The Exploiters and the Exploited

           Therailsrosethroughtherockstotheoilderricksandtheoilderricksrosetothesky.Dagnystoodonthebridge,lookingupatthecrestofthehillwherethesunhitaspotofmetalonthetopofthehighestrigging.

           ItlookedlikeawhitetorchlightedoverthesnowontheridgesofWyattOil.Byspring,shethought,thetrackwouldmeetthelinegrowingtowarditfromCheyenne.Shelethereyesfollowthegreen-bluerailsthatstartedfromthederricks,camedown,wentacrossthebridgeandpasther.Sheturnedherheadtofollowthemthroughthemilesofclearair,astheywentoningreatcurveshungonthesidesofthemountains,fartotheendofthenewtrack,wherealocomotivecrane,likeanarmofnakedbonesandnerves,movedtenselyagainstthesky.

           Atractorwentpasther,loadedwithgreen-bluebolts.Thesoundofdrillscameasasteadyshudderfromfarbelow,wheremenswungonmetalcables,cuttingthestraightstonedropofthecanyonwalltoreinforcetheabutmentsofthebridge.Downthetrack,shecouldseemenworking,theirarmsstiffwiththetensionoftheirmusclesastheygrippedthehandlesofelectrictietampers.

           "Muscles,MissTaggart,"BenNealy,thecontractor,hadsaidtoher,"muscles—that’sallittakestobuildanythingintheworld."

           NocontractorequaltoMcNamaraseemedtoexistanywhere.Shehadtakenthebestshecouldfind.