Having given these directions, Jack Rutter turned, with the help of one of the chainmen to fasten a blanket behind the saddle to make a sort of extra saddle. The blanket had been lying rolled at the back of the saddle.

Harry, in the meantime, without flinching, performed his task well. Had he but known it, Rutter's explanation of the lack of danger was true; but in that moment, with his chum's life at stake, Harry didn't care a fig whether the explanation were true or not. All he thought of was saving Tom.

"I reckon that part of the job has been done well," nodded Rutter, turning back from the horse. "Now, Reade, I want you to mount behind me and hold on tightly, for we're going to do some hard, swift riding. The sooner we get you to camp the surer you will be of coming out of this scrape all right."

"I've never had much experience in horsemanship, and I may out a sorry figure at it," laughed Reade, as, with Harry's help he got up behind Rutter.

"Horsemanship doesn't count—-speed does," replied Rutter tersely. "Hold on tightly, and we'll make as good time as possible. I'm going to start now."

Away they went, at a hard gallop, Tom doing his best to hold on, but feeling like a jumping-jack.

"It won't take us more than twenty minutes," promised Jack Rutter.



CHAPTER VII

WHAT A SQUAW KNEW

All the way to camp Rutter kept the pony at a hard gallop.

"Thurston! Mr. Thurston!" he shouted. "Be quick, please!"

Even as the young man called, Mr. Thurston ran out of his tent.

"You know something about rattlesnake bites, I believe?" Rutter went on hurriedly, as Tom Reade slipped to the ground. "The boy has been bitten by one and we'll have to work quickly."

"Don't bring any liquor, though," objected Reade, leaning up against a tree. "If liquor is your cure for snakebites I prefer to take my chances with the bite."

"Get the shoe off and roll up the trousers," directed the chief engineer, without loss of words. "Fortunately, I believe we have someone here who knows more about treating the bites than I do. Squaw!"

An Indian woman who had been sitting on the grass before the chief's tent, a medley pack of Indian baskets arranged before her, glanced up.

"Snake! You know what to do," went on Mr. Thurston hurriedly. "You know what to do——eh? Pay you well."

At the last three magic words the aged squaw rose and hobbled quickly forward.

"Take boy him tent," directed the Indian woman.

"I can walk," remarked Tom.

"No; they take you. Heap better," commanded the woman.

Instantly Mr. Thurston and Rutter took hold of Tom, raising him into their arms. Through the flap of his tent they bore him, depositing him on his cot. The Indian woman followed them inside.

"Now you go out," she ordered, with a sweep of her hand. "Send him cookman. Hot water—-heap boil."

Thus ordered, Jake Wren came on the run with a kettle of boiling water. The Indian squaw received it with a grunt, ordering that bowls and cups be also brought. When Wren came the second time he lingered curiously.

"You go out; no see what do," said the squaw.

So Jake departed, the squaw tying the flap of the tent after he had gone. Then, from the bosom of her dress she drew out a few small packages of herbs. The contents of these she distributed in different bowels and cups.

"I'd like to see what the old witch is doing, and how she's doing it," declared Rutter in a whisper.

"She'll stop short if she catches you looking in on her," replied the chief, with a smile. "For some reason these Indians are very jealous of their secrets in treating snakebites. They're wizards, though, these same red-skinned savages."

"You believe, then, that she can pull Reade through?" asked Rutter eagerly.

"If she knows her business, and if there's any such thing as saving the boy she'll do it," declared Mr. Thurston, as they reached the door of the chief's tent. "Will you come inside, Rutter! You look badly broken up."

"I am, and I shall be, just as long as Reade is in any danger," Rutter admitted. "Reade is a mighty fine boy and I'm fond of him. Besides, more than a little of our success in getting the road through on time depends on the boy."

"Is Reade really so valuable, then?"

"He goes over the course, Mr. Thurston, as rapidly as any man in our corps, and his work is very accurately done. Moreover, he never kicks. If you told him to work half the night, on top of a day's work, he'd do it."

"Then Reade, if he recovers, must be watched and rewarded for anything he does for us," murmured Mr. Thurston.

"Don't say, 'if he recovers,' chief," begged Jack. "I hate to think of his not pulling through from this snakebite."

"What became of the reptile that did the trick?" asked Mr. Thurston.

"That crawler will never bite anything else," muttered Rutter. "I got the thing with my riding quirt."

Not very long after Harry Hazelton reached camp, well in advance of the chainmen, for Harry, good school athlete that he was, had jog-trotted every step of the way in.

"Where's Tom?" Hazelton demanded.

"Here," called a voice from Reade's tent.

Hazelton turned in that direction, but Mr. Thurston looked out from the large tent, calling:

"Don't go there now, Hazelton. You wouldn't be admitted. Come here."

Despite his long run, Harry's face displayed pallor as he came breathlessly into Mr. Thurston's field abode. In a few words, however, the lad was acquainted with the situation as far as it had developed.

In the meantime what was the squaw doing with Tom? It must be admitted that Reade hadn't any too clear an idea. The gaunt old red woman poured hot water, small quantities at a time, into the bowls and cups in which she had distributed the herbs. Then she stirred vigorously, in the meantime muttering monotonously in her own language.

"She isn't relying on the herbs alone," muttered Tom curiously to himself. "She's working up some kind of incantation. I wonder what effect she expects an Indian song to have on snake poison?"

Presently the squaw turned, bringing one of the cupfuls to the wounded boy.

"Sit up," she ordered. "Drink!"

Tom nearly dropped it, it was so hot.

"Drink!" repeated the squaw.

"But it's so hot it'll burn my gullet out," remonstrated Reade.

"You know more I do?" demanded the squaw stolidly. "Drink!"

Tom took a sip, and shuddered from the intense heat of the stuff.

"Humph! White man him heap papoose!" muttered the squaw, scornfully. "You want live, drink!"

Tom took a longer swallow of the hot stuff. Whew, but it was bitter!

"The bronze lady is trying to turn me inside out!" gasped the boy to himself.

"Drink—-all down!" commanded the squaw with scarcely less scorn than before in her voice.

This time Tom took a hard grip on himself and swallowed all the liquid. For a moment, he thought the nauseating stuff would kill him.

"Now, eat grass," ordered the squaw.

"Meaning eat these herbs," demanded Tom, glancing up.

"Yes. Heap quick."

"To make a fellow eat these herbs after drinking the brew from them is what I call rubbing it in," grimaced Reade.

"Now, this," continued the squaw, calmly handing a second cup to Tom.

"It's all right for you to be calm," thought Tom, as he took the cup from her. "All you have to do is to stand by and watch me. You don't have to drink any of these fearful messes."

However, Tom brought all his will power into play, swallowing a second brew, compared with which the first had been delicious.

"Eat this grass, too"? inquired Tom, gazing at the squaw.

"Yes."

Tom obeyed.

"I shall be very, very careful not to meet any more snakes," he shuddered, after getting the second dose down.

Now the squaw busied herself with spreading soaked herbs on a piece of cloth that she had torn from one of Tom's white shirts' to which she had helped herself from his dunnage box.

"What's a dollar shirt, anyway, when an interesting young man's life is at stake" mused Reade. "Ow—-ow—-ooch!"

"You baby—-papoose?" inquired the squaw calmly. She had slapped on Tom's leg, over the bite, a poultice that, to his excited mind, was four hundred degrees hotter than boiling water.

"Oh, no," grimaced Tom. "That's fine and soothing. But it's growing cool. Haven't you something hotter?"

Just five seconds later Reade regretted his rashness, for, snatching off the first poultice, the squaw slapped on a second that seemed, in some way, ten times more powerful—-and twenty times hotter.

"It's queer what an awful amount of heat a squaw can get out of a kettle of hot water, thought the suffering boy. I'll wager some of the heat is due to the herbs themselves. O-o-o-o-ow! Ouch!"

For now the third poultice, most powerful of all, was in place, and Mrs. Squaw was binding it on as though she intended it never to come off.

Two minutes after that Tom Reade commenced to retch violently. With a memory of the messes that he had swallowed he didn't wonder. The squaw now stepped outside, calling for coffee. This was brought. Tom was obliged to drink several cupfuls, after which he began to feel decidedly more comfortable.

"Now, take nap," advised the squaw, and quitted the tent.

"The bronze lady seems to know what she's doing," thought Tom. "I guess I'll take the whole of her course of treatment." Thereupon he turned his face to the wall. Within sixty seconds he slept.

"How's Reade?" demanded Harry, rising eagerly as the squaw stepped inside the chief's tent.

"He sleep," muttered the squaw.

"He—-he—-isn't dead!" choked Harry, turning deathly pale.

"You think I make death medicine?" demanded the squaw scornfully. "You think me heap fool?"

"The young man will be all right, squaw?" asked Mr. Thurston.

"Humph! Maybe," grunted the red woman. "Yes, I think so. You know bimeby."

"That's the Indian contempt for death," explained the chief engineer, turning to Harry. "I imagine that Reade is doing all right, or she wouldn't have left him."

However, Hazelton was not satisfied with that. He slipped out, crossed camp and stealthily peeped inside of the tent. Then Hazelton slipped back to Mr. Thurston to report.

"If Tom doesn't swallow some of those big snores of his, and choke to death, I think he'll get well," said Harry, with a laugh that testified to the great relief that had come to his feelings. With that all hands had to be content for the time being.



CHAPTER VIII

'GENE BLACK, TROUBLE-MAKER

In the morning Tom Reade declared that he was all right. The old Indian squaw had pronounced him safe, and had gone on her way.

"You'll stay in camp today, Reade," announced Mr. Thurston, dropping into the mess tent.

"With all the work there is ahead of us, sir?" cried Reade aghast.

"That's why you'll stay," nodded Mr Thurston. "Your life has been saved, but after the shock you had yesterday you're not as strong as you may feel. One day of good rest in camp will fit you for what's ahead of us in the days to come. The strain of tramping miles and working like a steam engine all day is not to be thought of for you today. Tomorrow you'll go out with the rest."

