Opening the iron trail

“Have ye seen the grand tie that them Californy people are givin’ toward the big doin’s tomorrow?”

Paddy Miles put the query to Terry, in the U. P. construction camp on the border of the Salt Lake near Blue Creek. The weather of the past few days had turned raw, blustery and rainy. Both the U. P. and the C. P. camps had been moved from the high windy plateau down to lower ground. Now they were out of sight of each other.

“No. What kind of a tie, Pat?”

“Red as rale mahogany, an’ polished like satin, an’ set wid a silver plate. ’Tis the last tie, to be laid under the inds o’ the last rails.”

“Where is it?”

“Over yon in the C. Pay. special car, on the sidin’ back o’ their ind o’ track. Yes, an’ ’twixt you an’ me (but ’tain’t to be repeated), there are two spikes o’ solid gold, wan of ’em topped wid a big nugget, an’ worth $400, come along wid it, an’ two silver spikes, from Nevady an’ Arizony. Minkler’s guardin’ the car, wid a squad o’ track men, but I dare say if you go over an’ tell him I sent you, he’ll let you have a peep.”

This was Sunday, May 9. The ceremony of laying the last rails had been up in the air, so to say. President Stanford’s special car bringing a party of C. P. officials and their guests, including the governor of Arizona and dignitaries of Nevada, had arrived on Promontory last Friday, the seventh, thinking that the ceremony was to occur on Saturday, the eighth.

But General Casement had met them at U. P. end o’ track with the Superintendent Reed special coach, to tell them that the U. P. guests could not possibly get in from the East before the tenth. So he had taken them back to Ogden, on a sight-seeing tour of the mountain country.

However, San Francisco had began to celebrate, anyway. Omaha and Chicago and New York, Washington, Philadelphia, Boston and other eastern cities were making ready. They awaited only the word.

The Central had laid their four miles of track, lacking a trifle. Like the Union Pacific, they had stopped one pair of thirty-foot rails short of the meeting-place.

They had renamed their station of “Victory,” and changed it to Rozel. They had set up a sign-board at either end of their ten-mile stint, to announce to overland passengers: “Ten Miles of Track in One Day.” Their eight rail-carriers—Mike Shay, Pat Joyce, Tom Daily, Mike Kennedy, Fred McNamara, Ed Killeen, George Wyatt and Mike Sullivan—who had toted all those ten miles of rails, without being spelled once, were still the heroes of the day.

Having nothing especial to busy him this Sunday afternoon, Terry straddled his horse and rode up to the summit, to see the wonderful tie and the precious spikes.

The summit of Promontory Point was pretty well deserted, today, except for the little collection of tents and shacks forming the “town” of Promontory. The Central people had started a short siding, but had quit, over Sunday. Down at the U. P. camp Pat was darkly hinting that this C. P. siding would never be finished, now.

“For they’ve gone to slape on the job; an’ b’ gorry when they wake up they’re like to see a U. Pay. sidin’ in place, an’ the U. Pay. ownin’ the switchin’ rights at the meetin’-place terminal. We lost Humboldt Wells, mebbe, but we’ll not lose Promontory Point if we can help it.”

Only the small gap of two rails’ length remained to be filled in before trains might pass over the new Pacific Railway between the Missouri River and the Pacific coast. A mere fifty-eight feet, beyond the telegraph pole that proudly floated a United States flag (hoisted there by orders of General Dodge), broke the iron trail of 1,770 miles. The tracks could be connected up in a jiffy.

The Stanford special car, which was the private car of Mr. Charles Crocker, the C. P. contractor and construction boss, stood yonder upon the C. P. siding spur. It was gaily decorated; but all the steps on one side had been torn away in the trip out from Sacramento. A careless Chinaman, felling timber above the track, had landed a log upon the rails, and the Stanford special, of only engine and car, had just escaped a bad wreck.

The car had got through, though; and here it was, guarded by the C. P. track-layer boss, H. H. Minkler, and a squad of armed track men. Those gold spikes would be a great prize for some of the “floaters” in Promontory.

Terry being a friend, Mr. Minkler obligingly unlocked the car and ushered him inside. There was nobody here except a timid Chinaman cook. Everybody else was sight-seeing.

