Excerpt: "Between precipices echoed the crash of ice sliding loose and splintering as it fell in ponderous masses. Men sweating in the glare of collossal bonfires toiled at the work of re-inforcing the dam. They had been faithful; they were still faithful, but the stress of exhaustion was beginning to sap their morale; to drive them into irritability so that, under the strain of almost superhuman exertion, they threatened to break. Brent was not of their blood and knew little of how to handle them, and though Parson Acup was indefatigable, his face became more and more apprehensive. "Ef we kin hold ‘em at hit till ther crack of day, we’ve got a right gay chanst ter save them big sticks, " he announced bluntly to Brent near midnight. "But hit hain’t in reason ter expect men ter plum kill themselves off fer ther profit of somebody else–an’ him likely ter be dead by termorrer"."
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