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It
was
a
dangerous
job
that
had
taken
many
lives
;
it
had
been
abolished
years
earlier
by
the
invention
of
the
hydraulic
gun
;
but
there
had
been
struggling
,
failing
mills
which
,
on
their
way
down
,
had
attempted
to
use
the
outworn
equipment
and
methods
of
a
distant
past
.
Rearden
had
done
the
job
;
but
in
the
years
since
,
he
had
met
no
other
man
able
to
do
it
.
In
the
midst
of
shooting
jets
of
live
steam
,
in
the
face
of
a
crumbling
blast
furnace
,
he
was
now
seeing
the
tall
,
slim
figure
of
the
playboy
performing
the
task
with
the
skill
of
an
expert
.
It
took
an
instant
for
Rearden
to
tear
off
his
coat
,
seize
a
pair
of
goggles
from
the
first
man
in
sight
and
join
Francisco
at
the
mouth
of
the
furnace
.
There
was
no
time
to
speak
,
to
feel
or
to
wonder
.
Francisco
glanced
at
him
once
—
and
what
Rearden
saw
was
a
smudged
face
,
black
goggles
and
a
wide
grin
.
They
stood
on
a
slippery
bank
of
baked
mud
,
at
the
edge
of
the
white
stream
,
with
the
raging
hole
under
their
feet
,
flinging
clay
into
the
glare
where
the
twisting
tongues
that
looked
like
gas
were
boiling
metal
.
Rearden
’
s
consciousness
became
a
progression
of
bending
,
raising
the
weight
,
aiming
and
sending
it
down
and
,
before
it
had
reached
its
unseen
destination
,
bending
for
the
next
one
again
,
a
consciousness
drawn
tight
upon
watching
the
aim
of
his
arm
,
to
save
the
furnace
,
and
the
precarious
posture
of
his
feet
,
to
save
himself
.
He
was
aware
of
nothing
else
—
except
that
the
sum
of
it
was
the
exultant
feeling
of
action
,
of
his
own
capacity
,
of
his
body
’
s
precision
,
of
its
response
to
his
will
.
And
with
no
time
to
know
it
,
but
knowing
it
,
seizing
it
with
his
senses
past
the
censorship
of
his
mind
,
he
was
seeing
a
black
silhouette
with
red
rays
shooting
from
behind
its
shoulders
,
its
elbows
,
its
angular
curves
,
the
red
rays
circling
through
steam
like
the
long
needles
of
spotlights
,
following
the
movements
of
a
swift
,
expert
,
confident
being
whom
he
had
never
seen
before
except
in
evening
clothes
under
the
lights
of
ballrooms
.
There
was
no
time
to
form
words
,
to
think
,
to
explain
,
but
he
knew
that
this
was
the
real
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
,
this
was
what
he
had
seen
from
the
first
and
loved
—
the
word
did
not
shock
him
,
because
there
was
no
word
in
his
mind
,
there
was
only
a
joyous
feeling
that
seemed
like
a
flow
of
energy
added
to
his
own
.
To
the
rhythm
of
his
body
,
with
the
scorching
heat
on
his
face
and
the
winter
night
on
his
shoulder
blades
,
he
was
seeing
suddenly
that
this
was
the
simple
essence
of
his
universe
:
the
instantaneous
refusal
to
submit
to
disaster
,
the
irresistible
drive
to
fight
it
,
the
triumphant
feeling
of
his
own
ability
to
win
.
He
was
certain
that
Francisco
felt
it
,
too
,
that
he
had
been
moved
by
the
same
impulse
,
that
it
was
right
to
feel
it
,
right
for
both
of
them
to
be
what
they
were
—
he
caught
glimpses
of
a
sweat
-
streaked
face
intent
upon
action
,
and
it
was
the
most
joyous
face
he
had
ever
seen
.
The
furnace
stood
above
them
,
a
black
bulk
wrapped
in
coils
of
tubes
and
steam
;
she
seemed
to
pant
,
shooting
red
gasps
that
hung
on
the
air
above
the
mills
—
and
they
fought
not
to
let
her
bleed
to
death
.
Sparks
hung
about
their
feet
and
burst
in
sudden
sheafs
out
of
the
metal
,
dying
unnoticed
against
their
clothes
,
against
the
skin
of
their
hands
.
The
stream
was
coming
slower
,
in
broken
spurts
through
the
dam
rising
beyond
their
sight
.
It
happened
so
fast
that
Rearden
knew
it
fully
only
after
it
was
over
.
He
knew
that
there
were
two
moments
:
the
first
was
when
he
saw
the
violent
swing
of
Francisco
’
s
body
in
a
forward
thrust
that
sent
the
bullet
to
continue
the
line
in
space
,
then
he
saw
the
sudden
,
unrhythmic
jerk
backward
that
did
not
succeed
,
the
convulsive
beating
against
a
forward
pull
,
the
extended
arms
of
the
silhouette
losing
its
balance
,
he
thought
that
a
leap
across
the
distance
between
them
on
the
slippery
,
crumbling
ridge
would
mean
the
death
of
both
of
them
—
and
the
second
moment
was
when
he
landed
at
Francisco
’
s
side
,
held
him
in
his
arms
,
hung
swaying
together
between
space
and
ridge
,
over
the
white
pit
,
then
gained
his
footing
and
pulled
him
back
,
and
,
for
an
instant
,
still
held
the
length
of
Francisco
’
s
body
against
the
length
of
his
own
,
as
he
would
have
held
the
body
of
an
only
son
.
His
love
,
his
terror
,
his
relief
were
in
a
single
sentence
:
"
Be
careful
,
you
goddamn
fool
!
"