Tom sighed. True, he did not feel up to the mark, and was eating a very light breakfast. Still he chafed at the thought of inaction for a whole day.

"The chief wouldn't order you to stay in," remarked Blaisdell, after Mr. Thurston had gone, "unless he knew that to be the best thing for you."

So, after the engineers, their chainmen and rodmen had left camp Tom wandered about disconsolately. He tried to talk to the cook, but Jake and his helper were both rushed in getting the meal that was to be taken out over the trail by burro train.

"Lonely, Reade?" called the chief from his tent.

"Yes, sir," Tom nodded. "I wish I had something to do."

"Perhaps I can find work for you in here. Come in."

Tom entered eagerly. Mr. Thurston was seated at the large table, a mass of maps and field notes before him.

"How are you on drawing, Reade?" queried his chief.

"Poor, sir."

"Never had any training in that line?"

"I can draw the lines of a map, sir, and get it pretty straight, as far as the mathematics of map-drawing goes," Tom answered. "But another man has to go over my work and put in the fine touches of the artist. You know what I mean, sir; the fancy fixings of a map."

"Yes, I know," nodded Mr. Thurston. "I can sympathize with you, too, Reade, for, though I always longed to do artistic platting (map-work) I was always like yourself, and could do only the mathematical part of it. You can help me at that, however, if you are careful enough. Take a seat at that drawing table; and I'll see what you can do."

First, Reade stepped to a box that held map paper. Taking out a sheet, he placed it on the surface of the drawing table, then stuck in thumb-tacks at each of the four corners.

"All ready, sir," he announced.

Mr. Thurston stepped over with an engineer's field note book.

"See if these notes are all clear," directed the chief engineer.

"Yes, sir; I know what the notes call for," Tom answered confidently.

"Then I'll show you just what's wanted Reade," continued the chief.

After some minutes of explanation Tom picked up the T-square, placing the top at the side of the drawing surface. Then against the limb of the "T" Tom laid the base of a right-angled triangle. Along this edge he drew his perpendicular north-and-south line in the upper left-hand corner. He crossed this with a shorter line at right angles, establishing his east-and-west line. Mr. Thurston, standing at the cub engineer is back, looked on closely.

Tom now settled on his beginning point, and made the dot with his pencil. From that point he worked rapidly, making all his measurements and dotting his points. Then he began to draw in. The chief engineer went back to his table.

After Tom had worked an hour the chief interrupted him.

"Now, Reade, get up and let me sit down there for a little while. I want to go over your work."

For some minutes Mr. Thurston checked off the lad's work.

"You really know what you are doing, Reade," he said at last. "Your line measurements are right, and your angles tally faultlessly, I'm glad I kept you back today. You can help me here even more than in the field. Tomorrow, however, I shall have to keep Rice back. He's our ornamental draughtsman, and puts in the fine, flowery work on our maps. Here's some of his work."

Tom gazed intently at the sheet that Mr. Thurston spread for his inspection.

"Rice does it well," remarked Reade thoughtfully. "You've one other man in the corps who can do the pretty draughting about as well."

"Who is he?"

"Hazelton. Harry doesn't do the mathematical part as easily as I do, but he has a fine talent for fancy drawing, sir."

"Then I'll try Hazelton tonight," decided Mr. Thurston aloud. "You may go on with your drawing now, Reade. Hello; someone is coming into camp."

Mr. Thurston stepped over to the doorway in time to see a young man riding up on a pony.

"Where's the chief engineer?" called the newcomer.

"You're looking at him," replied Mr. Thurston.

The young man, who appeared to be about twenty-eight years of age, rode his horse to a near-by tree, then dismounted gracefully and tied his mount.

The young man was well-built, dark-haired and smooth-faced, with snapping black eyes. There was an easy, half-swaggering grace about him suggesting one who had seen much of free life in the open air. For one attired for riding in saddle over mountain trails the stranger was not a little of a dandy in appearance. His khaki trousers and leggings, despite his probably long ride, were spotless. His dark-blue flannel shirt showed no speck of dust; his black, flowing tie was perfection; his light-hued sombrero looked as though it had just left the store.

"If you are Mr. Thurston, I have the honor to present a letter," was the stranger's greeting as he entered the large tent.

Mr. Thurston glanced at the envelope, reading: "Mr. Eugene Black."

"Be seated, Mr. Black," requested the chief, then opened the letter.

"Oh, you're a new engineer, sent out from the offices in New York," continued the chief.

"Yes," smiled the newcomer.

"An experienced engineer, the vice-president of the company informs me."

"Six years of experience," smiled the newcomer, showing his white, handsome teeth.

Tom glanced up just in time to see that smile. "Somehow, I don't quite like the looks of Mr. Black," Reade decided.

"What is your especial line of work, Mr. Black?" Thurston continued.

"Anything in usual field work, sir."

"This letter states that you expect one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month."

"Then the letter is correct, sir."

"All right, Mr. Black; we'll put you at work and let you prove that you're worth it," smiled Mr. Thurston pleasantly.

"How soon shall I go to work, sir?" asked Black.

"I expect my assistant, Mr. Blaisdell, here in about an hour. I'll send you out with him when he returns to field."

"Then, if you're through with me at present, sir, I'll step outside and be within call."

Tom and his chief were again alone. Reade kept steadily on with his work, and no word was spoken for half an hour. Then there came a commotion in camp, for four drovers came in with two dozen horses that had been ordered for the use of the engineering party.

"Step outside, Reade, and see the horses, if you care to do so," suggested Mr. Thurston, reaching for his sombrero.

"Thank you, sir; but the horses will keep, and I'm greatly interested in finishing my drawing so that I can take up more work."

"That young cub, Reade, is no idler." thought the chief, as he stepped into the open.

Tom kept steadily at work.

Ten minutes later, Thurston still being absent, Eugene Black strolled into the tent. He glanced at Tom's drawing with some contempt, then inquired:

"Drawing, boy?"

"Why, not?" laughed Tom. "I'm only one of the stable boys, and, as you can see, I'm currying a horse."

"Stop that sort of nonsense with me, right at the start," flashed Black angrily, striding closer. "I don't allow boys to be fresh with me."

"Where's the boy?" drawled Tom, turning slightly, for a better view of the stranger's face.

"You're one," snapped Black.

"What are you?" Tom asked curiously.

"I'm an engineer."

"If that is anything to be chesty about, then I'm an engineer also," Reade replied, rising.

"Sit down, boy!" commanded Black angrily.

The trace of frown on Reade's face disappeared. He smiled good-humoredly as he observed.

"Black, I'm a bit uncertain about you."

"Mister Black, boy!" warned the other, his dark eyes snapping. "Why are you uncertain about me?"

"I'm wondering," purred Tom gently, "whether you are just trying to be offensive, or whether you don't know any better than to talk and act the way you do?"

"You young puppy, I'll teach you something right now," cried Black, stepping closer and raising a clenched fist.

"Look out," begged Tom. "You'll upset my drawing table."

Eugene Black closed in, striking out. Reade who felt that the situation didn't call for any fighting, retreated, still smiling.

Whether by accident or design, Black, as he made a half turn to start after the cub engineer anew, brushed a corner of the unstable drawing table hard enough to tip it over. A bottle of drawing ink fell, too, splashing ugly black blotches over Tom's carefully drawn outlines of a map.

"Now, you've done it!" exclaimed Tom.

"I haven't quite finished," snapped the stranger, rushing after Reade.

"I'm going to box your ears soundly, boy!"

"Are you, indeed?" demanded Tom, halting. He was still smiling, but there was a stern look in his eyes. Tom no longer retreated, but stood awaiting Black's assault.

Blanks fist shot out straight, but Reade didn't stop the blow. Instead, he ducked low. When he came up his arms enveloped Black's legs in one of the swift football tackles that Tom had learned with the Gridley High School football team.

"You annoy me," drawled Tom, and hurled the fellow ten feet away. Black landed on his back with an angry roar, followed by cursing.

"Profanity is always objectionable to a gentleman," declared Tom dryly, running over ere the newcomer could regain his feet. Once more Reade bent and rose. As he did so, Eugene Black shot through the tent doorway, landing on the ground a dozen feet beyond.

Tom stood in the doorway, smiling. Black leaped to his feet.

"You puppy!" gasped Black, sending his right hand back to his hip pocket. Tom didn't wait to see what he would bring out, but darted forward. This time he seized the stranger in a dead tackle, dropping him over on his back without throwing him.

"Now, roll over," ordered Reade grimly. "I'm curious to see what you have in your pocket. Ah! So—-this is it! You're another Peter Bad, are you?"

Tom held in one hand a silver-plated revolver with ivory handle that he had snatched out of Black's pocket.

"I wonder why it is," mocked Tom, grinning, "that nine out of every ten dude tenderfeet from the east come west with one of these things."

Black charged the cub, intent on recapturing his pistol, but Reade shot out a foot, tripping him. Then Tom ran nimbly over to the cook tent. Here he halted, breaking the weapon at the breech and allowing the cartridges to drop into his hand. He transferred them to his pocket, then wheeled and picked up Jake's kitchen hatchet.

With a few swift strokes from the head of the hatchet Tom put that firearm on the retired list for good.

"Give me my pistol, boy!" choked Black, running up.

"Certainly," rejoined Reade, wheeling and politely offering the ruined firearm. "I don't want it. I've no use for such things"

Black took his weapon, gasped, then, seizing it by the barrel, leaped at Tom, intent on battering his head.

"Here, what's the trouble?" cried Mr. Thurston, appearing around the corner of the cook house and promptly seizing Black by the collar of his flannel shirt.

"Nothing much, sir," laughed Tom. "Mr. Black has just been showing me how bad men behave out in this part of the country."

"This boy is a troublesome cub, Mr. Thurston," declared Black hotly. "Do you see what he has done to my revolvers"

"How did Reade come to have it?" inquired Mr. Thurston.

"He snatched it away from me."

