the young engineers on the gulf or the dread mystery of the million dollar breakwater by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. the mystery of a black night ii. the call of one in trouble iii. vanishing into thin air iv. some one calls again v. wanted---daylight and divers vi. mr. bascomb is peevish vii. tom isn't as easy as he looks viii. mr. prenter investigates ix. invited to leave camp x. the night is not over xi. a message from a coward xii. an engineer's fighting blood xiii. wishing it on mr. sambo xiv. the black man's turn xv. a david for a goliath xvi. a test of real nerve xvii. tom makes an unexpected capture xviii. the army "on the job" xix. a new mystery peeps in xx. a secret in sight xxi. evarts hears a noise xxii. mr. bascomb hears bad news xxiii. ebony says "thumbs up" xxiv. conclusion chapter i the mystery of a black night "i wish i had brought my electric flash out here with me," muttered harry hazelton uneasily. "i told you that you'd better do it," chuckled tom reade. "but how could i know that the night would be pitch dark?" harry demanded. "i don't know this gulf weather yet, and fifteen minutes ago the stars were out in full force. now look at them!" "how can i look at them?" demanded tom, halting. "my flashlight won't pierce the clouds." reade halted on his dark, dangerous footway, and harry, just behind him, uttered a sigh of relief and halted also. "i never was in such a place as this before." "you've been in many a worse place, though," rejoined tom. "i never heard you make half as much fuss, either." "i think something must be wrong with my head," ventured harry. "undoubtedly," tom reade agreed cheerily. "hear that water," harry went on, in a voice scarcely less disconsolate than before. "of course," nodded tom. "but the water can hardly be termed a surprise. we both knew that the gulf of mexico is here. we saw it several times to-day." the two young men stood on a narrow ledge of stone that jutted out of the water. this wall of stone was the first, outer or retaining wall of masonry---the first work of constructing a great breakwater. at high tide, this ledge was just fourteen inches above the level surface of the gulf of mexico, and at the time of the above conversation it was within twenty minutes of high tide. the top of this wall of masonry was thirty inches wide, which made but a narrow footway for the two youths who, on a pitch black night, were more than half a mile out from shore. on a pleasant night, for a young man with a steady head, the top of this breakwater wall did not offer a troublesome footpath. in broad daylight hundreds of laborers and masons swarmed over it, working side by side, or on scows and dredges alongside. "wait, and i'll show a light," volunteered tom raising his foot-long flashlight. some seventy-five yards behind them a crawling snake-like figure flattened itself out on the top of the rock wall. "don't show the light just yet," pleaded harry. "it might only make me more dizzy." the flattened figure behind them wriggled noiselessly along. "just listen to the water," continued hazelton. "tom, i'm half-inclined to think that the water is roughening." "i believe it is," agreed tom. "fine time we'll have getting back, if a gale springs up from the southward," muttered harry. "see here, old fellow," interposed tom vigorously, "you're not up to concert pitch to-night. now, i'll tell you what i'll do---first of all, what _you'll_ do. you sit right down flat on the top of the wall. then i'll move on up forward and see what has been happening out there that should boom shoreward with such a racket. you stay right here, and i'll be back as soon as i've looked into the face of the mystery." "what do you take me for?" harry asked almost fiercely. "a baby? or a cold-foot?" "nothing like it," answered tom reade with reassuring positiveness. "you're out of sorts, to-night. your head, or your nerves, or some thing, has gone back on you, and you walk through this blackness with half a notion that you're going to walk over a precipice, or drop head-first into some danger. with such a feeling it would be cruelty to let you go forward, chum, and i'm not going to do it. i'll go alone." the crouching figure to the rear of the young engineers quivered as though this separation of the two engineers on this black night was a thing devoutly to be desired. "you're not going to do anything of the sort," retorted harry hazelton. "i'm going forward with you. i'm going to stick to you. all i wanted was a minute in which to brace myself. i've had that minute. now get forward with you. i'm on your heels!" tom reade shrugged his shoulders slightly. however, he did not object or argue, for he realized that his chum was sensitive over any circumstance that seemed to point to sudden failure of his courage. "come along, then," urged tom. "wait just a second, though. i'll flash the light ahead along the wall, to show you that it's all there, and just where it lies." a narrow beam of light shot ahead as tom pressed the spring of his pocket flash lamp. a weird enough scene the night betrayed. in perspective the wall ahead narrowed, until the two sides seemed to come to a point. back of all was the thick curtain of black that had settled down over the gulf. a little farther out, too, the water seemed rougher. there would seem to be hardly a doubt that a gale was brewing. "shut that light off!" hazelton commanded, fighting to repress a shudder. "i can do better in the darkness. now, go ahead, and i'll follow." tom started, but he went slowly now, feeling that this pace was more suited to the condition of his chum's nerves. harry followed resolutely, though none but himself knew how much effort it took for him to keep on in the face of such a nameless yet terrible dread as now assailed him. to the rear a bulky, hulking figure rose and stood erect. with the softest of steps this apparition of the night followed after them, until it stole along, ghost-like, just behind hazelton. then a huge arm was raised, threateningly, over harry's head. at that particular moment, as though insensibly warned, hazelton stopped, half-wheeling. in the next second harry bounded back just out of reach of the descending arm, the hand of which held something. but in that backward spring harry, in order to save himself from pitching into the water, was oblige to turn toward reade. "tom!" exploded the young engineer. "flash the light here quickly!" in the instant, however, that harry had sprung backward the figure had slipped noiselessly into the water to the left. as reade wheeled about, throwing on the light, he let the ray fall in the water to the right of the wall. but no sign of the intruder appeared; the water had closed noiselessly over the now vanished figure. "what's the matter?" asked reade, as he stood looking, then finally flashed his light over to the other side of the wall. "i saw---" began hazelton. then changed to: "i thought---er---i saw---oh, nonsense! you'll josh the life out of me!" "not i," tom affirmed gravely, as a thrill of pity, for what he deemed his friend's unfortunate "nervous condition," shook him. "tell me what you saw, harry." "why, i thought i saw a big fellow---a black man, too---right behind me, arm upraised, just ready to strike me." "well, where is he?" tom demanded blankly, flashing the light on either side of the narrow wall-top. "see him anywhere now, chum?" harry didn't. in fact, he hardly more than pretended to look. the thing that had been so real a moment before was now utterly invisible. hazelton began to share his chum's suspicion as to the utter breakdown of his nerves and powers of vision. "it was nothing, of course," said harry, shamefacedly, but tom vigorously took the other side of the question. "see here, harry, it must have been something," insisted reade. "you're not dreaming, and you're not crazy. it would take either one of those conditions to make you see something that didn't really exist. no mere nervous tremor is going to make you see something as tall as a man, standing right over you, when no such thing exists." "well, then, where is the fellow?" harry hazelton demanded, helplessly, as he stared about. "there isn't any human being but ourselves in sight, either on the wall or in the water. your light shows that." the light did not quite show that, and could not, since the huge prowler was now swimming gently under water, some seven or eight feet from the surface. "we'll have to solve the question before we leave here," declared tom. "we can't have folks following us up in a ticklish place like this. besides, harry, i'm willing to wager that your vision---whatever it was---has some real connection with the mystery that we're going out yonder to investigate. so we'll solve the puzzle that's right here before we go forward to look at the bigger riddle that the dark now hides from us out yonder. use your eyes, lad, an i'll do the same with mine!" neither tom reade nor harry hazelton are strangers to the readers of this series, nor of the series that have preceded the present one. tom reade and harry hazelton, now engineers in charge of a big breakwater job on the alabama gulf coast, were first introduced to our readers in the "_grammar school boys series_." there we met them as members of that immortal band of american schoolboys known as dick & co. back in the old school days dick prescott had been the leader of dick & co., though, as all our readers know, prescott was not the sole genius of dick & co. greg holmes, dave darrin, dan dalzell and tom and harry had been the other members of that famous sextette of schoolboy athletes. after reading of the doings of dick & co. in the "_grammar school boys series_," our readers again followed them, through the events recorded in the four volumes of the "_high school boys series_". here their really brilliant work boys series athletes was stirringly chronicled, as along with scores of non-athletic adventures that befell them. at the close of the high school course dick prescott and greg holmes secured appointments as cadets at the united states military academy at west point. all that befell them there is duly set forth in the "_west point series_." dave darrin and dan dalzell were fortunate enough to secure appointments as midshipmen in the united states naval academy at annapolis, and their doings there are set forth in the "_annapolis series_." tom reade and harry hazelton, on the other hand, had felt no call to military glory. for their work in life they longed to become part of the great constructive force wielded by modern civil engineers. during the latter part of their high school work they had studied hard with ambition to become surveyors and civil engineers. in their school vacations they had sought training and experience in the offices of an engineering firm in their home town of gridley. after being graduated from the gridley high school, tom and harry had done more work in the same offices. then, in a sudden desire for advancement, and possessed by the longing for a wider field of endeavor, tom reade and harry hazelton had secured positions as "cub engineers" on the construction work that was being done to rush a new railway, system over the rocky mountains in colorado. the stern, hard work that lay before them, the many adventures in a rough wilderness, and the chain of circumstances that at last placed tom reade in charge of the railroad building, with harry as first assistant engineer, are all told in the first volume of this present series, "_the young engineers in colorado_." that great feat finished satisfactorily, the ambition of our young engineers led them further afield, as told in "_the young engineers in arizona_." a great, man-killing quicksand had to be filled in and effectively stopped from shifting. reade & hazelton undertook the task. incidentally tom came into serious, dangerous conflict with gamblers and other human birds-of-prey, who had heretofore fattened on the earnings of the railway laborers. it was a tremendously exciting time that the young engineers had in arizona, but they at last got away with their lives and were at the same time immensely successful in their undertaking. in "_the young engineers in nevada_" we found our young friends under changed conditions. while at work in colorado and in arizona tom and harry had studied the occurrence of precious ores, and also the methods of assaying and extracting ores. having their time wholly to themselves after finishing in arizona the dauntless young pair went to nevada, there to study mining at first hand. in time they located a mining claim, though there were other claimants, and around this latter fact hung an extremely exciting story. both young engineers nearly lost their lives in nevada, and met with many strenuous situations. their sole idea in pushing their mine forward to success was that the money so earned would enable them to further their greatest ambition; they longed to have their own engineering offices. in the end, their mine, which the young engineers had named "the ambition," proved a success. thereupon they left their mining partner, jim ferrers, in charge and went east to open their offices. we next found the young engineers engaged to the south of the united states border. these adventures were fully set forth in the preceding volume in this series, entitled "_the young engineers in mexico_." tom and harry, engaged to solve some problems in a great mexican mine, found themselves the intended tools of a pair of mine swindlers of wealth and influence. from their first realization of the swindle tom and harry, even in the face of threats of assured death, held out for an honest course. how they struggled to save a syndicate of american investors from being swindled out of millions of dollars was splendidly told in that fourth volume. and now we find our young friends down at the gulf coast town of blixton, alabama. here they are engaged in a kind of engineering work wholly unlike any they had hitherto undertaken. the owners of the melliston steamship line, with a fleet of twenty-two freight steamships engaged in the west indian and central american trade, had looked in vain for suitable dock accommodations for their vessels, worth a total of more than six million dollars. in their efforts to improve their service the melliston owners had found at blixton a harbor that would have suited them excellently, but for one objection. the bay at blixton was too open to shelter vessels from the severity of some of the winter gales. up to the present time blixton had not been used for harbor purposes. but the melliston owners had conceived the idea that a great breakwater could be so built as to shelter the waters of the bay. they had quietly bought up most of the shore front of the little town, which had railway connection. then they had searched about for engineers capable of building the needed breakwater. reade & hazelton, hearing of the project, had applied for the work. as the young men furnished most excellent recommendations from former employers they had finally secured the opportunity. by no means was the task an easy one, as will presently be shown. it was a work that would have to be carried on in the very teeth of jealous nature. tom and harry were fully aware of the great difficulties that lay before them. what they did not know was that they would presently have to contend, also, with forces set loose by wicked human minds. what started these untoward forces in operation, and how the forces worked out, will soon be seen. captain of a queer crew was tom reade, and harry was his lieutenant. of the laborers, seven hundred in number, some four hundred were negroes; there were also two hundred italians and about a hundred portuguese. many, of each race, were skilled masons; others were but unskilled laborers. there were six foremen, all americans, and a superintendent, also american. there were a few more americans and two or three scotchmen, employed as stationary engineers and in similar lines of work. a touch of the old arizona trouble had invaded the camp. there had recently been a pay-day, and gamblers had descended upon the camp of tents and shanties. once more reade had driven off the gamblers, though this time with less trouble than in arizona. at blixton, tom had merely sent for the four peace officers in the town of blixton, and had had the gamblers warned out of camp. they had gone, but there had been wrathful mutterings among many of the workmen. the camp was a half mile back from the water's edge, on a low hillside. here the men of the outfit were settled. there had been mutinous mutterings among some of the men, but so far there had been no open revolt. tom, however, who had had considerable experience in such matters, looked for some form of trouble before the smouldering excitement quieted. so did harry. on this dark night tom had proposed that he and his chum take a stroll down to the shore front to see whether all were well there. soon after leaving camp behind, the young engineers had started on a jog-trot. just before they reached the water's edge the wind had borne to their ears the faint report of what must have been an explosion out over the waters of the gulf. "trouble!" tom whispered in his chum's ear. "most likely some of the rascals that we drove out of camp have been trying to set back our work with dynamite. if they have done so we'll teach 'em a lesson if we can catch them!" so the young engineers had started out over their narrow retaining wall. we have seen how they had walked most of the distance when harry had had his sudden warning of the hostile arm uplifted over his head. "what could it have been?" demanded tom in a low voice, as he continued to cast the light from his flash lamp out over the waters on either side of the wall. "it must have been my nervous imagination," admitted harry. "whew! but it _did_ seem mighty real for the moment." "then you're inclined, now, to believe that it was purely imagination?" pursued tom. "ye---e---es, it must have been," assented harry reluctantly. tom made some final casts with the light. while they were conversing, well past the short radius of the flash lamp's glare, a massive black head bobbed up and down with the waves. out there the huge negro who had swiftly vanished from the wall, and who had swum under water for a long distance, was indolently treading water. wholly at home in the gulf, the man's black head blended with the darkness of the water and the blackness of the night. "oh, then," suggested reade, "we may as well go along on our way. plainly there's nothing human around here to look at but ourselves." so they started slowly forward over the wall. leisurely the black man swam to the wall, taking up the dogged trail again in the darkness behind the pair of young engineers. several minutes more of cautious walking brought tom reade to a startled halt. "look there, harry!" uttered reade, stopping and throwing the light ahead. out beyond them, not far from the end of the wall, some hundred feet of the top had been torn away. for all the young engineers could see, the foundations might have gone with the superstructure. "dynamite!" tom muttered grimly. "so this is the way our newly-found enemies will fight us?" "it won't be such a big job to repair this gap," muttered harry calmly. "no; but it'll take a good many dollars to pay the bills," retorted tom. "well, the expense can't be charged to us, anyway," maintained harry. "we didn't do this vandal's work, and we didn't authorize its being done." "no; but you know why it was done, harry," tom continued. "it was because we drove the gamblers out of the camp, and thus made enemies for ourselves on both sides of the camp lines." "anyway, the company's officers can't blame us for trying to maintain proper order in the camp," hazelton insisted stoutly. "not if we can stop the outrages with this one explosion, perhaps," replied tom thoughtfully. "yet, if there are many more tricks like this one played on the wall you'll find that the company's officers will be blaming us all the way up to the skies and down again. big corporations are all right on enforcing morality until it hits their dividends too hard. then you'll find that the directors will be urging us to let gambling go on again if the laborers insist on having it." "well, we won't have gambling in the camp, anyway," harry retorted stubbornly. "we're simply looking after the interests of the men themselves. i wonder why they can't see it, and act like men, not fools." "we're going to stop the gambling, and keep it stopped," tom went on, his jaws setting firmly together. "but, harry, we're going to have a big row on our hands, and various attempts against the company's property will be made." "if the company's officers order us to let up on the gambling," proposed harry, "we can resign and get out of this business altogether." "we won't resign, and we won't knuckle down to any lot of swindlers either, harry!" cried tom. "some one is fighting us, and this wreck of a sea-wall is the first proof. all right! if any one wants to fight us he shall find that we know how to fight back, and that we can hit hard. harry, from this minute on we're after those crooks, and we'll make them realize that there's some sting to us!" "good enough!" cheered hazelton. "i like that old-time fight talk! but are you going to do anything to protect the wall to-night, tom?" "i am," announced the young chief engineer. "what's the plan?" "let me think," urged reade. "now, i believe, i have it. we'll send one of the motor boats out here, with a foreman and four laborers. they can arm themselves with clubs and patrol the water on both sides of the wall. the 'thomas morton' has a small search-light on her that will be of use in keeping a close eye over the wall." "that ought to stop the nonsense," harry nodded. "but i don't imagine that any further efforts to destroy the wall will be made tonight, anyway." "we'll have the night patrol out _every_ night after this," tom declared. "but i'm not so sure either, that another effort won't be made to-night, if we don't put a watch on to stop this wicked business. harry, do you mind remaining out here while i run back and get the boat out?" "why should i mind?" hazelton wanted to know. "well, i didn't know whether you would, or not---after seeing that imaginary something behind you." "don't laugh at me! i may have had a start, but you ought to be the first to know, tom, that i haven't frozen feet." "i do know it, harry. you've been through too many perils to be suspected of cowardice. well, then, i'll run back." tom reade had really intended to leave the flash lamp with his chum, but he forgot to do so, and, as he jogged steadily along over the wall he threw the light ahead of him. as he got nearer shore tom increased his jog to a brisk run. once, on the way, he passed the prowling negro without knowing it. that huge fellow, seeing the ray of light come steadily near him, hesitated for a few moments, then took to the water, swimming well out. after reade had passed, the fellow swam in toward the wall. up on the wall climbed the negro. for a few minutes he crouched there, shaking the water from his garments. then, cautiously, he began to crawl forward. "boss reade, he done gone in," muttered the prowler. "boss hazelton, ah reckon he's mah poultry!" harry, keeping his lone vigil away out on the narrow retaining wall, was growing sleepy. he had nearly forgotten his scare. indeed, he was inclined to look upon it as a trick of his own brain. chapter ii the call of one in trouble once tom reade reached the solid land he let his long legs out into a brisk run. with his years of practice on the gridley high school athletic team he was not one to lose his wind readily. so he made his way at the same speed all the way up to the camp. "who dar?" called a negro watchman, as tom raced up to the outskirts of the camp. "reade, chief engineer," tom called, then wheeled and made off to the right, where the more substantial barracks of the foremen stood. superintendent renshaw lived in a two-story barrack still farther to the right, as the guest of the young engineers. "_quien vive_?" (who's there?) hailed another voice, between the two barracks buildings. "so, nicolas, you rascal, you haven't gone to bed?" demanded tom, halting. "what did i tell you about earlier hours?" nicolas was the young mexican servant whom tom and harry had brought back with them from mexico. readers of the previous volume know all about this faithful fellow. "you and senor hazelton, you waire not in bed," replied nicolas stolidly. "you're not expected to stay up and watch over us as if we were babies, nicolas," spoke tom, in a gentler voice. "you'd better turn in now." "senor hazelton, where is he?" insisted nicolas, anxiously. "oh, bother! never mind where he is," tom rejoined. "we won't either of us be in for a little while yet. but you turn in now---at once---instanter!" then tom bounded over to the little porch before the foremen's barracks, where he pounded lustily on the door. "who's there? what's wanted?" demanded a sleepy voice from the inside. "is that you, evarts?" called reade. "yes, sir." "get on your duds and turn out as quickly as you can." "you want me?" yawned evarts. "now, see here, my man, if i didn't want you why on earth would i call you out in the middle of the night?" "it's late," complained evarts. "i know it. that's why i want you to get behind yourself and push yourself," retorted the young chief engineer energetically. "hustle!" twice, while he waited impatiently, tom kicked the toe of one boot against the door to emphasize the need of haste. other drowsy voices remonstrated. "hang a man who has to sleep _all_ the time!" grunted tom reade. after several minutes the door opened, and a lanky, loose-jointed, lantern-jawed man of some forty-odd years stepped out. "well, what's up, mr. reade?" questioned the foreman, hiding a yawn behind a bony, hairy hand. "you are, at last, thank goodness!" tom exclaimed. "evarts, i want you to rout out four good men. lift 'em to their feet and begin to throw the clothes on 'em!" "it's pretty late to call men out of their beds, sir," mildly objected the foreman. "no---it's early, but it can't be helped," tom reade retorted. "hustle 'em out!" "black or white?" sleepily inquired evarts. "white, and americans at that," tom retorted. "put none but americans on guard tonight, evarts! what do you suppose has happened?" "can't guess." "no! you're still too sleepy. evarts, some scoundrels have blown out a good part of our wall yonder." "are you joking, mr. reade?" "no, sir; i am not. dynamite must have been used. hazelton and i heard the noise of the blast, but of course we got out there too late to catch any miscreant at the job." evarts, at first, was inclined to regard the news with mild disbelief, but he soon realized that something must have happened very nearly as the young chief engineer had described. "well, what are you standing there for?" tom demanded, impatiently. "are you going to wait for daylight? get the four men out---all americans, mind you. _hustle_, man!" evarts started away; toward the camp over to the left of them. as he did so tom darted in another direction. two minutes later tom was back, piloting by one arm a man who was still engaged in rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. this was conlon, engineer of the motor boat, "morton." "where's evarts?" reade queried, impatiently. "oh, evarts! where are you, and what are you doing?" "trying to get four men awake," bawled back the voice of the foreman, from the distance. "as soon as i get one man on his feet the other three have sunk back to sleep." "wait until i get over there then!" called tom, striding forward. "come along, conlon! don't you lag on me." "there! do you fellows reckon you want mr. reade to bump in here and shake you out?" sounded the warning voice of evarts. as tom and the motor boat's engine tender reached the little, box-like shack from which evarts's tones proceeded, four men, seated on the floor, were seen to be lacing their shoes by the dim light of a lantern. "a nice lot you are!" called tom crisply. "how many hours does it take you to get awake when you're called in the middle of the night?" "this overtime warn't in the agreement," sleepily retorted one of the men. "you're wrong there," reade informed him, vehemently. "overtime _is_ in the agreement for every man in this camp when it's wanted of him---from the chief engineer all along the line. now, you men oblige me by hustling. i don't want to wait more than sixty seconds for the last man of you." "i've a good mind to crawl back into my bunk," growled another of the men. "all right," retorted tom reade, with suspicious cheerfulness. "try it and see what kind of fireworks i carry concealed on my person. or, just lag a little bit on me, and you'll see the same thing. men, do you realize that there's foul play afoot out on the retaining wall? we've got to go out there in time to stop anything more happening. now, you've got your shoes on; grab the rest of your clothing and hustle it on as we make for the beach. come along!" tom fairly got behind the men and pushed them outside. they would have liked to complain, but they didn't. some of them were larger and heavier than the chief engineer, but they knew quite well that, at sign of any trifling mutiny to-night, reade would thrash them all. "if any one is trying to blow up the wall, mr. reade, it's all your fault, anyway," ventured evarts, as the little party started at a brisk walk for the beach. "when you've got a mixed crowd of men working for you, you shouldn't interfere too much with their amusements. yet you would have the gamblers run out of camp just when our boys were getting ready to have some pleasant evenings." "i'll run out any one else who attempts to bring disorderly doings into this camp," tom retorted quietly. "then there'll be some more of your seawalls blown up," evarts warned him gloomily. "if such a thing happens again there'll be some men hurt, and some others breaking into prison," tom answered with spirit. "any evildoers that try to set themselves up in business around here will soon wish they had kept away---that's all." "it's a bad business," insisted evarts, wagging his head. "when you have a mixed crowd of workmen---" "i think you've said that before," tom broke in coolly. "to-night we're in too much of a hurry to listen to the same thing twice. come on, men. you can go a little faster than a walk. jog a bit---i'll show you how." "this is pretty hard on men in the middle of the night," hinted evarts, after the jogging had gone on for a full minute. "it ain't right to-----" "stop it, evarts!" tom cut in crisply. "i don't mind a little grumbling at the right time, and i often do a bit myself, but not when i'm as rushed as i am to-night. there's the dock ahead, men---a little faster spurt now!" tom urged his men along to the dock. with no loss of time they tumbled aboard the "morton," a broad, somewhat shallow, forty-foot motor boat of open construction. "get up and take the wheel, evarts," tom. directed. "get at work on your spark, conlon, and i'll throw the drive-wheel over for you. some of you men cast, off!" in a very short time the "morton" was going "put-put-put" away from the dock. tom, after seeing that everything was moving satisfactorily, turned around to look at the four men huddled astern. "don't any of you go to sleep," he urged. "a good part of our success depends on how well you all keep awake and use your eyes and ears." that said, tom reade hastened forward, stationing himself close to evarts, who had the steering wheel. some of the men astern began to talk. "silence, if you please," tom called softly. "don't talk except on matters of business. we want to be able to use our ears. conlon, make your engine a little less noisy if you can." now reade had leisure to wonder how matters had gone with harry hazelton. "of course that threatening figure harry saw behind him was an imaginary one," tom said to himself, but he felt uneasy nevertheless. a few moments later reade clutched at one of evarts's arms. "did you hear that, man?" the young engineer demanded. "hear what?" evarts wanted to know. "it sounded like a yell out there yonder," tom rejoined. "didn't hear it, mr. reade." "there it goes again!" cried tom, leaping up. "some one is calling my name. it must be harry hazelton, and he must want help. conlon, slam it to that engine of yours!" chapter iii vanishing into thin air left by himself harry had stood, at first, motionless, or nearly so. he strained his hearing in trying to detect any unusual sound of the night, since it was so dark that vision would not aid him much. there was nothing, however, but the mournful sighing of the wind and the lapping of the waves. it seemed to hazelton that the wind was growing gradually more brisk and the waves larger, but he was not sure of that until the water commenced splashing across his shoes. the footway on the masonry became more slippery in consequence. "with these rocks well wet down i wouldn't care much about having to run back to the land," muttered harry, dryly. "however, i won't have to go back on my own feet. tom will have the boat out here, and undoubtedly he will plan to have us both taken back to shore after we get through cruising around here. we should have brought the boat out in the first place." a night bird screamed, then flapped its wings close to harry's face in its flight past him. the young engineer saw the moving wings for an instant; then they vanished into the black beyond. farther out some other kind of bird screamed. the whole situation was a weird one, but harry was no coward, though a less courageous youth would have found the situation hard on his nerves. still another night bird screamed, of some species with which hazelton was wholly unacquainted. the cry was answered by some sort of strange call from the shore. "it's a fine thing that i'm not superstitious," laughed the young engineer to himself, "or i'd surely feel cold chills chasing each other up and down my spine." as it was, harry shivered slightly, though not from fear. with the increasing wind it was growing chilly out there for one who could not warm himself with exercise. "it's a long time, or it seems so," muttered the young engineer presently. "yet i'll wager that tom is hustling himself and others on the very jump." again the call of a night bird, and once more a sound from shore seemed to answer it. "real birds?" wondered hazelton, with a start of sudden curiosity. "or have i been listening to human signals? if so, the signals can't cover any good or honest purpose." that train of thought set him to listening more acutely than before. yet, as no more calls reached his ears the attention of the young engineer soon began to flag. the monotonous lapping of the waves against the stone wall, the constant splashing of water over the rocks and the steady blowing of the wind all tended to make the watcher feel drowsy. "what on earth can be keeping good old tom?" harry wondered, more than once. it would have been well, indeed, had harry kept his eyes turned oftener toward the shore end of the wall. in that case he might more speedily have detected the wriggling, snake-like movement of the big negro moving toward him. with great caution the huge prowler came onward, raising his head a few inches every now and then and listening. the black man's nostrils moved feverishly. he was using them, as a dog would have done, to scent any signs of alarm on the part of the human quarry that he was after. at last harry hazelton turned sharply, for his own ears were attuned to the stillnesses of the western forests and his hearing was unusually acute. he had just heard a sound on the wall, not far away. instantly the young engineer was on the alert. then his eyes, piercing the darkness, made out the crawling, dark form, which did not appear to be more than fifty feet away from him. for a second or two harry stared. but he knew there could be no snake as broad as this crawling figure appeared to be. "who's there?" hazelton called quickly. the writhing mass became still, flattening itself against the bed of rock. hazelton was not to be deceived, however. "who's there?" harry repeated. "you had better talk up, my man!" still no sound. harry started forward to investigate. his foot touched against a good sized fragment of rock left there by one of the masons. without delay harry reached down, picking up the rock, which was rather more than half as large as his head. holding this in his right hand harry advanced with still more confidence, for he felt himself to be armed. hazelton had been a clever pitcher in his high school days and knew that he could make this fragment of rock land pretty close to where he wanted it to go. "who are you?" demanded hazelton, once more, as he stepped cautiously forward. "no use in your keeping silent, my man. i see you and know that you're there. moreover, i'm going to drag the truth out of you as to what you're doing out here on the wall at this hour of the night---and to-night of all nights." still no answer; harry went steadily forward, until he was within a dozen feet of the head of the flattened brute in human guise. hazelton could now see every line of his adversary plainly, though he could not make out the fellow's face. "you'd better get up and talk," warned harry, poising the rock fragment for a throw. "if you don't you'll cast all the more suspicion upon yourself. for the last time, my man, who are you and what are you doing here?" the huge black figure might have been a log for all the answer that came forth. "all right, then; it's your own fault," harry hazelton continued calmly. "as you won't speak i'm going to crack the nut for myself. your head will be the nut, and this rock i have in my hand shall be the hammer. i'm going to slam this rock on your head with all the force i've got, and i'm a good, straight thrower." yet, though hazelton spoke with such confidence, he was far from meaning all he said. in the first place, he had no legal right, under the circumstances, to go as close to murder as it might be for him to throw the rock at the rascal's head. moreover, harry would hardly have exercised such a legal right, had he possessed it, without the strongest provocation. from the black prowler came a sudden, fierce snort. it sounded altogether like defiance. "ho---ho! you're finding your voice, are you, my man?" hazelton jeered. "then talk up in time to save yourself!" instead the huge black man began to writhe forward. "stop that!" ordered harry dangerously. he did not retreat from the writhing human thing, but he took better aim, noting that the black man was hatless and that his head offered a fair mark. "you're going to get hurt in just about a second more," he added. uttering another snort the bulky black sprang to his feet with surprising agility in one of his great size. harry now let his right hand fall back quickly. he was poising for the throw in earnest, for there could no longer be any doubt that the stranger was planning a deadly assault. "take it, then, since you want it!" snapped out harry hazelton. the fragment of rock left his hand, propelled with force and directed with accurate aim at the negro's face. but the crafty black dodged just in time, at the same instant throwing up his hands. harry gasped as he saw his unknown assailant deftly catch the rock fragment as though it had been a base ball. "ha, ha! ho, ho!" jeered the black, in a hoarse, rumbling voice. he threw back his hand, gathering impetus for the cast. hazelton could do nothing but throw himself on the defensive, planning to duplicate the black man's catch. then the stone came---but it did not go high, instead, by a jerk of his wrist, the negro hurled it at harry's right foot. that granite-like fragment struck hazelton's foot with full force. "you---you scoundrel!" groaned harry, in an all but admiring gasp. like a flash he bent over, snatching up the fragment for his own use. "now, i'll slam you into the middle of the gulf of mexico!" cried the young engineer, vengefully, as he tried to straighten up. a groan escaped him. his injured foot was paining him more than he had expected. "ha, ha! ho, ho!" harshly jeered this mysterious, evil creature. the black man had halted as harry prepared to throw, but he showed no sign of hesitation. though he stood still, he thrust his repulsive, leering face forward, as though to offer that face as the best mark. harry found that he could not stand straight---the pain in his injured foot was now too intense. "get back with you!" ordered harry. "get back if you don't want a heap worse than you gave me." "ha, ha! ho, ho!" came the sneering laugh. then the stranger reached out his hands as though to seize the youth. "i guess i'll have to do it---though not because i really want to hurt you!" muttered harry ruefully. "ha, ha! ho, ho!" there could be no question that the unknown was merely playing with him. little as he liked to make the ugly throw harry knew that he had to do it. when hazelton had anything to do he believed in doing it well. so, putting all possible force into his throw, harry let the rock fragment fly, and this time he was sure that his enemy would not be able to dodge in time. nor did the black man make any seeming effort to dodge. bump! squarely in the black face the rock landed. harry heard the sound and felt ill within himself. yet the black man did not stagger. with a contemptuous snort he kicked the fragment of rock into the water as it landed at his feet. "ha, ha! ho, ho!" for the first time harry hazelton felt positively dismayed. he saw the long, massive arms moving, looking like a powerful ape's arms. there could be no doubt that the unknown was ready for a spring. harry did not retreat. where could he run to? only a few yards could he go out towards the end of the wall. then, if he wished to continue his flight he could only take to the water. only a glance was needed at the bulky, powerful frame of the unknown to make it appear certain that the latter could swim two rods to the young engineer's one. harry decided instantly to stand his ground and to make the most valiant fight possible on so slippery a footing as that presented by the top of the retaining wall. "ha, ha! ho, ho!" it was as though the black unknown sought to terrify his intended victim with his repetitions of that harsh, discordant laugh. harry braced himself and waited. then, off shoreward, came the sound of "put-put-put." the motor boat, "morton," was putting out at last. "if i can keep this fellow busy for a few minutes, i can have all the help i want," flashed through hazelton's mind. so he opened his mouth, raising his voice in a long, pent-up hail. "r e---e---e a d e! to---o---o---om r e a d e! quick! hazelton!" "ha, ha!" jeered the unknown black. then, suddenly, he leaped---not unexpectedly, however, for harry had been watching, cat-like. the unknown threw out his arms, seeking to wrap them around hazelton. not in vain had harry been trained, season after season, on the athletic ground of one of the best high school elevens in the united states. as the fellow leaped at him harry crouched lower and went straight at his opponent. powerful as the stranger was he was no football player. harry "tackled" him in the neatest possible way, then strove to rise with this great human being. in the first instant it seemed to the young engineer as though he were trying to lift a mountain. his back felt as though it were snapping under a giant's task. yet, but for one fact, hazelton would have risen with his man, and would have hurled the mysterious one over into the waters of the gulf. just in the instant of victory harry's injured right foot gave out under him. with a stifled groan he sank down just as he threw his opponent. the black, instead of going into the water, landed hard on his back on the top of the wall. he was up again, however, before hazelton could repress the pain in his foot and leap at the wretch. "ha, ha! ho, ho!" came the tantalizing challenge. "put-put-put!" sounded over the water, coming nearer all the time. "re---e---e---e a d e! t o m r e a d e! help---quick!" yelled harry, lustily. this, doubtless, was the first call that tom, at the bow of the motor boat, thought he heard. uttering a snort, this time, instead of the laugh, the black sprang at his intended prey. their heads met, with considerable force. then, with a wild chuckle, the black wound his apelike arms around the young engineer. "reade! tom reade! reade!" bellowed hazelton lustily, as he tried desperately to free himself from the crushing embrace of the other. * * * * * over the waters came the penetrating beam of a small search-light. the "morton" was coming nearer all the time, but the ray did not yet reach with any great clearness the point where harry hazelton had been fighting for his life against his strange foe in the black night. "keep parallel with the wall, evarts," tom ordered, crisply. "conlon, are you pushing the engines for all it's worth?" "yes, sir," came from the engine-tender. "this old craft isn't good for quite seven miles' an hour, anyway." "there! now i've picked up the part of the wall where there isn't any wall in sight just now," said tom, wincing over his own bull. "hazelton ought to be just this side of there." "there's no one near the breach," replied evarts. "so i see," reade admitted, in a tone of worriment. "oh, well, harry isn't such an infant as to be wiped out all in one moment." "where is mr. hazelton then?" inquired evarts, as tom swung the arc of the searchlight in broad curves. "great scott! i wish i knew!" gasped reade, his perplexity and his anxiety growing with every second. "there appears to be no one on top of the wall." evarts ran in within a few feet of the wall, on the shore-side of the breach. "shall i land you there, sir?" questioned the foreman. "presently," tom nodded. "but now, back out a few feet and swing the boat's nose around so that i can make a search with this light." evarts obeyed the order. despite the smallness of the light, reade was able to send the searching beam of light back nearly one-half of the way to shore. nowhere was there any human being visible on the wall. "harry! hazelton!" bawled tom, with all the power in his lungs. there was no answer. "jupiter! you'll have to land me, i reckon," quaked tom reade. "drive her nose in---gently. i'll be ready to jump." "be careful how you _do_ jump," warned evarts. "it's mighty slippery on that wall tonight." tom poised himself as the boat moved in close. then he took a light leap, landing safely. here the young chief engineer again brought his pocket flash lamp into play. closely he scanned the top of the wall all around where he knew he had left his chum. but harry was nowhere to be seen, nor, on the wet wall, could tom find any signs of a scuffle, or any other sign that gave him a clue. "evarts, this is mighty mysterious!" groaned the young chief. "unless---" hinted the foreman. "unless what?" "perhaps mr. hazelton ran along the walltop to the shore." "he'd have hailed us, then, in passing, wouldn't he?" choked tom reade. "besides, i had the light playing on this wall most of the way. if he had run back we would have seen him, even if he hadn't hailed. and he couldn't have run farther out to seaward. evarts, i'm downright worried." tom reade might indeed well be worried over the grewsome mysteries of this night of evil deeds. chapter iv some one calls again half an hour later tom reade leaped ashore at the little pier. "my orders, mr. reade." "they're brief and concise," tom rejoined. "you're to cruise the length of the wall, especially farther out from shore. use your searchlight freely. keep the wall so guarded that no rascal can slip out there, either over the wall or by boat, and do any damage. mr. evarts, the safety of the wall until daylight is your whole charge." "very good, sir. but i'm sure that nothing more will happen to the wall." "if anything does it will be up to you, mr. evarts," tom assured him grimly. "i'll hold you responsible." "i won't let anything happen, mr. reade. and i hope you find mr. hazelton all right." "he may be up at camp," tom answered, though in his heart he did not believe it. had harry escaped whatever danger had menaced him, tom knew very well that his chum, after appealing for help, would by some means have signaled his subsequent safety. however, tom started toward camp at a run. he was wholly mystified. the search in the neighborhood of the breach in the wall had been continued until its hopelessness had been fully demonstrated. the search had also been continued over the water, for a possible clue to the mystery. though tom ran, he felt himself choking, stifling. despite all his efforts to cheer himself the young chief engineer felt certain that his chum had mysteriously met his fate, and that brave, dependable harry hazelton was no more. yet how could he have vanished so completely, and what possibly could have happened to his assailant or assailants? "it'll be an awful night, until daylight," tom groaned inwardly, as he ran. "at daylight, of course, we can make a far better search, especially over the water. but in the hours that must elapse---! it's going to be a tough period of waiting!" arrived at camp, tom made straight for his own barracks, letting himself in with a latch-key as soon as he could control his shaking hand sufficiently to use the key. tom bounded straight for the bed-room of the superintendent, at the rear of the little building. "mr. renshaw!" shouted the young chief, throwing open the bed-room door. the barrack was lighted by electricity. tom threw on the light, then wheeled toward the bed, to find the superintendent sitting up, revolver in hand. "oh, it's you, is it?" gasped the superintendent. "mr. reade, in my stupor from being aroused i was just on the point of shooting you for a burglar. it's awful!" "you ought to throw that revolver to the bottom of the gulf," tom rasped out. "not much!" retorted the superintendent. "handling as mixed a crew as we have on this work i wouldn't think of going about unarmed. and you ought to go armed, too, mr. reade." "bosh!" uttered tom. he had a well-known objection to carrying a pistol. reade always maintained that a pistol-carrying man was a coward. a coward is one who is afraid, and the man who is not afraid has no reason to carry a weapon. "renshaw," added tom, "there's just one circumstance in which i would carry a pistol---and that is, if i were carrying large sums of other people's money. if i were a pay-master, or a bank messenger, i'd carry a pistol, but under no other circumstances, outside of military service, would i carry a weapon. but---are you thoroughly awake, now?" "yes, sir." "then, mr. renshaw, get up and hide that pistol somewhere. while you're about it, listen to me. some scoundrel has blown out a large portion of our retaining wall to-night. i left hazelton on guard at the point and came ashore to get out the motor boat, 'morton.' before i could return i heard hazelton's call for help, and---he has disappeared! there's wicked work on hand to-night. you'll have to get up and help me. be quick with your dressing. we've work to do to-night, and all of it is man's work." tom hastily added such other particulars as were needed. renshaw, while he dressed hurriedly, listened with a horror that he took no pains to conceal. "evarts claims that it's revenge work, on the part of some of our men, because hazelton and i stopped gambling in the camp," tom continued. "it might be," renshaw admitted thoughtfully. "but to me it seems that there must be a lot more behind the whole terrible matter." "that's the way it strikes me, too," tom nodded. "however, you're dressed, so now we can hurry out and get busy." "what shall we do first?" superintendent renshaw inquired. "that's what i've been thinking over while you were dressing," tom replied. "of course the one thing of real importance is to find hazelton." "killed, beyond a doubt," replied the older man. "i refuse to believe it," tom retorted. "there's a mystery in his fate, but i simply won't believe that harry has been killed." "then why didn't you hear from him further?" "that's the mystery." tom had shaped their course for the barracks occupied by the foremen. he bounded upon the little porch and began to hammer on the door with both fists. "turn out, everybody!" tom bellowed. "every foreman is on duty to-night. show a light, and let us in as soon as you can." some one was heard stirring. then dill, one of the foremen, admitted the callers. "are all the others up?" reade asked, sharply. "yes, sir." "good! tell your associates to finish dressing as quickly as possible and to meet me in the office." "the office" was a little room just inside the entrance to the building. it was a room where the foremen sat and chatted in the evenings. "put a double-hustle on, everyone," tom called after dill. "yes, sir." barely three minutes had passed when all of the six remaining foremen had assembled. tom plunged instantly into a brief account of what had happened. "it seems to me, sir---" dill began. "keep it to yourself, then, if you please," tom interrupted him gently. "we haven't any time for opinions to-night. what we want is swift, intelligent work, and a lot of it." tom thereupon gave each man his directions. "now, each of you go to your own gangs in the camp," he added. "wake what men you need and put 'em to work. if any of the men object to being taken from their cots in the night, just lift them out. don't stand any nonsense. let each foreman make it his business to know just what the men under him are doing." one foreman was to take men with lanterns and go out carefully over every foot of the seawall. another was to organize a beach patrol. still another, with but two men, was to go into the town of blixton and see if any tidings of hazelton could be obtained there. to one foreman fell the task of searching carefully through camp before going to other work assigned to him. "now, get to work, all of you," tom ordered. "as an extra inducement you can tell your men that the one who finds hazelton, whether dead or alive, shall have a reward of one hundred dollars. remember the watchword for to-night, which is, 'hustle!'" in all, some sixty men were pulled from their cots. tom, having given the orders, walked down to the beach with his superintendent. "you've covered everything that's possible, i think, mr. reade," commented the foreman. "i think i have. but there won't be any rest for any one until we have found hazelton." "are you going to have the water dragged?" "not before daylight---perhaps not then," reade replied. "i can't bring myself to believe that harry was thrown into the water and that he drowned there." "it'll take the chief a day or two to realize that," sighed the superintendent to himself. "yet that is exactly what has happened. the chief won't believe it, though, until the body is found." down on the beach there was really nothing for tom and his head man to do after the arrival of the foremen and their gangs. everything went ahead in an orderly manner. "i don't suppose you could get any rest, under the circumstances, mr. reade," hinted the superintendent, "yet that is just what you are going to need." "rest?" echoed tom, gazing at the man, in a strange, wide-eyed way, while a grim smile flickered around the corners of his mouth. "what have rest and i to do with each other just now?" "yet there's nothing you can do here." "i am here, anyway," reade retorted. "i'm on the spot---that's something." "let me run back to the house and get you some blankets," urged the superintendent. "then you can lie down on the sand and rest. of course i know you can't sleep at present." "it is not necessary go back," volunteered a voice behind them. "i have the blankets." "nicolas!" gasped tom, in surprise. "how did you know i was here?" "i wake up when you talk to meester renshaw," replied the mexican simply. "i listen. i know, now---poor senor hazelton!" nicolas's voice broke, and, as he stepped closer, tom beheld some large tears trickling down the little mexican's face. "nicolas, you're a good fellow!" cried tom, impulsively, "but i don't want the blankets. spread them on the sand, then lie down on them yourself until i need you." "what---me? i lie down?" demanded nicolas. "no, no! that impossible is. i must walk, walk! me? i am like the caged panther to-night. i want nothing but find the enemy who have hurt senor hazelton. then i jump on the back of that enemy!" saying which nicolas saluted, and, as became his position of servant, fell back some yards. but first he had dropped the blankets to the beach. the light of lanterns showed that the men of one gang were searching thoroughly all along the top of the wall. once in a while a man belonging to the beach patrol passed the chief engineer and the superintendent, reporting only that no signs of harry had been found. an hour thus passed. then, from over the water, as the lantern-bearing searchers were returning, a dull explosion boomed across the water. "great scott!" quivered tom. "there they go at it again, mr. renshaw! another section of the retaining wall has gone---blown up!" chapter v wanted---daylight and divers in a trice the foreman of the gang on the wall wheeled his men about, running them out seaward toward the scene of the latest explosion. that much was plain from the twinkling of the rapidly-moving lanterns. "come on, renshaw!" tom shouted. "you, too, nicolas. you can pull an oar." reade was already racing out on to the small dock. he all but threw himself into a rowboat that lay tied alongside. "cast off and get in," tom ordered his companions, as he pushed out a pair of oars. "nicolas, you're also good with a pair of oars. mr. renshaw, you take the tiller. inform me instantly when you see the first gleam of the 'morton's' search-light. evarts ought to have caught the scoundrels this time. evidently he's been cruising softly without showing a light." mr. renshaw gathered up the tiller ropes as tom pushed off from the dock. then the chief engineer addressed himself to the task of rowing. his firm muscles, working at their best, shot the little craft ahead. nicolas, at the bow oars, did his best to keep up with his chief in the matter of rowing, though the mexican was neither an oarsman nor an athlete. "don't you make out the motor boat's lights yet?" tom asked impatiently, after the first long spurt of rowing. "not yet, sir," replied the superintendent. "i shan't miss the light when it shows." a few minutes later the superintendent announced in a low voice: "there's some craft, motionless, just a bit ahead." tom, without stopping his work at the oars, turned enough to glance forward. "why, it's---it's the 'morton'!" he gasped. "i believe it is," declared the superintendent, staring keenly at the nearly shapeless black mass ahead. tom, with his jaws set close, bent harder than ever at the oars. "senor!" wailed nicolas, gaspingly. "if you do not go more easily i shall expire for lack of breath. i cannot keep up with you." reade fell into a slower, stronger stroke. "drop the oars any time you want to, nicolas," reade urged. "there won't be much more rowing to do, anyway." presently tom himself rested on his oars, as the boat, moving under its own headway, approached the motor boat. "going to board her on the quarter?" the superintendent asked. "no; by the bow," tom answered. "let go the tiller ropes. i'll pull alongside." as they started to pass the boat a sound reached them that made reade grow wild with anger. snore after snore, from five busy sleepers! tom pulled softly up to the bow. "there's the anchor cable!" snorted tom, pointing to a rope that ran from the bow of the "morton" down into the water. "did you ever see more wicked neglect of important duty? and not even a lantern out to mark her berth! get aboard, mr. renshaw, and go aft to start the engine. nicolas, you take this boat astern and make fast. don't wake the sleepers---poor, tired shirkers!" tom, in utter disgust, leaped aboard the boat at the bow. there, behind the wheel, evarts lay on the floor of the boat, his rolled-up coat serving as a pillow. almost noiselessly tom hauled up the light anchor. then he stood by the wheel. "all ready at the engine, mr. reade!" called the superintendent, softly. "let her go," tom returned, "as soon as nicolas boards." the mexican was quickly aboard, after having made the rowboat's painter fast. "headway!" announced renshaw, throwing over the drive-wheel of the engine. "put-put-put!" sputtered the motor. then the "morton" began really to move. with the first real throb of the engine the electric running lights gleamed out. aft conlon began to stir. then he opened his eyes. "what---" he began. "silence!" commanded mr. renshaw. "tell me who's at the wheel?" conlon begged. "mr. reade," replied the superintendent, dryly. "now, keep still!" "whew---ew---ew!" whistled conlon, in dire dismay. then he sank back, watching the engine with moody eyes. the other three men aft still slept. presently tom, in shifting his position, touched one foot lightly against the foreman's head. evarts half-awoke, then realized that the boat was moving. "who started this craft against my orders?" he drowsily demanded, as he sat up. "i did," tom retorted witheringly, "though i didn't hear your orders to the contrary." "you---mr. reade?" gasped the foreman, leaping to his feet. "yes---and a fine fellow you are to trust!" tom rejoined. "i leave you with very definite orders, and you go to sleep. then there's another explosion out on the wall and you sleep right along." "another explosion?" blurted evarts, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "here, let me have that wheel, sir. i'll have you out there quick!" "you've nothing more to do here," tom answered, dryly, without yielding the wheel. "what do you mean by that?" evarts cried quickly. "can't you guess?" wondered reade. "mr. reade means," said conlon, who had come forward, "that we're fired---discharged." "nonsense!" protested evarts. "conlon has guessed rightly, as far as you're concerned," tom continued. "to-morrow, evarts, you go to mr. renshaw and get your pay. as for you, conlon, you're not discharged this time. evarts admitted himself that it was he who gave positive orders to tie the boat up at anchor. you were under his orders, so i can't hold you responsible. are you wide awake, now?" "yes, sir," answered conlon meekly. "then go back and attend to your engine. look sharp for hail or bell." "i guess you'll find you can't quite get along without me," argued evarts moodily. "you'll find that you need me to manage some of the men you've got." "you're through with this job, as i just did you the honor to inform you," tom responded quietly. "to-morrow mr. renshaw will pay you off up to date." "if i'm bounced, then you'll pay me for the balance of the month, anyway!" snarled the foreman defiantly. "you can't drop me without notice like that." "you'll be paid to date only," tom retorted. "you've been discharged for wilful and serious neglect of duty, and you're not entitled to pay for the balance of the month." "all right, then," retorted the other hotly. "i'll collect my money through the courts. i'll show you!" "just as you please," reade replied indifferently. "but i imagine any court will consider seven dollars a day pretty large pay for a man who goes to sleep on duty." "see here, i'll---" "you'll keep quiet, evarts, or you'll go overboard," reade interrupted significantly. "i happen to know that you can swim, so i won't be bothered with you here if you insist on making a nuisance of yourself." mr. renshaw, having been relieved at the engine, now came forward. "mr. renshaw," directed the young chief engineer, "as soon after daylight as it is convenient for you you'll pay evarts off in full to date and let him go. he threatens to sue if he is not paid to the end of the month, but if he wants to we'll let the courts do our worrying." "all right, sir," nodded the superintendent. evarts had dropped into a seat just forward of the engine. he sat there, regarding tom reade with a baleful look of hate. "you're a success, all right, at one thing, and that's making enemies," muttered the discharged foreman under his breath. besides attending to the wheel tom now reached out with one hand and switched on the search-light, which he manipulated with one hand. shortly he found the spot where the portion of the wall had been blown away by the first explosion. a hundred and fifty yards farther out he beheld the work of the second explosion. some seventy-five yards in length was the new open space, where at least as much of the retaining wall as was visible above the water had been blown out. "slow down, cordon," ordered tom. "all we want is headway." "all right, sir." tom drifted in within a few feet of the former site of the retaining wall. the "morton" moved slowly by, tom, by the aid of the searchlight, noting the extent of the disaster. "get back aft, evarts," ordered the young engineer, turning and beholding the late foreman. "we don't want you here." for a moment or two it looked as though evarts would refuse. then, with a growl, he rose and picked his way aft. by this time the other men who had been in his gang were awake. they regarded their former foreman with no great display of sympathy. "i'll confess i'm mystified," muttered tom, watching the scene of the latest explosion for some minutes after the engine had been stopped. "when daylight comes and we can use the divers we ought to know a bit more about how such a big blast is worked in the dead of night when the scoundrels ought to make noise enough to be heard. it must have been a series of connected blasts, all touched off at the same moment, mr. renshaw, but even such a series is by no means easy to lay. and then the blasts have to be drilled for, and then tamped." "as you say, sir," replied the superintendent, "a much clearer idea can be formed when we have daylight and the divers." tom held his watch to one side of the searchlight. "nearly two hours yet until daylight, mr. renshaw," he announced. "and, of course, it will be two or three hours after daylight before we can get the divers at work. a fearful length of time to wait!" "you'd better go back to the shore, sir," urged the superintendent. "not while this boat needs to be run," objected reade. "for the rest of the night i want a man here whom i can trust." "will you trust me with the boat?" proposed the superintendent. "why, of course!" "then let me run back to the dock and put you ashore, mr. reade. after that i'll come out here and patrol along the wall until broad daylight." that was accordingly done. the "morton" lay alongside the dock, and nicolas instantly busied himself with casting off the rowboat and making her fast to the pier instead. evarts sullenly remained in the boat. "come on, evarts," spoke tom quietly. "mr. reade," expostulated the late foreman, "i'm not going to be thrown out of my job like this." "which especial way of being thrown out do you prefer then?" tom queried, dryly. "i'm not going to be put out of my job until i've had at least one good talk with you," insisted the foreman. "i'm afraid the time has passed for talking with you," reade responded, turning toward the shore. "you lost a great chance, to-night, to serve the company with distinction, and your negligence cost the company a lot of money through the second explosion. are you coming out of that boat---or shall i come back after you?" evarts rose, with a surly air. he stepped slowly ashore, after which one of the crew cast off. the engine began to move, and the "morton" started back to her post. "oh, you feel fine and important, just at this minute!" grumbled the discharged foreman, under his breath, glaring wickedly at the broad back of the young chief engineer. "but i'll do something to take the importance out of you before very long, tom reade!" truth to tell, tom, though he was still alert to the interests of his employers, felt anything but important. the thought of harry hazelton's unknown fate caused a great, choking lump in his throat as reade stepped from the pier to land. chapter vi mr. bascomb is peevish at the first blush of dawn tom despatched the tireless nicolas to blixton to notify the police of the explosions and of the disappearance of harry hazelton. two men in blue, wearing stars on their coats, came over within an hour, walked about and looked wise until noon. they discovered nothing whatever, and their theories did not strike reade as being worthy of attention. as soon as possible the divers were sent down at the two wrecked parts of the retaining wall. these men reported that the breaches extended ten feet beneath the surface at some points; only eight feet at other points. the foundations of the walls were reported as being secure. then tom, under the directions of two divers, put on a diver's suit and went down himself, for the first time in his life. after some two hours, with frequent ascents to the surface, the young chief engineer had satisfied himself that the foundations were secure. then he did some rapid figuring. "the loss will not exceed eight thousand dollars---the cost of rebuilding the missing parts of the walls," reade informed superintendent renshaw. "only eight thousand dollars!" whistled the superintendent. "well, that figure isn't anywhere nearly as high as i feared it might be," tom pursued. "but it will strike the directors of the melliston company as being pretty big for an extra bill," muttered renshaw. "especially, since---" the superintendent paused. "you were going to say," smiled tom, wanly, "since the loss wouldn't have happened if i hadn't kicked the gamblers out of camp." "that's about the size of it, mr. reade," nodded renshaw. "directors of big companies are less interested in moral reforms than in dividends. they're likely to make a big kick over what your crusade has cost them already, even if it costs them no more." "we'll see to it that it doesn't cost them any more," tom retorted. "every night we'll watch that sea wall the way a mother does a sick baby. there'll be no more explosions. as to the directors kicking over the present expense, they'll have a prompt chance to do it. as soon as the telegraph office in blixton was open this morning i wired the president of the company. now, i'm going ashore. i can't do anything out here to help you, can i?" "nothing," replied renshaw. "if i didn't know how foolish the advice would sound, mr. reade, i'd urge you to take a nap." "i'll take a nap when i find it impossible to keep my eyes open any longer," tom compromised. "for the next few hours---work and lots of it." as yet no effort had been made to repair the breaches in the wall. the different gangs were working that day in nearer shore. the divers, gathered on a scow, were now waiting for the "morton" to convey them back to shore. reade decided to go with them. "twenty minutes to two," murmured tom to himself, glancing at his watch as the "morton" went laboriously back over the dancing, glinting waves. "there's a train due at blixton at : . by the time i get back to the house i ought to find one or more officials of the company impatiently waiting to jump on my devoted neck." nor was tom disappointed in this expectation. pacing up and down on the porch of the house occupied by the engineers and superintendent was george c. bascomb, president of the melliston company. behind him stood nicolas, respectfully eager to do anything he could for the comfort of the great man. "ah, there you are, reade," called president bascomb in an irritated tone, as he caught sight of the young engineer striding forward. "now, what's all this row that you wired us about?" "will you come down to the water, and go out with me to look at the damage, sir?" asked tom, as he took the president's reluctantly offered hand. "no," grunted mr. bascomb. "let me hear the story first. come inside and tell me about it." "our friend is not quite so gracious as he has been on former meetings," thought tom, as he led the way inside. "i wonder if he is going to get cranky?" inside was a little office room, as in the foremen's barracks. "any decent cigars here?" questioned mr. bascomb, after exploring his own pockets and finding them innocent of tobacco. "no, sir," tom answered. "no one here smokes." "i've got to have a cigar," the president of the company insisted. "then, sir, if you'll give nicolas your orders, he'll run over to blixton and get you what you want." the mexican departed in haste on the errand. "now, first of all, reade," began the president, "i am disgusted at learning of one fool mistake that you've made." "what is that, sir?" tom asked, coloring. "i've just learned that you discharged evarts---one of our best and most useful men." "i did discharge him, sir," reade admitted. "take him back, at once." "i'm sorry, sir, but i can't do it. he---" "i don't think you quite understand," broke in mr. bascomb coldly. "i directed you to take mr. evarts back on this work." "i was about to tell you, sir, why i can't do anything of the sort. i---" "stop right there, reade," ordered president bascomb, in his most aggressive, bullying manner. "the first point that we have to settle is that evarts must come back on the pay-roll and have his old position. be good enough to let that proposition sink in before we take up the second." "i am very sorry, sir," tom murmured respectfully, "but i can't and won't have evarts back here. i won't have him around the work at all. now what is the second proposition, sir?" as tom spoke he looked straight into mr. bascomb's eyes. the other glared at him unbelievingly but angrily. "young man, you don't appear to understand that i am president and head of the melliston company." "i quite understand it, sir," reade answered. "at the same time i am chief engineer here, and i am committed to building the breakwater and dredging out the enclosed bay or harbor, all within a certain fixed appropriation. in order to keep my part of the bargain i must have men with me on whom i can depend to the fullest limit. evarts isn't such a man and i won't have him on the work again." "he'll go on the pay-roll, anyway," snorted mr. bascomb. "i can't help what you may see fit to pay him, mr. bascomb, provided you pay him somewhere else. but the fellow can't go on the pay-roll here for the simple reason that he wouldn't be allowed to visit this construction camp for the purpose of getting his money. mr. bascomb, i am not trying to ride a high horse. i recognize that you are president of the company, and that i must take all reasonable orders from you and carry them out to the letter. yet i can't take any orders that would simply hinder my work and damage my reputation as an engineer. evarts can't come back into this camp as long as i am in charge here." "we'll take that up again presently," returned mr. bascomb, with an air of ruffled dignity. "now, there's another matter that we must discuss. i know what has been done in the way of great damage to the retaining wall. i also know that this damage came through enmity that you stirred up by drumming certain parties out of this camp." "you refer, sir, i take it, to my act in having blixton police officers come in here and chase out some gamblers who had come here for the purpose of winning the money of the workmen?" "that's it," nodded bascomb. "in that matter you went too far---altogether too far!" "i'm afraid i don't understand you, sir." "you mean, reade, that you don't want to understand me," snapped the president. "you admit having chased out the gamblers, don't you?" "of course, i admit it, sir." "that was a bad move. in the future, reade, you will not interfere with any forms of amusement that the men may select for themselves in their evening hours." tom stared at the speaker in undisguised amazement. "but, mr. bascomb, the men are shamelessly robbed by the sharpers who come here to gamble with them." "that's the men's own affair," scoffed the president. "anyway, they have a right to pitch away their wages if they want to. reade, when you're as old as i am you will understand that workmen who throw away their money make the best workmen. they never have any savings, hence they must make every effort to keep their jobs. a workman with savings becomes too independent." "i am certain you have seen more of the world than i have, mr. bascomb," reade replied, respectfully. "at the same time i can't agree with you on the point you have just stated. a workman with a bank account has always a greater amount of self-respect, and a man who has self-respect is bound to make a good citizen and a good workman. but there are still other reasons why i had the gamblers chased out. gambling here in the camp would always create a great deal of disorder. disorder destroys discipline, and a camp like this, in order to give the best results in the way of work, must have discipline. moreover, the men, when gambling, remain up until all hours of the night. a man who has been up most of the night can't give an honest day's work in return for his wages. unless the men get their sleep and are kept in good condition we can't get the work out of them that we have a right to expect." "the right man can _drive_ workmen," declared mr. bascomb, with emphasis. "you'll have to drive your men. get all the work out of them, but drop at once this foolish policy of interfering with what they do after the whistle blows. we can't have any more of this nonsense. it costs too much. by the way, how much will it cost to repair the damage to the retaining walls?" "about eight thousand dollars, sir, if my first figuring was correct," was reade's answer. "eight thousand dollars!" scowled president bascomb. "now, reade, doesn't that amount of wanton, revengeful mischief teach you the folly of trying to regulate camp life outside of working hours?" "i'm afraid it doesn't, sir." "then you must be a fool, reade!" "thank you, sir. i will add that you're not the first man who has suspected it." "you will, therefore, reade," continued mr. bascomb, with his grandest air of authority, "cause it to become known throughout the camp that you are not going to interfere any further with any form of amusement that is brought to the camp evenings by outsiders." "is that proposition number two, sir?" queried the young chief engineer. "it is." "then please don't misunderstand me, sir," reade begged, respectfully, "but it is declined, as is proposition number one." "do you mean to say that you are going to go on with your fool way of doing things?" "yes, sir---until i am convinced that it is a fool way." "but i've just told you that it is," snapped mr. bascomb. "then i say it very respectfully, sir, but pardon me for replying that i don't consider the evidence very convincing. i have shown you why i must have good order in the camp, and i have told you that i do not propose to allow gambling or any other disorderly conduct to go on within camp limits. i can't agree to these things, and then hope to win out by keeping the cost of the work within the appropriation." "do you feel that you'll keep within the appropriation by making enemies who deliberately blow up our masonry?" glared mr. bascomb. "i doubt if there will be any more expense in that line, sir. i intend to have such a watch kept over the wall as to prevent any further mischief of the kind." "watchmen are an item of expense, aren't they?" snorted the president. "yes, sir; but next to nothing at all as compared with the mischief they can prevent." "i have already told you how to prevent the mischief, reade. stop all of your foolish nonsense and let the men have their old-time pastimes." "i can't do it, sir." "have you paper, pen and ink here?" thundered mr. bascomb. "if so, bring them." tom quietly obeyed. "reade," again thundered the president of the melliston company, "i have had as much of your nonsense as i intend to stand. you are out of here, from this minute. take that pen and sign your resignation!" chapter vii tom isn't as easy as he looks "i don't believe i'll do that, sir," murmured tom, putting down the pen. "you don't, eh?" "no, sir." "oh, then you'd rather wait and be forced out?" "how about the contract, sir, between your company and reade & hazelton? contracts can't be broken as lightly as your words imply." "i'll break that contract, if i set out to," declared mr. bascomb, purpling with half-suppressed rage. "i've every ground for breaking the contract. you're running things with a high hand here, and disorganizing all our efforts. no contract will stand on presentation of any such evidence as that before a court." "i am quite willing to leave that to a court, if i have to," reade rejoined. his tones were decidedly cold. "mr. bascomb, even if i were inclined to forfeit the contract i would have no legal right to do so without the approval of my partner, hazelton." "humph! he's dead," snorted the president. "that yet remains to be proved, sir," tom answered huskily, his voice breaking slightly at thought of harry. "how on earth do you think you could defend a contract against a wealthy company like ours? why, we could swamp you under our loose change alone. how much money have you in the world? two or three thousand dollars, perhaps." "i've a little more than that," tom reade smiled. "for one thing, i'm a third owner in the ambition mine, on indian smoke range, nevada, and the ambition has been a dividend payer almost from the start. hazelton owns another third of the mine." "eh?" gasped mr. bascomb, plainly taken aback. "oh, we're not millionaires," tom laughed easily. "yet i fancy hazelton and i could raise enough money to fight any breach-of-contract case in court. with a steady-paying mine, you know, we could even discount to some extent the earnings of future years." "oh, well, we don't want hard feelings," urged mr. bascomb, his manner becoming more peaceable. "the plain truth is, reade, that we're utterly dissatisfied with your way of managing things here. when you know how the melliston company feels toward you, you don't want to be impudent enough to insist on hanging on, do you?" "i am certain that i speak for my partner, sir, when i state that we won't drop the contract until we have fulfilled it," tom muttered, coolly, but with great firmness. "what's all this dispute about anyway, bascomb?" a voice called cheerily from the hallway. "oh, it's you, is it, prenter?" asked mr. bascomb, turning and not looking overjoyed at the interruption. simon f. prenter was treasurer of the melliston company. tom had met him at the time of signing the engineers' contract with the company. now reade sprang up to place a chair for the new arrival. "what was all the row about?" mr. prenter asked affably. he was a man of about forty-five, rather stout, with light blue eyes that looked at one with engaging candor. "i have been suggesting to reade that he might resign," replied mr. bascomb, stiffly. "why?" asked prenter, opening his eyes wider. "because he has raised the mischief on this breakwater job. he has all the men by their ears, and the camp in open mutiny." "so?" asked mr. prenter, looking astonished. "exactly, and therefore i have called upon the young man to resign." "and he refuses?" queried the treasurer. "most astounding obstinacy on the part of so young a man when dealing with his elder." "i'll try to explain to you, mr. prenter," volunteered reade, "just what i've been trying to tell mr. bascomb." "i don't know that i need trouble you," replied mr. prenter, moving so that he stood more behind the irate president. "i overheard what you were telling him." then the treasurer did a most unexpected thing. he winked broadly at the young engineer. "yes, prenter," mr. bascomb went on, "this camp is in a state of mutiny. the men are all at odds with their chief." "strange," murmured the treasurer of the melliston company. "when i paused on the porch, before entering, i thought i caught sight of unusual activity down at the water front. did you notice it, too, bascomb?" "i noticed nothing of the sort," replied the president stiffly. "am i to infer, prenter, that you are going to follow your occasional tactics and try to laugh me out of my decision as president of the company?" "oh, nothing of the sort, i assure you," hastily protested the treasurer. but he found chance to drive another wink tom reade's way. the young chief engineer could not but feel that an ally had suddenly come his way. "now, what is the nature and extent of the mutiny?" asked mr. prenter. "first of all, eight thousand dollars' damage has been done to the retaining wall of the breakwater," replied mr. bascomb. "that is, according to mr. reade's figures, which very likely may prove to be too low. also, mr. hazelton has been murdered." "hazelton---killed?" gasped mr. prenter showing genuine concern. "of course i know that the telegram to the office said that hazelton was missing, but i didn't suppose it was anything as tragic as a killing." "well, hazelton can't be found, so i haven't a doubt he was killed as part of a general plan of mutiny and revenge on the part of the mixed crews of men working here," declared mr. bascomb. "oh, i sincerely hope that hazelton hasn't lost his life here!" cried mr. prenter. "reade, aren't you going to take us down to the water front and show us the extent of the damage?" "i shall be only too glad to do so, sir," tom agreed. even mr. bascomb consented at last to go. as they gained the porch nicolas rushed up with the cigars for which the president had sent him. while mr. bascomb paused to light one, mr. prenter thrust an arm through tom's and led that youth down the road. "now, mr. reade," murmured the treasurer, earnestly, "mr. bascomb, of course, is our president, and i don't want you to treat him with the slightest disrespect. but bascomb isn't the majority stockholder nor the whole board of directors, so i'll just drop this hint: when bascomb talks of resignations don't attach too serious importance to it until you receive a resolution endorsing the same view and passed by the board of directors of the company." "thank you. i have no intention of resigning," smiled tom. "now, let's go on," continued