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As they toiled up the slope to the trestle Torrance broke a long silence. "In your prayers to-night, Tressa, you might put in a word for a mysterious stranger with an eye like an eagle. I think we're going to need him a lot before this job's finished." A whistle sounded down the line, a short nervous blast twice repeated.
As the extent of Murphy's connection with civilisation was never more than fifteen miles down the line, Torrance and Tressa could laugh without offending his choleric feelings. Murphy became aware of the few inches of flatcar that overhung the trestle. "Ye mooney-face!" he roared at the brakesman who, his day's work done, was lolling on the grass.
"They're holding a pow-wow somewhere. Look out for squalls. Better keep the doors locked these nights, and fasten the windows so no one can get in." "I'll lock the stable." The only menace Tressa could realise was the stealing of the horses. Conrad crept over the grade; but he did not drop down the path to his shack. Instead he entered the bush.
Presently Adrian and two others gathered before the contractor, where they seemed to confer a long time. One, Tressa knew, would be Koppowski; the other must be one of his friends, Werner probably, or Morani, or Heppel. They alone of the five hundred possessed intelligence enough to justify consultation.
Torrance received them with a burst of joy, shaking each by hand in turn, scarce knowing what he was doing. "Keep an eye on Tressa," he cried, and made for the front door. Mahon grabbed him. "Here, they have that door covered. Conrad will be all right. Anyway, it's throwing yourself away searching for him now." "Conrad!" The contractor's bull voice was full of disgust. "Conrad to hell!
Tressa Torrance, inured as sensitive girl could be to the turmoil and danger of their life on railway construction, experienced a new sensation of fear. Never had she seen her father use a firearm; his ready fists were more to his liking. With a breathless rush she stood by his side, one hand gripping the wrist of the hand that held the trigger guard. That precaution first.
But Tressa was in the way, and by the time he reached the open only a tiny cloud of dust rising above the edge of the steep drop to the river bottom told the way the halfbreed had gone. The Sergeant rushed to the bank and looked down the hundred-and-fifty foot wall with a gasp. No need for a revolver there. With a shudder he drew back. Torrance stormed up beside him, rifle in hand. "Where is he?
One evening when Conrad had gone to the Police barracks to make a report on recent trifling but significant occurrences, and to complete plans for a more systematic protection of the trestle now that it was nearing completion, Torrance moved his chair to the open doorway and sat dreaming. "You haven't locked the stable yet," Tressa reminded him, breaking a long silence. He laughed recklessly.
"I thought it was noisier down there than usual," said Tressa. Conrad came behind them and stood without a word, when the eyes of the two men met significantly. "Guess I'll be turning in," the younger man yawned. "It's been a bit of a hard day." He turned back to place the book on the shelf, carefully marking the page.
In the rude chair he had salved from the village wreckage the big fellow was content to sit to any hour of the night, merely smoking and listening, face beaming, pleased as a child when he found something to say. For two years he had been locked there in the wilds, with never a woman but Tressa Torrance to whom he could speak without a blush. And, looking into the clear eyes of Mrs.
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