"Reade, is this true?" demanded the chief engineer, turning to the youth.

"Yes, sir; as far as the story goes."

"Tell me the whole truth of this affair," ordered Mr. Thurston sternly.

Tom started to do so, modestly, but Black broke in angrily at points in the narrative.

"The principal thing that I have against Mr. Black," Tom said, "is that he spoiled all my drawing work of this morning."

"Yes; but how did I come to do it?" insisted the newcomer. "You pushed me against your drawing table."

Tom started with astonishment.

"My friend," he remarked, "Baron Munchausen never had anything on you!"

"Careful, Reade! Don't pass the lie," ordered the chief engineer sternly. "I shall look fully into this matter, but at present I'm inclined to believe that you're more at fault than is Black. Return to the tent and start your drawing over again."

There was a smile again on Tom's face as he turned back to make his spoiled work good.

Mr. Thurston went back to his inspection of the ponies. Later, the chief engineer was able to pick up some details of the trouble from Jake Wren, who had seen Black reach for his revolver.

"Understand two things, Mr. Black," said the chief briskly. "In the first place, it is not expected that the engineers of this corps will find any real cause for fighting. Second, I will tolerate no pistol nonsense here."

Then he went back to Tom Reade and spoke to him more quietly.

"Reade, if Black doesn't turn out to be a valuable man here he won't last long. If he is a good man, then you will find it necessary, perhaps, to use a little tact in dealing with him. Did you notice what snapping black eyes the man has? Men with such black eyes are usually impulsive. Remember that."

"I never thought of that before, sir," Tom admitted dryly. "I really didn't know that people with black eyes are impulsive. This I do know, however, people who are too impulsive generally get black eyes!"



CHAPTER IX

"DOCTORED" FIELD NOTES?

There was no more trouble—-immediately. When the other engineers heard of the row—-which news they obtained through Jake, not from Reade—-they soon made it plain to 'Gene Black that Tom Reade was a favorite in the corps. Black was therefore treated with a coldness that he strove hard to overcome.

In the matter of being a capable civil engineer 'Gene Black speedily proved himself efficient. Assistant Chief Engineer Blaisdell soon reported at headquarters that the new member of the corps was an exceedingly valuable man. Black was therefore placed at the head of a leveling squad that obtained the field notes from which were to be estimated the cost of making excavations in several cuts that must be made ere the coming tracks could be laid.

In the days that passed Tom and Harry saw little of the field work. They were kept at the chief's tent. Hence Reade had but little to do with 'Gene Black, which may have been fortunate, as Tom still retained his first instinctive dislike for the black-eyed fellow.

* * * * * * * * *

"Reade and Hazelton, you two young men are going to forge ahead rapidly, and you are sure to earn good salaries, if you don't make the too common mistake of young engineers first starting out," Mr. Thurston told the cubs one forenoon.

"And what is that mistake, sir, if you please?" Tom queried.

"Don't make the mistake of getting too large an idea of the value of your services," replied the chief. "Just work hard all the time and be wholly unassuming.

"I think we can follow that advice, sir," Tom replied, with a smile.

"If you can, you'll get along rapidly. I have already written to our officers in New York, thanking them for having sent you two young men."

"Here's the map I have just finished, sir," said Harry, rising from his drawing table on which were arranged the various draughtsman's inks and washes—-the latter being thin solutions of water colors with which some parts of the maps were colored.

"Very handsomely done, Hazelton. Reade, what are you doing?"

"I'm at work on Black's field notes of the leveling," Tom answered.

"I am very much pleased with Black's work," replied Mr. Thurston. "His notes show that we are going to get out of the excavating in the cuts at about one third of the trouble and expense that I had looked for."

"Black's field notes certainly do look good, sir, for they show that you can get the work through on this division in much less time than you had supposed."

As he turned around to speak, Tom sat where he could easily see the colored field map that Harry had just turned in to the chief.

"Hold on, there, Harry," Tom objected.

"You've lined in a pretty high hill on Section Nineteen. You'll have to cut that down a bit."

"The surveyor's field notes call for that hill," Hazelton retorted.

"But, as it happens," objected Tom, "I'm just working out the profile drawing of Section Nineteen from Black's notes. See here——-" Tom rested a pencil point on a portion of the hill depicted on Hazelton's map. "You've drawn that pretty steep. Now, as you'll see by Black's notes, the upgrade at that point is only a three per cent. grade."

"Humph! It's all of an eight per cent. grade," grunted Hazelton. "See, here are the surveyor's field notes."

"Three per cent. grade," insisted Tom, holding forward Black's leveling notes.

"There's a difference there, then, that must be reconciled," broke in Mr. Thurston, rising, a look of annoyance on his face. "We can't have any such disagreement as that between the field map and the profile sheet. Let us find out, at once, where the trouble lies."

Yet the more the three pondered over the matter the greater became the puzzle. The notes of the surveyor, Matt Rice, and of the leveler, 'Gene Black, were at utter variance.

"We must get hold of these men as soon as they come in tonight," exclaimed Mr. Thurston, much disturbed. "We must find out just which one is at fault."

"Rice is a very reliable man, sir," spoke up Tom.

"Yes; but Blaisdell reports that Black thoroughly understands his work, too," grumbled the chief. "We must settle this tonight."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?" asked Tom.

"Certainly. Go ahead."

"There is no use, sir, in my going ahead with this profile drawing, if there's a chance that the sights turned in by Black are wrong. Until we know, my time at this drawing board may all be wasted. Trotter, one of the rodmen, is in camp today. I might take him, and a level along, and go over the foresights and backsights myself. All of the stakes will be in place. In two hours I ought to have a very good set of leveling notes. Then I can bring them back and compare them with Black's sights."

"Can you run a level well?" inquired Mr. Thurston.

"Of course I can, sir. It's simple enough work, and I've done a good bit of it in the east."

"Go along, then, and see if you can throw any light on this," sighed the disturbed chief.

"Reade really ought to have two rodmen," broke in Harry eagerly. "May I go along, sir, to serve as the other rodman?"

"Run along," assented Mr. Thurston. "Remember, boys, I can't go any further until this tangle is settled. Come back as speedily as you can."

Tom and Harry snatched up their sombreros, hurrying forth. Trotter was found readily, and was ordered to saddle three ponies. Tom busied himself in picking out the best leveling instrument in camp, while Hazelton secured the rods and a chain. Then the party set forth in Indian file, Tom riding in advance.

A trot of half an hour brought them to Section Nineteen. Here Tom speedily adjusted his instrument, taking up his post over the first stake at the bottom of the hill.

Leveling is not difficult work, though it calls for some judgment and a good deal of care. For instance, when Tom set his telescope exactly level and took a reading of the rod at the second stake, which Harry held, he read the height as eight feet and four inches. Then he trudged forward, carrying his instrument, while Trotter held his rod exactly perpendicular over the first stake. From the second stake Tom sighted back through his telescope, reading two feet three inches. The difference between these two readings was six feet and one inch, showing that, for the distance between first and second stakes the rise in the hillside was six feet one inch. Thereupon Reade turned and sighted, from stake number two to stake number three, noting in his book the reading he secured from the rod at number three. Once at number three he turned his telescope backward, taking a reading from Trotter's rod at number two. Ten stakes were thus covered, and not only were the foresights and backsights read and recorded, but the distance between each pair of stakes was measured with the chain and the distances entered on the record.

At stake number ten Tom halted.

"Harry," he directed, "you take Black's leveling notes and hold them while I read my own notes. Stop me every time that you note a difference between the two records."

After that Harry steadily stopped his chum at every reading. By the time that they had finished the comparisons Hazelton's face looked blank from sheer astonishment.

"Why, every single one of Blacks foresights and backsights is wrong!" gasped Harry. "And yet Mr. Blaisdell reported that 'Gene Black is such a fine engineer."

Tom turned to make sure that Trotter was resting out of hearing before he replied:

"Harry, Black isn't such a fool as to bring in an absolutely wrong record of sights, and yet do it innocently. If he didn't do it unintentionally, then he must have tangled the record purposely."

"But why should he do it purposely?" Harry insisted. "He would know that, sooner or later, his blunders or lies would be discovered, and that he would be discharged. Now, Black really wants to hold his job with this outfit."

"Does he?" asked Tom bluntly.

"Why, what do you mean?"

"I don't know," Reade confessed. "I never heard of any such bungle as this before by an engineer. Why, Harry, this hillside averages an eight and a third grade, yet Black's field notes show it to be only a three per cent. grade. Hang it, the fellow must have played the trick purposely!"

"Yet why?" pressed Hazelton.

"I'll admit that I can't understand. Unless, well—-unless——-"

"Say it!"

"Unless Black joined this outfit with the express purpose of queering all the work of the entire corps as he could easily do. Harry, do you think that Black could possibly be serving with this outfit as the paid tool of the rival road, the W.C. & A.? Can he be the enemy's spy within our lines—-sent to prevent our finishing the road on time?"



CHAPTER X

THINGS BEGIN TO GO DOWN HILL

"I suppose I'm thick," Harry murmured. "How would Black, by turning in some wrong backsights and foresights, expect to delay the building of the road, even if he wanted to do it?"

"How?" repeated Tom Reade, showing an amount of heat and excitement that he rarely displayed. "Why, Harry, this same old Section Nineteen is one of the hard spots on the road. A lot of excavating has to be done before the tracks can be laid here. It's not a mere matter of scooping up dirt and removing it, either. A large amount of solid rock has to be blasted out here before the roadbed can be laid."

"I know it," Harry nodded.

"Well, then, at the present moment our chief, Mr. Thurston, is preparing the estimates for the work that must be done. On his estimates will be based the strength of the laboring gangs that must come forward to do the work."

"Yes."

"Then, suppose that Mr. Thurston has been misled into making a certain estimate as to the number of thousand cubic yards of stuff that must be taken out of the outs that are to be made. After he gets his laborers here, and at work, he finds that he has at least three times as much rock and dirt to get out——-"

"I see," cried Hazelton. "Before the chief could get men and wagons, and make all necessary changes in the work, the time would have slipped by so far that the finishing of the road would be blocked."