mr. prenter. mr. bascomb, having his cigar lighted, seemed to prefer strolling in the rear by himself. "now, i don't want to give you any wrong impressions, mr. reade," went on mr. prenter. "mr. bascomb is the head of our company, but other directors represent more of the stock of the company than he does. i am one of them. sometimes mr. bascomb gets a bit hard-headed, and he is inclined to give orders that others of us wouldn't approve. i judge that you and he were having some dispute when i happened along." "i didn't regard it as a dispute, sir," reade rejoined. "in the first place, i had discharged, for incompetency and faithlessness, a foreman named evarts. "and evarts is a pet of mr. bascomb's," smiled mr. prenter. "i imagine that evarts is even some sort of family connection who has to be looked after and kept in a good job." "anyway," tom continued, "i explained that evarts was worse than useless here and that i couldn't have him in the camp or on the job." "quite right, i fancy," nodded mr. prenter. "in the second place, mr. bascomb ordered me to stop my crusade against the gamblers who had tried to invade the camp and rob the men of their earnings. hazelton and i had that sort of row once out in arizona---and we won out." "you deserve to win out here, too," remarked mr. prenter. "i have no patience with anything but straight, uncompromising right. we can't control the men, if they see fit to leave the camp at night, but you have every right---and it's your duty---to see to it that no disorder is allowed within camp limits. i, too, have heard something about your trouble here, mr. reade, and i can promise you that the directors generally will sustain you. so mr. bascomb demanded your resignation?" "he did, sir." "let it go at that," smiled mr. prenter. "you may even, sometime, if it will please mr. bascomb, hand him your resignation. i will see to it that it doesn't get past the board of directors. mr. bascomb is irritable, and sometimes he is a downright crank, but he is valuable to us just the same. we feel, too, reade, that you and hazelton are just the men we need to put this breakwater through in the best fashion." "even though at least eight thousand dollars in damage was done last night?" queried tom. "yes, even in the face of that. i am certain that you will know how to forestall any more such spite work." "now, i'm not altogether so sure of that, sir," reade answered, quickly. "of course we'll be eternally vigilant after this, but the trick was done last night so cleverly and mysteriously that we may be surprised again by the plotters. speaking of mystery, could anything be stranger, or harder to explain, than what happened to poor hazelton?" "there _was_ mystery for you!" nodded mr. prenter. "have you any ideas whatever on the subject of hazelton's disappearance?" "not the slightest," groaned tom. "i know all the indications are that he has been killed, and i ought to believe that such is the case. but i simply won't believe it. why, if he were killed, what became of the body?" "it's a puzzle," sighed mr. prenter. they were now nearing the land end of the breakwater wall. mr. bascomb overtook them. together the three strolled out along the wall, halting frequently, to observe what the men were doing. it was their plan to keep on until they came to the scene of the two explosions of the night before. "just what are you doing here?" asked mr. bascomb, stopping and pointing to a gang of men at work on a scow moored against the wall. "i can tell you, after a fashion, sir," reade answered. "yet this was a part of hazelton's performance. he had charge here, and knew ever so much about it. poor old harry!" behind them, at the beginning of the wall, a long, loud whistle sounded. in a moment fully a hundred of the workmen stood up, waved their caps and cheered as though they had gone mad. coming forward, with long strides, was harry hazelton, in the flesh! chapter viii mr. prenter investigates tom suddenly felt dizzy. he wished to race back, to be the first to greet his chum and press his hand. but just then reade felt strangely bewildered. "of course i don't believe in ghosts!" tom laughed nervously. "no!" chuckled mr. prenter. "this is real flesh and blood that is coming toward us." now, for the first time, tom reade knew just how fully he had believed, in the inner temple of his soul, that harry hazelton had been actually killed. "pulling my work to pieces, are you, tom?" harry called jovially. "p---p---pardon me for not coming to meet you, old fellow, b---b----but i'm dumbfounded at seeing you," tom called back. harry, too, looked rather unsteady in his gait by the time he joined them. the last few yards he tried to run along the wall. tom thrust out an arm and caught him just in time. "you've been hurt, harry!" gasped tom. "yes, and i guess i'm a bit weak, even now," hazelton mumbled. "hurt? look at this." hazelton uncovered his head, displaying a court-plaster bandage underneath which clotted blood showed. "where in the world have you been?" tom quivered. "at sea," harry answered, with an attempt at banter. "what happened to you?" "tom, you remember the big black man i imagined that i saw last night?" "of course i do." "he was a reality," harry went on soberly. "after you had gone he appeared again. we had it hot and heavy. i saw your boat coming, and i yelled---" "i heard you," tom interposed. "we got along as speedily as we could." "and you didn't find me," finished harry. "that brute hit me over the head with something. we clinched and rolled into the gulf together. that was the last that i remember clearly for some time. for a long time i had a dream that i was bobbing about in water, and that i had my arms around a floating log. by and by i came to sufficiently to discover that the dream was a reality. i was holding to the log in grim earnest. how i came to find the log i can't imagine. i think, while more than half unconscious, i must have been swimming straight out into the gulf. then i must have touched the log and clung to it instinctively. anyway, when i recovered more fully i knew that the 'long-shore lights looked thousands of miles away. i was too weak even to dream of trying to swim back, or to push the log before me. so i got a stout piece of cord out of one of my pockets and lashed myself to the log. i was afraid i might become unconscious again. a part of the time i was unconscious. "well after daylight i saw a sloop headed my way. it didn't look as though it would go straight by either. so i waved my handkerchief---my hat was gone. after a while the skipper of the sloop saw me and headed in for me. it was a sloop that carries the mails to hetherton, a village that has no rail connection. "the captain hauled me aboard, questioned me, looked as though he more than half doubted my yarn, and then put me to bed in the cabin of the sloop. he attended to me as best he could. when we reached hetherton, about noon, a doctor patched me up. i had something to eat, bought this new hat, and hired a driver to take me ten miles to the railway. then i came over here as soon as i could, and---pardon me, but i'm feeling weak. i'll sit down right here." harry sat down heavily on the wall. "why didn't you wire me?" asked tom. "why, you didn't doubt but that i'd turn up as surely as any other bad egg, did you?" questioned harry, looking up. "chum, i wouldn't admit it, even to myself, but i feared you were dead. but we mustn't waste time talking. describe that black man to me, and---" "and the company will hire detectives to start right on the trail of that negro," interjected mr. prenter. "if---if the expense is really warranted," ended mr. bascomb, cautiously. "warranted?" retorted the treasurer of the melliston company. "why, it is absolutely necessary to protect our work here! that big negro is the key to the mystery. we must catch him if it costs us a thousand dollars." "oh, well," assented president bascomb, reluctantly. "i---i guess i'm all right to start in to work now," harry suggested, trying to rise. "sit down---you're not!" replied tom and treasurer prenter, in the same breath, as both pressed harry back to the wall. "we don't need work so much to-day," mr. prenter continued. "what we want to do is to solve this mystery. you stay here, hazelton. i'll go back alone and find a 'bus or a carriage. then we'll go back to camp and hold a council of war. something must be done, and we'll decide _how_ it's to be done." mr. prenter, though no longer a young man, proved that he carried both speed and agility in his feet. while he was gone tom endeavored to get a few more particulars from harry, but hazelton simply didn't know anything that threw any more light on the dread mystery of the breakwater. "then a million-dollar undertaking like this is to be constantly imperiled, just because of a senseless moral crusade that you two young men are trying to put through in the camp," declared mr. bascomb moodily. tom covertly signaled his chum to pay no heed to this remark. within a quarter of an hour treasurer prenter returned in a stage drawn by two sorry looking horses. "this will carry us up to the house, if the affair doesn't break down," mr. prenter called cheerily. "come along, folks." soon afterwards the four were back on the porch. nicolas came gliding out to see what he could do for their comfort. "just circulate around and make sure that no one gets close enough to hear what we're talking about," mr. prenter directed. he had already ordered the driver of the stage to withdraw a few rods and await orders. "now, then, hazelton," continued the treasurer, "we're anxious to hear more of your strange story." "i've told you all there is to it," protested harry. "surely, there must be some more to it." "there isn't." "then, for the tale of an engineer who was all but murdered, and a case enveloped in mystery from end to end," cried mr. prenter, "we have a most singular scarcity of details." "there are only two more details needed, as it appears to me," tom remarked quietly. "good! and what are they?" demanded the treasurer, wheeling around to look keenly at the young chief engineer. "the two details we now need," reade continued, "are, first, who was the negro? second, who was behind the negro in this rascally work?" "only two points to be solved," suggested the treasurer mockingly, "but pretty big points. of course, the first point is---" "to find that negro, and get him jailed," tom declared incisively. "good enough!" nodded mr. prenter. "the detectives will find the negro." "will they?" tom asked. "then that will be something new, indeed. i've seen detectives employed a good deal, mr. prenter, and generally all they catch are severe colds and items to stick in on the expense account." "oh, there are some real detectives in this country," contended mr. prenter. "we'll engage some of them, too." "the expense of hiring detectives will be very large," murmured mr. bascomb uneasily. "yes, it will," agreed the treasurer with a laugh. "but never mind. it's always my task to find funds for the company, you know." "harry," tom broke in, "just what did that negro look like?" "about six-foot-three," answered hazelton, slowly and thoughtfully. "he was broad of shoulder and comparatively slim at the waist. he must weigh from two hundred and twenty-five to thirty pounds. as to age, i couldn't tell you whether he was nearer thirty or forty years. from his agility i should place him in the thirty-year class." "any beard?" "smooth-faced." "scars?" "i couldn't see that much in the dark." "color of his clothes?" "some darkish stuff---that's all i can say." "could you pick him out of a crowd of negroes?" "not if they were all of the same height and weight," hazelton admitted. "do you think you ever saw him before?" reade pressed. "i'm sure that i never have," harry replied. "then he wasn't one of our men in this camp at any time?" mr. prenter interjected. "we have never had a man in the camp as large as this negro," harry rejoined. "such a very large black man ought not to be hard for the detectives to locate," prenter continued. "very good, sir. then you can let the sleuths have a try at the matter," tom suggested. "have you any telegraph blanks here?" tom went inside, coming out with a pad of blanks. mr. prenter addressed a dispatch to the head of a detective agency in mobile. "we'll get the 'bus driver to take this over to town," said mr. prenter, as he signed the dispatch. "you had better send your dispatch by nicolas, who is so faithful that he can't be pumped, and he never talks about things that he shouldn't." the mexican was accordingly sent away in the stage. when he returned nicolas busied himself with getting supper and setting it on the table. superintendent renshaw returned from the work in time to join the others at table. "mr. reade, how are you going to protect the works to-night?" inquired the superintendent. "i'm going to order foreman corbett and twenty men to night duty," tom answered. "the motor boat will also be out to-night. we'll have every bit of the wall watched by men with lanterns." "what you ought to do," suggested treasurer prenter, "is to light the breakwater up with electric lights. you have steam power enough here, and with a dynamo you could supply current to the lights." "there's the expense to be considered," mildly observed president bascomb. "the expense is a good deal less than having the wall damaged by more explosions," said prenter, rather sharply. "reade, how long would it take you to get an electric light service going?" "it ought not to take more than three or four days, sir, if we can pick up a suitable dynamo in mobile. but there's another point to be considered. we very likely would have to obtain the permission of the washington authorities before we could run a line of lights out into the gulf of mexico. you see, sir, so many uncharted lights might confuse the navigators of passing ships." "write washington, then, and find out where you stand in the matter," directed the treasurer. "yes, sir; i'll do that," reade agreed. "but don't order any electrical supplies until you've got an estimate of the cost and have it approved by me," hinted president bascomb. this cautious direction made mr. prenter shrug his shoulders. dinner finished, all hands went out to sit on the porch. mr. bascomb soon began to ask questions about the camp, the housing of the men, and about other details of the camp. "although it is dark it's still early. wouldn't you like to go over through the camp with us?" proposed tom. mr. bascomb agreeing, the whole party set out, only nicolas remaining behind to keep an eye over the house. though he did not then suspect it tom was on the threshold of more trouble in the camp. chapter ix invited to leave camp lanterns hung here and there on poles lighted the camp. men who toil hard all day do not usually want a long evening. many of the men were already inside their tents or shacks, preparing for bed. at least two hundred, however, were still stirring in the streets of the camp. tom led his friends near one of the groups. a warning hiss was heard, and then a man in a remote group, urged by his comrades, rose and staggered toward a shack. tom was at the man's side in an instant. he proved to be an italian. "my man, you appear to be intoxicated," tom remarked, quietly, as he gripped the italian by the arm. "no spikka da english," hiccoughed the laborer. as he spoke he tried to free himself from the engineer's grasp. he staggered, and would have fallen, had not tom prevented the fall. "where's this man's gang-master?" tom demanded, looking about him sharply, while he still held the drunken man. none of the italians addressed appeared to know. for the most part they took refuge in the fact or the pretense that they didn't understand english. "get an italian gang-master, harry," tom murmured softly. hazelton bolted away, but was soon back, followed by a dark-skinned man who came with apparent reluctance. "you're a gang-master?" tom demanded, looking sharply at the man. "this fellow is intoxicated." "is he?" asked the gang-master. "yes, he is," tom declared, bluntly. "now, where did the man get the liquor." "i do not know," replied the gang-master, shrugging his shoulders. "then it's your business to know---if he got his liquor in camp. we won't allow any of that stuff in camp, and you gang-masters all know that." "i can't stop a man from going to town to get liquor," argued the gang-master. "no; you can't," tom admitted. "neither can i. but it's your duty, gang-master, to see that no liquor is brought back into camp. this man hasn't been to town for the stuff either. he hasn't had time enough to go away over to blixton and get enough liquor to make him drunk. moreover, in his present condition, the fellow couldn't have walked back from town the same evening. this man got his liquor in camp, and it will have to be stopped. now, put this man in his shack; see that he gets into bed. then come back to me." the gang-master obeyed. "we'll see if we can't put a complete stop to this sort of thing," reade muttered. "now, do you think it's going to be well to interfere so much with the movements of the men?" asked president bascomb, in an undertone. "i am afraid that you'll only start more dissatisfaction and more treachery among them." "this having liquor in camp is going to be stopped, sir," tom insisted. "a keg of liquor will demoralize a whole campful of men like these. they are an excitable lot, and they go crazy when there's any liquor around. if we don't put a stop to it, then there'll be fights, and then a few murders are most likely to follow. i've had plenty of experience with men such as we have here, and the stopping of liquor in camp means our only safety, and our only chance to have our work well done. come along; let the gang-master follow us." tom went directly up to a group of workmen who had been looking curiously on. most of them were italians, but there were a few negroes present. "now; men, gather around me," tom requested. "i want to talk to you. come close." as they did so reade rested a hand on the shoulder of a negro. "my friend," said tom, "you've been drinking to-night." "no, sah, boss! 'deed i hasn't," replied the negro, earnestly. "man, don't you think i have a nose?" tom demanded, dryly. "every time you open your mouth i smell the fumes of the stuff. there are other men in this group, too, who have been drinking. i want you all to realize that this sort of thing must stop in this camp. we don't want fights and killings, nor do we want men who wake up so seedy in the morning that they can't do a proper day's work. as i look about me i see at least eight men who have been drinking this evening. that shows me that some one has been bringing liquor into the camp." other workmen were now approaching, curious to know what was in the air. tom, glancing about him, suddenly, fastened his gaze on one man in particular. this was a lanky, sallow-looking chap of some thirty years. "see here, just what is your errand in this camp?" reade demanded, confronting the man. "is it any of your particular business?" demanded the fellow, with some insolence in his tone. "yes; it is," reade assured him, promptly. "i'm chief engineer in this camp, and i've asked you what you are doing here!" "is it against any law for an outsider to come into camp?" argued the stranger. "answer me," tom insisted, stepping closer. "what are you doing in this camp?" "i won't tell you," came the surly retort. "you don't have to," reade snapped, as he suddenly ran one hand over the sallow man's clothing. out of the fellow's hip pocket tom briskly brought a quart-bottle to light. it was about half-filled with some liquid. "here, give that back to me!" growled the fellow. "it's mine." "i'm glad you admit it," rejoined reade, drawing the cork and taking a sniff as hazelton slipped in front of him to protect him. "this is liquor. so you're the bootlegger who is bringing this stuff into camp to sell to the men? you won't come here after to-night if i can find any way of keeping you out." reade finished his remark by re-corking the bottle and throwing it down hard on the ground. the bottle was smashed to flinders, the liquor running over the ground. "here, you! you had no right to do that!" roared the fellow. he made an effort to reach tom, but harry gave the fellow a shove that sent him spinning back. "you'll pay me for that stuff, reade, since you destroyed it." "how much?" asked tom, artlessly. "a dollar and a half," insisted the stranger, coming forward as reade thrust one hand into trousers pocket. tom withdrew the hand, laughing. "much obliged, my friend," mocked the young chief engineer. "you've confessed all that i wanted to know. you've tried to charge me the price of a pint of liquor sold in single drinks. that confesses that you've been in camp to sell liquor to the men. i shall pay you nothing, for you're here against the law and against the camp regulations. you're engaged in selling liquor illegally. if i catch you in camp again on that business, my friend, i'll arrest you and hold you until the officers come over from blixton and take you." then, in the next moment, tom suddenly shot out: "harry, see to it that our friend doesn't run away just yet!" "what are you up to?" demanded the man, as tom stepped close once more, while harry rested a hand on his shoulder. "for a rather warm evening," reade rejoined, "it strikes me that it's a bit odd for you to be wearing a long top-coat. i'm going to look you over a bit." "you get out and keep away from me!" blustered the man, raising one of his fists. but harry caught at that arm and held it. treasurer prenter, who had been looking on with keen interest, seized the other arm. "you let go of me, or you'll run up against the law for assault!" warned the stranger. his captors, however, held him, while tom rapidly ran his hands over the stranger's clothing. as a result, within less than a full minute, tom had removed two full quart bottles and six smaller ones from the fellow's various pockets. all of these the young chief engineer threw on the ground, smashing them. from the crowd gathered about, which numbered more than sixty men of three different races, a howl went up. president bascomb began to shiver. "i'll make you sweat for this!" raved the stranger. "let go of the fellow, please," said tom. then, as harry and mr. prenter stepped aside, reade added, "i'll admit, mr. bootleg, that i've behaved in a rather high-handed fashion with you. but i'm justified in doing it. you have been breaking the law of the state, moving through this camp and selling liquor. you represent the scum of the otherwise decent population of alabama. if you think you've any redress in the courts, my name is reade and you can hire a lawyer and get after me as hard and as fast as you like." "i'll take personal satisfaction out of you!" stormed the fellow. "all right," tom agreed laconically. "you may start now, if you feel like doing it. i'll agree that none of my friends or workmen shall take any part in anything you feel like starting. if you can thrash me then you shall be allowed to depart in peace after you've done it." tom did not put up his hands, though he watched keenly to see whether the stranger meant to attack him. the stranger muttered unintelligible threats, then he turned to the laborers pressing about him. "men," he demanded, "are you going to be free, or are you going to allow yourselves to be treated like a lot of slaves by this boy?" "if that's all you've got to say," tom warned "you may as well start now." "start?" scoffed the sallow-faced one. "where to?" "anywhere, outside of this camp," tom informed him. "you can't stay here any longer, and you can't come here again. if i catch you, again, on this company's property, i'll see to it that you're arrested, and locked up for trespass." "that's the way to talk!" nodded treasurer prenter, approvingly. "i guess i'll go when i get good and ready," asserted the stranger. in the front ranks of the crowd pressing around them, reade now discerned the face of the italian gang-master with whom he had talked recently. "what's your name?" tom demanded, turning about on the gang-master. "scipio, sir." "then, scipio, take four men, and escort this fellow out of the camp. don't use any force unless you have to, but see to it that this fellow leaves camp as quickly as he can walk---or be dragged. start him now." gang-master scipio plainly didn't like the job, but he liked it better than he did the idea of being discharged. so he spoke to four italians about him, and the five surrounded the man. "hol' on dar, boss reade!" spoke up a negro. "ef yo' carry dis matter too far, den dere's gwine to be a strike on dis wohk. jess ez dis gemman sez, we ain't no slaves. yo' try to stop all our pleasures ebenings, an' dar's gwine be a strike---shuah!" "you may strike right now, if you wish to," tom retorted, facing the last speaker. "mr. renshaw will be prepared to pay you off within hour. any other man in this camp who isn't content to get along without liquor and gambling may as well strike at the same time. mr. renshaw, it's half-past eight. at nine o'clock please be at the house ready to pay off any man who isn't satisfied to live and work in a camp where neither drinking nor gambling is allowed. scipio, why haven't you started that fellow away from here?" "too bigga crowd in front of us," replied the italian gang-master, shrugging his shoulders. "come on, harry," tom replied. "we'll see if we can't make a way through the crowd." the two young engineers placed themselves at the head of the squad, and succeeded quickly in opening up a passage through a crowd that seemed to be at least half hostile. thus tom found himself soon face to face with an american. "evarts!" reade cried, angrily. "what are you doing here?" "i'm here by permission," snarled the discharged foreman. "whose permission?" tom insisted, briskly. "mr. bascomb's," replied evarts, with a leer so full of satisfaction that reade didn't doubt the truth of the statement. "mr. bascomb," tom called, "did you tell evarts that he might visit this camp?" "yes; i did," admitted the president of the company, stiffly. "then i'm sorry to say that evarts has been misinformed," tom went on. "he _can't_ visit this camp. he's too much of a trouble-maker here." "shut up your talk!" jeered evarts roughly. "don't try to give orders to the president of the company that hires and pays you." "mr. bascomb is the head of the company that employs me," tom assented. "but i am in charge here, and am responsible, with mr. hazelton, for the good order of the camp and the success of the work. therefore, evarts, you'll leave camp now, and you won't come back again under pain of being punished for trespass." "oh, now see here, reade---" began mr. bascomb angrily, as he started forward. but treasurer prenter caught bascomb by the arm, whispering in his ear. "waiting for you, mr. bascomb," called evarts. "i guess you'd better go," called the president, rather shamefacedly, after his talk with mr. prenter. "i guess maybe reade is right. at all events his contract places him in charge of this camp." "humph, evarts, a lot of good you can do us here, can't you?" sneered the sallow-faced fellow. tom looked first at one, and then at the other of the pair. "so," guessed reade shrewdly, "evarts has been at the head of this game of unlawful liquor selling in this camp. there are other vendors here, too, are there?" "you lie!" yelled the discharged foreman. "you may prove that, at your convenience," reade replied, without even a heightening of his color. "for the present, though, you're going to get out of camp and stay out." "i called you a liar," sneered evarts, "and you haven't the sand to fight about it." "fighting with one of your stripe isn't worth the while," tom retorted, shortly. "come along, evarts. i'll show you the way out of camp." as reade spoke he took hold of the ex-foreman's arm gently. "leggo of me!" raged the foreman, clenching and raising one of his fists. "don't make the mistake of touching me," urged tom, quietly, "but come along. this way out of camp!" evarts swung suddenly, driving a fist straight at reade's face. but the young chief engineer was always alert at such times. one of his feet moved in between evarts's feet, and the ex-foreman flopped down on his back. "come on, now!" commanded tom, jerking the fallen foe to his feet. "this time you'll hurry out of camp." "are you going to stand for it, men?" yelled evarts, his face aflame with anger. "come on---all of you! show that you're not a pack of cowards and slaves!" from more than a hundred throats came an ominous yell. the crowd surged around reade and hazelton. mr. bascomb, seeing his chance, dodged and ran out of the crowd. but mr. prenter, with a spring, placed himself at tom reade's side. "come on, men!" yelled the sallow-faced fellow. "run dem w'ite slave-drivers outah camp!" yelled a score of negroes. yells in italian and portuguese also filled the air. in an instant it was plain that tom reade had stirred up more than a hornet's nest. "come on, harry," spoke tom, firmly. "let's run this pair out of camp. then we'll come back and look for more trouble-makers and trouble-hunters! make way there, men!" one excitable italian rushed through the crowd, brandishing a revolver. as alarmed men fell back, the italian confronted reade, holding the revolver almost in the latter's face and firing. chapter x the night is not over tom winced slightly, as the pistol was discharged, for some of the powder burned his face. mr. prenter, who stood beside him, had knocked up the barrel so that the bullet sped over the heads of the crowd. in a twinkling tom had hold of the italian's arm. he wrenched the pistol away, spraining the italian's arm. instantly tom "broke" the weapon, dropping the cartridges out into his pocket. then he hurled the weapon as far as he could throw it into the shadows of the night. "you breaka my arm!" snarled the italian, showing his white teeth. "your face is next!" tom retorted, letting his fist drive. it caught the italian on the nose, breaking that member. "kill him! kill reade!" came the hoarse yell on the night air. "you'll find it a tough job, men!" tom called, warningly. "i won't die easily, and i'll take a few men along with me when i go. now, stand out of the way! i shall consider any man an enemy who blocks my path!" tom hit resolutely out, at first. soon the men crowding about him began to realize that they had taken a large contract on their hands in attempting to cow this young engineer. then, too, another element entered into the fight. while there were some wild and troublesome men in camp, there were also many straightforward, excellent fellows among them. there were church-going negroes there, italians who were thrifty and law-abiding, and portuguese who loved nothing better than law and order. the better element among the men came thronging forward, willing and ready to fight under such excellent generalship as they knew they would find with tom reade. other men, of both stripes, came pouring forth from shanties and tents. the yells and the shot had alarmed the foremen, who now came along on the run. "dill, johnson!" tom called, as he saw some of the foremen trying to push or punch their way through the throng. "help me to run evarts and this other trouble-hunter out of the camp!" the menacing yells grew fewer and fainter as the cheers of loyal laborers rose. the foremen seized both trouble makers and began to run them along with more skill than gentleness. tom ran along, keeping his glance on the enraged men of the camp, many of whom followed on the outskirts of the crowd. harry hazelton occupied himself in similar fashion. "now, you get out of this---and stay out!" ordered foreman dill, giving evarts a shove that sent him spinning across the boundary line of the company's property. "you, too!" growled foreman johnson, giving the bootlegger a kick that sent him staggering along in his efforts to keep on his feet. it was rough treatment, but tom's course, all through, had been of the only sort that could break down the threatened riot. "now, see if that italian can be found who fired the shot in my face," tom called. "i'll know him if i lay eyes on him." there was a prompt search, but the italian could not be found. "if he has left camp, and keeps away, perhaps he'll be safe," tom announced. "but, if i run across him again i'll seize him, hold him for the officers of the law, and see to it that he's sent to prison for attempted murder." "here are two men we want!" called hazelton. tom ran to his chum, who was holding an american by the arm. mr. prenter had hold of another. "two more of evarts's bootleggers, eh?" muttered reade. "let me see." on one of the men he found a bottle of liquor. on the other no liquor was discovered. "did evarts pay you fellows a salary, or commission?" tom demanded. "commiss---" began one of the bootleggers, then stopped himself with a vocal jerk. "evarts? i don't even know who he is." "yes, you do," chuckled tom reade. "you were on the point, too, of telling us that he paid you a commission on your sales, instead of a weekly wage. now, my men, i've looked you well over and shall know you again. if i find you in camp, hereafter, you'll be dealt with in a way that you don't like. savvy? comprenay? understand? now---git!" "now, men, get back to your camp," shouted tom. "to-morrow i'll try to find time for a good and sociable talk with all of you. try to enjoy your few leisure hours all you can, but remember that the men who can't get along without liquor and gambling are the kind of men we don't want here. any man who is dissatisfied can get his pay from mr. renshaw tonight or to-morrow morning. for those who stood by us i have every feeling of respect and gratitude. those who thought to fight us---or some of them---will have better sense by tomorrow. we don't want to impose on any man here, but there are some things that we shall have to stop doing. good night, men!" engineers, superintendent and foremen now left the men, going towards their barracks. "i've a little job for you, peters, if you don't mind going back into the camp," suggested tom. "it's not to go back and fight, single-handed, is it?" mr. peters asked, with a smile. "nothing like it," tom laughed. "peters, we have plenty of really good men among our laborers, haven't we?" "scores and scores of 'em, sir---among all three kinds of the men, negroes, italians and portuguese." "i wish you would go back, then, and pick out two of each race---six men in all. they must be honest, staunch and able to hold their tongues." "do you want them for fighting, sir?" asked peters. "not a bit of a fight in it. i want them to use their eyes and report to me." "going to employ spotters on the camp?" asked mr. prenter, quickly. "not a single spot!" tom declared with emphasis. "i haven't any use for information turned in by spotters." "i'm glad to hear you say that, reade," nodded the treasurer. "what i want the men for, peters, is something honest and manly, and with no fighting in it," tom continued. "i want information, and i'll pay the man well who can bring it to me. now, go and get your six men. bring them up to the house within half an hour." nodding, peters turned and strode back. when the others gained the house where the engineers and superintendent lived the foremen took leave of their chiefs. as tom, harry and mr. prenter went up the steps to the porch the front door opened to let out mr. bascomb. "is that revolting row all over?" demanded the president of the melliston company. "what row?" asked mr. prenter, innocently. "that riot back in camp," shivered mr. bascomb. "i simply abhor all fighting." "so i noticed," commented mr. prenter, dryly. "yes; i believe the trouble is over, unless our young chief engineer intends to stir up something new before bedtime. do you, reade?" "i haven't anything in mind," tom answered with a smile. "gentlemen, i am afraid you may think i do things with a high hand. but i have been at this engineering business just long enough to know that i must banish all serious vices from a camp of laborers if i hope to get the best results in work out of the men. so i must tackle some problems rather stiffly, and use my fists when i'm driven to a corner." "i am not thoroughly satisfied of the wisdom of your course," said mr. bascomb slowly. "sorry to disagree with you, bascomb," broke in the treasurer, "but i've had some experience in handling what is called wild labor, and i believe that reade goes at it in just the right way. i don't believe there are really fifty really wild or troublesome men in that camp. the few bad ones usually start trouble going, and then the good ones are driven into it. let reade stop the vices over yonder, in the way that he wants to, and the worst of the crowd will call for their time and leave camp. we shall then have a thoroughly good lot of men left, who'll do more and better work." "that is," almost whined president bascomb, "if reade, in doing what he wants, doesn't stir up so much enmity that we have the rest of our wall blown out into the gulf." "mr. bascomb," put in tom, "while i must have control of the men and their camp i don't wish to do anything to cast reflection on yourself as the head of the company. may i therefore ask, sir, if there is any especial reason why evarts should be allowed in this camp?" president bascomb fidgeted in the porch chair on which he was sitting. "i---i don't know of any reason, mr. reade, why evarts should be allowed in camp if his presence prevents you from keeping order as you wish." "then you approve, sir, of my intention to keep him out?" "i---i won't question your right to handle the matter as you wish, mr. reade," was the president's evasive reply. "thank you, sir." peters was soon back with the six men---two each of the negroes, italians and portuguese. all of them understood english. harry described the negro who had attacked him on the retaining wall, after which tom asked: "have any of you men ever seen that negro? have you any idea who he is, and where he can be found?" none of the six admitted any knowledge of the mysterious black man. "then i want you to keep his description in mind," continued tom. "keep your eyes open, at all times, for any chance glimpse of him. the man who brings me information leading to the capture of that big negro will receive a reward of one hundred dollars in gold." "keep your eyes open, won't you? you may find him prowling around the wall at any time. he may walk out on the wall, or he may be found hiding near in a boat. watch for him." all promised eagerly that they would do all in their power to earn the hundred dollars. "that's what i call good business!" cried mr. prenter approvingly, as soon as the foreman and the men had gone. "does the hundred dollars come out of the company treasury, reade, or from your own pocket?" inquired president bascomb. "really i hadn't thought of the matter," answered tom. "the company can afford to pay its own bills," broke in mr. prenter, rather gruffly. "it's about time to turn in, isn't it?" asked mr. bascomb, striking a match and glancing at his watch. "i'm going to stay up a little longer, and talk with reade about the dread mystery of our million dollar breakwater, if he'll let me," hinted mr. prenter. mr. bascomb rose as though to go into the house. "while we're talking about the matter, sir," suggested tom, "wouldn't it be a good idea for us to stroll down to the beach and look out along the wall to see how foreman corbett and his gang are guarding the breakwater to-night?" "fine idea," nodded the treasurer of the company. "then, if you're all going away, and intend to leave the house alone, i think i may as well go with you," grunted mr. bascomb. "i don't exactly like the idea of staying here alone in such troublesome times." harry walked beside mr. bascomb, while tom led the way with the treasurer. mr. renshaw brought up the rear. as the party came in sight of the beach and glanced out seaward, they saw many a little, dancing light out on the retaining wall. each light showed where a workman patrolled under the orders of foreman corbett. the latter was aboard the motor boat, "morton," which ran up and down near the wall, throwing the searchlight over the scene. "reade," remarked mr. prenter, "i don't see that the enemy have any chance to-night to run in and work harm to our property." hardly had the treasurer spoken when tom, looking out seaward, saw a sudden, bright flash of light upward. there was a brief pause---then the sullen boom of an explosion reached their ears. "mystery of all mysteries!" choked tom reade. "there goes another section of the wall---blown up under our very eyes!" chapter xi a message from a coward "now reade," began president bascomb, in a shaking voice, "what can you say---" tom didn't wait to inform him. the young chief engineer was darting out on the wall as fast as he could go. already the "morton" had turned, and was chugging back to the scene of this latest outrage, the searchlight flashing back and forth, in the vain effort to detect any small craft stealing away from the vicinity. "i---i can't race on a narrow runway like that," faltered mr. bascomb, halting at the beginning of the narrow wall. "i---i'll wait here, mr. renshaw, will you keep me company?" "if you so direct, sir," replied the superintendent. "for that matter, what reade and hazelton can't find out, out yonder, will probably never be discovered." "do you share mr. prenter's infatuation for those two young men?" asked the president of the melliston company. "i can't say about that, sir," renshaw replied, with a puzzled air. "but this much i know---i never worked with two more capable men of any age. they always know what to do, and they never lose their heads." mr. bascomb compressed his lips tightly. in the meantime tom, harry and treasurer prenter covered nearly a quarter of a mile along the retaining wall when the motor boat, putting about, picked them up with the searchlight. toot! toot! sounded the boat's pneumatic whistle. "foreman corbett is signaling to us to wait and he'll put in for us," said tom, coming to a halt. soon the motor craft chugged in alongside, coming close to the wall. tom, harry and mr. prenter jumped, landing safely aboard. "how did the enemy come to catch you napping, corbett?" tom inquired good-humoredly. "they didn't catch me napping, sir," protested foreman corbett. "it is the strangest thing, sir---that explosion. why, i had had my light turned on that very part of the wall at least a dozen times in the last half-hour before the blow-out came. our light didn't pick up a soul around there at any time. what do you suppose i did, mr. reade, as soon as the explosion sounded?" "i saw you turn about and use your search light a lot," reade answered. "did you notice, sir, that i turned the light right up at the sky, first-off?" "i believe i did notice that," tom assented. "it seemed to me, sir, that nothing but an airship could plant a charge of high explosive on the wall in that fashion." "i don't believe the airship theory will explain it either," said tom, shaking his head. "then what theory can explain it?" asked mr. prenter, anxiously. "i'd pay a reward out of my own pocket for the right answer," reade replied. "then you haven't a theory?" asked the treasurer. "not even an imitation of a theory," tom laughed, shortly. all this time the motor boat was gliding out toward the scene of the wreck. "now, you can see the damage that has been done," suggested mr. corbett, turning the light fully on the scene of the latest blow-out. "you see, a long strip of the wall has been cleaned out. not a trace of the damaged part shows above water." "it wasn't as big an explosion as the other two, though," reade declared. "really, it looks as though the folks behind this found themselves running low on explosives." "there must be a trace or a clue left," urged mr. prenter. "high explosives don't leave many traces of anything with which they come in contact," muttered harry. "if we _do_ find any traces, i guess it will have to be in broad daylight." "and i guess that's right," agreed tom. "mr. corbett, did none of your men patrolling on the wall report any signs of strangers?" "no such report was made, sir." "at all events, we can be thankful that the explosion didn't blow one or two of our men into the other world," tom went on. "even that is bound to happen if there are many more of these explosions," muttered corbett, grimly. "which is another reason," remarked tom reade, "why we're going to solve the mystery of said explosions at the earliest minute that we can." "one thing is certain," observed mr. prenter, with the nearest approach to gloom that he had yet shown. "if you don't soon penetrate this grim mystery, and find a way to stop these outrages, then the wall will be destroyed more rapidly than you can build it." "the outrages may cease after a while," suggested harry. "no," answered reade. "as long as the unknown enemy feels that he can harass us without much risk of being caught red-handed, just so long will he go on with his outrages---unless we give in." "give in?" asked mr. prenter, with a rising inflection in his voice. "unless we give in," supplied tom promptly, "by allowing gambling and rum-selling to go on openly in our camp of workmen." "have you any notion of giving in to that extent?" asked mr. prenter. "not an idea!" retorted tom reade promptly. "it wouldn't be my way to surrender to the devil. i'll fight to the last ditch---unless your company really prefers to have hazelton and myself cancel our contract and get out of this work. do you?" "_i_ don't want you to quit," replied mr. prenter positively. "i admire fighting grit, and i want to see you keep hammering away at the work until you win and the job is finished. the board of directors will stand with me on that, if i can sway them. as for mr. bascomb, you mustn't take him too seriously. he's a first rate fellow in a lot of ways, but there's no fight in him, and he's a bit close-fisted, too. as for me, reade, and as far as i can speak for my fellow directors, go ahead, just the way you've started. if you can find any way to hammer camp vice harder than you've been hammering it, then go ahead and do some harder work with your little hammer." "i'll do it," promised tom. "now, mr. prenter, i don't believe anything more will happen here to-night---perhaps not for two or three nights. so i think the wisest thing for you to do will be to get back to the house and get some sleep. the same for you, harry!" "what are you going to do?" hazelton wanted to know. "i?" repeated reade. "for to-night i'm going to remain up, and be out here around this threatened wall." "then that ought to be good enough for me, also," harry suggested. "not much, chum. i'm going to take the night trick for the present, and put on you the burden of all the day work. so you'll need your sleep." "i can swing the day work easily enough," laughed hazelton. "it will be all the more easy as the next few days will be taken up simply with repairing the breaks that have been made." "swing the boat in toward land, mr. corbett," tom directed the foreman. at the little landing hazelton and mr. prenter joined the waiting president and superintendent. "did you really find out anything?" called mr. bascomb eagerly. "it's as big a mystery as ever." "there's just one thing we'll have to do," sighed mr. bascomb, "and that will be to stop running the camp on a basis of old puritan laws." "you talk reade into it, if you can," chuckled treasurer prenter. "you won't find him easy to convince, either." tom didn't wait to discuss the matter. instead, he signaled to foreman corbett to run the craft out again. "if you want to, corbett," suggested tom, with a laugh, as the boat moved over the salt waters again, "you might go ashore and go to bed. you can easily claim that you engaged with us as a foreman, and that being captain of a motor boat amounts to breach of contract." "i'm not fussing," smiled the foreman. "as long as i can sleep daytimes running this motor boat is easier than working." "it probably will be," nodded reade, "unless the enemy go in for a new line of tactics." "such as what, sir?" asked corbett. "if this boat hampers them too much they may decide to send it to the bottom with a torpedo." "let 'em try, then," grunted the foreman, giving the steering wheel a turn. though reade remained up until broad daylight no further sign of the unknown enemies was seen. through the night, had it not been for the patrols walking up and down the line of wall with lanterns, it would have been hard to realize that the big breakwater was haunted by any such desperately practical group of "ghosts." "i guess we've heard the last of the rascals," suggested harry hazelton one night at supper. messrs. bascomb and prenter had returned to mobile, so that the young engineers and their superintendent were the only men at table. "my guess is about the same," drawled mr. renshaw. "yes?" queried reade. "guess again!" "oh, i believe they've quit," argued mr. renshaw. "for one thing, the scoundrels probably have discovered that detectives from mobile are down here trying to run 'em to earth. that has scared the rascals away." "what are the detectives doing, anyway?" asked harry. "blessed if i know," tom yawned. "i believe there are three of them here or over in blixton, but i wouldn't know one of them, if i fell over him. the detectives came, secured their orders from mr. prenter, and went to work---or pretended to go to work. i'm glad that i'm not responsible for the detectives." nicolas entered, an envelope in his hand. "par-rdon, senor reade," begged the mexican. "i would not interrupt, but on the porch i found thees letter. it is address to you." tom took the envelope and scanned it, saying: "the address is printed---probably because the writer didn't want to run the risk of having his writing identified. probably the letter, also, is printed. pardon me, gentlemen, while i open this communication . . . yes; the letter is printed, and unsigned---a further sign of cowardice on the part of the writer. and now let me see what it says." tom spent a few moments in going through the communication. a white line formed around his mouth as he read. then he passed the letter to harry, who read it aloud, as follows: _"you have had a week of peace. is peace better than war? you may have all the peace you wish, and go on working and prospering if you will let others do the same. stop interfering with the right of your men to amuse themselves and all will be well. try any of your former tricks in the camp, and then you will have good cause to 'beware!'"_ "is that a declaration of war?" asked harry, looking up. "i think so," nodded tom. "then how are you going to meet it?" "there's only one way," tom returned. "a declaration of war must be met with a fight. unless i'm very greatly in error the gamblers and bootleggers will try to start up matters again to-night in camp." "and you'll throw them down harder than before?" queried mr. renshaw, gazing keenly at the young chief. "if it be possible," tom declared. "nicolas, be kind enough to go over and ask the foremen to report here at : promptly. at : we will enter camp and see what is going on." "i miss my guess, then," chuckled mr. renshaw, quietly, "if our arrival isn't followed by war in earnest." "war is never so bad," retorted tom reade, his jaws setting, "as a disgraceful peace!" chapter xii an engineer's fighting blood just at half-past eight that evening tom, harry, the superintendent and the foremen entered camp. they went, first, to a shack which they knew to be occupied by orderly, respectable blacks. "come, men," said tom, halting in the doorway. "i've an idea we may need you." six negroes rose and came forward. "there are gambling and bootlegging going on in this camp to-night, aren't there?" reade inquired. "ah doan' rightly know, boss," replied one of the negroes cautiously. "but you suspect it, don't you?" tom pressed. "yes; ah done 'spec so, boss," grinned the negro. "and i do, too," rejoined tom. "come along. we may need a little help." with this reinforcement---the negroes were wanted for work rather than for fighting---tom now stepped off briskly through the camp. nor did he have to guess in which way to go through the darkened streets of this little village of toilers. shouts of laughter and the click of ivory dice and celluloid chips signaled the direction. the largest shack in the village was closed tightly as to door and window, though light came out through the chinks. tom stepped over there boldly, not turning to see whether his following were close behind him. stepping up to the closed door the young chief engineer placed his shoulder against it. he gave a sturdy push, and the barrier flew open. there were about fifty of his men crowded into one large room. a half dozen gambling games were in full blast. at two tables stood bootleggers, each with a bottle of liquor and glasses. tom stalked boldly in, still without turning to look at his own following. reade's face bore such a mild look that the leader of the visiting gamblers was wholly deceived as he glanced up. "the chief!" called one workman, in dismay, and a dozen men made a break for the door. but harry and the others prevented their getting out. "oh, it's all right," cheerily announced the leader of the gamblers. "mr. reade has just come here to look on and make sure that everything is being conducted above board and on the square. isn't that so, reade?" "yes," tom assented, pausing near the central table at which gambling was going on. at that assurance the panic-stricken gamblers breathed more easily. several men who had jumped up from their seats went back to their chairs. "reade is a good friend of ours," called the leader of the gamblers, mockingly. "he isn't going to interfere with any amusements that are properly carried on---eh, reade?" the fellow stared boldly into tom's eyes, a look of insolent mockery on his features. "certainly i'm not going to interfere with any proper amusements in this camp," tom nodded, easily. "what did i tell you, boys?" laughed the leader of the gamblers. "go on with your play, boys!" "but gambling isn't a proper amusement for poor men, who have to toil and sweat for every five-cent piece they get," tom reade continued calmly. "neither is the trade of bootlegging a decent one, or one that provides decent amusement. i have already warned you that gambling and liquor selling are things of the past in this camp." there was another stir in the room. the leader of the gamblers rose, fixing his gaze on tom's eyes and trying to stare the young engineer out of countenance. "what do you mean, reade?" he demanded. "isn't my meaning clear enough?" tom insisted, with a chilly smile. "man, haven't you come to your senses yet?" snarled the gambler. "do you mean to ask whether i was scared by the cowardly, unsigned letter that i received this evening?" tom fired back at the fellow, with another taunting smile. "i don't know anything about any letter," muttered the gambler sullenly, "but i heard that you had come to your senses." "whether i have or not," retorted tom, "you are pretty sure to come to your proper senses to-night. men---i mean workmen, not gamblers or bootleggers---you are at liberty to pass out of this building." "don't you go," shouted the gambler, as some two dozen men started toward the doorway where harry and the rest were on guard. some of them halted. "i must have made a mistake in calling some of you 'men,' since you take orders from such disreputable characters as these gamblers and bootleggers," tom taunted them mildly. "now, all i will say is that those of you who wish to do so may pass outside. the rest may remain here, though they'll be sorry, afterwards, that they stayed. all who want to get outside must do so at once." "don't you do anything of the sort," shouted the gamblers' leader. "stay here like men and assert your rights! come on! i'll lead you, and show you how to throw these meddlers out." "you'll do it---just like this, eh?" demanded tom reade. he made a leap for the leader of the gamblers, catching the fellow by the throat and waist. lifting him, tom hurled the fellow a dozen feet. the gambler fell on one side, but was up in a moment, his right hand traveling toward a hip pocket. "don't draw," mocked tom, with another smile. "probably you haven't a pistol there. if you have, you can never make me believe that you have sand enough to draw and shoot before as many witnesses as i have on hand." "i've a good mind to drill you with lead!" scowled the gambler, still resting his hand behind him. "but you're a wise man," mocked reade, "and wise men often change their minds." however, the very move of the gambler to draw a pistol had had one effect that tom ardently desired. most of the workmen present were now in frantic haste to get out before any shooting began. the two bootleggers also sought to make their escape. "get back there! you fellows can't get out!" harry shouted, himself seizing and hurling the bootleggers back into the room. they rose, glaring sullenly at hazelton. but they didn't know how many more men he might have behind him out there in the dark. tom reade now had the six gamblers and the two bootleggers in the room with him. "you're a nice crew, aren't you?" he jeered, gazing at them scornfully. "we're making our living," retorted the leader of the gamblers, with what he meant to be a fine tone of scorn. "making your living off of human beings! you're some of the parasites that infest honest workingmen. i've drummed you out of this camp before, and you have the cheek to come back. now, i'll try to teach you another lesson. harry, send in our workmen, will you?" hazelton stepped aside, to let in the half dozen honest negroes they had brought along with them. these men entered, then stood looking at their young chief. "get hold of those cards, chips and dice!" ordered tom. "here, what are you trying to do?" demanded the leader of the gamblers. "you have the advantage of me," responded tom. "i don't know your name." "hawkins is my name," replied the chief of the gamblers. "hawkins is a fine name," admitted tom. "it will do as well as any other. i won't annoy you, hawkins, by asking you what your name used to be in prouder and happier days." "what are these men doing with our outfit?" insisted hawkins, as the negroes began industriously to clear the surfaces of the tables. "you can see what they're doing," tom rejoined. "you blacks get out and leave our property alone," warned hawkins, darting among them. the negroes drew back, in some alarm, for the gambler looked dangerous with one hand at his hip pocket. "go get on with your work, men," counseled tom. "i'm here to back you up." "as for you, sir---" snarled hawkins, facing tom. "don't look at me like that," laughed reade softly. "save that face to frighten children with." the negroes had busied themselves until they had gathered up all the implements of gambling and had stuffed them into their pockets. now tom went up to the bootleggers. both men he boldly searched, bringing forth from their pockets bottles of liquor. these he threw down hard on the floor of the cabin, smashing them. "i don't know why we allow you to do all this, reade," fumed hawkins, whose face was white with rage. "it's because you're afraid, and know that you can't help yourselves," tom smiled. "i'll show you who's afraid!" yelled hawkins, again throwing his right hand back to his hip pocket. this time reade saw the unmistakable butt of a revolver. without an instant's hesitation. reade leaped at the fellow. in a moment tom had the revolver, springing backwards. "well---shoot!" jeered hawkins. "you don't dare to." "you're right," assented tom coolly. "i don't dare to. assassination belongs to the lowest orders of human beings. an honest man seldom has any need of concealed deadly weapons." tom stepped still farther back, breaking the revolver and dropping the cartridges into one hand. hawkins made a move as though to spring upon him, but harry leaped into the room, confronting the gambler. thus shielded, tom drew a combination tool-knife from one of his pockets, then coolly drew out the screw that held the trigger in place. dropping the trigger into his own pocket, tom tossed the weapon back. "catch it, hawkins," he called. "you may want this to frighten some children with over in blixton. now, mr. renshaw, i believe you know what you're to do." "yes, sir," nodded the superintendent, from the doorway, and vanished. "we'll take our leave, now," sneered hawkins, "unless you have some further humiliation in store for us." "just one," tom declared, "so you can't go just yet." "oh, all right," hawkins laughed fiercely. "you'll have to pay for this unlawful detention." "you can tell the officers all about that," tom suggested tantalizingly. "mr. renshaw has just gone to telephone for them." "the officers? police?" snarled hawkins. "yes. did you imagine that you could keep on defying all the laws? you've just threatened me with a taste of the law. you may try a taste yourself, professor hawkins!" "let us out of this place!" insisted hawkins angrily. "come on, friends!" he rallied his own force of seven men and started toward the door. "of course you can try to get away," reade warned the fellow. "but the effort will cost you all broken heads, to say the least. i have placed you all under arrest for breaking the laws of alabama, and, before we'll let you go, we'll break a few bones for each of you." outside the workmen of the camp were thronging by this time. doubtless, had they dared, two or three score of these men would have fought in behalf of the gamblers and bootleggers, but far more than that number would have rallied under tom reade's banner, for it is human nature to flock to the banner of the leader who is resolute and unafraid. besides, there were the foremen, all of them good, hard hitting men. "oh, well," sneered hawkins, "let it go at that, reade. we'll have our day in court tomorrow, and then. i guess we'll find our innings." "yes," chuckled tom, "and when you get your innings you'll be wild to swap them for outings---for the innings will be in jail." "don't push my temper too far," cautioned hawkins with a scowl. "let it go as far as you like, always being ready to take the consequences," tom smiled genially. there followed a period of tense waiting. after nearly a half an hour of this a 'bus arrived, with four police officers from blixton in it. tom reade preferred his charges against the gamblers and bootleggers. the officers had no choice but to take them, so the late troublemakers, now amid jeers and hoots from many of the workmen, were led outside and into the 'bus. "you'll hear from this!" hissed hawkins, in the young chief engineer's ear. "i believe you," nodded tom thoughtfully. after the police and their prisoners had gone tom led his own party back to the house. "you'd better get to bed now, harry," reade advised his chum. "there can be no telling how soon i'll need to call you up, and you ought to have some sleep first." "you look for trouble to break to-night?" harry asked. "between now and daylight," said tom simply. "whee! i'd like to stay up with you." "you might find more fun that way, harry, but the work to-morrow would suffer, and work is more important than mere fun," tom answered. nor was tom to be disappointed in his expectation that the worst trouble yet experienced would break loose that night. chapter xiii wishing it on mr. sambo "oho!" breathed young reade, as he crouched low behind the fringe of bushes, peering toward the beach. it was now somewhat past midnight. for three hours tom had been scouting stealthily along this shore section, well to the west of the breakwater. for, in pondering over the explosions, tom had come to the conclusion that the blow-outs on the retaining wall, however accomplished, were controlled from a point to the westward of the sea wall. this conclusion had been rather a simple matter to a trained engineer. tom had witnessed the flash of one explosion, and that, as he remembered, had sprung up at the west side of the wall. moreover, the appearance and condition of the wall, at the point of each explosion, had shown that the attack in each case must have been made at the west side of the wall. and now, after nearly three hours of work, tom reade had come upon a real clue. "another blow-out is arranged for to-night, just as i had expected," reade muttered, with an angry thrill, as he glanced at a figure down on the beach. "moreover, my guess that the huge negro is the fellow who touches off the blow-outs has proved to be the correct one." down on the beach a big, black man was moving about stealthily. though the spot was a lonely one, this scoundrel plainly intended to take no unnecessary risks of detection. just at the present moment the negro was placing in the water a curious-looking little raft that he had brought on one shoulder from its place of concealment. it was something like a flat-bottomed scow, the sides being just high enough to prevent whatever cargo it carried, from rolling off into the water. the raft placed and secured to the shore, the negro crouched in his hiding place in a jungle of bushes. he soon reappeared, carrying four metal tubes. "the explosive is in the tubes," guessed tom easily. "and at one end of each tube is a sharp metal point that permits of being driven into the crevices in the wall. four, or more, of these tubes are thrust into the wall, i suppose, and connected in series, so that they can be fired by the same electric spark. these tubes and the wires are water-proofed. the negro is only the dastardly workman in this case. it was never he who invented the trick. but he must be an excellent workman, who ought to be employed in much more honest effort. i wonder if the fellow is going to use more than four tubes?" all of these thoughts ran through the mind of tom as he crouched, peering eagerly at the negro. by this time the negro was taking to the water, towing his miniature scow and its explosive cargo as he swam. "he must be a good swimmer, and also a good diver," concluded tom. "with my men patrolling the sea wall he must have to dive, some distance away, swim under water, and remain there until he has secured one of the tubes in place. then he has to get back, out of range of the lanterns' rays, and get his breath before he goes back to the next job. but maybe i can interfere with his work to-night." though he rose and moved away, reade, despite the darkness of the night, was careful to keep himself concealed behind the bushes, so that he could not be observed from beach or water. shortly the young engineer was over at the point in the jungle from which he had seen the negro emerge with scow and explosives. "the fellow must use a magneto, attached to wires running under the water," concluded tom. "at that rate, the first real job is to find the magneto. my, but mr. sambo ebony may be wondering, to-night, why his blow-out doesn't work as easily as usual!" simple as the search ought to have been, tom reade was soon on the point of despair. "if it isn't a magneto, or if i can't find it in time," tom muttered uneasily, "the mystery may remain nearly as great as ever, and the explosion may be pulled off to-night, after all." twenty minutes passed before reade, with all his senses alert, stumbled on the concealed magneto. it had been so well hidden, under a mass of rocks, that it would not have been astonishing had tom missed it altogether. attached to the magneto was the wire that must connect, in some way, with the series of tubes that would soon be fastened in the retaining wall out yonder. yet this wire ran into the ground, and then vanished. "now, i've simply got to hustle!" sighed tom reade nervously. "if i don't succeed in raising the wire, and in a mighty short space of time, i may be to-night's fool yet. i'd really like to wish that on the black man, too!" by using his eyes and his reasoning powers reade, after twenty minutes more of search, with some sly digging, unearthed a section of the wire some dozen feet from the magneto. "now, it must be really the swiftest sort of work," murmured the young engineer, after a glance seaward. he seated himself with his face turned toward the gulf, gathered the exposed section of wire up into his lap, then drew a pair of wire nippers from his pocket. snip! tom now had two ends of wire in his hands. that would have been enough, had reade chosen to bury the ends and conceal all evidence of his work. however, he believed that a more workmanlike way could be found. from the same pocket tom drew out a three inch piece of pure rubber cable, wrapped in water-proof tape. this he fastened to the severed ends of the wire, binding the whole as neatly as a lineman could have done. "rubber is believed to be a pretty good insulator," chuckled reade, as he finished. "i don't believe the spark is made that can jump three inches of rubber. certainly magneto-power can't do it. now, let me see what sort of a trail-concealer i am." tom laid the wire back in the ground, covering it carefully with his hands. "i wish i dared strike a match, so that i could judge better just how my work looks," he sighed. "however, i don't believe mr. sambo ebony will think it discreet to strike any matches either, so he won't find the place where i've been fooling with his work. "now, i'll get back out of sight, where i belong," muttered tom, rising cautiously. "i hope, though, i can find a place where i can see the look on that darkey's face when he tries his magneto and waits for the bing! from out yonder. oh, sambo, you simply can't have any idea of how i've been wishing it on you tonight!" as the bushes grew thickly hereabouts, and there were many hollows in the surface of the earth, reade had little trouble in finding what he believed to be a satisfactory hiding place. it enabled him to hide his head within fifteen feet of the handle of the magneto. a soft, southerly wind blew in from the gulf. as long as he could reade fought drowsiness. again and again he opened his eyes with a start. "i mustn't do this," tom told himself angrily. "no gentleman will go to sleep at the switch---when it's his train that is coming!" yet still he found himself nodding. had he deemed it safe tom would have sprung up and walked about briskly. but this, he knew, was to invite being discovered by the returning negro. so, at last, despite himself, tom fell asleep. how much time had passed he never knew. at last, however, he awoke with a start. reproachfully he rubbed his eyes. "not a bit too soon!" he muttered, as his ears caught sound of an approaching step, and his eyes showed him the hulking form of the massive foe. "here comes my black man!" chapter xiv the black man's turn closer to the earth tom tried to burrow. as to a plan, tom reade had none now, save to watch, and, if possible, to learn something that he did not already know. soft-footed, despite his great bulk, the negro approached with an air of little concern. plainly, the wretch did not much fear discovery---still less interference. humming an old plantation melody the negro reached his concealed magneto, then stood up for a brief moment, staring seaward in the direction from which he had just come. his garments dripped water; his whole appearance was bedraggled, yet there was something utterly shaggy, majestic, in this huge specimen of the human race. "ah done reckon dem gemmen gwine lose some mo' of deir wall to-night," chuckled the negro softly. "go as far as you like, mr. sambo ebony!" grinned tom reade, under his breath. "i've wished something else on you this time." carelessly the negro bent over his magneto, seized the handle and gave a push. then he straightened up, listening. only the soft sighing of the southern wind came to his ears. "yo' shuah done gotta use a mo' greasy elbow dan dat, chile," chuckled this imp of satan aloud, though in a soft voice that seemed out of all proportion to his bulk. then he gave a half dozen indolent though steady strokes to the handle of the magneto. "whah am dat 'splosion?" he asked himself in wonderment. "am mah eardrum done gone busted? moke, yo' am plumb lazy this night!" this time the huge negro pumped at the handle of the magneto until he was all but out of breath. several dozen shoves he had administered before he halted, let go of the magneto and raised himself to his full, majestic height. "some black witch hab done gwine wish a big hoodoo on me!" grunted the negro suspiciously. "dis am do fust time dat de magernetto gwine back on me like dis!" in his bewilderment the one whom tom had named sambo glared around him. his eyes gleamed with a phosphorescence like that which one sees on the water on a lowering night. what reade did not know was that this black man possessed eyes that were a little keener in the dark than a bat's. with a sudden "woof!" sambo went up in the air, moved sideways, and came down on the startled tom reade with the force of a pile driver. "wha' yo' doing heah?" demanded the negro, gripping reade by the coat collar and dragging that hapless engineer to his feet. tom did not answer. to save his life he couldn't have answered just then, his breath utterly gone. "wha' yo' want heah, anyway?" insisted sambo, giving the youth a vicious shake. there was blood before the negro's eyes, or he would sooner have recognized his victim. but at last he did see. "so, i'se gwine cotch mistah reade himself!" snorted sambo. "an' ah reckon i'se gwine foun' de differculty wid my magernetto at de same time! huh?" again he shook tom, with an ease and yet a force that further drove the breath from the young engineer's body. "why doan' yo' talk!" glared the negro, holding tom out at arm's length with one hand. tom could only groan. yet that method of communication carried its own explanation to the big black. "reckon yo' gwine talk w'en yo' get gale enough in yo' lungs," grinned the negro. "in dat case ah gwine lay yo' down on de groun' to fin' yo' breff." sambo's idea of laying tom down was to give him a violent twist that brought the lad flat on the ground at his captor's feet. then the negro sat on his captive to make sure that the latter did not escape. "take yo' time---ah got plenty," grimaced the black man. slowly the beaten-out breath came back to tom reade. sambo, watching, knew finally that his quarry was at last able to talk. "wha' yo' do to mah magernetto?" demanded sambo. "guess," breathed tom. "oh, take yo' time, boss. ah got plenty ob dat accommerdation" "what magneto are you talking about?" reade queried innocently. "nebber heard ob it befo', eh, boss?" "i've heard of plenty of magnetos, of course," admitted tom. "but what have you to do with one?" for a brief instant sambo was almost inclined to believe that reade did not fully know his secret. finally it dawned on the brain of the big black man that he was being hoaxed. "ef yo' doan wanter tell, yo' doan hab to, ob co'se," proposed sambo. "it ain't mah way to be too persistency wid de w'ite quality gemmen. but ah done thought maybe yo' know somethin' dat yo's burnin' to tell." "who are you, and what are you doing around here?" asked tom. "i'm certain you don't belong to my force of workmen---unless you just joined yesterday. are you working on the breakwater job?" "yessah," promptly answered sambo with momentary gravity. then his mood changed to a chuckle. "dat am all right, massa reade," he allowed. "but yo' doan' fool dis nigger as easy as yo' maybe think. ah know what yo' watchin' me fo', and ah done know i'se been doin' jess w'at yo' think. so i guess we doan' need no mo' conversationin', unless yo' willing to talk right out and tell me w'at's w'at." "sambo," said reade solemnly, "i imagine i'm not very intelligent, after all. i listened to you attentively, but, for the life of me, i couldn't make out what you were talking about." "kain't yo'?" the negro demanded, mockingly. "den ah done reckon ah must be a good deal of a scholar, ef ah can talk so dat er w'ite quality gemmen kain't undahstan' me." mr. sambo ebony chuckled gleefully in appreciation of his own joke. "there's one thing i guess you can tell me, sambo," reade suggested hopefully. "w'at am dat, massa?" "when are you going to change your seat and stop making me feel like a very thin pancake?" "w'en ah done get mah mind made up." "when you have your mind made up about---what?" "about w'at i'se gwine do wid yo', massa reade." "well, what do you think you're going to do with me?" insisted tom. "i'll admit, sambo, that i'm about losing my patience. unless you get up off of me soon, and move away to a respectful distance, i shall be obliged to do something on my own account." "go as far as yo' like, massa," returned the negro, unmoved. "i'se boun' ter admit dat yo' done got me fo' curiosity. w'at yo' done think yo' _can_ do?" plainly the negro meant to go on having sport with him. tom decided that it would be of no use to try to deceive this great mountain of black flesh. so reade, who had been doing some brisk thinking during the last few moments, gave a sudden heave---a trick that he retained from the old football days. much to sambo's surprise he found himself going. yet the black man was as agile as he was big. he leaped to his feet, bounding one step sideways, while tom, who had been watching for this very chance, sprang to his own feet. "not so fas', massa!" mocked the big black, reaching out and taking a strong clutch on. tom's coat collar. reade would have squirmed out of his coat and placed more distance between them, but mr. ebony, with a stout twist, gathered the two ends of the coat collar, holding the young engineer as though in the noose of a halter. quick as a flash reade struck out with his right fist for the black man's belt-line. had the blow landed even the huge sambo would have gone down to earth. but the negro parried with his own disengaged fist, then gave a twist to the coat collar noose that made reade turn black in the face from choking. "ah might as well tell yo'," sambo observed dryly, "dat yo' ain't done got no new fight tricks dat yo' can wish on me. ah done seen all de tricks of fightin' dat any man done know, an' ah nebber yet seen no man dat could put any kind oh a blow ober on me to hurt!" the negro spoke boastfully, yet there could be no doubt that he believed all he said. tom reade next schemed to land a hard kick against the negro's shins. ere he had his foot well lifted, however, the watchful sambo seemed to divine the intent. he gave a quick twist at the coat collar that made reade's head swim. it was some time before the young engineer's head recovered from that sudden confusion and blackness. "am' yo' gwine beliebe dat yo' kain't wish no kind oh a trick ober on me?" demanded the black man in an injured tone. "ah nebber seen no odder w'ite man dat had such a ha'd time beliebing w'at ah done tole him!" "i've got to land this wicked brute, some way, or i may as well conclude that the jig is danced through, as far as i am concerned," reade thought ruefully. panting, quivering, in dread of being choked again, and much harder, tom tried to think fast in the effort to devise some new plan for worsting this terrible opponent. "i've been fooling myself all along," tom told himself, with a sinking heart. "i've been up against several men who were too weak or too cowardly to fight, and i've somehow gained the opinion that i could fight. but this black fellow has taken all the conceit out of me. i was a fool ever to think that i could fight! i'm nothing but a piece of jelly---or putty!" of a sudden reade tried to wrench himself free at the collar, at the same time raising his right knee with a forceful jerk. he wanted to drive that knee into the black man's wind. but sambo seemed to guess the plan without trouble. he gave a twist that choked tom, once more, until all went black before him. then the negro slammed his victim down hard on the ground, well-nigh stunning the young engineer. "ah done see w'at ah gotta do wid yo'," sambo announced. "ah gotta tie yo' up, load yo' pockets wid rocks, and den take yo' out in de gulf ah' lose yo'! dat's w'at ah gotta do, an' ah ain' gwine lose no time about it either." sambo was in earnest, too. he had mapped out that very course! chapter xv a david for a goliath from his pockets the big fellow brought out a coil of stout cord. without much trouble he slipped a noose over one of tom's wrists. then began an active fight, the object of which, on the black man's part, was to make the other wrist secure. but here tom developed an amount of agility and a skill in fighting that angered sambo. "doggone yo', ef yo' won't take it peaceable-like, den yo'll get it do odder way." with that, sambo delivered a blow that made young reade see stars. his head swam dizzily. now, the black man secured the other wrist, making a turn and a knot that would have done credit to an expert. but about that time something else happened. whack! a blow from a club landed across the negro's head. "who doin' dat?" demanded the negro, blinking and half turning. "i did eet, you miser-r-r-rable black smoke, and i do eet again!" rang the voice of nicolas, as that valiant mexican circled around the negro. "yo' blow away, yaller baby!" jeered sambo, whose head had been not at all hurt by the blow. "i show you eel i run away!" bridled up nicolas. tom now began to recover enough to know that his faithful servant was on the scene. "scoot, nicolas!" urged tom, in a gasping voice. "run for all you're worth. this fellow will eat you up. run and bring help." "senor, i can wheep him with one hand!" vaunted the little mexican. "run, i tell you, and get help. be like a flash, man!" "as you say, senor, but---" nicolas turned, speeding away. his escape, however, would interfere, possibly, with the plans of sambo. the big black leaped up, racing after nicolas. as the mexican was a little fellow, and short of leg, it was not long before the pursuer caught up with him. "hol' on, yo' yaller rascal!" laughed sambo, reaching out for the mexican. nicolas wheeled about, dancing out of reach of the negro's massive hands. "stand still, yo' li'l' greaser!" laughed sambo. "now you have insult me, and i show you what i do to you!" snarled nicolas, his brown face aflame at the taunting word, "greaser." "come heah!" jeered sambo, making a bound and reaching for the small man. nicolas dodged, but he did not run away. instead, he bobbed up inside of the negro's reach. the mexican thrust out his slim, sinewy right-hand forefinger. a vicious poke he gave with it, landing sharply on a spot just about an inch and a quarter below the base of the negro's breast bone. "woof!" panted sambo, half doubling, for nicolas had touched a tender spot. "you have insult me! you call me mean name!" raged nicolas. "stand steel, you big black smoke!" again nicolas ducked and rushed in. once more he employed his forefinger tip in the same fashion, and with more power. "o-o-o-o-o-h! wow!" gasped sambo, this time doubling nearly to the ground. "get away, chile! i doan' wan' no mo' ob yo'!" "you have insult," insisted nicolas angrily, "and i do much more yet to you." this time the negro appeared almost helpless. nicolas danced about, looking for an opening. in desperation sambo struck out with his powerful left. it gave the mexican the chance he wanted. darting in, he repeated his trick for the third time. the bulky negro lay down, groaning. he had too little breath left to be dangerous. while this was going on tom reade had rolled over on his face. from this position he succeeded in getting to his knees. then he rose and hastened toward the mexican. "nicolas, you're surely a little terror!" reade admitted, admiringly. "now, untie my hands and we'll take care of sambo." "wait---jus' one leetle moment, senor," begged the mexican. he turned back to sambo, that forefinger ready for another jab. "fo' de lub ob goodness---" gasped sambo. but nicolas was determined. he made the jab, and sambo all but lost the little breath that was in him. "now, senor, we do it all in one second," proclaimed the mexican. from his pocket he drew a knife, springing the blade open. snip! snip! and the young engineer was free of his lashings. "there's plenty of this cord left," declared tom. "we'll fix up our black friend." "do not use that word, senor," implored nicolas. "he is _no_ good! he is scoundrel! he call me greaser, an' i will keeck off his head for eet!" "wait until we get him tied," tom proposed. sambo, by this time, had gained strength enough to sit up. he was wondering whether he could rise to his feet and sprint away from this dangerous little fury of a mexican. "wait, you black cloud!" cried nicolas. "i will put you down again!" "yo' get away from me---please do!" begged sambo, recoiling in terror. "sambo," laughed tom, "africa shouldn't have stirred up mexico as you did. now, lie down on your face, place your hands behind you, and i will persuade him to let you alone." sambo hesitated. "let me at him, senor!" begged nicolas, maneuvering forward, his right hand ready. "he is _no_ good, i tell you! but i feex him!" with a yell sambo ebony flopped over on his face, placing his hands behind his back. "let him alone, nicolas, as long as he minds," ordered reade, catching the excited mexican by the collar. "only, if he shows signs of making trouble then sail into him fast." no sign of trouble, however, was there in sambo. he lay as meek as a lamb while tom used a lot of the spare cord in taking sundry hitches around the negro's wrists. "i don't believe he'll get out of that," said reade grimly, "now, we'll fix his feet." this, too, was done, and sambo lay helpless on the ground. "you'll make a fine-looking jailbird, my friend," mocked tom, looking down at the prisoner. "nor did any man ever better deserve the striped suit that the state of alabama will present you. now, nicolas, i'll stay and watch this black treasure while you run and find help." "senor, you go yourself," begged the mexican. "the men will obey you more queeckly than they would me." "oh, you find some of the men and tell 'em to come here to get the fellow who has been blowing up the wall, and they'll come fast enough," smiled