space of ground, like a meadow, just at the narrows and the huge mound of earth they had built upon it fell away in a long slope toward the lower valley. Below the dam and on the low ground between the mesa and Baldwin's Knob the camp, with its galvanized iron shops, bunk houses, dining halls, kitchens, and officers' quarters, had been erected. The configuration of the ground was such that, although it was unusual to put them there, convenience had rendered it desirable in this case.

The hills were covered with splendid pines, except where they had been cut to pieces by the diggers and teamsters to furnish the clay for the work. It was intended to complete the dam before the early spring of next year, which was, if any time in the country could be so characterized, the rainy season. Of course, just as soon as the dam had begun to rise, the flow of the Picket Wire below it had been stopped, except when an occasional freshet had been allowed to pass the under-sluice. It was known that the run-off of the river in the rainy season of some years was so small as scarcely to fill the reservoir, and it had been decided to store all the flow of the autumn and winter so that even if the spring rainy season were deficient the beginning of the next summer would find the reservoir full and the new irrigation system could commence operations successfully.

Vandeventer, like the lost Abbott of the International, was also a driver, who spared neither his men nor himself. The work had proceeded with astonishing rapidity, although this was partially accounted for by the fact that the spill-way, which should have occupied their attention, had as yet been only partially excavated. Now, to those ignorant of engineering, an earth dam may seem a temporary expedient, although most of the great irrigation dams of the world are of that character; and everybody knows that if the water should rise high enough to overflow an earth dam it would not last longer than it takes to describe its utter giving way. A flood would sweep it out of the way at once.

The device whereby possible floods are controlled and such dangers averted, consists of a broad channel at one side of the dam, and at such a distance below its crest that if, through any mischance or natural happening, such as the failure of the sluice gates, excessive rains, cloud bursts, or floods, the height of the water is increased until it promises to overflow the dam, this opening will carry off the surplus harmlessly. This channel, usually concreted, is called a spill-way. It is almost always completely open, rarely being provided with gates, and it works automatically. Just as soon as the water rises high enough to be menacing, it flows through the spill-way and is discharged into the valley below the dam until the water level in the reservoir is lowered and the danger of overflowing is ended. The discharged water can do no harm, as there is never more than the river, without the dam, would have sent down anyway. An earth dam without a spill-way would presage almost certain destruction to all who lived in the valley below it.

In the case of the Picket Wire dam, the spill-way had to be cut and, in part, blasted out of the mountain side--that is through the spur of the mesa, which reached down from its high wall towards the narrows. There had been a series of blunders and mishaps, which included the explosion of a shipment of dynamite on the railroad, with very disastrous consequences to accompanying rock-crushers and mixers, and other machinery. The spill-way had not been completed. Its opening should have been about twelve feet below the level of the dam. Vandeventer was not responsible of course. The chief engineer had fumed and protested, but had been directed by headquarters to go ahead with the other work and tackle the spill-way later. There was, indeed, little reason to hold up the building of that particular dam because of the non-completion of the spill-way.

That was a country, so the most devoted inhabitants freely admitted, in which it was always safe to bet that it would not rain, no matter how threatening might be the appearance of the sky; for in ninety-nine times out of a hundred the negative would win the bet. Said inhabitants did not say the hundredth time might compensate for all the other failures. The weather was like the little girl with the proverbial curl--when it did rain there was no doubt in anybody's mind as to the fact. Sometimes the fountains of the great deep, which in Holy Scripture at least extended overhead, would be broken open and the violence of the fall and the quantity of it, and suddenness of it, would be such that the Westerners would graphically call it a "cloudburst," which, indeed, it seemed to be.

Outside the rainy season cloudbursts were unheard of, and even in that season, extremely rare. For the valley of the Picket Wire and in the plain beneath, carefully tabulated reports of the rainfall for years had been considered by the engineers. They had chosen the right season for the building of the dam, but when its crest began to rise above the designed level of the spill-way the delay in opening the channel gave cause for some alarm. It is not the probable or certain that is feared. An old version that, of _omne ignotum pro magnifico_--it is only the unknown of which men are afraid, or only the unknown is to be feared! Still there was nothing Vandeventer could do but obey orders and go ahead. The danger after all was trifling. Another consequence of the waiting was that in his inability to work on the spill-way, he had more hands to devote to the dam and it rose the quicker.

The shape of the country behind it was such that when the Picket Wire flowed with sufficient volume to fill it, a long lake going back through the valley, or cañon, and twisting among the hills for some miles would result. In other words the dam would make a beautiful artificial sheet of water bordered on one side by a high range of hills, on the other by the dam, and on the third by the hills and the low hog-back above Spanish Mesa, which separated the Picket Wire valley from the Kicking Horse gorge up which the railroad ran.

Buried in his own thoughts, communing with himself, considering ceaselessly his position, dreaming of the woman he loved, planning a new career, Meade yet explored every foot of the valley and ravine. He climbed to the top of Spanish Mesa and from its height the whole country clear up the valley to the main range was visible to him. He could look down into the deep ravine of the Kicking Horse, and note the marvelous beauty and airiness of the arch bridge for all it so solidly carried the heavy freight trains of the railway.