"And the S.B. & L. would lose its charter," finished Tom grimly.

"It's mighty lucky that we came out here today, then," exclaimed Hazelton, now fully alive to the danger that menaced their employers. "Come, we must hustle back to camp and show Mr. Thurston how he has been imposed on. There can't be a doubt that 'Gene Black has been deliberately crooked."

"Go slowly," advised Tom. "Don't be in a rush to call any other man a crook. Mr. Thurston can hear our report. Then he can look into it himself and form his own opinion. That's as far as we have any right to go in the matter."

"Thurston is at fault in not having come out here himself," Harry continued. "The chief engineer in charge of a job should know every foot of the way."

"Thurston, from the nature of his own work, is obliged to leave much of the detail to his assistant, Mr. Blaisdell," Tom explained.

"Then why doesn't Blaisdell look out that no such treacherous work is done by any member of the engineer corps?" flared Harry.

"'Gene Black is plainly a very competent man," Reade argued. "The work has had to be rushed of late, and, on so simple a matter as leveling, I don't suppose Blaisdell has thought it at all necessary to dig into Black's field notes."

"I hope Black is fired out of this outfit, neck and crop!" finished Hazelton.

"That's something with which we have nothing to do," Reade retorted. "Harry, we'll confine ourselves to doing our work well and reporting our results. Mr. Thurston is intelligent enough to form all his own conclusions when he has our report. Come, it's high time for us to be putting the ponies to real speed on the trail back."

Not long afterwards the young engineers rode into the engineer camp. Harry dismounted, seating himself on the ground, while Tom hurried toward the chief's big tent.

It was Blaisdell who sat in the chief's chair when Tom entered.

"Oh, hello, Reade," was the assistant's pleasant greeting.

"Where's the chief?"

"Gone back to the track builders. You know, they're within fourteen miles of us now."

"When will Mr. Thurston be back?"

"I don't know," Blaisdell answered. "In the meantime, Reade, you know, I'm acting chief here."

"I beg your pardon," Tom murmured hastily.

"The chief told me, just before leaving, that you thought some of Black's sights on Section Nineteen are wrong," Blaisdell pursued.

"They're all wrong," Reade rejoined quietly.

"All?" echoed Blaisdell, opening his eyes very wide.

"Yes, sir; everyone of them."

"Come, come, Reade!" remonstrated the acting chief. "Don't try to amuse yourself with me. All of the sights can't be wrong."

"But they are, sir. Hazelton and I have been over them most carefully in the field. Here are our notes, sir. Look them over and you'll find that Section Nineteen calls for three or four times as much excavating as Black's notes show."

"This is strange!" mused Blaisdell, after comparing the two sets of notes. "I can't credit it. Reade, you and Hazelton are very young—-mere cubs, in fact. Are you sure that you know all you owlet to know about leveling?"

"Mr. Blaisdell, I'll answer you by saying, sir, that though Hazelton and I are nothing but cubs, we have the success of this railroad building game at heart. We're deeply in earnest. We'll work ourselves to our very bones in order to see this road get through in time. I don't ask you, sir, to take our word about these sights, but we both beg you, sir, to go out with a gang of men and go over some of the work yourself. Keep on surveying, sir, until you're satisfied that Black is wrong and that Hazelton and I are right. You know what it would mean, sir, if we're right and you don't find it out in time. Then you simply couldn't get the cut through Section Nineteen in time and the S.B. & L. would lose its charter."

"By Jove, you're right," muttered Blaisdell uneasily, as he slowly stood up. "Reade, I'm going to take men and go out, carrying your notes and Black's. Let me warn you, however, that if I find that Black is right and you're wrong, then it will give you two cubs such a black eye that the chief will run you out of camp."

"If we had made any such gigantic blunder as that," returned Tom firmly, "then we'd deserve to be run out. We wouldn't have the nerve to put in another night in camp."

"Hey, you, don't unsaddle those ponies. Hold yourselves ready to go out," called Blaisdell from the doorway of the tent.

"Will you give us our orders on drawing before you go, sir?" asked Reade.

"No," smiled Blaisdell. "If you've made a blunder out on Nineteen, then you're not to be trusted with drawing. Wait until I return. Take it easy until then."

"Very good."

"And—-Reade!"

"Yes, sir."

"Neither you nor Hazelton are to let a word cross your lips regarding the disagreement over Section Nineteen."

"You'll never have any trouble, sir, over our talking when we ought not to do it," promised Reade.

Two minutes later the assistant engineer rode out with a pair of rodmen whom he picked up on the way to Nineteen.

"What happened?" asked Harry, coming into the big tent.

Tom told him all that had taken place, adding the caution that nothing was to be said about the matter for the present.

"Whew! I wish Mr. Blaisdell had let me go along," murmured Hazelton. "I'd like to have seen his face when he finds out!"

Hearing footsteps approaching outside, Reade signaled for silence. Then the flap of the tent was pulled back and Bad Pete glanced in.

"Howdy, pardners?" was the greeting from the bad man, that caused Tom Reade almost to fall from his campstool.

"How are you, Peter?" returned Tom. "This is, indeed, a pleasure."

"Where's the boss?" continued Bad Pete.

"If you mean Mr. Thurston, he's away."

"Where's Blaisdell, then?"

"He hit the trail, just a few minutes ago," Tom responded.

"Then I suppose you have no objections if I sit in here a while?"

"Peter," replied Tom solemnly, "you'll be conferring a great honor on us."

The bad man's present mood was so amiable that Harry did not deem it desertion to go outside. Bad Pete had his cartridge belt restocked with sure-enough cartridges, and his revolver swung as jauntily in its holster as ever. Pete seemed to have no idea, however, of trying to terrify anyone with his hardware.

"You've been away?" suggested Tom, by way of making conversation, after an awkward silence had endured for nearly two minutes.

"Yep," admitted the bad one. "Pardner, it seems like home to get back. Do you know, Reade, I've taken a big liking to you?"

"Peter," protested Tom, "if you don't look out you'll make me the vainest cub on earth."

"I mean it," asserted Pete. "Pardner, I've a notion me and you are likely to become big friends."

"I never dared to hope for so much," breathed Tom, keeping back a laugh.

"'Cause," continued Bad Pete, "I reckon you're one of the kind that never goes back on a real pardner."

"I should hope not," Tom assured him.

"Have a cigar?" urged Pete, doffing his sombrero and taking out a big, black weed that he tendered the cub.

"What's the matter with it?" asked Tom curiously.

For just a second Bad Pete's eyes flashed. Then he choked back all signs of anger as he drawled:

"The only matter with this cigar, pardner, is that it's a gen-u-wine Havana cigar."

"I couldn't tell it from a genuine Baltimore," asserted Tom. "But I suppose that is because I never smoked."

"You never smoked? Pardner, you've got a lot to learn," replied Bad Pete, as he put the cigar back in his hat and replaced the latter on his head. "And, while we're talking about such matters, pardner, you might just hand me a twenty for a few days."

"Twenty dollars?" returned Tom. "Peter, until payday gets around I won't have twenty cents."

Bad Pete gazed at the cub keenly.

"Fact!" Tom assured him.

"Huh!" grunted Pete, rising. "I've been wasting my time on a pauper!"

Saying which, he stalked out.

Tom discreetly repressed his desire to laugh. Hazelton glided into the tent, grinning.

"Tom, be careful not to string Bad Pete so hard, or, one of these days, you'll get him so mad that he won't be able to resist drilling you through with lead."

"Let's go over to the cook tent and either beg or steal something to eat," proposed Reade.

It was two hours later when a rodman rode hurriedly into camp.

"Hey, you cubs," he called, "come and help me get Mr. Blaisdell's bed ready for him. He's coming back sick."

"Sick?" demanded Reade, thunderstruck. "Why, he looked healthy enough when he went out of camp a little while ago."

"He's sick enough, now," retorted the rodman.

"What ails Mr. Blaisdell?" asked Harry.

"It's mountain fever, I reckon," rejoined the rodman. "Blaisdell must have been off color for days, and didn't really know it."

All three worked rapidly getting everything in readiness for the coming of the assistant engineer. Then Mr. Blaisdell was brought in, on a stretcher rigged between two ponies. The acting chief is face was violently flushed, his eyes seemed bright as diamonds.

"Reade," said the acting chief thickly, as they lifted him from the litter to his cot, "if I'm not better by morning you'll have to get word to the chief."

"Yes, sir," assented Reade, placing a hand on Blaisdell's forehead. It felt hot and feverish. "May I ask, sir, if you verified any of the sights on Nineteen?"

"I—-I took some of 'em," replied the acting chief hesitatingly. "Reade, I'm not sure that I remember aright, but I think—-I think—-you and Hazelton were correct about that. I—-wish I could—-remember."

Bill Blaisdell closed his eyes, and his voice trailed off into murmurs that none around him could understand. Even Reade, with his very slight experience in such matters, realized that the acting chief was a very sick man.

"You cubs better clear out of here now," suggested one of the rodmen. "I know better how to take care of men with mountain fever."

"I hope you do know more about nursing than I do, Carter," replied Tom very quietly. "In the future, however, don't forget that, though I may be a cub, I am an engineer, and you are a rodman. When you speak to me address me as Mr. Reade. Come, men, all out of here but the nurse."

Once in the open Tom turned to Harry with eyes ablaze.

"Harry, could anything be tougher? The chief away, the acting chief down with fever and on the verge of delirium—-and a crooked engineer in our crowd who's doing his best to sell out the S.B. & L.—-bag, baggage and charter!"



CHAPTER XI

THE CHIEF TOTTERS FROM COMMAND

It was not like Tom Reade to waste time in wondering what to do.

"Harry," he continued, once more turning upon his chum, "I want you to get a pony saddled as fast as you can. You know that the telegraph wire is being brought along as fast as it can be done. This morning I heard Rutter say that it was hardly five miles back of us on the trail. Get into saddle, wire the chief at the construction camp, and bring back his orders as fast as you can ride."

