Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CROSSES OF STEEL. He was going mad. He fought to loosen the grip, tore into it with the nails of his free hand. All work on the big structure had stopped now. Most of the men had not looked in time to see the calculated leap by which- their big boss had flung himself out and downward when the beams lowered past the end of the bridge at a speed hardly less than that at which they would have fallen. The drop had been calculated, too, to relieve some of the gravity pressure on the hanging native’s fingers. The leap had been planned so that the big man gripped the other’s wrist over the top of the hanging beams. But now they saw—saw and wondered how it had been done; wondered whether ‘the big man could maintain his hold, could endure the terrific strain being put upon his forearm, which was bearing almost the whole weight of them both across the corner of one beam. More of them than one looked down—thought. of the ten- second fall to the bottom. They looked up again; saw how the iron bit into the arm’s flesh. They held their breath. Whiter than they had ever seen him before, their superintendent was waving signals now to the engineer on the bank. The cables moved, the beams came slowly upward, went faster back to the end of the plank walk between the rails. They breathed again. : Then they clambered and ran toward the spot where the dangling feet of the two were reaching for the planks. Some tripped lightly over the eight-inch tops of girders; some shinnied up columns by pressing their knees outward against the flanges while they hugged the whole with their arms. But a glance at their bodies and faces as they gathered on vantage perches like a flock of snow-birds gave no further hint of the bird’s balance and poise they so nearly emulated. On every short, thick native body and every dusky face showed the big, bold, heavy muscles and lines of those who toil with vast weights and wrestle with mighty ‘forces. The white foremen and the superintendent were of Sr Se ee a eee ee ee Ee ee SS ee ee ae es et the same breed—the breed of brawn— taller, broader, brawnier than their racially darker brethren. The big boss—the construction engineer of the whole job—stood now on the planks, He was taller than the superintendent, who stood over six feet in his socks. But he was also breader, the brawniest of the brawny crew. The torn fingers, from which he now calmly sucked the blood and spat it out, could write’ an order that would move American gold money in seven figures; the fingers of the other hand that hung idly beside him were crooked inward like those of all about them, shaped to the grip on the forge-wrench. The lips could speak Spanish better than they knew it, and half a dozen other languages; but two deep lines reached their ends from the sides of his nostrils, drawn there in savage baring of ‘teeth in fierce bouts with unwieldy things of steel. A look from the iron-gray eyes would have commanded a mob of them; between the eyes ran upward a double furrow, rem- nant of the scowl! of him who wrestles with giant forces for his job and his life. Duncan Grout was one of them—only bigger. He was bigger in height and breadth of body, bigger in brain; most of — all, bigger in will. The native whose life he had saved at most imminent peril to his own recovered breath and strength te struggle toward a kneeling posture, to reach for his savior’s hand to kiss it after the fashion of his race. He got no hand. © “‘ Give him his pay,” curtly ordered the big man’s voice, “ and send him back with the material-train.”’ Antonio caught the meaning of the tone. He. crawled closer. He was getting back 179 > to life. He wanted to keep this highly paid job. ‘“ But, sewor—” He broke off. The superintendent was putting in a plea for him. ‘It will leave Tom another man short,” he said. . “1 do not make the fool of myself again,” pleaded Antonio Goro. , “ Fool, nothing!” snapped the big boss, _ =