"
"Be a great thing for this country--say, where does it cross the
Rockies?--what's the general route?" Bill asked abruptly.
"Goes over the range through Yellowhead Pass. From here it follows the
Nachaco to Fort George, then up the Fraser by Tete Juan Cache, through
the pass, then down the Athabasca till it switches over to strike
Edmonton."
"Uh-huh," Bill nodded. "One of the modern labors of Hercules. Well,
we've got to peg. So long."
"Our camp's about five miles ahead. Better stop in and noon," the
surveyor invited, "if it's on your road."
"Thanks. Maybe we will," Bill returned.
The surveyor lifted his hat, with a swift glance of admiration at
Hazel, and they passed with a mutual "so long."
"What do you think of that, old girl?" Bill observed presently. "A
real, honest-to-God railroad going by within a hundred miles of our
shack. Three years. It'll be there before we know it. We'll have
neighbors to burn."
"A hundred miles!" Hazel laughed. "Is that your idea of a neighborly
distance?"
"What's a hundred miles?" he defended. "Two days' ride, that's all.
And the kind of people that come to settle in a country like this don't
stick in sight of the cars.
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