tom. "but, senor, suppose thees scoundrel free himself?" "i won't let him, nicolas." "but eef he do?" persisted the mexican. "then, as i have shown you, senor, i can take fine care of heem!" "there's something in that, too," laughed tom. "nicolas, i don't believe it will be risking you any if i leave you here. besides, i won't have to be gone very long." "if this black scoundrel he get restless, senor, i will amuse heem with my forefinger." sambo groaned; nicolas grinned. "all right," tom reade laughed. "i'll be back as soon as i can." away he raced at a dog-trot, chuckling. the contrast between bulky sambo and little nicolas and the big negro's comic fear of the slim little fellow kept reade laughing. "but where on earth did nicolas learn that trick?" tom wondered. "i shall have to get him to show it to me. plainly that trick is worth more than all the muscle that i spent so many years in piling on." tom headed his course for the shore end of the wall. here he would find men in abundance. moreover, now that the big black was a prisoner the men would hardly be needed on the wall. "i think i know just how sambo worked it, too," the engineer reflected, as he ran. "he swam out into the gulf, towing that little scow behind him. neither his black head nor the little scow would be seen far on the water on a dark night. sambo, when he got near enough, could take one of the metal tubes, swim in under water to some point where no watchman was near, and stick the tube fast into the wall. then another tube, and another---all under water where they would not show to a passing watchman. "then, when he had all in place, and while no patrolling watchman was too near, sambo could begin to attach the wires. that would take but a few minutes. whenever any one came too near sambo had but to swim out a little way and tread water until he could return to his job. when, at last, all was complete, sambo would attach a wire from the bombs to a wire moored at a stated point under water, and then swim in, work his magneto, and touch the whole thing off from a safe hiding place on shore. the explosion itself would shatter the last length of wire. oh, but it was all slick and easy!" not increasing his speed, but keeping steadily at the jog-trot, tom was at last near enough to the wall to raise his voice and shout. "hullo!" came back the answer. "this is reade, the chief engineer," tom answered, through the night. "we've caught the fellow that has been blowing up the wall. a half a dozen of you men hurry over here with your lanterns. come on the run." the man who had answered summoned several of his comrades as quickly as he could. as the men had to come in from the wall, however, it took a little time. then six men reported, almost breathless, to reade. still behind them came corbett on the run, summoned from the boat. "what's this i hear, mr. reade?" puffed the foreman. "you've solved the mystery and caught the fellow who has been dynamiting the wall?" "got him and he's tied up, waiting for his ride to jail," tom chuckled. "how did it happen, sir?" asked corbett, staring with his eyes very wide open. "i caught the fellow---a huge giant of a negro, the same fellow who got hazelton the other night," replied tom. "but before the fight was over the black 'got' me, instead, and had me tied up. then nicolas came along and put the negro out of the fight, and---" "nicolas?" demanded foreman corbett incredulously. "yes. nicolas proved himself to be the most fiery little bunch of fighting material that i have ever seen," laughed reade, as they walked rapidly along. "how could that mexican wallop a giant?" "i'll ask nicolas to show you, to-morrow," tom laughed mischievously. "but, corbett, i believe that four bombs are even now attached to some part of the retaining wall, ready to be set off. "great scott!" "they won't be set off, though," continued reade. "i found the firing magneto, and had a chance to cut the wires." the foreman wanted to ask more questions, while the half dozen workmen trudged along close at their heels, eager to hear every word. tom, however, suggested that they save their breath in the interest of speed, until they had mr. sambo ebony in safe custody. "here we come, nicolas!" tom called, as the party neared the spot where captor and captive had been left. there was no response. "nicolas!" tom called again, with a start. still no answer. "i don't like the look of that," reade uttered. "let's get there on the sprint!" tom himself caught at one of the lanterns, leading the way. neither the negro nor the mexican was where the young chief engineer had left them. feverishly, tom began to search the ground, holding his lantern close. "hang the luck!" he quivered, pointing to fragments of cord on the sand. "that negro simply burst his bonds---and now where is he? where is nicolas, for that matter? i thought the little fellow, with his trick, could easily take care of the big black." but, though they spread out and searched, there was no sign of either the negro or the little brown man. "i can't understand what has happened," quivered tom reade, thinking more of the staunch little mexican than of the loss of the prisoner. chapter xvi a test of real nerve "what an idiot i was not to stop to consider that sambo ebony could snap those cords!" groaned tom, staring disconcertedly about him. "yet, if nicolas were safe i wouldn't so much mind the escape of the black. i shall see him again, and i shall know him wherever i see him." "let's look for the trail," proposed foreman corbett, holding one of the lanterns close to the ground. the trail, however, was easy neither to distinguish nor to follow. "we may as well leave here and search farther," concluded the young engineer. "before we go, though, we'll get the magneto and take it with us." then the procession turned toward the land end of the retaining wall. "if nicolas doesn't show up soon," tom murmured to the foreman, "i shall notify the blixton police and offer a reward for news of him. that little fellow is too faithful to be left to his fate." "what would the negro want of nicolas?" queried the foreman. "revenge," tom replied. "it makes a big bully like him furious to be handled the way nicolas treated him. but i can't understand how nicolas failed to repeat his clever trick with the black." arrived at the water front the magneto was dumped into the motor boat. "seems to me i would smash that thing all to pieces," suggested foreman corbett. "it has done harm enough around this wall." "i don't believe in destroying anything that is useful," reade answered, shaking his head. "besides, we are going to capture sambo yet, and then we shall want that magneto for evidence." "what are you going to do to find nicolas?" corbett wanted to know. "i wish i had even an idea," tom sighed. "corbett, i wish you would hurry over to blixton and rout out the police. i've an idea that sambo may have a hiding place in the town. nicolas, too, may have been taken that way. i'll sit down and write out a good description of the rascal." this reade did, handing the paper to the foreman. "who'll take charge here? corbett asked. "i will, until you get back, but hurry." as soon as the foreman had gone tom stepped into the motor boat, taking the wheel. "tune up the engine, conlon," reade directed the engine tender. "i'm going to take a run around to the west side of the wall. i'm going to try to find the tubes of high explosive that i'm satisfied were planted in the wall." "that's a fine job for a dark night, sir," grumbled conlon. "suppose we run into the bombs, and they prove to be contact exploders, too?" "that's one of the risks of the business," tom retorted grimly. before the motor boat had gone far tom called one of the men aboard to take the wheel. then the young chief engineer began to experiment with the searchlight. "what's the idea, sir?" asked conlon, looking on. "i want to depress the light, so that we can use it to look down into the water." "and try to find the bombs?" "exactly," reade nodded. "lucky if we don't find the bombs with the keel of the boat," observed conlon. tom succeeded in rigging the light so that he could use it. by the time that the boat was around at the west side of the retaining wall tom ordered the boat in close alongside. then, with the depressed searchlight he discovered that he could see the sides of the wall to a depth of some eight feet under the surface. "that may be enough for our needs," reade murmured. "now, run the boat along, slowly and close. i want to scan every bit of the wall." less than five minutes later tom reade, one hand controlling the searchlight and peering steadily into the water, sang out: "stop! back her---slowly. there, come back five feet. so! hold her steady!" as the engine stopped conlon stepped forward, kneeling by reade's side. "there are the bombs, man!" cried tom exultantly. "see them---the two upper ones?" "i see something that gleams," admitted conlon. "well, we'll have them up and aboard in a hurry. then you'll see just what they are." "you're not going to try to raise the things with the boathook, are you?" queried the engine tender, a look of alarm in his eyes. "that might be risky," admitted reade. "i'll go over the side after them and bring them up. "don't, mr. reade!" urged conlon with a shiver. "that'll be worse still. you're likely to blow yourself into the next world!" "i think not---hope not, anyway," answered tom steadily. "have you a pair of pliers in your tool box that'll cut small wires?" "yes," replied conlon. "get them for me." reade removed his coat, shoes and socks, then took the pliers. "let one of the men jump ashore with the boathook and hold the boat steady," was reade's next direction. this being done, reade deflected the searchlight for one more look into the water. then, the pliers in his right hand, he mounted to the rail of the boat. "be careful, sir---do," begged conlon. "what i'm afraid of is that the bombs are contact exploders." "it's likely," nodded reade. "i'll be as careful as i can." tom did not dive; the distance was too short. instead, he let himself down into the water slowly. then his head vanished beneath the surface of the water. "whew! the nerve of that young fellow!", thought conlon with shuddering admiration. "ob co'se massa reade done got nerve," nodded the negro at the wheel. "dat's one reason why, misto conlon, massa reade is boss." "there are other reasons why he's boss," grunted the engine tender. "mr. reade has nerve, but he also has brains in his head. any man with brains and the sense to use 'em goes to the top, while i stay down a good deal lower, and you, rastus, are still lower." "ah reckon ah got a two-bit hat on top o' only two cents' wo'th o' brains, misto conlon," grinned the darkey. conlon was an irishman, and naturally, therefore, no coward. yet with the possibility that tom would run afoul of a contact-exploding bomb and send them all skyward, the engine tender waited at the rail with drawn breath. finally, there was a ripple on the water. then tom's head appeared; next his shoulders. "conlon!" "here, sir." "here is one of the bombs. handle it carefully." "trust me, sir." conlon drew the metal tube, with a piece of wire pendant from it, as carefully as though it had been a royal baby and heir to a throne. into the boat the engine tender lifted the thing, and laid it carefully in a locker. by the time that conlon was back at the rail reade had gone below again. "down dere, aftah mo' death!" grinned the darkey. a colored man can usually be brave when serving under a white leader in whom he has full confidence. presently tom came up with another metal tube, like the first. "i'll hang on and get my breath," tom informed the men in the boat, as he rested one hand on the rail. "the other two bombs are about three feet lower, and it's going to be hard to work at the lower depth." "be careful, won't you, sir?" urged conlon, in a somewhat awed voice. "mr. reade, we can't afford to lose you until this job is completed. men with all the nerve you show are scarce in the world." "i know where there are forty thousand men with at least as much nerve, many of them having several times as much as i," laughed tom. "where on earth are they?" demanded the irishman. "in the united states navy. if there were a battleship here the jackies would be fighting for the honor of going down after these bombs." then reade dropped out of sight, once more. nor was it long before he had the third and the fourth bombs aboard the boat. then he climbed in himself, dripping like a shaggy newfoundland dog. "put in at the dock now," the young chief ordered, and the boat started on its way. "some one signaling from the wall lower down," tom soon informed the negro pilot. "put in where you see the signaling." "it is i, corbett," called the foreman of that name. "mr. reade, these two men with me belong to the blixton police." "perhaps you had rather walk down to the dock, then, instead of getting into the boat," laughed reade. "we have four bombs aboard, just taken out of the wall above here." accordingly the three turned and walked. at the landing the policemen gazed curiously at the bombs. "do you want to take charge of these?" reade queried. "not particular about it," replied the policeman, with a shrug. "we'd be scorched for endangering the town if we took those things into blixton. your foreman, mr. reade, called us out here to see if we could get trail of your missing mexican servant." "that's a vastly more important thing to do," tom replied with enthusiasm. "i want to find nicolas before i do another thing." "come here, bill," called one of the officers. out of the shadows near the shore came a youth leading a dog on a leash. "this dog is a bloodhound," announced one of the policemen with visible pride. "take him to where the scent of the mexican starts, and the dog will follow as long as there's any scent left. but, first, we'll have to have something that the mexican has worn, so that the hound will know the true scent." "that will take but a few minutes," declared reade energetically. "come up to the house, and i'll find something that nicolas has worn." corbett remained behind to take care of the bombs. tom led the officers and the youth with the hound on a brisk walk up to the house. "wait out here," murmured tom, "and i'll bring something out. if we all go into the house we'll wake my partner, hazelton, and he has enough work to do in the daytime, without being kept up at night." while the others remained outside tom stole into the house. there was a room in the rear, off the kitchen, where nicolas slept. into that room reade stepped noiselessly. it was not necessary to strike a match, for, in the very faint light there, tom espied an object on the foot of the bed that he recognized---one of the mexican's white canvas shoes. tom snatched it up quickly. then, despite his steady nerves, he staggered back. chapter xvii tom makes an unexpected capture for an unearthly scream pierced the air. there was a wrench, a bounding figure---and then tom reade felt a jolt near his solar plexus that made him gasp. "stop that!" gasped the young chief engineer. "you, senor?" demanded an incredible, drowsy voice. "yes; it's i---reade." "a thousand pardons, senor!" "so this is you, nicolas?" "yes, senor." "what are you doing here?" "the negro got away from me." "i know that, but---" "i could not help it, senor. i assure you i was not careless." "i never knew you to be careless, nicolas." "thank you, senor. but i stood over that black scoundrel, watching for the slightest move on his part. i had my forefinger ready, and he did not dare move." "i can quite believe that," agreed tom, dryly, "after the poke you just gave me." "again a thousand pardons, senor, but in the dark, and awaking so suddenly, i did not see you or know you." "i can quite believe that, nicolas." "as i was saying, senor, i was watching over the black man when some one came up behind me---so softly that i did not hear. but i felt. _ah!_ what i felt! it was a fist that seemed to break in the top of my head. down i went, and i heard a voice. i knew that voice, too. so would you have known it, senor!" "whose voice was it?" asked tom, curiously. "the voice of evarts." "the discharged foreman?" "yes, senor. but i am delaying my story. while evarts was speaking i heard another sound. at one effort the negro snapped the cords that held him. ah, he is a powerful brute." "he is," tom affirmed solemnly. "i knew it was my task to keep the negro from getting away," continued the little mexican excitedly. "so i leaped up, extended my forefinger and rushed at him. but thees evarts---hees feest catch me between the eyes. i do not have to guess the spot where he struck me, senor, for i can feel it yet. down i went, and knew no more. when next i opened my eyes i found myself lying in the middle of a theecket of bushes. i theenk, perhaps, the scoundrels believed they had killed me, and so they hid my body. but i have fool' them. i am still alive---much alive!" "what did you do when you came to, nicolas?" "senor," protested the mexican, "there was no more need of me. you had gone after men. eef you came back, you have many men with you, so you do not need me. for that reason i come home." even in the dark the young engineer could "feel" nicolas's shudder. tom could not repress a smile that threatened to become a chuckle. "i was varee sleepy," continued nicolas, "and so i lay down. i forgot to undress, or even to take off my shoes. i fall asleep, and i dream much. i see the big negro again, and i dream that i have more fight with heem. then, when you pull my foot, i wake up in one gr-rand sweat, for i theenk the big black attack me once more. i am glad---so glad that it is not true." "nicolas," cried tom, "you have done fighting enough for one night. yet tell me, how did you happen to be at hand to-night in time to save me from mr. sambo ebony?" "because i see you start away to-night," replied nicolas, "an' i see that you go alone. i know that you mos' likely run into trouble, an' so i follow you. sure enough, senor, you find trouble---and i heet heem with my finger!" "you surely did 'hit him with your finger,' nicolas," laughed tom, grasping the little mexican's hand and wringing it. "but now come outside. i had sent for the police to find you, and now i must show them that you are already found." together they went out on the porch. tom explained the situation. "then you don't need us, after all?" asked one of the policemen. "not to find nicolas," tom reade admitted. "but do you know evarts?" "used to be your foreman?" "yes." "we know him," nodded the policeman. "then," reade continued, "i wish you would search through blixton for him. if you find him, be good enough to lock him up and notify me." "is there a warrant out against him?" asked one of the policemen, cautiously. "you don't need one," tom replied. "i will make a charge of felony against evarts, to the effect that he is concerned in the outrages against our wall. on a felony charge you don't need a warrant. then, too, try to find the big negro." "what's his name?" "i don't know his name," tom answered. "i've dubbed him 'sambo ebony.' you have the description of him that i wrote out. arrest sambo, by all means, if you can find him, and i'll make a felony charge against him, too. the negro is the one who has been blowing up the sea wall." "we'll look for the pair all through the town, mr. reade," promised the officers. "do! and, on behalf of the company, i'll offer a two-hundred dollar reward for the arrest of each man!" with that prospect to spur them on the policemen hastened away, followed by the young man with the bloodhound. "now, nicolas," pressed reade, turning around at the faithful little brown man, "you tumble back into bed." "but you, senor?" "don't worry about me. i've probably done all i need to do to-night. i shall probably sit here on the porch and think until daylight. then i'll call hazelton, and go to bed for a few hours' sleep before i appear in court against the gamblers and the bootleggers. go to bed, nicolas, and sleep! that's an order, remember!" the mexican therefore went to his bedroom without protest. presently reade became aware of the fact that his clothing had not by any means fully dried. he went to his room, took a vigorous rub-down, donned dry clothing, and then went out on the porch. though the night was dark the air was delicious. the combined odors of many flowers came in on the faintly stirring breeze. tom leaned back in a chair, his feet on the porch railing. his senses lulled by the quiet and repose of the night he was in danger of falling asleep. of a sudden he came to with a start. off among the trees to the eastward, near the road, a human being was stirring. reade rose, moving swiftly back more into the shadow. then he watched, every sense alert. yes; some one was moving, out there amid the trees. what he could not see, tom discovered by his acute sense of hearing. "i'll put a hot pebble in that fellow's bonnet, whoever he is!" tom muttered vengefully. entering the house, he left at the rear, then made a stealthy, roundabout trip that brought him at the farther edge of the litte grove of trees. now the young engineer crouched close to the ground as he listened. once more he heard that some one moving, not many yards away. it was pitch-black in there amid the trees. guided by his ears, tom moved closer and closer without making a betraying sound. suddenly he found the tall figure looming up almost in his path. "now, i've got you!" cried tom exultantly, making a bound that should have carried his hands to the throat of the prowler. but the other, like a flash, went on the defensive. tom felt himself parried, then clutched at. the next instant the prowler had the young engineer in a tackle that carried tom reade back to the good old high school days at home. the young engineer was dumped on the ground as though he had been a sack of flour. "great scott!" quivered tom reade. "no one but dick prescott ever had that tackle down fine!" "well, you blithering idiot!" came the indignant answer. "that's who i am---prescott!" chapter xviii the army "on the job" "you, dick?" gasped tom, stumbling ruefully to his feet. then he leaped at his late foe, throwing his arms around him. the two fairly hugged each other, yes; here was dick prescott, not so many weeks a graduate of the military academy at west point, and now, if you please, second lieutenant richard prescott, united states army! "well, of all the strange things that the illinois central railroad brings into alabama!" grunted tom, now gripping dick by the hand and holding on as though he never meant to let go. "if the illinois central had built its tracks through to blixton i probably would have arrived at a civilized hour," laughed dick. "as it was, i had to come in on a wood-burning, backwoods road and the train was only five hours and a half behind schedule. then, from a sleepy policeman i got directions that enabled me to find this place after an hour's hard work." to what effect? only to be pounced upon by you as though you had caught me in the act of stealing all the water in the gulf of mexico!" "stop your roasting," laughed tom joyfully. "but say, it _does_ seem good to set eyes on you again, after two years." all of our readers who have read the "_high school boys series_" and the "_west point series_" know all about dick prescott, the famous leader of dick & co. "what are you now?" tom asked eagerly. "a general, or only a colonel?" "nothing but a shavetail," laughed dick. "shavetail is the army nickname for a second lieutenant." "i've got to join my regiment, the thirty-fourth infantry, out in colorado very soon," continued prescott. "but i came down here to spend a few days with you, if you can stand me." "if we can stand you!" chuckled tom, patting his old high school chum on the back. "say, where's greg?" greg holmes had been another member of dick & co., and dick's chum and comrade at west point. "well, you see," laughed lieutenant prescott, "greg has been falling in love with six girls a year regularly ever since he entered west point. now that he's in the army he has started in to increase the yearly average. he's visiting a miss deering, who lives near chicago." "greg's likely never to marry," wisely remarked tom. "these fellows who catch a new love fever every few weeks always end up by finding that no girl wants them. but say, dick you hardly look the soldier." "why not?" "well, one would expect to see an army officer in uniform, you know." "an officer rarely travels in uniform, unless on duty with troops," explained dick. "how did you like west point?" "fine!" said dick, grimly. "it was like four years in prison, only more so. when i look back i shudder at the incessant grind i had to endure there. yet i'm going to be happy, now i'm through, for i couldn't be happy anywhere except in the united states army." "what crazy notions some folks have of happiness," murmured tom, mockingly. "however, old fellow, we're not going to fight, are we? now, hustle over to the house. harry is sleeping at the present moment, but i won't let him have a wink more of sleep to-night. it's getting toward daylight, anyway, and too much sleep isn't good for a fellow. but don't talk above a whisper, dick, when we get near the house. i don't want harry, by any chance, to catch a sound of your voice until he comes out on the porch and runs into you." chatting away in low tones the two old-time high school chums gained the porch. "now, just stay here," whispered tom, then strode into the house. he entered his partner's room, gripping the slumber-seized hazelton with a strong clasp. "oh, quit your fooling!" protested a sleepy voice from the pillow. "time to get up, you slant-eyed rations stealer!" muttered tom gruffly. "come on. you're needed, and there's no time to be lost. up with you!" tom dragged his drowsy partner from the bed, seating him on the edge of it. "now, shed your pajamas and pull on something decent," reade commanded grimly. "hustle! there's a conference going on outside, and you're wanted. hurry! want me to dump the pitcher of water on you? i'll do it if you give your eyes another rub!" hazelton was now fully convinced that something important was in the air. if not, he knew that his chum never would have hauled him out of bed in the darkest hours of the night. "if you throw any water i'll shave you with the bread-knife," retorted harry. "but you can keep on talking to me, so that i won't fall asleep while i'm trying to dress." slowly, at first, then more rapidly, hazelton got his clothes on. pouring water into the basin he sopped a towel in it, then liberally applied it to his face. the water waked him rapidly. "now, lead me forth to where duty calls," mimicked harry. "run along out on to the porch," ordered tom. "i'll be there in a moment." still yawning, hazelton groped his way out into the hall, along the dark passage, and thence out into the night. some one stood there, and harry walked curiously toward him. "howdy, whoever you are," was hazelton's greeting. "halloo, harry, old chum," came dick prescott's laughing answer. "dick prescott!" gasped harry delightedly. "i suppose you think i might have waited until daylight," laughed dick, as their hands met. "i'm heartily glad you didn't wait," said harry. "how long can you stay with us?" "not as long as i'd like to, for i'm due at fort clowdry in a very few days." "and greg?" lieutenant prescott gave the same explanation he had furnished tom. "how does it seem to be an army officer?" harry continued. "i believe it to be the finest career on earth," prescott answered. "still, as you can guess, i'm utterly without experience so far. after a few days more i shall have my first day as an officer on duty with troops. but do you and tom continue to find engineering the grandest career on earth?" "we certainly do," affirmed hazelton. "it must be very interesting," agreed dick. "still, i imagine there is yet enough of the primitive savage in the average man to make him enjoy a real fight once in a while. that's an experience you're denied in your calling, but an army officer may always look forward to the chance of seeing a little fighting." hazelton glanced humorously at his partner before he replied: "at present there's a very good chance of a fight right here at this camp." "so?" dick prescott asked, sitting up with a look of interest. "not so much chance as there was," said tom gravely. "the fight came off to-night. harry, i met the big black---caught him redhanded." "you did?" cried hazelton, leaping up. "and you never called me?" "there wasn't any chance," tom assured him. "the meeting and the fight didn't take place on this porch." tom now had two very interested auditors. for prescott's benefit reade first sketched a brief outline of the troubles that had led up to the present, including an account of the wrecking of substantial portions of the retaining wall. then he came down to the events of the night. "oh, and i had to miss it," sighed harry, disappointedly. "i'd have missed a week of sleep just to have been in to-night's doings. and, if i had been with you, tom, we'd now have mr. sambo ebony in jail." "i think we've blocked the black rascal's game on the wall, anyway," said tom. "there's just a fair chance that you haven't yet blocked it," remarked the young army officer thoughtfully. "of course this sambo of yours merely represents a well-organized gang. this gang may have more ways than one of damaging the property of the melliston company. from all i can see, tom and harry, you're likely to need to be more vigilant than ever. whew! but i'm glad that i can be with you a few days. i'm likely to come in for a choice lot of excitement. also, i may very likely be able to help out a lot." "we wouldn't put you to that trouble, dick," protested tom. "you're to be our guest---not our policeman." "are you going to try to keep me out of all the excitement and fun?" lieutenant dick demanded, indignantly. "sleep? can't i get enough of that when i go aboard a pullman again and am riding out to colorado? of course i'm going to help---and i'm going to have my share of all the opportunities for excitement here---or else i'm going to cut your acquaintance." "why, of course we'll be delighted to have your help, dick, if you want to stand the racket," reade made haste to say. "it will surely seem like doubling---or trebling---our forces, to have dick prescott working hand in hand with us." "then that's settled," cried dick, with an air of satisfaction. "you haven't had any sleep lately, have you, dick?" inquired tom, after they had chatted a little longer. "no; i haven't." "then you must turn in and get a few hours," proposed reade. "i must have a little myself, as i shall have to be up and go into court during the coming forenoon." "i'm wide awake now," said harry. "so i'll sit right here on the porch and dream of dick and greg, and good old dave darrin and danny dalzell, and the good times we had in old gridley. what time do you want to be up, tom?" "not later than eight," reade answered. "trust me," said harry promptly. harry went to his own bedroom, pulled his bed apart, remade it with fresh linen, and with a final grip of dick's hand, he left the army officer to turn in there. at eight o'clock hazelton called both tom and dick. they turned out promptly, to find that nicolas had laid an appetizing breakfast on the porch. then tom had to hurry over to blixton, dick going with him, while hazelton went down to the breakwater to superintend the day's work there. only a little time had to be spent in the justice's stuffy court. hawkins and his fellow gamblers and bootleggers were arraigned and held in one thousand dollars' bail each for trial. as none of them had the money the eight men were sent to the county jail pending trial. "that's queer," mused tom, aloud, as he and dick walked back to camp. "you'd think that professional gamblers would have money enough to put up small bail." "not if they're working for other people," suggested dick. "these men may be merely the agents of some larger crowd." "meaning that the larger crowd may be a sort of vice trust, operating in many fields at the same time?" queried reade. "something of the sort," replied the young army officer. "to-day nearly everything has been capitalized on a large scale of combined capital. why shouldn't vice be?" "i begin to think you're more than half right in your guess," tom admitted. "your explanation is about the only way to account for a fellow like hawkins not having a thousand at his instant disposal. however, if these fellows represent a vice trust, then i suppose it will be a question of only a little time when the trust sends down money enough to put up the needed bail." "that will undoubtedly happen," nodded dick. "and then you'll have to look out for that fellow, hawkins, and all the men he can command. hawkins looked at you, in court, as though he'd enjoy pulverizing you." "i'm ready, when he is," laughed tom. "if he'd only fight in the open i wouldn't be at all afraid of him." tom now led the way down to the retaining wall. prescott gazed with great interest at the signs of activity. on a closer inspection he was even more interested. he was capable of understanding very fully what was being done here, for every graduate of the united states military academy is supposed to be a capable engineer. "you've a difficult task on hand, but your basic principle is sound, and you're doing the work finely and economically," dick declared with emphasis. harry came in from the outer end of the wall and joined them. he listened with pride to the praises that the army officer showered on the engineers. "i wish mr. bascomb, the president of the company, could hear you," said harry. "he isn't altogether sure that we know what we're about in anything that we're doing." "then i've a very good mental picture of bascomb," declared dick, bluntly. "bascomb is something of a chump. by the way, if you want to get square with mr. bascomb, why don't you coax him down here to help you look out for the evil-doers who are combined against you?" "he wouldn't be much use," sighed tom. "he's an impossible sort of chap. he wanted us to stop our crusade against camp vice. said it was hurting business." "what craft is that?" inquired dick, looking toward a sailboat that was moving lazily along about a half-mile to the eastward. "i don't know," tom answered, after a look. "never saw the boat before. regular cabin cruiser, isn't she, about forty feet long?" "about that," nodded dick. "what interested me in her was the fact that a fellow on board has been watching us with a marine glass. i caught the glint of the sun on the lenses." "why should he want to be watching us?" demanded hazelton. "that's just what made me curious," replied prescott. "as an army officer, if this were a fort that i commanded in troublous times, i'd want to look into any strange craft that i caught cruising lazily in the offing and holding a marine glass on us." "i wonder if that boat can be in the service of those who are annoying us?" tom muttered. "it's an even chance that it is a 'hostile ship,'" prescott suggested. "you have a motor boat here. i'm inclined to think you ought to use it in overhauling that suspicious craft. of course you'd have no right unless there was a police officer along. can you get one?" "the authorities in blixton would send a policeman on request." "then send a messenger to request them to send over a policeman in citizen's clothes," proposed dick. tom promptly despatched foreman dill on that errand. "now don't let the men on the boat see that you're paying any more attention," prescott advised. "leave it to me, and i'll contrive to keep the boat and its people under observation without looking too plainly in their direction." in due time the plain clothes policeman arrived. he, the young engineers and the army lieutenant boarded the "morton," which put out from the landing as though on a trip of inspection of the wall. "don't anyone look over at the sloop," prescott urged. "i'll do the watching. a fellow on that craft is holding the glasses on us right now. officer, do you demand the assistance of all present in any police duty that may come up?" "i do," replied the blixton policeman, a man named carnes, returning prescott's wink. "all right, then," laughed dick. "that demand makes policemen of us all. tom, you can turn, now, when ready, and put on full speed in going after that craft." reade gave the order for full speed, then took the steering wheel himself. "guilty conscience!" laughed prescott. "there's the sloop putting about at once and heading away from us." "they can't get away from us, in this light wind," chuckled the young chief engineer. a few minutes later the "morton" came up within easy hailing distance of the sloop, aboard which only one man now appeared. "sloop ahoy!" called the policeman. "what are you doing in these waters?" "looking for a good fishing ground," answered the dark-faced man at the tiller. "then you're too far in by some three miles," answered the policeman. "thank you, cap'n," acknowledged the sailing master of the sloop. "you're welcome," the policeman continued, "but ease off your sheet and lay to. we want to come aboard." "you can't!" flatly retorted the skipper. "you're wrong there," retorted the policeman. "this is a police party, and i tell you that we are coming aboard. lay to, or we shall have to start a lot of trouble for you." in the policeman's hand suddenly glistened a revolver. tom ran the motor boat close alongside. with a snarl the man left off his sheet. the policeman and dick prescott leaped aboard the craft, tom and harry following. "this is a cheeky outrage!" snarled the skipper, scowling at the invaders. "then keep the change, and welcome," laughed the policeman, taking his stand close to the skipper. dick prescott made a dive at the cabin door, which was closed. "open this door!" he summoned. as the door did not open dick placed his shoulder against it. "open the door, or i'll break it down," dick insisted. there was still no answer. thereupon prescott proceeded to put his threat into execution. harry bounded forward to help. under their combined assault the door gave way. lieutenant prescott was the first to enter the dark little cabin. poor as the light was his eyes caught sight of something that made him gasp. "this is the big capture of the season!" cried dick jubilantly. chapter xix a new mystery peeps in "get out of here, or you'll get something you don't want," roared an ugly voice at the farther end of the cabin. at sound of that voice tom reade started. he thrust his head in the open doorway. "hullo, evarts!" called the young chief engineer. "get out of here!" came the furious order. "so you've openly joined the enemy, evarts?" demanded tom, as his eyes fell upon the object that had first claimed lieutenant dick prescott's attention. "you've no business here! get out, or i'll shoot," cried evarts, defiantly. "don't be too quick on the shoot," warned the blixton policeman, who still had his own revolver in his hand. "this is a police party, and you're under arrest. start any shooting trouble, and the air will be full of it." "clear out, and i'll come outside and talk with you," proposed evarts, for it really was the discharged foreman. "all right," nodded the policeman. "gentlemen, let him step outside." the others left the entrance to the cabin, as evarts, his pistol now back in his pocket, stepped sullenly outside, harry hazelton dropped back into the doorway. "glad to meet you, mr. evarts," grinned the police officer, deftly slipping handcuffs on the fellow's wrists. "this is treachery!" stormed the prisoner. "i didn't surrender to you. i only came out to talk with you." "if you didn't surrender, then excuse me, and go ahead and put up a fight," laughed the policeman, handily removing evarts's revolver from a hip pocket. "now, look in here, tom," urged dick. "do you see what caught my eye?" prescott pointed to a sharp-nosed cylinder, some eight feet long. just as it lay the propeller at the other end was invisible to one at the doorway of the cabin. "it's a home-made imitation of a whitehead torpedo," lieutenant dick went on, in explanation. "if it proves to be charged with explosives then the mere having of it aboard this sloop will prove embarrassing to these two prisoners to explain in court. if it isn't loaded, that will be almost as bad, as such a torpedo can be rather easily loaded, and then set in operation by clock-work machinery that will control the propeller." "young man, you seem to think you know a good deal about torpedoes," sneered evarts. "he ought to," harry retorted quietly. "he's a west point man and an army officer. therefore, he's a specialist in some kinds of explosives." evarts's face turned somewhat paler at this information of having an army officer on hand as a witness. "do you call me a prisoner, too?" asked the man at the tiller uneasily. "something like it, i guess," nodded dick. "say, but that's a pretty rank deal against an honest man," protested the skipper hoarsely. "i hired this boat out to that man, the one you call evarts, but i didn't know what he was up to." "you didn't know that torpedoes are used for wicked work either, eh?" pressed lieutenant dick. "i'll swear that i didn't know what it was that he brought on board," cried the skipper. "evarts said it was a new device for killing fish at wholesale." "you may be telling the truth," tom broke in. "i am," declared the skipper eagerly. "then explain it to the court," reade continued. "if you can prove to a judge and a jury that you're an honest man, and always have been one, you may get off on the charge that will be made against you." "then you don't believe me?" asked the skipper anxiously. "it isn't for me to say," tom replied crisply. "it's a job for a judge and a jury." "then i'm to be a prisoner?" "that's for the policeman here to say." "you're a prisoner, my man," nodded the policeman. "now, sail your boat into the landing over yonder." "some one else will sail it," retorted the skipper, angrily, as he abandoned his tiller. "i'll take the tiller," harry suggested, and did so. he hauled in the sheet, brought the boat around and headed for the landing with the skill of an old sailor. "my man, since you don't want to sail the boat you'll have to go as a real prisoner," announced the policeman. he produced a pair of handcuffs, snapping them over the man's wrists. in a short time harry brought the sailboat up to the landing. the motor boat had followed, but did not come all the way in. after the sail had been lowered and made snug the party took up its way, on foot, to the nearby town of blixton. justice sampson was found, and consented to open court immediately. officer carnes brought his prisoners forward, stating the charge. the young engineers and the army officer gave their testimony. "the prisoners are held for trial, and bail fixed at five thousand dollars in each case," decided the court. the torpedo had been left on the sloop, in charge of a foreman. the justice now ordered two officers to go back and bring over the torpedo, which was to be held until a chemist could examine and take samples of whatever explosive might be found inside. as dick was a united states army officer, under orders to proceed to his post within the next few days, the court reduced his testimony to writing, and permitted prescott to sign this under oath. it had been a busy forenoon. now it was time for luncheon, and the three chums returned to the house to eat. in the afternoon they visited the wall, remaining there until four o'clock. on their return to the house tom and harry were greeted by mr. prenter, who had been waiting for them. "i heard the news of last night's doings, and to-day's, and came right down," explained the treasurer of the melliston company. "reade, i'm glad to be able to say that you appear to have brought us to the end of the explosion troubles." "or else we're just starting with that trouble," reade smiled wistfully. "mr. prenter, i must say that there appears to be no end to the surprises with which our enemies are capable of supplying us." tom then nodded to dick to come forward and presented him to the treasurer. "an army officer?" asked mr. prenter eagerly. "then i'm doubly glad to meet you, mr. prescott. you've seen the breakwater work? as an army officer and an engineer what do you think of it?" "it's great!" said dick, though he added laughingly: "reade and hazelton are such dear old friends of mine that any testimony in their favor is likely to be charged to friendship." "i'll believe what an army officer says, even in praise of his best friends," smiled mr. prenter. foreman johnson, who had been over in town, now came along. he halted some distance away, beckoning to reade. "mr. reade," murmured the foreman, in an undertone, "over in blixton i just heard some news that i thought would interest you. evarts is out on bail." "he furnished a five thousand surety?" queried tom. "yes, sir, and who do you suppose went on his bond?" "i can't imagine who the idiot is." "the man who signed evarts's bond," continued foreman johnson solemnly, "was mr. bascomb, president of this company!" "whew!" muttered tom aghast. "and that's all i've got to say on this subject." "i thought you'd like to know the news," remarked johnson, "and so i came to tell you." "please accept my thanks," tom answered. then, as the foreman passed along, reade went back to his friends. "you seem staggered about something," remarked mr. prenter, eyeing him keenly. "possibly i am," admitted tom. "evarts is out on bail." "now, what fool or rogue could have signed that fellow's bail bond?" demanded mr. prenter in exasperation. "careful, sir!" warned tom smilingly. "i've just been informed that the bail bond was signed by mr. bascomb, president of the melliston company." "well, of all the crazy notions!" gasped mr. prenter. "but there! i won't say more. bascomb is a queer fellow in some things, but he's a good fellow in lots of things, and a square, honest man in all things. if he signed evarts's bond, there was a reason, and not a dishonest one." "but evarts won't behave," predicted harry dismally. "after all our trouble we shall still have to remain on guard night and day." "it'll be an airship next," laughed dick prescott. "unless sambo ebony comes forward once more, and finds out how to lay wires by a new submarine route," retorted tom reade. all the present company felt unaccountably gloomy just at this moment. there could be no guessing what would occur next to hamper or destroy the fruits of their hard labor. chapter xx a secret in sight "mr. prenter," asked tom suddenly, "is there anything about which you wish to see me just now?" "not particularly," replied the treasurer. "only, in view of late developments i'm going to remain about for the next few days, unless you order me out of the house. i want to be close to the trouble." "then, if i'm not needed," gaped reade, "i'm going to turn in and steal a little sleep. i need rest." "as i'm going to stay up to-night, tom, and keep you company through the dark hours, i'm for the bale of lint, too," announced lieutenant prescott. "at what hour shall i call you?" asked harry. "at eight o'clock to-night," answered tom. refreshed by a few hours' sleep tom and dick were called, to find their supper ready. nicolas stood behind their chairs, attentive to their needs. mr. prenter remained out on the porch, but harry sat at table with his friends. "has mr. bascomb put in an appearance here?" tom inquired. "no," said hazelton briefly. "he certainly has wound up my curiosity," murmured tom. "why on earth should he bail out evarts?" "probably because evarts asked him to," suggested dick. "but why should he want to please evarts in such a matter?" "well, you know," hinted harry, "we've heard that evarts is some sort of relative to mr. bascomb." "but the rascal has been working to ruin this company," tom protested, "and mr. bascomb is the trusted president of the company." "yet _is_ mr. bascomb really fit to be trusted?" prescott propounded. "mr. prenter seems to think so, and he is a capable judge of men," tom rejoined. "it is the combination of all these circumstances taken together that makes me so curious over mr. bascomb's being willing to bail the fellow." "oh, well, it's too much of a puzzle for us," said harry, shrugging his shoulders. "all we've got to do is to keep our eyes open and faithfully guard the property that is entrusted to our care. however, i'm growing sour and sore. here i've got to go to bed presently, and you and dick are going to be prowling about all night. you'll have all the excitement, while i'll be in bed." "you seem to forget," tom reminded him, "that the last big excitement took place in the daytime, during your shift. dick and i may have a lazy night, and you may have the air full of wreckage to-morrow in broad daylight." they chatted a little while with mr. prenter, outside, and then dick rose at tom's signal. "we must be starting," said reade. "i don't know just what we're going to do to-night, but we have miles to cover i'm afraid." "being an army officer, dick, you've got a pistol, of course," suggested harry hopefully. "i've a brace of them," nodded the army man. "good!" cheered harry. "but both of them, unloaded at that, are in my trunks at mobile," laughed dick, whereat tom chuckled. harry hazelton was much inclined to want to carry a pistol in times of danger, but tom didn't believe in any such habit. "i thought soldiers went armed," muttered hazelton ruefully. "only when on duty," dick informed him. nicolas wistfully watched reade out of sight. the mexican had been ordered to remain at home to-night, and on no account to think of following his employer. that didn't at all agree with the faithful fellow's wishes. "they'll be sure to get into some trouble, senor hazelton," nicolas said mournfully. "i should be on their flank, watching over them." "you don't know gridley boys," laughed harry, "if you don't understand that dick prescott and tom reade, together, are a hard team to beat." in the meantime tom led the way down to the camp of workmen. reade stopped to speak with one of his reliable negroes, whom he found softly strumming a banjo under a tree. "are there any visitors in camp to-night who shouldn't be here?" asked tom. "i doan' beliebe so, boss," replied the colored man. "dem gamblers an' bootleggers ain' done got bail yet, has they, sah?" "i don't believe they have," replied tom. "there are no others of their kind here, then?" "i doan' beliebe so, sah." tom and dick strolled through the camp, but all was quiet there. many of the men were outside their shacks or tents, smoking and waiting for turning-in time to come. "looks as orderly as a camp-meeting," declared lieutenant prescott. "i'm glad to see, tom, that you're for the decent camp every time." "the decent camp is the only kind that contains efficient workmen for engineering jobs," reade answered dryly. presently they strolled out of camp, on the farther side. this was what the young engineer really wanted to do---to vanish suddenly, in a fashion that would not be likely to be noted by hostile eyes. now reade and his army chum proceeded softly, and without words. through the deep woods tom was heading for the spot where he had found the magneto. sambo ebony was at large, and tom believed that other things than the magneto had been concealed at this spot. if sambo intended any further assaults on the retaining wall he would be quite likely to come this way. so here tom reade was resolved to remain and watch, even if he had to put in most of the night there. behind some bushes he and dick found a hiding place looking out upon the scene of the late conflict with "mr. ebony." without even whispered conversation time dragged slowly. more than an hour dragged by, and both watchers were beginning to feel decidedly bored. at last, however, footsteps came that way. both watchers crouched lower and waited. the new-comer approached the place rather uncertainly. at last, however, he stood revealed. tom reade felt like yelling in his utter astonishment. for president bascomb, of the melliston company, now stood before them. after a glance about mr. bascomb walked slowly up and down, as though he were waiting for some one. dick, of course, did not know mr. bascomb. however, as tom kept silent the young soldier did the same. "what on earth can bascomb be doing here?" tom wondered. "is he, too, one of the conspirators? it is unbelievable! yet with what speed he obeyed evarts's summons to come and bail him out! it makes me feel like a sneak to be here spying on the president of the company that employs me---and yet there's something here that certainly must be looked into!" fifteen minutes more dragged by, with mr. bascomb walking impatiently back and forth, occasionally heaving a deep sigh or catching at his breath. "our worthy president is much excited, at any rate," reade said to himself. finally steps were heard, both by bascomb and by the pair who watched him. then another man came upon the scene. "evarts, why on earth did you send for me?" demanded mr. bascomb, as the discharged foreman came up. "because i knew you'd be here---you don't dare do otherwise," was the sneering reply. "try not to be impudent about it," advised mr. bascomb mildly. "as you may remember, i've had to stand a lot from you." "and not as much as you might have to stand, either, if i took it into my head to make matters lively for you," jeered evarts harshly. "remember, man, you'll do as i want you to do." "i'm willing to do what i can for you," replied the president. "but---" "now, don't throw any of your 'buts' at me," broke in the discharged foreman, roughly. "you failed me in one thing---you didn't make reade take me back on the job, as i told you to do." "i couldn't," pleaded mr. bascomb. "prenter stood with reade and was against me." "you're the president of the company, aren't you?" evarts demanded sullenly. "yes; but prenter is a bigger man in the company, and he has more influence with the board of directors. if prenter came out against me, and persuaded the other directors that i was a bad asset for the company, they'd act on prenter's suggestion and remove me from the presidency." "humph!" jeered evarts. "then what would your directors do if they knew that---." "stop!" begged mr. bascomb hoarsely, "don't say a word further, man! sometimes even the leaves on the trees have ears. don't breathe a word of what you were going to say just now." even in the dark the two concealed watchers could see that bascomb was glancing about him nervously. "now, what is up?" gasped tom inwardly. "what part has mr. bascomb been playing in this mystery that he's so afraid of having become public?" chapter xxi evarts hears a noise "i won't shut up," proclaimed evarts. "i don't care who hears me." "but i care," protested the president, in a trembling voice. "then you'll have to reward me for whatever silence you want," snarled the wretch. "is this blackmail never to cease?" groaned mr. bascomb. "yes, when you've used me right," declared evarts harshly. "didn't i come forward promptly on your bail?" demanded mr. bascomb. "sure, for you didn't dare do otherwise. but that only gave me liberty. it didn't put any money in my pocket." "are you going to jump your bail, and leave me to pay the bond?" asked bascomb. "perhaps," said evarts lightly. "you can stand losing the money." "i suppose so." "but when i jump," continued evarts, "i'll have to stay out of the country after that. it'll take money---and you'll have to furnish me with it." "how much?" "well," continued the foreman, craftily, "i wouldn't leave the country with less than enough to set me up elsewhere. i'd need---well, let me see. i couldn't start in a new country on less than ten thousand dollars." "that would make fifteen thousand dollars, in all." mr. bascomb finished his remark with a groan. "well, what are you howling about?" demanded evarts unfeelingly. "you've got the money." "it will lower my holdings in the melliston company," complained mr. bascomb bitterly "i'm not a rich man, and i haven't any too much stock in the company at the present moment." "you'd have to sell it all out, if i gave the directors a chance to find out that you're a jailbird---that you did time as a younger man," sneered evarts. "for goodness' sake hold your tongue, man!" gasped mr. bascomb in accents of terror. "just think," grinned evarts heartlessly, "how delighted your directors would be to know that you had done time in prison." "silence, man!" implored bascomb. "it wasn't altogether my fault, as you know. and the governor of the state discovered that i wasn't as bad as the jury thought me. it all came through trying to help a worthless friend. why, man, the governor pardoned me, when i had yet two years to serve and restored me to liberty." "but you're a jailbird, just the same," jeered the discharged foreman. "let the directors find _that_ out, and how quickly they'd drop you from your office!" mr. bascomb buried his face in his hands and sobbed aloud. "so," continued evarts, "i'll give you forty-eight hours to raise the ten thousand dollars---in good cash, mind you---no checks! then i'll call on you to hand the money over to me. if you don't, i'll write a note to the directors, telling them to look up your name in the court records at logville, minnesota. now, do you understand?" "yes," nodded mr. bascomb brokenly. "and you'll have the money?" "i---i'll try." "you'll have the money---by day after tomorrow!" "yes." "now clear out---fast!" "eh?" inquired mr. bascomb, looking wildly at the wretch. "get out! go back to the hotel in blixton, and don't try to slip away from me at any point in the game. start---now!" "good night!" said president bascomb in a choking voice. "oh, cut out the civilities!" grunted evarts turning on his heel. mr. bascomb then silently left the spot. his footfalls made so little noise that their sound was soon lost to dick and tom. evarts appeared in no hurry to leave. on the contrary he drew out a pipe, filled it and lighted it. then he threw himself down on the ground, puffing slowly. "from the fact that he sent mr. bascomb away, and is himself remaining," thought tom reade, "it is rather plain that this scoundrel, evarts, is awaiting some one else." the same thought had occurred to dick prescott, though, as they lay within thirty feet of where evarts reclined on the ground, the chums did not deem it wise to exchange even whispers. after another half-hour dick pressed tom's arm. other footsteps were now near. then mr. sambo ebony slouched on to the scene. "hullo, tar!" was the ex-foreman's careless greeting. "now, doan' get too prescrumptious wid me," warned the black man, with an evil grin that displayed his big, white teeth. "yo' an' me hab done been good frien's, an' pulled togedder. but ah want yo' to undahstan', mr. white man, dat i doan' allow yo' to call me tar baby." "oh, come, now, don't get huffy," yawned evarts, who had not taken the trouble to rise. "i'm not afraid of you, tar." "stop dat!" cried the black angrily. "yo's takin' big chances, yo' is." "you're big and powerful, i know that," grinned evarts. "but i have something with me that makes me just the same size as you are, or perhaps a little bigger. see this!" the ex-foreman drew from one of his pockets a formidable-looking automatic revolver. "huh!" grunted the negro, producing a similar pistol, "yo' ain' no bettah fixed dan ah be." "we're quits," laughed evarts easily, returning his weapon to his pocket. "put up your rain-maker." "den yo' won't call me tar baby no mo?" "no more." "all right, den." ebony put up his weapon. "now, what's the programme?" asked evarts. "you've seen the leader?" "yah. ah's done see de right man. de orders am simple." "what are they?" "misto reade am to be killed de fust time he show himself," declared sambo ebony. "he to be shot down ez soon ez ah can lay eyes on him. maybe ah have to shoot from ambush, but in any case he must be daid befo' de sun go down to-morrow. our big men am tired to def dat massa reade stop do men from havin' a little liquor and playin' cairds evenin's." "fine!" thought tom, with a start. "if sambo knew how close i am he'd carry out his orders right now! he has his pistol with him." "an' den, if dey's any fuss made," the black went on, "misto hazelton, he done gottah go nex'. maybe ah get cotch' w'en i do fo' misto reade. ef dat happen, den dere's anodder man ready to do fo' misto hazelton." "and maybe the second man will get caught, too," suggested evarts. "then there'll be two of you with nooses around your necks." "we maybe get cotch', an' put in de jail," smirked sambo ebony, "but doan' yo' beliebe nothin' worse happen. dere ain' many guards at de jail, an' do gang is on de way. de jail guards done be shot up, an' ouah folks turn' loose. den we all strike out fo' new place, an' begin all ober again. den a new gang come in heah and operate to get de money away from de breakwatah gangs. dere's so much money in dat camp yondah dat ouah folks done gottah hab it ef a dozen men has to be kill'." "for cold-blooded, systematic villainy i believe i am listening to the limit!" quivered lieutenant dick prescott under his breath. "they're insane, these people," was tom's inward comment. "let this crowd of scoundrels shoot up the jail guards, and do they think the citizens would ever allow the gang to operate in camp? there'd be more likelihood of the known members of the gang being lynched!" "i won't go back to jail if i can help it," laughed evarts, speaking to the negro. "as soon as i even up one or two grudges i'm going to slip away." "break yo' bail?" asked the negro, showing his teeth. "that's about the size of it," nodded evarts. "den de w'ite gemman who done fu'nish yo' bond will be feelin' bad, won't he?" "let him---he's no friend of mine," grunted the discharged foreman. "maybe yo'd like de job ob tendin' to boss reade yo'so'f?" hinted sambo darkly. "oh, i'm going to settle with reade in some fashion," boasted evarts with a leer. "i don't know that i want to kill him. i'd rather cripple him and let him live a life of misery." "thank you!" thought tom from his hiding place. "there's another chap we'll have to deal with, too, i'm thinking," evarts went on. "reade and hazelton have a friend of theirs here, and he's likely to make some trouble for us. he's an army officer." "i done heah'd ob him," nodded sambo. "we can settle wid him, too." "we ought to, for he helped arrest me, and he's to be a witness on the torpedo matter." "w'ate's his name---de ahmy man's?" inquired sambo. "prescott. he's---" the speaker stopped suddenly, looking about him. "what was that, tar?" evarts demanded. "w'at yo' talkin' 'bout?" "i heard a noise, and it was right over there," replied evarts, pointing to where tom and dick lay hidden. "i didn't heah nuffin'." "i did, i tell you, and it will have to be looked into," insisted the ex-foreman, drawing his automatic revolver. "go ahaid, den," encouraged sambo, also drawing his weapon. "ef anybody been a-lis'enin', den shoot him full ob holes!" evarts darted at the bushes ahead of his companion. then an exultant yell came from him. "hustle, tar---and shoot straight! here are the very people we want---i caught sight of them!" "den watch me!" chuckled sambo ebony, flourishing his weapon and dashing forward in the tracks of evarts. there was no time for the chums to rise and dart away. chapter xxii mr. bascomb hears bad news when evarts used the word "people" he employed it only in a general sense. he had seen no one but tom reade, but tom was the one person in the world whom the ex-foreman wanted most to 'see' at a disadvantage. "now, i have you!" evarts croaked hoarsely, rushing in, flourishing his weapon, then letting the muzzle drop to the position of aim. dick prescott, unseen, stirred almost under the fellow's feet. flop! bump! caught by the legs, by that famous football player, dick prescott, evarts simply had to go down on his back. in the same instant reade leaped, then bent over the prostrate foe. evarts was too much dazed to resist much. tom snatched the revolver out of his hand. sambo, beholding this much, came to a dismayed stop for an instant. "dick, it's your trade to know how to handle this tool better than i can," tom cried, passing the captured revolver to prescott, who swiftly received it as he rose. "i'm afraid," continued the young engineer, "that it's going to be necessary to kill the negro." "wow! woof!" uttered sambo ebony. it didn't take that villain an instant to decide on flight. bending low, the black man ran off with frantic speed. dick took a step forward---only one, for evarts furiously gripped at one of the young army officer's ankles, bringing him down to his knees. "hang you, you hound!" ground out tom, in a rage, as he threw himself athwart of the ex-foreman. within the next thirty seconds evarts received a swift, fearful pummeling. "let up, mr. reade! let up!" cried the wretch. "i'll behave myself." "i'll wager you will," retorted the young engineer grimly, as he gripped evarts by the coat collar and drew him to his feet. dick was up and had run ahead some distance. but the time that had been gained for the black man had proved sufficient. sambo, was now out of sight, nor did he send back any sound to guide his pursuers. "it may have to be a long hunt for the negro," remarked tom reade when lieutenant dick stepped back to state the case. "stand by me and shoot this fellow down in his tracks if he tries to get away." "why, what are you going to do to me?" quaked the ex-foreman. "it's back to jail for yours," tom informed him crisply. "then the laugh will be on you," jeered evarts. "i'm out on bail---all in regular form." "you're not on bail on the latest charge against you---attempted murderous assault," reade rejoined. "nor will any court allow you out on bail again when mr. prescott and i testify to hearing you tell the negro that you were going to jump your bail." "humph! that was all a joke," blustered evarts. "all right," nodded tom. "explain the joke to the judge, if you can find a judge who's a good and willing listener. what you'll find, at this time, is that a hundred thousand dollars' worth of bail won't get you out of jail. start along with you," tom wound up, shaking evarts by the arm that he gripped. "if this sneak tries to get away, dick, bring him down with a bullet." "i'm ready enough to do it," prescott agreed. a sudden great change came over the ex-foreman. at first he threatened. then he begged to be turned loose, promising nothing but the best behavior in the future. "stop all your nonsense," ordered reade finally. "there's only one proper place on earth for you, evarts, and that's behind the bars. now, move right along, or i'll give you a worse walloping every time you stop or argue." finding that nothing would avail with these determined captors the ex-foreman relapsed into sulks. however, he kept walking straight ahead, obeying every order addressed to him. tom stopped briefly at the cottage. mr. prenter was not there, and harry hazelton had turned in. nicolas was lying on a blanket on the porch. "you'll have to keep awake until i get back, anyway, nicolas, and keep your eyes open," tom informed the mexican. "sambo is at large again, and i'm afraid he may turn up here." "i shall know how to take care of him, senor," grinned the mexican holding up his right forefinger. "that wouldn't help you, this time," tom retorted dryly. "mr. sambo ebony has a revolver with him. don't let him get a shot at you; he'd be only too glad to even the score. now, dick, i guess we'd better get evarts over to the jail." away started the chums and their prisoner while nicolas went inside to warn harry. not so very much later tom and dick turned evarts over to the police in blixton. evarts was locked up on the new charge. the revolver taken from him was turned over to the police as evidence. the chums also gave their information that they had overheard the ex-foreman tell the negro that he intended to jump bail. but the greatest of all was the news of the plot to rescue the gambler prisoners now in jail. then the chums started back to camp. "i noticed," said lieutenant prescott, in a low tone, "that you didn't mention the conversation between bascomb and evarts." "i hadn't any right to," tom said simply. "if mr. bascomb once had trouble in his life, but is living honestly now, it would be criminal of me to expose such a secret that he wouldn't want known. mr. bascomb's past is none of my business." "i'm mighty glad to hear you talk that way about it," said prescott, resting a hand on reade's shoulder. "why?" demanded tom rather bluntly. "did you think that i could feel any other way about it?" "but evarts is pretty sure to talk a lot about bascomb, now," hinted the young army officer. "if he does," sighed tom, "i don't know that i can think of any way to stop the fellow." "then you don't believe that mr. bascomb's evil record of past years affects his honesty now?" dick went on after a long pause. "i don't believe it," tom answered with unusual emphasis. "if i did it would be as much as if i said that a fellow who once makes a wrong step must never hope to get back into the right path again. mr. prenter, i am certain, is an honest man and an unusually keen one. he is satisfied to trust mr. bascomb as president of the company. but, if evarts is some sort of family connection of bascomb's, and if he has often threatened to tell all about mr. bascomb's past history, you can imagine the terror that poor mr. bascomb has lived in for years." "if i were in bascomb's place," dick declared positively, "i would go before the board of directors and tell them the whole story. then no one else could ever hold any power over me." "i guess that's the way all of us think we would act if we'd meet a blackmailer," nodded reade. "yet i guess most of the victims, when there's a sad, true story that could be told about them, pay the blackmailer and so secure silence." "which may be another way," mused the young army officer, "of saying that most men are cowards. or, maybe, it's another way, after all, of saying that the man who does anything very wrong or crooked is generally such a coward at heart that he'll spend his savings in keeping his secret from the world." "yet bascomb must have shown considerable bravery in meeting evarts's demands," suddenly suggested reade. "otherwise, mr. bascomb would now be a poor man and evarts would have spent all of bascomb's money. heretofore, i imagine, evarts hasn't been able to blackmail his relative for anything much more substantial than a good job. i hear that evarts has been drawing good pay from the melliston company for something more than four years---and evarts isn't a very useful man, at that." "then, after four years of easy berths, no wonder evarts hates you, tom, for having bounced him out," smiled dick prescott. "i'm afraid i'm going to do worse than bounce the fellow out of a job," sighed reade. "i'm afraid i've helped head him for prison for a term of a good many long years." "evarts did that much for himself," prescott argued. "i wouldn't waste much worry over the fellow." "i suppose it's my way to worry over a dog with a sore paw," answered reade thoughtfully, "certainly evarts has done some mean things against me, and without any just cause; but i don't like the thought of his having to be locked up, away from sunlight, joy and life, for so many years as i'm afraid are coming to him." arrived at camp, tom found mr. bascomb walking back and forth on the porch of the engineers' house. "you're up late, sir," was tom's friendly greeting to the president. "yes, reade; i can't sleep to-night," said mr. bascomb wearily. "i came over here to talk with prenter. where is he?" "asleep, i imagine, sir," tom answered. "wrong," replied president bascomb. "i've already been inside, but prenter isn't in the house." "then perhaps he thought it too lively around here," laughed reade, "and went over to blixton to sleep at the hotel." mr. bascomb didn't reply to this, but puffed hard at the black cigar he was smoking and sending up clouds of smoke. but the president of the melliston company became instantly more distracted when tom reade began an account of the capture of evarts, and his jailing, and the escape of mr. sambo ebony. presently bascomb began to puff harder than ever at his cigar. "reade," he finally blurted out, "how long were you hiding there before evarts found you there?" "some little time," tom admitted vaguely. more clouds of cigar smoke ascended; then, shaking, and his face a sickly white and green, the president inquired: "reade, were you there---you and mr. prescott---at the time when i talked with evarts on that very spot to-night?" there was no use in evading the question, so engineer reade answered in a straightforward manner: "yes, sir. mr. prescott and i were there." "then---then---y-y-you heard all of my talk with evarts?" "yes, sir." bascomb's teeth began to chatter so that he was forced to steady his jaws. tom and dick looked aside, pitying the man for his evident anguish of mind. at last the president steadied himself enough to speak. "reade, i know i haven't been a very good friend of yours, and i even tried to work you out of this contract altogether. now, you know my secret, and i'm in your power!" chapter xxiii ebony says "thumbs up" tom reade stared in frank amazement at the trembling man. "do you mean to insult me, mr. bascomb?" demanded the young engineer bluntly. "insult you? the fates forbid," replied bascomb with a sickly grin. "reade, i don't dare offend you in any way." "but you do insult me, sir, in believing that it would be possible for me to make any hostile use of whatever unpleasant knowledge i may possess against you." "do you mean to say that you wouldn't use the knowledge?" demanded the president of the melliston company. "you're insulting me again, sir. perhaps you are to be pardoned, mr. bascomb. you have been so long dancing to the fiddling of an evarts that you don't realize how impossible it is for a gentleman to do a dishonorable thing." "then---then i---i can rely upon your silence?" demanded mr. bascomb, eagerly. "i am sorry, sir, to think that you even think it necessary to ask me such a question," rejoined reade gravely. "reade! reade! you can't imagine how grateful you'll find me if i really can rely upon you to forget what you overheard to-night!" cried the humiliated man. "and you, mr. prescott---may i depend upon you, also, to preserve silence?" "i'm afraid, sir, you're putting me in reade's class as an insulted man," dick smiled grimly. "my friend, the people of this country, in the person of their president, have issued to me a commission certifying that i am worthy to wear the shoulder-straps of an army officer. the shoulder-straps stand for the strictest sense of honor in all things. if i depart, ever so little, from the laws of honor, i prove my unfitness to wear shoulder-straps. have i answered you." there was silence for a few moments. then, mr. bascomb, having smoked his cigar out, tossed the butt away. "i'd like to offer you a little advice, mr. bascomb, if you won't think i'm too forward." "what is it?" asked the president, turning briskly upon the young chief engineer. "just as long as you both live, mr. bascomb, evarts is likely to bother you, in one way or another. even if he goes to prison himself he'll find a way to bother you from the other side of the grated door. mr. bascomb, why don't you yourself disclose this little affair in your past history to the board of directors? then it would be past any blackmailer's power to harm you." "i could tell the directors in only one way," mr. bascomb answered, his face growing sallow. "that would be to tell my story and hand in my resignation in the same breath. reade, you don't realize how much the presidency of the melliston company means to me! to resign, or to be kicked out, would end my career in the business world." in the near darkness a step sounded on the gravel. then mr. prenter came briskly forward. "bascomb," said the treasurer of the company, "reade's advice was good, though wholly unnecessary. there is no need to tell the directors the story of your past misfortune. most of them know it already." the president's face grew grayish as he listened in torment. "moreover," mr. prenter continued, "most of us have known all about the matter since just before you were elected president." "and yet you allowed me to be elected!" cried mr. bascomb hoarsely. "yes; because we looked up your life and your conduct since---well, ever since you left the past behind and came out into business life again. our investigation showed that you had been living for years as an honest man. the rest of us on the board are men---or think we are---and we voted, informally, not to allow one misstep of yours to outweigh years of the most upright living since." "knowing it all, you elected me to be president of the company!" gasped mr. bascomb, as though he could not believe his ears or his senses. "now, let us hear no more about it," urged mr. prenter, cordially. "if i listened just now---if i played the part of the eavesdropper, allow me to explain my conduct by saying that i, too, was present to-night when you talked with evarts. i heard, and i knew that reade and his friend heard. i listened, just now, in order that i might make sure that thomas reade, engineer, is a man of honor at all times. and now, let no one say a word more." some one else was coming. all on the porch turned and waited to see who it was. out of the shadows came a hang-dog looking sort of fellow. "is mr. bascomb here?" asked the newcomer. "i am mr. bascomb," spoke the president. "here's a note for you," said the man, handing over an envelope. tom stepped inside, got a lantern and lighted it, placing it upon the porch table. with the aid of this illumination mr. bascomb read the brief note directed to him. "it's from evarts," said the president, looking up with a quiet laugh. "he commands me to come to him at once, in his cell, and to arrange some way of getting out. my man," turning to the messenger, "are you going back to evarts?" "yes," nodded the messenger, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "go back to evarts, then, and tell him that he'll have to threaten some one else this time. tell him that i am through with him." "huh!" growled the hang-dog messenger. "i believe evarts said that, if old bascomb wasn't quick, he'd make trouble for some one." "tell evarts," said mr. prenter, "that he can't make trouble for any one but himself, and that he had better save his breath for the next time he needs it." "evarts will be awful mad, if i go back to him with any talk like that," insinuated the messenger meaningly. "see here, fellow," interjected. tom reade, stepping forward quickly, "i'm rather tired and out of condition to-night, but if you don't leave here as fast as you can go, i'll kick you every step of the way for the first half-mile back to blixton! do you think you understand me?" "i---i reckon i do," admitted the fellow. "then start before you tempt my right foot! i'll give you five seconds to get off." there could be no mistaking that order. the messenger started off, nor did he glance backward as long as he was in sight. "you see how easily a chap like evarts can be disposed of," smiled mr. prenter. "he'll send back again for another try, within an hour," prophesied mr. bascomb, wearily. "if he does," laughed dick prescott, shortly, "his second appeal won't come by the same messenger." "then you were near us, mr. prenter, when evarts and the negro charged us?" tom inquired. "i was," smiled the treasurer. "that convicts me of cowardice, doesn't it, in not having come to your aid at the moment of attack? i wasn't quite as big a coward as i would seem, though. the truth is, i was behind you. had i jumped in in that exciting moment, you would have thought other enemies were attacking from behind. you would have been confused and would have lost the fight." "by jove, sir, but that was quick thinking and shrewdness on your part!" ejaculated dick prescott. "then you acquit me of cowardice?" "no," smiled the young army officer, "for i hadn't thought of accusing you of lack of courage." "i am glad you didn't," sighed the treasurer. "i would rather be suspected of almost anything than of lacking manly courage. afterwards i didn't make my presence known to you, for, at that time, i didn't want you to know that i had overheard a certain conversation." "my cowardice has made a dreadful mess of things in a lot of ways, hasn't it?" demanded mr. bascomb bitterly. "that's all past now, so it doesn't matter," spoke up tom reade. "we have just one move more to make in this baffling game, and then i fancy we shall have won. when mr. sambo ebony, as i have nicknamed him, is safely jailed i think we shall find ourselves undisturbed in the future. we shall then be permitted to go ahead and finish the million-dollar breakwater as a work and a triumph of peace." "every time that one of us opens his mouth," laughed mr. prenter, "i am expecting to hear a big bang down by the breakwater to punctuate the speaker's sentence. i wonder whether the scoundrels back of sambo have any more novel ways for setting off their big firecrackers around our wall?" "it might not be a bad idea for me to get out on the watch again," tom suggested, rising. "if i get in more trouble than i can handle i'll just yell 'mr. prenter,' for i shall know that he'll be within easy hearing distance." the treasurer laughed, as he, too, rose. "my being so near you before, reade, was just accident. i was prowling about on my own account, when you and your army friend passed me in the deep woods. i had an idea that you were out for some definite purpose, and so i just trailed along at your rear in order to be near any excitement that you might turn up." "and i suppose you're going to follow us this time, too," smiled tom reade. "prenter," suggested the president of the company, "what do you say if you and i prowl in some other direction? i've been such a miserable coward all through this affair that now i'd like to go with you. if we run into any trouble i'll try to show you that i'm not all coward." "come along, bascomb," agreed the treasurer cordially. "reade, i give you my word that we won't intentionally follow on your trail." at a nod from tom, dick was at his side. the two high school chums started off with brisk steps. "which way are you going?" whispered dick. "let's go down to the breakwater," suggested tom. "i really ought to visit it once in the night, despite the fact that corbett is a wholly reliable foreman, and that he has his own pick of workmen on patrol duty there." as the chums stepped out from under the trees in full view of the breakwater site they beheld the lanterns of the patrol, like so many fireflies, twinkling and bobbing here and there along the narrow-topped retaining wall. tom and dick went out on the wall until they encountered the first workman on patrol. tom took this man's lantern and signaled the motor boat as it stood in shore. "all going right, corbett?" the young engineer hailed, as soon as the "morton" had come up alongside. "as far as i can see, mr. reade, there's not a sign of the enemy to-night. but of course you know, sir, that we've been just as sure on other nights, only to have a large part of the wall blown clean out of the water." "all i can say," tom nodded, "is to go on keeping your eyes and ears open." "yes, sir; you may be sure i'll do that," nodded the foreman. then reade and his army chum returned to the shore. "i guess it will be a wholly blind hunt," tom laughed, "but i've a notion for returning to the spot where we encountered sambo ebony before this night." after they had left the beach well behind, the chums strolled in under the trees of a rather sparse grove. well in toward the center of the grove stood one tree larger than the rest. from behind this sambo ebony swiftly appeared, just at the right instant for surprise. in each hand the negro held a huge automatic revolver. "gemmen," chuckled the negro coolly, "ah jess be nacherally obliged to yo' both if yo'll stick yo' hands ez high up in de air ez yo' can h'ist 'em. it am a long worm dat nebber turns, an' ah'se done reckon dat ah'se de tu'ning worm to-night! thumbs up, gemmen!" despite sambo's bantering tone there could be no doubt that to fail to obey him would be to invite a swift fusillade. reluctantly tom reade thrust his hands up skyward. nor did dick prescott hesitate to follow so prompt an example. chapter xxiv conclusion "now ah reckon ah'se done got yo'," laughed the big negro, insolently. "it am a question ob w'ich one ah wantah pick off fust!" in his wicked joy over having both the young engineer and the army officer wholly at his mercy sambo, his mouth open and his massive teeth showing white in his grin, advanced nearer. yet he did not fail to keep each of his enemies covered. he was watching most alertly for any sign of rebellion on the part of his victims. nor was there any doubt in the mind of either young man that the black, after playing with them, meant to dispose of them as his possession of pistols indicated. he would torment them first, then ruthlessly "shoot them up." "how long are we to keep our hands up?" asked tom banteringly. it would be foolish to say that reade was not afraid, but he was determined to keep ebony from discovering the fact. "yo's to keep yo' hands up longer dan yo' can keep yo' moufs shut!" scowled the black man, his ugly streak showing once more. "it makes me think of the way we used to play football," laughed reade, though there was not much mirth in his chuckle. "shut yo' mouf, or ah done gib yo' plenty to think erbout!" ordered sambo angrily. that word "football" set dick prescott to tingling. he knew there was some hidden meaning in what tom had said. "are you trying to signal us, sambo?" queried the army officer. that word "signal" was intended only for tom's ear, for lieutenant prescott was beginning to guess at the truth. "on the gridiron, on the gridiron!" hummed tom, audibly, as he tried clumsily to fit the words to the refrain of a popular song. dick prescott was "getting warm" on the scent of the hidden meaning. "shut yo' mouf!" gruffly commanded the lack. "ah doan' wantah tell yo' dat again, neider." "right foot---high foot!" chanted tom. mentally dick prescott jumped as though he had been shot. "right foot---high foot" had been one of their old kicking signals on the gridley high school eleven! lieutenant dick prescott fairly throbbed as he now understood the covered signal. "now!" left reade's lips with explosive energy, though the word was low-spoken. at "right foot---high foot" and "now" each youth suddenly shot his right foot up into the air. tom's landed against sambo's right wrist, kicking the automatic revolver completely out of the negro's hands. dick's kick landed against the black man's left wrist. the pistol held in sambo's left hand was discharged, though the muzzle had been driven up at such an angle that the bullet passed harmlessly over prescott's head. in a twinkling ebony had been disarmed. darting low, tom grappled with the negro's legs. then reade rose swiftly, toppling sambo over backward. dick prescott bounded upon the prostrate foe, beating him with both fists. tom also threw himself into the melee. while the black might have thrashed either youth alone he was not equal to handling both at the same time. "i've got him, now, and he'll behave, i guess," panted tom reade, at last. "slip off, dick, and gather in the pistols." as prescott did so sambo made the last few efforts of which he was capable. he had been hammered so hard, however, that tom did not have extreme difficulty in holding him down. "now, lie still and take orders," warned dick, pressing one of the pistols against the black man's temple, "or i'll get excited and send you out of this world for keeps!" sambo ebony thereupon dropped into sullen muttering, but did not offer to resist. prescott, as a soldier, had a businesslike way of handling weapons that cowed the black man. tom got up leisurely from the prostrate foe. "now, you can stand a little farther off, dick," he suggested, "and then the fellow won't get a chance to tip you over with any trick. if he tries to get up before he's told you can easily bring him to earth again, for you've been taught the exact use of firearms." "good idea," nodded lieutenant prescott, backing away a few feet. "are you going to run for assistance now, tom?" "no," retorted reade. "you're going to shoot for it." "eh?" "fire a shot into the air from each revolver. that, with the accidental discharge of a moment go, will show any listener that there's trouble going on over here. i miss my guess if the shots don't bring help very shortly." bang! bang! nor was reade's guess a wrong one. not much time passed before steps were heard hurrying in their direction. "here! this way!" summoned tom. "are you hurt?" sounded mr. prenter's voice. "no; but we have sambo ebony here, and he's going to be hurt if he tries to stir." president and treasurer of the melliston company raced to the spot. barely sixty seconds afterward foreman corbett, with four negroes and one italian laborer, also came up. "corbett, you have the handcuffs i gave you the other night, haven't you?" tom asked. "yes, sir. here they are." tom took the steel bracelets, ordering mr. sambo ebony to turn over and lie face downward, with his hands behind his back. then the handcuffs were slipped over the black wrists. "now, sambo," called tom laughingly, "we'll set you on your feet and whistle the rogues' march for you all the way." "yah, yah, yah!" jeered one of the negroes who had come up with foreman corbett, as he gazed contemptuously up and down the bulky figure of mr. ebony. "yo' done been tellin' us 'spectable cullud fo'ks dat de great way to injye life was to be tough an' smaht, lak yo'se'f. how ye' feel erbout it now? doan' yo' wish yo' been mo' 'spectable yo'se'f? doan' ye' done wish dat ye' had been to camp-meeting a few times in yo' life? doan' yo' wish ye' been honest most er de time, an' been a hahd-wo'kin', pay-ye'-bills niggah lak some ob de rest oh us? yo' fool lump er tar, yo' boun' ter go de way ob all de wicked---down to ye' grave in misery an' sorrow. it's de way oh all ob yo' lazy, ugly, wuthless kind!" "i've heard philosophers talk," laughed dick, in an aside to tom reade, "but i can't say that i ever yet listened to a trained philosopher who had the truth of life down any more pat than the negro workman who just now gave his views." "on all matters of good behavior wise men of all degrees hold about the same views," nodded reade, "even though they may express their thoughts in differing grades of speech. this good negro knows just where the bad negro has failed in life." mr. sambo ebony was marched off to jail. even up to the minute when he was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment the big black stubbornly refused to give his real name. he was therefore taken away to prison under the name "sambo ebony." evarts got off with eight years and four months in prison. he is still serving that sentence. hawkins and his crew of gamblers and bootleggers were sentenced to two years apiece, as only misdemeanor charges could be preferred against them. from the foregoing it will be inferred that the proposed jail delivery by other members of the gang from elsewhere did not come off according to plan. the truth was that the citizens of blixton, when appealed to, organized a strong guard which was thrown around the jail. doubtless the gang-members were warned in time, and so did not attempt to commit wholesale suicide by running against a citizens' posse. mr. bascomb is still president of the melliston company, and he is holding up his head. no further fear of blackmailers oppresses him. dick prescott was able to remain several days longer---long enough, in fact, to see the more substantial structure of the million-dollar breakwater begin to go up just inside the completed retaining wall. then lieutenant dick was obliged to resume his journey on to fort clowdry, colorado. what happened to prescott, after joining the army as an officer, is told in "_uncle sam's boys on field duty_," the second volume in the "_boys of the army series_." though harry hazelton was disappointed in missing some of the excitement at blixton, he had no occasion to complain in that respect when he and tom entered upon the next great undertaking of the young engineer pair. after the disappearance of the big black from the scene there was no further trouble at the breakwater. blixton is now an important though artificial harbor. with the completion of the breakwater, and the building of a lighthouse, the next work undertaken was the building of stone docks at which the steamships of the melliston line now dock. the next adventures that befell tom and harry were destined to be the most wonderful and exciting of all. these adventures must be reserved for complete telling in the next volume in this series, which is published under the title, "_the young engineers in the lead; or, the stroke that made them masters of their field_." it is a story of almost incredible efforts, backed by strong ambition, of two american youths who had both the desire and the will to toil unceasingly and at last reach their goal. the end [illustration: dave porter and his double edward stratemeyer] [illustration: the team left the roadway, and the next instant had crashed through a frail rail-fence.