Hazelton replied only with a nod, then broke into a sprint for the spot where the saddle animals were tethered. Two minutes later Harry, though not a crack horseman, left camp at a gallop.

In Blaisdell's tent matters dragged along. Ice was needed, but none was to be had. Cloths were wrung out in spring water and applied to the sick man's head. Within half an hour Tom received word that the acting chief was "out of his head."

Later on Hazelton galloped back into camp bearing this despatch:

"Reade, Engineer Corps. Take charge of camp until Rutter returns. Then turn over charge to him. Rush for the nearest physician; engage him to remain at camp and look after Blaisdell. I return tonight. (Signed) Thurston, Chief Engineer."

"Men," called Tom striding over to the little party of rodmen, "tell me where the nearest physician is to be found."

"Doe Jitney, at Bear's Cave," replied one of the men.

"How far is that?"

"Fourteen miles, by the trail."

"Get on to a pony, then, and go after Dr. Gitney. Bring him here and tell him we'll want him here for the present. Tell the doctor to bring all the medicines he'll need, and both of you ride fast."

"I'm not going on your orders," retorted the man sullenly.

"Yes, you are," Tom informed him promptly. "I'm in charge, for the present, and acting under Mr. Thurston's orders. If you don't go, you won't eat any more in this camp, or draw any more pay here. It's work or jump for you—-and discharge if you lose or waste any time on the way. Mr. Blaisdell's life is at stake. Rustle!"

The man so ordered scowled, but he rose, went over and saddled a pony and rode out of camp.

"That part is attended to," sighed Tom. "Hang it, I wish we could get hold of some ice. I don't know much, but I do know that ice is needed in high fevers. I wonder if anyone here knows where ice can be had? By Jove, there's Peter! He knows more about this country than anyone else around here."

It was now within an hour of the time when the engineer parties might be expected hack into camp. Reade, however, was not of the sort to lose an hour needlessly.

Tom had just caught sight of Bad Pete as the latter stepped through a little gully an eighth of a mile below the trail and vanished into some green brush.

"I'll run after him," Tom decided. "Pete wants a little money, and this will be a chance for him to earn it—-if he can find some man to drive a load of ice to camp."

Being a trained runner, Tom did not consume much time in nearing the spot where he had last seen Bad Pete. The lad put two fingers up to his mouth, intending to whistle, when he heard a twig snap behind him. Tom turned quickly, then, warned by some instinct, stepped noiselessly behind high brush. The newcomer was 'Gene Black.

"Pete!" called Black softly.

"Oy!" answered a voice some distance away.

"That you, Pete?" called the engineer.

"Yep."

"Then close in here. I have doings for you."

Tom Reade should have stepped out into sight. He was neither spy nor eavesdropper. For once, something within urged him to keep out of sight and silent.

"Where be you, pardner?" called Pete's voice, nearer at hand now.

"Right here, Pete," called Black.

"What do you want, pardner?" demanded the bad man, coming through the brush.

"Lend me a couple of hundred dollars, Pete," laughed 'Gene Black.

"Did you call me here for any such fool talk as that?" scowled Pete.

"No," Black admitted. "Pete, I don't believe you have two hundred dollars. But you'd like to have. Now, wouldn't you!"

"Two hundred silver bricks," retorted Bad Pete, his eyes gleaming, "is the price of shooting up a whole town. Pardner, just get me an extra box of cartridges and lead me to that town! But have you got the money?"

"Yes," laughed Black, holding up a roll of greenbacks. "This and more, too!"

Bad Pete surveyed the money hungrily.

"Some men who know me," he muttered thickly, "would be afraid to show me a whole bankful of money when there was no one else looking."

"I'm not afraid of you, Pete," replied Black quietly. "You might shoot me, if you felt you could get away with it. Do you notice that my left hand is in my pocket! I'm a left-handed shooter, you see."

Pete glanced covertly at that bulging left trousers' pocket of the engineer.

"You won't have to do anything like that to get the money, Pete. Save your cartridges for other people. There, I've let go of my gun. Come close and listen to what I have to say—-but only in your ear."

There followed some moments of whisperings Try as he would, Reade could not make out a word of what was being said until at last Bad Pete muttered audibly, in a low, hoarse voice:

"You're not doing that on your own account, Black?"

"No, Pete; I'm not."

"Then you must really be working for the road that wants to steal the charter away—-the W.C. & A.?"

"Perhaps so, Pete. You don't need to know that. All you have to know is what I want done. I'm a business man, Pete, and money is the soul of business. Here!"

Black peeled some banknotes from his roll.

"Ten twenties, Pete. That makes the two hundred I was talking to you about. Understand, man, that isn't your pay. That's simply your expense money, for you to spend while you're hanging about. Stick to me, do things just as I want them done, and your pay will run several times as high as your expense money."

"Do you know how long I've been looking for this sort o' thing, pardner?" Pete inquired huskily.

"No; of course not," rejoined 'Gene Black rather impatiently.

"All my life," returned Bad Pete solemnly. "Pardner, I'll sell myself to you for the money you've been talking about."

"Come along, then. We're too near the camp. I want to talk with you where we're not so likely to be interfered with by people who have too much curiosity."

"If that means me," quoth Tom Reade inwardly, "the shoe fits to a nicety."

Tom followed the pair for a little way, with a stealth that was born in him for the present need. Then the plotters stepped into a rocky, open gully, where the cub engineer could not have followed without being seen.

"Oh, dear! I never wanted to follow anyone as much in my life!" groaned Reade in his disappointment.

There was nothing to do but to go back. Then, too, with a guilty start, Tom remembered the great need of ice for poor, fever-tossed, big-hearted Bill Blaisdell, who had been so kind to the two cubs from the hour of their arrival in the field camp.

Just as he stepped into the camp area Tom espied Jack Rutter, who also saw him and came quickly forward.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Reade," said Rutter, in a tone that was close to carrying reproach with it.

"I've been absent on real business, Rutter," Tom answered, with a flush, nevertheless. "Mr. Blaisdell must have ice a lot of it."

"Great Scott! Where shall we find it in these mountains in midsummer?" Rutter demanded.

"We've got to have it, haven't we?" Tom urged. "It will be the first thing that the doctor will call for."

"Then he should bring it with him," returned Rutter.

"Would you want the doctor to be hampered with a ton or so of ice!" asked Reade.

"Would we need that much?" Rutter seemed hopelessly ignorant in such matters.

"I imagine we'd want a lot of it," Tom answered. "By the way, Mr. Rutter——-"

"Well?" Jack inquired.

Tom was on the point of giving a hint of what he had heard in the gully during the meeting between Black and Bad Pete. Then, on second thought, the cub engineer decided to hold that news for the ear of Mr. Thurston alone.

"What were you going to say?" pressed Rutter.

"Probably Hazelton has told you," Tom continued, "that you're in charge here until Mr. Thurston arrives."

"Yes; and I'm mighty glad that the chief will be here before daylight tomorrow," returned Jack. "I may be a fair sort of engineer, but I'm not cut out for a chief engineer."

Later, one of the rodmen was sent to guide Harry to the nearest small town, twenty-eight miles away, for ice. If they succeeded in obtaining it they might be back by dark of the following day.

Supper in camp was a gloomy meal. No one felt light-hearted.

"Mr. Rutter," asked Tom, approaching the temporary chief, soon after the evening meal, "what do you want Hazelton and myself to do this evening?"

"Don't ask me," returned Jack, with a shrug of his shoulders. "What have you been doing? Drawing?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you go on with it?"

"We're at a point where we need orders, for we've had to lay down one part of the work while waiting for further instructions."

"I can't help you any, then," replied Rutter. "Sorry, but before I could give any orders I'd need a few myself."

At eleven o'clock that night Dr. Gitney arrived, with saddle-bags full of medicines and other necessaries. He saw Blaisdell, and pronounced the assistant engineer a very sick man.

Shortly after midnight Mr. Thurston rode into camp. He tottered from saddle and reeled until Tom, on the lookout for him, ran forward and supported the chief engineer to his tent.

Then Dr. Gitney was sent for and came.

"Your chief has mountain fever, too," said the medical attendant to Tom, after stepping outside the tent.

"How long will it take them to get well?" asked Wade anxiously.

"Weeks! Hard to say," replied the physician vaguely.

"Weeks!" groaned Tom Reade. "And the camp now in charge of Jack Rutter, who's a fine workman but no leader! Doc Gitney doesn't know it, but he has sentenced the S.B. & L. railroad to death!"

It was a trying situation. The cub engineer felt it keenly, for he had set his heart on seeing the S.B. & L. win out over its rival.

Then, too, all in a flash, the memory of 'Gene Black's treachery to his employers came back to the mind of Tom Reade.



CHAPTER XII

FROM CUB TO ACTING CHIEF

Tom didn't sleep that night. He sat by, silently, in the big tent, nursing the patient as Dr. Gitney directed.

In the morning, at five, Matt Rice came. Tom gladly surrendered the post to him and took a scant hour of deep slumber on the bare ground outside.

"Wake up, Reade," ordered Rutter, at last shaking the cub and hauling him to his feet. "This is no place to sleep. Go to your tent and stretch out full length on your cot."

"On my cot?" demanded Tom, rubbing his eyes fiercely. "You can't spare me from the day's work?"

"I don't believe there will be any day's work," Rutter answered.

"You're in charge, man! You must put us to work," Tom insisted.

"I don't know just what ought to be done," complained Rutter. "I shall have to wait for orders."

"Orders?" repeated Tom, in almost breathless scorn. "From whom can you get orders?"

"Howe is Thurston's assistant at the lower camp," Rutter rejoined. "He'll have to come over here and take real charge. I'm going to send a messenger to the telegraph station and wire Mr. Howe to come here at once."

