"It is justice, stern justice; to you, my dear, to myself, and this fine young fellow who has stolen your heart. Let him show himself worthy of you, and you have my blessing and my fortune." "Is he going soon?" "He is gone." The young woman knelt by her father's chair and bowed her head upon his knee, quivering with grief. This stern man, who had humped himself and made a million, put a hand on her head and said: "Ma-Mary"--and then choked up. II The tent boy put a small white card down on General Dodge's desk one morning, upon which was printed: J. BRADFORD, C.E. The General, who was at that time chief engineer in charge of the construction of the first Pacific Railroad, turned the bit of pasteboard over. It seemed so short and simple. He ran his eyes over a printed list, alphabetically arranged, of directors, promoters, statesmen, capitalists, and others who were in the habit of signing "letters of recommendation" for young men who wanted to do something and begin well up the ladder. There were no Bradfords. Burgess and Blodgett were the only B's, and the General was glad. His desk was constantly littered with the "letters" of tenderfeet, and his office-tent filled with their portmanteaus, holding dress suits and fine linen. Here was a curiosity--a man with no press notices, no character, only one initial and two chasers. "Show him in," said the General, addressing the one luxury his hogan held. A few moments later the chief engineer was looking into the eye of a young man, who returned the look and asked frankly, and without embarrassment, for work with the engineers. "Impossible, young man--full up," was the brief answer. "Now," thought the General, "he'll begin to beat his breast and haul out his 'pull.'" The young man only smiled sadly, and said, "I'm sorry. I saw an 'ad' for men in the _Bee_ yesterday, and hoped to be in time," he added, rising. "Men! Yes, we want men to drive mules and stakes, to grade, lay track, and fight Indians--but engineers? We've got 'em to use for cross-ties." "I am able and willing to do any of these things--except the Indians--and I'll tackle that if nothing else offers." "There's a man for you," said the General to his assistant as Bradford went out with a note to Jack Casement, who was handling the graders, teamsters, and Indian fighters. "No influential friends, no baggage, no character, just a man, able to stand alone--a real man in corduroys and flannels." Coming up to the gang, Bradford singled out the man who was swearing loudest and delivered the note. "Fall in," said the straw boss, and Bradford got busy. He could handle one end of a thirty-foot rail with ease, and before night, without exciting the other workmen or making any show of superiority, he had quietly, almost unconsciously, become the leader of the track-laying gang. The foreman called Casement's attention to the new man, and Casement watched him for five minutes.