--_page ._] dave porter series dave porter and his double or the disappearance of the basswood fortune by edward stratemeyer author of "dave porter at oak hall," "the old glory series," "colonial series," "pan-american series," "soldiers of fortune series," etc. _illustrated by walter s. rogers_ boston lothrop, lee & shepard co. published, august, copyright, , by lothrop, lee & shepard co. _all rights reserved_ dave porter and his double norwood press berwick & smith co. norwood, mass. u. s. a. preface "dave porter and his double" is a complete story in itself, but forms the twelfth volume in a line issued under the general title of "dave porter series." this series was begun some years ago by the publication of "dave porter at oak hall," in which my young readers were introduced to a wide-awake american lad at a typical american boarding-school. the publication of this volume was followed by "dave porter in the south seas," to which portion of our globe the lad journeyed to clear up a question concerning his parentage. next came "dave porter's return to school," telling of additional happenings at oak hall; "dave porter in the far north," where he went on a second journey looking for his father; "dave porter and his classmates," in which our young hero showed what he could do under most trying circumstances; "dave porter at star ranch," in which he took part in many strenuous adventures in the wild west; "dave porter and his rivals," in which the youth outwitted some of his old-time enemies; "dave porter on cave island," giving the details of a remarkable sea voyage and strange doings ashore; "dave porter and the runaways," in which the boy taught some of his school chums a much-needed lesson; "dave porter in the gold fields," whither he went in search of a lost mine; and finally "dave porter at bear camp," which was located in the adirondack mountains, and where we last left him. in the present volume we find our hero in a new field of activity. having graduated from school, he has taken up the study of civil engineering, and while engaged in that calling in texas he becomes mixed up in most unusual happenings, the particulars of which are given in the pages that follow. once more i wish to thank my young readers, and many of their parents, for all the kind things they have said regarding my stories. i trust that the reading of the present book will not only please but also profit the young folks. edward stratemeyer. _march , _. contents chapter page i off for a sleigh-ride ii something of the past iii the team that ran away iv ward porton again v what asa dickley had to say vi more trouble vii face to face viii the basswood fortune ix something about miniatures x the big sleighing-party xi held by the blizzard xii tim crapsey's plot xiii what washington bones had to tell xiv movements of the enemy xv the return to crumville xvi how the miniatures disappeared xvii a vain search xviii the civil engineering examination xix off for texas xx in new york city xxi dave in washington xxii in texas at last xxiii at the engineering camp xxiv a midnight alarm xxv the mexican raiders xxvi the chase on the bridge xxvii across the rio grande xxviii a strange discovery xxix the capture xxx the fortune recovered--conclusion illustrations the team left the roadway, and the next instant had crashed through a frail railway fence (_page _) _frontispiece_ facing page he seized porton's upraised arm and backed the fellow against a tree from under the snow and the robes crawled the boys and the girls slowly the train puffed in, and proved to be a freight the young people played games, sang, and danced to their hearts' content the next instant he was dashing into the street "here we are at the camp!" announced the guide "hold tight, roger! i'll help you," returned dave, quickly dave porter and his double chapter i off for a sleigh-ride "what is the matter, dave? you look rather mystified." "i am mystified, laura," replied dave porter. "i have a letter here that i can't understand at all." "whom is it from?" questioned laura porter, as she came closer to her brother, who was ensconced in the largest easy-chair the wadsworth library contained. "it's from a shopkeeper in coburntown, mr. wecks, the shoe-dealer. he wants to know which pair of shoes i have decided to keep, and asks me kindly to return the pair i don't want." "well, what of that, dave?" continued his sister, as the youth paused with a wrinkle on his forehead. "can't you make up your mind which pair of shoes you want to keep?" "i certainly can not, seeing that i haven't had any shoes from wecks's store," returned dave, with a faint smile. "i haven't been in his place for nearly a year, and the last time i was there i bought a pair of rubbers and paid for them." "oh, then the letter must be meant for somebody else, dave. mr. wecks has got his customers mixed." "perhaps so. but in the letter he speaks of the two pairs of shoes i took away with me. that looks as if somebody had gotten two pairs of shoes in my name." "well, as we are going out sleighing this afternoon, why don't you drive to coburntown and drop into his shop and explain matters?" suggested the sister. "i guess that would be best, laura." dave folded up the letter and placed it in his pocket. "how soon will you be ready?" "inside of quarter of an hour." "and how about jessie?" "she was almost ready when i came downstairs." "good! then we can get an early start and have a good long ride besides stopping at coburntown, where i suppose you and jessie can do a little shopping while i am at wecks's store." "that will be fine, dave! i would like to match some ribbon, and the only place i can do it is in the french shop in coburntown;" and thus speaking laura porter hurried out of the room to get ready for the sleigh-ride. dave had proposed the ride just before lunch, and the young people living at the wadsworth mansion had telephoned over to the basswood home, asking if ben basswood would accompany them. "sure i'll go--be glad to!" dave's former school chum had answered over the wire. "i haven't a thing to do this afternoon, and a first sleigh-ride of the season will tickle me to death." "oh, i don't want it to kill you, ben," dave had answered gaily. "just the same, you be ready for us when we come over;" and to this ben had agreed. although it was still early in the winter, there had been a heavy fall of snow two days before and now the roads in and around crumville were in excellent condition for sleighing. the musical sound of sleigh-bells could be heard in all directions, and this had made dave anxious to get out on the road, even though he had to spend most of his time indoors studying, as we shall learn later. dave had already given orders to the hostler connected with the wadsworth estate, and now this man brought to the front of the mansion a fine, big sleigh drawn by a pair of sleek-looking, high-stepping steeds. the sleigh was well provided with heavy robes to protect its occupants from the cold. "oh, dave, i'm so glad to go sleighing!" burst out jessie wadsworth, as she came bounding down the broad stairway of the mansion to meet him. "isn't it just glorious weather?" "it sure is," he answered, as he gave her a warm glance. to dave, jessie was the most beautiful girl in the world, and just now, clad as she was in her dainty sealskin coat and her jaunty sealskin hat, she looked more bewitching to him than ever. "going for a ride, eh?" came from dave's uncle, dunston porter, who had just finished a belated lunch. "well, have a good time, and don't let that pair of grays run away with you. john was telling me they are feeling quite mettlesome lately. i guess they don't get exercise enough." "oh, don't worry, uncle dunston. i'm sure i can manage them," answered dave. "sure you can!" returned his uncle, heartily. "too bad you couldn't have asked an old fellow like me to go along," he continued, making a wry face. "why, you can come along if you want to. can't he, dave?" burst out jessie. "we'd be very glad to have you." "he's only fooling, jessie," answered dave. "you couldn't hire uncle dunston to go sleighing to-day. i saw him cleaning up his shotgun right after breakfast. and i'll wager he has just come in from hunting and expects to go out again this afternoon. how about it, uncle--am i right?" "you've got me, davy," answered the man, with a grin. "you see, i can't get over my old habit of going hunting when i get the chance. and now that this snow is on the ground, it's just fine for tracking rabbits." "did you get any this morning?" "a few. i didn't go very far. this afternoon i am going deeper into the woods, and i guarantee to bring back enough to make the biggest rabbit pot-pie to-morrow you ever saw;" and, thus speaking, the uncle hastened away. he had spent many years of his life roaming the world in quest of game both big and little, and now, though of late years he had done his best to settle down, it was still impossible for him to give up his hunting habit entirely. laura soon appeared ready for the ride. dave had already donned his heavy overcoat, fur cap, and his driving-gloves. he assisted the girls into the sleigh and saw to it that they were well tucked in with robes. "have a good time and don't stay out too late," were the farewell words of mrs. wadsworth, who had come to the door to see them off. "well, you know we don't expect to be back to dinner this evening," answered dave. "we can get something to eat at coburntown, or some other place, and then drive back in the moonlight." "very well, but don't make it too late," answered the lady of the mansion. and then dave took up the reins, chirped to the team, and away the sleigh started out of the wadsworth grounds and down the highway leading to the basswood home. ben was on the lookout for them, and by the time dave had drawn up beside the horse-block he was outside to meet them. "good afternoon, everybody," he said gaily, lifting his cap. "this is just fine of you to take me along." "let ben come in back here with me," said laura, "and that will give jessie a chance to sit in front. i know she always likes to be up ahead," and laura smiled knowingly. "suits me," answered ben, quickly; and then assisted jessie to make the change, which, however, the miss did not undertake without blushing, for it may as well be admitted here jessie thought as much of dave as he did of her. "oh, dave, do you think the grays will behave themselves to-day?" asked the girl, partly to conceal her embarrassment. "i'm going to make them behave," he answered, sturdily. "i don't believe they have been out of the stable for several days. you know we don't use the horses nearly as much as we used to, before we got the automobile." "i'll watch them." dave looked behind him. "all right back there?" "yes," answered his sister. "but please don't drive too fast." "i don't believe sleighing will seem too fast after the riding we have been doing in the auto," answered the brother. he took up the reins again, and once more the turnout sped along the highway. they made a turn, passed along the main street of crumville, and also passed the large wadsworth jewelry works, and then took to a road leading to coburntown, some miles distant. the air was cold but clear, with the bright sunshine sparkling on the snow, and all of the young people were in the best of humor. "say, dave, how would you like to be back at oak hall?" cried ben, while the sleigh sped along. "wouldn't we have the dandy time snowballing each other, and snowballing old horsehair?" "so we would, ben," answered dave, his eyes gleaming. "we sure did have some good times at that school." "how are you and roger getting along with your civil engineering course?" "all right, i think. mr. ramsdell says he is greatly pleased with our work." "that's fine. i almost wish i had taken up civil engineering myself. but dad wants me to go into real estate with him. he thinks there is a big chance in that line these days, when crumville is just beginning to wake up." "hasn't your dad got a big rival in aaron poole?" "oh, no! poole isn't in it any more when it comes to big deals. you see, he was so close and miserly in all his business affairs that a great many people became afraid of him." "what has become of nat poole?" questioned laura. "did he go back to oak hall?" "for a short while only. when his folks found out that he had failed to graduate they were awfully angry. mr. poole claimed that it was the fault of the school and so he took nat away and told him he would have to go to work. i think nat is working in some store, although where, i don't know." "i don't think it's in crumville or we should have seen him," said dave. "i never want to meet that boy again," pouted jessie. "i'll never get over how meanly he acted toward us." "it's not so much nat's fault as it is his bringing up," remarked ben. "his father never treated him half decently. but i hope nat makes a man of himself in spite of the way he used to treat us," went on the youth generously. "by the way, ben, didn't you say your father had gone away?" queried dave, a few minutes later. "yes, he has gone to chicago on very important business. it seems an old friend of his--a mr. enos, who was once his partner in an art store--died, and now the lawyers want to see my father about settling up the enos estate." "an art store?" queried dave. "i never knew that your father had been in any such business." "it was years ago--before my folks came to crumville. you see, my father and this mr. enos had been chums from early boyhood. my father says that mr. enos was a very peculiar sort of man, who was all wrapped up in pictures and painting. he got my father to advance a thousand dollars he had saved up, and on that money the two opened an art store. but they couldn't make a go of it, and so they gave it up, and while mr. enos went west my father came here." "maybe the dead man left your father some money," suggested laura. "that is what my mother said to dad. but he thinks not. he thinks it is more than likely mr. enos died in debt and left his affairs all tangled up, and that the lawyers want my father to help straighten them out." "i'd like to be able to paint," said jessie, with a sigh. "i think some of those little water-colors are just too lovely for anything." "why don't you take it up? there must be some teacher in crumville," returned dave. "let's both do it!" cried laura. "i used to paint a little before father and i did so much traveling. i would like to take it up again. it would be very interesting." while the young folks were talking, the pair of mettlesome grays had been speeding over the snow of the road at a good rate of speed. dave, however, had them well in hand, so that there was little danger of their running away. "we'll be to benson crossroads soon, dave," remarked ben a while later, after they had passed over a long hill lined on either side with tidy farms. "which road are you going to take--through hacklebury or around conover's hill?" "i haven't made up my mind," answered dave. he looked at jessie. "have you any preference?" "oh, let us go up around conover's hill!" cried jessie. "that is always such a splendid ride. there is so much of an outlook." "yes, let us go by way of the hill by all means," added laura. "it isn't very nice through hacklebury, past all those woolen mills." "all right, the conover road it is," answered dave; and forward they went once more as fast as ever. they soon passed the crossroads, and then took the long, winding road that led around one side of the hill just mentioned. here travel since the snow had fallen had evidently been heavy, for the roadway was packed down until it was almost as smooth as glass. over this surface the spirited grays dashed at an increased rate of speed. "some team, believe me!" was ben's comment. "mr. wadsworth ought to put them on a race-course." "papa does not believe in racing," answered jessie. "but he always did like to have a horse that had some go in him." "hark!" cried laura, a moment later. "what is that sound?" "it's an auto coming," announced ben, looking behind them. "a big touring-car, and whoever is in it seems to be in a tremendous hurry." "i wish they wouldn't cut out their muffler," was dave's comment, as he saw the grays pick up their ears. "they have no right to run with the muffler open." as the touring-car came closer those in the sleigh who were able to look back saw that it was running at a great rate of speed and swaying from side to side of the roadway. it contained four young men, out, evidently, for a gloriously good time. dave did not dare look back to see what was coming. the grays had their ears laid well back and their whole manner showed that they were growing more nervous every instant. "hi! stop that noise!" yelled ben, jumping up and shaking his hand at the oncoming automobile. but those in the car paid no attention to him. the fellow at the wheel put on a fresh burst of speed, and with a wild rush and a roar the touring-car shot past the sleigh and the frightened horses, and in a few seconds more disappeared around a turn of the road. as might have been expected, the coming and going of the big machine, with its unearthly roar, was too much for the mettlesome grays. both reared up wildly on their hind legs, backing the sleigh off to one side of the roadway. "whoa there! whoa!" cried dave, and did his best to keep the team in hand. but they proved too much for him, and in an instant more they came down on all fours and started to run away. chapter ii something of the past "the horses are running away!" "oh, we'll be killed!" such were the cries from the two girls as the mettlesome grays tore along the country highway at a speed that seemed marvelous. "dave, can i help you?" asked ben, anxiously. "i don't think so," answered the young driver between his set teeth. "i guess i can bring them down. anyway, i can try." "what shall we do?" wailed jessie. "don't do anything--sit still," ordered dave. he was afraid that jessie in her excitement might fling herself from the flying sleigh. on and on bounded the frightened team. each of the grays now had his bit in his teeth, and it looked as if it would be impossible for dave to obtain control of the pair. and, worst of all, they were now approaching a turn, with the hill on one side of the roadway and a gully on the other. "better keep them as far as possible away from the gully," suggested ben. "that is what i'm trying to do," returned dave, setting his teeth grimly. dave porter was a resolute youth, always doing his best to accomplish whatever he set out to do. had it been otherwise, it is not likely that he would have occupied the position in which we found him at the opening of our story. when a very small youth dave had been found wandering along the railroad tracks near crumville. he could tell little about himself or how he had come in that position; and kind people had taken him in and later on had placed him in the local poorhouse. from that institution he had been taken by an old college professor, named caspar potts, who at that time had been farming for his health. in crumville, the main industry was the wadsworth jewelry works, owned by mr. oliver wadsworth, who resided, with his wife and his daughter jessie, in the finest mansion of that district. one day the wadsworth automobile caught fire, and jessie was in danger of being burned to death, when dave came to her rescue. this led mr. wadsworth to ask about the boy and about mr. potts. and when it was learned that the latter was one of the jewelry manufacturer's former college professors, mr. wadsworth insisted upon it that caspar potts come and live with him, and bring dave along. "that boy deserves a good education," had been oliver wadsworth's comment, after several interviews with dave, and as a consequence the youth had been sent off to a first-class boarding-school, as related in the first volume of this series, entitled "dave porter at oak hall." at the school dave had made a host of friends, including roger morr, the son of a united states senator, and phil lawrence, the son of a rich shipowner. ben basswood, the son of a crumville real estate dealer and a lad who had been friendly with dave for several years, also went to oak hall, and thus he and dave became closer chums than ever. the great thing that troubled dave in those days was the question of his parentage. some of the mean boys in the school occasionally referred to him as "that poorhouse nobody," and this brought on several severe quarrels and even a fist fight or two. "i'm not going to be a nobody," said the youth to himself; and when he received certain information from an old sailor he eagerly went on a quest after his father, as told of in "dave porter in the south seas." there he managed to locate his uncle, dunston porter, and learned much concerning his father, david breslow porter, and also his sister laura. coming back from the south seas, dave returned to school, and then took a trip to the far north, whither his father had gone before him. there he had many adventures, as already related in another volume. glad to know that he had found, not only so many kind friends, but also several rich relatives, dave went back again to oak hall. his classmates were more than glad to see him, but others were jealous of his success in life, and several of his enemies, including a certain link merwell, did all they could to annoy him. the annoyances went from bad to worse, and in the end one boy named jasniff ran away from school, and the other, merwell, was expelled. dave's sister laura had a friend, belle endicott, who lived in the far west, and through this young lady dave and his chums and also laura and jessie received an invitation to spend some time at the endicott place, known as star ranch. while in the west dave once more fell in with link merwell, and this young man, as before, tried to make trouble, but was exposed. "i hope i have seen the last of merwell," said dave to himself, on returning once again to oak hall. but this was not to be, for merwell became a student at a rival academy, and once more he and some others did all they could to make life miserable for our hero. when the christmas holidays came around dave went back to crumville, where he and his folks resided with the wadsworths, who had taken such a liking to the youth that they did not wish to have him live elsewhere. directly after christmas came a thrilling robbery of the jewelry works, and dave and his chums discovered that the crime had been committed by merwell and his crony, jasniff. after a long sea voyage to cave island, one of the evil-doers was captured, but the other, link merwell, managed to make his escape. during dave's next term at school there was much trouble with one of the teachers, who was harsh and unsympathetic, and as a result some of the boys ran away. it was dave who went after them and who, in spite of a fearful flood, managed to bring them back and make them face the music. then came the graduation exercises at oak hall, dave receiving high honors. our hero had promised roger morr that he would pay the senator's son a visit. during this time dave heard of a gold mine belonging to mrs. morr which had been lost because of a landslide. all the boys went out west in an endeavor to relocate this claim. their adventures were both numerous and hazardous, and once more dave fell in with link merwell. but all went well with our young friends, and they had a glorious time visiting yellowstone park and other points of interest. "now you fellows have got to come on a little trip with me," phil lawrence had said after he, dave and roger, with the others, had returned again to the east. there was a small steamer belonging to mr. lawrence that was tied up at philadelphia getting ready for a trip to portland, maine. the voyage up the atlantic coast had been productive of several unlooked-for results. on the way those on the boat had discovered another vessel in flames. this was a craft being used by a company of moving-picture actors, and some of the latter in their panic had leaped overboard. our young friends, as well as some of the sailors on their ship, had gone to the rescue; and among others had picked up a young man, ward porton by name. much to the surprise of roger morr and phil lawrence, ward porton had looked a good deal like dave. not only that, but many of his manners, outwardly, were similar to those of our hero. following the trip up the coast, it had been decided by the wadsworths and the basswoods to spend part of the summer in the adirondacks, at a spot known as mirror lake. thither all of the young people and some of the older ones went to enjoy themselves greatly and to meet with a number of strange happenings, all of which have been related in detail in the volume preceding this, entitled "dave porter at bear camp." the boys fell in with a wild sort of creature whom they at first supposed to be a crazy uncle of nat poole, the son of a miserly money lender of crumville. later, however, the man was found to be a missing uncle of phil lawrence, for whom the lawrence family had been seeking for a long time. although dave porter did not know it at the time, the moving-picture company to which ward porton belonged had also numbered among its members dave's former school enemy, link merwell. from link, ward porton, who was the good-for-nothing nephew of a burlington lumber dealer, had learned the particulars concerning dave's childhood and how he had been placed in the crumville poorhouse and listed as of unknown parentage. this had caused porton to concoct a clever scheme, and to mr. porter he announced himself as the real dave porter, stating that our hero was really and truly the nobody that years before everybody had thought him. this announcement had come like a thunderbolt to poor dave, and for the time being he knew not what to do or say. the others, too, especially his sister laura and his dear friend, jessie, were almost equally affected. but they clung to him, refusing to believe the story that ward porton was circulating. "you take it from me--this is some scheme gotten up by link merwell and this other fellow," declared one of dave's chums. and on the strength of this declaration the youth took it upon himself to do some clever investigating. from one of the moving-picture actresses dave learned much concerning ward porton's past, and then, in company with some of his chums, he journeyed to burlington, where he met mr. obadiah jones, the uncle of porton, and asked the lumber dealer if ward were his real nephew or not. "yes, he is my real nephew--the son of my youngest sister, who married a good-for-nothing army man," replied obadiah jones; and then gave many particulars. he stated that his sister's name had been clarice jones porton, and that years before she had married a certain lieutenant porton of the united states army, an officer who had been discharged because of irregularities in his accounts. he further stated that the mother of the young man was dead, and what had become of the worthless father he did not know further than that it had been stated he had joined some revolutionists in mexico. dave had gotten mr. jones to sign a paper stating the exact truth concerning ward porton, and with this duly witnessed had returned to bear camp. all present were glad to know that the cloud hanging over his name had been cleared away. his sister laura and her friend jessie hugged him over and over again in their delight. then came news that link merwell had been captured, and later on this misguided young man was sent to prison for his share in the crime at the jewelry works. a hunt was instituted for ward porton, but he had taken time by the forelock and disappeared. "i don't believe ward porton will ever bother you again, dave," said roger one day. but the surmise of the senator's son proved incorrect, as we shall see. ward porton was to show himself and make more trouble than he had ever made before. chapter iii the team that ran away "oh, dave, the gully!" cried his sister laura. "if we go into that we'll all be killed!" "please keep quiet, laura," flung back her brother in a low, tense voice. "these horses are scared enough as it is." dave was doing his best to bring the spirited grays out of their mad gallop. but they had not been out of the stable for the best part of a week, and this, combined with the scare from the roar of the automobile, had so gotten on their nerves that to calm them seemed next to impossible. on and on they flew over the packed snow of the hard road, the sleigh bouncing from side to side as it passed over the bumps in the highway. jessie was deadly pale and had all she could do to keep from shrieking with fright. but when she heard dave address his sister in the above words, she shut her teeth hard, resolved to remain silent, no matter what the cost. ben was worried as well as scared--the more so because he realized there was practically nothing he could do to aid dave in subduing the runaways. the youth on the front seat had braced both feet on the dashboard of the sleigh, and was pulling back on the reins with all the strength of his vigorous muscles. thus fully a quarter of a mile was covered--a stretch of the hill road which fortunately was comparatively straight. but then there loomed up ahead a sharp turn, leading down to the straight road through the valley below. "dave--the turn!" gasped ben, unable to keep himself from speaking. "i see it. i'll do what i can," cried the young driver; and then pulled on the reins more strongly, if possible, than before. closer and closer to the dreaded turn in the road the sleigh approached, and as it drew nearer the girls huddled in their seats almost too terror-stricken to move. ben sprang up, totally unconscious of doing so. "can you make it, dave, do you think?" gasped the real estate man's son, when the turn was less than a hundred feet away. "i don't think i'll try," was the unexpected answer. "hold fast, everybody! we're going through the fence!" the turn in the road led to the left, and as they approached it dave relaxed his hold on the left rein and pulled with might and main on the right. this brought the team around just a trifle, but it was enough to keep them from attempting to follow the road--something which would undoubtedly have caused the slewing around of the sleigh and probably its overturning. as it was, the team left the roadway, and the next instant had crashed through a frail rail-fence and was floundering along in the deep snow of a ploughed-up and sloping field beyond. "whoa there!" cried dave, soothingly. "whoa, jerry! whoa, bill!" and thus he continued to talk to the team while the sleigh bumped along through the deep snow and over the uneven ground. running away on the smooth surface of the highway had been one thing; keeping up such a gait over a ploughed field and in snow almost a foot deep was quite another. soon the fiery grays broke from their mad gallop into a trot, and a minute later dave had no trouble in bringing them to a halt. there they stood in the snow and the furrows of the field, snorting, and emitting clouds of steam from their nostrils. "hold 'em, dave, while i get out and go to their heads!" cried ben, and an instant later was out in the snow and had hold of the steeds. each of the horses was trembling a little, but the run seemed to have done neither of them any harm. "oh, dave! dave!" gasped jessie. she tried to go on, but could not. "oh, how thankful i am that you did not attempt to go around that corner!" came from laura. "if you had tried that we would have been upset and maybe all killed!" and she shuddered. "it was just the right thing to do, dave," was ben's comment. "but i don't know that i would have thought of it. you are a quick thinker, and i guess we have you to thank for saving our lives." "well, we've broken down somebody's fence," returned dave, not knowing what else to say. "we'll have to fix that, i suppose." "huh! what's a broken fence to saving one's neck!" snorted ben. "besides, we only busted a couple of rails, and they are not worth a great deal." "dave, do you think it will be safe to ride behind that team any more?" questioned laura. "i'm going to do it," he answered promptly. "no team of horses is going to get the better of me!" "i think, now that they have had this run, they'll tame down a little," said ben. "besides that, the rest of the road to coburntown is almost straight and flat." "yes, and as soon as we get on a straight road i'll give them all the running they want," answered dave. "i'll guarantee that by the time we reach town they'll be just as meek as any one would want them." with ben still at their heads the team was turned around and led to the roadway once more. there the horses were tied to a tree near by, and then dave and ben spent a little time in repairing the damage done to the fence. "i wish we could find out who those fellows in the auto were," said ben, when they were once again on the way. "they ought to be fined for speeding." "i doubt if we'll be able to locate them," answered dave. and he was right--they never saw or heard of the reckless automobilists again. as has been mentioned, beyond the hill the road to coburntown was almost straight and level. and here for over two miles dave allowed the grays to go along at a good gait, although keeping his eyes on them continually, so that they might not get beyond control. as a consequence of this additional burst of speed, when they came in sight of the town for which they were bound, the grays were quite docile and willing to behave themselves properly. "now if you say so, i'll take you girls around to the french shop," suggested dave, "and then ben and i can drive around to mr. wecks's shoe-store." this was agreeable to laura and jessie, and in a few minutes the girls were left at the door of the establishment where laura had said she wished to match some ribbon. then the two boys started for the shoe-dealer's shop. dave had already acquainted ben with the particulars of his errand to the place. "what are you going to do if wecks says you really had the shoes?" questioned the son of the real estate dealer, when they were on the way to the shoe store. "but how can he say that when i haven't been near the place, ben?" returned dave. "i don't know. but i do know that people have sometimes had things charged to them at the stores which other people got." "humph! well, i sha'n't pay for any shoes that i did not get," answered our hero, simply. mr. wecks's establishment was at the far end of the main street of coburntown; so the lads had half a dozen blocks to cover before they reached the place. "hello, it's closed!" exclaimed ben, as they came in sight of the store; and he nodded in the direction of the show window, the curtain of which was drawn down. the curtain on the door was also down, and on the glass was pasted a sheet of note paper. "some sort of notice. i'll see what it is," answered dave, and, throwing the reins to ben, he left the sleigh. soon he was reading what was written on the sheet of paper: _closed on account of death in the family._ william wecks. "somebody dead. that's too bad!" mused dave. "i wonder who it can be?" and then he passed into a barber shop next door to find out. "it's mr. wecks's father--a very old man who lived back in the country from here," explained the barber. "mr. wecks went up there last night, and he doesn't expect to come back until after the funeral, which will probably be day after to-morrow." "i don't suppose his clerk is around?" questioned dave. "no. the funeral gave him a holiday, and he was glad of it. he's out of town, too;" and having thus expressed himself, the barber turned to wait upon a customer who had just come in, and dave returned to the sleigh. "if that's the case, you'll have to let the matter rest until the next time you come to coburntown, or else you'll have to write to mr. wecks," said ben. "i'll be coming over again before very long," answered dave. "but, just the same, i'd like to have this matter settled." while dave was speaking to his chum a man passed him on the sidewalk, looking at him rather fixedly. this man was mr. asa dickley, the proprietor of the largest gentlemen's furnishing establishment of which coburntown boasted. our hero knew the man fairly well, having purchased a number of things at his place from time to time, and so he nodded pleasantly. mr. asa dickley nodded in return, but with a rather sour expression on his face. then he glanced at ben, and at the handsome sleigh and still more stylish team of horses, and passed on muttering something to himself. "mr. dickley didn't look very happy," was dave's comment, as he and ben entered the sleigh. "i don't think he likes my father very much," answered the son of the real estate dealer. "he wanted to get a piece of property here very cheap, and my father found another customer for the place at five hundred dollars more." "i see, ben. just the same, why should he give me such a hard look? of course, i haven't been in his place of business for a good while. but he can't expect me to buy all my furnishing goods from him." "well, you know how it is, dave--when you buy some things from some storekeepers they think they are entitled to your whole trade. however, i shouldn't let the matter worry me." "not much! i've got other things to think about. don't forget that i expect next month to take that examination in civil engineering. that's what is on my mind just now." "oh, you'll pass, don't worry, dave. just think of what a brilliant showing you made at oak hall." "true. but my studies in civil engineering have been a good deal harder than anything i tackled at school. if it wasn't for mr. ramsdell, the old civil engineer who is coaching roger and me, i don't know how i would possibly have gotten along." "if you pass the examination, what will you do next?" "roger and i will go out on some constructive work and thus get a taste of real engineering. mr. ramsdell thinks he can get us positions with the mentor construction company of philadelphia, who are now doing a good deal of work in texas--laying out railroads and building bridges." "in texas? say! that's quite a distance from here." "so it is, ben. but it is not as far as i expect to get some day. if i ever make anything of civil engineering i hope some day to be able to do some great work in other parts of the world--maybe in mexico or south america." "say, that will be great!" cried ben, enthusiastically. "you'll have a fine chance to see the world. you must take after your uncle, dave. he was always a great fellow to travel. think of how you located him years ago away down on that island in the south seas!" "it sure was a great trip! and some day i'd like to take it over again. but just now i've got to put in all my time on this civil engineering proposition. i think i'll be lucky if i pass and get that chance to go to texas." chapter iv ward porton again a quarter of an hour later the girls had finished their shopping and rejoined the boys. then it was decided that the party should go on to clayton, six miles farther. they were told that the road was in excellent condition, and this proved to be a fact, so that the sleighing was thoroughly enjoyed. it was growing dark when they drove down the main street of clayton, and, although a bit early, all agreed to dave's suggestion that they get dinner at the leading restaurant--a place at which they had stopped a number of times and which they knew to be first-class. "what a pity roger couldn't come along," said jessie to dave just before sitting down to the sumptuous meal which the boys had ordered. "i know he would have enjoyed this very much." "no doubt of it, jessie," answered dave, who well knew what a fondness for his sister the senator's son possessed. "but, as you know, roger had to go home on a business matter for his father. senator morr is very busy in washington these days, so roger has to take care of quite a few matters at home." "isn't it queer that he doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his father and take up politics?" went on the girl. "senator morr didn't want him to do it. and, besides, roger has no taste that way. he loves civil engineering just as much as i do." "it's a wonder you and he didn't persuade phil lawrence to take it up, too, dave." "oh, phil couldn't do that. you know his father's shipping interests are very large, and mr. lawrence wants phil to take hold with him--and phil likes that sort of thing. he is planning right now to take several trips on his father's ships this summer." "when does that examination of yours come off, dave?" "about the middle of next month." "and if you really pass, are you going to work away down in texas?" continued the girl, anxiously. "if i can get the position,--and if roger is willing to go along." "i don't like to have you go so far away;" and jessie pouted a little. "well, it can't be helped. if i want to be a civil engineer i've got to take an opening where i can get it. besides, mr. ramsdell thinks it will be the best kind of training for roger and me. he knows the men at the head of the mentor company, and will get them to give us every opportunity to advance ourselves. that, you know, will mean a great deal." "oh, but texas, dave! why, that is thousands of miles away!" "not so very many thousands, jessie," he answered with a little smile. "the mails run regularly, and i trust you will not forget how to write letters. besides that, i don't expect to stay in texas forever." "yes, but when you come back from texas, you'll be going off to some other far-away place--south america, or africa, or the north pole, or somewhere," and jessie pouted again. "oh, say, let up! i'm not going to south africa, or to the north pole either. of course, i may go to mexico or south america, or to the far west. but that won't be so very soon. it will be after i have had considerable experience in civil engineering, and when i am older than i am now. and you know what sometimes happens to a fellow when he gets older?" "what?" "he gets married." "oh, indeed!" jessie blushed a little. "and then i suppose he goes off and leaves his wife behind and forgets all about her." "does he? not so as you can notice it! he takes his wife with him--that is, provided she will go." "oh, the idea!" and now, as dave looked her steadily in the eyes, jessie blushed more than ever. where this conversation would have ended it is impossible to say, but at that moment laura interrupted the pair, followed by ben; and then the talk became general as the four sat down to dinner. the horses had been put up in a stable connected with the restaurant, and after the meal it was dave who went out to get them and bring them around to the front of the place. he was just driving to the street when his glance fell upon a person standing in the glare of an electric light. the person had his face turned full toward our hero, so that dave got a good look at him. "ward porton!" cried the youth in astonishment. "how in the world did that fellow get here, and what is he doing?" like a flash the memory of the past came over dave--how ward porton had tried to pass himself off as the real dave porter and thus relegate dave himself back to the ranks of the "nobodies." dave was crossing the sidewalk at the time, but as soon as he had the team and the sleigh in the street he jumped out and made his way towards the other youth. "i think i'll interview him and see what he has to say for himself," murmured dave to himself. "maybe i'll have him arrested." ward porton had been staring at our hero all the while he was turning into the street and getting out of the sleigh. but now, as he saw dave approaching, he started to walk away. "stop, porton! i want to talk to you," called out our hero. "stop!" "i don't want to see you," returned the other youth, hastily. "you let me alone;" and then, as dave came closer, he suddenly broke into a run down the street. dave was taken by surprise, but only for a moment. then he, too, commenced to run, doing his best to catch the fellow ahead. but ward porton was evidently scared. he looked back, and, seeing dave running, increased his speed, and then shot around a corner and into an alleyway. when dave reached the corner he was nowhere in sight. "he certainly was scared," was dave's mental comment, as he looked up and down the side street and even glanced into the alleyway. "i wonder where he went and if it would do any good to look any further for him?" dave spent fully five minutes in that vicinity, but without being able to discover ward porton's hiding-place. then, knowing that the others would be wondering what had become of him, and being also afraid that the grays might run away again, he returned to where he had left the sleigh standing. "hello! where did you go?" called out ben, who had just emerged from the restaurant. "what do you think? i just saw that rascal, ward porton!" burst out dave. "porton! you don't mean it? where is he?" "he was standing under that light when i drove out from the stable. i ran to speak to him, and then he took to his legs and scooted around yonder corner. i went after him, but by the time i got on the side street he was out of sight." "is that so! it's too bad you couldn't catch him, dave. i suppose you would have liked to talk to him." "that's right, ben. and maybe i might have had him arrested, although now that he has been exposed, and now that link merwell is in jail, i don't suppose it would have done much good." "it's queer he should show himself so close to crumville. one would think that he would want to put all the distance possible between himself and your folks." "that's true, ben. maybe he is up to some more of his tricks." the girls were on the lookout for the boys, and now, having bundled up well, they came from the restaurant, and all got into the sleigh once more. then they turned back in the direction of crumville, this time, however, taking a route which did not go near conover's hill. "oh, dave! were you sure it was that ward porton?" questioned his sister, when he had told her and jessie about the appearance of the former moving-picture actor. "i was positive. besides, if it wasn't porton, why would he run away?" "i sincerely hope he doesn't try to do you any harm, dave," said jessie, and gave a little shiver. "i was hoping we had seen the last of that horrid young man." "why, jessie! you wouldn't call him horrid, would you, when he looks so very much like dave?" asked ben, mischievously. "he doesn't look very much like dave," returned the girl, quickly. "and he doesn't act in the least like him," she added loyally. "it's mighty queer to have a double that way," was the comment of the real estate man's son. "i don't know that i should like to have somebody else looking like me." "if you couldn't help it, you'd have to put up with it," returned dave, briefly. and then he changed the subject, which, as the others could plainly see, was distasteful to him. as they left clayton the moon came up over a patch of woods, flooding the snowy roadway with subdued light. in spite of what had happened, all of the young folks were in good spirits, and they were soon laughing and chatting gaily. ben started to sing one of the old oak hall favorites, and dave and the girls joined in. the grays were now behaving themselves, and trotted along as steadily as could be desired. when the sleighing-party reached crumville they left ben basswood at his door, and then went on to the wadsworth mansion. "did you have a fine ride?" inquired mrs. wadsworth, when the young folks bustled into the house. "oh, it was splendid, mamma!" cried her daughter. "coming back in the moonlight was just the nicest ever!" "did those grays behave themselves?" questioned mr. wadsworth, who was present. "john said they acted rather frisky when he brought them out." "oh, they were pretty frisky at first," returned dave. "but i finally managed to get them to calm down," he added. the matter had been discussed by the young folks, and it had been decided not to say anything about the runaway unless it was necessary. on the following morning dave had to apply himself diligently to his studies. since leaving oak hall he had been attending a civil engineering class in the city with roger, and had, in addition, been taking private tutoring from a mr. ramsdell, a retired civil engineer of considerable reputation, who, in years gone by, had been a college friend of dave's father. dave was exceedingly anxious to make as good a showing as possible at the coming examinations. "here are several letters for you, david," said old mr. potts to him late that afternoon, as he entered the boy's study with the mail. "you seem to be the lucky one," the retired professor continued, with a smile. "all i've got is a bill." "maybe there is a bill here for me, professor," returned dave gaily, as he took the missives handed out. dave glanced at the envelopes. by the handwritings he knew that one letter was from phil lawrence and another from shadow hamilton, one of his old oak hall chums, and a fellow who loved to tell stories. the third communication was postmarked coburntown, and in a corner of the envelope had the imprint of asa dickley. "hello! i wonder what mr. dickley wants of me," dave mused, as he turned the letter over. then he remembered how sour the store-keeper had appeared when they had met the day before. "maybe he wants to know why i haven't bought anything from him lately." dave tore open the communication which was written on one of asa dickley's letterheads. the letter ran as follows: "mr. david porter. "dear sir: "i thought when i saw you in coburntown to-day that you would come in and see me; but you did not. will you kindly let me know why you do not settle up as promised? when i let you have the goods, you said you would settle up by the end of the week without fail. unless you come in and settle up inside of the next week i shall have to call the attention of your father to what you owe me. "yours truly, "asa dickley." chapter v what asa dickley had to say dave read the letter received from mr. asa dickley with much interest. he went over it twice, and as he did so the second time his mind reverted to the communication received the morning before from mr. wecks. "what in the world does mr. dickley mean by writing to me in this fashion?" he mused. "i haven't had anything from him in a long while, and i don't owe him a cent. it certainly is a mighty strange proceeding, to say the least." then like a flash another thought came into his mind--was ward porton connected in any way with this affair? "somebody must have gotten some things in my name from mr. dickley, and he must have gotten those shoes from mr. wecks, too. if the party went there in person and said he was dave porter, i don't think it could have been any one but ward porton, because, so far as i know, he's the only fellow that resembles me." our hero was so much worried that he gave scant attention to the letters received from phil lawrence and shadow hamilton, even though those communications contained many matters of interest. he was looking at the dickley communication for a third time when his sister entered. "well, dave, no more bad news i hope?" said laura, with a smile. "it is bad news," he returned. "just read that;" and he turned the letter over to her. "if you owe mr. dickley any money you ought to pay him," said the sister, after perusing the epistle. "i don't think father would like it if he knew you were running into debt," and she gazed anxiously at dave. "laura! you ought to know me better than that," he answered somewhat shortly. "i never run any bills unless i am able to pay them. but this is something different. it is in the same line with the one i got from mr. wecks. i didn't get his shoes, and i haven't gotten anything from mr. dickley for a long time, and nothing at all that i haven't paid for." "oh, dave! do you mean it?" and now laura's face took on a look of worry. "why, somebody must be playing a trick on you!" "if he is, it's a mighty mean trick, laura. but i think it is more than a trick. i think it is a swindle." "swindle?" "exactly. and what is more, do you know who i think is guilty?" "why, who could be guilty?" the sister paused for a moment to look at her brother. "oh, dave! could it be that awful ward porton?" "that's the fellow i fasten on. didn't we meet him in clayton? and that's only six miles from coburntown. more than likely that rascal has been hanging around here, and maybe getting a whole lot of things in my name." dave began to pace the floor. "it's a shame! if i could get hold of him i think i would have him locked up." "what are you going to do about this letter?" "i'm going to go to coburntown the first chance i get and tell mr. dickley, and also mr. wecks, the truth. i want to find out whether the party who got those things procured them in person or on some written order. if he got them on a written order, somebody must have forged my name." "hadn't you better tell father or uncle dunston about this?" "not just yet, laura. it will be time enough to worry them after i have seen mr. wecks and mr. dickley. perhaps i can settle the matter myself." dave was so upset that it was hard for him to buckle down to his studies; and he was glad that evening when an interruption came in the shape of the arrival of his old school chum and fellow engineering student, roger morr. "back again! and right side up with care!" announced the senator's son, as he came in and shook hands. "my! but i've had a busy time since i've been away!" he replied in answer to a question of dave's. "i had to settle up one or two things for father, and then i had to go on half a dozen different errands for mother, and then see to it that i got those new text books that mr. ramsdell spoke about. i got two copies of each, dave, and here are those that are coming to you," and he passed over three small volumes. "and that isn't all. i just met ben basswood at the depot where he was sending a telegram to his father, who is in chicago. ben had some wonderful news to tell." "what was that?" asked laura and jessie simultaneously. "he didn't give me any of the particulars, but it seems an old friend of theirs died out in chicago recently, and mr. basswood was sent for by some lawyers to help settle the estate." "yes, we know that much," broke in dave. "but what's the new news?" "why, it seems this man, enos, died quite wealthy, and he left almost his entire estate to mr. basswood." "is that so!" cried dave. "that sure is fine! i don't know of anybody who deserves money more than do the basswoods," and his face lit up with genuine pleasure. "it will be nice for ben," said jessie, "and even nicer for mrs. basswood. mamma says there was a time when they were quite poor, and mrs. basswood had to do all her own work. now they'll be able to take it easy." "oh, they are far from poor," returned dave. "they've been living on 'easy street,' as the saying goes, for a number of years. just the same, it will be a fine thing for them to get this fortune." "there was one thing about the news that ben didn't understand," continued roger. "his father telegraphed that the estate was a decidedly curious one, and that was why the lawyers wanted him to come to chicago immediately. he added that mr. enos had proved to be a very eccentric individual." "maybe he was as eccentric as that man in rhode island i once read about," said dave, with a grin. "when he died he left an estate consisting of about twelve thousand ducks. this estate went to two worthless nephews, who knew nothing at all about their uncle's business. and, as somebody said, the two nephews very soon made 'ducks and drakes' of the whole fortune." "oh, what a story!" cried jessie, laughing. "twelve thousand ducks! what ever would a person do with them?" "why, some duck farms are very profitable," returned roger. "you don't suppose this mr. enos left such a fortune as that to mr. basswood?" queried laura. "i'm sure i don't know what the fortune consists of. and neither did ben. he was tremendously curious to know. and he said his mother could hardly wait until mr. basswood sent additional information," replied roger. "ben told me that this mr. enos was once a partner of his father in business, the two running an art store together. enos was very much interested in art; so it's possible the fortune he left may have something to do with that," added dave. as my old readers know, roger morr had always thought a great deal of laura; and of late his liking for her had greatly increased. on her part, dave's sister had always considered the senator's son a very promising young man. consequently, it can well be imagined that the four young people spent a most enjoyable time that evening in the mansion. the girls played on the piano and all sang, and then some rugs were pushed aside, a phonograph was brought into action, and they danced a number of the latest steps, with the older folks looking on. roger was to remain over for several days at crumville, and early the next morning dave asked his chum if he would accompany him on a hasty trip to coburntown. he had already acquainted roger with the trouble he was having with the shoe-dealer and the man who sold men's furnishings. "we can take a horse and cutter and be back before lunch," said dave. "i'll be glad to go," answered the senator's son. "i haven't had a ride in a cutter this winter." they were soon on the way, dave this time driving a black horse that could not only cover the ground well, but was thoroughly reliable. by ten o'clock they found themselves in coburntown, and made their way to the establishment run by asa dickley. the proprietor of the store was busy with a customer at the time, and a clerk came forward to wait on the new arrivals. "i wish to speak to mr. dickley," said dave; and he and roger waited until the man was at leisure. mr. dickley looked anything but pleasant as he walked up to our hero. "i got a very strange letter from you, mr. dickley. i can't understand it at all," began dave. "and i can't understand why you treat me the way you do," blurted out the shopkeeper. "you promised to come in here and settle up over a week ago." "mr. dickley, i think there is a big mistake somewhere," said dave, as calmly as he could. "i don't owe you any money, and i can't understand why you should write me such a letter as this," and he brought forth the communication he had received. "you don't owe me any money!" ejaculated asa dickley. "i just guess you do! you owe me twenty-six dollars." "twenty-six dollars!" repeated dave. "what is that for?" "for? you know as well as i do! didn't you come in here and get a fedora hat, some shirts and collars and neckties, and a pair of fur-lined gloves, and a lot of underwear? the whole bill came to just twenty-six dollars." "and when was this stuff purchased?" went on dave. "when was it purchased? see here, porter, what sort of tom-foolery is this?" cried asa dickley. "you know as well as i do when you got the things. i wouldn't be so harsh with you, only you promised me faithfully that you would come in and settle up long before this." "mr. dickley, i haven't had any goods from you for a long, long time--and what i have had i have paid for," answered dave, doing his best to keep his temper, because he knew the storekeeper must be laboring under a mistake. "as a matter of fact, i haven't been in your store for several months." "what!" ejaculated the storekeeper. "do you mean to deny that you bought those goods from me, young man?" "i certainly do deny it. as i said before, i haven't been in this store for several months." at this plain declaration made by dave, mr. asa dickley grew fairly purple. he leaned over his counter and shook his clenched fist in dave's face. "so that is the way you are going to try to swindle me out of my money, is it, dave porter?" he cried. "well, let me tell you, it won't work. you came here and got those goods from me, and either you'll pay for them or i'll sue your father for the amount. why, it's preposterous!" the storekeeper turned to his clerk, who was gazing on the scene in open-mouthed wonder. "here a customer comes in and buys a lot of goods and i am good-hearted enough to trust him to the amount, twenty-six dollars, and then he comes here and declares to my face that he never had the things and he won't pay for them. now what do you think of that, hibbins?" "i think it's pretty raw," responded the clerk. "weren't you in the shop when i let porter have some of those goods?" "i certainly was," answered hibbins. "of course, i was in the rear, sorting out those new goods that had come in, so i didn't see just what you let him have; but i certainly know he got some things." "mr. dickley, now listen to me for a minute," said dave in a tone of voice that arrested the man's attention in spite of his irascibility. "look at me closely. didn't the fellow who got those things from you look somewhat different from me?" dave faced the storekeeper with unflinching eyes, and asa dickley was compelled to look the youth over carefully. as he did this the positive expression on his face gradually changed to one of doubt. "why, i--er--of course, he looked like you," he stammered. "of course you can change your looks a little; but that don't count with me. besides, didn't you give me your name as dave porter, and ask me if i didn't remember you?" "the fellow who got those goods may have done all that, mr. dickley. but that fellow was not i. i may be mistaken, but i think it was a young man who resembles me, and who some time ago made a great deal of trouble for me." "humph! that's a fishy kind of story, porter. if there is such a person he must look very much like you." "he does. in fact, some people declare they can hardly tell us apart." "what's the name of that fellow?" "ward porton." "does he live around here?" "i don't know where he is living just at present. but i saw him day before yesterday in clayton. i tried to stop him, but he ran away from me." the storekeeper gazed at dave for a moment in silence, and then pursed up his lips and shook his head decidedly. "that is too much of a fish story for me to swallow," he said harshly. "you'll either have to bring that young man here and prove that he got the goods, or else you'll have to pay for them yourself." chapter vi more trouble dave and roger spent the best part of half an hour in asa dickley's store, and during that time our hero and his chum gave the particulars of how they had become acquainted with ward porton, and how the young moving-picture actor had tried to pass himself off as the real dave porter, and how he had been exposed and had disappeared. "well, if what you say is true i've been swindled," declared the storekeeper finally. "i'd like to get my hands on that young man." "you wouldn't like it any better than i would," returned dave, grimly. "you see, i don't know how far this thing extends. mr. wecks has been after me to pay for some shoes that i never got." "say, that moving-picture actor must be a lulu!" declared the storekeeper's clerk, slangily. "if you don't watch out, porter, he'll get you into all kinds of hot water." "i think the best you can do, dave, is to notify the storekeepers you do business with to be on the lookout for porton," suggested roger. "then, if he shows up again, they can have him held until you arrive." "i'll certainly have to do something," answered dave. "then i suppose you don't want to settle that bill?" came from asa dickley, wistfully. "no, sir. and i don't think you ought to expect it." "well, i don't know. the fellow who got those goods said he was dave porter," vouchsafed the storekeeper doggedly. from asa dickley's establishment dave, accompanied by his chum, drove around to the store kept by mr. wecks. he found the curtains still down, but the shoe-dealer had just come in, and was at his desk writing letters. "and you mean to say you didn't get those shoes?" questioned mr. wecks with interest, after dave had explained the situation. "that's mighty curious. i never had a thing like that happen before." he knew our hero well, and trusted dave implicitly. "i shouldn't have sent that letter only i had a chance to sell a pair of shoes that size, and i thought if you had made your selection i could sell the pair you didn't want to the other fellow." once again the two boys had to tell all about ward porton and what that young rascal was supposed to be doing. as they proceeded mr. wecks's face took on a look of added intelligence. "exactly! exactly! that fits in with what i thought when that fellow went off with the shoes," he declared finally. "i said to myself, 'somehow dave porter looks different to-day. he must have had a spell of sickness or something.' that other chap was a bit thinner and paler than you are." "he's a regular cigarette fiend, and that is, i think, what makes him look pale," put in roger. and then he added quickly: "do you remember--was he smoking?" "yes, he was. he threw a cigarette stub away while he was trying on the shoes, and then lit another cigarette when he was going out. i thought at the time that he was probably smoking more than was good for him." "i don't smoke at all, and never have done so," said dave. he turned to his chum. "i think the fact that the fellow who got the shoes was smoking is additional proof that it was porton." "i haven't the slightest idea that it was anybody else," answered the senator's son. mr. wecks promised to keep on the lookout for ward porton, in case that individual showed himself again, and then dave and roger left. "i'm going into all the stores where i do business and tell the folks to be on the watch for ward porton," said our hero. "a good idea, dave. but see here! how are they going to tell him from you?" and the senator's son chuckled. "you may come along some day and they may hold you, thinking you are porton." "i thought of that, roger, and i'll leave each of them my signature on a card. i know that ward porton doesn't write as i do." this idea was followed out, the boys spending the best part of an hour in going around coburntown. then they drove back to crumville, and there dave visited some other establishments with which he was in the habit of doing business. all the storekeepers were much interested in what he had to tell, and all readily agreed to have ward porton detained if he should show himself. at each place dave left his signature, so that there might be no further mistake regarding his identity. after that several days passed quietly. both dave and roger were applying themselves to their studies, and as a consequence saw little of ben except in the evenings, when all the young folks would get together for more or less of a good time. "any more news about that fortune in chicago?" asked dave, one evening of the basswood lad. "not very much," answered ben. "father telegraphed that he was hunting for some things that belonged to mr. enos. he said that as soon as he found them he would tell us all about it." "that certainly is a strange state of affairs." "strange? i should say it was!" cried the other. "mother and i are just dying to know what it all means. one thing is certain--mr. enos did not leave his fortune in stocks or bonds or real estate, or anything like that." on the following day came additional trouble for dave in the shape of a communication from a hotel-keeper in coburntown. he stated that he had heard through asa dickley that dave was having trouble with a party who was impersonating him, and added that a person calling himself dave porter was owing him a bill of fifteen dollars for five days' board. "isn't this the limit?" cried dave, as he showed the letter to his father and his uncle dunston. "no use in talking, dave, we'll have to get after that rascal," announced the father. "if we don't, there is no telling how far he'll carry this thing. i think i'll put the authorities on his track." two days after that, and while dave was continuing his studies as diligently as ever, came word over the telephone from clayton. "is this you, dave porter?" came over the wire. "yes," answered our hero. "who are you?" "this is nat poole talking. i am up here in clayton--in the first national bank. you know my father got me a job here last week." "no, i didn't know it, nat. but i'm glad to hear you have something to do, and i hope you'll make a success of it," returned dave promptly. "i called you up to find out if you were in clayton," continued the son of the money lender. "i wanted to make sure of it." "well, i'm not. i'm right here at home, nat." "then, in that case, i want to tell you that the fellow who looks like you is here." "where do you mean--in the bank?" "well, he came in here to get a five-dollar bill changed. i happened to see him as he was going out and i called to him, thinking it was you. when i called he seemed to get scared, and he got out in a hurry. then i happened to think about that fellow who looked like you, and i made up my mind i'd call you up." "how long ago since he was in the bank?" questioned dave, eagerly. "not more than ten minutes ago. i tried to get you sooner but the wire was busy." "you haven't any idea where he went?" "no, except that he started down the side street next to the bank, which, as maybe you know, runs towards the river." "all right, nat. thank you very much for what you've told me. i want to locate that fellow if i possibly can. he is a swindler, and if you clap eyes on him again have him arrested," added dave; and this nat poole promised to do. the news over the wire excited dave not a little. of the men of the household, only old professor potts was in, and he, of course, could not assist in the matter. dave at once sought out mrs. wadsworth and told her of what he had heard. "i think i'll drive to clayton and see if i can locate porton," he added. "roger says he will go with me." "do as you think best, dave," answered the lady of the house. "but do keep out of trouble! this ward porton may prove to be a dangerous character if you attempt to corner him." "i think roger and i can manage him, if only we can find him," returned the youth. once more the black horse and the cutter were brought into service, and the two youths made the best possible time on the snowy highway that led through coburntown to clayton. arriving there, they called at the bank and interviewed nat poole. "if what you say about porton is true he certainly must be a bad one--almost as bad as merwell and jasniff," was the comment of the money lender's son. "i certainly hope you spot him and bring him to book. that's the way he went the last i saw of him," he added, pointing down the side street. dave and roger drove down the street looking to the right and the left for a possible sight of ward porton. but their search was doomed to disappointment for the moving-picture actor was nowhere to be seen. "it's a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack," was the comment of the senator's son, after a full hour had been spent in the hunt. they had left the sleigh and had walked around a number of mills and tenement houses which were situated in that locality. "i've got an idea," said dave, as several children approached them. "i'm going to ask the youngsters if they've seen a young man who looks like me." the first boys and girls to whom the subject was broached shook their heads and declared they had seen nobody that resembled dave. then our hero and his chum passed on to other children, and finally to some men working around a newly-constructed tenement. "why sure! i saw a young feller wot looked like you," said a youth who was piling up some lumber. "he ast me fer a match. say! he looked like he could have been your twin," he added in wonder; and then continued suddenly: "maybe youse is playin' a trick on me, and it was youse got the match?" "no, i never met you before," answered dave, quickly. "when did you meet the other fellow, and where? i am very anxious to locate him." "it was down on de bridge, about an hour ago. i was comin' dis way, and he was goin' de udder way." "was he smoking a cigarette?" asked roger. "he had one o' de coffin-nails in his hand and he lit up after i given him de match." "did he say anything?" questioned our hero. the carpenter's helper scratched his head for a moment. "sure he did! he ast me if it was putty good walkin' to bixter. i told him 'putty fair,' and den he went on and i came here." "then he must have gone on to bixter!" cried roger. "how far is that from here?" "about two miles and a half," answered dave. he turned to the carpenter's helper. "much obliged to you." "dat's all right. say! but dat guy certainly looks like you," the carpenter's helper added, with a grin. "come, we'll follow him," said dave to his chum, and led the way on the run to where the horse was tied. soon they were in the cutter once more. dave urged the black along at his best speed, and over the bridge they flew, and then along the road leading to the village of bixter. chapter vii face to face "if you catch porton, dave, what will you do--turn him over to the authorities?" "yes, roger." "is bixter much of a place?" "oh, no. there are but two stores and two churches and not over thirty or forty houses." "then you may have some trouble in finding an officer. probably the village doesn't boast of anything more than a constable and a justice of the peace." "i am not worrying about that yet, roger," returned our hero, grimly. "we have got to catch porton first." "oh, i know that. but if he started for bixter on foot we ought to be able to locate him. a stranger can't go through such a small place without somebody's noticing it." on and on trotted the horse, past many well-kept farms, and then through a small patch of timber land. beyond the woods they crossed a frozen creek, and then made a turn to the northward. a short distance beyond they came in sight of the first houses that went to make up the village of bixter. "well, we've not seen anything of him yet," remarked the senator's son, as they slowed up and looked ahead and to both sides of the village street. "no, and i don't understand it," returned dave. "from what that carpenter's helper said, i thought we should overtake him before we got to bixter. either he must have left this road, or else he must be some walker." "i don't see where he could have gone if he left the road, dave. all we passed were lanes leading to the farms, and a path through that wood. it isn't likely he would take to the woods in this cold weather--not unless he was going hunting, and that chap back in clayton didn't say anything about his carrying a gun." with the horse in a walk, they passed down the village street and back again. as they did this they kept their eyes wide open, peering into the various yards and lanes that presented themselves. "i'm afraid it's no use unless he is in one of these houses or in one of the stores," was roger's comment. "i'll ask at the stores," returned dave. the inquiries he and his chum made were productive of no results so far as locating ward porton was concerned. no one had seen or heard of the former moving picture actor. "all the strangers we've seen to-day was a cigar drummer," said one of the shopkeepers. "and he was a fat man and about forty years old." the other storekeeper had had no strangers in his place. hardly knowing what to do next, dave and roger returned to the cutter. "maybe he went farther than this," suggested roger. "we might go on a mile or two and take a look." now that they had come so far, dave thought this a good idea, and so they passed on for a distance of nearly two miles beyond bixter. here the sleighing became poor, there being but few farmhouses in that vicinity. "it's no use," said dave, finally. "we'll go back to bixter, take another look around, and then return to clayton and home." when they arrived once more at the village dave suggested that he and his chum separate. "there are a number of these lanes that lead to some back roads," said dave. "perhaps if we tramp around on foot and ask some of the country folks living around here we may get on the track of the fellow we are after." the senator's son was willing, and he was soon walking down a lane leading to the right while dave went off to the left. presently dave came to a barn where a farmer was mending some broken harness. "hello! back again, are you?" cried the farmer, as he looked at dave curiously. "what brought you? why didn't you stop when i called to you before?" "i guess you're just the man i want to see," cried dave, quickly. and then, as the farmer looked at him in increasing wonder, he added: "did a young man who looks very much like me go past here to-day?" "look like you?" queried the farmer. "why, it was you, wasn't it?" "no. it must have been a fellow who resembles me very closely. i am trying to catch him." "well, i swan!" murmured the farmer, looking at dave critically. "that other feller looked as much like you as could be. wot is he--your twin brother?" "i am thankful to say he is no relative of mine. he is a swindler, and that is why i would like to catch him. he has been getting goods in my name. if he went past here perhaps you can tell me where he has gone?" "he walked past here less than fifteen minutes ago. he went down that lane, which is a short cut to the road to barnett." "barnett!" cried our hero. "that's the railroad station up this way, isn't it?" "yes." "then he must be heading for a railroad train!" exclaimed dave, quickly. "how far is it from here?" "barnett is three miles by the road, but it's less than a mile and a quarter by that short cut through gerry's woods." "then i'll go after him by that short cut," answered dave. he thought for a moment. to hunt up roger and get him to go along might take too long. he looked at the farmer. "would you like to go with me? i'll make it worth your while," he continued. "sorry, but i can't do it," was the reply. "i've got to meet the man who buys my milk down town in about fifteen minutes. he's a very particular customer, and if i should fail him he might get mad. so i can't go." "all right, i'll go after him alone," answered our hero; and then continued: "if you are going down town, and you chance to see a friend of mine with my black horse and cutter, will you kindly tell him where i have gone?" "sure, i will;" and with this promise from the farmer dave started on a swift walk along the short cut to barnett which the other had pointed out. fortunately for the youth, to keep his feet warm while riding he had donned a heavy pair of rubbers, so that walking through the rather deep snow of the path leading through the back farms and through gerry's woods was not as uncomfortable as it might otherwise have been. to be sure, he occasionally found himself floundering in snow that was over his shoetops, but when this happened he simply smiled grimly and made the best of it. when at oak hall he had often taken part in track athletics, cross-country running, and occasionally in a game of hare and hounds, and consequently his wind was good and he made rapid progress without becoming too much exhausted. he was in the depth of the woods when, at a turn in the path, he saw a figure ahead of him. the individual wore a heavy overcoat and had a cap pulled well down over his ears and the back of his head. "i may be mistaken, but that looks as if it might be porton," said dave to himself. "however, i'll soon know;" and he increased his speed so that he might catch up to the other walker. as the ground was covered with snow our hero made but slight noise while he advanced, and as a consequence he drew quite close to the other individual before the latter was aware of his presence. "hi there!" called out dave, when he was but a few feet behind. the fellow had stopped and turned around, and a single glance showed our hero that it was the youth he was seeking. "dave porter!" muttered ward porton, as he recognized our hero. his manner showed that he was much astonished, as well as chagrined, at this unexpected meeting. "you didn't expect to meet me out here, did you?" remarked dave, sharply, as he came up alongside the former moving-picture actor. "why--i--er--i--can't--can't say that i did," returned porton, lamely. "you've been acting in a fine way, haven't you, porton?" went on dave, angrily. "huh! what have i done?" porton's gaze was shifty. he did not dare to look our hero in the eyes. "you know well enough what you've done, porton--buying a whole lot of goods in my name." "what are you talking about? i didn't do any such thing!" was the blustering reply. the former moving-picture actor was recovering from his surprise. "i can prove that you did; and i'm going to hold you responsible for it," answered dave, calmly. "look here, porter, i don't want any such talk from you!" and now ward porton doubled up his fists and stuck out his chin. "i've stood all i am going to stand from you. i want you to leave me alone." "porton, you can bluster all you please, but it won't do you any good," answered dave, and his voice had a more positive ring to it than before. "you thought you could play this trick on me and get away with it, but i am going to show you it can't be done. i am going to hand you over to the authorities and see that you go to jail." "if you think you can do that, porter, you've got another guess coming. you clear out and let me alone or i'll make it hot for you;" and ward porton shook his fist in dave's face. the manner of the young man who had been obtaining goods in dave's name was so aggressive that many a youth would have been intimidated and inclined to withdraw. but that was not our hero's way. he was righteously indignant, not only because of what the rascal before him had done, but also because of his present threat. without more ado he seized hold of porton's upraised arm and backed the fellow against a tree. [illustration: he seized porton's upraised arm and backed the fellow against a tree.