"You might try it and see," he ventured. "I'm desperate enough to take
suggestions from anyone."

"Tell me something first: is your railroad obliged to run straight
along in the middle of this nice little ridge you've been making for
it?"

"Why--no; temporarily, it can run anywhere. But the problem is to get
the track laid beyond this crossing before your uncle gets back with a
trainload of armed guards."

"Any kind of track would do, wouldn't it?--just to secure the
crossing?"

"Certainly; anything that would hold the weight of the octopod. We
shall have to rebuild most of the line, anyway, as soon as the frost
comes out of the ground in the spring."

The brown eyes became far-seeing.

"I was thinking," she said musingly. "There is no time to make another
nice little ridge. But you have piles and piles of logs over
there,"--she meant the cross-ties,--"couldn't you build a sort of
cobhouse ridge with those between your track and Uncle's, and cross
behind the car? Don't laugh, please."

But Winton was far enough from laughing at her. Why so simple an
expedient had not suggested itself instantly he did not stop to
inquire. It was enough that the Heaven-born idea had been given.