Inside, he walked down along the row of four great rotary plows, giving them a quick inspection which he knew was useless. They fairly glistened with readiness. Tire-chains were already on, and spare chains hung in place. The great truck-like bodies were piled with gravel for weight to give traction. But in the blunt noses, the cutting edges of the great augers were dim with the rust of disuse. On the opposite side of the garage were the push-plows with their big, twelve-foot shares, and the single V-plow. Ready to roll!

In the work-shop too many men were standing around with little to do. The whole set-up made the Superintendent think of a military post with the garrison built up to war strength and waiting for the oubreak of hostilities.

“Hello,” he greeted the Day Foreman. “Everything O.K.?”

“The machines are O.K. all right, but the men not so good—goin’ stale. Can’t keep ’em busy.” He dropped his voice. “Swenson and Peters started a fight last night, but we pulled ’em apart.”

The Superintendent’s jaw thrust suddenly forward. “Can’t have any of that stuff,” he said, and started for the bunk-house.

The bunk-house was only a hundred feet from the garage, but connecting them was a tunnel-like passageway for protection against the snow.

Peters was out working, but the Superintendent took Swenson into the wash-room. He was six inches shorter than the big Swede and forty pounds lighter, but he was boss and he laid down the law. Swenson was properly apologetic, and the Superintendent said to forget about it but not to do it again. You couldn’t be too hard on the men; they needed their jobs; Peters had a wife and three kids down in the Valley.

Driving on westward along the highway, the Superintendent was still thinking about it. Come a good snow-storm, and Swenson would be swamping and Peters operating in the same rotary, thick as thieves. Funny—the machines could stand lying around idle, but the men couldn’t. Well, machines meant more than men on this job. MICHIGAN again. He could fire a couple of men and get others. But if he smashed a rotary in a storm, he might lose the road.

West of the Summit the road descended much less rapidly, and was less spectacular; but it was just as hard to keep clear. The Superintendent let his car glide along more swiftly. At Norden and Soda Springs and Fox Farm there were respectable depths of snow; but on south slopes in the bright sun the snow was melting and trickles of water ran across the highway. Near Rainbow Tavern the Superintendent took off his coat. As he drove, he noted the condition of the pavement and the shoulders, making sure that nothing would interfere with the work of the plows.