--_page ._] "now, you just listen to me," he said sternly. "your bluff and bluster won't do you any good. i am going to hand you over to the authorities, and that is all there is to it. you've got to behave yourself and stop threatening me, or i'll give you something that you won't want." "you imp, you! let go of me!" roared porton, and, bringing around his disengaged hand, he struck dave a glancing blow on the chin. if anything more was needed to arouse our hero's just ire, this blow proved more than sufficient. as much anger as he had ever felt in his life surged up in dave's heart. he drew back, letting go his hold--and the next instant his fist shot out and landed straight on ward porton's nose. "ouch!" spluttered the former moving-picture actor, and not without reason, for the stinging blow our hero had delivered not only hurt exceedingly, but also caused the blood to flow. "now will you behave yourself and come with me, or do you want some more?" demanded dave. "i'll fix you for that! just wait!" bellowed porton; and then he made a savage rush at our hero. the next instant they were locked in each other's arms and swaying from side to side, each doing his utmost to gain the mastery. chapter viii the basswood fortune over and over in the snow of the woods rolled dave and porton, first one being on top and then the other. each was encumbered by his heavy overcoat and his gloves, so that to send in a decisive blow was practically impossible. the former moving-picture actor fought desperately, for he had no desire to go to jail, and he realized that dave meant to send him to such a place if he could possibly accomplish it. dave, on his part, was angered through and through, not only because of what porton had done at the stores, but also because of the way the former moving-picture actor had threatened him. the encounter had occurred at a spot where the trees were somewhat scattered and where rocks were numerous. as the two continued their struggle they sent the loose snow flying in all directions and often struck on some of the rocks. at last dave managed to get his opponent by the throat, and he forced porton's head backward against a large stone. in the meantime, however, the rascal managed to double up one of his legs, and he gave dave a shove in the stomach which sent him rolling over on his side. "now i'll fix you!" panted porton, and, releasing his right hand, he picked up a loose stone which their scuffle had exposed to view. the next instant he brought the stone up, hitting our hero on the side of the head. it was a furious blow, and for the moment dave was stunned. he let go of the other's throat, and as he did this ward porton arose to his feet. "now i guess you'll let me alone!" he snarled; and aimed a vicious kick at dave's head. but the youth, even though somewhat bewildered, had sense enough left to dodge, and the blow landed on his shoulder. then porton turned and dashed wildly along the woods path leading in the direction of barnett. it took our hero several seconds to collect himself sufficiently to arise. his ear was ringing from the contact with the stone, which fortunately had been a smooth one, and his shoulder also ached, even though the kick had been delivered through the padding of his overcoat. he gazed along the path, and was just in time to see porton disappearing around a bend. if dave had been thoroughly angry before, he was now even more so; and, shaking his head to clear his brain, he started on a run after the fugitive. he reached the turn in the path to see porton emerging from the woods and taking to the highway leading to the railroad depot. "he must be running to catch a train," thought our hero. "and if that is so i'll have to hustle or he'll get away." by the time dave gained the highway leading to barnett, ward porton had reached the vicinity of the first of the houses in the village. here he paused to glance back, and, seeing his pursuer, shook his fist at dave. then he went on about fifty yards farther, suddenly turning into a lane between two of the houses. "he's afraid to go to the depot for fear i'll get after him before a train comes in," thought dave. "well, i'll catch him anyway, unless he takes to the woods." what dave had surmised was correct. ward porton had thought to get on a train that would stop at barnett inside of the next ten minutes. now, however, he realized that to go to the depot and hang around until the cars took their departure would probably mean capture. "confound the luck! how did he manage to get on my trail so quickly?" muttered the former moving-picture actor to himself. "now i'll have to lay low and do my best to sneak off to some other place. i wish it wasn't so cold. when i stop running i'll be half frozen. but, anyway, i had the satisfaction of giving him one in the ear with that rock and another in the shoulder with my foot," and he smiled grimly, as he placed his handkerchief to his bleeding nose. by the time dave reached the lane between the houses, porton was nowhere in sight. there were a number of footprints in the snow, and following these dave passed a barn and some cow-sheds. from this point a single pair of footprints led over a short field into the very woods where the encounter had taken place. "he's going to hide in the woods, sure enough," reasoned our hero. "or else maybe he'll try to get back to clayton, or bixter." "hi! what's going on here?" cried a voice from the cow-shed, and a man showed himself, followed by two well-grown boys. "i'm after a fellow who just ran across that field into the woods," explained dave, quickly. "he's a thief. i want to catch him and have him locked up." "oh, say! i thought i saw somebody," exclaimed one of the boys. "i thought it might be tom jones goin' huntin'." in as few words as possible dave explained the situation to the farmer and his two sons, and they readily agreed to accompany him into the woods. "but you'll have a big job trying to locate that chap in those woods," was the farmer's comment. "the growth back here is very thick, and my boys have been lost in it more than once." "huh! we always found our way out again," grumbled the older of the sons, who did not like this statement on his parent's part. "yes, billy, but the woods are mighty thick," returned his brother. "if that feller don't look out he may get lost and get froze to death to-night, unless he knows enough to make a fire." it was easy enough to follow the footprints to the edge of the woods. but once there, the brushwood and rocks were so thick that to follow the marks one would have had to have the eyes of an expert trailer. dave and the farmer, with the two boys, searched around for the best part of a quarter of an hour, but without success. "he's slipped you, i guess," remarked the farmer, shaking his head. "i thought he would." "are there any trails running through the woods in this vicinity?" "the only trail i know of is the one running to bixter. there is a woods road used by the lumbermen, but that is on the other side of the railroad tracks." the struggle with ward porton, followed by the run, had put dave into quite a perspiration, and in the depth of the woods he found it exceedingly cold. "i'll have to keep on the move or i may get a chill," he told the others, after another look around. "i guess we had better give it up." "goin' to offer any reward for capturin' that feller?" questioned the older of the two boys, when the four were on their way back to the cow-shed. "yes, i'll give a reward," answered our hero, promptly. "if any of you can catch him and have him held by the authorities i'll give you ten dollars." "wow! me for the ten dollars!" cried the youth. "but say! how'll i know that feller if i do find him?" he questioned suddenly. "that's right, billy, you won't want to hold the wrong man," put in the father, with a grin. "if you did that, you might get into hot water," and he chuckled. "it will be easy to recognize him," answered dave. "just take a good look at me. well, unfortunately, that other fellow resembles me very closely. in fact, that's the reason i want to catch him. that's how he got those goods i said he had stolen. it's virtually stealing to get goods in such an underhand manner." "all right, i'll know the feller if he looks like you," said billy. he turned to his younger brother. "say, paul, what do you say if we go into the woods later on and lay low for that feller? maybe he'll come out this way after he thinks the way is clear." "sure, i'll go with you," declared paul. "if we look around very carefully we may be able to pick up his tracks somewhere." it must be admitted that dave felt much crestfallen when he bade good-bye to the farmer and his sons, after having left them his name and address. the farmer had offered to drive him back to bixter, but our hero had stated that he would rather walk and take the short cut through the woods. when he arrived at the village he found roger wondering what had become of him. "well, did you catch porton?" queried the senator's son. "i did and i didn't," answered dave, with a grim sort of smile. and he related the particulars of what had occurred. "great hambones, dave! you certainly have had an experience!" was roger's comment. "let me look at that ear. i declare! it's quite swollen. i hope it didn't hurt anything inside," he added anxiously. "it rings and aches a little, roger; but i don't think it is seriously hurt." "how about your shoulder?" "that feels a little sore, but that's all. i'll soon get over it." "and to think you got so close to capturing him and then he got away!" was the sad comment of the senator's son. "it does beat all how slippery some of those rascals are." "i'm living in hope that those farmer boys will locate porton," said dave. "i promised them a reward of ten dollars if they did so. that's a lot of money for lads living around here." now that he had rejoined roger, and had gotten partly over the effects of his encounter with porton, dave was rather loath to give up the hunt. they managed to find a store where the proprietor occasionally furnished lunches, and there procured some sandwiches and hot chocolate. then they drove to barnett by the regular highway, and there took another look around for the missing evil-doer. "the boys have gone down to the woods to look for him," announced the farmer when dave called on him once more. "if they learn anything i'll let you know." that evening found dave and roger back in crumville, where, of course, they had to relate the details of what had happened. "oh, dave, you must be more careful!" cried jessie, after he had told of the encounter in the woods. "that wicked fellow might kill you!" and she shuddered. "yes indeed, you ought to be careful," said laura. "why, he seems to be almost as bad as merwell and jasniff were!" "so he is, laura. and if i ever get the chance i'll put him where they are--in prison," answered the brother grimly. as was to be expected, dave was quite worked up over what had occurred, and that night he did not sleep very well. both his father and his sister insisted that he go to a physician and have his ear examined. "no damage done, so far as i can see," said the doctor. "but you had better bathe it with witch-hazel and keep it warm for a day or two." the next day dave settled down to his studies as well as he was able. he hoped that word might come in that ward porton had been captured, but in this he was disappointed. "i think he'll steer clear of this neighborhood, for a while at least," was mr. porter's comment. "that's just my idea," added dave's uncle dunston. "he must know that a great many swindled storekeepers and other people are on the watch for him." dave had not seen ben basswood for several days. on the following evening the son of the real estate dealer came hurrying over to the wadsworth mansion. "we've got news about that mr. enos's estate!" cried ben, as soon as he met dave and roger. "it's the queerest thing you ever heard of. mother doesn't know what to make of it, and i don't know what to make of it, either." "well, i hope it's a valuable estate if it is coming to your father," said the senator's son. "i don't know whether it is valuable or not, and neither does father. he says in his telegram it is certainly worth several thousand dollars, and he doesn't know but that it may be worth a hundred thousand dollars or more." "a hundred thousand dollars!" cried laura, who had come in to hear what ben had to tell. "oh, ben, that certainly is a fortune!" "well, what does it consist of?" queried dave. "if it may be worth all the way from two or three thousand dollars to a hundred thousand or more, it must be mining stocks or something like that." "no, it isn't in stocks or bonds or anything like that." "then what in the world does the estate consist of?" questioned our hero. "miniatures," answered ben basswood, simply. chapter ix something about miniatures "miniatures?" came from all of ben basswood's listeners in a chorus. "do you mean those little paintings that are sometimes so valuable?" continued laura. "that's it," answered ben. "i don't know much about miniatures myself, but as soon as mother and i heard about this queer fortune of ours she asked the minister. you know he is quite interested in art, and he told her that most of these little miniatures, which are about the size of a silver dollar or a small saucer, are usually painted on ivory. of course, some of them are not so valuable, but others, especially those painted by celebrated artists, are worth thousands of dollars." "and how many of these miniatures are there, ben?" asked roger, with increased curiosity. "father didn't know exactly, but said they would number at least fifty, and maybe seventy-five." "i suppose they are paintings of celebrated individuals--kings, queens, and like that?" was dave's comment. "no, these miniatures, so father stated, are made up almost entirely of the great fighters of the world--army and navy men, lieutenant-generals, admirals, and officers like that." "well, where in the world did this mr. enos get money enough to buy such things?" asked jessie, who had followed laura into the room. "that's the queer part of it," answered the real-estate dealer's son. "it seems, after mr. enos and my father gave up business and separated, enos went south--first to texas and then into mexico. there he joined some men who were opening up a gold mine. these men struck it rich, and almost before he knew it mr. enos was worth quite a lot of money. he had never been very much of a business man--being wrapped up almost entirely in art--and so he did not know how to handle his money. he had always had a liking for miniatures, so my father stated, and he went in to gather this collection. he didn't want any kings or queens or noted society women, or anything like that, but he did want every miniature ever painted of an army or a navy fighter. of course, my father doesn't know all the particulars yet, but he has learned that mr. enos put himself out a great deal to get hold of certain miniatures, hunting for them all over europe and also in this country. he even went down to south america to get miniatures of some of their heroes, and also picked up several in mexico, and one or two in texas." "his hobby must certainly have had a strong hold on him," was dave's comment. "but still, that sort of thing isn't unusual. i heard once of a postage-stamp collector who went all over the world collecting stamps, and finally gave up his last dollar for a rare stamp when he actually hadn't enough to eat. of course, he was a monomaniac on the subject of stamp collecting." "well, my father has an idea that mr. enos must have been a little queer over his miniature collecting," returned ben. "but even so, the fact remains that he left his collection of miniatures behind him, and that they are now the property of my father." "and what is your father going to do with them?" questioned roger. "he doesn't know yet. you see, the settling of the estate is in a very mixed-up condition. he is going to stay in chicago for a week or so, and then he'll probably bring the miniatures east with him and have some art expert place a valuation on them. after that i suppose he'll offer the miniatures for sale to art galleries and rich collectors." this was about all ben could tell concerning the fortune left to his parent. the young folks talked the matter over for quite a while, and were presently joined by the older people, including caspar potts. "miniatures, eh?" said the genial old professor, beaming mildly on ben. "very curious! very curious indeed! but some of them are wonderful works of art, and bring very good prices. i remember, when a young man, attending a sale of art works, and a miniature of one of the english nobility was knocked down for a very large sum, several thousand dollars if i remember rightly." "well, it's very fine to get hold of a fortune, no matter in what shape it is," observed mr. wadsworth. "just the same, ben, i think your father would prefer to have it in good stocks and bonds," and he smiled faintly. "no doubt of that, sir," was the prompt answer. "but, as you say, miniatures are much better than nothing. in fact, i'd rather take a fortune in soft soap than not get it at all," and at this remark there was a general laugh. "oh, my gracious, ben! what would you do with a hundred thousand dollars' worth of soft soap?" queried laura, slyly. "oh, i'd go around and smooth down all my friends and enemies with it," the boy returned, and this caused another laugh. several more days passed, and during that time dave and roger continued to devote themselves to their studies. mr. ramsdell, the old civil engineer, was on hand to tutor the two youths, and he declared that they were making satisfactory progress, and that he thought they would pass the coming examinations without much trouble. "i wish i felt as confident about it as mr. ramsdell does," observed our hero to his chum one day. "the same here, dave," returned roger. "every time i think of that examination i fairly shake in my shoes. passing at oak hall wasn't a patch to passing as a civil engineer." there had been another fall of snow, and now sleighing was even better than before. jessie and laura went out in company with their uncle, and on their return both showed some excitement. "oh, dave--roger--what do you think!" cried laura. "i've got a letter from belle endicott, and she is coming on from star ranch to spend several weeks with me, and she is going to bring along one of her old school chums, cora dartmore. what do you think of that? won't it be fine?" "it certainly will be, laura," answered her brother. "when do you expect them to arrive?" "they are coming on immediately; so i suppose they'll be here in a day or two if they are following this letter." laura looked inquiringly at dave. "what a pity phil lawrence isn't here," she half whispered. both of them knew that during the visit of the young folks to the endicott ranch the shipowner's son and belle endicott had become exceedingly friendly. "well, i've invited phil to come here," answered dave. "i guess all i've got to do is to mention belle to him and he'll be on the way without delay." "then, by all means, send him word," returned the sister. "then we can make up a fine little party, for we can pair cora dartmore off with ben." a letter from dave to phil lawrence was dispatched that evening, and the next day came a telegram from the shipowner's son stating that he would come on that night. "i knew the mention of belle would fetch phil," remarked dave to roger, when they were alone. "phil certainly has got an eye on that girl." "well, you can't blame him, dave. belle endicott is a splendid girl and comes from a splendid family. i'll never forget how royally they treated us when we were at star ranch." "yes, we certainly did have one grand time, in spite of what link merwell did to annoy us." "oh, drop link merwell!" roger paused for a moment and then went on: "isn't it queer, dave, how just as soon as you get rid of one bad egg like merwell another bobs up like this ward porton?" "it is queer, roger." dave heaved a deep sigh. "i wish i could get on the track of that rascal." "haven't heard a thing, have you?" "no." "well, you can be thankful that he hasn't been around buying more goods in your name." "oh, i think i scared him pretty well when i met him in the woods. he'll probably lay low for a while--at least until he thinks the field is clear again. but i'd give a good deal if i never saw or heard of him again," and dave heaved another sigh. the next day the local paper came out with a big article on the front page speaking about the basswood fortune. mr. basswood had returned to town, and had been interviewed by a reporter, and the sheet gave many of the particulars regarding the wonderful miniatures left by mr. enos. according to the paper they numbered sixty-eight all told, and were worth from a hundred dollars to five thousand dollars apiece. it was said that they had been placed in a safe deposit vault, being packed in several plush-lined cases. the paper went on to state that mr. basswood thought something of bringing them to crumville, where they might be judged by a committee of experts in order to ascertain their real value. the real-estate dealer was spoken of as a man well-known in the community, and the article concluded by stating that all the good people of crumville and vicinity would undoubtedly congratulate him on his good fortune. "they certainly piled it on a little thick," was dave's comment, after he and roger had read the article. "just the same, i agree with the paper--the basswoods richly deserve the fortune that has come to them." dave had not forgotten those days, now long gone by, when he had been a boy just out of the poorhouse living with caspar potts, and how ben basswood had been his one young friend during those trying times. as luck would have it, all the young visitors bound for the wadsworth mansion reached crumville on the same train. of course, the others went down to the depot to meet them, and there was a grand jollification lasting several minutes. "my, belle, how you have grown!" declared laura, after the numerous kisses and handshakes had come to an end. "isn't she growing tall, dave?" "she certainly is," returned the brother. and what they said was true--belle endicott was now tall and willowy, and exceedingly pretty to look at,--so much so in fact, that phil lawrence could hardly take his eyes from her. "it was mighty good of your folks to invite me down," said the shipowner's son, when the whole crowd was making its way over to where the wadsworth automobile and sleigh were standing. "i appreciate it, i assure you." "oh, my! you don't suppose we could leave you out, phil, with belle here," returned dave, as he gave his chum a nudge in the ribs. "good for you, dave!" phil blushed a little, and then winked one eye. "how are matters going between you and jessie?" "very well." "glad to hear it. and i suppose roger has that same old eagle eye of his on your sister laura?" "well, you don't find him talking very much to anybody else when laura is around," was dave's dry comment. "oh, we had a perfectly splendid journey!" cried belle endicott. "and wasn't it the strangest thing that we should run into phil at the junction where we had to change cars to get here?" "must be some sort of mutual attraction," cried laura, mischievously. and then to hide any possible confusion she added quickly to cora dartmore: "i hope you enjoyed the trip also." "yes, i had a splendid time," answered the newcomer, a girl not quite so tall as belle but almost equally good-looking. "you see, this is my first trip to the east. oh, i know i am going to have a perfectly lovely time!" she added enthusiastically. the young folks piled into the sleigh and automobile, and in a very short time arrived at the wadsworth mansion. here mrs. wadsworth was ready to receive the visitors, and her gracious manner made them feel at home immediately. phil, as was his custom, insisted on rooming with roger and dave, while belle endicott and her chum were made comfortable in a room next to those occupied by jessie and laura. "i don't know what i'm going to do with you boys," said mrs. wadsworth, laughingly. "you always bunk in as thick as fleas." "we got used to that at oak hall," returned dave. "besides that, the room is a large one with two single beds in it, and we can easily put in a cot;" and so it was settled. "my, but i'm mighty glad to be with you two fellows again!" declared the shipowner's son, when the youths were left to themselves. "it seems like a touch of old times." "so it does," returned roger, smiling broadly. "from now on i suppose we won't be able to get together as much as we used to," said dave; "so while we are together let us make the most of it." "so say we all of us!" cried phil and roger, gaily. chapter x the big sleighing-party of course, even with so many visitors to entertain, dave and roger could not neglect their studies; so it was arranged that every day the pair should apply themselves diligently to their books and to what their tutor had to say from eight o'clock until twelve. then lunch would be had and the young folks could start out to enjoy themselves in one way or another. on one occasion the three boys went hunting with dunston porter in the woods back of crumville. they had a most delightful time, and brought back quite a bagful of rabbits, as well as several squirrels, and also a plump partridge, the bird being brought down by dave. "and it was a fine shot, davy," remarked his uncle dunston in speaking about the partridge. "as fine a shot on the wing as i ever saw." crumville boasted of a good-sized pond; and from this the snow had been cleared, giving the young folks an opportunity for skating, which every one of them enjoyed to the utmost. they also attended a concert given in the church one evening, and even went to a moving-picture show which had recently been opened in the town. the moving pictures interested the two girls from the far west more than anything else, for, so far, they had had little opportunity to take in such a form of entertainment. during those days dave was continually on the watch for some information concerning ward porton, but no word of any kind came in, and he finally concluded that the rascal had left that vicinity. "most likely he thought things were growing too hot for him," was phil's comment, when the boys talked the matter over. "he probably realized that if he continued to go to the stores and get goods the way he did he would be caught sooner or later." ben basswood often went out with the others, pairing off, as had been expected by laura, with cora dartmore. this left belle endicott more or less in phil's care, for which the shipowner's son was grateful. "yes, my father has brought the enos miniatures here," answered ben, one day, in reply to a question from dave. "he had them in a safe deposit vault first, but he concluded that they would probably be just as safe at our place. you know, he has a big safe of his own in which he keeps all his real estate documents." mr. basswood's office was in a wing of his house, and all the boys had visited it and knew that it contained a massive steel affair about five feet square and probably four feet deep. "they ought to be safe there, ben," returned dave. "i don't see what a thief could do with miniatures, and i don't believe your father's office is liable to catch fire." "and that safe must be fire-proof," put in roger. "i think it is fire-proof," returned the real estate dealer's son. "and i guess you are right about thieves--they would rather steal money or jewelry or silverware, or something like that, every time." used to a life in the open air, and to riding and driving, the sleighing in and around crumville proved to be a constant delight to belle and cora. as a consequence, it was arranged by the boys that the whole crowd should go out in a large sleigh, to be procured from the local livery stable and to be drawn by four reliable horses. "we'll put a lot of straw in the bottom of the sleigh and make it a sort of straw-ride," declared dave. "and just to think! it will be moonlight!" cried his sister. "won't that be the finest ever!" "it certainly will be!" came from jessie, her eyes beaming. but then she turned suddenly to dave, her face clouding a little. "who is going to drive--you?" "no, we're going to have a regular man from the livery stable," he answered. and then as his sister turned away, he added in a low tone: "i didn't want to spend my time on the horses--i wanted to spend it on you." "oh, dave!" murmured the girl, and blushed. then she gave him a look that meant a great deal. the sleighing-party was to start off about two o'clock the next afternoon, and did not expect to return to crumville until well towards midnight. they were to go to the town of lamont, about seventeen miles away. a new restaurant had been opened in this town, in connection with the hotel, and mr. and mrs. wadsworth had stopped there for a meal and had pronounced it excellent, the food being of first-class quality and an orchestra being present to liven matters up. ben had thought at first that he could not accompany the others, his father having been taken sick; but as mr. basswood's illness was not of a serious nature, mrs. basswood, knowing how disappointed the youth would be, urged that he go along anyhow. "your father is resting quite comfortably," she told ben; "and the doctor says he will be around again inside of a week, so you may as well take in this sleighride while you have the chance." "but there are those miniatures, mother," returned ben. "wasn't father going to let mr. wadsworth see them?" "mr. wadsworth is going to have several art critics at his home in a day or two, and then your father is to let all of them examine the miniatures carefully to see if he can get an idea of what they are worth. but you need not bother your head about that. if mr. wadsworth sends word that the critics have arrived at his house i'll take care of the matter." and so this was arranged, and ben went off to prepare for the sleigh-ride. at the appointed hour, the big sleigh came dashing up to the door of the wadsworth mansion. all of the young folks, including ben, were on hand and ready for the trip, each bundled up well for protection against the cold. the sun had been shining in the morning, but towards noon it had gone under a heavy bank of clouds. "looks a little to me like more snow," observed dunston porter, who was present to see them depart. "i shouldn't be surprised to see you coming back in the midst of another fall." "oh, uncle dunston, don't say that!" cried laura. "we want the moon to shine this evening." "well, it will shine, laura," returned the uncle, with a wink of the eye. "it always does shine, even when we don't see it," and then he dodged when she laughingly picked up a chunk of snow and threw it at him. into the big sleigh piled the girls, and the boys quickly followed. all the back seats had been removed, and they nestled down in the thick straw and covered themselves with numerous robes. "look out that you don't jounce off when you go over a bump," cried dunston porter to phil and belle, who sat at the back of the turnout. "oh, we'll hold on, don't worry!" cried phil. "i'm used to hanging on," came from the western girl, quickly. "riding in this sleigh won't be half as bad as hanging on to the back of a half-broken broncho." "i guess that's right, too," answered dave's uncle. "just the same, you take care. i don't want you young folks to have any accidents on this trip." "i trust you all have a good time," came benevolently from old caspar potts, as he gazed at them and rubbed his hands. "my, my! how i used to enjoy sleighing when i was a young man! and how many years ago that seems!" he added with a little sigh. "don't stay any later than midnight," warned mrs. wadsworth. "we'll be back by that time unless something unusual turns up," returned dave. he turned to the others in the sleigh. "everybody fixed and ready?" "all ready!" came back the answering cry. "then we're off." dave turned to the driver, a middle-aged colored man. "let her go, wash." "yassir," responded washington bones, with a grin. "giddap!" he called to his horses. and with a crack of the whip and a grand flourish the turnout left the front of the wadsworth mansion and whirled out on to the broad highway leading to lamont. the four horses were used to working together, and they trotted along in fine style, causing many a passer-by to stop and gaze at the team and the gay load of young people in admiration. the horses were well equipped with bells, and each of the youths had provided himself with a good-sized horn, so that noise was not lacking as they dashed along past the stores and houses of crumville. then they came out on the lamont road, where the sleighing was almost perfect. "i hope we don't have any such adventure as we had at conover's hill," remarked jessie to dave while they were spinning on their way. "i don't think these livery stable horses will run away," he returned. "they are used every day, and that makes them less frisky than our horses, which sometimes are in the stable for a week. besides that, wash bones is one of the most careful drivers around here. if he does anything, he'll let the team hold back on him rather than urge them to do their best." on and on flew the sleigh, the young folks chatting gaily and occasionally bursting out into a verse of song. "let's give 'em our old oak hall song!" cried dave, presently. "that's it!" came eagerly from his two chums, and a moment later they started up the old school song, which was sung to the tune of auld lang syne, the girls joining in: "oak hall we never shall forget, no matter where we roam; it is the very best of schools, to us it's just like home! then give three cheers, and let them ring throughout this world so wide, to let the people know that we elect to here abide!" "say, that takes me back to the old days at oak hall," remarked roger, when the singing had come to an end. "my, but those were the great days!" "i don't believe we'll ever see any better, roger," answered dave. the sleighing party had still three miles to go when suddenly laura uttered a cry. "it's snowing!" "so it is!" burst out belle. "what a shame!" "maybe it won't amount to much," said ben. "it often snows just a little, you know." the first flakes to fall were large, and dropped down lazily from the sky. but soon it grew darker, and in a short time the snow was coming down so thickly that it almost blotted out the landscape on all sides. "some fall this!" exclaimed phil. "looks now as if it were going to be a regular storm." "o dear! and i wanted it to be moonlight to-night!" wailed laura. dave was peering around and looking anxiously at the heavy, leaden sky. "if this is going to be a heavy storm, maybe it might be as well for us to turn back," he announced. "turn back?" came from several of the others. "yes." "what for, dave?" questioned phil. "i don't think a little snow is going to hurt us. maybe it will help to keep us warm," he added with a grin. "we don't want to get snowed in, phil." "oh, let's go on!" interposed roger. "even if it does keep on snowing it won't get very heavy in the next couple of hours. we can hurry up with our dinner at lamont and be home again before it gets very deep." "all right, i'm willing if the rest are," returned dave, who did not wish to throw "cold water" on their sport. "lamont it is! go ahead, wash, we want to get there just as soon as possible." on they plunged, the snow coming down thicker and thicker every minute. then, just as the outskirts of the town were gained, they heard a curious humming sound. "oh, dave! what is that?" queried jessie. "it's the wind coming up," he answered. "listen!" all did so and noted that the humming sound was increasing. then the wind came tearing through the woods and down the highway with great force, sending the snow in driving sheets into their faces. "my gracious, this looks as if it were going to be a blizzard!" gasped phil, who had started up to see what the sound meant. "we had better get under some kind of cover just as soon as possible." "we'll be up to dat hotel in anudder minute," bawled washington bones, to make himself heard above the sudden fury of the elements. "say! dis suah is some snowsto'm!" he added. again he cracked his whip, and once more the four horses ploughed along as well as they were able. they had to face both the wind and the snow, and these combined made progress slow. by the time the party came into sight of the hotel with the restaurant attached, the wind was blowing almost a gale, and the snow seemed to be coming down in driving chunks. "drive us around to the side porch," ordered dave. "it will be a little more sheltered there." "yassir," came from the colored driver; and soon they had come to a halt at the spot mentioned. from under the snow and robes crawled the boys and the girls and lost no time in running into the hotel. then the colored man drove the turnout down to the stables. [illustration: from under the snow and the robes crawled the boys and the girls--_page ._] "my! did you ever see such a storm!" was roger's comment. "and how quickly it came up!" "if it isn't a blizzard, it is next door to it," returned dave. and then he added quickly: "it looks to me as if we were going to be snowbound!" chapter xi held by the blizzard "snowbound!" the cry came from several of the party. "yes, snowbound, if this heavy fall continues," answered dave. "just see how the chunks of snow are coming down, and how the wind is driving them along." it was certainly an interesting sight, and all the young people watched it for some time before they took off their wraps and prepared to sit down to the meal, which had been ordered over the telephone before leaving crumville. "my, just listen to the wind!" was phil's comment. "you'd think it was a regular nor'-wester." "if it keeps on it certainly will be a blizzard," put in roger. "in one way we can be glad we are under shelter, even though we are a good many miles from home." "yes. and snow or no snow, i move that we sit down to dinner," continued phil. "we can't go back while it is snowing and blowing like this, so we might as well make the best of our stay here." after having ordered a meal for the colored man, which was served in another part of the hotel, dave joined his friends in the restaurant. a special table had been placed in a cozy corner, and that was decorated with a large bouquet of hothouse flowers, with a smaller bouquet at each plate. "oh, how lovely!" burst out jessie, when she saw the flowers. "you folks in the east certainly know how to spread yourselves," was cora dartmore's comment. "just look at those beautiful flowers and then at the fierce snowstorm outside." "oh, let us forget the storm!" cried laura. "it will be time enough to think about that when we have to start for home." "that's the truth!" answered her brother, gaily. "everybody fall to and do as much damage to the bill-of-fare as possible;" and this remark caused a general smile. then the first course was served and soon all of the party were eating and chatting with the greatest of satisfaction. in the meanwhile, the blizzard--for such it really was--continued to increase in violence. the wind tore along through the woods and down the streets of the town, bringing with it first the heavy chunks of snow and then some hard particles not unlike salt in appearance. the fine snow seemed to creep in everywhere, and, driven by the wind, formed drifts which kept increasing in size steadily. after the first course of raw oysters, came some cream of celery soup with relishes, and then some roast turkey with cranberry sauce and vegetables. after that the young folks had various kinds of dessert with hot chocolate, and then nuts with raisins. "what a grand dinner!" remarked belle, when they were finishing. "dave, you certainly know how to order the good things." "oh, i had roger and phil to help me on that," returned our hero. "trust them to order up the good things to eat." "and trust dave to help us get away with them," sang out the senator's son, gaily. "there is only one time when those fellows can't eat," retorted dave. "that is when they are asleep." at a small table not far away from where the young people were seated, sat an elderly man and a lady. "there is doctor renwick and his wife," said laura, when the meal was finished. "they must have been sleighing, too. i am going to speak to them." for dr. renwick came from crumville, and had often attended the porter family, as well as the wadsworths. "we are staying here for a few days," said mrs. renwick to dave's sister, after they had shaken hands. "you see, the proprietor of this hotel and restaurant is my cousin." "oh, i didn't know that," said laura. "they certainly have a very nice place here, and the dinner we had was just too lovely for anything." "are you folks calculating to drive back to crumville now?" questioned dr. renwick. "that was our expectation," replied dave, who had followed his sister; "but it looks pretty fierce outside, doesn't it?" "i should say so, porter. just listen to that wind, and see how it is driving the snow! i shouldn't like to face it for any great distance." the others came up, and all the strangers were introduced to the doctor and his wife, and then the entire party left the restaurant and entered the parlor of the hotel, from the windows of which they could watch the storm. "it certainly is fierce!" remarked phil, as they gazed at the furious onslaught of the elements. the wind was blowing as hard as ever, rattling the windows and sending the snow against the panes as if it were so much hail. it was impossible to see across the street, and, although lamont boasted of a limited electric light service, all the lights upon the street corners were out. "this storm is going to break down a lot of the wires," announced roger. "what do you think about our trying to get back to crumville?" questioned dave. "to tell the truth, dave, i don't see how we are going to make it. you don't want to face that wind, do you? and going back we'd have to head into it nearly all the way." "i think i'll go outside and have a talk with the driver," answered our hero, and went out accompanied by roger and ben. "i'd like to get home on account of my father's being sick," announced the real estate dealer's son. "otherwise i would just as lief stay here until to-morrow." "that's all right enough for us boys," put in roger, "but how about the girls?" "we can leave them in mrs. renwick's care if we have to," announced dave. "laura and jessie know her very well, and i am sure she'll be only too glad to play the chaperon. she's a very nice lady, and the doctor is a very fine man." they found that washington bones had had his supper and had returned to the stable to feed his horses. when they questioned the colored man about getting back to crumville he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "might try it if you say so," he said; "but it ain't gwine to be no easy job, boss, and we may git stuck somewheres so as you cain't git to not even a house. then we might all be froze to death." "what do you think it is, wash, a blizzard?" questioned roger. "dat's jest what dis is, boss. and my opinion is it's gwine to be a heap sight wo'se before it gits bettah," added the driver. "i guess you're right there," answered dave. "and that's one reason i think we ought to try to get back to crumville. but just the same, i'd hate to get stuck somewhere along the road, as he says. we boys might be able to get out of it along with wash, but we couldn't expect the girls to do any tramping in such deep snow and in such a wind." there was an old-fashioned covered walk from the hotel to the stables, so that the boys in going from one place to the other had not had to expose themselves to the elements. now, to get an idea of how bad the storm was, dave walked out as far as the street, followed by his chums. "great cæsar's ghost!" puffed the senator's son, as they stood where they could get the full benefit of the storm. "this is frightful, dave! why, it would be nothing short of suicide to try to go anywhere!" "i--i--guess we h-had better g-go in and telephone that we c-c-can't come!" panted ben; and then lost no time in returning to the stable, followed by the others. they had been outside less than five minutes, yet the fury of the blizzard had nearly taken their breath away. "we won't attempt it, wash; so you can make arrangements to stay here to-night," announced dave. he turned to his chums. "come on back to the hotel, and we will do what telephoning is necessary." they returned to the parlor, and there the situation was explained to the girls and to dr. renwick and his wife. "oh, you mustn't think of trying to get back to-night!" cried the doctor's wife, quickly. "there are plenty of vacant rooms here, and i'll see to it that my cousin gives you good accommodations." "and will you look after the young ladies, mrs. renwick?" questioned dave. "i certainly will, dave," she answered graciously. "don't let that worry you in the least. i'll be glad to take charge of such a nice family," and she smiled sweetly at all the girls. "we are going to telephone to crumville and let the folks know how matters stand," announced ben; and then he and dave hurried to where there was a telephone booth. here, however, they met with no success so far as getting into communication with their folks at crumville was concerned. it took a long time to get central, and then it was announced that the storm had taken down all the wires running to crumville and beyond. one wire that was down was still connected, but, try their best, neither of the boys was able to understand anything of what was said over it. then this line snapped; and that ended all efforts to send any messages. "i wish they knew we were safe," said dave. "now that they don't know it they may worry, thinking we are snowed in somewhere along the road." "well, we've got to make the best of it," answered ben. "i did hope to speak to mother, to ask her how father was, and to let her know that we were all right." "it looks to me, ben, as if this blizzard might last for several days or a week." "so it does. but sometimes these storms clear away almost as rapidly as they come." the two youths returned to the others and announced the failure of their effort to get into communication with crumville. this was disheartening to laura and jessie, but as it could not be helped the girls said they would make the best of it. then laura and dave went off with the doctor and his wife, to obtain accommodations for the whole party. it was learned that dr. renwick had a fine apartment on the second floor, and that there were two rooms adjoining which were vacant. these were turned over to the four girls. the boys were accommodated with two rooms on the floor above. "not quite as good as they might be," observed dave, when he and his chums inspected their rooms, which were directly under the roof of the country hotel. "but they are much better than nothing, and, as the sailors say, 'any port in a storm.'" "oh, this is plenty good enough," returned phil. "but i am glad the girls are on the floor below. those rooms are much better than these." as the boys had no baggage, there was nothing for them to arrange in the rooms which had been assigned to them, so after a hasty look around they started to go downstairs again, to rejoin the girls in the parlor. as the boys passed the room next to the one which dave and ben had elected to occupy, the door of the apartment was opened on a crack. then, as the youths left the corridor to descend the stairs, the door was opened a little wider, and a young man peered out cautiously. "well, what do you know about that!" muttered the young man to himself, after the four chums had disappeared. "right here at this hotel, and going to occupy the room next to the one i've got! could you beat it?" the young man was ward porton. chapter xii tim crapsey's plot "who are you talking to, port?" questioned a man who was resting on the bed in the room which ward porton occupied. "didn't i tell you not to call me by that name, crapsey?" returned the former moving-picture actor, as he closed the door softly and locked it. "what's the difference when we're alone?" grumbled the man called crapsey, as he shifted himself and rubbed his eyes. "it may make a whole lot of difference," answered porton. "i've just made a big discovery." "a discovery?" the man sat up on the edge of the bed. "discovered how to git hold of some money, i hope. we need it." "you remember my telling you about that fellow who looks like me--the fellow named dave porter?" went on the former moving-picture actor. "well, he's here in this hotel. and he and three of his chums have the rooms next to this one." "you don't mean it?" and now tim crapsey showed his interest. "did they see you?" "not much! and i don't intend that they shall," was the decided reply. "did you know the other fellows?" "yes, they are the regular bunch porter travels with. i've got to keep out of sight of all of them. from what they said they are evidently snowbound here on account of this blizzard, so there is no telling how long they will stay," added the former moving-picture actor in disgust. "confound the luck! i suppose i'll have to stay in this room a prisoner and let you get my meals for me." "this fellow's being here may not be such a bad thing for you," remarked tim crapsey. "maybe you can impersonate him and touch the hotel clerk for a loan of ten or twenty dollars." "i am not going to run too many risks--not with so many of those fellows on hand. if i had only porter to deal with it might be different," returned ward porton. "just the same, i'm going to keep my eyes open, and if i can get the best of him in any way you can bet your boots i'll do it." in the meanwhile dave and his chums had rejoined the girls and dr. renwick and his wife in the parlor of the hotel, and there all made themselves as much at home as possible. there was quite a gathering of snowbound people, and a good deal of the talk was on the question of how long the blizzard might last. "some of the people here are going to try to get over to pepsico," said one man. "that is only a mile and a quarter from here, and they are hoping to get the train that goes through that place about one o'clock in the morning." "the train may be snowbound, too," returned another; "and if it is those folks will have their hard tramp to pepsico for nothing." outside it was still snowing and blowing as furiously as ever. all the street lights were out, and so were the electric lights in the hotel, so that the hostelry had to depend on its old-time lamps for its illumination. but the lamps had been discarded only the year before so it was an easy matter to bring them into use again. not to keep the good doctor and his wife up too long, laura told mrs. renwick that they would retire whenever she felt like it. about half past ten good-nights were said and the girls went upstairs with the lady, followed presently by the doctor. the boys remained below to take another peep out at the storm. "it's a regular old-fashioned blizzard," announced dave. "and no telling how long we'll be stalled here," added roger. "quite an adventure, isn't it?" and he smiled faintly. "well, we can be thankful that we weren't caught somewhere along the road," broke in phil. "that's it!" came from ben. "why, if we had been caught in some out-of-the-way place, we might be frozen to death trying to find some shelter." the two rooms which the chums occupied on the third floor of the hotel were connected, and before they went to bed the youths all drifted into the one which was to be occupied by dave and ben, for here it was slightly warmer than in the other room, and the lamp gave a better light. it seemed good to be together like this, especially on a night when the elements were raging so furiously outside. the former school chums talked of many things--of days at oak hall, of bitter rivalries on the diamond, the gridiron, and on the boating course, and of the various friends and enemies they had made. "the only one of our enemies who seems to have made a man of himself is gus plum," remarked dave. "he has settled down to business and i understand he is doing very well." "well, nat poole is doing fairly well," returned ben. "i understand his father owns stock in that bank, so they'll probably boost nat along as rapidly as his capabilities will permit." "nat was never the enemy that plum and jasniff and merwell were!" cried phil. "he was one of the weak-minded kind who thought it was smart to follow the others in their doings." "this storm is going to interfere with our studies, dave," announced roger. "not but what i'm willing enough to take a few days' rest," he added with a grin. "we'll have to make up for it somehow, roger," returned our hero. "we've got to pass that examination with flying colors." "i'm afraid this storm will interfere with the art critics who were to look at those miniatures," put in ben. "oh, dear! i wish we knew just what those little paintings were worth." "i hope they prove to be worth at least a hundred thousand dollars," said phil. "that will be a nice sum of money for you folks, ben." "right you are!" answered the son of the real estate dealer. the youths were tremendously interested in the miniatures, and a discussion of them ensued which lasted the best part of half an hour. ben described some of the pictures as well as he was able, and told of how they were packed, and of how they had been placed in the basswood safe, waiting for the critics that mr. wadsworth had promised to bring from the city to his home to inspect them. "well, i suppose we might as well turn in," said roger, presently, as he gave a yawn. "i must confess i'm tired." "come ahead, i'm willing," announced phil; and then he and the senator's son retired to the next room. "o pshaw! what do you suppose i did?" exclaimed dave to ben, while the pair were undressing. "i left my overcoat and my cap on the rack in the lower hallway. i should have brought them up here." "i did the same thing," answered his chum. "i guess they'll be safe enough. all the folks in this hotel seem to be pretty nice people." "i don't suppose there are any blizzard pictures among those miniatures, ben?" observed dave, with a laugh just before turning in. "there is a picture of one army officer in a big, shaggy uniform which looks as if it might be worn because of cold weather," answered ben; and then, as the miniatures were very close to his heart, the youth began to talk about them again. this discussion lasted for another quarter of an hour, after which the chums retired and were soon deep in the land of slumber. although none of our friends knew it, every word of their conversation had been listened to eagerly by ward porton and the man with him. they had noted carefully all that had been said about the basswood fortune, and about the miniatures having been placed in the real estate dealer's safe awaiting inspection by the critics who were to visit mr. wadsworth at his mansion. both had noted also what dave had said about leaving his overcoat and his cap on the rack on the lower floor of the hotel. "a hundred thousand dollars' worth of miniatures!" murmured tim crapsey, after the sounds in the adjoining room had ceased. "say, that's some fortune, sure enough!" "but pictures! humph, what good are they?" returned ward porton, in disgust. "i'd rather have my fortune in something a little more usable." "oh, pictures are not so bad, and miniatures can be handled very easily," answered tim crapsey. his small eyes began to twinkle. "jest you let me git my hands on 'em, and i'll show you wot i kin do. i know a fence in new york who'll take pictures jest as quick as anything else." "and what would he do with them after he got them?" questioned ward porton curiously. "oh, he'd ship 'em 'round to different places after he got 'em doctored up, and git rid of 'em somehow to art dealers and collectors. of course, he might not be able to git full value for 'em; but if they're worth a hundred thousand dollars he might git ten or twenty thousand, and that ain't bad, is it?" and tim crapsey looked at ward porton suggestively. "easy enough to talk, but how are you going to get your hands on those miniatures?" demanded the former moving-picture actor, speaking, however, in a low tone, so that none of those in the next room might hear him. "i jest got an idee," croaked tim crapsey. he was a man who consumed a large amount of liquor, and his voice showed it. "didn't you hear wot that chap said about leaving his coat and hat downstairs? if you could fool them shopkeepers the way you did, then, if you had that feller's hat and coat, and maybe fixed up a bit to look like that photograph you had of him, you might be able to go to the basswood house and fool the folks there." "i don't quite understand?" "i mean this way: we could go to crumville and you could watch your chance, and when the coast was clear you could git a rig and drive over to the basswood house and go in quite excited like and tell 'em that this mr. wadsworth was a-want-in' to see them miniatures right away,--that a very celebrated art critic had called on him, but couldn't stay long. wanted to ketch a train and all that. you could tell 'em that mr. wadsworth had sent you to git the miniatures, and that he had said that he would return 'em jest as soon as the critic had looked 'em over. do you ketch the idee?" and tim crapsey looked narrowly at his companion. "it might work, although i'd be running a big risk," said ward porton, slowly. yet his eyes gleamed in satisfaction over the thought. "but you forgot one thing, tim: we are snowbound here, and we can't get away any quicker than they can." "that's where you're mistaken, port--i mean mr. jones," crapsey checked himself hastily. "i heard some folks downstairs talkin' about going over to pepsico to ketch the one o'clock train. that goes through crumville, and if we could ketch it we'd be in that town long before mornin'. we could fix up some story about the others bein' left behind here, and dave porter comin' home alone. they can't send any telephone message, for the wires are down, and i don't know of any telegraph office here where they could send a message that way." "if we were going to try it we'd have to hustle," announced ward porton. "and it's a fierce risk, let me tell you that,--first, trying to get to the railroad station, and then trying to bluff mr. and mrs. basswood into thinking i am dave porter. you must remember that since i got those things in porter's name at those stores, the whole crowd are on their guard." "well, you can't gain anything in this world without takin' chances," retorted tim crapsey. "if i looked like that feller i'd take the chance in a minute. why, jest see what we could make out of it! if you can git your hands on those miniatures, i'll take care of the rest of it and we can split fifty-fifty on what we git out of the deal." ward porton mused for a moment while tim crapsey eyed him closely. then the former moving-picture actor leaped softly to his feet. "i'll do it, tim!" he cried in a low voice. "come ahead--let us get out of this hotel just as soon as possible. and on the way downstairs i'll see if i can't lift that cap and overcoat." chapter xiii what washington bones had to tell dave was the first of the four chums to awaken in the morning. he glanced toward the window, to find it covered with frost and snow, thus leaving the room almost dark. the wind was still blowing furiously, and the room was quite cold. without disturbing ben our hero looked at his watch and found that it was almost eight o'clock. he leaped up and commenced to dress. "hello! getting up already?" came sleepily from his roommate, as ben stretched himself and rubbed his eyes. "it must be pretty early." "that's where you're mistaken, ben," was dave's answer. "in a few minutes more it will be eight o'clock." "you don't say so! how dark it is! but i suppose it's the frost on the window makes that," went on the real estate dealer's son, as he, too, got up. "phew! but it's some cold, isn't it?" and he started to dress without delay. the noise the two boys made in moving around the room aroused the others, and soon they too were getting up. "wow! talk about greenland's icy mountains!" commented phil, with a shiver. "how'd you like to go outside, roger, just as you are, and have a snowball fight?" "nothing doing!" retorted the senator's son, who was getting into his clothing just as rapidly as possible. "say, fellows, but this surely is some snowstorm!" he continued, as he walked to the window and scraped some frost from a pane of glass so that he could catch a glimpse of what was outside. "it's still snowing to beat the band!" he announced. "and listen to the wind!" broke in ben. "why, sometimes it fairly rocks the building!" "doesn't look much as if we were going to get back to-day," said dave. "i suppose the roads are practically impassable." "they must be if it snowed all night," answered ben. "let us go down and take a look around." "i wonder if the girls are up yet?" questioned roger. "it won't make much difference whether they are or not," returned dave. "if we can't get away from here they may as well sleep as long as they please. there certainly isn't much to do in this small hotel." the youths were soon washed and dressed, and then all trooped below. they passed the rooms occupied by the girls and by dr. renwick and his wife, but heard no sounds coming from within. "they are taking advantage of the storm to have a good rest," commented phil. he gave a yawn. "i almost wish i had remained in bed myself. we won't have a thing to do here." "i noticed a bowling alley next door, phil," announced roger. "if we can't do anything else to-day we can bowl a few games. that will be fine exercise." "do the girls know about bowling?" questioned ben. "not very much," answered dave. "laura has bowled a few games, i believe. but it will be fun to teach them, if we don't find anything better to do." the boys walked through the small lobby of the hotel and into the smoking room. here several men were congregated, all talking about the storm and the prospects of getting away. "the snow is nearly two feet deep on the level," said one man; "but the wind has carried it in all directions so that while the road is almost bare in some spots there are drifts six and eight feet high in others." "looks as if we were snowed in good and proper," returned another man. "i wanted to get to one of those stores across the way, and i had about all i could do to make it. in one place i got into snow up to my waist, and it was all i could do to get out of it." "doesn't look like much of a chance to get away from here," observed roger. "we are booked to stay right where we are," declared phil; "so we might as well make the best of it." "let us go out to the barn and see what wash bones has to say," suggested dave. "he has probably been watching the storm and knows just how things are on the road." "all right," returned ben. "but i am going to put on my cap and overcoat before i go. it must be pretty cold out there even though they do keep the doors shut." "yes, i'll get my cap and overcoat, too," said dave. phil and roger had taken their things up to the third floor the night before, and now had their overcoats over their arms. the large rack in the hallway of the hotel was well filled with garments of various kinds, so that ben had to make quite a search before he found his own things. in the meantime, dave was also hunting, but without success. "that's mighty queer," remarked the latter. "i don't seem to see my cap or my overcoat anywhere." "oh, it must be there, dave," cried his chum. "just take another look. maybe the overcoat has gotten folded under another." both youths made a thorough search, which lasted so long that phil and roger came into the hallway to ascertain what was keeping them. "dave can't find his overcoat or his cap," explained ben. "we've hunted everywhere for them." "didn't you take them up-stairs last night?" questioned phil. "no, i left them on this rack. and ben left his things here, too," replied dave. "i can't understand it at all;" and he looked worried. "maybe laura saw them and took them upstairs, thinking they wouldn't be safe here," suggested roger. "i hardly think that, roger. however, as the coat and cap are not here, maybe i'd better ask her." another search for the missing things followed, dave looking through the parlor and the other rooms on the ground floor of the hotel, and even peeping into the restaurant, where a number of folks were at breakfast. then he went upstairs and knocked softly on the door of the room which laura and jessie were occupying. "who is it?" asked his sister, in a somewhat sleepy tone of voice. "it's i, laura," answered her brother. "i want to know if you brought my cap and overcoat upstairs last night." "why, no, dave, i didn't touch them. what is the matter--can't you find them?" "no, and i've hunted high and low," he returned. "i don't suppose any of the other girls or the doctor touched them?" "i am quite sure they did not." laura came to the door and peeped out at him. "are you boys all up already?" "yes, we went down-stairs a little while ago. we were going out to the barn, and that's why i wanted my overcoat and cap. they seem to be gone, and i don't know what to make of it;" and now dave's face showed increased anxiety. "what's the trouble?" came from jessie, and then laura closed the door again. dave heard some conversation between all of the girls, and then between laura and mrs. renwick. then his sister came to the door once more. "none of us touched your cap or overcoat, dave," she said. "isn't it queer? do you suppose they have been stolen?" "i hope not, laura. i'm going down and see the hotel proprietor about it." the proprietor of the hostelry was not on hand, but his son, a young fellow of about dave's age, was behind the desk, and he listened with interest to what our hero had to say. then he, too, instituted a search for the missing things. "i can't understand this any more than you can," he announced, after this additional search had proved a failure. "i didn't know we had any thieves around here. are you sure you left the coat and cap on this rack?" "yes, i am positive," announced dave. "i saw him do it, when i placed my own things on the same rack," declared ben. "but you found your coat and cap all right?" "yes." "it's mighty queer," declared the young clerk, shaking his head. "i guess i'd better tell my father about this." the hotel proprietor was called, and he at once instituted a number of inquiries concerning the missing things. but all these proved of no avail. no one had taken dave's wearing apparel, and none of the hired help had seen any one else take the things or wear them. "you should have taken your things up to your room last night," declared the hotel proprietor, during the course of the search. "it's a bad idea to leave things on a rack like this, with so many strangers coming and going all the time." he agreed to lend dave a coat and a hat, and, donning these, the youth walked through the little shelter leading to the stables, accompanied by his chums. "if those things are not recovered i think you can hold the hotel man responsible," remarked roger. "just what i think," put in ben. "that overcoat was a pretty nice one, dave; and the cap was a peach." "i'll see what can be done, in case the things don't turn up," returned our hero. they found washington bones down among the stablemen, taking care of his horses. "well, wash, what are the prospects for getting away this morning?" questioned roger. "ain't no prospects, so far as i kin see," declared the colored driver. "this suah am one terrible sto'm. i neber seen the like befo' aroun' heah." "then you don't think we're going to get back to crumville to-day?" questioned ben. "no-sir. why, if we was to try it we'd suah git stuck befo' we got out ob dis town. some ob de drifts is right to de top of de fust story ob de houses." washington bones looked questioningly at dave. "how did you like your trip outside las' night?" he queried. "must ha' been some walkin', t'rough sech deep snow." "my trip outside?" questioned dave, with a puzzled look. "what do you mean, wash? i didn't go out last night." "you didn't!" exclaimed the colored driver in wonder. "didn't i see you leavin' de hotel las' night 'bout half pas' 'levin or a little later?" "you certainly did not. i was in bed and sound asleep by half past eleven," answered dave. "well now, don't dat beat all!" cried the colored man, his eyes rolling in wonder. "i went outside jest to take a las' look aroun' befo' turning in, and i seen a young fellow and a man leavin' de hotel. dey come right pas' where a lantern was hung up on the porch, and when dat light struck on de young fellow's face i thought suah as you're bo'n it was you. why, he looked like you, and he had on de same kind of cap and overcoat dat you was a-wearin' yeste'day. i see you've got on something different to-day." "a fellow who looked like me and who had on my cap and my overcoat!" ejaculated dave. he turned to his chums. "what do you make of that?" "maybe it was ward porton!" cried roger. "if it was, he must have run away and taken dave's cap and overcoat with him," added ben. chapter xiv movements of the enemy as my readers doubtless surmise, it was ward porton who had made off with dave's overcoat and cap. leaving the room which they occupied on the third floor locked, the young moving-picture actor and his disreputable companion had stolen down the two flights of stairs leading to the lower hallway. fortunately for them, no one had been present, and it had been comparatively easy for porton to find dave's things and put them on. tim crapsey already wore his own overcoat and hat. "we might as well provide ourselves with rubbers while we are at it," remarked crapsey, as his gaze fell upon a number of such footwear resting near the rack, and thereupon each donned a pair of rubbers that fitted him. thus equipped they had stolen out of the hotel through a side hallway without any one in the building being aware of their departure. "we're going to have a fight of it to get to the railroad station," muttered ward porton, as the fury of the storm struck both of them. "it's lucky i know the way," croaked tim crapsey. and then, as they passed over the porch in the light of the lantern by which washington bones had seen porton, the man went on: "say, what's the matter with us stoppin' at some drinkin' place and gittin' a little liquor?" "not now," interposed his companion, hastily. "we want to make our get-away without being seen if we possibly can." "oh, nobody will know us," grumbled crapsey, who had a great fondness for liquor, "and the stuff may prove a life-saver if we git stuck some place in the snow." the realization that they might become snowbound on the way to pepsico made porton pause, and in the end he agreed to visit a drinking place several blocks away, which, by the light shining dimly through the window, they could see was still open. "but now look here, tim, you're not going to overdo it," said the former moving-picture actor, warningly. "if we are going to pull this stunt off you are going to keep perfectly sober. it's one drink and no more!" "but i'm goin' to git a flask to take along," pleaded the man. "you can do that. but i give you fair warning that you've got to go slow in using the stuff. otherwise we are going to part company. in such a game as we are trying to put over, a man has got to have his wits about him." having procured a drink, and also a package of cigarettes and a flask of liquor, the two set off through the storm for the railroad station, a mile and a quarter away. it was a hard and tiresome journey, and more than once they had to stop to rest and figure out where they were. twice tim crapsey insisted upon it that he must have a "bracer" from the flask. "i'm froze through and through," he declared. "well, i'm half frozen myself," retorted ward porton, and when he saw the man drinking he could not resist the temptation to take some of the liquor himself. "we'll be in a fine pickle if we get to pepsico and then find that the train isn't coming through," remarked the former moving-picture actor, when about three-quarters of the journey had been covered and they were resting in the shelter of a roadside barn. "that's a chance we've got to take," returned his companion. "but i don't think the train will be stormbound. most of the tracks through here are on an embankment, and the wind would keep them pretty clear." it was after one o'clock when the pair finally gained the little railroad station at pepsico. they found over a dozen men and several women present, all resting in the tiny waiting-room, trusting that the train would soon put in an appearance. "the wires are down so they can't tell exactly where the train is," said one of the men, in reply to a question from porton. "they are hoping, though, that it isn't many miles away." from time to time one of the would-be passengers would go out on the tracks to look and listen, and at last one of these announced that a train was on the way. "but i can't tell whether it's a passenger train or a freight," he said. "let's git on it even if it's a freight," said tim crapsey to ward porton. "she'll take us to crumville jest as well." "all right, provided we can get aboard." slowly the train puffed in and proved to be a freight. on the rear, however, was a passenger car, hooked on at the last station. [illustration: slowly the train puffed in, and proved to be a freight. _page ._] "the regular passenger train is stalled in the cut beyond breckford," announced the conductor of the freight, "and there's no telling when she'll get out. if you folks want to risk getting through, get aboard;" and at this invitation all those waiting at the station lost no time in boarding the mixed train. then, with a great deal of puffing and blowing, the locomotive moved slowly away from pepsico, dragging the long line of cars, some full and some empty, behind it. long before crumville was reached it became a question as to whether the train would get through or not. the snow was coming down as thickly as ever, and the wind whistled with increased violence. "i don't believe we'll get much farther than crumville," announced the conductor, when he came through to collect tickets. "we should have passed at least two trains coming the other way. but nothing has come along, and that would seem to show that the line is blocked ahead of us." as a matter of fact, the mixed train did not get even as far as dave's home town. running was all right so long as the tracks were up on the embankment, but as soon as they reached the level of the surrounding country the snow became so deep that several times the train had to be backed up so that a fresh start might be made. then, when they came to a cut not over three feet deep, just on the outskirts of the town, the engineer found it utterly impossible to get any farther. "we'll have to have a snow-plough to get us out," he declared, "or otherwise we'll have to remain here until the storm clears away." by listening to the conversation of some of the people in the car, porton and crapsey learned that it was only a short distance to the town, and they followed several men and a woman when they left the train to finish the journey on foot. "i know where we are now," said porton, presently, as he and his companion struck a well-defined road leading past the wadsworth jewelry works. "we'll be right in crumville in a little while more." ward porton knew very well that he must not show himself in crumville any more than was necessary. consequently, as soon as they came within sight of the town proper, he suggested that they look around for some place where they might remain until daybreak. "right you are," answered tim crapsey. and a little later, coming to a large barn, they tried the door, and, finding it unlocked, entered and proceeded to make themselves comfortable in some hay, using several horse blankets for coverings. here both of them, being thoroughly exhausted, fell sound asleep and did not awaken until it was daylight. "now we've got to lay our plans with great care," announced ward porton. "we can't go at this in any haphazard way. even though it may prove comparatively easy to get our hands on those miniatures, it will be another story to get away with them in such a storm as this, with the railroad and every other means of communication tied up." "this storm is jest the thing that's goin' to help us," answered crapsey. "with all the telegraph and telephone wires down the authorities won't be able to send out any alarm. and with the snow so deep, if we git any kind of a start at all it will be next to impossible for 'em to follow us up." a discussion of ways and means followed that lasted the best part of an hour. then, with money provided by porton, and with many an admonition that he must not for the present drink another drop, tim crapsey was allowed to depart for crumville. "and you be very careful of how you go at things," warned porton. tim crapsey had a delicate mission to perform. first of all he was to size up matters around the homes of the wadsworths and the basswoods, and then he was to do what he could to hire a cutter and a fast horse at the local livery stable. this done, he was to procure something to eat both for himself and for his companion. as time went by ward porton, on the alert for the possible appearance of the owner of the barn, became more and more anxious, and twice he went out in the roadway to see if his companion was anywhere in sight. "it would be just like him to go off and get full of liquor," muttered the young man, with a scowl. "i really ought to part company with him. but when he is perfectly sober he certainly is a slick one," he continued meditatively. to pass the time the young man made a thorough search of the overcoat which he had stolen from dave. he had already discovered a fine pair of gloves and had worn them. now, in an inner pocket, he located a card-case containing half a dozen addresses, some postage stamps, and some of dave's visiting cards. there were also two cards which had been blank, and on each of these, written in dave's bold hand, was the following: _signature of david porter, crumville._ "hello! what's this?" mused the former moving-picture actor, as he gazed at the written cards. then suddenly his face brightened. "oh, i see! it's one of those cards that i heard about--the kind he has been distributing among the storekeepers in an effort to catch me. say, one of these may come in handy when i go for those miniatures!" he continued. at last he heard a noise outside, and looking in that direction saw tim crapsey approaching in a somewhat dilapidated cutter, drawn, however, by a powerful-looking bay horse. "had a fierce time gittin' this horse," announced the man, as he came to a halt beside the barn. "the livery stable man didn't want to let him go out, and i had to tell him a long yarn about somebody bein' sick and my havin' to git a doctor. and i had to offer him double price, too!" and at his own ruse the man chuckled hoarsely. he had brought with him some sandwiches and doughnuts, and also a bottle of hot coffee, and on these both made a somewhat limited breakfast, the man washing the meal down with another drink from his flask. "i kept my word--i didn't drink a drop when i was in town," he croaked. "but say, this is mighty dry work!" "you keep a clear head on your shoulders, tim," warned porton. "some day, drink is going to land you in jail or in the grave." "not much!" snorted the man. "i know when to stop." but porton knew that this was not true. another conference was held, and crapsey told of having taken a look around, both at the wadsworth place and the basswood home. "there is no one at the basswood place but mr. and mrs. basswood; and i understand the man is sick in bed," he said. "all the telephone wires are out of commission, but to make sure that the basswoods couldn't telephone i cut the wire that runs into his real estate office--and i also cut the wire up at the wadsworth house." "good for you, tim!" returned ward porton, and then he told of having found the two cards, each containing dave's signature. "that's fine!" cried the man. "that ought to help you a great deal when you ask for the miniatures." "i hope it does," answered ward porton, thoughtfully. "now let us go; the sooner we get at this affair the better." and then both left the barn, entered the cutter, and drove rather slowly in the direction of the basswood home. chapter xv the return to crumville "if ward porton got my cap and overcoat he must have been staying at this hotel," said dave, after the announcement made by ben. "let us interview the proprietor without delay." he and his chums hurried back into the hotel and there met not only the proprietor but also his son. "see here, have you anybody staying here who looks like me?" demanded our hero of both of them. "sure, we've got a fellow who looks like you," declared the hotel-keeper's son before his father could speak. "it's a mr. jones. he has a room up on the third floor. he's here with an older man named brown." "i wish you would take me up to their room!" cried dave, quickly. "why! what's the matter now?" "i want to find out whether that fellow is still here. if he is i want him placed under arrest." and then dave related a few of the particulars concerning ward porton and his doings. "that certainly is a queer story," remarked the hotel proprietor. "i'll go upstairs with you." he led the way, followed by dave and his chums. the youths were much astonished to see him halt at the door next to their own. "they don't seem to be there, or otherwise they are sleeping pretty soundly," remarked the hotel proprietor, after he had knocked on the door several times. "i guess you had better unlock the door," suggested dave. "i rather think you will find the room empty." a key was secured from one of the maids and the door was opened. the proprietor gave one look into the apartment. "gone!" he exclaimed. "say! do you think they have run away?" "that's just exactly what i do think," answered dave. "and that fellow who looks like me most likely took my cap and overcoat." "and you say his name is porton? he signed our register as william jones." "here's his hat and coat," announced phil, opening the door to a closet. "pretty poor clothing he left you in return for yours, dave," continued the shipowner's son, after an inspection. the hotel proprietor was very wrathy, declaring that porton and his companion owed him for three days' board. "they're swindlers, that's what they are!" he cried. "just wait till i land on them! i'll put them in jail sure!" "i'd willingly give you that board money just to get my hands on ward porton," announced dave. he turned