"See here, Rutter," blazed Tom insistently, "Mr Howe is in charge of the construction forces. He's laying the bed and the tracks. He can't be spared from the construction work for even a day, or the road will fail to get through, no matter what we do here. Man, you've simply got to be up and doing! Make some mistakes, if you have to, but don't lie down and kill the S.B. & L. with inaction."

"Cub," laughed Rutter good-humoredly, "you speak as if this were a big personal matter with you."

"Oh, isn't it, thought" retorted Tom Reade with spirit. "My whole heart is centered on seeing the S.B. & L. win out within the time granted by its charter. Rutter, if you don't take hold with a rush and make a live, galloping start with your new responsibilities, I'm afraid I'll go wild and assault you violently!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" Jack laughed loudly.

"Here, stop that cackling," ordered Reade in the same low voice that he had been using. "Let's get away from the chief's tent. We'll disturb him with our noise."

Dr. Gitney, entering the big tent five minutes later, found Mr. Thurston very much awake, for he had heard the low-voiced conversation outside the tent. Mr. Thurston was not quite as ill as was Blaisdell, and had not as yet reached the stage of delirium.

"Doctor, I want you to summon the engineer corps here," begged the patient.

"When you're better," replied the doctor, with a hand on the sick man's pulse.

"Doc, you'd better let me have my way," insisted Mr. Thurston in a weak voice. "If you don't, you'll make me five times more ill than I am at present."

Watching the fever glow in the man's face deepen, and feeling the pulse go up several beats per minute, Dr. Gitney replied:

"There, there, Thurston. Be good, and I'll let you have three minutes with your engineers."

"That's all I ask," murmured the sick man eagerly.

Dr. Gitney went outside and rounded them up. All were present except 'Gene Black, who, according to Matt Rice, had taken a little walk outside of camp.

"I hope you'll soon be better, sir," began Rutter, as the engineers gathered at the cot of their stricken chief.

"Don't say anything unnecessary, and don't waste my time," begged Mr. Thurston. "Rutter, do you feel equal to running this field corps until either Blaisdell or I can take charge again?"

"No, I don't chief," replied Jack. "I've sent a wire to Howe, urging him to come here and take charge."

"Howe can't come," replied the chief. "If he does, the construction work will go to pieces. This corps will have to be led by someone now present."

Morris and Rice gazed eagerly at their chief. Butter showed his relief at being allowed to hack out from full control.

As for Timothy Thurston, he let his gaze wander from face to face.

"Reade!" he almost whispered.

"Yes, sir!" answered Tom, stepping gently forward. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Reade," came in another whisper, "can you—-have you the courage to take the post of acting chief?"

Several gasps of astonishment broke on the air, but the greatest gasp of all came from Reade himself.

"I think you need a little sleep now, sir," urged Tom.

"I'm not out of my head," smiled Timothy Thurston wanly. "Doc Gitney will tell you that. Come—-for I'm growing very tired. Can you swing this outfit and push the S.B. & L. through within charter time?"

"I—-I—-hardly know what to say," stammered Tom, who felt dizzy from the sudden rush of blood to his head.

"Have you the courage to try?"

"Yes, sir—-I have!" came, without further hesitation from Tom Reade. "I believe I'll succeed, at that, for I'll stake health, and even life, on winning out!"

"That's what I like to hear," breathed Mr. Thurston, an added flush coming to his own face.

"Gentlemen, it's time to leave," warned Dr. Gitney, watching his patient.

"One moment more, Doc," insisted the chief engineer feebly. "Gentlemen, you've heard what has just been said. Will everyone of you pledge himself on his honor to drop all feeling that might interfere? Will you all stand loyally by Reade, take his orders and help boost him and all the rest of us through to victory in this big game?"

"I will!" spoke Jack Rutter earnestly and with a deep sigh of relief.

The others added their promises.

"Reade, you will take full charge here," continued Timothy Thurston. "Notify Mr. Howe, too, at once. You and he will not need to conflict with each other in any way. Also notify the president of the road, at the New York offices. Wire him at once. Now—-thank you all, gentlemen. I believe I shall have to stop and go to sleep."

"Get out, all of you," came firmly from bearded, middle-aged Dr. Gitney. "You fellows now have your acting chief to look to, and you don't need to bother a sick man any more."

When Tom Reade stepped outside, on the heels of the others, he certainly didn't feel as though treading on air. Instead, he wondered if he were going to reel and totter, so dizzy did he feel over the sudden realization of the responsibilities he had taken upon himself.

"Give us our orders, chief," begged Matt Rice, with a grin, when Tom joined the others over by the mess tent.

"Wait a few moments," urged Reade. "I don't really know whether I am chief or a joke."

"Great Scott! After lecturing me the way you did, you are not going to get cold feet, are you?" gasped Jack Rutter.

"You'll know what I mean before long," Tom murmured. "I signaled to Dr. Gitney to follow me as soon as he could."

"How does it seem to know that you have only to beckon and that men must follow?" laughed Joe Grant. It is doubtful whether Tom, gazing at the chief's big tent, even heard.

Presently Dr. Gitney stepped outside and came toward them.

"Doctor," began Tom, "will you give me your word of honor that Mr. Thurston is in his right mind?"

"He certainly impresses me as being so," the physician replied.

"You fully believe that he knew just what he was doing?" Tom insisted.

"I do, Reade. But why should you care? You have the reins in your own hands now."

"I wish to keep the reins there," Tom returned quickly. "Still I don't want to hold the power for an instant if there is reason to believe that Mr. Thurston didn't know what he was doing."

"If that is all you required of me, Reade, rest easy and go ahead with the big trust that has been placed in your hands," replied Dr. Gitney.

"Then help me to get a few things out of the chief's tent that we shall need," replied Tom.

"Tell me what the things are," rejoined the physician, "and I'll pass them out. I don't want one of you in there, or Thurston will soon be as delirious as Blaisdell is, poor fellow."

By stealth, drawing tables and instruments, several boxes of maps, books and papers and other necessary articles were taken from Mr. Thurston tent without awaking the sick man.

These were removed to a tent that was not occupied at the moment.

"Supper's ready, folks," announced Bob, the cook's helper, stepping softly through camp.

Tom joined the other engineers, taking a few hasty mouthfuls. Hardly had the party gathered in the mess tent when 'Gene Black, bright and cheery, stepped in swiftly, nodding here and there.

"Well, Rutter, I take it you are running the camp from now on?" asked Black.

"Guess just once more," replied Jack.

"Who is, then?"

"Mr. Reade."

Black gulped, then grinned.

"The cub? That's good!"

Black leaned back on his stool, laughing loudly.

"But who is going to boss the camp?" insisted Black, after he had had his laugh.

"Mr. Reade!" flung back the other engineers in one voice.

"What have you to say to this, cub?" asked 'Gene Black, turning to Tom.

"Mr. Thurston placed me in charge because no one else would assume the responsibility," smiled Tom good-humoredly.

"Then you're going to stay boss for the present?"

"Unless Mr. Thurston changes his mind."

"Oh, what a fool I was to be away this afternoon!" groaned Black to himself. "I could have gotten this chance away from a cub like Reade. Oh, but my real task would have been easy if I had been here on deck, and had got Thurston to turn matters over to me. Reade will be easy! He's only a cub—-a booby. Even if he proved shrewd—-well, I have at my disposal several ways of getting rid of him!"

Then, aloud, Black went on:

"Reade, I'm a candidate for the post of acting assistant chief engineer."

"That goes to Rutter, if he'll take it," replied Tom, with a smile.

"Oh, I'll take it," nodded Jack Rutter. "I can follow orders, when I have someone else to give them."

Tom was intentionally pleasant with 'Gene Black. He intended to remain pleasant—-until he was quite ready to act.

Immediately after supper Tom ordered one of the chainmen to saddle a pony and be ready to take a message back to the telegraph service that was rapidly overtaking them.

"I want you to be sure to get a receipt for the message from the operator," Tom explained. "Direct the operator to get the message through to New York at once."

"What's the use?" demanded the chainman. "It's night in New York, the same as it is here. If the message goes through at any time tonight it will do."

"I didn't ask you that," Tom replied quietly. "I told you to instruct the operator, from me, to send the message at once. Then, if there is any delay on the way, the message will still be in New York in the morning when the company's offices open."

Then Tom Reade went to the new headquarters' tent, seated himself at the desk and picked up a pen.

"Whew!" he muttered suddenly. "This message is going to be harder to write than I thought! When the president of the S.B. & L. gets my telegram, informing him that a cub is in command here, he'll blow up! If he recovers he'll wire me that he's sending a grown man for the job!"



CHAPTER XIII

BLACK TURNS OTHER COLORS

Through the night Tom Reade managed to get some sound sleep.

Had he been less exhausted physically the excitement caused by his sudden and dizzying promotion might have interfered with his rest. As it was, he slept like a log, though, by his own orders, he was called twice in the night to be informed as to the condition of the two sick men.

In the morning a male nurse for whom Dr. Gitney had arranged arrived in camp. Thereafter the physician had a little opportunity for rest.

Mr. Thurston reached the delirium stage in his illness that forenoon.

"Reade, I don't feel like going out this morning," announced 'Gene Black, approaching the young head of the camp after early breakfast.

"What's the matter?" Tom asked pleasantly.

"I have rather a bad headache," complained Black.

"That's a woman's complaint," smiled Tom.

"Just the same, I'm not fit for duty," retorted Black rather testily. "I hope I'm not going to come down with the fever, but I can't be sure."

"You'd better stay in camp, then," nodded Reade. "Don't go out into the field again until you feel like work."

"Humph! He takes it easily enough," grunted Black to himself as the young chief strode away to confer with Butter. "I wonder if the cub suspects the game I'm playing here? Oh, pshaw! Of course he doesn't suspect. Why should he? The truth is that Cub Reade doesn't realize how much every man is needed in the field. Reade doesn't understand the big need for hustle here. Well, that all helps to make my task the easier."

Within five minutes Rutter and the other engineers had their full instructions. As they started away Tom called after them:

"Gentlemen, if there is any possible way of putting fifty per cent. more work into each day, now, I know I can rely upon you all to do it. The S.B. & L. must run its first train over the completed road within charter time."

