new, so they can rush soldiers and supplies to the front; but after the
muss is all over he springs his order book on the gover'ment and lands
such a whackin' big contract for steel rails and girders that Old
Hickory decides to work day and night shifts in two more rollin' mills.

Course, since it was Mr. Robert who helped me root for Skid in the
first place, he's tickled to death, and he tells me confidential how
they're goin' to get the directors together at a big banquet that
evenin' and have a reg'lar lovefeast, with Skid at the head of the
table.

Just now I finds Mr. Robert pumpin' him for some of the details of his
experience over there, and after I lugs in an atlas they sent me out
for, so Skid can point out something on the map, I just naturally hangs
around with my ear stretched.

"Ah, that's the place," says Skid, puttin' his finger on a dot,
"Mustapha! Well, it was about six miles east from there that we had
our worst job. Talk about messes! Those Turks may not know how to
build a decent railroad, but believe me they're stars at wrecking a
line thoroughly! At Mustapha they'd ripped up the rails, burned the
ties, and blown great holes in the roadbed with dynamite. But I soon
had a dozen grading gangs at work on that stretch, and new bridges
started, and then I pushed on alone to see what was next.

"That was when I got nearest to the big noise. Off across the hills
the Turks were pounding away with their heavy guns, and I was anxious
for a look. I kept going and going; but couldn't find any of our
people. Night was shutting in too, and the first thing I knew I wasn't
anywhere in particular, with nothing in sight but an old sheep pen. I