to his chums. "this sure is the limit! first he goes to the stores and gets a lot of things in my name and then he steals my hat and overcoat right from under my nose!" "yes, and that isn't the worst of it," declared roger. "there is no telling where he has gone; and even if you knew, in this awful storm it would be next to impossible to follow him." all went below, and there they continued to discuss the situation. in the midst of the talk the girls came down, accompanied by dr. renwick and his wife. "oh, dave! you don't mean to tell me that that horrid ward porton has been at more of his tricks!" cried laura. "isn't it perfectly dreadful!" put in jessie. "and to think he was right in this hotel with us and we never knew it!" "that's what makes me so angry," announced dave. "if only i had clapped my eyes on him!" he added regretfully. "well, there's no use of crying over spilt milk," declared roger. "he is gone, and so are dave's overcoat and his cap, and that is all there is to it." "speaking of milk puts me in mind of breakfast," put in phil. "now that the others are downstairs don't you think we had better have something to eat?" all were agreeable, and soon they were seated at a large table in the dining room, in company with the doctor and mrs. renwick. here, while eating their breakfast, they discussed the situation from every possible standpoint, but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. "porton must have seen us when we came up to the rooms," said dave to his chums. "he probably heard me speak about leaving my cap and overcoat downstairs, and he just took a fiendish delight in walking off with them and leaving his old duds behind. oh, he certainly is a peach!" had there been the slightest let-up in the blizzard, dave and his chums would have gone out on a hunt around the town for porton and his unknown companion. but with the wind blowing almost a hurricane, and the snow coming down as thickly as ever, dr. renwick told them that they had better remain indoors. "it isn't likely that they stayed anywhere around here, fearing detection," said the physician. "they probably put a good distance between themselves and this hotel. and to go out in such a storm as this might make some of you sick." "oh, well, what of that? we have a doctor handy," answered dave, whimsically. "just the same, i guess we had better remain where we are," he added, with a deep sigh. it was not until the following morning that the wind died down and the snow ceased to fall. in the meantime, the young folks did what they could to entertain themselves, the girls playing on the piano in the hotel parlor, and the boys later on taking them to the bowling alleys next door and initiating them into the mysteries of the game. dave was a good bowler and so was roger, each being able occasionally to make a score of two hundred. but ben and phil could not do much better than one hundred, while none of the girls got over eighty. "now that the snow has stopped falling, i suppose we had better try to get back to crumville," said laura to her brother. "yes, we ought to get back," put in jessie. "i suppose our folks are dreadfully worried about us." "it was too bad that you couldn't send some sort of word," came from belle. "if you could only do that we could stay here until the roads were well broken." "in the west we don't pretend to go out in such a storm," remarked cora dartmore. "but, of course, our distances are greater, and we have so few landmarks that it is an easy thing to get lost." "i don't think we are going to get away from here in any great hurry," replied dave. "it is true the snow has stopped coming down and the sun is breaking through the clouds; but i am quite sure the drifts on the road between here and crumville are much higher than we can manage, even with the powerful horses we have. we'll have to wait until the roads are more or less broken." our hero was right about not getting away. they went down to the stables and interviewed washington bones and several of the other drivers present, and all agreed that it would not be possible to get very far beyond the town limits. this news made the young folks chafe considerably, but there was nothing to be done; so for another day they had to content themselves as best they could. during that time the boys did their best to send some message to crumville, but without success, for all of the telephone and telegraph wires were still down and nothing had been done to mend them. the next morning, however, things looked a little brighter. the weather continued to improve, and several horse teams, as well as an ox team, came through on the road from the direction of crumville. "the road ain't none too good so far as i could see," announced one of the drivers to dave. "but if you take your time and watch where you're going, maybe you can get through." "oh, let us try it anyway!" cried laura, who was present. "if we find we can't make it we can come back here, or else stop at some other place along the way." it was finally agreed that they should make the effort, and they started about ten o'clock. the sun was shining with dazzling brilliancy on the snow, and with no wind blowing it was considerably warmer than it had been on the journey to lamont. all of the young folks were in good humor, dave for the time being dismissing from his mind the trouble occasioned by the loss of his cap and overcoat. as they drove away from the town they could see the effects of the great wind. in some spots the road was almost bare of snow, while in others there were drifts ten and twelve feet in height. to drive through such drifts was, of course, impossible; so they had to make long detours through the surrounding fields. at such places the horses, of course, had to be driven with extra care, for no one wanted the sleigh to land in some hole or be overturned. occasionally, when the turnout was on a dangerous slant, the girls would shriek and the boys would hold their breath; but each time washington bones was equal to the occasion and brought them through safely. by noon they had covered five miles, and then they stopped to rest at a village where all procured a good hot dinner. then they went forward once again, this time through a long patch of timber. "if we gits through dat, we'll be all right," declared the colored driver. the snow lay deep in the woods, but the horses proved equal to the occasion, and at last the timber was left behind and they came out on a ridge road where the snow was only a few inches in depth. here they were able to make fairly good time, so that three o'clock found them almost within sight of the outskirts of crumville. "we're going to make it easily," declared ben. but he proved to be mistaken, for a little distance farther on they ran again into the deep snow and had to pass around one drift after another, finally going clear across several fields to another highway. as a result it was well after dark before they gained the road leading past the wadsworth jewelry works. "well, this looks like home, anyway," declared dave to jessie, as he nodded in the direction of her father's establishment. "yes, and i'm glad of it," returned the girl. "gracious! it seems to me that we have been on the road for a week!" "we can be thankful that we got through so easily, jessie. wash is certainly some driver." on account of another big drift they had to pass to still another road, and this brought them finally to the street leading past the basswood home. "if it's all the same to you folks, i'll get off at my place," announced ben. "i suppose my father and mother are worrying about me." "go ahead, ben," returned dave. and then he added quickly: "i trust you find your father is better." with a flourish washington bones drew up the panting horses in front of the basswood place. just as ben leaped from the sleigh the front door of the house opened and mrs. basswood appeared. "ben! ben! is that you?" cried the youth's parent, quickly. "yes, mother," he answered cheerily. "don't worry. i am all right." forgetful that she had on only thin shoes, and no covering over her head or shoulders, mrs. basswood ran directly down to the big sleigh. she glanced over the occupants and her eyes fastened instantly on dave. "dave, have you been with ben since you went away?" she queried. "you haven't been to our house?" "why certainly i haven't been here, mrs. basswood," he returned promptly. "then it's true! it's true!" she wailed, wringing her hands. "what's true, mother?" demanded the son. "the miniatures! they're gone! they have been stolen! that young man who looks like dave was here and took them away!" chapter xvi how the miniatures disappeared "the miniatures are gone?" came from ben basswood in astonishment. "yes, ben, gone!" and the mother wrung her hands in despair. "do you mean to say ward porton dared to come here and impersonate me and get them?" cried dave. "it must have been that fellow, dave. he looked exactly like you. that is why i just asked you if you had been to our house." "i have been with ben and the others since we went on our sleigh-ride," said our hero. "this is terrible! how did it happen?" "come into the house and i'll tell you all about it," answered mrs. basswood. her face was drawn with anxiety, and all could see that she was suffering keenly. "and how is father?" questioned ben, as the party trooped up the piazza steps and into the house. "he isn't so well, ben, as he was before you went away. oh, dear! and to think how easily i was duped!" dave had told washington bones to wait for them, and, entering the parlor of the basswood home, the others listened to what the lady of the house had to tell. "your father had just had another bad turn, and the nurse and i were doing what we could for him when the door-bell rang," she began. "i went downstairs, and there stood somebody that i thought was dave. i asked him into the house and he at once wanted to know how mr. basswood was getting along." "when was this?" questioned ben. "this was two days ago, and just about noon time." "two days ago!" repeated roger. "then porton must have come here right after leaving the hotel in lamont. how ever did he get here?" "maybe he took that train that got through from pepsico," answered phil. "you remember we heard that quite a few people made that train." "let us hear about the miniatures," broke in ben, impatiently. "well, he came in, as i said, and asked about mr. basswood's health. then he told me that he was in a great hurry--that a certain famous art critic had called on mr. wadsworth, and, having heard about the enos miniatures, was very anxious to see them. he told me that the art critic had thought of coming over with him, but mr. wadsworth had said that it might disturb mr. basswood too much to have the miniatures examined in our house. the art critic did not want to become snowbound in crumville, so he was only going to stay until the four o'clock afternoon train. the young man said mr. wadsworth wanted to know if we would allow him to take the miniatures over to the wadsworth house, and that he would bring them back safely, either that evening or the next morning." "oh, mother! didn't you suspect it might be a trick?" questioned ben, anxiously. "you knew how this ward porton has been impersonating dave." "yes, yes, ben, i know," answered mrs. basswood, again wringing her hands. "and i should have been more careful. but you know i was very much upset on account of the bad turn your father had had. then, too, the young man threw me off my guard by asking me if i had one of those cards which dave had distributed among the storekeepers--the one with his autograph on it. "i said 'no,' but told him i was very well acquainted with his handwriting. then he said he would write out a card for me, adding, with a laugh, that he wanted me to be sure he was really dave. he drew a blank card out of his pocket and turned to a table to write on it and then handed it to me. here is the card now;" and, going to the mantelpiece, the lady of the house produced it. "one of the cards that i left in the overcoat that was stolen!" exclaimed dave. "he didn't write this at all, mrs. basswood. that rascal stole my overcoat and some of these cards were in it. he simply pretended to write on it." "well, i was sure it was your handwriting, and that made me feel easy about the fellow being you." "but you knew i was with ben and the others on the sleigh-ride," broke in dave. "oh, i forgot to state that when he came in he explained that you were all stormbound at the hotel in lamont and that, as the telephone and telegraph wires were all down, he had managed to get to pepsico and reach crumville on a freight train, doing this so that we and the wadsworths would not worry, thinking the sleighing-party had been lost somewhere on the road in this awful blizzard." "and then you gave him the miniatures?" questioned ben. "i did. oh, ben, i know now how very foolish it was! but i was so upset! at first i thought to ask your father about it; but i was afraid that to disturb him would make him feel worse, and i knew he was bad enough already. then, too, i knew that mr. wadsworth was expecting some art critics to look at the miniatures, so i concluded it must be all right. i have always known the combination of your father's safe, so it was an easy matter for me to open it and get the miniatures out. i told the young man to be careful of them, and he told me not to worry--that the miniatures would be perfectly safe, and that mr. wadsworth had promised to get the critic to set a fair value on each of them." "was this ward porton alone?" asked laura. the girls, of course, had listened with as much interest as the boys to what the lady of the house had to relate. "no, he came in a cutter driven by a man who was so bundled up because of the cold that i could not make out who he was. as soon as i gave him the cases containing the miniatures the young man hurried off in the cutter, stating that the sooner the critic had a chance to see the paintings the better." "and what happened next?" questioned dave, as mrs. basswood paused in her recital. "i went back to assist a nurse who had come in, and all that night we had our hands full with my husband. we had to call in the doctor, and he was really not out of danger until noon of the next day. i had wanted to tell him about sending the miniatures over to the wadsworth house, but he was in no condition to be told anything, so i kept silent." "but didn't you get worried when noon came and the supposed dave didn't return with them?" questioned the son. "yes, as soon as the doctor said that your father was out of danger i began to worry over the miniatures. i waited until the middle of the afternoon, and then, although it was snowing and blowing something awful, i hailed a passing man--old joe patterson--and asked him if he would go on an errand to the wadsworth house. he said he would try to make it for a dollar, and so i wrote a short note to mrs. wadsworth, knowing that she must be at home even though her husband and dave might be away. "old patterson delivered this message, and mrs. wadsworth sent back word that she had not seen anything of dave since he had gone away on the sleigh-ride, nor had she seen anything of the miniatures. she added that her husband had gone to the jewelry works, but that she would send one of the hired men after him at once and acquaint him with the situation." "what did you do then?" went on ben. "i really didn't know what to do. your father was so ill that the nurse and i had to give him every attention. i was waiting for the doctor to come again, but he could not get here on account of the snow-drifts. mr. wadsworth put in an appearance about two hours later, and then i told him just what i have told you. he declared at once that it must be a trick, stating that dave had not been near the house since going away with all of you young folks. mr. wadsworth was quite put out, and wanted to know how it was that i had not been able to detect the deception." "well, i must say--" commenced ben, and then stopped short, for he could see how his mother was suffering. "oh, yes, ben, i know what you were going to say," she broke in quickly. "having known dave so many years i should have discovered the deception. but, as i said before, i was terribly worked up over your father's condition. then, too, the young man came in bundled up in an overcoat and a cap that looked exactly like those dave wears." "they were mine. that fellow stole them from me," interrupted our hero, bitterly. "not only that, but he had a tippet placed over his head and around his neck, and he spoke in a very hoarse voice, stating that he had caught a terrible cold while on the sleigh-ride and while coming back to crumville on the freight train. he spoke about mr. basswood's real estate business, and about mr. and mrs. wadsworth and jessie, and so many other things that we are familiar with, that i was completely deceived. then, too, his turning over that written card to me also threw me off my guard. but i know i was very foolish, very foolish indeed!" and mrs. basswood's lips trembled and she wrung her hands once again. "what did mr. wadsworth do?" questioned dave, in the midst of rather an awkward pause. he agreed with ben that mrs. basswood should have recognized ward porton as an imposter, but he did not want to say anything that might add to the lady's misery. "he said he would set the authorities at work and see if he could not find porton and his confederate. i was so bewildered that i--well, i might as well admit it--i told him that i couldn't understand how i had been deceived, and that maybe dave had gotten the miniatures after all." "oh, mrs. basswood, you didn't really mean that!" cried our hero. "i was so bewildered i didn't know what i meant, dave. that young man did look so very much like you. that's the reason, when you folks drove up to the house, i ran out to ask if you had really been here or not." "have you heard anything of this ward porton since?" asked roger. "i haven't heard anything. whether mr. wadsworth has learned anything or not i do not know, for he has not been here and the storm has been so awful, with all the telephone wires down, that i could not send for news." "does father know about this now?" questioned ben. "no, ben, i have not had the courage to tell him," answered the mother. "i told the doctor, and he advised that i say nothing for the present." "i don't think i'd tell him," said dave. "i think the best thing we can do is to try to follow porton and this fellow with him and get back the miniatures. then it will be time enough to tell mr. basswood about the affair." as soon as they had entered the parlor the lady of the house had shut the door, so that none of the conversation might reach the sick chamber overhead. in reply to numerous questions mrs. basswood gave all the details as to how the rascally porton had been able to gain possession of the miniatures. "i think i'll hurry up and get home," declared dave, presently. "i want to hear what mr. wadsworth has to say; and also find out what he and my folks have done towards getting on the track of porton and his confederate." "that's the talk!" exclaimed roger. "say! but this is the worst yet, isn't it?" he turned to the lady of the house. "i am awfully sorry for you, mrs. basswood." "i guess we are all sorry," broke in our hero, quickly. "oh, i hope they catch that porton and put him in prison!" cried jessie. "that is where he belongs," answered dave, soberly. chapter xvii a vain search to find out what mr. wadsworth, as well as dave's father and his uncle, had done, ben accompanied the other young folks to the jewelry manufacturer's mansion. they found that mr. wadsworth had gone to business, but the other men were present and were much interested in what dave and his chums had to relate. "we've done all we could to get the authorities on the trail of ward porton," announced dave's father; "but we have been much hindered on account of this awful blizzard. the telegraph and telephone wires are down in all directions, so it has been practically impossible to send word any great distance." "with such a storm it may be possible that porton and his confederate are still in crumville," suggested roger. "i hardly think that," said dunston porter. "more than likely they did everything they could to put distance between themselves and this town after they got their hands on the miniatures." "i suppose you know we found out that porton's confederate managed to get a horse and cutter from bryson's livery stable," said dave's father. "no, we didn't know that!" cried ben. "well, it's true. the confederate, who gave his name as frank carson, said he wanted the turnout to go for a doctor. he said he had been sent by mr. jamison, the minister. of course, it was all a trick and mr. jamison knew absolutely nothing about it." "did they return the horse and cutter?" "they did not. and bryson is mourning the loss of a good horse. the cutter he says did not amount to so much. he would not have let the animal go out, only the fellow begged so hard, stating that it was practically a case of life or death--and he offered to pay double money for the horse's use." "were they seen at all?" questioned ben. "oh, yes! a number of people who were stormbound saw them pass down the street and stop at your house. then others saw the cutter turn in the direction of hacklebury." "of course you tried to follow?" queried dave. "i did that," answered dunston porter. "it was tough work getting through as far as the mill town. but i managed it, and made all sorts of inquiries. two people had seen the cutter pass the mills, but no one could give me any definite information as to which way it headed after that. you see, it was growing dark by that time, and the snow was coming down so thickly that it was next to impossible to see any great distance in any direction." "well, we know they went as far as hacklebury, and that's something," returned phil hopefully. "yes, but it isn't much," came in a rather hopeless tone from ben. "i'm afraid they've got away and we'll never see them again, or the miniatures either." "oh, don't say that, ben!" cried laura, sympathetically. "pictures, you know, are not like money. porton and that rascal with him will have no easy time disposing of the miniatures." "i'll tell you what they may do!" burst out jessie, suddenly. "they may go to some big city and then send you word that they will return the miniatures provided you will pay them a certain amount of money for so doing." "say! i believe that's just what they will do!" cried dave. "jessie, i think you've struck the nail right on the head!" and he looked at the girl admiringly. "i hope they do that--if we don't catch them," returned ben. "if those miniatures are worth anything like a hundred thousand dollars, i guess my dad would be glad enough to give five or ten thousand dollars to get them back." "i wouldn't give up the hunt yet, ben," urged roger. "just as soon as this awful storm is over i'd let the authorities in all the big cities, as well as the little ones, know about the theft, and then they can be on the watch for porton and his confederate. by the way, i wonder who the confederate can be." "i'm sure i haven't the least idea," answered the real estate dealer's son. with the disappearance of the basswood fortune in their minds, neither the young folks nor the grown folks could talk about much else. laura and jessie told the latter's mother how they had fallen in with dr. renwick and his wife, and how the pair had looked after the girls during their stay at the lamont hotel. "it was nice of mrs. renwick to do that," said the lady of the mansion; "but it is no more than i would expect from her. she is a very estimable woman." it was rather hard for dave and roger to settle down to their studies on the following morning, but there was nothing they could do to help along the search for those who had taken the miniatures, and, as both youths were anxious to make up for lost time, they applied themselves as diligently as possible. mr. ramsdell had been away, but the tutor came back that afternoon, and the two students put in a full day over their books, leaving laura, jessie and phil to look after the visitors from the west. the blizzard had now ceased entirely, and by the end of the week all the roads in the vicinity of crumville were fairly well broken and some of the telegraph and telephone lines had been repaired. the newspapers came in from the larger cities, and it was found that the blizzard had covered a wide area of the country, extending practically from the mississippi river to the atlantic seaboard. "it's given ward porton and his confederate a dandy chance to get away," was roger's comment. "you're right, roger," answered dave. "and so far it would seem that they have left no trace behind them." from ben it was learned that mr. basswood was slowly improving in health. he had asked about the miniatures, and the art critics who were to have visited crumville on the invitation of mr. wadsworth. "we couldn't keep the news from him any longer," said ben. "when he asked about the pictures my mother broke down and had to confess that she had let porton take them, thinking he was dave. of course, father was very much disturbed, and the doctor had to pay an extra visit and give him something to keep him quiet. i told him that all of us were doing everything we possibly could to get on the track of the thieves, and now he is resting in the hope that sooner or later the miniatures will be recovered." the loss of the miniatures had taken a good deal of the fun out of ben, and when the young folks stopping at the wadsworth mansion went out sleighing again, and for some fun skating, he begged to be excused. "i wouldn't take the loss too hard, ben," said dave, quietly. "remember, if the worse comes to the worst, you are just as well off as you were before you heard of this enos fortune." "that is true, dave. but it makes me mad to think that we had such a fortune as that right in our hands and then let it get away from us." "i suppose your mother feels dreadfully about it?" "she certainly does, dave. why, she isn't herself at all. sometimes i think that her worrying will bring on a regular fit of sickness. she, of course, thinks that it is entirely her fault that the miniatures are gone." "you'll have to do all you can to cheer her up." "oh, i'm doing that! and i do what i can to cheer up my father too. just the same, i'm mighty blue myself at times;" and the real estate dealer's son heaved a deep sigh. at last came the day when belle and cora must return to their homes in the west. on the evening before, jessie and laura gave a little party in their honor, which was attended by over a score of the boys and girls of crumville. the young people played games, sang, and danced to their hearts' content, and mrs. wadsworth saw to it that ample refreshments were served to all. [illustration: the young people played games, sang, and danced to their hearts' content.--_page ._] "oh, i've had a perfectly lovely time!" declared belle, when she and the others were on their way to the depot. "and so have i had a lovely time," added cora dartmore. "but i'm so sorry your friend lost that fortune," she added. ben had said good-bye over the telephone, the wire of which was once more in working order. "if you ever do hear of those miniatures you must let us know," went on belle. "we'll be sure to do that," answered laura. and then the train came in, and, with a final handshake all around, and with several kisses exchanged between the girls, belle and cora climbed on board, dave and phil assisting them with their suitcases. "i'm sorry i'm not going with you," cried the shipowner's son, "but i've promised dave and roger to stay a few days longer." "be sure to send us a letter as soon as you get back home," cried jessie. and then the train rolled out of the station and the visitors from the west were gone. on the night before phil took his departure the three chums had what they called a "talk-fest" in dave's room. they spoke about many things--of how they had first gone to oak hall, and of various adventures that had occurred since that time. "the oak hall boys are becoming scattered," said phil. "i don't suppose they'll ever all get together again." "oh, we'll have to meet at some future graduation exercises at the hall!" cried dave. "i can't think of letting such fellows as shadow hamilton, buster beggs, and sam day drop." "right you are!" came from roger. "if i can get there at all you can count on my going back to oak hall whenever there are any commencement exercises." "i half wish i was going into this civil engineering business with you two fellows," continued phil. "but i'm afraid i'm not cut out for that sort of thing. i love the sea and everything connected with ships." "that shows you're a chip of the old block," announced dave, clapping his chum on the shoulder. "you take after your father, phil, and i don't think you could do better than to follow him in his shipping business." "if i do follow him in that business, i tell you what you've got to do," announced the shipowner's son. "some time you've both got to take a nice big cruise with me." "that would suit me down to the shoe-tips," returned roger. "it would be fine, phil," answered dave. "but just at present, roger and i have got to bone to beat the band if we want to pass that examination. you must remember that being away from home on account of that blizzard put us behind quite a good deal." "well, you won't have me to worry you after to-night," grinned the chum. "starting to-morrow morning you and roger can put in twenty-four hours a day over your studies, as far as i am concerned." "wow! listen to that! he's as considerate as old job haskers used to be," exclaimed the senator's son. and then, picking up a pillow, he shied it at phil's head. another pillow was sent at roger in return; and in a moment a so-called "oak hall pillow fight" was in full progress in the room, pillows, blankets, books, and various other objects flying in all directions. then phil got roger down on one of the beds and was promptly hauled off by dave, and in a moment more the three youths were rolling over and over on the floor. suddenly there sounded a knock on the door. "hello! who is that?" cried dave; and at once the three youths scrambled to their feet, readjusting their clothing as they did so. "oh, dave, such a noise!" came from his sister. "what in the world are you doing in there?" "we are only bidding phil good-bye," answered the brother, sweetly. chapter xviii the civil engineering examination as the days went by, and dave and roger continued to prepare themselves for the examination which was rapidly approaching, the authorities did all they could to locate ward porton and his confederate. diligent inquiries were made concerning the identity of the man who had occupied the room at lamont with the former moving-picture actor, and it was finally discovered that he was tim crapsey, a fellow already wanted by the police for several crimes. "it's queer that a fellow like porton should throw in his fortunes with a man like crapsey," was roger's comment. "from all accounts crapsey is a thoroughly good-for-nothing fellow with a great liking for strong drink." "that shows porton's real disposition, roger," answered dave. "if he were any kind of a clean-minded or decent fellow he wouldn't want to put up with such a vile fellow as this tim crapsey is represented by the police to be." "if crapsey is already known to the police they ought to be able to locate him sooner or later." "those slick criminals have a way all their own for keeping out of sight of the police." dave paused for a moment. "do you know i've been thinking of something. maybe this fellow, crapsey, simply used porton as a tool." "i don't quite understand, dave." "why, in this way: when they heard about the miniatures, and crapsey heard how much porton looked like me, and how intimate i and the wadsworths were with the basswoods, it may have been crapsey who concocted the scheme for getting possession of the miniatures. and if he did that, it is more than likely that he will be the one to dispose of the pictures or send in an offer to return them for a certain amount." "you mean and cut ward porton out of the deal?" questioned the senator's son, quickly. "he may not cut porton out entirely. but the chances are that he'll let porton have as little of the returns as possible. a professional criminal like this crapsey isn't going to let an amateur like porton in on the ground floor if he can help it." "maybe he'll do porton out of it entirely. wouldn't that make the moving-picture actor mad!" and roger grinned over the thought. "it is no more than porton would deserve," answered our hero. "just the same, i hope the authorities capture them both and return the miniatures to mr. basswood." two days before the time when dave and roger were to undergo the much talked-of examination in civil engineering, there came news from a country town fifteen miles beyond hacklebury. a livery stableman there sent in word that he was boarding a horse which he thought might be the one stolen from mr. bryson. the crumville liveryman at once notified ben and the local police, and the boy and an officer accompanied him to centertown. mr. bryson at once recognized the horse as his own, and wanted to know how the centertown liveryman had become possessed of the animal. "he was left here by a man i think was this tim crapsey the paper spoke about," announced the livery stable keeper. "he said he was on the road to the next town, but that the storm was too much for him, and that he wanted to leave the animal with me for a few days or a week. he said he was rather short of cash and asked me to lend him ten dollars, which, of course, i did, as i thought the horse was ample security," went on the livery stableman, bitterly. "was the fellow alone?" was the question which ben put. "he came in alone, but i think after he left the stable he was joined by another fellow down on the corner." the centertown livery-stable keeper had not noticed where crapsey and his companion had gone, but thought they had made their way to the railroad station. it was learned that a train bound for new york city had left centertown about an hour later. all came to the conclusion that ward porton and tim crapsey had taken this. the train had been stalled some hours along the road, but had finally reached the grand central terminal of the metropolis. "well, this proves one thing--that porton and crapsey got as far as new york city with the miniatures," said dave, when he heard the news. "yes, and new york is such a large place, with so many people in it, that it will be almost impossible for the authorities to trace them there." "that's it, roger--especially when you remember that this happened some time ago, so that by now the thieves may be in chicago, san francisco, or in london, paris, or some other far-away place." at last came the time when dave and roger were to go in for the examination which meant so much to them. they had worked hard, and mr. ramsdell had assisted them in every way possible; yet both were rather doubtful over the outcome of the affair. "it isn't going to be like the examinations at oak hall," said our hero. "mr. ramsdell admitted that it would be stiff from the word go." "i know that," answered the senator's son. "it seems that several years ago they were a little lax, and, as a consequence, some fellows slipped through that had no right to pass. now they have jacked the examiners up, so that the test is likely to be fierce." "oh, dave! what are you going to do if you don't pass?" cried jessie, when he was ready to leave home. "if i don't pass now, jessie, i'll simply go at my studies again and keep at them until i do pass," he answered. the examination which was held in the city was divided into two parts, one taking place from ten to twelve in the morning, and the other from two to five in the afternoon. there were about thirty students present, and as far as possible each was separated from any friends he might have on hand, so that dave sat on one side of the hall in which the examination occurred and the senator's son sat on the other. "well, how did you make out?" questioned roger of dave, when the two went out for their midday lunch. "i don't know exactly, roger," was the reply. "i think, however, that i answered at least seventy per cent, of the questions correctly. how about yourself?" "well, i'm hoping that i got seventy per cent. of them right," returned the senator's son. "but maybe i didn't get above fifty or sixty per cent." the afternoon questions seemed to be much harder than those of the morning. the students were given until five o'clock to pass in their afternoon papers, and never did dave and roger work harder than they did during the final hour. one question in particular bothered our hero a great deal. but at almost the last minute the answer to it came like an inspiration, and he dashed it down. this question proved a poser for the senator's son, and he passed in his paper without attempting to put down a solution. following that examination, dave returned to crumville. roger journeyed to washington, where his folks were staying at a leading hotel, congress being in session and senator morr occupying his place in the senate. there was a week of anxious waiting, and then one day dave received an official-looking envelope which made his heart beat rapidly. "what is it, dave?" cried his sister, when she saw him with the letter in his hand. "is it your civil engineering report?" "i think it is, laura," he answered. "oh, dave, how i hope you've passed!" "so do i," put in jessie. dave could not give an answer to this, because, for the moment, his heart seemed to be in his throat. passing to the desk in the library, he slit open the envelope and took out the sheet which it contained. a single glance at it, and he gave a shout of triumph. "i've passed!" he cried. "hurrah!" "oh, good!" came simultaneously from his sister and jessie. and then they crowded closer to look at the sheet of paper. "does it say what percentage you got?" continued his sister. "why, as near as i can make out, i've got a standing of ninety-two per cent.," he announced, with pardonable pride. "isn't that fine?" "it's the finest ever, dave!" said his sister, fondly, as she threw her arms around his neck. "oh, dave, it's just glorious!" exclaimed jessie, her eyes beaming. and when he caught her and held her tight for a moment she offered no resistance. "oh, won't your father and your uncle be proud when they hear of this!" "i'm going to tell them right now!" he cried, and ran off to spread the good news. "my boy, i'm proud of you," said his father. "proud of you!" and he clapped dave affectionately on the shoulder. "i didn't expect anything different from our davy," put in uncle dunston. "i knew he'd pass. well, now you've passed, i wish you every success in the profession you have chosen." "oh, i'm not a full-fledged civil engineer yet, uncle dunston," broke in dave, quickly. "i've got a whole lot to learn yet. remember this is only my first examination. i've got to study a whole lot more and have a whole lot of practice, too, before i can graduate as a real civil engineer." dave lost no time in sending a telegram to roger. in return, a few hours later came word from the senator's son that he, too, had passed. "hurrah!" cried dave, once more, and then could not resist the temptation to grab jessie about the waist and start on a mad dance through the library, the hallway, the dining-room, and the living room of the mansion. mrs. wadsworth looked on and smiled indulgently. "i suppose your heart is as light as a feather now, dave," she said, when the impromptu whirl came to an end. "indeed it is, mrs. wadsworth," he answered. "passing that examination has lifted a tremendous weight from my shoulders." of course mr. ramsdell was greatly pleased to think that both of his pupils had passed. "now i can write to my friends of the mentor construction company and see if they can give dave and roger an opening," he said. "they promised it to me some time ago in case the boys passed." and he set about sending off a letter without delay. chapter xix off for texas "glorious news!" "oh, dave! have you heard from mr. ramsdell?" cried his sister laura. "yes, here is a letter. and it enclosed another from the mentor construction company. they are going to give me an opening with that portion of the concern that is now operating in texas, building railroad bridges." "oh, dave! then you will really have to go away down there?" burst out jessie, her face falling a trifle. "it's a dreadfully long way off!" "well, it's what i expected," he answered. "a fellow can't expect to become a civil engineer and work in his own backyard," and he grinned a trifle. "this letter from mr. ramsdell states that roger will be given an opening also." "with you, of course?" queried laura. "he doesn't state that. but he knew we wanted to stick together, so i suppose it's all right." "when do you have to start?" questioned jessie. "just as soon as we can get ready--according to mr. ramsdell's letter. he says he is also sending word to roger." as was to be expected, the tidings quite excited our hero. now that he had passed the preliminary examination and was to go out for actual field practice, he felt that he was really and truly on his way to becoming a civil engineer. it was the first step towards the realization of a dream that had been his for some time. dave's father and his uncle, as well as mr. and mrs. wadsworth, were greatly interested in the news. "there is one thing about it, dave," said his parent; "i have made a number of inquiries, and have learned that the mentor construction company is one of the largest and finest in this country. they employ a number of first-class engineers; so it is likely that you will receive the very best of instruction, and i sincerely hope that you will make the best of your opportunities." "i am going to do my level best, dad," he returned earnestly. "i think i'm a mighty lucky boy," he added, with a smile. "i think you owe mr. ramsdell a good deal," said his uncle dunston. "of course, we have paid him for his services, but that isn't everything." "i know it," dave returned; "and i'm either going to thank him in person or else send him the nicest letter that i can write." now that he was really going to leave home, mrs. wadsworth, as well as laura and jessie, took it upon their shoulders to see that dave should be properly taken care of so far as wearing apparel went. "but oh, dave! it's awful to think of your going so far away!" said jessie, one day, when the two were alone in the library. "the house will be dreadfully lonely after you are gone." "it won't be much different from when i was at oak hall, jessie," he answered. "oh, yes, it will be, dave. texas is a long way off. and my father says the construction work that the mentor company is doing is close to the mexican border. what if you should have trouble with some of those awful mexican bandits?" and the girl shuddered. "i don't expect any trouble of that kind. practically all the fighting that has been going on has been on mexican soil on the other side of the rio grande. as i understand it, the nearest point that the mentor construction company reaches to mexico is some miles from the border." "well, that's close enough with so much fighting going on," jessie pouted. "i don't want any of those awful mexican revolutionists to fire at you." "don't worry, jessie," dave answered; and then caught her by both hands and drew her closer. "you're going to write to me regularly, aren't you?" he continued, earnestly. "of course, dave! and don't you forget to answer every letter," she replied quickly. "oh, i'll do that, never fear!" "and do you really think you are going to enjoy becoming a civil engineer?" "i'm positive of it, jessie. the more i see of the profession, the more i am in love with it. it's a wonderful thing. just think of being able to plan out a great big bridge across a broad river, or some wonderful dam, or a tall sky-scraper, or an elevated railroad, or a tunnel under a gigantic mountain, or a tube under some river, or--" "oh, my gracious me, dave! are you going to do all those wonderful things?" gasped the girl, her eyes opening widely. "i don't expect i'll ever have the chance to do all those things, jessie; but i'm going to try my best to do some of them. of course, you must remember that at the present time civil engineering is divided into a great many branches. now, for instance, i didn't mention anything about mining engineering, and that's a wonderful profession in itself." "oh, dave! it's wonderful--simply wonderful!" cried the girl. "and you are going to be a wonderful man--i know it!" and she looked earnestly into his eyes. "if i ever do get to be a wonderful man, it's going to be on your account, jessie," he returned in a low voice. "you have been my inspiration. don't forget that;" and he drew her closer than before. "oh, dave!" "it's true, jessie. and i only hope that i'll make good--and that too before i am very much older. then i think you already know what i am going to do?" "what?" she whispered, and dropped her eyes. "i am going to ask your folks for your hand in marriage," he continued firmly, reading his answer in her face. word had come in from roger that he too was getting ready to go to texas, and that both of the youths were to work together, as had been anticipated. as the senator's son was in washington, it was arranged that dave was to join him in the capitol city, and then the two were to journey to texas. ben had heard about dave's proposed departure for the south, and he came over several times to see his former oak hall chum before the latter left home. "any news regarding the miniatures?" questioned dave, during the last of these visits. "not much," answered the real estate dealer's son. "the police thought they had one or two clues, but they have all turned out to be false. they arrested one fellow in pittsburgh, thinking he was tim crapsey, but he turned out to be somebody else." "then they haven't any word at all about ward porton?" "no, that rascal seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth." "how is your father getting along, ben?" "he isn't doing so well, dave. this loss of the miniatures was a terrible blow to him. you see, the real estate business lately has not been quite as good as it might be. my father went into several pretty heavy investments, and he needed a little more money to help him through. so when he got word about this fortune in pictures, he at once thought that he could sell some of the miniatures and use the proceeds in his real estate deals. now that end of the business is at a standstill." "is your father actually suffering for the want of some cash?" asked our hero, quickly. "if he is, i think my father or my uncle dunston can help him out." "your father has already promised to assist him, and so has mr. wadsworth, dave. but that isn't the thing. you know my father is an independent sort of man, and it worries him to think that he can't stand entirely on his own feet in his real estate transactions. of course, if he were well enough to be around i suppose he could adjust matters without any special assistance. but it's hard lines when things go wrong and you are flat on your back in bed." "yes, i can understand that. and it must worry your mother, too." "oh, it does! ma isn't the same woman. she is awfully pale and quite thin. the doctor told her not to worry so, or she'd be down on her back, too." "well, you'll have to do what you can to cheer up both of them." dave drew a long breath. "i do wish somebody would catch those two rascals, not only on your account but on my account also. i'd like to settle matters with porton, for having impersonated me at those stores, and for taking my cap and overcoat." "we've offered a reward of five thousand dollars for the return of the miniatures, and another thousand each for the capture of the thieves," announced ben. "that ought to be a strong inducement for the detectives to do all they possibly can." "we thought you might possibly get an offer from porton or crapsey, or both of them, to return the miniatures for a certain amount," went on dave. "but you say no such offer has come in?" "no." "would your father consider it if it did come in?" "i don't know what he would do, dave. of course, he'd hate to give up money to a thief; but, just the same, he'd hate it worse if he never got the miniatures back." at last came the time for dave to leave home. his trunk had been packed and shipped on ahead. there was still considerable snow on the ground; so he was taken to the depot in the big wadsworth sleigh, the girls and his father accompanying him. "good-bye, davy, my boy!" cried his uncle dunston, when he was ready to leave the house. "now i expect you to give a good account of yourself while with that construction company." "i'll do what i can," he answered. "and do keep away from the mexicans," added mrs. wadsworth with a sigh. "you trust david to do the right thing," came from old caspar potts, his mellow eyes beaming brightly. "david is all right. he's my boy, and i'm proud of him," and he nodded his head over and over again. for the girls, the drive to the depot was all too short. laura had so many things to say to her brother that she hardly knew what to speak of first. as for poor jessie, she felt so bad she could scarcely speak, and when she looked at dave there were unbidden tears in her eyes. "now don't look at it that way," david whispered, when he caught sight of the tears. "i'll be back again before a great while." "oh, dave, i--i--ca--can't help it," she murmured. "i--i--think so--so--much of--of--you!" and then, for the moment, she hid her face on his shoulder. mr. porter had a few words of advice to give, and he had hardly finished when the train rolled into the station. then dave shook hands with his father, and kissed each of the girls, and climbed on board. "good-bye, my son!" called mr. porter. "good-bye, dad! take care of yourself while i'm gone," he shouted back. "good-bye, laura! good-bye, jessie!" "good-bye, dave!" returned the sister, waving her hand. jessie tried to speak but could not, and so she too waved a farewell. then the train rolled from the crumville station, slowly gathering speed, and finally disappearing in the distance. at last our hero was off to become a full-fledged civil engineer. chapter xx in new york city "dave porter!" "buster beggs!" cried our hero, his face lighting up. "where in the world did you come from?" "just got off the accommodation coming the other way," announced joseph beggs, otherwise known as buster, a fat youth who had long been one of dave's oak hall classmates. "are you alone?" questioned our hero. he had just stepped from the local train to change to the express for new york city; and he had fairly run into buster, who was standing on the platform flanked by several suitcases. "no, i'm not alone," answered the fat youth. "shadow hamilton and luke watson are with me." "you don't say so!" and our hero's face showed his pleasure. "are you bound for new york?" he questioned quickly. "yes, we are going to take the express." "fine! i am going there myself." "got a seat in the parlor car?" "yes. number twelve, car two." "isn't that wonderful! we have eleven, thirteen and fourteen!" answered buster beggs. "hello there, dave porter!" shouted another youth, as he stepped out of the waiting-room of the depot. "how are you anyway?" and he came up, swinging a banjo-case from his right hand to his left so that he might shake hands. luke watson had always been one of the favorite musicians at oak hall, playing the banjo and the guitar very nicely, and singing well. "mighty glad to see you, luke!" cried dave, and wrung the extended hand with such vigor that the former musician of oak hall winced. then dave looked over the other's shoulder and saw a third lad approaching--a youth who was as thin as he was tall. "how is our little boy, shadow, to-day?" he continued, as maurice hamilton came closer. "great scott! am i blind or is it really dave porter?" burst out shadow hamilton. "no, you're not blind, shadow, and it's really yours truly," laughed dave. and then as another handshake followed he continued: "what are you going down to new york city for? to pick up some new stories?" "pick up stories?" queried the former story teller of oak hall, in perplexity. "i don't have to pick them up. i have--" "about fourteen million stories in pickle," broke in buster beggs. "fourteen million!" snorted luke watson. "you had better say about fourteen! shadow tells the same stories over and over again." "say, that puts me in mind of a story!" cried the youth mentioned, his face lighting up. "once on a time there was a--" "oh, my, shadow! are you going to start right away?" demanded dave, with a broad grin on his face. "can't you give a fellow a chance to catch his breath? this is a great surprise--meeting you three on my way to the city. and to think we are going to be together in one of the parlor cars, too!" "oh, you can't lose the oak hall boys!" cried buster. "say, let me tell you something," he went on. "luke has written a song about oak hall that is about the finest thing i ever heard." "it ought to be if it mentions us," answered dave, with a boldness that took away much of the conceit. "say, you haven't let me tell that story!" interrupted shadow, with a disconcerted look on his thin face. "now, as i was saying, there was once a--" "not now, shadow!" "you can tell it on the way to new york!" "provided the conductor will give you written permission." "not much!" returned the would-be story-teller. "if i can't tell that story now, i'm going to be mum forever." he suddenly looked at dave. "what is taking you to new york?" he inquired. "i'm on my way to texas," answered dave, and then told his former classmates of how he and roger had passed the preliminary examination as civil engineers and of how they were now going to take up field work in the lone star state. "say, that's great!" exclaimed buster, in admiration. "i wish i was going to do something like that." "so do i," added luke, while shadow nodded in assent. the other lads had many questions to ask, and in return told dave much about themselves. in the midst of the conversation the express train for the metropolis rolled in and the four youths lost no time in clambering aboard. they found their seats with ease, and quickly settled themselves. "that's a fierce loss that the basswoods sustained," remarked luke. "i read all about it in the newspapers. that fellow, ward porton, must be a peach." "i should say he was a lemon so far as dave was concerned," said buster, with a slow wink of his eye. "speaking of peaches puts me in mind of another story," cried shadow. "a man had a tree in his garden and--" "oh, shadow, why this infliction!" "have we really got to listen?" "how much will you pay us if we keep still until you have finished?" "yes, you've got to listen, and i won't pay you a cent for it, either," retorted the would-be story-teller. "this is a short one. a man had a fruit-tree in his garden, and he told a friend of his that he got three kinds of fruit from it. his friend didn't believe it, so he told his friend: 'why, it was dead easy. i went out in the garden to pick an apple. i picked one, and then i picked a pair. one was no good, but another was a peach.'" "wow! listen to that!" "shadow must have had a peach of a time getting up that story," commented luke, evidently feeling himself justified. "good thing there are not a pair of them," came from dave. "such stories are the fruits of idleness," was added by buster, solemnly. "oh, don't you poke fun at that joke," retorted shadow. "it's a good deal better than any you could get up." dave learned that luke watson's folks were now living in new york city, and that luke had invited buster and shadow to spend a week with him. "it's too bad you can't stop off, at least for a day or two," said luke to dave. "it would suit me down to the ground to have you join us." "and i'd like first-rate to do it, luke," answered our hero. "but i promised to be in washington by to-morrow, and that means that i've got to take the midnight train from new york city." "well, we'll get down to new york by three o'clock this afternoon. that will give us nine hours in which to have a good time. you've got to come up to our house for dinner," continued luke; and so it was arranged. "i was wondering what i would do with myself this evening," said our hero. "i don't mind going around the city in the daylight, but after it is dark it is rather hard for a stranger to put in his time, unless he wants to go to some kind of show." "we might all go to a moving-picture show after dinner," suggested buster. "i'll blow you to front seats," he added generously. "you'll have to make it a seat farther back than that for me," put in shadow. "a front seat at a moving-picture show is no good," and at this there was a general snicker. "we'll see about the show after we have had dinner," said luke. the time on the train was spent in talk about oak hall and their numerous classmates, many of them now well scattered throughout the states. "polly vane has gone into business, so i hear," announced luke. "he's in real estate, and in spite of the fact that he's a regular dude they tell me he is doing very well." "well, polly ought to do well," answered dave, who had not forgotten that the student who acted so very girlishly had at graduation stood as high in his percentage as our hero himself had done. "and they say chip macklin is doing pretty well, too," put in buster, referring to a small lad who had once been a toady to gus plum, the hall bully. "well, plum is doing well," returned dave. "i'm glad he reformed. evidently there was much better stuff in him than there was in jasniff and merwell." "oh, jasniff and merwell were thoroughly bad eggs," announced luke. "i'll never forget, dave, how jasniff once tried to brain you with an indian club." "say, speaking about bad eggs, puts me in mind of another story," cried shadow. "a lady went into a store and asked the store-keeper's clerk how much the eggs were. the clerk--now don't interrupt me, because this isn't a very long story," pleaded the would-be story teller. "the clerk was only a small boy, and he hadn't been in the business very long, so he told the lady, 'the really fresh eggs are fifty cents, and the almost fresh eggs are forty cents, and those that ain't so fresh are thirty-five cents, and the rotten eggs are thirty cents.'" "oh, shadow! what a story!" "haven't you got any fresher than that?" "you can't make anybody believe any such yarn as that." "that story is absolutely true," returned the story teller, soberly. "if you don't believe it, you come down to the town of necopopec, maine, and on the principal street of the town i'll show you the town pump where that boy used to get a drink three times a day," and at this sally there was a general laugh. at last the train rolled into the grand central terminal at forty-second street, new york city, and, alighting, the lads made their way through the spacious depot to the crowded thoroughfare beyond. here taxicabs were numerous, and the youths piled into one, leaving the driver to look after their suit-cases. dave's trunk had been checked through to washington. luke's family lived in the vicinity of central park, and it did not take the chums long to reach the home. here they were greeted by mrs. watson, luke's father being away on business. then luke took the lads up to his own room, where all proceeded to make themselves at home. at a little after five mr. watson came in to greet them, and about an hour later all sat down to a sumptuous dinner, to which it is needless to say each of the boys applied himself diligently. "i see by the papers that they are showing a very fine war spectacle at one of the photo-play houses," announced luke. "how would you fellows like to go and see it?" this was agreeable to all, and a little later the chums left the watson house to go to the theater, which was about ten blocks farther downtown. "if we get there by half-past seven, we can take in the first show of the evening," announced luke. "that will give us a chance to do some other things before it is time for dave to catch his train." the war spectacle proved very entertaining to all the youths, and they were rather sorry when it came to an end. then buster proposed that they walk down the great white way, as a certain portion of broadway has been designated. the boys had been walking for the best part of half an hour, taking in various sights, including the wonderfully illuminated signs, when suddenly, as they passed through a rather dense crowd, shadow plucked dave by the arm. "what is it?" questioned our hero, quickly, for he saw that the former story-teller of oak hall was much excited. "that fellow we just passed, dave!" cried shadow. "what of him?" "why, he looked just like you!" "you don't mean it!" gasped dave, and came to a sudden halt. "if he looked like me it must have been ward porton!" chapter xxi dave in washington "ward porton!" exclaimed the other youths in a chorus. "let us go after him," went on dave. "shadow, which way did he go?" "come on, i'll show you," answered the story-teller, and led the way through the crowd as well as he could. as already mentioned, the crowd at this particular spot on the great white way was dense, and the chums had all they could do to force their way along, often elbowing people in a way that was far from polite. presently they gained a street corner where the pedestrians were being held up by the traffic flowing the other way. "there he is!" exclaimed shadow, suddenly, pointing with his hand. looking in the direction indicated, dave saw a well-known form. it was indeed ward porton, still wearing the cap and overcoat he had stolen from our hero. "hi there, porton! stop!" cried dave, and made a dash for the rascal. as his hand fell on porton's arm the other swung around in a startled way. then, as he caught sight of dave and his friends, he gave a sudden duck and crowded in between several ladies standing in front of him. the next instant he was dashing out into the street in the midst of a perfect maze of automobiles and wagons. [illustration: the next instant he was dashing out into the street.--_page ._] "i'm going after him!" cried dave to his chums, and did his best to follow. but an automobile got in his way, and then a large express wagon, and before our hero could get around these, porton had gained the opposite sidewalk and was darting through the crowd with great rapidity, paying scant attention to those he met and hurling one little girl off her feet and into the gutter. "stop! what's the matter here?" cried a voice to dave; and the next moment a policeman came up beside him. "that fellow ahead! i want to catch him!" burst out our hero. "he's a thief!" "where?" "there he goes, straight into the crowd!" answered dave, and then hurried on once more, with his chums trailing behind him. the chase so suddenly taken up did not, however, prove long. by the time dave and his friends reached the next corner of the crowded thoroughfare ward porton had disappeared once more and none of the youths could tell what direction he had taken. "i don't know what you're going to do, dave," said luke, sympathetically. "he may have gone ahead and then again he may have turned to the right or to the left." "i don't believe you'll be able to locate him in such a crowd as this," put in buster. "what a shame that you weren't able to get your hands on him!" "i did have one hand on him, but he slipped away like a greased pig," announced dave, dolefully. "say, speaking about greased pigs puts me in mind of a story," put in shadow. "once there were two boys--" and then, as his chums gave him a sudden cold look, he continued: "oh, pshaw! what's the use of trying to tell a story just now. i know dave would rather find this fellow porton." "you're right there, shadow!" answered our hero, quickly. "i'd rather get my hands on him than listen to a thousand stories." dave was unwilling to let the chase end there; so he and his friends spent the remainder of the evening walking up and down broadway, and traversing several blocks of the side streets in the vicinity where ward porton had disappeared. but it was all of no avail. the rascal had made good his escape. then all walked around to the nearest police station, and told the authorities of the affair, so that the detectives of the city might be on the watch for the criminal. his chums insisted upon seeing dave off on his journey to washington, and before going to the pennsylvania railroad station on seventh avenue the youths treated themselves to a lunch. during the meal shadow was allowed to tell several of his best stories, and luke was called on to hum over the song he had composed in honor of their days at oak hall. "that's a fine song, luke, and you ought to have it published," declared dave, heartily. "i believe every lad who ever went to oak hall would want a copy of it." it may be mentioned here that later on luke watson did have the composition brought out by a metropolitan music publisher. he dedicated it to the senior class of which he had been a member, and the song sold very well. dave had already secured his berth on the train, so that when his friends left him he lost no time in retiring. but the novelty of the journey, and his thoughts concerning ward porton, kept him awake for some time. finally, however, he went sound asleep and did not awaken until some time after the capitol city was reached. senator morr and his family were staying at the new willard hotel in washington, and dave soon found a street car that passed the door of that place. when he entered the hotel, he found roger in the lobby waiting for him. "i thought you'd come right up," cried the senator's son. "i told the folks i'd meet you. of course, you haven't had any breakfast? the folks will be down in a little while and then we'll all go to breakfast together." roger was much interested to learn that dave had met three of their old chums, and wanted to know all that had been said and done. the fact that our hero had also seen ward porton was a surprise. "what a shame you didn't capture him, dave! maybe you might have got on the track of that basswood fortune." "just what i was thinking, roger. i did my best, but you know what a new york crowd is. porton slipped through it and disappeared almost like magic." senator morr and his wife greeted dave warmly. the four had breakfast in a private dining-room, and during the course of the meal the senator had much to say regarding the departure of his son and dave for texas. "i know one or two of the men connected with the mentor construction company," said the senator. "they are very fine fellows, and i think they will see to it that you are treated rightly." "dad, of course, has some influence with them," broke in roger, "being a senator, you know." "i don't use my influence that way, roger," answered the father, shortly. "you must not expect special favors because i happen to be a united states senator. i expect you to make your way on your own merit." "and that's what i'm going to do," answered the son, promptly. "i do hope both of you boys keep out of trouble," said mrs. morr. "you are going close to the border of mexico, and there has been fighting going on along that border for many months." "we are not going down there to get into any fights," answered dave. "we are going down there to attend strictly to business. if the mexicans will only leave us alone, we'll leave them alone." dave and roger had at first thought to go to texas by the way of new orleans and houston, but after some thought they decided to take the journey by the way of st. louis, kansas city and san antonio. their train was to leave on the following morning, so that the two youths had a whole day practically to themselves. "now i am in washington i'd like to take a look around," said dave. "i knew you'd like to do that, so i got everything ready beforehand," announced his chum. "we'll spend to-day in sightseeing." they visited the capitol and the white house, and numerous other buildings, and almost before they were aware it was evening. then mrs. morr insisted upon it that her son retire early, knowing what a hard journey was before him. the senator's son had received word that the mentor construction company had opened a temporary office at san antonio, and the two youths were to report there before proceeding farther. the engineering corps to which they had been assigned was on the point of moving from one place to another, and they were to get definite instructions at san antonio regarding their further movements. "well, good-bye and good luck to you!" said the senator, who came down to the depot with them to see them off. "good-bye, dad," answered roger, shaking hands warmly. dave, too, shook hands with his chum's father. then, in a moment more, the two youths were off on their long journey to texas. "this kind of traveling is rather different from what the pioneers put up with," remarked roger, as the two settled themselves in their comfortable seats, they having a whole section of the sleeper to themselves. "think of what it must have been to travel thousands of miles in a boomer wagon behind a team of mules or oxen!" "yes, roger, and think of being on the lookout constantly for unfriendly indians and wild beasts," added dave. "i'll tell you, when you come to consider the luxuries we enjoy these days we have much to be thankful for." the day's run was a pleasant one, and the youths enjoyed it greatly. they spent the time in chatting about the prospects and in gazing at the swiftly-moving panorama to be seen from the car window. "it's a pity we have to sleep when there is so much to see," was dave's comment, as, after having passed through cincinnati, it grew time to retire. "i'd like very much to see what this section of the country looks like." the following morning found them crossing the mississippi river. they passed through st. louis, and then the train headed for kansas city, where they were to change for fort worth and san antonio. the train for san antonio proved to be much less crowded than the other had been. as before, the youths had a section to themselves, and none of the sections near them was occupied. but when, on the following day, the train stopped at a way station several passengers got aboard, including a man who took the section opposite to that occupied by our friends. this man was a tall, heavy-set and red-faced individual, having reddish hair and a heavy reddish mustache. he looked the youths over rather coldly, and then, throwing himself down in his seat, proceeded to read a newspaper. "doesn't look like a very friendly fellow," whispered roger to dave. "i was hoping we might meet somebody who would warm up a little and tell us something about this part of the country." "you've got to go slow in making friends out in a strange place like this," answered dave. "oh, i don't know about that, dave," was the quick reply. "my father tells me that folks in the west and southwest are usually very friendly. we found them so on our way to star ranch." the boys continued to talk of the prospects ahead, and during the conversation the mentor construction company was mentioned several times. then dave noticed that the burly man opposite had dropped his newspaper and was looking at them curiously. finally the man arose and stepped across the aisle. "did i hear you young fellows speaking about the mentor construction company?" he asked, not unpleasantly. "you did," answered dave. "are you connected with that concern?" went on the man. "we are going to work for them," answered roger. "we have just been appointed to the engineering department." "you don't say!" cried the man in surprise. "i'm with that company myself. my name is william jarvey. what is yours?" the boys told him, and all shook hands. then, as roger crossed over to sit down beside dave, the man sank down in the seat opposite. chapter xxii in texas at last "so you are going to join our engineering department, eh?" queried william jarvey. "do you know anybody in that department?" "we don't know any one down here," answered dave. "we are utter strangers. we obtained our positions through a mr. ramsdell, who was our tutor." "oh, i see." the man had been looking rather sharply at dave. "may i ask where you come from?" "we come from new england. i live in a town called crumville. my friend here is the son of united states senator morr." "oh, indeed!" william jarvey showed increased interest. "the son of a united states senator, eh? well, that ought to help you a great deal. the mentor construction company often has to ask the government for favors, you know," and he laughed lightly. "i'm not going to trade on the fact that my father is a united states senator," remarked roger, somewhat shortly. "i am going to make my own way." "and i guess you will. you look like a pretty bright young man," returned william jarvey, hastily. "are you a civil engineer?" questioned dave. "oh, no! no such luck for me. i am connected with the bookkeeping and the blue-print department. i wish i were a first-class civil engineer. i might be earning a much larger salary;" and the man drew down his mouth as he spoke. evidently he was a fellow who was not at all satisfied with his position in life. "we are to report to a mr. perry watson at san antonio," explained roger. "he is to tell us where to go and what to do." "perry watson, eh?" and the man scowled and showed his teeth in an unpleasant manner. "what's the matter--don't you like mr. watson?" asked dave. "not much. very few of the men do. he's terribly sharp on watching everything a man does." "i sincerely hope we don't have any trouble with him," was roger's comment. "we'd like to start right, you know." "well, you'll have to watch yourselves pretty closely," announced william jarvey. the talk then became general, and the burly man told the youths much about the work being done by the mentor construction company. it seemed that there were four gangs in the field, two operating south of san antonio, and the others to the westward. "it's more than likely you'll be sent to the west," he said. "i think the gangs in the south have all the helpers they need. i am going west myself; so if you are sent that way perhaps we'll see more of each other." "perhaps," answered dave. he was not particularly elated over the thought, for there was something about william jarvey which did not appeal to him. the man was evidently very overbearing and had an exceedingly good opinion of himself. "i'm going back to have a smoke," said the man, presently. "will you come and join me?" "thank you, but neither of us smokes," answered roger. "what! not even cigarettes?" "no," returned dave. "humph! i don't see how you can resist. i would feel utterly lost without a cigar. well, i'll see you later." and thus speaking william jarvey took himself off. "i sincerely trust the rest of the men we meet will be of a better sort than that fellow," remarked roger. "i don't like his make-up at all." "i agree with you, roger," answered dave. "he looks like a chap who would be very dictatorial if he had the chance--one of the kind who loves to ride over those under him." "i can't get over the way he kept looking at you, dave. he acted as if he had met you before and was trying to place you." "i noticed he did look at me pretty closely a number of times," answered our hero. "but i took it that he was only trying to size me up. you know some strangers have that habit." "well, he didn't look at me that way," continued the senator's son. "i believe he was doing his best to try to place you." "i wish i had asked him where he was from. maybe that might have given us some sort of clue to his identity." "let's ask him if we get the chance." on the journey to san antonio they had an opportunity to speak to william jarvey a number of times, and once they sat at the same table with him in the dining-car. when asked where he came from, he replied rather evasively that he had lived for a great number of years in the northwest, but that he had left that section of the country to try his fortunes in mexico. "i was interested in the mines down there, and then i got mixed up in one of their revolutions and got shot in the leg," he added. "that was enough for me; so i crossed the rio grande into texas, and by luck got the position i am now holding with the mentor company." "are the mexican revolutionists interfering at all with the work of the construction company near the border?" questioned dave. "not very much. one gang, that was working on one of the railroad bridges not many miles from the rio grande, had a little run-in with some raiders who came across the river to steal cattle. they helped the ranchmen drive the raiders away, and in the fight one fellow was shot through the shoulder." "well, that was trouble enough!" cried roger. "it's more than i'd like to see." "that's right," returned dave. "we didn't come down to fight the mexicans. we came down to become civil engineers." "oh, i don't think you'll run into any fighting," answered william jarvey. "but, of course, a good many of those greasers are very treacherous and there is no telling what they will do. they shoot down and rob anybody they meet in their own country, and then, when there is nothing in sight on that side of the river, they watch their chance and come over on this side. of course, united states soldiers are on the lookout for them; so they don't dare to make their raids very public." it developed that william jarvey had been sent up to denison on business for the construction company. he carried with him a heavy valise, and also a large roll of blue-prints. "i should have been back to san antonio yesterday," he exclaimed. "but i was delayed in denison. i suppose perry watson will be as mad as a hornet when i get back because i didn't make it as quick as he expected. he expects an awful lot from those working under him." to this neither of the youths replied. they had noticed that william jarvey smoked a great deal and that his breath smelled strongly of liquor, and they concluded that he was not a man who would be likely to kill himself with overwork. "from what jarvey has told us of mr. watson i am inclined to think the superintendent is a hustling sort of fellow," remarked dave, when he and roger were left alone. "and, being that kind of man, he probably can't stand for a fellow who wants to loaf around and drink and smoke." "i guess you've sized it up about right, dave," answered the senator's son. "in these days the watchword seems to be 'keep moving'; and a fellow has got to 'get there' if he wants to hold down his job." at last the train rolled into the city of san antonio. before this place was reached william jarvey had met a number of other men who had boarded the train at a station some miles away; and he was so interested in what the newcomers had to tell him that he seemed to forget completely the presence of dave and roger. "and i'd just as lief he would forget us," said our hero to his chum. "i'd rather go to mr. watson alone than have that man introduce us." "exactly the way i feel about it," returned the senator's son. "come on, let's see if we can't slip away from him through the crowd." this they did easily, and soon found themselves walking along one of the quaint streets of san antonio bound for the building in which the mentor construction company had its temporary offices. contrary to what william jarvey had told them, they found mr. perry watson a very pleasant man with whom to deal. there was little of nonsense about him, and he lost no time in finding out who the youths were and for what they had come. but his manner was courteous, and he made both dave and roger feel thoroughly at home. "i know mr. ramsdell very well. he's a fine fellow," said the superintendent of the construction company. "i had a personal letter from him in regard to you, and i'm going to put you out under one of the best men we have down here in texas, mr. ralph obray, who is now working on the construction of the new catalco bridge to the west of this place. he is expecting some new helpers, and he asked me to send him the two best fellows i could find, so i am going to send you," and mr. watson smiled slightly. "thank you very much, mr. watson," answered dave. "oh, you don't have to thank me, porter," returned the superintendent, quickly. "you just go out and make good. that is all this company asks of any one it employs." "when do you want us to start, mr. watson?" questioned roger. "you can suit yourselves about that, although the sooner you report to mr. obray the better i think he'll be pleased." the superintendent walked to a back door of his office and called to some one without. "i'll turn you over to one of our clerks and he will give you all the details regarding your positions," he explained. the clerk proved to be a young man only a few years older than dave and roger, and the youths took to him at once. he explained in detail where they were to go and what the construction camp located near the new catalco bridge consisted of, and also told them what their work would probably be for the first few months. "of course, you've got to start at the bottom of the ladder," he explained. "but you'll find mr. obray a splendid man to be under, and you'll probably learn more under him than you would under any of our other head engineers." "in that case i'm mighty glad mr. watson assigned us to mr. obray's gang," answered dave. it was arranged that dave and his chum should start westward early the following morning. this would give them a part of an afternoon and an evening in san antonio in which to look around and take in the sights of that quaint town. during the conversation with mr. watson and the clerk, dave had been rather surprised because william jarvey had not shown himself, because on the train he had said he was behindhand; and they had naturally supposed he would come to the offices without delay. just as they were preparing to leave they heard an angry discussion going on in mr. watson's private office, and they heard the voices of the superintendent and the man they had met on the train. "i gave you strict orders to come right back, jarvey," they heard mr. watson say. "you knew we were waiting for those blue-prints." "i was delayed," growled william jarvey in return. "you see, there were some things about the prints--" "i don't want any excuses," broke in mr. watson. "the blue-prints were all right and were waiting for you. you took a day off simply to go and have a good time. now i want to warn you for the last time. if such a thing happens again i'll discharge you." chapter xxiii at the engineering camp "i can understand now why that man jarvey spoke against mr. watson," remarked dave, as he and his chum walked along the main street of san antonio. "mr. watson evidently has no use for a fellow who doesn't attend to business." "i think he's all right, dave," returned roger. "of course, he's business clean through. but that is what you've got to expect from a man who holds such a position." "exactly, roger. the fellow who takes his own time and does things about as he pleases has no place in the modern business world." the two youths had received full instructions regarding what they were to do. they were to take a train westward early in the morning for a small place known as molona, situated but a short distance from the rio grande. there they were to report to mr. ralph obray. mr. watson had asked them regarding what they had brought along in the way of baggage, and on being questioned had advised them to purchase several other things before starting for the engineering camp. "this is certainly an odd sort of place--quite different from a new england town," was dave's comment, as he and his chum went from one shop to another in san antonio in quest of the things they wished to buy. "seems to me that it has quite a mexican flavor to it," remarked roger. "just see all the big hats and the fringed trousers." now that they had come so far the chums were eager to get to the camp, and they could scarcely wait until the following morning. they found a comfortable hotel, had an early breakfast, and by seven o'clock were on their way westward. "now we are almost on the border," remarked roger, as they stopped at a place called del rio. he was studying a railroad map. "at the next place, called viaduct, we will be on the rio grande, with mexico just across from us." "it isn't such a very grand river after all," remarked dave, when they came in sight of the stream. "it looks more like a great big overgrown creek to me." "you can't compare these rivers with the hudson or the st. lawrence, dave. but i suppose at certain seasons of the year this river gets to be pretty big." soon their train rolled into molona and the youths alighted. the station was a primitive affair, consisting of a small platform and a building not over ten feet square. word had been sent ahead that they were coming, and among the several texans and mexicans who had gathered to watch the train come in, they found a middle-aged man on a burro with two other burros standing behind. "are you the young fellows for the mentor camp?" he questioned, as dave and roger approached him. "we are," returned our hero, quickly. "did you come for us?" "i did. mr. watson sent a wire that you were coming, so the boss sent me here to get you, thinking you wouldn't know the way. porter and morr, i believe--but which is which?" "i am dave porter," answered dave, "and this is my chum, roger morr." "glad to know you. my name is frank andrews. i am from scranton, pennsylvania. i suppose you can ride?" "oh, yes," answered roger. "we did more or less riding when we were out on star ranch." "good enough! some of the young fellows who come out here can't ride at all, and they have some trouble getting around, believe me! this, you know, is the country of magnificent distances," and frank andrews laughed. "how many have you in the camp here?" questioned dave, after he and roger had mounted the two waiting burros and were riding off beside the man from the engineering camp. "there are twenty of us in the engineering gang, and i think they have about seventy to eighty men in the construction camp, with forty or fifty more on the way. you see, they have been bothered a great deal for hired help lately on account of the trouble with the mexican bandits and revolutionists. lots of men are afraid to come down here to work for fear some bandits will make a raid across the border and shoot them down." "have you had any trouble lately?" questioned roger, quickly. "we had trouble about two weeks ago. a couple of dirty mexicans came into camp and were caught trying to steal away that night with some of our belongings. one of the fellows got a crack on the head with a club, and the other we think was shot in the side. but both of them got away in the darkness." "that's interesting, to say the least," remarked dave, drily. "i guess we've got to sleep with our eyes open, as the saying is." "you've certainly got to watch yourself while you're down here," answered frank andrews. "there is more _talk_ about trouble than anything else, but the talk gets on some of the men's nerves, and we have had one civil engineer and two helpers leave us just on that account. they said they would prefer to work somewhere in the united states where they wouldn't be worried thinking the greasers might attack them." as the party rode along they had to cross a bridge which was comparatively new, and their guide explained that this structure was one erected by the mentor company. then they went over a slight rise, and finally came into view of a long row of one-story buildings with several rows of adobe houses behind them. "here we are at the camp!" announced the guide. "the engineering gang lives and does business in these houses here, and those huts at the back are used by the construction gangs." [illustration: "here we are at the camp!" announced the guide.