Now, Tom had opportunity to wonder what had happened to Harry Hazelton, who should have been back in camp the preceding evening. "He must have had to go farther for ice than we imagined," was the only conclusion Reade could form. "At any rate, Harry won't come back until he has it. He won't bring back merely an excuse when his commission was for a ton of ice."

Tom wandered into the new headquarters' tent, heaved a big sigh as the weight of his new responsibilities struck him with full force, and began a systematic examination of all the piles of papers and maps now under his charge.

By nine o'clock Harry Hazelton and his guide returned, followed by a four-mule transport wagon.

Tom, hearing the approach, came out and beckoned. Harry rode up, dismounting.

"Well, I got the ice, you see," announced Hazelton.

"Did you have to go very far for it?"

"No; but you and I forgot to allow for the time that mules would need for rest on such a steep, uphill climb. Where is the ice to go?"

"Send the man over to Jake Wren. Jake knows more about such things than you or I will know within the next ten years."

Harry carried the order to the driver, then hurried back.

"How are our sick men?" he asked.

"Both alive, but delirious. Doc Gitney has a man nurse to help him now."

"Did Mr. Rutter leave any orders for me?" pressed Harry.

"No; Rutter is in charge of the actual field work only."

"Who gives the main orders?"

"I do—-unless New York changes the plan."

Tom hastily narrated what had taken place in Mr. Thurston's tent the day before. Harry listened, his eyes growing larger as he heard.

"Tom! I'm mighty glad!" he cried delightedly. "You're going to do the trick, too! You're going to put the S.B. & L. through within the time allowed by the charter!"

"I'm going to do it or wear myself out," replied Reade, with a glint of determination in his eyes. "But, Harry, the road isn't going to go through on mere wind. We've got to work—-not talk! Come into the new headquarters' tent. Throw the front of your shirt open, take a few deep breaths, tie down the safety valve and get ready to make the steam fly. I'm going over the maps and documents, the field notes, the reports and what not. I want you to help me untangle them and set all matters straight."

For two hours the cub engineers worked as they had never toiled before. Then a horseman drew up before their tent.

"Telegram for Reade, acting chief engineer," called the man from saddle. "The czar over at the cook house told me I'd find my man here."

"I'm Reade," admitted Tom, stepping outside and receiving the envelope. "Do you belong with the telegraph construction crowd?"

"Yes, sir," replied the young horseman.

"How long before you expect to have the line up with the camp?"

"By tomorrow night, unless you move the camp forward again."

"That's good news," nodded Reade. "Wait until I see whether there is to be an answer to this message."

Tom stepped inside, breaking the flap of the envelope. From head to foot he trembled as his eyes took in the following message:

"Reade, Acting Chief Engineer.

"Relying upon Thurston's judgment, and from your satisfactory wire, conclude that Thurston chose right man for post. Assume all responsibilities. Advise New York offices daily as to condition of work, also condition Thurston and Blaisdell. Spare no expense in their care. Shall join you within five days."

(Signed) "Newnham, President S.B. & L. R.R."

Having read the telegram, Tom turned to pick up a sheet of paper. After jotting down the address of President Newnham, he added:

"Shall hustle job through rapidly if there is any way of doing it. Shall engage extra engineers in this state. Hope to be able to show you, on arrival, things moving at speed."

(Signed) Reade, "Acting Chief Engineer."

Then Tom shoved both despatches under his chum's eyes. Naturally Hazelton read the one from New York first.

"Whew! The president seems to trust you," murmured Harry.

"No; he doesn't," Tom retorted. "He doesn't know anything about me. His wire shows that he knows and trusts Mr. Thurston, the man who picked me out for this job."

Then Tom wrote a second despatch, addressed to the State University. It ran as follows:

"Have heard that your university has party from engineering school in field this summer. Can you place me in immediate wire communication with professor in charge of party? Have practical work to offer students."

This also Tom showed briefly to his chum. Then, picking up the two telegrams, Tom stepped outside, turning them over to the rider. "Ask your operator to rush both of these, the one to New York going first."

As the pony's hoofs clicked against the gravel, Reade stepped inside the tent.

"What are you going to do with the State University students?" asked Harry curiously.

"Put 'em at work on the smaller jobs here," Tom answered. "At least, as many of them as the professor will vouch for."

Three hours later Tom received an answer to his local despatch. It was from Professor Coles, sixty miles away, in camp with a party of thirty engineering students. The professor asked for further particulars. Tom wired back:

"Can use your entire lot of students in practical railroad work, if they want experience and can do work. Will you bring them here with all speed and let us try them out? For yourself, we offer suitable pay for a man of your attainments. Students engaged will be paid all they are worth."

"Gracious, but you're going in at wholesale! What will President Newnham say to you for engaging men at such a wholesale rate!"

"By the time he reaches here," replied Tom in a tone that meant business, "either he will see results that will force him to approve—-or else he'll give me my walking papers."

"Now, what shall we do?" inquired Hazelton.

"Nothing. It's nearly time for the field force to be back in camp."

"We'd better work every minute of the time," urged Harry.

"We're going to take things more easily after this," Tom yawned.

"Is that what you mean by hustling?"

"In a way, yes," Tom nodded. "See here, Harry, in the field we tried to do the work of a man and a half each, didn't we? And here at the drawing tables, too."

"Of course."

"Now there is need of hustling, and, if we work too hard, we simply won't have time to plan for others, or even to know what they're doing. There are a lot of students coming, Harry. Most of them will be good men, for they're young, full of enthusiasm, and just crazy to show what they can do. Some of them will doubtless be good draughtsmen. You'll take these men and see to it that the drawing is pushed forward. But you won't work too hard yourself. You'll see to it that the force under you is working, and in that way you'll be three times as useful as if you merely ground and dug hard by yourself. I shall go light on real work, just in order that I may have my eyes and brains where they will do the most good every minute of the time."

Someone was approaching. Tom threw open the flap of the tent, thus discovering that the man was Black.

"Howdy, Reade," was the greeting of the idle engineer. "I'm glad to say that my headache is better. I'm not going to have the fever, after all. Tomorrow I'll be out on the leveling job."

Tom shook his head.

"I want you to rest up tomorrow, Black."

"I won't do it," retorted the other flatly. "Tomorrow I go out and continue running my levels."

"Then I may as well tell you," Tom continued, "what I would have preferred to break to you more easily later on."

"What do you mean?" questioned the other sharply, an uneasy look creeping into his face.

"You're not going to do any more work for us, Black," replied the young chief coolly.

"Not do any more work, What do you mean, Reade? Am I discharged from this corps?"

"Not yet, Black, for I haven't the money at hand to pay you to date. So you may stay here until the paymaster comes. Then, when you have your full amount of pay, you can leave us."

"What does this mean?" demanded 'Gene Black angrily, as he stepped closer, his eyes blazing.

Some young men would have shrunk back before Black's menacing manner. Tom had never yet met the man who could make him really afraid.

"I've already told you the whole story, Black."

"Why am I discharged?"

"I am not obliged to give you my reasons."

"You'll find you'll have to do so!" stormed 'Gene Black.

"Well, then," Tom answered, "you get through here because you kicked one of the tripod legs of your leveling instrument the other day, and left a mark on the wood."

"Don't you try to be funny with me, you young hound!" hissed Black, stepping so close that Tom gently pushed him back. "You young idiot! Do you think you can fire me—-and get away with it?"

"We won't talk about it any more," Tom answered. "Your time will be all your own until the paymaster arrives. After you've received your money you will leave camp."

"Are any of the others going?"

"No."

"Then you're discharging me for personal reasons!" snarled 'Gene Black. "However, you can't do it! I'll wire the president of the road, at New York."

"He won't receive your wire," Tom assured the irate one. "President Newnham is on his way here. Probably he'll arrive here before the paymaster does. You may take your case to President Newnham in person if you wish."

"That's what I'll do, then!" breathed 'Gene Black fiercely. "And I'll take your place in charge here, cub! If I don't, you shall never finish the S.B. & L!"



CHAPTER XIV

BAD PETE MIXES IN SOME

Forty-Eight hours later Professor Coles arrived in camp with thirty healthy, joyous young students of engineering.

It didn't take Tom half an hour to discover that he had some excellent material here. As for the professor himself, that gentleman was a civil engineer of the widest experience.

"I shall need you to advise me, professor," Tom explained. "While I had the nerve to take command here, I'm only a boy, after all, and you'll be surprised when you find out how much there is that I don't know."

"It's very evident, Mr. Reade," smiled the professor, "that you know the art of management, and that's the important part in any line of great work."

The student party had brought their own tents and field equipment with them. Their arrival had been a total surprise in camp, as none of the other engineers, save Harry, had known what was in the wind.

"If these boys don't make mistakes by wholesale," declared Jack Butter, "we'll just boost the work along after this. I wonder why Mr. Thurston never hit upon the idea of adding such a force?"

"It's very likely he has been thinking of it all along," Tom rejoined. "The main point, however, is that we seem to have a bully field force."

Four of the students had been selected to serve as map-making force under Harry Hazelton. The rest were going out into the field, some of them as engineers in embryo, the rest as chainmen and rodmen.

Though the field outfit now presented a lively appearance, all was kept as quiet as possible in and near the camp, for neither Mr. Thurston nor Mr. Blaisdell knew what was going on about them. Both were still delirious, and very ill.

"Now I see why you could afford to 'fire' me and let the work slack up for a while," sneered Black, meeting Reade after dark.

"Do you?" asked Tom.

"These boys will spoil the whole business. You don't seem to have any idea of the numbers of fool mistakes that boys can make."

"They're good fellows, anyway, and honest," Tom rejoined.

"Give some of 'em leveling work out on Section Nineteen," suggested 'Gene, apparently seized with a sudden thought. "Then compare their field notes with mine, and see how far out they are."

