“That’s easy.” Clay followed the ridgeline until it dropped away. He outlined the steep walls of the gorge. “The tracks wind down one side and up the other.”
“They do. That’s why I want to build a bridge across it.”
Clay looked up then, wide-eyed. “You mean it? A bridge there?”
Roen nodded. “A trestle bridge. It takes a train better than an hour to negotiate that gorge now. With the bridge, it will be able to cross in mere minutes. Here, let me roll this up and I’ll show you.”
When the second map was revealed, all the indicators and the legend were in place. Clay set his elbows on the table and studied it. It was not a map of what was, but of what could be. There was a different route for the tracks, and the gorge was filled with the crisscross tripod frames peculiar to erecting trestles. He looked up at Roen, his expression skeptical.
“What?” asked Roen. “You have something to say, I collect.”
Clay pointed to the bridge. “Can a train really cross that?”
“If it’s built to my specifications, it can. This is not a new design. The Central Pacific couldn’t have reached Promontory Point without bridges like this. This one is going to be framed using a combination of timber and iron.”
“It’s awfully high and long.”
“It is. The trestles you’re familiar with cross the river, but the engineering is basically the same.”
“If you say so.”
Roen chuckled. “I do. And I’m going to show you some calculations to prove it.”
Clay put his head in his hands. “This is the schoolwork you talked about it.”
“It is, but we’re not going to do that today. I want to show you another map.” He rolled up the planning map and tied it off with twine. The final map showed a different topography than the first two. “This is one of the maps I received from the land office. Ed Saunders copied this from the original, but I’m not certain he was as meticulous as I need him to be. This shows approximately ten square miles. You recognize it. This is the area I was surveying while you were spying on me.”
“I wasn’t spying,” Clay said before he thought better of it.
Roen gave him the gimlet eye.
“Well, maybe I was. But it wasn’t for nefarious purposes.”
“Nefarious. Do you even know what that means?”
“Wicked. Evil.Nat Church and the Nefarious Ninja.”
“I should have known. Is that one of the books Miss Fletcher mentioned that’s overdue?”
“Yes. There’ll be a fine, but I want to read it again. Anyway, the fine goes toward buying more books so I’m actually helping the library.”
Roen decided against arguing with that logic. He pointed to the map again, specifically to a boundary line that defined two properties. “This area to the north, where I want to lay track, is what you told me is owned by Mr. Hardy, but I think the initial survey of the land was off by more than half a mile. Whether that’s because of inadequate instruments or incompetency, I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. I think this strip, something like a panhandle, is actually part of the Twin Star Ranch.”
“Huh. Maybe it’s like you thought at first. Mr. Saunders might not have copied it carefully.”
“Or the original is incorrect. We’re going to find out on Saturday.”
“We are?”
“We are. Can you finish your chores by eight?”
“I can finish them by seven if you want.”
Roen appreciated Clay’s eagerness, but he said, “Eight’s fine. I’ll arrange to have the horses paid for and available. You bring them here and help me pack. We’ll be gone almost all the daylight hours so eat breakfast and I’ll have Ellie Butterworth pack something for us to take along. Dress for the weather because we’re not coming back for coats or slickers.”
“Yes, sir. I reckon this would be a good time to tell you I’m not that good of a rider. Only been on a horse about half a dozen times. Three of those times, Ben was leading me.”
“How is that possible?” asked Roen. “I thought everyone out here was born knowing how to ride.”