--_page ._] it was all so new and novel to dave and roger that they were intensely interested. with their guide they rode up to the main building and dismounted. in a moment more they found themselves inside and confronted by mr. ralph obray, the head of the camp. "glad to see you," he said, shaking hands after they had introduced themselves. "we are rather short of helpers just now; so you'll find plenty to do. i understand mr. ramsdell has given you a first-class recommendation. i hope that you'll be able to live up to it," and he smiled faintly. "i'm going to do what i can, mr. obray," answered dave. "and so am i," added roger. frank andrews had already told them that a man with a wagon would be sent down to the station for their trunks and suitcases, all of which had been left in charge of the station-master. the youths were taken to one of the buildings not far from the office, and there assigned to a room containing two cots. "of course, this isn't the biltmore hotel or the waldorf astoria," remarked frank andrews, with a grin. "if you stay out here you'll have to learn to rough it." "we know something about roughing it already," answered dave. "if the other fellows can stand it i guess we can." "you won't find it so bad when you get used to it," answered the man. "of course, it's pretty hot during the day, but the nights are quite comfortable. we've got a first-class colored cook, so you won't find yourselves cut short on meals." "that's good news," answered the senator's son. "i always thought that a good meal covered a multitude of sins," and at this misquotation frank andrews laughed heartily. the man had already been despatched to get the baggage, and after it arrived dave and roger proceeded to make themselves at home, each donning such clothing as they saw the others of the engineering corps wearing. "it's good-bye to boiled shirts and stiff collars," said roger, "and i'm not sorry for it." "nor am i," returned dave. "i'll feel much more like working in this comfortable outfit." almost before they knew it, it was noon, and presently they saw a number of men, some of them quite young, coming in to dinner. through frank andrews they were introduced to all the others, and then placed at one of the tables in the mess hall where a helper of jeff, the cook, served them with a meal which, if not exactly elegant, was certainly well-cooked and substantial. "i want you two young men to stay around the offices for the rest of this week," announced mr. obray to them after the meal. "that will give you a chance to familiarize yourselves with what we are doing in the way of constructions in this vicinity. then next week you can go out with the gang and begin your regular field practice." the youths soon found that practical work in the office was quite different from the theoretical work done under mr. ramsdell. still their tutor had instructed them faithfully, so that they soon "caught on," as roger remarked. when they did not understand a thing they did not hesitate to ask questions, and they found the other persons present very willing to explain and to help them. there was a spirit of comradeship throughout the whole camp that was as comforting as it was beneficial. "it isn't everybody for himself here," explained frank andrews. "it is one for all. you are expected to do all you can for the other fellow, and in return it's understood that he will do all he can for you." "it's a fine method," answered dave; "and i don't wonder that the mentor construction company is making such a success of its undertakings." one day our hero asked frank andrews if he knew william jarvey. at the question the man drew down the corners of his mouth and shook his head in disgust. "yes, i know bill," he answered. "he's over in the offices at san antonio mostly, but he occasionally comes out here on business for mr. watson. i must say i don't like him very much, and i don't think the other men do either. he's a fellow who likes to drink now and then, and i understand he often gambles. that is, when he has the money. he's usually strapped long before pay-day comes around." "i thought he might be that sort of fellow," answered dave. "he got into a row with mr. watson while we were at san antonio," put in roger, and related a few of the particulars. "if bill doesn't look out he'll lose his job, and it will be too bad," answered frank andrews, "because he won't be likely to get another such easy berth in a hurry. he gets good money for what little he does. he hired with the company as a first-class bookkeeper, but i understand he is only ordinary when it comes to handling big masses of figures." "well, i didn't like him when i met him, and i'd be just as well satisfied if we didn't meet again," said dave. but dave's wish was not to be gratified. he was to meet william jarvey in the future, and that meeting was to bring with it a great surprise. chapter xxiv a midnight alarm "well, dave, we have been in this camp just a month to-day. how do you think you like it?" "i like it first-rate, roger--in fact, better than i first thought i would. all the engineers and assistants are so kind and helpful." "that's what they are," returned the senator's son. "and i think we are getting along famously. do you know, i am actually in love with the construction of this new catalco bridge. i think it's going to be a dandy when it's completed." "not only a dandy, roger, but, unless i miss my guess, it will be a monument to the skill and ingenuity of the mentor construction company. i've been reading up on all kinds of bridges, and i think the construction of this particular bridge goes ahead of most of them." "one thing is sure--mr. obray is very proud of the way things are going. i heard from andrews that some of the other construction companies thought we would never be able to build this bridge the way it is going up." the talk between the two chums was held in the evening after work for the day had come to an end. dave and roger stood on an elevation of ground surveying the unfinished bridge--or rather chain of bridges--which spanned a river and the marshland beyond. it had been a great engineering feat to obtain the proper foundations for the bridge where it spanned the marshland, and make them impervious to the floods which came with great force during certain seasons of the year. the first week at the camp had been spent in the offices, but all the other time had been put in with the engineering gang that was superintending the construction of the far end of the bridge, and also the laying out of the railroad route through the hills and cuts beyond. the work had proved fascinating to the chums, and they were surprised to see how quickly the time passed. dave and roger had made a number of friends, but none more agreeable than frank andrews. andrews occupied a room close to their own, and often spent an evening with them. about the end of the second week they had received word concerning william jarvey. the bookkeeper in the offices at san antonio had had a violent quarrel with mr. watson and had been discharged. he had gone off declaring that his being treated thus was unjustifiable, and that he was going to bring the mentor construction company to account for it. "i guess he's nothing but a bag of wind," was roger's comment, on hearing this. "the company is probably much better off to have such a chap among the missing." "i don't see what he can do to hurt the company," had been dave's answer. "he was probably discharged for good cause." although so far away from home, it must not be supposed that dave and roger had forgotten the folks left behind. they had sent numerous letters telling of their various experiences and of what they hoped to do in the future. in return roger had received one letter from his father and another from his mother, and dave had gotten communications from his sister laura and from jessie, and also a long letter from ben. of these the letter received from jessie was to our hero the most important, and it must be confessed that he read it a number of times. the girl was greatly interested in all that he had told her about his work, and she said she hoped he would become a great civil engineer, and that she certainly trusted he would not have any trouble with the mexicans. the letter from ben basswood had been rather a disheartening communication. ben wrote that his father did not seem to regain his health as rapidly as the doctor had anticipated, and that nothing new concerning ward porton or tim crapsey had been uncovered. ben added that he had written to the authorities in new york city concerning porton and had received word back that they had been unable to locate the former moving-picture actor. "i believe the loss of those miniatures has had its full effect on mr. basswood," remarked dave, when speaking of the matter to his chum. "i suppose it makes him feel blue, and that retards his recovery." "more than likely," answered roger. "a person can't very well throw off a heavy spell of sickness when he is so depressed in spirits. it's too bad! and i suppose mrs. basswood feels dreadful to think she was the one to let the fortune slip out of their hands." "no doubt of it, roger. of course, it's easy enough to blame her, and i suppose a great many of their neighbors do. but, just the same, place yourself in her position--worried half to death over the sickness of her husband--and you might have done the same thing." it was a warm evening and the chums took their time in returning to the camp, knowing supper would not be served until a little later. during the day several shots had been heard at a great distance to the southward, and some of the civil engineers had wondered if some sort of a scrimmage was taking place on the other side of the rio grande. "if a fight is in progress i hope it doesn't extend to this neighborhood," remarked one of the engineers, in speaking of the matter. "we've got troubles enough of our own--getting this bridge right--without having the greasers interfering with our work;" and he gave a grim laugh. when the chums arrived in camp they found that the day's mail had come in. there was a washington newspaper for roger containing an address delivered in the senate by senator morr, and also a long letter for our hero from ben. "well, here is news at last!" cried dave, as he scanned the communication. "come on out here, away from the crowd, roger, and i'll read it to you;" and then he led the way to a corner and acquainted his chum with the contents of the letter, which was as follows: "i know you will be interested to learn that we have at last heard from that rascal, tim crapsey, who, with ward porton, got the miniatures from my mother. crapsey sent a very badly written letter to my father, stating that he and porton had parted company, but that he had the most of the miniatures,--in fact, all but six of them. "crapsey wrote that he was in the city of new york, and had the miniatures in a safe place, and that he would return them to us for fifteen thousand dollars. we were to insert a personal advertisement in one of the new york newspapers if we were willing to accept his offer, and then he would send us word how the exchange of money for the miniatures could be made. "of course, as you know, my father is still sick. he didn't have anything like fifteen thousand dollars in cash to offer crapsey, and besides that mr. wadsworth and your uncle dunston thought it was altogether too much money to offer a thief like that. in fact, your uncle was of the opinion that they should only try to lead crapsey on, so that they could capture him. but my father, backed up by mr. wadsworth, at length agreed to put up five thousand dollars in order to get the miniatures back, and an advertisement was inserted in the newspapers to that effect. "we waited two days for a reply, and then came a scrawl on a bit of paper signed by crapsey, stating that he was having trouble of another kind and could not for the present keep on with his negotiations. after that my father inserted another advertisement asking for more information, but up to the present time no additional word has come in. "my father does not know what to make of it. your folks and mr. wadsworth are of the opinion that either crapsey was trying to fool them and got scared or else that the rascal has been caught by the police for some other crime and is trying to conceal his identity. they are divided on the question as to whether to believe crapsey when he wrote that he and porton had parted company--they are half inclined to believe that porton is still with him, and that the whole scheme was framed up by porton." "that is certainly interesting news," remarked roger, after both had perused the letter a second time. "and it settles one thing--and that is that tim crapsey must have been in new york with ward porton at the time we saw the latter." "exactly, roger. and it also proves beyond a doubt that that pair were really the thieves. previous to this we only supposed such to be the fact--we really couldn't prove it." "oh, i was sure of it all along, dave." "so was i, roger. but you know in a court of law it is one thing to know a thing and another to be able to prove it." the two young civil engineers discussed the letter all through the evening meal and even for some time later. then, however, roger turned to his newspaper, to read with care the address that his father had delivered. dave was also interested in this. "i'd like to be in the senate some time when your father was speaking," he remarked to his chum. "it must be a great sight to see such a body as that when it is in session." "it is, dave," answered his chum. "and people come thousands of miles to see it." before retiring for the night dave penned a letter to ben, and also sent a letter to jessie, and another to his uncle dunston which was meant for the entire household. roger spent the time in a communication to his mother, and also in a long letter to luke watson. the night proved to be unusually warm, for the breeze which was usually stirring had died down completely. dave fell into a fitful doze, from which he awoke about midnight to find his mouth and throat quite parched. "i guess i'd better get up and get a drink," he told himself, "and then i may be able to sleep better. phew! but the thermometer has certainly been going up the last few days." he arose to his feet and walked out of the room into the hallway of the building, where in one corner there was a water-cooler. he had just finished drinking a glass of water when a sound from outside reached his ears. there was a shout from a distance, followed almost instantly by a rifle shot. "hello! what can that mean?" he cried. a moment later came more shouts, this time a little closer to the camp. then two more rifle shots rang out sharply through the midnight air. "something is wrong, that's sure!" exclaimed the youth. rushing back into the bedroom he shook roger vigorously. at the same time he heard others getting up and calling to each other, wanting to know what the shouts and shots meant. "what do you want, dave?" asked the senator's son, sleepily. "get up, roger!" answered our hero, quickly. "hurry up! there is something going on outside! i just heard a number of yells and several rifle shots." "you don't mean it, dave!" and now roger was on his feet with a bound. "maybe it's the greasers." "i don't know what it is, roger. but i guess we had better slip into our clothing. maybe somebody is-- listen!" dave broke off short, and both strained their ears to hear what was taking place outside. they heard a confused shouting, followed by several yells. and then came a volley of shots--five or six in number. "it's an attack! that's what it is!" cried the senator's son. "i'll bet some of those mexican bandits are coming over here! oh, dave! what do you suppose we had better do?" "i don't know, except that we had better slip on our clothing and get our pistols," answered dave. "this looks as if it might be serious." "up, boys! up!" came the cry from somebody outside. "get your guns and your pistols! the mexican raiders are coming this way!" chapter xxv the mexican raiders by the time the two chums had hastily donned their clothing and possessed themselves of the pistols they had purchased in san antonio on the advice of mr. watson, the camp was in confusion from end to end, with the various bosses shouting orders and the men themselves wanting to know what the trouble was and what they had better do. "it's some of those confounded greasers!" cried frank andrews, as he, too, arose and armed himself. he had a repeating rifle, and it was known to dave and roger that he was an exceptionally good shot. andrews led the way from the building, followed by our hero and roger and several others. in the meantime, the distant shouting and shooting seemed to have moved farther westward, in the direction where the new catalco bridge was being constructed. "it can't be their intention to blow up the bridge?" queried roger. there had been talk of this several times. "no telling what those rascals are up to," answered frank andrews. "this may be only a rumpus kicked up to cover a cattle raid or something like that." in the midst of the excitement the telephone in the main office began to ring and was answered by one of the clerks. a few minutes later he came rushing out to where mr. obray stood talking to his assistant and the boss of the construction camp. "just got a telephone from the tolman ranch," announced the clerk. "old man tolman said they had been raided and that half of the raiders were coming this way. i tried to get some details from him, but in the midst of the talk i was shut off. i suppose somebody cut the wire." "i thought that might be it," answered the head of the engineering corps. "we ought to help tolman all we can," announced the boss of the construction camp. "he promised to assist us in case we had any trouble, and turn about is fair play." "right you are, peterson, and any man who wants to go out can do it." and word was passed around to this effect. dave and roger listened to this talk and what followed with much interest. in less than five minutes over thirty men from the construction camp had signified their willingness to go after the raiders, and these men were joined by frank andrews and three other civil engineers, all well armed and mounted. "i'd like to join that crowd and go after those mexicans!" exclaimed dave, his eyes sparkling. "so would i!" returned the senator's son, quickly. "those fellows can't be anything but plain bandits and cattle thieves." "sure! no regular revolutionists would come over the border and act in this fashion." "what do you say, dave--shall we go?" "i'm willing." "no, no! you young fellows had better stay in the camp," announced ralph obray, who overheard the talk. "just remember that in a certain sense i am responsible for your safety while you are under me." "but those others are going," returned dave, somewhat reproachfully. "so they are, porter. but they are all older than you, and most of them have had experience in this sort of thing. i would rather that you stayed here. maybe if those raiders come this way we'll have our hands full defending the camp." dave and roger realized that for the head of the camp to express his desire in this instance was equal practically to a command; so they at once gave up the idea of following frank andrews and the others. the men rode off quickly, and were soon lost to sight in the darkness of the night. an hour of intense anxiety passed. during that time those left in the camp heard an occasional shot in the distance. then several shots seemed much closer. there followed some yelling, and, then about five minutes later, came a dull explosion. "that's at the bridge!" exclaimed dave. "they must be trying to blow it up!" the dull explosion was followed by a sudden rattle of rifle and pistol shots and more yelling. once or twice some men seemed to come quite near to the construction camp, the hoof strokes of the horses being distinctly heard. all who remained in the camp were on the lookout, and each man stood ready with his weapon to do what he could to defend the place should the occasion arise. but with the explosion and the rattle of rifle and pistol shots that followed, the conflict seemed to die down, and presently all became utter silence; and thus two more hours passed. "whoever they were, they seem to have left this vicinity entirely," said roger. "i wish it was morning," put in another of the young men present. the watching was beginning to get on his nerves. at last, just as the first streaks of dawn were beginning to show in the eastern sky, a number of horsemen were descried approaching from the southward. all in the camp were instantly on their guard, but it was soon seen that it was their friends who were coming back. they came in somewhat of a horseshoe formation, driving in their midst four prisoners, one of them with his arm done up in a sling and another with his head bandaged. "they've got somebody!" exclaimed roger, as the crowd came closer, "four greasers!" "three of them look like mexicans, but the other fellow looks like an american," returned dave, as the party came to a halt in front of the camp buildings. those who had come in were at once surrounded by the others, who wanted to know the particulars of what had taken place. "it was a band of about thirty greasers, and with them were two or three americans," announced frank andrews. "they went down to old man tolman's corral and tried to drive off about two hundred head of cattle. they got away from the ranch, and then part of the gang came over this way in the vicinity of the new bridge. we had two running fights with them, and then they let the cattle go and started for the rio grande. but before they went one of the rascals set off a bomb near the end of the bridge and blew up a corner of the foundation." "why in the world did they want to blow up the bridge?" demanded mr. obray. "they weren't all mexicans, mr. obray. several of them were americans. we've got one of the americans right here. and do you know who it is? jack pankhurst!" "what's that!" exclaimed the head of the camp, and then he turned to the prisoners. one man had his sombrero pulled well down over his forehead, as if somewhat ashamed of himself. "there he is," went on frank andrews, pointing to this individual. "that's jack pankhurst, who was discharged for drinking and gambling about two months ago." mr. obray strode up to the prisoner and gave him a tap under the chin, thus elevating his face. "you're a fine specimen of humanity, pankhurst!" he cried sternly. "a fine business for you to be in--joining mexican outlaws and becoming a cattle rustler. what have you to say for yourself?" "i haven't anything to say," grumbled the prisoner. "what's the use? i was caught with the goods, wasn't i?" he sneered. "i'm ashamed to think an american would go in with a bunch of mexican bandits," said mr. obray; and then gave directions that the prisoners should be well bound so that there would be no possibility of their escaping. all listened with interest to the details of the cattle raid so far as the men who had gone out from the construction camp could relate. they said that some of the fighting had been exceedingly hot, and they were satisfied that a number of the mexicans, and also one of the americans with them, had been wounded. they themselves had not escaped unscathed, one man being hit in the shoulder and another in the leg. fortunately, however, neither of these wounds proved serious. the camp doctor was called in to attend them, after which he attended the wounded prisoners. in the meantime, a message was sent to the railroad station and to san antonio, to acquaint the authorities with what had occurred. "i was questioning pankhurst on the way here," said frank andrews to the head of the camp. "he wouldn't admit it outright, but i am strongly of the opinion that one of the other americans who was with him was bill jarvey." "jarvey!" muttered mr. obray. "well, it would be just like him to join a fellow like pankhurst. they were quite chummy when they both worked for the company." "i've got another idea about this affair," went on andrews. "do you remember how they said jarvey vowed he would get square with the company for discharging him? i've got an idea that it was his scheme to attempt to blow up the bridge, and that he was the one who set off that bomb. their idea was to get the cattle to some safe place first, and then ruin the bridge. more than likely jarvey and pankhurst made a deal with the greasers to that effect--the americans to help with the cattle and the mexicans to help destroy our work." "you may be right, andrews," answered ralph obray. "and if you are, it's a pity that you didn't catch jarvey." dave and roger listened to this talk with interest, and also joined in the general discussion of those in the camp regarding the raid, and what would be done with the prisoners. "i suppose they will turn the prisoners over to the united states authorities," was dave's opinion; and in this he was right. some government officers appeared by noon of the next day, and after a lengthy talk with the head of the camp and a number of others, the prisoners, including jack pankhurst, were taken away. "i wonder if old man tolman got his cattle back," remarked roger. "all but three of the animals," answered one of the men present. "those were trampled to death during the raid. but three are nothing alongside of two hundred." the raid had caused so much excitement in the camp that there was but little work done that day. the boys went down with the others to inspect the bridge, and look curiously at the hole which had been torn in the corner of one of the foundations by the bomb. "that was certainly a mean piece of business," was our hero's comment. "it didn't do anybody a bit of good, and it's going to make a good deal of work to repair the damage." several days passed, and the camp at last settled back into its usual routine. dave and roger worked as hard as ever, and both were much pleased when mr. obray told them that they were doing very well. "i am going to write a letter to mr. ramsdell," said the head of the camp, "and tell him that i am well satisfied with his pupils," and he smiled faintly. a day or two later word came to the camp which interested the chums as much as it did anybody. it seemed that jack pankhurst had been subjected to a "third degree" of questioning. he had broken down completely and confessed that the two other americans in the raid with him had been former employees of the mentor construction company--one a fellow named packard brown, and the other william jarvey. pankhurst had also let fall the information that jarvey had once been an officer in the united states army, and that he was traveling under an assumed name. "a former officer of our army and acting in that way!" exclaimed dave, when he heard this report. "i certainly do hope they'll catch him and punish him as he deserves!" "my sentiments exactly!" added roger. chapter xxvi the chase on the bridge "my, dave! but it's hot!" "i agree with you, roger. this is the hottest day we've struck yet. and such a hard day as it's been too!" and our hero paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow. "what do you say if we take a swim this evening?" went on the senator's son. "a plunge into the river would feel good to me." "i'm with you, roger. let us eat a light supper and get down to the river before it grows too dark." four weeks had passed since the events narrated in the last chapter, and matters in and around the construction camp had once more quieted down. work was being pushed forward rapidly, and dave and roger were making excellent progress in their chosen profession. they had made a warm personal friend of frank andrews, as well as a friend of mr. obray, and both of these individuals gave them many instructions during off hours which proved highly beneficial. no more had been heard from the mexican raiders, and it was hoped that those bandits had departed for some other locality along the rio grande. the prisoners taken during the raid were still in jail, awaiting trial. down along the stream over which the new catalco bridge was being constructed there was a favorite swimming place used by the civil engineers and their assistants, the men and boys of the construction gang using another spot farther down the stream. "i'll beat you getting in, dave!" cried roger, as the pair neared the bathing place that evening, and he started to take off some of his clothes. "don't jump in too quickly, roger," warned our hero. "remember you have just been eating and you are rather warm. better take it easy on the bank for a little while." "i guess you're right," was the reply. "i don't want to get a cramp or a chill, or anything like that." to reach the swimming spot, the chums had to pass one end of the new bridge. as they drew closer they saw somebody high up on the skeleton structure gazing at them curiously. "hello! who's that up there?" remarked dave. "i'm sure i don't know," answered roger. "i thought all our men were back in camp." as they came still closer the individual on the bridge turned to walk toward them. suddenly, however, he stopped short and tried his best to hide himself behind some of the steel work. "say! that looks rather queer to me," remarked dave. "he acts just as if he didn't want us to see him." "just what i thought, dave." the senator's son gave a sudden start. "you don't suppose it's one of those mexican raiders, do you?" "i can't say anything about that. i'm going up there to find out who he is. it seems to me he is acting very suspiciously. maybe he's trying to plant some more bombs." dave turned back to a point where he could get up on the bridge, and his chum followed. from this point they could not see the person above them nor could he see them. when they reached the flooring of the big bridge they were less than two hundred feet from where the unknown person stood. he was leaning over the side of the structure, evidently trying to find out what had become of them. "why, dave, he--he--looks like you!" burst out the senator's son, as both hurried in the direction of the unknown person. "i do believe it's ward porton!" ejaculated our hero. he began to quicken his pace. "yes, i'm almost sure it's porton," he added, a few seconds later. "if it's porton what in the world tempted him to follow you to this place?" queried roger. "i don't know. but i do know that i'm going to capture him if it is possible to do so," answered dave, with determination. the two chums were still almost a hundred feet from the other person when the latter glanced up suddenly and discovered them. he looked them full in the face for just an instant, and then turned and began to run away towards the opposite end of the long bridge. "it's porton, sure enough!" burst out roger. "hi there, porton! stop!" cried dave. "stop, i tell you!" "you go on back!" yelled ward porton, in an ugly voice. "go on back, i tell you! if you don't it will be the worse for you!" and he shook his fist at the chums. "you might as well stop," continued dave, undaunted by the threat. "you can't get away from us. if you try to jump off the unfinished end of the bridge you'll break your neck." "if you fellows don't go back i'll shoot," returned the fellow who resembled dave. "stop right where you are! don't dare to come a step closer!" "oh, dave! do you suppose he is armed?" questioned roger, hastily and in a low tone. "maybe he is. but i am going to keep on after him until he shows his pistol," was the rapid reply. "you need not come if you don't want to. i'm going to capture him and make him give up the basswood fortune." "if you are going after him, so am i," returned the senator's son, sturdily. "maybe it was only a bluff about shooting after all." while running along the bridge dave's eyes fell on a short steel bar left there by one of the workmen. he stopped just long enough to pick the bar up, and then went after porton with all the speed at his command. it was a perilous chase, for in many places the flooring of the big bridge was still missing and they had to leap from girder to girder of the steel structure. "stop, i tell you!" yelled ward porton once more, when dave was within ten yards of him. and then he turned squarely around and our hero and roger saw the glint of a pistol as the rascal pointed it toward them. "he is armed!" cried roger, and now there was a note of fear in his voice, and not without reason. "get behind the steel work," ordered dave, and lost no time in dodging partly out of sight. as he moved, however, he launched forth the steel bar he had picked up. more by good luck than anything else the bar sped true to its mark. it struck ward porton in the forearm, the hand of which was holding the pistol. in another instant the weapon was clattering down through the steel work of the bridge to the river far below. "hurrah, dave! you've disarmed him!" cried roger. for the instant ward porton seemed dazed by the sudden turn of affairs. evidently, however, the blow from the steel bar had not hurt him much, for, turning quickly, he continued his flight along the bridge. dave and roger lost no time in following him. it was not long before the fugitive and those behind him reached a section of the long bridge which was far from completed. here there was practically no flooring, and ward porton had to jump from one piece of steel work to another, while dave and roger, of course, had to do the same. once those in the rear saw the rascal ahead make a misstep and plunge downward. but he saved himself, and, scrambling to his feet, dashed forward as madly as before. "take care, dave, it's dangerous here," gasped roger; and scarcely had he spoken when he himself made a misstep and shot down below the level of the bridge flooring. dave was several feet in advance, but turned instantly when his chum let out a cry of alarm. he saw roger four or five feet below him, clinging frantically to one of the stays of the bridge. "hel--help m--me!" panted the unfortunate youth. "hold tight, roger. i'll help you," returned dave, quickly. [illustration: "hold tight, roger! i'll help you," returned dave, quickly.--_page ._] the stay below was so small in diameter that all roger could do was to cling to it with both hands and one leg. in this position he hung until dave let himself down several feet and managed to give him a hand. then with extreme caution both worked their way back to the unfinished flooring of the bridge. "oh my! i thought sure i was a goner!" panted the senator's son, when he found himself safe once more. he had turned white and he was trembling from head to foot. "i guess you had better not go any farther, roger," remarked dave. "this certainly is dangerous work." "it's a wonder porton doesn't fall," was the other's comment, as they both watched the fleeing rascal, who was leaping from girder to girder with a recklessness that was truly amazing. "he's scared stiff at the idea of being captured," was dave's comment. "if it wasn't for that, i don't believe he would take any such chance;" and in this surmise our hero was probably correct. dave hated to give up the chase, so he continued his way along the bridge, making sure, however, of every step and jump he took. roger remained where he was, too shaken up to proceed farther when he knew that each step would prove more hazardous than the last. at last ward porton gained a point where one of the foundations of the bridge rested on comparatively solid ground, with the river behind and a wide stretch of marshland ahead. here there was a long ladder used by the workmen, and down this the rascal went as fast as his feet could carry him. by the time dave reached the top of the ladder, porton was well on his way over the solid ground. soon the gathering darkness hid him from view. knowing that it would be next to useless to attempt to follow the rascal now that he had left the vicinity of the bridge, dave returned to where he had left roger. then the pair started slowly back to the end of the bridge from which they had come. "i can't understand what brought ward porton here," remarked roger, when the chums had once more gained the swimming-place. "do you suppose he knew you were in this vicinity, dave?" "possibly, roger. but at the same time, i don't think that would explain his presence here. he wouldn't dare to impersonate me around this camp. he'd be sure to be caught at it sooner or later." "well, i don't understand it at all." "neither do i. i am sorry that we didn't catch the rascal," returned dave, soberly. when they went back into camp they informed frank andrews, and also mr. obray, of what had occurred. these men had already heard some of the particulars regarding dave's double and the disappearance of the basswood fortune. "too bad you didn't get him," said frank andrews. "but you be careful how you run over that unfinished bridge, unless you want to have a nasty fall and either get killed or else crippled for life." several days went by, including sunday, and nothing more was seen or heard of ward porton although the lads made a thorough search for him. dave sent letters home and to ben basswood, telling the folks in crumville of what had happened. "a little greaser to see you, dave," remarked one of the civil engineers as dave was coming from an unusually difficult afternoon's work. he walked to where his fellow worker had pointed, and there saw a dirty, unkempt mexican lad standing with a letter in his hand. the communication was addressed to dave, and, opening it, he read the following: "i have broken with tim crapsey and have the basswood miniatures here with me safely in mexico. if the basswoods will pay me ten thousand dollars in cash they can have the pictures back. otherwise i am going to destroy them. i will give them two weeks in which to make good. "as you are so close at hand, maybe you can transact the business for mr. basswood. when you are ready to open negotiations, send a letter to the bilassa camp, across the border, and i will get it. "ward porton." chapter xxvii across the rio grande dave read the note from ward porton with intense interest, and then passed it over to roger. "what do you know about that!" exclaimed the senator's son, after he had perused the communication. "do you think porton tells the truth?" "i don't know what to think, roger. if he does tell the truth, then it is quite likely that tim crapsey was trying to play a double game so far as the basswoods were concerned." "it's pretty clever on porton's part," said roger, speculatively. "he knows it would be very difficult for us to get hold of him while he is in mexico, with this revolution going on. and at the same time he is close enough to keep in touch with you, knowing that you can easily transact this business for the basswoods--providing, of course, that mr. basswood is willing." dave did not answer to this, for he was looking around for the mexican youth who had delivered the note. but the boy had slipped away, and a search of the camp failed to reveal what had become of him. "i guess he was instructed to sneak away without being seen," was our hero's comment. "porton knew that i wouldn't be in a position to answer him at once, and he didn't want me to follow that boy." dave read the note again, and then went off to consult with frank andrews and mr. obray. "it's too bad you didn't capture that little greaser," observed the head of the civil engineers. "we might have been able to get some information from him. however, if he's gone that's the end of it. i think the best thing you can do, porter, is to send a night message to this mr. basswood, telling him how the note was received and repeating it word for word. then the responsibility for what may follow will not rest on your shoulders." our hero thought this good advice, and, aided by his chum, he concocted what is familiarly known as a night letter, to be sent by telegraph to crumville. on the following day came a surprise for our hero in the shape of a short message from ben basswood which ran as follows: "yours regarding porton received. crapsey makes another offer. pair probably enemies now. will write or wire instructions later." "this is certainly getting interesting," remarked dave, after having read the message. he turned it over to roger. "i guess ben is right--crapsey and porton have fallen out and each is claiming to have the miniatures." "well, one or the other must have them, dave." "perhaps they divided them, roger. thieves often do that sort of thing, you know." "do you suppose ward porton is really around that bilassa camp in mexico?" went on the senator's son. "probably he is hanging out somewhere in that vicinity. i don't think he has joined general bilassa. he thinks too much of his own neck to become a soldier in any revolution." having sent his message to the basswoods and received ben's reply, there seemed nothing further for our hero to do but to wait. he and roger were very busy helping to survey the route beyond the new catalco bridge, and in the fascination of this occupation ward porton was, for the next few days, almost forgotten. "if the basswoods expect you to do anything regarding that note you got from porton they had better get busy before long," remarked roger one evening. "otherwise porton may do as he threatened--destroy the pictures." "oh, i don't believe he'd do anything of that sort, roger," answered dave. "what would be the use? i think he would prefer to hide them somewhere, thinking that some day he would be able to make money out of them." four days after this came a bulky letter from ben basswood which dave and his chum read eagerly. it was as follows: "i write to let you know that tim crapsey has been caught at last. he was traced to new york and then to newark, n. j., where the police found him in a second-rate hotel. he had been drinking, and confessed that he had had a row with ward porton and that one night, when he was under the influence of liquor, porton had decamped, taking all but two of the miniatures with him. the two miniatures had been sold to a fence in new york city for one hundred dollars, and the police think they can easily get them back. with the hundred dollars crapsey had evidently gone on a spree, and it was during this that porton sneaked away with the other miniatures. crapsey had an idea that porton was bound for boston, where he would take a steamer for europe. but we know he was mistaken. "the case being as it is, my father, as well as your folks and mr. wadsworth, thinks that porton must have the pictures with him in mexico. that being the case, your uncle dunston says he will come down to texas at once to see you, and i am to come with him. what will be done in the matter i don't know, although my father would much rather give up ten thousand dollars than have the miniatures destroyed. if you receive any further word from ward porton tell him that i am coming down to negotiate with him. you had better not mention your uncle's name." "looks as if porton told the truth after all," announced roger. "probably he watched his opportunity and the first chance he got he decamped and left crapsey to take care of himself." "most likely, roger. i don't believe there is any honor among thieves." ben had not said how soon he and dunston porter would arrive. but as they would probably follow the letter the two chums looked for the pair on almost every train. but two days passed, and neither put in an appearance. "they must have been delayed by something," was dave's comment. "maybe they are trying to get that ten thousand dollars together," suggested roger. "i don't believe my uncle dunston will offer porton any such money right away," returned our hero. "he'll see first if he can't work it so as to capture the rascal." on the following morning roger was sent southward on an errand for mr. obray. when he returned he was very much excited. "dave, i think i saw ward porton again!" he exclaimed, as he rushed up to our hero. "where was that?" questioned dave, quickly. "down on that road which leads to the rio grande. there was a fellow talking to a ranchman i've met several times, a texan named lawson. as soon as he saw me he took to his heels. i questioned lawson about him and he said the fellow had come across the river at a point about a quarter of a mile below here." dave listened to this explanation with interest, and immediately sought out mr. obray. the upshot of the talk was that our hero was given permission to leave the camp for the day, taking roger with him. the two chums went off armed with their pistols, not knowing what might happen. they first walked to where roger had met the ranchman, and there the senator's son pointed out the direction that the young man who had run away had taken. they followed this trail, and presently reached the roadway which ran in sight of the river. there were comparatively few craft on the stream, and none of these looked as if it might be occupied by the young man they were after. but presently they reached a small creek flowing into the rio grande, and on this saw two flat-bottomed rowboats. "there he is now!" exclaimed dave, suddenly, and pointed to the first of the rowboats, which was being sent down the creek in the direction of the river. the sole occupant of the craft was the fellow at the oars, and the two chums readily made out that it was the former moving-picture actor. as soon as he made certain of porton's identity, dave pulled roger down in the tall grass which bordered the creek. "there is no use in letting him see us," explained our hero. "do you suppose he is bound for the mexican shore?" questioned the senator's son. "more than likely, roger." dave looked questioningly at his chum. "are you game to follow him?" he added. "what do you mean?" "we might take that other rowboat and go after him. i see it contains a pair of oars. either of us ought to be able to row as well as porton, and if we can catch him before he lands maybe we'll be able to drive him back to the united states side of the river." "all right, i'll go with you," responded roger, quickly. "come ahead!" and he started on a run for the rowboat. the craft was tied fast to two stakes, but it was an easy matter for them to loosen the ropes. this done, dave took up the oars, shoved off, and started to row with all the strength at his command. evidently ward porton had not expected to be followed, for he was rowing leisurely, allowing his flat-bottomed boat to drift with the current. he was much surprised when he saw the other boat come on at a good rate of speed. "get back there!" he yelled, when he recognized the occupants of the second craft. "get back, i tell you, or i'll shoot!" "if you do we'll do some shooting on our own account, porton!" called back roger, and showed his pistol. the sight of the weapon evidently frightened porton greatly. yet he did not cease rowing, and now he headed directly for the mexican shore. the river at this point was broad and shallow and contained numerous sand-bars. almost before they knew it the craft containing our friends ran up on one of the bars and stuck there. in the meantime ward porton continued his efforts to gain the shore. "what's the matter, dave?" cried roger, when he saw our hero stop rowing. "we are aground," was the answer. "here, roger, get to the stern of the boat with me, and we'll see if we can't shove her off again." with the two chums in the stern of the craft, the bow came up out of the sand-bar, and in a few seconds more dave, aided by the current of the stream, managed to get the rowboat clear. but all this had taken time, and now the two chums saw that ward porton had beached his boat and was running across the marshland beyond. "i'm afraid he is going to get away," remarked roger, dolefully. "not much!" answered dave. "anyway, i'm not going to give up yet," and he resumed his rowing. "here, let me take a turn at that. you must be getting a little tired," said roger, and he insisted that dave allow him to do the rowing. soon they reached the mexican shore, at a point where there was a wide stretch of marshland with not a building in sight. they had gotten several glimpses of ward porton making his way through the tall grass. the trail was an easy one to follow. "come on! we'll get him yet!" muttered dave, and started off on the run with roger behind him. they had just reached an ill-kept highway when they heard shouting in the distance. they saw ward porton running wildly in the direction of a set of low buildings, evidently belonging to some sort of ranch. as the former moving-picture actor disappeared, a band of mexican cavalry swept into view. "quick, roger! down in the grass!" cried dave. "we don't want those soldiers to see us! they may be government troops, but they look more like guerrillas--like the rascals who raided the tolman ranch!" "right you are," answered the senator's son. and then both lay low in the tall grass while the mexican guerrillas, for they were nothing else, swept past them. chapter xxviii a strange discovery as nearly as dave and roger could calculate, there were about two hundred of the mexican guerrillas--dirty and fierce-looking individuals, led by an officer wearing an enormous hat and a long, drooping mustache. the entire crowd looked disreputable in the extreme, and the youths could not help but shudder as they gazed at the cavalcade. "my gracious, dave! do you call those revolutionists?" remarked roger, after the last of the horsemen had disappeared down the roadway. "they may be revolutionists, roger. but to my mind they look more like bandits than anything else. under the pretense of aiding mexico they probably steal whenever they get the chance." "i'd hate awfully to fall into their clutches. i think they'd rob a fellow of every dollar he had." "well, never mind those mexicans, roger," pursued dave. "come on, let us see if we can't locate ward porton." "he went over into one of yonder buildings." "i know it, and i've got an idea," answered our hero. "let us see if we can't sneak across the roadway without being seen and then come up to those buildings through the thick grass and behind that chaparral. if we expose ourselves porton will, of course, keep out of our sight or run away." with extreme caution the two chums worked their way through the tall grass to the edge of the roadway. then, watching their chance when nobody seemed to be looking, they dashed to the other side and into the grass again. then they began to work their way cautiously in the direction of the group of buildings into which the former moving-picture actor had disappeared. the buildings belonged to a mexican ranch; but the place had evidently been the scene of a fight at some time in the past, for one of the buildings was completely wrecked and several of the others much battered. there were no horses, cattle, pigs, or chickens anywhere in sight; and the youths came to the conclusion that the ranch had been abandoned by its owner. "probably some of those guerrillas came along and cleaned him out," observed dave, "and after that he didn't think it would be worth while to stay so long as the country was in a state of war." in a few minutes more dave and his chum gained the first of the buildings. here they paused to listen and to look around. "you want to be on your guard, roger," whispered our hero. "porton may be watching us and he may have some of his friends here. for all we know this may be his hang-out." "i'll be on guard, don't fear," answered the senator's son, and brought forth his pistol. "don't use that gun unless you have to," warned dave, who did not favor any shooting, even in an extreme case like this. "i'll not give a rascal like porton the chance to shoot me first," retorted roger. "that fellow ought to be in jail, and you know it." to this our hero did not answer. he felt in his pocket to make sure that his own weapon was ready for use. not a sound from the other buildings had reached them, nor did any one appear to be in sight. "looks to me as if we were in sole possession, now that those guerrillas have gone," announced roger. "wow! i hope they don't come back,--at least not until we are safe on our side of the rio grande," he added grimly. "come on, we'll take a look through the buildings," answered dave. "don't make any noise if you can possibly help it." leaving the building which they had first entered--an abandoned stable--they moved through a broken-down cow-shed to a long, low structure which had evidently been used by the helpers on the ranch. this building was also deserted, and all that remained in it was some filthy bedding alive with vermin. "come on, let us get out of here," remarked roger, as he looked with disfavor at the squalor presented. "how can human beings live like this, dave?" "i don't know, roger. this place ought to be burned down--it's the only way to get it clean," dave added, shaking his head in disgust over the sight. less than fifty feet away was the corner of the main building of the ranch. peering out cautiously, to make sure that no one was watching them, the two chums hurried across the open space and crouched down beneath a wide-open window. then dave, pistol in hand, looked in through the opening. the room beyond was deserted, and a glance around showed him that it contained little besides some heavy pieces of furniture which the looters had evidently been unable to remove. on a table rested several empty liquor bottles, and also a number of cigar and cigarette stubs. on the floor were scattered newspapers and some playing cards. "the fellows who were here evidently got out in a hurry," remarked dave. "are you going to go in?" questioned roger. "i guess so. what do you think about it?" "i'm with you, dave. now we have gone so far, we might as well finish the job." it was an easy matter for the two chums to climb through the low window. once in the room, they advanced toward a doorway leading to an apartment that opened on the _patio_ of the ranch home--an open courtyard which had once boasted of a well-kept flower garden, but which was now neglected and overrun with weeds. as dave gazed out across the _patio_ he saw a movement in a room on the opposite side of the ranch home. the face of a man had appeared for a few seconds. behind him was some one else--who, however, dave could not make out. "my gracious, roger!" gasped our hero in a low voice. "did you see that fellow?" "i saw some one." "it was william jarvey!" "jarvey! are you sure?" "i am certain of it. now what do you think of that!" "i'm sure i don't know what to think, dave. maybe he is making his headquarters here, the same as ward porton." "i am going to try to find out. come on." our hero made a quick mental calculation as to the ground plan of the ranch homeland then he and roger began to work their way from one room to another, and then through a long, narrow hallway, until they reached the other side of the building. here they paused at the end of the hallway to listen. from a room close at hand came a murmur of voices. by straining his ears dave made out the tones of william jarvey. the former bookkeeper for the mentor construction company was evidently talking to another man, but what was being said was not distinguishable. "it's jarvey all right enough," whispered dave. "yes. but that isn't ward porton with him," returned roger. "i know it. it's some man." both continued to listen, and presently heard william jarvey give a sarcastic laugh. "you've got another guess coming, packard brown, if you think you are going to get that much out of the deal!" he cried. "remember, you haven't done a thing to help us." "that's all right, bill jarvey," retorted the man called packard brown. "when we left the u. s. a. and came over here it was understood that we were to share and share alike in everything." "yes, but i didn't think this new thing was coming up," growled jarvey. "we were to share equal on what we happened to get out of the greasers. this is another thing entirely." "i admit that. just the same, i think i'm entitled to my share." "well, you help us all you can and you'll get a nice little wad out of it, brown." what more was said on this subject did not reach the ears of dave and roger, for just then the latter pulled our hero by the sleeve. "somebody's coming!" he whispered. "maybe it's porton." dave did not answer. at the end of the semi-dark hallway there was a closet which in years gone by had been used for the storage of guns and clothing. into this closet the two youths went, closing the door carefully after them. "it's porton all right enough," whispered dave, who a moment later was crouching low and looking through a large keyhole devoid of a key. "there he goes into the room where the two men are." "then those two men must be in with him," returned the senator's son. "say, dave, this is certainly getting interesting!" "it's going to make our job a pretty hard one," answered our hero. "if ward porton was alone we might be able to capture him. but i don't see how we are going to do it with jarvey and that man named brown present." "maybe if we offer jarvey and brown a large reward they will help us make porton a prisoner," suggested roger. "more than likely jarvey is on his uppers and will do anything to get a little cash." the two youths came out into the semi-dark hallway once more, and on tiptoes crept toward the door of the room occupied by ward porton and the two men. "i went all around the buildings, and looked up and down the roadway, but i couldn't see anything of them," the former moving-picture actor was saying. "i guess they got cold feet when they saw those soldiers. say, those greasers certainly were a fierce-looking bunch!" "i don't believe they were any of general bilassa's army," returned william jarvey. "they were probably some detachment out for whatever they could lay their hands on," and he chuckled coarsely. evidently he considered that such guerrilla warfare under certain circumstances was perfectly justifiable. following this there was some talk which neither of those outside the door could catch. then came a rather loud exclamation from ward porton which startled our friends more than anything else that could have been said. "well, now, look here, dad!" cried the former moving-picture actor. "you let me run this affair. i started it, and i know i can put it through successfully." "that's right, jarvey!" broke in packard brown. "let your son go ahead and work this deal out to suit himself. he seems to have made a success of it so far--getting the best of that fellow crapsey," and the speaker chuckled. dave and roger looked at each other knowingly. here indeed was a revelation. evidently ward porton was the son of the man they knew as william jarvey. "my gracious! i remember now!" burst out our hero in a low tone. "when we went to burlington to see that old man, obadiah jones, about ward don't you remember that he told us that ward was the son of a good-for-nothing lieutenant in the army named jarvey porton? that man pankhurst who was captured declared that jarvey was living under an assumed name and had been an officer in the army. it must be true, roger. this fellow is really jarvey porton, and he is ward porton's father!" chapter xxix the capture what dave said concerning the man he had known as william jarvey was true. he was in reality ward porton's father, his full name being william jarvey porton. years before, however, on entering the united states army, he had dropped the name william and been known only as jarvey porton. later, on being dismissed from the army for irregularities in his accounts, he had assumed the name of william jarvey. a lively discussion lasting several minutes, and which our hero and roger failed to catch, followed the discovery of jarvey porton's identity. then the listeners heard the former lieutenant say: "brown, i think you had better go outside and watch to make sure that no one is coming to this place." "all right, just as you say," was the other man's answer. evidently he understood that this was a hint that jarvey porton wished to speak to his son in private. as packard brown placed his hand on the door leading to the semi-dark hallway dave and roger lost no time in tiptoeing their way back to the closet in which they had before hidden. from this place they saw brown leave the room and walk outside. then they returned to their position at the door. "are you sure the cases are in a safe place, ward?" they heard jarvey porton ask anxiously. "sure of it, dad. i hid them with great care." "are you sure nobody saw you do it?" "not a soul." "where was the place?" "on a high knoll not far from where we have been tying up the boats," answered ward porton. "there are a number of big rocks there, and i found a fine _cache_ between them." "it's rather dangerous to leave them around that way," grumbled the man. "maybe you would have done better if you had brought them over here." "i thought there would be no use in carting them back and forth," returned the son. "i wanted to have them handy, in case the basswoods met my demands." "well, we'll see what comes of it, ward. i hope we do get that money. i certainly need some," and jarvey porton heaved something of a sigh. evidently father and son were equally unscrupulous and took no pains to disguise that fact from each other. more talk followed, ward telling something of the way in which the miniatures had been obtained and his father relating the particulars of his troubles with the mentor construction company. in the midst of the latter recital dave and roger heard packard brown returning on the run. "hi there!" called out the man in evident alarm. and then as the two chums hid in the closet once more, he burst into the room occupied by the portons. "those greasers are coming back and they are heading for this place!" he explained. "in that case we had better get out," answered jarvey porton, quickly. "but you and brown helped them in that raid, dad," interposed the son. "why should you get out?" "we had a big quarrel after that raid, ward," explained the parent. "and now those greasers have no use for us. we'll have to get out, and in a hurry, too." shouting could now be heard at a distance, and this was followed by a volley of shots which surprised all the listeners. "i'll tell you what it must be," said jarvey porton, as he led the way from the deserted ranch. "a detachment from the regular army must be after general bilassa's crowd. maybe they'll have a fight right here along the border!" "i don't want to get mixed up in any fight!" exclaimed ward porton. "maybe we had better get back to the united states side of the river." "that's the talk!" put in packard brown. "come on!" all left the ranch and headed directly for the river, at the point where ward had left his flat-bottomed rowboat. dave and roger followed them, but did their best to keep out of sight in the tall grass. "oh, dave, i hope they do go over to the other shore!" exclaimed the senator's son. "it will be so much easier to capture them." "exactly, roger. and don't you remember what ward told his father--that he had left the miniature cases hidden on the other side? he said they were on a high knoll not far from where the boats had been tied up. we ought to be able to find that _cache_." by the time the two chums gained the shore of the rio grande those ahead of them had already entered ward porton's boat. ward and brown each had an oar and rowed as rapidly as possible to the other side of the stream. jarvey porton sat in the stern of the craft, and looked back from time to time, trying to catch sight of the guerrillas and the other mexicans, who were still shouting and firing at a distance. "hadn't you better hold back a bit, dave, so they don't see you?" questioned roger, as he and our hero managed to gain the rowboat they had used, which, fortunately, had been placed some distance away from the other craft. "good advice, roger, if it wasn't for one thing. i don't want to give them a chance to get out of our sight. let us tie our handkerchiefs over the lower parts of our faces. then they won't be able to recognize us--at least unless we get pretty close." with dave's suggestion carried out, the chums leaped into the rowboat, and, this done, each took an oar. they pulled hard, and as a consequence reached the mouth of the little creek on the united states side in time to see those ahead just disembarking. "where do you suppose they are going?" queried the senator's son. "that remains to be found out," answered dave. "duck now, so they won't see us." and with a quick motion of the oar he possessed he sent the flat-bottomed boat in among some tall grass which bordered the creek at this point. ward porton and those with him had tied up their boat and were walking to the higher ground away from the creek. jarvey porton paused to look back along the creek and the bosom of the river beyond. "i don't see anything on the river just now," he announced. "look! some one is coming from the other way!" exclaimed his son, suddenly. "is that lawson, the ranchman?" questioned packard brown, anxiously. "no, i don't think it is," answered ward porton. "they seem to be strangers," he added, a minute later. two men and a well-grown boy were approaching. they came on slowly, as if looking for some one. "i'd like to know what those fellows want around here," came from jarvey porton, as he gave up looking along the river to inspect the newcomers. from their position in the tall grass bordering the creek, dave and roger looked from the porton party to those who were approaching. then, of a sudden, our hero uttered a low exclamation of surprise. "look who's here, roger! ben basswood and my uncle dunston! and mr. andrews is with them!" "oh, dave! are you sure?" "of course i am! i would know my uncle dunston as far as i could see him. and you ought to know ben." "my gracious, dave, you're right! this sure is luck!" "i know what i'm going to do," decided our hero, quickly. "i'm going to send both of the boats adrift. then, no matter what happens, those rascals won't have any easy time of it getting back to mexico." in feverish haste dave sent the flat-bottomed boat out into the creek once more. roger assisted him, and a few strokes of the oars brought the craft alongside of that which had been used by the porton party. then the chums leaped ashore, threw all the oars into the water, and set both of the rowboats adrift. "hi there! what are you fellows up to?" came suddenly from packard brown, who had happened to look behind him. "see, jarvey, those two fellows have cast our boat adrift!" "who are they?" demanded jarvey porton, and looked in some bewilderment at the two figures approaching, each with a handkerchief tied over the lower portion of the face. "uncle dunston! ben!" cried dave at the top of his lungs, and at the same time whipped the handkerchief from his face. "here are ward porton and his father! we must capture them!" "hurry up! don't let them get away!" put in roger, as he, too, uncovered his face. as he uttered the words roger drew his pistol, an action which was quickly followed by our hero, for both understood that the criminals before them might prove desperate. of course dunston porton and ben basswood, as well as frank andrews, were greatly astonished by the calls from dave and roger. but our hero's uncle, while out hunting in various parts of the world, had been in many a tight corner, and thus learned the value of acting quickly. he had with him his pistol, and almost instantly he drew this weapon and came forward on the run, with ben and frank andrews at his heels. "stop! stop! don't shoot!" yelled ward porton in alarm, as he found himself and his companions surrounded by five others, three with drawn pistols. "we won't shoot, porton, if you'll surrender," answered dave. "oh, dave! has he got those miniatures?" burst out ben. "he sure has, ben!" "good!" "i haven't got any miniatures," growled the former moving-picture actor. his father and brown looked decidedly uncomfortable. once the former army officer made a motion as if to draw his own weapon, but dunston porter detected the movement and instantly ordered all of the party to throw up their hands. "oh, dave! are you sure he has those pictures?" queried ben, and his face showed his anxiety. "i think so, ben. however, we'll find out as soon as we have made them prisoners." "that's the talk!" put in roger. he turned to dave's uncle. "can't you bind them or something, so that they can't get away?" "we'll disarm them," announced frank andrews. "jarvey and brown are wanted for that raid on old man tolman's ranch and for using that bomb on the bridge. we can prove through pankhurst that they were with the party." "that man is ward porton's father," explained dave to his uncle and ben, while the evil-doers were being searched and disarmed one after another. "ward porton's father, eh? well, they seem to be two of a kind," answered ben. with their weapons taken from them, the prisoners could do nothing but submit. they were questioned, but all refused to tell anything about what they had done or intended to do. "you'll never get anything out of me, and you'll never get those miniatures back," growled ward porton, as he gazed sourly at ben and at dave. "we'll see about that, porton," answered our hero. and then he requested his uncle and frank andrews to keep an eye on the prisoners while he, roger and ben set out for the knoll some distance away from the creek. "ward porton said he had hidden some cases in a _cache_ between some rocks on that knoll," explained our hero. "by cases i think he meant those containing the miniatures." "oh, i hope he did!" returned ben, wistfully. "to get those miniatures back means so much to my folks!" chapter xxx the fortune recovered--conclusion as dave, roger, and ben tramped through the tall grass to where was located a knoll of considerable size, the son of the crumville real estate dealer related how he and dunston porter had arrived in the construction camp and how they had gotten frank andrews to show them in what direction our hero and the senator's son had gone. "we knew you were after porton, and we hoped to catch sight of that rascal," went on ben, "but we didn't dream that we were going to capture ward and also those two men who are wanted for that raid on the tolman ranch. and to think that one of the men is ward's father! he certainly must be a bad egg!" "he is, ben," answered dave. "and ward is a chip of the old block." the chums were soon ascending the knoll, containing many rocks between which were dense clumps of chaparral. here they had to advance with care so as not to turn an ankle or get their clothing torn. dave had hoped that the search for the missing cases would be an easy one, but in that he was disappointed. the three chums walked all around the knoll several times without getting anything in the way of a clue as to where porton's _cache_ was located. "it's a shame!" burst out roger at length. "if we could only--" he looked quickly at dave. "what do you see?" our hero did not reply. instead he hurried forward several feet, and then gave a low cry. "porton has been here!" he exclaimed, and held up a half-burned cigarette. it was not much of a clue, but it was something; and working on this all three of the youths searched the vicinity diligently. they soon came upon a somewhat flat rock, and all seized hold of this to cast it to one side. "hurrah!" came simultaneously from dave and roger, as they saw a large opening under where the stone had been placed. ben said nothing, but plunged his hand into the opening, to draw from it an instant later one of the cases that had contained the enos miniatures. the other cases quickly followed. "are the miniatures in them?" questioned the senator's son. "that's what i'm going to find out," answered ben. the cases were fastened by several catches, but these were quickly unfastened and the lids thrown open. "good! good!" exclaimed ben, and his face showed his intense satisfaction. there before the eyes of the youths were nearly all of the wonderful collection of miniatures which mr. basswood had inherited. only two were missing--those which the thieves had sold in new york. "oh, this is simply grand!" cried roger, enthusiastically. "that's what it is," added dave, and then went on quickly: "we'll have to get these to some safe place and then make sure that they'll never be stolen again." "don't you worry about that, dave. i won't let them out of my sight until they are safe and sound," declared the real estate dealer's son. locking up the cases once more, the three youths carried them off the knoll and through the chaparral to where they had left dunston porter and the others. of course, dave's uncle was much gratified to learn that the miniatures had been recovered, and frank andrews was also pleased. jarvey porton looked downcast, and his son showed his deep disgust. "i was a fool not to take them over into mexico," remarked the former moving-picture actor. "well, i told you that was what you should have done," retorted his father. and then he added in a low tone: "we might have purchased our freedom with those miniatures." while dunston porter and frank andrews looked after the prisoners to see that they did not get away, dave and his chums took care of the cases containing the precious miniatures, and thus the whole party made its way to the engineering and construction camp. there the portons and packard brown were handcuffed, and word was sent to the authorities to take charge of them. "and now i've got to send word home about this good news!" cried ben, and lost no time in getting off a long telegram to his folks, and asking them to inform dave's father and the wadsworths by telephone of the success of the trip to texas. "that message ought to do your father more good than a dose of medicine," remarked dave. "it will, dave," answered ben, his face beaming. "i know father will recover now that he has nothing more to worry about." ben was right. the recovery of the fortune in miniatures did much toward restoring the real estate dealer to his former good health. in the camp it was remarked by a number of men how much ward porton resembled dave. but no one at that time dreamed that this resemblance was shortly to come to an end. yet such was a fact. when being transferred from texas to the state in which his crimes had been committed, ward porton attempted to make his escape by leaping from a rapidly moving railroad train. as a consequence he broke not only both of his legs, but also his nose, and cut his right cheek most frightfully. as a result, when he was retaken he had to remain in the hospital for a long time, and when he came out his face was much disfigured and he walked with a decided limp. "it's too bad, but he brought it on himself," was dave's comment, when he heard of this. "it's a good thing in one respect," was roger's reply. "with his nose broken and his cheek disfigured and with such a limp, no one will ever take ward porton for you again." it may be mentioned here that when the proper time came ward porton and tim crapsey were brought to trial and each was given a long term of imprisonment. ward's father and the other men who had participated in the attack on the tolman ranch and on the bridge and had been captured were also severely punished. the store-keepers and the hotel-keeper who suffered through ward porton's misrepresentations could get nothing from the young culprit, but they had the satisfaction of knowing that he had now been put where it would be impossible for him to dupe others. ben basswood remained at the camp but a few days, and then he and dunston porter started northward. the miniatures had been boxed up and shipped by express, insured for their full value. it may be stated here that they arrived safely at their destination. those which had been disposed of in new york city were recovered, and in the end mr. basswood disposed of the entire collection to the museums in four of our large cities for the sum of seventy-five thousand dollars. with part of this money he went into several heavy real estate deals, taking ben in with him, and father and son did very well. "i think the getting back of those miniatures was entirely your work, dave," declared roger, one day. "i don't know about that," answered our hero, modestly. "i think you had a hand in it." "i had a hand in catching ward porton, but you were the one to spot that _cache_ and locate the basswood fortune." * * * * * and now let me add a few words more and then bring to an end this story of "dave porter and his double." a number of years have passed since dave graduated from oak hall and took up the profession of a civil engineer. both he and roger learned rapidly, and at the end of the required time both passed their final examinations with flying colors. they remained with the mentor construction company, journeying all over the united states, and also going down into mexico and into central and south americas. they, of course, met with numerous adventures, some of which i may relate to you at a future time. they returned to crumville a number of times, and during those visits dave was more attentive to jessie than ever, while roger spent nearly all his time at laura's side. "they'll make a fine pair of married couples," declared dave's uncle dunston. "well, i hope they'll be happy," answered dave's father. "they certainly deserve to be." "you are right. but i guess they had better wait awhile yet." "of course. they are young, and dave and roger want to get a good foothold in their profession." "those boys have had some strenuous doings," continued the uncle. "i wonder what will happen next?" "something, that's certain," answered dave's father; and he was right, as will be related in my next volume, to be entitled, "dave porter's great search; or, the perils of a young civil engineer." in that book we will meet all our young friends again, and learn the particulars of jessie wadsworth's strange disappearance. "great days, those--on the rio grande, dave!" remarked roger, one day, when the two had been discussing what had taken place in the past. "yes, roger, they certainly were great days," answered our hero. "no matter what exciting times may come in the future, i'll never forget how i helped to capture my double." "and how we managed to become full-fledged civil engineers, dave." "yes, that was just as good as getting back the basswood miniatures, if not better," answered dave. here, at the height of his success in his chosen profession, we will wish dave porter well, and say good-bye. the end * * * * * transcriber's note: illustrations have been moved closer to their relevant paragraphs. the page numbers in the list of illustrations do not reflect the new placement of the illustrations, but are as in the original. author's archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is preserved. author's punctuation style is preserved. passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. passages in bold indicated by =equal signs=. typographical problems have been changed and are listed below. transcriber's changes: page : was single quote (="why= certainly i haven't been here, mrs. basswood," he returned promptly.) page : removed extra double quote ("i said '=no,'= but told him i was very well acquainted with his handwriting. then he said he) page : was 'wiliam' (would feel utterly lost without a cigar. well, i'll see you later." and thus speaking =william= jarvey took himself off.) page : was 'go you' ("all right, i'll =go with you=," responded roger, quickly. "come ahead!" and he started on a) john bull's other island by bernard shaw act i great george street, westminster, is the address of doyle and broadbent, civil engineers. on the threshold one reads that the firm consists of mr lawrence doyle and mr thomas broadbent, and that their rooms are on the first floor. most of their rooms are private; for the partners, being bachelors and bosom friends, live there; and the door marked private, next the clerks' office, is their domestic sitting room as well as their reception room for clients. let me describe it briefly from the point of view of a sparrow on the window sill. the outer door is in the opposite wall, close to the right hand corner. between this door and the left hand corner is a hatstand and a table consisting of large drawing boards on trestles, with plans, rolls of tracing paper, mathematical instruments and other draughtsman's accessories on it. in the left hand wall is the fireplace, and the door of an inner room between the fireplace and our observant sparrow. against the right hand wall is a filing cabinet, with a cupboard on it, and, nearer, a tall office desk and stool for one person. in the middle of the room a large double writing table is set across, with a chair at each end for the two partners. it is a room which no woman would tolerate, smelling of tobacco, and much in need of repapering, repainting, and recarpeting; but this is the effect of bachelor untidiness and indifference, not want of means; for nothing that doyle and broadbent themselves have purchased is cheap; nor is anything they want lacking. on the walls hang a large map of south america, a pictorial advertisement of a steamship company, an impressive portrait of gladstone, and several caricatures of mr balfour as a rabbit and mr chamberlain as a fox by francis carruthers gould. at twenty minutes to five o'clock on a summer afternoon in , the room is empty. presently the outer door is opened, and a valet comes in laden with a large gladstone bag, and a strap of rugs. he carries them into the inner room. he is a respectable valet, old enough to have lost all alacrity, and acquired an air of putting up patiently with a great deal of trouble and indifferent health. the luggage belongs to broadbent, who enters after the valet. he pulls off his overcoat and hangs it with his hat on the stand. then he comes to the writing table and looks through the letters which are waiting for him. he is a robust, full-blooded, energetic man in the prime of life, sometimes eager and credulous, sometimes shrewd and roguish, sometimes portentously solemn, sometimes jolly and impetuous, always buoyant and irresistible, mostly likeable, and enormously absurd in his most earnest moments. he bursts open his letters with his thumb, and glances through them, flinging the envelopes about the floor with reckless untidiness whilst he talks to the valet. broadbent [calling] hodson. hodson [in the bedroom] yes sir. broadbent. don't unpack. just take out the things i've worn; and put in clean things. hodson [appearing at the bedroom door] yes sir. [he turns to go back into the bedroom. broadbent. and look here! [hodson turns again]. do you remember where i put my revolver? hodson. revolver, sir? yes sir. mr doyle uses it as a paper-weight, sir, when he's drawing. broadbent. well, i want it packed. there's a packet of cartridges somewhere, i think. find it and pack it as well. hodson. yes sir. broadbent. by the way, pack your own traps too. i shall take you with me this time. hodson [hesitant]. is it a dangerous part you're going to, sir? should i be expected to carry a revolver, sir? broadbent. perhaps it might be as well. i'm going to ireland. hodson [reassured]. yes sir. broadbent. you don't feel nervous about it, i suppose? hodson. not at all, sir. i'll risk it, sir. broadbent. have you ever been in ireland? hodson. no sir. i understand it's a very wet climate, sir. i'd better pack your india-rubber overalls. broadbent. do. where's mr doyle? hodson. i'm expecting him at five, sir. he went out after lunch. broadbent. anybody been looking for me? hodson. a person giving the name of haffigan has called twice to-day, sir. broadbent. oh, i'm sorry. why didn't he wait? i told him to wait if i wasn't in. hodson. well sir, i didn't know you expected him; so i thought it best to--to--not to encourage him, sir. broadbent. oh, he's all right. he's an irishman, and not very particular about his appearance. hodson. yes sir, i noticed that he was rather irish.... broadbent. if he calls again let him come up. hodson. i think i saw him waiting about, sir, when you drove up. shall i fetch him, sir? broadbent. do, hodson. hodson. yes sir [he makes for the outer door]. broadbent. he'll want tea. let us have some. hodson [stopping]. i shouldn't think he drank tea, sir. broadbent. well, bring whatever you think he'd like. hodson. yes sir [an electric bell rings]. here he is, sir. saw you arrive, sir. broadbent. right. show him in. [hodson goes out. broadbent gets through the rest of his letters before hodson returns with the visitor]. hodson. mr affigan. haffigan is a stunted, shortnecked, smallheaded, redhaired man of about , with reddened nose and furtive eyes. he is dressed in seedy black, almost clerically, and might be a tenth-rate schoolmaster ruined by drink. he hastens to shake broadbent's hand with a show of reckless geniality and high spirits, helped out by a rollicking stage brogue. this is perhaps a comfort to himself, as he is secretly pursued by the horrors of incipient delirium tremens. haffigan. tim haffigan, sir, at your service. the top o the mornin to you, misther broadbent. broadbent [delighted with his irish visitor]. good afternoon, mr haffigan. tim. an is it the afthernoon it is already? begorra, what i call the mornin is all the time a man fasts afther breakfast. broadbent. haven't you lunched? tim. divil a lunch! broadbent. i'm sorry i couldn't get back from brighton in time to offer you some; but-- tim. not a word, sir, not a word. sure it'll do tomorrow. besides, i'm irish, sir: a poor ather, but a powerful dhrinker. broadbent. i was just about to ring for tea when you came. sit down, mr haffigan. tim. tay is a good dhrink if your nerves can stand it. mine can't. haffigan sits down at the writing table, with his back to the filing cabinet. broadbent sits opposite him. hodson enters emptyhanded; takes two glasses, a siphon, and a tantalus from the cupboard; places them before broadbent on the writing table; looks ruthlessly at haffigan, who cannot meet his eye; and retires. broadbent. try a whisky and soda. tim [sobered]. there you touch the national wakeness, sir. [piously] not that i share it meself. i've seen too much of the mischief of it. broadbent [pouring the whisky]. say when. tim. not too sthrong. [broadbent stops and looks enquiringly at him]. say half-an-half. [broadbent, somewhat startled by this demand, pours a little more, and again stops and looks]. just a dhrain more: the lower half o the tumbler doesn't hold a fair half. thankya. broadbent [laughing]. you irishmen certainly do know how to drink. [pouring some whisky for himself] now that's my poor english idea of a whisky and soda. tim. an a very good idea it is too. dhrink is the curse o me unhappy counthry. i take it meself because i've a wake heart and a poor digestion; but in principle i'm a teetoatler. broadbent [suddenly solemn and strenuous]. so am i, of course. i'm a local optionist to the backbone. you have no idea, mr haffigan, of the ruin that is wrought in this country by the unholy alliance of the publicans, the bishops, the tories, and the times. we must close the public-houses at all costs [he drinks]. tim. sure i know. it's awful [he drinks]. i see you're a good liberal like meself, sir. broadbent. i am a lover of liberty, like every true englishman, mr haffigan. my name is broadbent. if my name were breitstein, and i had a hooked nose and a house in park lane, i should carry a union jack handkerchief and a penny trumpet, and tax the food of the people to support the navy league, and clamor for the destruction of the last remnants of national liberty-- tim. not another word. shake hands. broadbent. but i should like to explain-- tim. sure i know every word you're goin to say before yev said it. i know the sort o man yar. an so you're thinkin o comin to ireland for a bit? broadbent. where else can i go? i am an englishman and a liberal; and now that south africa has been enslaved and destroyed, there is no country left to me to take an interest in but ireland. mind: i don't say that an englishman has not other duties. he has a duty to finland and a duty to macedonia. but what sane man can deny that an englishman's first duty is his duty to ireland? unfortunately, we have politicians here more unscrupulous than bobrikoff, more bloodthirsty than abdul the damned; and it is under their heel that ireland is now writhing. tim. faith, they've reckoned up with poor oul bobrikoff anyhow. broadbent. not that i defend assassination: god forbid! however strongly we may feel that the unfortunate and patriotic young man who avenged the wrongs of finland on the russian tyrant was perfectly right from his own point of view, yet every civilized man must regard murder with abhorrence. not even in defence of free trade would i lift my hand against a political opponent, however richly he might deserve it. tim. i'm sure you wouldn't; and i honor you for it. you're goin to ireland, then, out o sympithy: is it? broadbent. i'm going to develop an estate there for the land development syndicate, in which i am interested. i am convinced that all it needs to make it pay is to handle it properly, as estates are handled in england. you know the english plan, mr haffigan, don't you? tim. bedad i do, sir. take all you can out of ireland and spend it in england: that's it. broadbent [not quite liking this]. my plan, sir, will be to take a little money out of england and spend it in ireland. tim. more power to your elbow! an may your shadda never be less! for you're the broth of a boy intirely. an how can i help you? command me to the last dhrop o me blood. broadbent. have you ever heard of garden city? tim [doubtfully]. d'ye mane heavn? broadbent. heaven! no: it's near hitchin. if you can spare half an hour i'll go into it with you. tim. i tell you hwat. gimme a prospectus. lemme take it home and reflect on it. broadbent. you're quite right: i will. [he gives him a copy of mr ebenezer howard's book, and several pamphlets]. you understand that the map of the city--the circular construction--is only a suggestion. tim. i'll make a careful note o that [looking dazedly at the map]. broadbent. what i say is, why not start a garden city in ireland? tim [with enthusiasm]. that's just what was on the tip o me tongue to ask you. why not? [defiantly] tell me why not. broadbent. there are difficulties. i shall overcome them; but there are difficulties. when i first arrive in ireland i shall be hated as an englishman. as a protestant, i shall be denounced from every altar. my life may be in danger. well, i am prepared to face that. tim. never fear, sir. we know how to respict a brave innimy. broadbent. what i really dread is misunderstanding. i think you could help me to avoid that. when i heard you speak the other evening in bermondsey at the meeting of the national league, i saw at once that you were--you won't mind my speaking frankly? tim. tell me all me faults as man to man. i can stand anything but flatthery. broadbent. may i put it in this way?