"I happen to know all about your leveling notes on Nineteen," Reade retorted rather significantly.

"What do you mean?" flared Black.

"Just before Mr. Thurston was taken ill, as it happened, Hazelton and I took a leveling instrument out on Nineteen one day and ran your sights over after you."

"So that's why you 'fired'——-" began Black, his thoughts moving swiftly. Then, realizing that he was about to say too much, he went on: "What did you find wrong with my sights on Nineteen?"

"I didn't say that anything was wrong with your work," Reade rejoined. "What I was about to say was that, if I put any of the students at leveling on Nineteen, by way of test, I shall have my own notes with which to compare theirs."

"Humph!" muttered the fellow. Then shaking with anger, he walked away from the young chief.

"Now, Black knows that much against himself," smiled Reade inwardly. "He doesn't yet know, however, that I heard him talking with Bad Pete."

Though he was pretending to take things easily, Tom's head was all but whirling with the many problems that presented themselves to him. To get away from it all for a while Tom strolled a short distance out of camp, seating himself on the ground under a big tree not far from the trail.

Five minutes later the young chief heard halting footsteps that struck his ear as being rather stealthy. Someone, from camp, was heading that way. Stealth in the other's movements made Reade draw himself back into the shadow.

'Gene Black halted not far from the tree. Turning back toward the camp, the fellow shook his fist violently in that direction.

"He's certainly thinking of me," grimaced Reade.

"You young cub, you may laugh for a day or two more!" muttered Black, with another shake of his fist.

"If that's meant for me, I'm much obliged, I'm sure," thought Reade. "Laughing is always a great pleasure for me."

"It's your turn now," continued Black, in the same low, passionate tone, "but I'll soon have you blocked—-or else under the sod!"

"Oho!" reflected the young acting chief engineer, not without a slight shudder. "Is assassination in the plans of the people behind 'Gene Black's treachery? Or is putting me under the sod merely an addition that Black has made for his own pleasure?"

The plotter, still unaware of the eavesdropper, had now turned and was walking down the trail. He was now so far from camp that he did not need to be soft-footed.

Out of the shadow, after a brief pause, stole Tom Reade.

"If Black is going to meet anyone tonight I'd better be near to the place of meeting. I might hear something that would teach me just what to do to checkmate the plotters against us."

For fully half a mile the chase continued. Two or three times Reade stepped against some slight obstacle in the darkness, making a sound which, he feared, would travel to the ears of Black. But the latter kept on his way.

Finally 'Gene Black halted where three trees grew in the form of a triangle and threw a dense shadow. In the same instant the young chief engineer dropped out of sight behind a boulder close to the path.

Black's low, thrilling whistle sounded. A night bird's call answered. Soon afterwards, another form appeared, and Tom, peering anxiously, was sure that he recognized the man whom he expected to see—-Bad Pete.

What Tom heard came disjointedly—-a few words here and there, but enough to set him thinking "at the rate of a mile a minute," as he told himself.

Up the trail came the pair, after some minutes. Tom crouched flat behind his boulder.

"Great! I hope they'll halt within a few feet and go on talking about the things that I want to hear—-must hear!" quivered Reade.

It was provoking! Black and Bad Pete passed so close, yet the only sound from either of them, while within earshot, was a chuckle from Pete.

"That's right! Laugh," gritted disappointed Tom. "Laughing is in your line! You're planning, somehow, to put the big laugh over the whole line of the S.B. & L. railroad. If I could only hear a little more I might be able to turn the laugh on you!"

The pair went on out of sight. Tom waited where he was for more than half an hour.

"Now, the coast is surely clear," thought Reade at last. He rose and started campward.

"The soft-foot, the rubber shoe won't work now," Tom decided. "If I were to go along as if trying not to run into anyone, and that pair got first sight of me, it would make them suspicious. I haven't been eavesdropping—-oh, no! I'm merely out taking a night stroll to ease my nerves."

Therefore the cub chief puckered his lips, emitting a cheery whistling as he trudged along up the trail.

As it happened the pair whom Tom sought had not yet parted. From behind a boulder a man stepped out in his path. From the other side of the boulder another man moved in behind him.

"Out for the air, Reade?" asked the sneering voice of 'Gene Black.

"Hello, Black—-is that you?"

"Now, Black," broke in the voice of Bad Pete, "you wanted this cub, and he's all yours! What are you going to do with him?"



CHAPTER XV

BLACK'S PLOT OPENS WITH A BANG

"Some mistake here, gentlemen," interjected Tom Reade coolly. "Unless I'm very badly informed I don't belong to either of you. If anyone owns me, then I belong to the S.B. & L."

"I told you I'd make you settle with me for throwing me out of the camp," remarked Black disagreeably.

"You're not out yet—-more's the pity," Tom retorted. "You will be, however, as soon as the paymaster arrives."

"You're wrong," jeered 'Gene. "You're out—-from this minute!"

"What do you mean?" Tom inquired, looking Black steadily in the eye.

Yet the young chief engineer had a creepy realization of just what the pair did mean. Black must have confederates somewhere in the mountains near. It was evidently the rascal's intention to seize Tom and carry him away where he would be held a prisoner until he had lost all hope of regaining his position at the head of the railroad's field force.

"You say that I'll be thrown out of camp very soon," sneered Black. "The fact is, you are not going back to camp."

"What's going to stop me?" Reade inquired, with no sign of fear.

"You're not going back to camp!" Black insisted.

"Someone has been giving you the wrong tip," smiled Tom.

He started forward, brushing past Black. It was mainly a pretense, for Reade had no notion but that he would be stopped.

With a savage cry Black seized him by the shoulders.

Tom made a quick turn, shaking the fellow off. While he was thus occupied Bad Pete slipped about, and now confronted Reade. The muzzle of a revolver was pressed against the young engineer's belt.

"Hoist your hands!" ordered Pete warningly.

Tom obeyed, though he hoisted his hands only as far as his mouth. Forming a megaphone, he gave vent to a loud yell of:

"Roo-rup! roo-rup! roo-rup!"

It was one of the old High School yells of the good old Gridley days—-one of the yells sometimes used as a signal of distress by famous old Dick & Co., of which Tom Reade had been a shining member.

On the still air of the mountain night that yell traveled far and clearly. It was a call of penetrating power, traveling farther than its sound would suggest.

"You do that again, you young coyote, and I'll begin to pump!" growled Bad Pete savagely.

"I won't need to do it again," Tom returned. "Wait a few minutes, and you'll see."

"Shall I drop him, Black?" inquired Pete.

'Gene Black was about to answer in the affirmative, when a sound up the trail caught his attention.

"There's someone coming," snarled Black, using his keen powers of hearing.

"Wait and I'll introduce you," mocked Tom Reade.

"We won't wait. Neither will you," retorted Black. "You'll come with us. About face and walk fast!"

"I'm not going your way tonight," replied Reade calmly.

"If he doesn't obey every order like a flash, Pete, then you pull the trigger and wind this cub up."

"All right," nodded Pete. "Cub, you heard what Black said?"

"Yes," replied Tom, looking at Pete with smiling eyes.

"Then come along," ordered Black, seizing Tom by one arm.

"I won't!" Tom declared flatly.

"You know what refusal means. Pete is steady on the trigger."

"Is he?" asked Reade coolly.

Watching like a cat through his sleepy-looking eyes, Reade suddenly shot his right hand across his abdomen in such fashion as to knock away the muzzle of the revolver. Bad Pete felt himself seized in a football tackle that had been the terror of more than one opposing High School football player.

Crash! Pete struck the ground, Reade on top of him.

'Gene Black darted to the aid of his companion, but shrank back as he caught the glint of the revolver that Tom had twisted out of the hand of the bad man.

"Duck, Black!" warned Tom, in a quiet tone that nevertheless had a deadly note in it.

"Where are you?" called the voice of Harry Hazelton, not two hundred yards up the trail now.

"Here!" called Tom.

"Wow-ow-ow! Whoop!" yelled a chorus of college boys.

It all took place in a very few seconds. Black, hesitating whether or not to close with Reade, decided on flight. He turned and fled.

Whizz-zz-zz! The sound was made by the captured revolver as Tom, leaping to his feet, threw it as far from him as he could. It sailed through space, next disappearing over the edge of a steep precipice.

"What's your hurry, Peter?" drawled Reade, as, jerking Bad Pete to his feet, he planted a kick that sent the bad man down the trail a dozen feet.

Tom started after Pete, intent on another kick. Bad Pete sped down the trail blindly. Like most of his gun-play kind, he had little courage when deprived of his implement of murder.

"What's up, Tom?" demanded Harry Hazelton, leaping to the spot.

"What's the row, chief?" asked one of the university boys eagerly. "Anyone you want us to catch? Whoop! Lead the way to the running track while we show you our best time!"

"There's nothing to be done, I think," laughed Tom. "Do you all know Black by sight?"

"Yes," came the answer from a score of throats.

"Well," Tom continued, "if any of you ever catch sight of him in the camp again you are hereby authorized to run him out by the use of any kind of tactics that won't result fatally."

On the way up the trail Tom told the rescue party something about the late affair.

However, Reade referred to it only as a personal quarrel, refraining from making any mention of the treachery of Black and of the plots of which that treacherous engineer was a part.

"If you've many friends like that one, chief, you had better strap a gun on to your belt."

"I don't like revolver carrying," Tom replied bluntly. "It always makes a coward of a fellow."

Two mornings later the telegraph wire, one end of which now rested in a tent in camp, brought word that President Newnham was at the construction camp, and would be along in the course of the day.

Tom, Harry and the draughtsmen were the only engineers in camp at the hour when the message arrived.

"Big doings coming our way!" announced Tom, after he had broken the news to the others.

"Is Mr. Newnham likely to make much of a shake-up?" asked Watson, one of the college-boy draughtsmen.

"I've never met him," Tom answered, "and I don't know. We're going along at grand old speed, and Mr. Newnham had better let things run just as they're going now, if he wants to see the S.B. & L. open for traffic within charter time."