Then he took off his hat and bowed. "Good
morning," he greeted politely.
"Sure," Bill grinned. "We have mornings like this around here all the
time. What all are you fellows doing in the wilderness, anyway?
Railroad?"
"Cross-section work for the G. T. P.," the surveyor replied.
"Huh," Bill grunted. "Is it a dead cinch, or is it something that may
possibly come to pass in the misty future?"
"As near a cinch as anything ever is," the surveyor answered.
"Construction has begun--at both ends. I thought the few white folks
in this country kept tab on anything as important as a new railroad."
"We've heard a lot, but none of 'em has transpired yet; not in my time,
anyway," Bill replied dryly. "However, the world keeps right on
moving. I've heard more or less talk of this, but I didn't know it had
got past the talking stage. What's their Pacific terminal?"
"Prince Rupert--new town on a peninsula north of the mouth of the
Skeena," said the surveyor. "It's a rush job all the way through, I
believe. Three years to spike up the last rail. And that's going some
for a transcontinental road. Both the Dominion and B. C. governments
have guaranteed the company's bonds away up into millions.
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