Garton took them from a drawer and passed them across the table. "I will look over them on the job to-morrow. And I want to know how long you think it will take to get that dam built when once we get to work on it?" "I don't see how it can be done and done right," Garton answered, promptly, "in much less than thirty days. You might be able to do a temporary job of it--put in a bulwark that would do until we could get water down here and live up to our contract--and then build the real dam after the first of October. That might be done in less time." "How big a shift of men were you planning on putting to work up there?" "Two hundred. You couldn't use more than that. There isn't room. They'd get in one another's way." Conniston sat frowning moodily, his fingers tapping the roll of blue-prints in his hands. "Isn't there any way," he asked suddenly, swinging upon Garton, "of making a go of this without building that dam?" "No, Greek, there isn't. You see, there isn't any too much water up in the mountains at best. We have to get every drop that the law allows us." "Figure on it, Tommy. I want your chief work for the next few days to be just figuring out where we can cut down, where we can save not only money but men. It's men we need." He broke off suddenly and leaned forward, putting his hand on Garton's arm. "Damn it, Tommy," he said, huskily, "I want you to know that I don't enjoy giving you orders. I want you to know that _I_ know you ought to be doing what I am doing to-day. You are a better man than I am every day in the week, and I know it. If it were not--" "Oh, shut up, Greek!" laughed Garton, frankly. "You're an old liar, and that's what I know! And," and his voice softened as he put out his hand for a second time that night, "I love you for it. Now let's cut out the slush and get to work."