Mr. Minkler removed the canvas cover from the tie.

“What do you think o’ that?”

“It sure is a beauty.” So it was—red and polished like true mahogany, and set with a silver plate on the side. “Where does it go, Mr. Minkler?”

“Read the plate and you’ll see.”

Terry stooped and read.

THE LAST TIE
Laid in the Completion of the Pacific Railroad
May 10, 1869

That was the top inscription on the plate, followed by the names of the officers and directors of the Central Pacific.

“Heft it.”

“Whew, but it’s heavy! Is it made of mahogany?”

“No. Californy laurel; and a good solid piece, too. Eight feet long, eight inches wide and six inches deep, it is.”

“Somebody’ll steal it out of the track.”

“Oh, it won’t be left there. It’s a show tie. Those holes already drilled in it are for the special spikes to set in. Mebbe you’d like to see them, too. All right. Take a squint. Those two gold ones are from Californy—one for Mr. Durant to drive at the U. P. end, and the big one with the nugget head for Governor Stanford to drive at the C. P. end. The solid silver spike is from Nevady; they say a hundred men each hit it one lick, in the forging. That other spike is from Arizony. It’s a mixture of gold, silver and iron. And I hear tell there’s a silver spike comin’ from Montany and another from Idyho.”

When Terry rode back for his own camp, he cast calculating eye at the telegraph pole, again, with the Flag floating. It stood at the U. P. end o’ track, like an outpost marking a triumphal march across continent. High over this high country above the great Salt Lake the Starry Flag streamed in the evening breeze, challenging the world of lake and desert to show any better sight.

The last rays of the setting sun struck it full, promising it a bright tomorrow, and Terry swung his hat at it.

“Now if George only gets here early enough——!” he planned. “Gee! Hope he does.”

That was of much importance, but was nothing to worry over. George had been kept in Ogden, mostly, with the pay-car. He’d be on hand, though. Nobody who knew George Stanton might doubt this.

“A fine day ahead of us,” Pat prophesied, at the camp, with jerk of his scarred thumb toward the gorgeous yellow sunset. “Sure, we’re goin’ to be blessed wid that—but b’ gorry we got to work all the night, to ’arn it, layin’ our side-track. Them’s the orders from Gin’ral Casement an’ Gin’ral Dodge, an’ they’re goin’ to boss the job themsilves whilst the C. Pay. slape. ’Twill be the U. Pay.’s terminal.”

The night was sharp and starry, and ice formed on the water buckets. The morning dawned as dear as a bell, and fanned by a strong, nipping breeze. Pat’s prophecy had come true.

Before daylight a few spectators had commenced to toil through, in the distance, by horse, wagon and buggy, from the ranches and towns eastward. The boarding-train was made up early, to take the men on from the construction camp. On the tender Terry arrived at the head of the procession.

The plateau was getting lively. A sprinkling of spectators by horse, wagon and buggy had come in from the west also. By all-night work the U. P. siding had been put in and completed. A squad of Pat’s men were tamping the ties, and tossing jokes at the C. P. men for having been outwitted. A squad of Chinamen from the Central camp were pottering along the C. P. roadbed. It all looked like business.

People continued to gather, and Terry fidgeted. About ten o’clock the C. P. construction-train, with the Stanford special as a trailer, puffed down, to halt at C. P. end o’ track, and wait. Engine and cars were fluttering with red, white and blue flags and bunting. The name of the weather-beaten locomotive was “Jupiter.”

Evidently President Stanford had been entertaining a large breakfast party, for almost all the C. P. officials piled out: the governor, and Vice-President C. P. Huntington, and Builder Crocker, and Construction Superintendent J. H. Strobridge, and Chief Engineer S. S. Montague, and Consulting Chief Engineer George E. Gray, and a bunch of others—three United States Pacific Railway commissioners and the governors of Nevada and Arizona, among them, people said.

There was one woman, Mrs. Strobridge, the Heroine of the C. P., they called her, because she had camped at the front, with her husband, all the way during the building. But the U. P. had two heroines, besides Virgie.

