Boulder Dam by Zane Grey

Author:Zane Grey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1963-10-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Lynn in his day had viewed with critical eye perhaps half a hundred squads of athletes. And during his long job on the dam he had seen as many more, notable among whom were the drillers. These last had, as he would never forget, filled him with a despair of emulation. But none of them could equal the veteran scalers.

This squad whom Lynn joined did not number as many members as the others. They made him think of a bunch of rodeo cowboys. But the best comparison he could find was a group of professional baseball players he had watched train on the field at Catalina. The cowboys appeared merely boys; the baseball players were older; and the scalers were men.

Physique and condition were paramount in Lynn’s critical eye. This squad of scalers whom he was about to join appeared magnificently fit for what was claimed to be the most hazardous and strenuous job known to contractors. They had been recruited, as Lynn had learned, from the ranks of steeple climbers, tower painters, ironworkers on the construction of skyscrapers; and from other unusual walks of labor that required remarkable nerve, agility and strength. Lynn scraped acquaintance with an engineer who had run the Twentieth Century Limited on the Grand Central Railroad for the allotted years these men were limited to. “I used to run into the next block while the signal was still red,” this worthy said with a smile. “Had to do it to make the time. Ninety miles per.”

There was a quiet, leonine man of middle age, the kind of man Lynn would have liked beside him in a battle; and this fellow had helped paint the cables on the Brooklyn Bridge and the upraised arm of the Statue of Liberty. A mountaineer from Colorado caught Lynn’s fancy. There was a hardy sailor whose nose had been flattened, probably by a belaying pin, and he had the build of a gorilla. No doubt he could hang on to a yardarm with one hand and reef with the other, while the ship was performing didos with the big seas.

If there were drinkers in the body of scalers no casual observer could have noted it. And Lynn, keen as he was, could not catch any evidence of the baneful bottle. Altogether this aggregation of wall-scalers, among whom Lynn was proud to be numbered, was unique and admirable. He felt somewhat like he had when he first joined the varsity squad.

When Lynn met the foreman, Regan, he grasped a clearer conception of this squad of scalers. Regan had the frame of Jack Dempsey and an eye like Babe Ruth.

“Howdy, Weston,” was his greeting, with a handclasp that cracked bones. “Flynn told me about you. But I’d heard before. There ain’t nothin’ to this job for you. I’ll put you next to me. An’ you do what I do. Thet’s all.”

“I’m tickled pink. I’ve been stuck on this scaler job,” Lynn replied heartily.

“Yeah? So am I, an’ I can’t get off it.

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