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Updated: June 21, 2025
When one of the cars was empty it was tipped off the track to make room for the next one. And as that next one passed the first was levered back again on the rails to return for another load. Four rails down to the minute! It was Herculean toil. The men who fitted the rails were cursed the most frequently, because they took time, a few seconds, when there was no time. Then the spikers!
He wanted to feel it, work in it, level it, make it somehow his own. When he strode back for another load his magnifying eyes gloated over the toilers in action the rows of men carrying and laying rails, and the splendid brawny figures of the spikers, naked to the waist, swinging the heavy sledges. The blows rang out spang spang spang! Strong music, full of meaning!
"Close behind the track-layers comes the gaugers, then the spikers and bolters. Three strokes to the spike, ten spikes to the rail, four hundred rails to the mile. Quick work you say, but the fellows on the Union Pacific are tremendously in earnest." Or as another writer has it, "We witnessed here the fabulous speed with which the line was built.
"And a be-yutiful place they're makin' of it," cried Isaac Bolum; "be-yutiful!" "They've added a fancy porch," Henry explained, "and are gittin' blue glass panes for the front door." "We've three spring-beds in town now," put in Isaac in his slow, dreamy way. "If I mind right the Spikers bought theirs before war was declared, so you've seen that one.
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