The Doctor : a Tale of the Rockies | Page 9

this point out there
was to be a life-and-death contest as to which side should complete
each its part of the structure first. The main plates, the "purline" plates,
posts and braces, the rafters and collar beams, must all be set securely
in position. The side whose last man was first down from the building
after its work was done claimed the victory. In two opposing lines a

hundred men stood, hats, coats, vests and, in case of those told off to
"ride" the plates, boots discarded. A brawny, sinewy lot they were,
quick of eye and steady of nerve, strong of hand and sure of foot, men
to be depended upon whether to raise a barn or to build an empire. The
choice of sides fell to Rory, who took the north, or bank, side.
"Niver fret, Barney," cried Tom Magee, who in the near approach of
battle was his own man again. "Niver ye fret. It's birrds we are, an' the
more air for us the better."
Between the sides stood the framer ready to give the word.
"Aren't they splendid!" said Margaret in a low tone to Mrs. Boyle, her
cheek pale and her blue eyes blazing with excitement. "Oh, if I were
only a boy!"
"Ay," said Mrs. Boyle, "ye'd be riding the plate, I doubt."
"Wouldn't I, though! My! they're fine!" answered the girl, with her eyes
upon Barney. And more eyes than hers were upon the young captain,
whose rugged face showed pale even at that distance.
"Now then, men," cried the framer. "Mind your pins. Are you ready?"
holding his hat high in the air.
"Ready," answered Rory.
Barney nodded.
"Git then!" he cried, flinging his hat hard on the ground. Like hounds
after a hare in full sight, like racers springing from the tape, they leaped
at the timbers, every man to his place, yelling like men possessed. At
once the admiring female friends broke into rival camps, wildly
enthusiastic, fiercely partisan.
"Well done, Rory! He's up first!" cried a girl whose brilliant
complexion and still more brilliant locks proclaimed her relationship to
the captain of the north side.

"Huh! Barney'll soon catch him, you'll see," cried Margaret. "Oh,
Barney, hurry! hurry!"
"Indeed, he will need to hurry," cried Rory's sister, mercilessly exultant.
"He's up! He's up!"
Sure enough, Rory, riding the first half of his plate over the bent, had
just "broken it down," and in half a minute, seized by the men detailed
for this duty, it was in its place upon the posts. Like cats, three men
with mauls were upon it driving the pins home just as the second half
was making its appearance over the bent, to be seized and placed and
pinned as its mate had been.
"He's won! He's won!" shrieked Rory's admiring faction.
"Barney! Barney!" screamed his contingent reproachfully.
"Well done, Rory! Keep at it! You've got them beaten!"
"Beaten, indeed!" was the scornful reply. "Just wait a minute."
"They're at the 'purlines'!" shrieked Rory's sister, and her friends,
proceeding to scream wildly after the female method of expressing
emotion under such circumstances.
"My!" sniffed a contemptuous member of Barney's faction, suffering
unutterable pangs of humiliation. "Some people don't mind making a
show of themselves."
"Oh, Barney! why don't you hurry?" cried Margaret, to whose eager
spirit Barney's movements seemed painfully and almost wilfully slow.
But Barney had laid his plans. Dividing his men into squads, he had
been carrying out the policy of simultaneous preparation, and while
part of his men had been getting the plates to their places, others had
been making ready the "purlines" and laying the rafters in order so that,
although beaten by Rory in the initial stages of the struggle, when once
his plates were in position, while Rory's men were rushing about in

more or less confusion after their rafters, Barney's purlins and rafters
moved to their positions as if by magic. Consequently, though when
they arrived at the rafters Barney was half a dozen behind, the rest of
his rafters were lifted almost as one into their places.
At once the ranks of Barney's faction, which up to this point had been
enduring the poignant pangs of what looked like humiliating defeat,
rose in a tumult of triumph to heights of bliss inexpressible, save by a
series of ear-piercing but altogether rapturous shrieks.
"They're down! They're down!" screamed Margaret, dancing in an
ecstasy of joy, while hand over hand down posts, catching at braces,
slipping, sliding, springing, the men of both sides kept dropping from
incredible distances to the ground. Suddenly through all the tumultuous
shouts of victory a heart-rending scream rang out, followed by a
shuddering groan and dead silence. One-half of Rory's purlin plate
slipped from its splicing, the pin having been neglected in the furious
haste,