He could see far up and around the crooked course of the Picket Wire. The big grass-covered, but otherwise bare and treeless hog-back, that ran from the upper end of the stone island of the mesa was equally visible to him. As it was the low side of the new reservoir he descended to it and studied it carefully. On another occasion, having said nothing to anyone about his excursion, he took advantage of a half-holiday to go out and inspect the hog-back and ascertain its elevation with relation to the dam. Of course the engineers who planned the great irrigation works had done that, but he wanted to do it for himself. At one place, where the distance between what might be called the edge of the valley and the head of the ravine was narrowest--indeed, he estimated after pacing it that it measured not over twenty feet across--he discovered that the rounded earth crest was slightly lower than the intended level of the top of the dam.

When he returned to the office, he found on examining the construction drawings that an earth dike was planned to run along the hog-back so that the top level should be higher than that of the dam. This dike would be only a hundred and fifty feet long and a few feet high, and could be built in a few days' time. Work on the main dam being more important, nothing had as yet been done on the dike.

Meade had been promoted toward the end of the fall and in a rather unusual way. One of the transit men, a young engineer, got a better job and left his instrument. Vandeventer called Meade before him.

"Roberts," he said, "there's a vacancy for a transit man. You've done such good work so far and shown such familiarity with field work, that I'd give it to you if I had any idea that you know anything about handling instruments."

"I think I may be trusted with one, sir," answered Meade, his eyes brightening.

"Yes, perhaps; but I have watched you in odd hours. The young men around here are constantly practicing with the transits. I've never seen you put a hand to one. How about it?"

"I'm not exactly a youngster, Mr. Vandeventer," returned Meade, "and I really didn't think it necessary to practice, but if you trust me with one I believe I can manage it."

Old Vandeventer leaned back in his chair in the office and looked carelessly away from Meade to all appearances. He clasped his hands back of his head and seemed lost in thought. Suddenly he began humming a little scrap of verse about another college which Cambridge men sing with zest.

"_I'm a physical wreck,
From the grand old Tech',
But a hell of an engineer!_"

He stopped abruptly, whirled about in his swing-chair, and shot a quick glance at Meade. It was a trap. And as he sprung it Vandeventer surprised the ghost of a smile, repressed quickly but there, on Meade's lips. The chief engineer was satisfied. Before this, little things had betrayed a fellow alumnus or at least a fellow student of the old Lawrence Scientific School. Vandeventer was pleased at his adroitness. He did not, however, refer to it.

"There's a new transit in that box on the floor there," he said, resuming his indifferent manner. "I've had the case opened, but I haven't taken it out. Get it, and we'll go outside and see what you can do with it."

Now a transit, for all it is used in rough field work, is one of the most expensive and delicate of instruments. It is capable of the most accurate adjustment, and if it is to be of any real use, the refinement of these adjustments must not be impaired in any degree by unskilled and reckless packing. The boxes in which the instruments are shipped are very carefully constructed in accordance with the principles which experience has shown to be necessary, and each one is especially fitted to the particular instrument to be contained therein. The box is a complicated thing and the transit cannot be taken out or replaced except in one way. With a knowledge of the combination, so to speak, it is comparatively simple to take a transit from the box; without that knowledge, which none but an expert transitman, or the packer himself, can have, it is rather difficult without running a risk of ruining the instrument.

This command was another of Vandeventer's tests therefore. Meade knew this as well as his superior. In spite of himself he would have to betray his familiarity. Well, he had brought himself to the conclusion that he could not continue his work without very soon disclosing the fact that he had been an engineer. And in case of the inevitable the sooner the better. So long as he had to betray himself, he would have all the advantages as well as the disadvantages. He unlocked the door of the box, slid the instrument out quickly, accurately, without a moment's hesitation, and rapidly unscrewed the head from the slide-board, and screwed it carefully on the tripod. Vandeventer's eyes sparkled.

"Come outside," he said, leading the way to the side of the hill, "and set it up there over the tack in that stake and level it."

Beginners have been known to take ten minutes to get a transit set up, leveled, and centered. It is good work if it is done inside of a minute, thirty seconds is very fast. In forty-five seconds Meade reported, "all ready, sir." He could have done it in less, but he was a little out of practice he said to himself.

"Look here," said Vandeventer, "you can't pull any more bluff on me, Roberts; you're an engineer all right."

"I know something about the practical side of it, sir," answered Meade, turning a little pale and wondering how far Vandeventer would press his questions and what he would learn.

But the engineer was a man.

"Practical, yes and theoretical too, I'll be bound, but I don't seek to pry into your antecedents. It's enough for me if you do good work for me here."

"I'll do my best, sir."

"Good, the instrument is yours."

That was the first step and the next step came very shortly after when, having further demonstrated his capacity in other ways, Meade was given charge of the work on the east end of the dam.

"I don't care who he is," said Vandeventer to his chief subordinate, "he knows what he's about and if you watch him you'll see. He's keen on handling men. The other section foremen will be hard put to keep up with him. He keeps watch on himself. He's got some secret he won't betray. He doesn't mingle with the crowd, but every once in a while something slips out. What he doesn't know about engineering nobody needs to know, I'll wager."

"How do you account for his being out here?"

"Oh, it's the old story, I suppose; he's come a cropper somewhere--down and out and wants to begin again, and can't do anything but this. It's not our business, Stafford; he does good work for us and we're satisfied."