President Stanford and Vice-President Huntington attracted the most attention. They were fine-appearing men, in trousers and long coats of black broad-cloth, their shoes polished, everything about them spick and span as if they had come to a reception. Ex-Governor Stanford had ruddy complexion and kind, handsome face. He had been California’s war governor. Vice-President Huntington was larger in frame; broad and heavy and imposing. His face reminded one of a lion’s. During all the years of the railroad building he had made his headquarters in New York, raising money for the company; but he had traveled back and forth, back and forth, by stage and railroad, nobody knew how many times. Both he and Governor Stanford were reported to be very rich.

They all trudged forward, to the space that had been kept open from their end o’ track to the flag telegraph pole. There was shaking of hands, and considerable eddying about. Terry viewed the crowd, and the telegraph pole, anxiously.

“Dog-gone, why don’t our trains come?” he complained, to himself. “Where’s that George?”

The U. P. boarding-train had backed out and entered upon the siding, to clear the track. Now a prolonged whistle sounded, from the east. Hurrah! Terry recognized it; no one of the end o’ track force on the U. P. line could mistake that whistle. Old Number 119, the veteran construction-train engine, of course! And here it came, hauling the first U. P. excursion-train decorated from stem to stern with the red, white and blue. He ran down track.

The train was loaded to the guards. Engineer Richards and Fireman Bill Sweeny were in the cab; George was hanging out from the cab steps, and Virgie was riding on the pilot!

George made a flying leap, and a rush for Terry.

“Did many C. P. folks get here first? Who are they all? We brought the whole U. P. gang in that scrumptious patent Pullman—Vice-President Durant, Colonel Seymour, Mr. Dillon and Mr. John Duff of the directors, the Casements and General Dodge and Mr. Reed and Major Hurd, and two silver spikes, and a heap of people from New York and Chicago and Boston and Omaha and I don’t know where else. Your mother and my mother, too. There’s another train right behind us, fetching Ogden’s mayor, and a raft of other Mormons, from Salt Lake City, and soldiers and a band from Fort Douglas down there. Bet we have more people than the C. P. Is that their only train?”

“Come on!” Terry bade. “I’ve found a place for us, if we can make it before somebody else grabs it.”

“Where?”

“I’ll show you.”

Away they ran, Terry leading. They had to zigzag through among the carriages and wagons and horses and jostling spectators.

“We can get atop that telegraph pole, and see everything.”

“Which pole?” panted George.

“The one with the flag on it.”

“How’ll we do it?”

“Shin up and sit on the cross-arm. It’s right over the place.”

“Maybe they won’t let us.”

“Yes, they will. Everything’s free.”

“Aw, shucks!” George puffed, slackening. “Somebody else is there.”

So there was: a man had mounted to the cross-arm and was astride it.

“Shucks!” agreed Terry. “I’d been saving that for us.”

He, too, slackened, disappointed.

“We can take the next pole.”

“No; it’s too far off.” Then—“Come on!” urged Terry. “He’s getting down. I know—he’s a lineman, is all, tapping the wire.”

They ran again.

“He’s leaving a ladder. Hope it stays,” George gasped. “That’ll be nuts, if only nobody beats us.” And he exclaimed: “It’s all right! That’s Harry! That’s Harry Revere!”

They caught Harry at the foot of the pole.

“Hello! How’d you get here?”

Harry grinned.

“On that train.”

“I didn’t see you,” George accused.

“Didn’t say you did. But I said I was going to end at the front, and here I am. Reached Ogden yesterday, and they sent me on out. I’m the boss lightning-shooter, today.”

“What you going to do?”

“Send the news. Connect up my table yonder at the track with San Francisco and Omaha, and tell the United States what’s happening. Today’s the day when I own the whole system; everything’s to be kept open, waiting on Yours Truly.”

Off limped Harry, all business. Terry yelled after him.

“We’re going to climb your pole, then.”

“All right. You can borrow it, but don’t you monkey with my wires.”

The people around seemed to have no thought, yet, of seizing upon the pole. They were too engaged in staring about.

“Good eye,” George praised, as following Terry he scrambled up the ladder and squirmed the rest of the way to the cross-arm. “Say! This is shore great. Where’s the place for the last spike, now?”

