From the east, over the flats and marshes through which the narrow,
sluggish river wanders to Lake Michigan, came the hoarse whistle of a
steamer. Bannon turned and looked. His view was blocked by some freight
cars that were standing on the C. & S. C. tracks at some distance to the
east. He ran across the tracks and out on the wharf, climbing on the
timber pile, where Peterson and his gang were, rolling down the big sticks
with cant-hooks. Not a quarter of a mile away was a big steamer, ploughing
slowly up the river; the cough of her engines and the swash of the
churning water at her bow and stern could be plainly heard. Peterson
stopped work for a moment, and joined him.

"Well," Bannon said, "we're in for it now. I never thought they'd make
such time as this."

"She can lay up here all night till morning, I guess."

Bannon was thinking hard.

"No," he finally said, "she can't. There ain't any use of wasting all day
tomorrow unloading that cribbing and getting it across."

Peterson, too, was thinking; and his eyebrows were coming together in a
puzzled scowl.

"Oh," he said, "you mean to do it tonight?"

"Yes, sir. We don't get any sleep till every piece of that cribbing is
over at the annex, ready for business in the morning. Your sills are
laid--there's nothing in the way of starting those bins right up. This
ain't an all-night job if we hustle it."