"Must have come
way from Redding. We just couldn't SCARE her out of here."
Orde, suddenly fallen into a cold rage, stared at the obstruction,
both fists clenched at his side.
"Too bad, boy," said Welton at his elbow. "But don't take it too
hard. You've done more than any of the rest of us could. And we're
all losers together."
Orde looked at him strangely.
"That about settles it," repeated Welton.
"Settle!" cried Orde. "I should think not."
Welton smiled quaintly.
"Don't you know when you're licked?"
"Licked, hell!" said Orde. "We've just begun to fight."
"What can you do?"
"Get that bridge span out of there, of course."
"How?"
"Can't we blow her up with powder?"
"Ever try to blow up iron?"
"There must be some way."
"Oh, there is," replied Welton. "Of course--take her apart bolt by
bolt and nut by nut."
"Send for the wrenches, then," snapped Orde.
"But it would take two or three days, even working night and day."
"What of it?"
"But it would be too late--it would do no good--"
"Perhaps not," interrupted Orde; "but it will be doing something,
anyway. Look here, Welton, are you game? If you'll get that bridge
out in two days I'll hold the jam.
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