“Square below. It’ll be solid gold. I saw it. Seven inches long, with a nugget for a head, and worth $400. It’s from California, for President Stanford to drive. And there’s another, not so big, for Vice-President Durant. I saw the last tie, too, and it’s a dandy—all polished like mahogany, with a silver plate tacked to it and holes ready for the spikes. Arizona and Nevada and Idaho are giving silver spikes——”

“I know,” George interrupted. “I read the whole program in the Ogden paper. The governors are to make speeches, and so are the U. P. and C. P. folks; and the telegraph line’s connected up with Harry’s operator’s outfit so that bells will strike out East and on the Coast when the last spike’s driven. Chicago and New York and Boston and Washington and New Orleans and St. Louis and Philadelphia will all be notified at the same time by Omaha, and Sacramento and San Francisco will get it direct. And old 119, and old Jupiter of the C. P., will touch noses.”

“It’s a boss place to see from, anyhow,” observed Terry.

The C. P. head officials had gone down track, to the Pullman on the end of the U. P. special train. Presently the whole party, for both roads, issued from the Pullman, and came on. George chuckled.

“Talk about ‘last ties.’ That one Mr. Durant has on beats the C. P. tie all to pieces!”

“It’s the last thing in ties, all right,” answered Terry.

Vice-President Thomas C. Durant of the U. P. New York office was rigged in festival attire, with a black velvet coat and a necktie so gay that it fairly dazzled the eyes. General Dodge, Mr. Sidney Dillon, the Casements, Major Marshall Hurd, Superintendent Reed—they were there; and a heavy bushy-white-whiskered old gentleman in broad-cloth suit, who was Mr. John Duff of Boston, a leading director and the father of young Mr. Duff; and several others.

The crowd cheered them. The sight below was a stirring one. The second U. P. train had arrived; from it were hastening another bevy of excursionists, and the soldiers and band from Fort Douglas at Salt Lake City. The track-layers and graders and surveyors of both roads were swarming upon the standing cars—they covered the tops of the coaches, and stood upon the running-boards of 119 and Jupiter. Yankees, Irishmen, Chinamen and even Indians and Mexicans jostled one another for position.

Several people had followed Terry’s and George’s example and climbed the ladder, but they could not reach the cross-arm. Virgie had a good position, in the cab of 119. The two Heroines of the U. P. and the Heroine of the C. P. had met; they were given a front place of honor. The companies of the United States Infantry were drawn up, along the grade at the gap in the track.

“Comp’ny—rest!” the captains barked; and the blue-coat line, their hands in white gloves and every button shining, stood at ease, while the band played.

All the engines were tooting, also. There was another whistle, from the west. A second C. P. train was coming, decorated from pilot to rear coach. Its crowd thronged forward.

The sun was getting higher overhead. At a word from General Dodge, who seemed to be a sort of master of ceremonies, the infantry captains crisply ordered:

“Comp’ny—’tenshun! P’rade-rest!”

The officials and honor guests of the two roads ranged themselves in the open space left at the gap. General Dodge lifted his hand, for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin. I will ask you all to keep quiet, until after the ceremonies. Kindly do not push forward, into this space between the two engines. The wire in here is connected with Omaha and San Francisco, so that the news will be spread east and west simultaneously. We will first listen to a prayer by the Reverend Dr. Todd, of Massachusetts. Hats off, please.”

Hats were doffed. The Reverend Dr. Todd—a venerable wrinkled gentleman—stepped forward, and asked a blessing upon the work about to be completed.

Harry’s telegraph instrument had been clicking, on the little table at which he sat hemmed in by people.

“The operator has said, to Omaha and San Francisco: ‘Almost ready. Hats off; prayer is being offered,’” General Dodge announced. “Now he has said: ‘We have got done praying. The spike is about to be presented.’ But first I take pleasure in introducing to you the Honorable Leland Stanford, of Sacramento—ex-Governor of the great State of California, and president of the Central Pacific Railroad Company. He will address you.”

Amidst cheers Governor Stanford stood forth, and made a short speech upon the union of the two roads.

“General Dodge! Dodge! Dodge! General Dodge! Speech!” the crowd shouted. So General Dodge, the chief engineer of the Union Pacific, made a similar short speech.

