the worn heroes who had dreamed it over and over for five years, while
they lay in their blankets with only the dry, hard earth beneath them,
seemed unable to realize that the work was really done and that they
could now go home, those who had homes to go to, eat soft bread, and
sleep between sheets.

Out under an awning, made by stretching a blanket between a couple of
dump-carts, Bradford lay, reading a 'Frisco paper that had come by
Governor Stanford's special; but even that failed to hold his thoughts.
His heart was away out on the Atlantic coast, and he would be hurrying
that way on the morrow, the guest of the chief engineer. He had lost his
mother when a boy, and his father just a year previous to his
banishment, but he had never lost faith in the one woman he had loved,
and he had loved her all his life, for they had been playmates. Now all
this fuss about driving the last spike was of no importance to him. The
one thing he longed for, lived for, was to get back to "God's country."
He heard the speeches by Governor Stanford for the Central, and General
Dodge for the Union Pacific; heard the prayer offered up by the Rev. Dr.
Todd, of Pittsfield; heard the General dictate to the operator:

"All ready," and presently the operator sang out the reply from the far
East:

"All ready here!" and then the silver hammer began beating the golden
spike into the laurel tie, which bore a silver plate, upon which was
engraved:

"The Last Tie
Laid in the Completion of the Pacific
Railroads.