The crowd commenced to cheer again—with “Hurrah for the Pacific Railroad!” “Hurrah for Stanford!” “Hurrah for Dodge!” “’Rah for the Casements!” “’Rah for the Star Spangled Banner!” “Hooray for the engineers!” “And don’t forget the track men and graders! Hooray for the Irish and the Mormons and the Chinks!” “Don’t forget the money, either! Hooray for Durant and Huntington!”

This might have kept up forever had not General Dodge again raised his hand.

Here came Superintendent Reed, of the U. P., and Superintendent Strobridge, of the C. P.—the two construction chiefs—lugging the polished tie.

They carefully laid it into the little bed prepared for it, while the spectators craned and “Oh’d” and “Ah’d” in admiration.

Now here came the last rails—one pair from the U. P. end, proudly carried by two squads of the U. P. Irish, in clean shirts and trousers, and “bossed” by Paddy Miles; one pair from the C. P. end, proudly carried by two squads of the C. P. Chinamen, in clean blouses and trousers, and bossed by Mr. Minkler.

Harry’s telegraph instrument was clicking.

“Omaha has replied: ‘We understand. All are ready in the East,’” announced General Dodge. “The word has been repeated in all the large cities. The management of the Western Union Telegraph Company in Washington has issued orders that the lines are to be kept open throughout the continent until after the ceremonies.”

The two pairs of rails had been gently placed, and the fish-plate fastening at the joints adjusted. One double length was spiked fast in the ordinary way. Pat and his Irish squads and Boss Minkler and his Chinaman squads filed off. The crowd burst into another cheer; Terry and George, highest of all, joined.

“There she is, complete,” George asserted.

“No. Wait!”

General Dodge was speaking.

“The time is at hand. The operator is sending the message, east and west: ‘To everybody: Keep quiet. When the last spike is driven at Promontory Point we will say, “Done.” Don’t break the circuit, but watch for the signals of the hammer blows. The spike will soon be driven. The signal will be three dots for the commencement of the blows.’ Omaha has replied, so has San Francisco. The country is waiting. We will now have the presentation of the spikes. I take pleasure in introducing Congressman Tritle, of Nevada Territory.”

The Honorable F. A. Tritle, of Nevada (who was only trying to be governor), stepped forward, with a bright silver spike. He faced Vice-President Durant.

“To the iron of the East and the gold of the West, Nevada adds her link of silver to span the continent and wed the oceans.”

He handed the silver spike to Mr. Durant, and bowed.

“Hooray!”

“Governor Safford, of Arizona,” General Dodge announced.

Governor A. P. K. Safford of Arizona Territory stepped forward, with his spike, of gold, silver and iron.

“Ribbed in iron, clad in silver, and crowned with gold, Arizona presents her offering to the enterprise that had banded the continent and wedded the oceans.”

This spike also went to Vice-President Durant.

“Dr. Harkness, of Sacramento—who in behalf of California presents two spikes, of pure gold,” announced General Dodge.

“Which is the $400 one?” George demanded, of Terry, wellnigh falling from the cross-arm as he stretched his neck. There was such a tumult of cheers that Terry barely heard him, and neither of them could hear the speech by Dr. Harkness.

But he handed the two golden spikes to Governor Stanford.

A sudden silence broke the cheering. Governor Stanford held a little sledge with a silver head. Telegraph wires ran from it to Harry’s table.

“When he hits the spike, they hear him clear at Washington,” George whispered. “And in San Francisco, too!”

“Sh!” Terry cautioned.

The governor had passed one spike to Mr. Durant, who stooped and inserted it into the hole in the polished tie, at the end of the U. P. rail. He straightened, expectantly, and grasped another sledge, with iron head. Governor Stanford gazed around.

“All ready?”

“All ready, governor. The East and the West are waiting. Mr. Durant, you may drive your spike, if you please.”

Vice-President Durant, in his gay necktie and his velvet coat, lifted his sledge; down it came, but he was nervous, for——

“Aw, he hit the rail, didn’t he? He missed!” George blurted.

“Sure did,” Terry chuckled. “But I guess it’s all right. Now Governor Stanford’s going to try.”

“The last spike will be driven by President and Governor Stanford,” announced General Dodge, at the top of his voice. “He dug the first shovelful of earth on the Central Pacific, at Sacramento; he will complete the work, on Promontory Point. Wait, everybody.”

Governor Stanford poised his silver-headed sledge. He tapped with it—and he, too, struck the rail! But that made no difference. Harry’s telegraph instrument clicked, just the same—“dot,” “dot,” “dot.”

“Three cheers, now, everybody!” shouted General Dodge. “We have signaled: ‘Done!’ The Liberty Bell in Independence Hall at Philadelphia is ringing, a great ball at Washington has fallen, the blows here have been repeated on the city hall bell at San Francisco. At the third dot from the wire a salute was fired from Fort Point, there and 100 guns are answering at Omaha. The whole nation is celebrating! Three cheers, everybody, for the Pacific Railroad—the union of the East and of the West!”

The air rocked with cheers and whoops and the shrieks of the engines. Hats went sailing helter-skelter. The band burst into “Hail, Columbia.” And again George almost tumbled from his perch, but Terry grabbed him just in time.

General Dodge called for silence. Harry was clicking busily.

“The operator is sending the following message: ‘Promontory Summit, Utah, May 10, 1869. The last rail is laid, the last spike is driven. The Pacific Railroad is completed. The point of junction is 1,086 miles west of the Missouri River, and 690 miles east of Sacramento City.’ Signed: ‘Leland Stanford, Central Pacific Railroad. T. C. Durant, Sidney Dillon, John Duff, Union Pacific Railroad.’ The remaining spikes will now be driven, before the passage of the trains; and anybody who desires is invited to strike one blow each, in turn.”

Paddy Miles and Mr. Minkler had rapidly set the spikes; and immediately a regular line of people formed, to seize the sledges. The U. P. and C. P. officials and their guests of honor started in, first, though—the Heroine of the Central blushingly conducted forward by Vice-President Huntington, and the two Heroines of the Union Pacific escorted by Vice-President Durant.

“Come on!” bade George, excited. “I want to hit a lick, don’t you?”

“You bet I do.”

And down they slid, to the ladder, and from the ladder to the ground.

“Maybe we’ll be too late.”

“Listen! Some of ’em are hitting the rails, again.”

Judging by the laughter, that was true. But they wormed their way through, to the fore. One after another the amateur spikers were whanging at the spikes. Terry espied Pat.

“Don’t we get a chance, Pat?”

“An’ haven’t yez hit a spike, yet?” Pat likewise was excited. “Sure, now, nayther have some o’ the rist of ’em. I wouldn’t pay the best two bits a day, on me gang. But take my sledge, now. There’s the wan silver spike from Nevady, a-waitin’, set in its hole. Hit her a whack apiece an’ niver mind whether it’s silver or iron. An’ if annywan says for yez to lay off, tell ’em Paddy Miles told yez to go ahead.”

George grabbed the sledge, and dived for the silver spike of the U. P. rail, opposite the U. P. gold spike.

“You first,” Terry panted. “Quick. Don’t you miss it.”

“I’m—not goin’—to—MISS—it,” hissed George, as his sledge came down—Whack! “There! Hit her a lick, yourself.”

Terry struck—Whack! Buried the silver spike.

“By Jiminy, we drove one spike, anyhow,” they proclaimed.

They had been none too soon. Only the last golden spike remained untouched, except for the light taps by President Stanford and Vice-President Huntington himself.

Governor Stanford shouted vigorously.

“Stand aside, everybody. The path-finders of the two roads—the men who led the rails to the meeting-point: Chief Engineer General Grenville M. Dodge of the Union Pacific, and Chief Engineer Samuel S. Montague of the Central Pacific, will land the final blows upon the last spike.”

The two engineers stood, each with a sledge.

“I first?” politely queried General Dodge.

“No, general. The last blow shall be yours. You have come the farthest,” Mr. Montague insisted.

He landed easily; made a good shot, and the nugget-headed spike was sunk two-thirds way. Mr. Montague stepped aside; with a bow and a smile the general took position; landed, and the spike had sunk to its battered nugget.

“Let’s skip to our pole, so as to see when the engines touch noses,” George proposed. He and Terry scuttled for their pole, again. Up they scrambled, for the cross-arm—a very fine place.

The rails had been firmed. The people were being forced back, to clear the track. Old 119, of the U. P., Terry’s father and Fireman Bill Sweeny—yes, and George’s father and Virgie also—in the cab, and old Jupiter, of the C. P., had been unhooked from their trains; they whistled—Toot! Toot!—and slowly advanced toward each other, bringing the cheering track men and graders who clung to every inch that was not too hot.

Slowly, slowly, they crept forward, the one over the U. P. rails, the other over the C. P. rails; and just at the gold-and-silver-studded laurel tie they touched pilots.

Terry’s father swung out from his cab, to the pilot, a bottle of champagne in his hand. The engineer of old Jupiter swung out, opposite, with a bottle. They reached aside, and each broke his bottle upon the other’s cow-catcher, so that the wine flowed down upon the joint and tie.

“The wedding of the rails is accomplished,” shouted General Dodge. “The two roads have been made one, never to be parted.”

“Hooray!”

“Same as the launching of a ship, huh?” George blatted. “Sure. It’s a wedding and baptizing, both.”

The two engines, rubbing noses, waited until a photographer had taken another picture or two. Then they backed out again, coupled on to their trains, the C. P. train backed farther——

“Look!” cried Terry.

For old 119 was coming on, train and all, with Virgie perched alone on the pilot! It passed clear over, into C. P. territory.

“She said she’d be the first passenger across by U. P., and so she is,” George remarked. “That’s right But she’s awful stubborn.”

“Hooray! Hooray!” And Virgie waved, delighted.

The U. P. train backed, to clear, and old Jupiter hauled the C. P. train across, into U. P. territory.

As soon as the C. P. train had backed out again, and the meeting-place was free, Paddy Miles and Mr. Minkler led a charge of workmen into it; like experts they pried the ends of the rails from the last tie, jerked out the precious spikes, and the precious tie; slipped an ordinary tie under and in business fashion spiked the rails down again with ordinary spikes.

“What’s their rush, do you reckon?”

“You’ll see,” laughed Terry.

Scarcely had the track squads left, bearing their spoils, when the crowd swarmed into the spot, and jostled and clawed and dug.

“Souvenirs! They’re after souvenirs!” George rapped. “Want one? Want a piece of tie, or something?”

“Shucks!” scoffed Terry. “We might as well go down, though. Everything’s over. But I guess after a fellow’s lived at the front for a couple of years, and helped build the road, like you and I have, he doesn’t need any ‘souvenir’ to remember it by!”

“Right you are, boy,” George agreed. “I’d rather have something to eat. Best thing we can do is to catch a ride back. It’s a quarter to one.”

Down they plumped, to the ground, and were breaking for the U. P. trains, when they ran almost slap into young Mr. Duff.

“By gracious! Hello. Where’ve you boys been? I wondered——”

“Up on the telegraph pole, most the time,” explained Terry, as they all shook hands heartily. “Where’ve you been? Funny we didn’t see you.”

“Oh, I’ve been running ’round, with the crowd. I came out from Boston with my dad. You both have grown so, I didn’t recognize you, on top that pole. But hurrah, anyway,” and young Mr. Duff laughed boyishly. “Well, here we all are, at the finish. So you stuck it out, did you?”

“Yes, siree!” declared George. “Everybody stuck it out. Nobody quit.”

“The two roads laid over 1,000 miles of track in thirteen months; did you know?” Terry asked.

“Of course I know. The whole country knows; papers have been full of it. Whew, but I’d like to have been along, on the job; across the deserts and across the mountains, and clear here, to the meeting of the tracks. Expect you’re right proud.”

“Naw, we’re too hungry to be swelled up much,” bluffly answered George. “But it was no slouch of a job, just the same. Was it, Terry?”

“Not for Joe!” Terry asserted, in the latest slang. “But everybody’s proud, I guess—from General Dodge and Mr. Durant, down to us.”

“Do you know?” said young Mr. Duff, abruptly—as if he had discovered something. “When a fellow looks at this iron trail, clear across country, he realizes that it’s a great thing to be an American.”

THE END