--that i saw at once that you were a thorough irishman, with all the faults and all, the qualities of your race: rash and improvident but brave and goodnatured; not likely to succeed in business on your own account perhaps, but eloquent, humorous, a lover of freedom, and a true follower of that great englishman gladstone. tim. spare me blushes. i mustn't sit here to be praised to me face. but i confess to the goodnature: it's an irish wakeness. i'd share me last shillin with a friend. broadbent. i feel sure you would, mr haffigan. tim [impulsively]. damn it! call me tim. a man that talks about ireland as you do may call me anything. gimme a howlt o that whisky bottle [he replenishes]. broadbent [smiling indulgently]. well, tim, will you come with me and help to break the ice between me and your warmhearted, impulsive countrymen? tim. will i come to madagascar or cochin china wid you? bedad i'll come to the north pole wid you if yll pay me fare; for the divil a shillin i have to buy a third class ticket. broadbent. i've not forgotten that, tim. we must put that little matter on a solid english footing, though the rest can be as irish as you please. you must come as my--my--well, i hardly know what to call it. if we call you my agent, they'll shoot you. if we call you a bailiff, they'll duck you in the horsepond. i have a secretary already; and-- tim. then we'll call him the home secretary and me the irish secretary. eh? broadbent [laughing industriously]. capital. your irish wit has settled the first difficulty. now about your salary-- tim. a salary, is it? sure i'd do it for nothin, only me cloes ud disgrace you; and i'd be dhriven to borra money from your friends: a thing that's agin me nacher. but i won't take a penny more than a hundherd a year. [he looks with restless cunning at broadbent, trying to guess how far he may go]. broadbent. if that will satisfy you-- tim [more than reassured]. why shouldn't it satisfy me? a hundherd a year is twelve-pound a month, isn't it? broadbent. no. eight pound six and eightpence. tim. oh murdher! an i'll have to sind five timme poor oul mother in ireland. but no matther: i said a hundherd; and what i said i'll stick to, if i have to starve for it. broadbent [with business caution]. well, let us say twelve pounds for the first month. afterwards, we shall see how we get on. tim. you're a gentleman, sir. whin me mother turns up her toes, you shall take the five pounds off; for your expinses must be kep down wid a sthrong hand; an--[he is interrupted by the arrival of broadbent's partner.] mr laurence doyle is a man of , with cold grey eyes, strained nose, fine fastidious lips, critical brown, clever head, rather refined and goodlooking on the whole, but with a suggestion of thinskinedness and dissatisfaction that contrasts strongly with broadbent's eupeptic jollity. he comes in as a man at home there, but on seeing the stranger shrinks at once, and is about to withdraw when broadbent reassures him. he then comes forward to the table, between the two others. doyle [retreating]. you're engaged. broadbent. not at all, not at all. come in. [to tim] this gentleman is a friend who lives with me here: my partner, mr doyle. [to doyle] this is a new irish friend of mine, mr tim haffigan. tim [rising with effusion]. sure it's meself that's proud to meet any friend o misther broadbent's. the top o the mornin to you, sir! me heart goes out teeye both. it's not often i meet two such splendid speciments iv the anglo-saxon race. broadbent [chuckling] wrong for once, tim. my friend mr doyle is a countryman of yours. tim is noticeably dashed by this announcement. he draws in his horns at once, and scowls suspiciously at doyle under a vanishing mark of goodfellowship: cringing a little, too, in mere nerveless fear of him. doyle [with cool disgust]. good evening. [he retires to the fireplace, and says to broadbent in a tone which conveys the strongest possible hint to haffigan that he is unwelcome] will you soon be disengaged? tim [his brogue decaying into a common would-be genteel accent with an unexpected strain of glasgow in it]. i must be going. ivnmportnt engeegement in the west end. broadbent [rising]. it's settled, then, that you come with me. tim. ish'll be verra pleased to accompany ye, sir. broadbent. but how soon? can you start tonight--from paddington? we go by milford haven. tim [hesitating]. well--i'm afreed--i [doyle goes abruptly into the bedroom, slamming the door and shattering the last remnant of tim's nerve. the poor wretch saves himself from bursting into tears by plunging again into his role of daredevil irishman. he rushes to broadbent; plucks at his sleeve with trembling fingers; and pours forth his entreaty with all the brogue be can muster, subduing his voice lest doyle should hear and return]. misther broadbent: don't humiliate me before a fella counthryman. look here: me cloes is up the spout. gimme a fypounnote--i'll pay ya nex choosda whin me ship comes home--or you can stop it out o me month's sallery. i'll be on the platform at paddnton punctial an ready. gimme it quick, before he comes back. you won't mind me axin, will ye? broadbent. not at all. i was about to offer you an advance for travelling expenses. [he gives him a bank note]. tim [pocketing it]. thank you. i'll be there half an hour before the thrain starts. [larry is heard at the bedroom door, returning]. whisht: he's comin back. goodbye an god bless ye. [he hurries out almost crying, the pound note and all the drink it means to him being too much for his empty stomach and overstrained nerves]. doyle [returning]. where the devil did you pick up that seedy swindler? what was he doing here? [he goes up to the table where the plans are, and makes a note on one of them, referring to his pocket book as he does so]. broadbent. there you go! why are you so down on every irishman you meet, especially if he's a bit shabby? poor devil! surely a fellow-countryman may pass you the top of the morning without offence, even if his coat is a bit shiny at the seams. doyle [contemptuously]. the top of the morning! did he call you the broth of a boy? [he comes to the writing table]. broadbent [triumphantly]. yes. doyle. and wished you more power to your elbow? broadbent. he did. doyle. and that your shadow might never be less? broadbent. certainly. doyle [taking up the depleted whisky bottle and shaking his head at it]. and he got about half a pint of whisky out of you. broadbent. it did him no harm. he never turned a hair. doyle. how much money did he borrow? broadbent. it was not borrowing exactly. he showed a very honorable spirit about money. i believe he would share his last shilling with a friend. doyle. no doubt he would share his friend's last shilling if his friend was fool enough to let him. how much did he touch you for? broadbent. oh, nothing. an advance on his salary--for travelling expenses. doyle. salary! in heaven's name, what for? broadbent. for being my home secretary, as he very wittily called it. doyle. i don't see the joke. broadbent. you can spoil any joke by being cold blooded about it. i saw it all right when he said it. it was something--something really very amusing--about the home secretary and the irish secretary. at all events, he's evidently the very man to take with me to ireland to break the ice for me. he can gain the confidence of the people there, and make them friendly to me. eh? [he seats himself on the office stool, and tilts it back so that the edge of the standing desk supports his back and prevents his toppling over]. doyle. a nice introduction, by george! do you suppose the whole population of ireland consists of drunken begging letter writers, or that even if it did, they would accept one another as references? broadbent. pooh! nonsense! he's only an irishman. besides, you don't seriously suppose that haffigan can humbug me, do you? doyle. no: he's too lazy to take the trouble. all he has to do is to sit there and drink your whisky while you humbug yourself. however, we needn't argue about haffigan, for two reasons. first, with your money in his pocket he will never reach paddington: there are too many public houses on the way. second, he's not an irishman at all. broadbent. not an irishman! [he is so amazed by the statement that he straightens himself and brings the stool bolt upright]. doyle. born in glasgow. never was in ireland in his life. i know all about him. broadbent. but he spoke--he behaved just like an irishman. doyle. like an irishman!! is it possible that you don't know that all this top-o-the-morning and broth-of-a-boy and more-power-to-your-elbow business is as peculiar to england as the albert hall concerts of irish music are? no irishman ever talks like that in ireland, or ever did, or ever will. but when a thoroughly worthless irishman comes to england, and finds the whole place full of romantic duffers like you, who will let him loaf and drink and sponge and brag as long as he flatters your sense of moral superiority by playing the fool and degrading himself and his country, he soon learns the antics that take you in. he picks them up at the theatre or the music hall. haffigan learnt the rudiments from his father, who came from my part of ireland. i knew his uncles, matt and andy haffigan of rosscullen. broadbent [still incredulous]. but his brogue! doyle. his brogue! a fat lot you know about brogues! i've heard you call a dublin accent that you could hang your hat on, a brogue. heaven help you! you don't know the difference between connemara and rathmines. [with violent irritation] oh, damn tim haffigan! let's drop the subject: he's not worth wrangling about. broadbent. what's wrong with you today, larry? why are you so bitter? doyle looks at him perplexedly; comes slowly to the writing table; and sits down at the end next the fireplace before replying. doyle. well: your letter completely upset me, for one thing. broadbent. why? larry. your foreclosing this rosscullen mortgage and turning poor nick lestrange out of house and home has rather taken me aback; for i liked the old rascal when i was a boy and had the run of his park to play in. i was brought up on the property. broadbent. but he wouldn't pay the interest. i had to foreclose on behalf of the syndicate. so now i'm off to rosscullen to look after the property myself. [he sits down at the writing table opposite larry, and adds, casually, but with an anxious glance at his partner] you're coming with me, of course? doyle [rising nervously and recommencing his restless movements]. that's it. that's what i dread. that's what has upset me. broadbent. but don't you want to see your country again after years absence? to see your people, to be in the old home again? to-- doyle [interrupting him very impatiently]. yes, yes: i know all that as well as you do. broadbent. oh well, of course [with a shrug] if you take it in that way, i'm sorry. doyle. never you mind my temper: it's not meant for you, as you ought to know by this time. [he sits down again, a little ashamed of his petulance; reflects a moment bitterly; then bursts out] i have an instinct against going back to ireland: an instinct so strong that i'd rather go with you to the south pole than to rosscullen. broadbent. what! here you are, belonging to a nation with the strongest patriotism! the most inveterate homing instinct in the world! and you pretend you'd rather go anywhere than back to ireland. you don't suppose i believe you, do you? in your heart-- doyle. never mind my heart: an irishman's heart is nothing but his imagination. how many of all those millions that have left ireland have ever come back or wanted to come back? but what's the use of talking to you? three verses of twaddle about the irish emigrant "sitting on the stile, mary," or three hours of irish patriotism in bermondsey or the scotland division of liverpool, go further with you than all the facts that stare you in the face. why, man alive, look at me! you know the way i nag, and worry, and carp, and cavil, and disparage, and am never satisfied and never quiet, and try the patience of my best friends. broadbent. oh, come, larry! do yourself justice. you're very amusing and agreeable to strangers. doyle. yes, to strangers. perhaps if i was a bit stiffer to strangers, and a bit easier at home, like an englishman, i'd be better company for you. broadbent. we get on well enough. of course you have the melancholy of the celtic race-- doyle [bounding out of his chair] good god!!! broadbent [slyly]--and also its habit of using strong language when there's nothing the matter. doyle. nothing the matter! when people talk about the celtic race, i feel as if i could burn down london. that sort of rot does more harm than ten coercion acts. do you suppose a man need be a celt to feel melancholy in rosscullen? why, man, ireland was peopled just as england was; and its breed was crossed by just the same invaders. broadbent. true. all the capable people in ireland are of english extraction. it has often struck me as a most remarkable circumstance that the only party in parliament which shows the genuine old english character and spirit is the irish party. look at its independence, its determination, its defiance of bad governments, its sympathy with oppressed nationalities all the world over! how english! doyle. not to mention the solemnity with which it talks old-fashioned nonsense which it knows perfectly well to be a century behind the times. that's english, if you like. broadbent. no, larry, no. you are thinking of the modern hybrids that now monopolize england. hypocrites, humbugs, germans, jews, yankees, foreigners, park laners, cosmopolitan riffraff. don't call them english. they don't belong to the dear old island, but to their confounded new empire; and by george! they're worthy of it; and i wish them joy of it. doyle [unmoved by this outburst]. there! you feel better now, don't you? broadbent [defiantly]. i do. much better. doyle. my dear tom, you only need a touch of the irish climate to be as big a fool as i am myself. if all my irish blood were poured into your veins, you wouldn't turn a hair of your constitution and character. go and marry the most english englishwoman you can find, and then bring up your son in rosscullen; and that son's character will be so like mine and so unlike yours that everybody will accuse me of being his father. [with sudden anguish] rosscullen! oh, good lord, rosscullen! the dullness! the hopelessness! the ignorance! the bigotry! broadbent [matter-of-factly]. the usual thing in the country, larry. just the same here. doyle [hastily]. no, no: the climate is different. here, if the life is dull, you can be dull too, and no great harm done. [going off into a passionate dream] but your wits can't thicken in that soft moist air, on those white springy roads, in those misty rushes and brown bogs, on those hillsides of granite rocks and magenta heather. you've no such colors in the sky, no such lure in the distances, no such sadness in the evenings. oh, the dreaming! the dreaming! the torturing, heartscalding, never satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming! [savagely] no debauchery that ever coarsened and brutalized an englishman can take the worth and usefulness out of him like that dreaming. an irishman's imagination never lets him alone, never convinces him, never satisfies him; but it makes him that he can't face reality nor deal with it nor handle it nor conquer it: he can only sneer at them that do, and [bitterly, at broadbent] be "agreeable to strangers," like a good-for-nothing woman on the streets. [gabbling at broadbent across the table] it's all dreaming, all imagination. he can't be religious. the inspired churchman that teaches him the sanctity of life and the importance of conduct is sent away empty; while the poor village priest that gives him a miracle or a sentimental story of a saint, has cathedrals built for him out of the pennies of the poor. he can't be intelligently political, he dreams of what the shan van vocht said in ninety-eight. if you want to interest him in ireland you've got to call the unfortunate island kathleen ni hoolihan and pretend she's a little old woman. it saves thinking. it saves working. it saves everything except imagination, imagination, imagination; and imagination's such a torture that you can't bear it without whisky. [with fierce shivering self-contempt] at last you get that you can bear nothing real at all: you'd rather starve than cook a meal; you'd rather go shabby and dirty than set your mind to take care of your clothes and wash yourself; you nag and squabble at home because your wife isn't an angel, and she despises you because you're not a hero; and you hate the whole lot round you because they're only poor slovenly useless devils like yourself. [dropping his voice like a man making some shameful confidence] and all the while there goes on a horrible, senseless, mischievous laughter. when you're young, you exchange drinks with other young men; and you exchange vile stories with them; and as you're too futile to be able to help or cheer them, you chaff and sneer and taunt them for not doing the things you daren't do yourself. and all the time you laugh, laugh, laugh! eternal derision, eternal envy, eternal folly, eternal fouling and staining and degrading, until, when you come at last to a country where men take a question seriously and give a serious answer to it, you deride them for having no sense of humor, and plume yourself on your own worthlessness as if it made you better than them. broadbent [roused to intense earnestness by doyle's eloquence]. never despair, larry. there are great possibilities for ireland. home rule will work wonders under english guidance. doyle [pulled up short, his face twitching with a reluctant smile]. tom: why do you select my most tragic moments for your most irresistible strokes of humor? broadbent. humor! i was perfectly serious. what do you mean? do you doubt my seriousness about home rule? doyle. i am sure you are serious, tom, about the english guidance. broadbent [quite reassured]. of course i am. our guidance is the important thing. we english must place our capacity for government without stint at the service of nations who are less fortunately endowed in that respect; so as to allow them to develop in perfect freedom to the english level of self-government, you know. you understand me? doyle. perfectly. and rosscullen will understand you too. broadbent [cheerfully]. of course it will. so that's all right. [he pulls up his chair and settles himself comfortably to lecture doyle]. now, larry, i've listened carefully to all you've said about ireland; and i can see nothing whatever to prevent your coming with me. what does it all come to? simply that you were only a young fellow when you were in ireland. you'll find all that chaffing and drinking and not knowing what to be at in peckham just the same as in donnybrook. you looked at ireland with a boy's eyes and saw only boyish things. come back with me and look at it with a man's, and get a better opinion of your country. doyle. i daresay you're partly right in that: at all events i know very well that if i had been the son of a laborer instead of the son of a country landagent, i should have struck more grit than i did. unfortunately i'm not going back to visit the irish nation, but to visit my father and aunt judy and nora reilly and father dempsey and the rest of them. broadbent. well, why not? they'll be delighted to see you, now that england has made a man of you. doyle [struck by this]. ah! you hit the mark there, tom, with true british inspiration. broadbent. common sense, you mean. doyle [quickly]. no i don't: you've no more common sense than a gander. no englishman has any common sense, or ever had, or ever will have. you're going on a sentimental expedition for perfectly ridiculous reasons, with your head full of political nonsense that would not take in any ordinarily intelligent donkey; but you can hit me in the eye with the simple truth about myself and my father. broadbent [amazed]. i never mentioned your father. doyle [not heeding the interruption]. there he is in rosscullen, a landagent who's always been in a small way because he's a catholic, and the landlords are mostly protestants. what with land courts reducing rents and land acts turning big estates into little holdings, he'd be a beggar this day if he hadn't bought his own little farm under the land purchase act. i doubt if he's been further from home than athenmullet for the last twenty years. and here am i, made a man of, as you say, by england. broadbent [apologetically]. i assure you i never meant-- doyle. oh, don't apologize: it's quite true. i daresay i've learnt something in america and a few other remote and inferior spots; but in the main it is by living with you and working in double harness with you that i have learnt to live in a real world and not in an imaginary one. i owe more to you than to any irishman. broadbent [shaking his head with a twinkle in his eye]. very friendly of you, larry, old man, but all blarney. i like blarney; but it's rot, all the same. doyle. no it's not. i should never have done anything without you; although i never stop wondering at that blessed old head of yours with all its ideas in watertight compartments, and all the compartments warranted impervious to anything that it doesn't suit you to understand. broadbent [invincible]. unmitigated rot, larry, i assure you. doyle. well, at any rate you will admit that all my friends are either englishmen or men of the big world that belongs to the big powers. all the serious part of my life has been lived in that atmosphere: all the serious part of my work has been done with men of that sort. just think of me as i am now going back to rosscullen! to that hell of littleness and monotony! how am i to get on with a little country landagent that ekes out his per cent with a little farming and a scrap of house property in the nearest country town? what am i to say to him? what is he to say to me? broadbfnt [scandalized]. but you're father and son, man! doyle. what difference does that make? what would you say if i proposed a visit to your father? broadbent [with filial rectitude]. i always made a point of going to see my father regularly until his mind gave way. doyle [concerned]. has he gone mad? you never told me. broadbent. he has joined the tariff reform league. he would never have done that if his mind had not been weakened. [beginning to declaim] he has fallen a victim to the arts of a political charlatan who-- doyle [interrupting him]. you mean that you keep clear of your father because he differs from you about free trade, and you don't want to quarrel with him. well, think of me and my father! he's a nationalist and a separatist. i'm a metallurgical chemist turned civil engineer. now whatever else metallurgical chemistry may be, it's not national. it's international. and my business and yours as civil engineers is to join countries, not to separate them. the one real political conviction that our business has rubbed into us is that frontiers are hindrances and flags confounded nuisances. broadbent [still smarting under mr chamberlain's economic heresy]. only when there is a protective tariff-- doyle [firmly] now look here, tom: you want to get in a speech on free trade; and you're not going to do it: i won't stand it. my father wants to make st george's channel a frontier and hoist a green flag on college green; and i want to bring galway within hours of colchester and of new york. i want ireland to be the brains and imagination of a big commonwealth, not a robinson crusoe island. then there's the religious difficulty. my catholicism is the catholicism of charlemagne or dante, qualified by a great deal of modern science and folklore which father dempsey would call the ravings of an atheist. well, my father's catholicism is the catholicism of father dempsey. broadbent [shrewdly]. i don't want to interrupt you, larry; but you know this is all gammon. these differences exist in all families; but the members rub on together all right. [suddenly relapsing into portentousness] of course there are some questions which touch the very foundations of morals; and on these i grant you even the closest relationships cannot excuse any compromise or laxity. for instance-- doyle [impatiently springing up and walking about]. for instance, home rule, south africa, free trade, and the education rate. well, i should differ from my father on every one of them, probably, just as i differ from you about them. broadbent. yes; but you are an irishman; and these things are not serious to you as they are to an englishman. doyle. what! not even home rule! broadbent [steadfastly]. not even home rule. we owe home rule not to the irish, but to our english gladstone. no, larry: i can't help thinking that there's something behind all this. doyle [hotly]. what is there behind it? do you think i'm humbugging you? broadbent. don't fly out at me, old chap. i only thought-- doyle. what did you think? broadbent. well, a moment ago i caught a name which is new to me: a miss nora reilly, i think. [doyle stops dead and stares at him with something like awe]. i don't wish to be impertinent, as you know, larry; but are you sure she has nothing to do with your reluctance to come to ireland with me? doyle [sitting down again, vanquished]. thomas broadbent: i surrender. the poor silly-clever irishman takes off his hat to god's englishman. the man who could in all seriousness make that recent remark of yours about home rule and gladstone must be simply the champion idiot of all the world. yet the man who could in the very next sentence sweep away all my special pleading and go straight to the heart of my motives must be a man of genius. but that the idiot and the genius should be the same man! how is that possible? [springing to his feet] by jove, i see it all now. i'll write an article about it, and send it to nature. broadbent [staring at him]. what on earth-- doyle. it's quite simple. you know that a caterpillar-- broadbent. a caterpillar!!! doyle. yes, a caterpillar. now give your mind to what i am going to say; for it's a new and important scientific theory of the english national character. a caterpillar-- broadbent. look here, larry: don't be an ass. doyle [insisting]. i say a caterpillar and i mean a caterpillar. you'll understand presently. a caterpillar [broadbent mutters a slight protest, but does not press it] when it gets into a tree, instinctively makes itself look exactly like a leaf; so that both its enemies and its prey may mistake it for one and think it not worth bothering about. broadbent. what's that got to do with our english national character? doyle. i'll tell you. the world is as full of fools as a tree is full of leaves. well, the englishman does what the caterpillar does. he instinctively makes himself look like a fool, and eats up all the real fools at his ease while his enemies let him alone and laugh at him for being a fool like the rest. oh, nature is cunning, cunning! [he sits down, lost in contemplation of his word-picture]. broadbent [with hearty admiration]. now you know, larry, that would never have occurred to me. you irish people are amazingly clever. of course it's all tommy rot; but it's so brilliant, you know! how the dickens do you think of such things! you really must write an article about it: they'll pay you something for it. if nature won't have it, i can get it into engineering for you: i know the editor. doyle. let's get back to business. i'd better tell you about nora reilly. broadbent. no: never mind. i shouldn't have alluded to her. doyle. i'd rather. nora has a fortune. broadbent [keenly interested]. eh? how much? doyle. forty per annum. broadbent. forty thousand? doyle. no, forty. forty pounds. broadbent [much dashed.] that's what you call a fortune in rosscullen, is it? doyle. a girl with a dowry of five pounds calls it a fortune in rosscullen. what's more pounds a year is a fortune there; and nora reilly enjoys a good deal of social consideration as an heiress on the strength of it. it has helped my father's household through many a tight place. my father was her father's agent. she came on a visit to us when he died, and has lived with us ever since. broadbent [attentively, beginning to suspect larry of misconduct with nora, and resolving to get to the bottom of it]. since when? i mean how old were you when she came? doyle. i was seventeen. so was she: if she'd been older she'd have had more sense than to stay with us. we were together for months before i went up to dublin to study. when i went home for christmas and easter, she was there: i suppose it used to be something of an event for her, though of course i never thought of that then. broadbent. were you at all hard hit? doyle. not really. i had only two ideas at that time, first, to learn to do something; and then to get out of ireland and have a chance of doing it. she didn't count. i was romantic about her, just as i was romantic about byron's heroines or the old round tower of rosscullen; but she didn't count any more than they did. i've never crossed st george's channel since for her sake--never even landed at queenstown and come back to london through ireland. broadbent. but did you ever say anything that would justify her in waiting for you? doyle. no, never. but she is waiting for me. broadbent. how do you know? doyle. she writes to me--on her birthday. she used to write on mine, and send me little things as presents; but i stopped that by pretending that it was no use when i was travelling, as they got lost in the foreign post-offices. [he pronounces post-offices with the stress on offices, instead of on post]. broadbent. you answer the letters? doyle. not very punctually. but they get acknowledged at one time or another. broadbent. how do you feel when you see her handwriting? doyle. uneasy. i'd give pounds to escape a letter. broadbent [looking grave, and throwing himself back in his chair to intimate that the cross-examination is over, and the result very damaging to the witness] hm! doyle. what d'ye mean by hm!? broadbent. of course i know that the moral code is different in ireland. but in england it's not considered fair to trifle with a woman's affections. doyle. you mean that an englishman would get engaged to another woman and return nora her letters and presents with a letter to say he was unworthy of her and wished her every happiness? broadbent. well, even that would set the poor girl's mind at rest. doyle. would it? i wonder! one thing i can tell you; and that is that nora would wait until she died of old age sooner than ask my intentions or condescend to hint at the possibility of my having any. you don't know what irish pride is. england may have knocked a good deal of it out of me; but she's never been in england; and if i had to choose between wounding that delicacy in her and hitting her in the face, i'd hit her in the face without a moment's hesitation. broadbent [who has been nursing his knee and reflecting, apparently rather agreeably]. you know, all this sounds rather interesting. there's the irish charm about it. that's the worst of you: the irish charm doesn't exist for you. doyle. oh yes it does. but it's the charm of a dream. live in contact with dreams and you will get something of their charm: live in contact with facts and you will get something of their brutality. i wish i could find a country to live in where the facts were not brutal and the dreams not unreal. broadbent [changing his attitude and responding to doyle's earnestness with deep conviction: his elbows on the table and his hands clenched]. don't despair, larry, old boy: things may look black; but there will be a great change after the next election. doyle [jumping up]. oh get out, you idiot! broadbent [rising also, not a bit snubbed]. ha! ha! you may laugh; but we shall see. however, don't let us argue about that. come now! you ask my advice about miss reilly? doyle [reddening]. no i don't. damn your advice! [softening] let's have it, all the same. broadbent. well, everything you tell me about her impresses me favorably. she seems to have the feelings of a lady; and though we must face the fact that in england her income would hardly maintain her in the lower middle class-- doyle [interrupting]. now look here, tom. that reminds me. when you go to ireland, just drop talking about the middle class and bragging of belonging to it. in ireland you're either a gentleman or you're not. if you want to be particularly offensive to nora, you can call her a papist; but if you call her a middle-class woman, heaven help you! broadbent [irrepressible]. never fear. you're all descended from the ancient kings: i know that. [complacently] i'm not so tactless as you think, my boy. [earnest again] i expect to find miss reilly a perfect lady; and i strongly advise you to come and have another look at her before you make up your mind about her. by the way, have you a photograph of her? doyle. her photographs stopped at twenty-five. broadbent [saddened]. ah yes, i suppose so. [with feeling, severely] larry: you've treated that poor girl disgracefully. doyle. by george, if she only knew that two men were talking about her like this--! broadbent. she wouldn't like it, would she? of course not. we ought to be ashamed of ourselves, larry. [more and more carried away by his new fancy]. you know, i have a sort of presentiment that miss really is a very superior woman. doyle [staring hard at him]. oh you have, have you? broadbent. yes i have. there is something very touching about the history of this beautiful girl. doyle. beau--! oho! here's a chance for nora! and for me! [calling] hodson. hodson [appearing at the bedroom door]. did you call, sir? doyle. pack for me too. i'm going to ireland with mr broadbent. hodson. right, sir. [he retires into the bedroom.] broadbent [clapping doyle on the shoulder]. thank you, old chap. thank you. act ii rosscullen. westward a hillside of granite rock and heather slopes upward across the prospect from south to north, a huge stone stands on it in a naturally impossible place, as if it had been tossed up there by a giant. over the brow, in the desolate valley beyond, is a round tower. a lonely white high road trending away westward past the tower loses itself at the foot of the far mountains. it is evening; and there are great breadths of silken green in the irish sky. the sun is setting. a man with the face of a young saint, yet with white hair and perhaps years on his back, is standing near the stone in a trance of intense melancholy, looking over the hills as if by mere intensity of gaze he could pierce the glories of the sunset and see into the streets of heaven. he is dressed in black, and is rather more clerical in appearance than most english curates are nowadays; but he does not wear the collar and waistcoat of a parish priest. he is roused from his trance by the chirp of an insect from a tuft of grass in a crevice of the stone. his face relaxes: he turns quietly, and gravely takes off his hat to the tuft, addressing the insect in a brogue which is the jocular assumption of a gentleman and not the natural speech of a peasant. the man. an is that yourself, misther grasshopper? i hope i see you well this fine evenin. the grasshopper [prompt and shrill in answer]. x.x. the man [encouragingly]. that's right. i suppose now you've come out to make yourself miserable by admyerin the sunset? the grasshopper [sadly]. x.x. the man. aye, you're a thrue irish grasshopper. the grasshopper [loudly]. x.x.x. the man. three cheers for ould ireland, is it? that helps you to face out the misery and the poverty and the torment, doesn't it? the grasshopper [plaintively]. x.x. the man. ah, it's no use, me poor little friend. if you could jump as far as a kangaroo you couldn't jump away from your own heart an its punishment. you can only look at heaven from here: you can't reach it. there! [pointing with his stick to the sunset] that's the gate o glory, isn't it? the grasshopper [assenting]. x.x. the man. sure it's the wise grasshopper yar to know that! but tell me this, misther unworldly wiseman: why does the sight of heaven wring your heart an mine as the sight of holy wather wrings the heart o the divil? what wickedness have you done to bring that curse on you? here! where are you jumpin to? where's your manners to go skyrocketin like that out o the box in the middle o your confession [he threatens it with his stick]? the grasshopper [penitently]. x. the man [lowering the stick]. i accept your apology; but don't do it again. and now tell me one thing before i let you go home to bed. which would you say this counthry was: hell or purgatory? the grasshopper. x. the man. hell! faith i'm afraid you're right. i wondher what you and me did when we were alive to get sent here. the grasshopper [shrilly]. x.x. the man [nodding]. well, as you say, it's a delicate subject; and i won't press it on you. now off widja. the grasshopper. x.x. [it springs away]. the man [waving his stick] god speed you! [he walks away past the stone towards the brow of the hill. immediately a young laborer, his face distorted with terror, slips round from behind the stone. the laborer [crossing himself repeatedly]. oh glory be to god! glory be to god! oh holy mother an all the saints! oh murdher! murdher! [beside himself, calling fadher keegan! fadher keegan]! the man [turning]. who's there? what's that? [he comes back and finds the laborer, who clasps his knees] patsy farrell! what are you doing here? patsy. o for the love o god don't lave me here wi dhe grasshopper. i hard it spakin to you. don't let it do me any harm, father darlint. keegan. get up, you foolish man, get up. are you afraid of a poor insect because i pretended it was talking to me? patsy. oh, it was no pretending, fadher dear. didn't it give three cheers n say it was a divil out o hell? oh say you'll see me safe home, fadher; n put a blessin on me or somethin [he moans with terror]. keegan. what were you doin there, patsy, listnin? were you spyin on me? patsy. no, fadher: on me oath an soul i wasn't: i was waitn to meet masther larry n carry his luggage from the car; n i fell asleep on the grass; n you woke me talkin to the grasshopper; n i hard its wicked little voice. oh, d'ye think i'll die before the year's out, fadher? keegan. for shame, patsy! is that your religion, to be afraid of a little deeshy grasshopper? suppose it was a divil, what call have you to fear it? if i could ketch it, i'd make you take it home widja in your hat for a penance. patsy. sure, if you won't let it harm me, i'm not afraid, your riverence. [he gets up, a little reassured. he is a callow, flaxen polled, smoothfaced, downy chinned lad, fully grown but not yet fully filled out, with blue eyes and an instinctively acquired air of helplessness and silliness, indicating, not his real character, but a cunning developed by his constant dread of a hostile dominance, which he habitually tries to disarm and tempt into unmasking by pretending to be a much greater fool than he really is. englishmen think him half-witted, which is exactly what he intends them to think. he is clad in corduroy trousers, unbuttoned waistcoat, and coarse blue striped shirt]. keegan [admonitorily]. patsy: what did i tell you about callin me father keegan an your reverence? what did father dempsey tell you about it? patsy. yis, fadher. keegan. father! patsy [desperately]. arra, hwat am i to call you? fadher dempsey sez you're not a priest; n we all know you're not a man; n how do we know what ud happen to us if we showed any disrespect to you? n sure they say wanse a priest always a priest. keegan [sternly]. it's not for the like of you, patsy, to go behind the instruction of your parish priest and set yourself up to judge whether your church is right or wrong. patsy. sure i know that, sir. keegan. the church let me be its priest as long as it thought me fit for its work. when it took away my papers it meant you to know that i was only a poor madman, unfit and unworthy to take charge of the souls of the people. patsy. but wasn't it only because you knew more latn than father dempsey that he was jealous of you? keegan [scolding him to keep himself from smiling]. how dar you, patsy farrell, put your own wicked little spites and foolishnesses into the heart of your priest? for two pins i'd tell him what you just said. patsy [coaxing] sure you wouldn't-- keegan. wouldn't i? god forgive you! you're little better than a heathen. patsy. deedn i am, fadher: it's me bruddher the tinsmith in dublin you're thinkin of. sure he had to be a freethinker when he larnt a thrade and went to live in the town. keegan. well, he'll get to heaven before you if you're not careful, patsy. and now you listen to me, once and for all. you'll talk to me and pray for me by the name of pether keegan, so you will. and when you're angry and tempted to lift your hand agen the donkey or stamp your foot on the little grasshopper, remember that the donkey's pether keegan's brother, and the grasshopper pether keegan's friend. and when you're tempted to throw a stone at a sinner or a curse at a beggar, remember that pether keegan is a worse sinner and a worse beggar, and keep the stone and the curse for him the next time you meet him. now say god bless you, pether, to me before i go, just to practise you a bit. patsy. sure it wouldn't be right, fadher. i can't-- keegan. yes you can. now out with it; or i'll put this stick into your hand an make you hit me with it. patsy [throwing himself on his knees in an ecstasy of adoration]. sure it's your blessin i want, fadher keegan. i'll have no luck widhout it. keegan [shocked]. get up out o that, man. don't kneel to me: i'm not a saint. patsy [with intense conviction]. oh in throth yar, sir. [the grasshopper chirps. patsy, terrified, clutches at keegan's hands] don't set it on me, fadher: i'll do anythin you bid me. keegan [pulling him up]. you bosthoon, you! don't you see that it only whistled to tell me miss reilly's comin? there! look at her and pull yourself together for shame. off widja to the road: you'll be late for the car if you don't make haste [bustling him down the hill]. i can see the dust of it in the gap already. patsy. the lord save us! [he goes down the hill towards the road like a haunted man]. nora reilly comes down the hill. a slight weak woman in a pretty muslin print gown [her best], she is a figure commonplace enough to irish eyes; but on the inhabitants of fatter-fed, crowded, hustling and bustling modern countries she makes a very different impression. the absence of any symptoms of coarseness or hardness or appetite in her, her comparative delicacy of manner and sensibility of apprehension, her thin hands and slender figure, her travel accent, with the caressing plaintive irish melody of her speech, give her a charm which is all the more effective because, being untravelled, she is unconscious of it, and never dreams of deliberately dramatizing and exploiting it, as the irishwoman in england does. for tom broadbent therefore, an attractive woman, whom he would even call ethereal. to larry doyle, an everyday woman fit only for the eighteenth century, helpless, useless, almost sexless, an invalid without the excuse of disease, an incarnation of everything in ireland that drove him out of it. these judgments have little value and no finality; but they are the judgments on which her fate hangs just at present. keegan touches his hat to her: he does not take it off. nora. mr keegan: i want to speak to you a minute if you don't mind. keegan [dropping the broad irish vernacular of his speech to patsy]. an hour if you like, miss reilly: you're always welcome. shall we sit down? nora. thank you. [they sit on the heather. she is shy and anxious; but she comes to the point promptly because she can think of nothing else]. they say you did a gradle o travelling at one time. keegan. well you see i'm not a mnooth man [he means that he was not a student at maynooth college]. when i was young i admired the older generation of priests that had been educated in salamanca. so when i felt sure of my vocation i went to salamanca. then i walked from salamanca to rome, an sted in a monastery there for a year. my pilgrimage to rome taught me that walking is a better way of travelling than the train; so i walked from rome to the sorbonne in paris; and i wish i could have walked from paris to oxford; for i was very sick on the sea. after a year of oxford i had to walk to jerusalem to walk the oxford feeling off me. from jerusalem i came back to patmos, and spent six months at the monastery of mount athos. from that i came to ireland and settled down as a parish priest until i went mad. nora [startled]. oh dons say that. keegan. why not? don't you know the story? how i confessed a black man and gave him absolution; and how he put a spell on me and drove me mad. nora. how can you talk such nonsense about yourself? for shame! keegan. it's not nonsense at all: it's true--in a way. but never mind the black man. now that you know what a travelled man i am, what can i do for you? [she hesitates and plucks nervously at the heather. he stays her hand gently]. dear miss nora: don't pluck the little flower. if it was a pretty baby you wouldn't want to pull its head off and stick it in a vawse o water to look at. [the grasshopper chirps: keegan turns his head and addresses it in the vernacular]. be aisy, me son: she won't spoil the swing-swong in your little three. [to nora, resuming his urbane style] you see i'm quite cracked; but never mind: i'm harmless. now what is it? nora [embarrassed]. oh, only idle curiosity. i wanted to know whether you found ireland--i mean the country part of ireland, of course--very small and backwardlike when you came back to it from rome and oxford and all the great cities. keegan. when i went to those great cities i saw wonders i had never seen in ireland. but when i came back to ireland i found all the wonders there waiting for me. you see they had been there all the time; but my eyes had never been opened to them. i did not know what my own house was like, because i had never been outside it. nora. d'ye think that's the same with everybody? keegan. with everybody who has eyes in his soul as well as in his head. nora. but really and truly now, weren't the people rather disappointing? i should think the girls must have seemed rather coarse and dowdy after the foreign princesses and people? but i suppose a priest wouldn't notice that. keegan. it's a priest's business to notice everything. i won't tell you all i noticed about women; but i'll tell you this. the more a man knows, and the farther he travels, the more likely he is to marry a country girl afterwards. nora [blushing with delight]. you're joking, mr keegan: i'm sure yar. keegan. my way of joking is to tell the truth. it's the funniest joke in the world. nora [incredulous]. galong with you! keegan [springing up actively]. shall we go down to the road and meet the car? [she gives him her hand and he helps her up]. patsy farrell told me you were expecting young doyle. nora [tossing her chin up at once]. oh, i'm not expecting him particularly. it's a wonder he's come back at all. after staying away eighteen years he can harly expect us to be very anxious to see him, can he now? keegan. well, not anxious perhaps; but you will be curious to see how much he has changed in all these years. nora [with a sudden bitter flush]. i suppose that's all that brings him back to look at us, just to see how much we've changed. well, he can wait and see me be candlelight: i didn't come out to meet him: i'm going to walk to the round tower [going west across the hill]. keegan. you couldn't do better this fine evening. [gravely] i'll tell him where you've gone. [she turns as if to forbid him; but the deep understanding in his eyes makes that impossible; and she only looks at him earnestly and goes. he watches her disappear on the other side of the hill; then says] aye, he's come to torment you; and you're driven already to torment him. [he shakes his head, and goes slowly away across the hill in the opposite direction, lost in thought]. by this time the car has arrived, and dropped three of its passengers on the high road at the foot of the hill. it is a monster jaunting car, black and dilapidated, one of the last survivors of the public vehicles known to earlier generations as beeyankiny cars, the irish having laid violent tongues on the name of their projector, one bianconi, an enterprising italian. the three passengers are the parish priest, father dempsey; cornelius doyle, larry's father; and broadbent, all in overcoats and as stiff as only an irish car could make them. the priest, stout and fatherly, falls far short of that finest type of countryside pastor which represents the genius of priesthood; but he is equally far above the base type in which a strongminded and unscrupulous peasant uses the church to extort money, power, and privilege. he is a priest neither by vocation nor ambition, but because the life suits him. he has boundless authority over his flock, and taxes them stiffly enough to be a rich man. the old protestant ascendency is now too broken to gall him. on the whole, an easygoing, amiable, even modest man as long as his dues are paid and his authority and dignity fully admitted. cornelius doyle is an elder of the small wiry type, with a hardskinned, rather worried face, clean shaven except for sandy whiskers blanching into a lustreless pale yellow and quite white at the roots. his dress is that of a country-town titan of business: that is, an oldish shooting suit, and elastic sided boots quite unconnected with shooting. feeling shy with broadbent, he is hasty, which is his way of trying to appear genial. broadbent, for reasons which will appear later, has no luggage except a field glass and a guide book. the other two have left theirs to the unfortunate patsy farrell, who struggles up the hill after them, loaded with a sack of potatoes, a hamper, a fat goose, a colossal salmon, and several paper parcels. cornelius leads the way up the hill, with broadbent at his heels. the priest follows; and patsy lags laboriously behind. cornelius. this is a bit of a climb, mr. broadbent; but it's shorter than goin round be the road. broadbent [stopping to examine the great stone]. just a moment, mr doyle: i want to look at this stone. it must be finian's die-cast. cornelius [in blank bewilderment]. hwat? broadbent. murray describes it. one of your great national heroes--i can't pronounce the name--finian somebody, i think. father dempsey [also perplexed, and rather scandalized]. is it fin mccool you mean? broadbent. i daresay it is. [referring to the guide book]. murray says that a huge stone, probably of druidic origin, is still pointed out as the die cast by fin in his celebrated match with the devil. cornelius [dubiously]. jeuce a word i ever heard of it! father dempsey [very seriously indeed, and even a little severely]. don't believe any such nonsense, sir. there never was any such thing. when people talk to you about fin mccool and the like, take no notice of them. it's all idle stories and superstition. broadbent [somewhat indignantly; for to be rebuked by an irish priest for superstition is more than he can stand]. you don't suppose i believe it, do you? father dempsey. oh, i thought you did. d'ye see the top o the roun tower there? that's an antiquity worth lookin at. broadbent [deeply interested]. have you any theory as to what the round towers were for? father dempsey [a little offended]. a theory? me! [theories are connected in his mind with the late professor tyndall, and with scientific scepticism generally: also perhaps with the view that the round towers are phallic symbols]. cornelius [remonstrating]. father dempsey is the priest of the parish, mr broadbent. what would he be doing with a theory? father dempsey [with gentle emphasis]. i have a knowledge of what the roun towers were, if that's what you mean. they are the forefingers of the early church, pointing us all to god. patsy, intolerably overburdened, loses his balance, and sits down involuntarily. his burdens are scattered over the hillside. cornelius and father dempsey turn furiously on him, leaving broadbent beaming at the stone and the tower with fatuous interest. cornelius. oh, be the hokey, the sammin's broke in two! you schoopid ass, what d'ye mean? father dempsey. are you drunk, patsy farrell? did i tell you to carry that hamper carefully or did i not? patsy [rubbing the back of his head, which has almost dented a slab of granite] sure me fut slpt. howkn i carry three men's luggage at wanst? father dempsey. you were told to leave behind what you couldn't carry, an go back for it. patsy. an whose things was i to lave behind? hwat would your reverence think if i left your hamper behind in the wet grass; n hwat would the masther say if i left the sammin and the goose be the side o the road for annywan to pick up? cornelius. oh, you've a dale to say for yourself, you, butther-fingered omadhaun. wait'll ant judy sees the state o that sammin: she'll talk to you. here! gimme that birdn that fish there; an take father dempsey's hamper to his house for him; n then come back for the rest. father dempsey. do, patsy. and mind you don't fall down again. patsy. sure i-- cornelius [bustling him up the bill] whisht! heres ant judy. [patsy goes grumbling in disgrace, with father dempsey's hamper]. aunt judy comes down the hill, a woman of , in no way remarkable, lively and busy without energy or grip, placid without tranquillity, kindly without concern for others: indeed without much concern for herself: a contented product of a narrow, strainless life. she wears her hair parted in the middle and quite smooth, with a fattened bun at the back. her dress is a plain brown frock, with a woollen pelerine of black and aniline mauve over her shoulders, all very trim in honor of the occasion. she looks round for larry; is puzzled; then stares incredulously at broadbent. aunt judy. surely to goodness that's not you, larry! cornelius. arra how could he be larry, woman alive? larry's in no hurry home, it seems. i haven't set eyes on him. this is his friend, mr broadbent. mr broadbent, me sister judy. aunt judy [hospitably: going to broadbent and shaking hands heartily]. mr. broadbent! fancy me takin you for larry! sure we haven't seen a sight of him for eighteen years, n he only a lad when he left us. broadbent. it's not larry's fault: he was to have been here before me. he started in our motor an hour before mr doyle arrived, to meet us at athenmullet, intending to get here long before me. aunt judy. lord save us! do you think he's had n axidnt? broadbent. no: he's wired to say he's had a breakdown and will come on as soon as he can. he expects to be here at about ten. aunt judy. there now! fancy him trustn himself in a motor and we all expectn him! just like him! he'd never do anything like anybody else. well, what can't be cured must be injoored. come on in, all of you. you must be dyin for your tea, mr broadbent. broadbent [with a slight start]. oh, i'm afraid it's too late for tea [he looks at his watch]. aunt judy. not a bit: we never have it airlier than this. i hope they gave you a good dinner at athenmullet. broadbent [trying to conceal his consternation as he realizes that he is not going to get any dinner after his drive] oh--er--excellent, excellent. by the way, hadn't i better see about a room at the hotel? [they stare at him]. cornelius. the hotel! father dempsey. hwat hotel? aunt judy. indeedn you'e not goin to a hotel. you'll stay with us. i'd have put you into larry's room, only the boy's pallyass is too short for you; but we'll make a comfortable bed for you on the sofa in the parlor. broadbent. you're very kind, miss doyle; but really i'm ashamed to give you so much trouble unnecessarily. i shan't mind the hotel in the least. father dempsey. man alive! there's no hotel in rosscullen. broadbent. no hotel! why, the driver told me there was the finest hotel in ireland here. [they regard him joylessly]. aunt judy. arra would you mind what the like of him would tell you? sure he'd say hwatever was the least trouble to himself and the pleasantest to you, thinkin you might give him a thruppeny bit for himself or the like. broadbent. perhaps there's a public house. father dempsey [grimly.] there's seventeen. aunt judy. ah then, how could you stay at a public house? they'd have no place to put you even if it was a right place for you to go. come! is it the sofa you're afraid of? if it is, you can have me own bed. i can sleep with nora. broadbent. not at all, not at all: i should be only too delighted. but to upset your arrangements in this way-- cornelius [anxious to cut short the discussion, which makes him ashamed of his house; for he guesses broadbent's standard of comfort a little more accurately than his sister does] that's all right: it'll be no trouble at all. hweres nora? aunt judy. oh, how do i know? she slipped out a little while ago: i thought she was goin to meet the car. cornelius [dissatisfied] it's a queer thing of her to run out o the way at such a time. aunt judy. sure she's a queer girl altogether. come. come in, come in. father dempsey. i'll say good-night, mr broadbent. if there's anything i can do for you in this parish, let me know. [he shakes hands with broadbent]. broadbent [effusively cordial]. thank you, father dempsey. delighted to have met you, sir. father dempsey [passing on to aunt judy]. good-night, miss doyle. aunt judy. won't you stay to tea? father dempsey. not to-night, thank you kindly: i have business to do at home. [he turns to go, and meets patsy farrell returning unloaded]. have you left that hamper for me? patsy. yis, your reverence. father dempsey. that's a good lad [going]. patsy [to aunt judy] fadher keegan sez-- father dempsey [turning sharply on him]. what's that you say? patsy [frightened]. fadher keegan-- father dempsey. how often have you heard me bid you call mister keegan in his proper name, the same as i do? father keegan indeed! can't you tell the difference between your priest and any ole madman in a black coat? patsy. sure i'm afraid he might put a spell on me. father dempsey [wrathfully]. you mind what i tell you or i'll put a spell on you that'll make you lep. d'ye mind that now? [he goes home]. patsy goes down the hill to retrieve the fish, the bird, and the sack. aunt judy. ah, hwy can't you hold your tongue, patsy, before father dempsey? patsy. well, what was i to do? father keegan bid me tell you miss nora was gone to the roun tower. aunt judy. an hwy couldn't you wait to tell us until father dempsey was gone? patsy. i was afeerd o forgetn it; and then maybe he'd a sent the grasshopper or the little dark looker into me at night to remind me of it. [the dark looker is the common grey lizard, which is supposed to walk down the throats of incautious sleepers and cause them to perish in a slow decline]. cornelius. yah, you great gaum, you! widjer grasshoppers and dark lookers! here: take up them things and let me hear no more o your foolish lip. [patsy obeys]. you can take the sammin under your oxther. [he wedges the salmon into patsy's axilla]. patsy. i can take the goose too, sir. put it on me back and gimme the neck of it in me mouth. [cornelius is about to comply thoughtlessly]. aunt judy [feeling that broadbent's presence demands special punctiliousness]. for shame, patsy! to offer to take the goose in your mouth that we have to eat after you! the master'll bring it in for you. [patsy, abashed, yet irritated by this ridiculous fastidiousness, takes his load up the hill]. cornelius. what the jeuce does nora want to go to the roun tower for? aunt judy. oh, the lord knows! romancin, i suppose. props she thinks larry would go there to look for her and see her safe home. broadbent. i'm afraid it's all the fault of my motor. miss reilly must not be left to wait and walk home alone at night. shall i go for her? aunt judy [contemptuously]. arra hwat ud happen to her? hurry in now, corny. come, mr broadbent. i left the tea on the hob to draw; and it'll be black if we don't go in an drink it. they go up the hill. it is dark by this time. broadbent does not fare so badly after all at aunt judy's board. he gets not only tea and bread-and-butter, but more mutton chops than he has ever conceived it possible to eat at one sitting. there is also a most filling substance called potato cake. hardly have his fears of being starved been replaced by his first misgiving that he is eating too much and will be sorry for it tomorrow, when his appetite is revived by the production of a bottle of illicitly distilled whisky, called pocheen, which he has read and dreamed of [he calls it pottine] and is now at last to taste. his good humor rises almost to excitement before cornelius shows signs of sleepiness. the contrast between aunt judy's table service and that of the south and east coast hotels at which he spends his fridays-to-tuesdays when he is in london, seems to him delightfully irish. the almost total atrophy of any sense of enjoyment in cornelius, or even any desire for it or toleration of the possibility of life being something better than a round of sordid worries, relieved by tobacco, punch, fine mornings, and petty successes in buying and selling, passes with his guest as the whimsical affectation of a shrewd irish humorist and incorrigible spendthrift. aunt judy seems to him an incarnate joke. the likelihood that the joke will pall after a month or so, and is probably not apparent at any time to born rossculleners, or that he himself unconsciously entertains aunt judy by his fantastic english personality and english mispronunciations, does not occur to him for a moment. in the end he is so charmed, and so loth to go to bed and perhaps dream of prosaic england, that he insists on going out to smoke a cigar and look for nora reilly at the round tower. not that any special insistence is needed; for the english inhibitive instinct does not seem to exist in rosscullen. just as nora's liking to miss a meal and stay out at the round tower is accepted as a sufficient reason for her doing it, and for the family going to bed and leaving the door open for her, so broadbent's whim to go out for a late stroll provokes neither hospitable remonstrance nor surprise. indeed aunt judy wants to get rid of him whilst she makes a bed for him on the sofa. so off he goes, full fed, happy and enthusiastic, to explore the valley by moonlight. the round tower stands about half an irish mile from rosscullen, some fifty yards south of the road on a knoll with a circle of wild greensward on it. the road once ran over this knoll; but modern engineering has tempered the level to the beeyankiny car by carrying the road partly round the knoll and partly through a cutting; so that the way from the road to the tower is a footpath up the embankment through furze and brambles. on the edge of this slope, at the top of the path, nora is straining her eyes in the moonlight, watching for larry. at last she gives it up with a sob of impatience, and retreats to the hoary foot of the tower, where she sits down discouraged and cries a little. then she settles herself resignedly to wait, and hums a song--not an irish melody, but a hackneyed english drawing-room ballad of the season before last--until some slight noise suggests a footstep, when she springs up eagerly and runs to the edge of the slope again. some moments of silence and suspense follow, broken by unmistakable footsteps. she gives a little gasp as she sees a man approaching. nora. is that you, larry? [frightened a little] who's that? [broadbent's voice from below on the path]. don't be alarmed. nora. oh, what an english accent you've got! broadbent [rising into view] i must introduce myself-- nora [violently startled, retreating]. it's not you! who are you? what do you want? broadbent [advancing]. i'm really so sorry to have alarmed you, miss reilly. my name is broadbent. larry's friend, you know. nora [chilled]. and has mr doyle not come with you? broadbent. no. i've come instead. i hope i am not unwelcome. nora [deeply mortified]. i'm sorry mr doyle should have given you the trouble, i'm sure. broadbent. you see, as a stranger and an englishman, i thought it would be interesting to see the round tower by moonlight. nora. oh, you came to see the tower. i thought--[confused, trying to recover her manners] oh, of course. i was so startled--it's a beautiful night, isn't it? broadbent. lovely. i must explain why larry has not come himself. nora. why should he come? he's seen the tower often enough: it's no attraction to him. [genteelly] an what do you think of ireland, mr broadbent? have you ever been here before? broadbent. never. nora. an how do you like it? broadbent [suddenly betraying a condition of extreme sentimentality]. i can hardly trust myself to say how much i like it. the magic of this irish scene, and--i really don't want to be personal, miss reilly; but the charm of your irish voice-- nora [quite accustomed to gallantry, and attaching no seriousness whatever to it]. oh, get along with you, mr broadbent! you're breaking your heart about me already, i daresay, after seeing me for two minutes in the dark. broadbent. the voice is just as beautiful in the dark, you know. besides, i've heard a great deal about you from larry. nora [with bitter indifference]. have you now? well, that's a great honor, i'm sure. broadbent. i have looked forward to meeting you more than to anything else in ireland. nora [ironically]. dear me! did you now? broadbent. i did really. i wish you had taken half as much interest in me. nora. oh, i was dying to see you, of course. i daresay you can imagine the sensation an englishman like you would make among us poor irish people. broadbent. ah, now you're chaffing me, miss reilly: you know you are. you mustn't chaff me. i'm very much in earnest about ireland and everything irish. i'm very much in earnest about you and about larry. nora. larry has nothing to do with me, mr broadbent. broadbent. if i really thought that, miss reilly, i should--well, i should let myself feel that charm of which i spoke just now more deeply than i--than i-- nora. is it making love to me you are? broadbent [scared and much upset]. on my word i believe i am, miss reilly. if you say that to me again i shan't answer for myself: all the harps of ireland are in your voice. [she laughs at him. he suddenly loses his head and seizes her arms, to her great indignation]. stop laughing: do you hear? i am in earnest--in english earnest. when i say a thing like that to a woman, i mean it. [releasing her and trying to recover his ordinary manner in spite of his bewildering emotion] i beg your pardon. nora. how dare you touch me? broadbent. there are not many things i would not dare for you. that does not sound right perhaps; but i really--[he stops and passes his hand over his forehead, rather lost]. nora. i think you ought to be ashamed. i think if you were a gentleman, and me alone with you in this place at night, you would die rather than do such a thing. broadbent. you mean that it's an act of treachery to larry? nora. deed i don't. what has larry to do with it? it's an act of disrespect and rudeness to me: it shows what you take me for. you can go your way now; and i'll go mine. goodnight, mr broadbent. broadbent. no, please, miss reilly. one moment. listen to me. i'm serious: i'm desperately serious. tell me that i'm interfering with larry; and i'll go straight from this spot back to london and never see you again. that's on my honor: i will. am i interfering with him? nora [answering in spite of herself in a sudden spring of bitterness]. i should think you ought to know better than me whether you're interfering with him. you've seen him oftener than i have. you know him better than i do, by this time. you've come to me quicker than he has, haven't you? broadbent. i'm bound to tell you, miss reilly, that larry has not arrived in rosscullen yet. he meant to get here before me; but his car broke down; and he may not arrive until to-morrow. nora [her face lighting up]. is that the truth? broadbent. yes: that's the truth. [she gives a sigh of relief]. you're glad of that? nora [up in arms at once]. glad indeed! why should i be glad? as we've waited eighteen years for him we can afford to wait a day longer, i should think. broadbent. if you really feel like that about him, there may be a chance for another man yet. eh? nora [deeply offended]. i suppose people are different in england, mr broadbent; so perhaps you don't mean any harm. in ireland nobody'd mind what a man'd say in fun, nor take advantage of what a woman might say in answer to it. if a woman couldn't talk to a man for two minutes at their first meeting without being treated the way you're treating me, no decent woman would ever talk to a man at all. broadbent. i don't understand that. i don't admit that. i am sincere; and my intentions are perfectly honorable. i think you will accept the fact that i'm an englishman as a guarantee that i am not a man to act hastily or romantically, though i confess that your voice had such an extraordinary effect on me just now when you asked me so quaintly whether i was making love to you-- nora [flushing] i never thought-- broadhhnt [quickly]. of course you didn't. i'm not so stupid as that. but i couldn't bear your laughing at the feeling it gave me. you--[again struggling with a surge of emotion] you don't know what i-- [he chokes for a moment and then blurts out with unnatural steadiness] will you be my wife? nora [promptly]. deed i won't. the idea! [looking at him more carefully] arra, come home, mr broadbent; and get your senses back again. i think you're not accustomed to potcheen punch in the evening after your tea. broadbent [horrified]. do you mean to say that i--i--i--my god! that i appear drunk to you, miss reilly? nora [compassionately]. how many tumblers had you? broadbent [helplessly]. two. nora. the flavor of the turf prevented you noticing the strength of it. you'd better come home to bed. broadbent [fearfully agitated]. but this is such a horrible doubt to put into my mind--to--to--for heaven's sake, miss reilly, am i really drunk? nora [soothingly]. you'll be able to judge better in the morning. come on now back with me, an think no more about it. [she takes his arm with motherly solicitude and urges him gently toward the path]. broadbent [yielding in despair]. i must be drunk--frightfully drunk; for your voice drove me out of my senses [he stumbles over a stone]. no: on my word, on my most sacred word of honor, miss reilly, i tripped over that stone. it was an accident; it was indeed. nora. yes, of course it was. just take my arm, mr broadbent, while we're goin down the path to the road. you'll be all right then. broadbent [submissively taking it]. i can't sufficiently apologize, miss reilly, or express my sense of your kindness when i am in such a disgusting state. how could i be such a bea-- [he trips again] damn the heather! my foot caught in it. nora. steady now, steady. come along: come. [he is led down to the road in the character of a convicted drunkard. to him there it something divine in the sympathetic indulgence she substitutes for the angry disgust with which one of his own countrywomen would resent his supposed condition. and he has no suspicion of the fact, or of her ignorance of it, that when an englishman is sentimental he behaves very much as an irishman does when he is drunk]. act iii next morning broadbent and larry are sitting at the ends of a breakfast table in the middle of a small grass plot before cornelius doyle's house. they have finished their meal, and are buried in newspapers. most of the crockery is crowded upon a large square black tray of japanned metal. the teapot is of brown delft ware. there is no silver; and the butter, on a dinner plate, is en bloc. the background to this breakfast is the house, a small white slated building, accessible by a half-glazed door. a person coming out into the garden by this door would find the table straight in front of him, and a gate leading to the road half way down the garden on his right; or, if he turned sharp to his left, he could pass round the end of the house through an unkempt shrubbery. the mutilated remnant of a huge planter statue, nearly dissolved by the rains of a century, and vaguely resembling a majestic female in roman draperies, with a wreath in her hand, stands neglected amid the laurels. such statues, though apparently works of art, grow naturally in irish gardens. their germination is a mystery to the oldest inhabitants, to whose means and taste they are totally foreign. there is a rustic bench, much roiled by the birds, and decorticated and split by the weather, near the little gate. at the opposite side, a basket lies unmolested because it might as well be there as anywhere else. an empty chair at the table was lately occupied by cornelius, who has finished his breakfast and gone in to the room in which he receives rents and keeps his books and cash, known in the household as "the office." this chair, like the two occupied by larry and broadbent, has a mahogany frame and is upholstered in black horsehair. larry rises and goes off through the shrubbery with his newspaper. hodson comes in through the garden gate, disconsolate. broadbent, who sits facing the gate, augurs the worst from his expression. broadbent. have you been to the village? hodson. no use, sir. we'll have to get everything from london by parcel post. broadbent. i hope they made you comfortable last night. hodson. i was no worse than you were on that sofa, sir. one expects to rough it here, sir. broadbent. we shall have to look out for some other arrangement. [cheering up irrepressibly] still, it's no end of a joke. how do you like the irish, hodson? hodson. well, sir, they're all right anywhere but in their own country. i've known lots of em in england, and generally liked em. but here, sir, i seem simply to hate em. the feeling come over me the moment we landed at cork, sir. it's no use my pretendin, sir: i can't bear em. my mind rises up agin their ways, somehow: they rub me the wrong way all over. broadbent. oh, their faults are on the surface: at heart they are one of the finest races on earth. [hodson turns away, without affecting to respond to his enthusiasm]. by the way, hodson-- hodson [turning]. yes, sir. broadbent. did you notice anything about me last night when i came in with that lady? hodson [surprised]. no, sir. broadbent. not any--er--? you may speak frankly. hodson. i didn't notice nothing, sir. what sort of thing ded you mean, sir? broadbent. well--er--er--well, to put it plainly, was i drunk? hodson [amazed]. no, sir. broadbent. quite sure? hodson. well, i should a said rather the opposite, sir. usually when you've been enjoying yourself, you're a bit hearty like. last night you seemed rather low, if anything. broadbent. i certainly have no headache. did you try the pottine, hodson? hodson. i just took a mouthful, sir. it tasted of peat: oh! something horrid, sir. the people here call peat turf. potcheen and strong porter is what they like, sir. i'm sure i don't know how they can stand it. give me beer, i say. broadbent. by the way, you told me i couldn't have porridge for breakfast; but mr doyle had some. hodson. yes, sir. very sorry, sir. they call it stirabout, sir: that's how it was. they know no better, sir. broadbent. all right: i'll have some tomorrow. hodson goes to the house. when he opens the door he finds nora and aunt judy on the threshold. he stands aside to let them pass, with the air of a well trained servant oppressed by heavy trials. then he goes in. broadbent rises. aunt judy goes to the table and collects the plates and cups on the tray. nora goes to the back of the rustic seat and looks out at the gate with the air of a woman accustomed to have nothing to do. larry returns from the shrubbery. broadbent. good morning, miss doyle. aunt judy [thinking it absurdly late in the day for such a salutation]. oh, good morning. [before moving his plate] have you done? broadbent. quite, thank you. you must excuse us for not waiting for you. the country air tempted us to get up early. aunt judy. n d'ye call this airly, god help you? larry. aunt judy probably breakfasted about half past six. aunt judy. whisht, you!--draggin the parlor chairs out into the gardn n givin mr broadbent his death over his meals out here in the cold air. [to broadbent] why d'ye put up with his foolishness, mr broadbent? broadbent. i assure you i like the open air. aunt judy. ah galong! how can you like what's not natural? i hope you slept well. nora. did anything wake yup with a thump at three o'clock? i thought the house was falling. but then i'm a very light sleeper. larry. i seem to recollect that one of the legs of the sofa in the parlor had a way of coming out unexpectedly eighteen years ago. was that it, tom? broadbent [hastily]. oh, it doesn't matter: i was not hurt--at least--er-- aunt judy. oh now what a shame! an i told patsy farrll to put a nail in it. broadbent. he did, miss doyle. there was a nail, certainly. aunt judy. dear oh dear! an oldish peasant farmer, small, leathery, peat faced, with a deep voice and a surliness that is meant to be aggressive, and is in effect pathetic--the voice of a man of hard life and many sorrows--comes in at the gate. he is old enough to have perhaps worn a long tailed frieze coat and knee breeches in his time; but now he is dressed respectably in a black frock coat, tall hat, and pollard colored trousers; and his face is as clean as washing can make it, though that is not saying much, as the habit is recently acquired and not yet congenial. the new-comer [at the gate]. god save all here! [he comes a little way into the garden]. larry [patronizingly, speaking across the garden to him]. is that yourself, mat haffigan? do you remember me? matthew [intentionally rude and blunt]. no. who are you? nora. oh, i'm sure you remember him, mr haffigan. matthew [grudgingly admitting it]. i suppose he'll be young larry doyle that was. larry. yes. matthew [to larry]. i hear you done well in america. larry. fairly well. matthew. i suppose you saw me brother andy out dhere. larry. no. it's such a big place that looking for a man there is like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. they tell me he's a great man out there. matthew. so he is, god be praised. where's your father? aunt judy. he's inside, in the office, mr haffigan, with barney doarn n father dempsey. matthew, without wasting further words on the company, goes curtly into the house. larry [staring after him]. is anything wrong with old mat? nora. no. he's the same as ever. why? larry. he's not the same to me. he used to be very civil to master larry: a deal too civil, i used to think. now he's as surly and stand-off as a bear. aunt judy. oh sure he's bought his farm in the land purchase. he's independent now. nora. it's made a great change, larry. you'd harly know the old tenants now. you'd think it was a liberty to speak t'dhem--some o dhem. [she goes to the table, and helps to take off the cloth, which she and aunt judy fold up between them]. aunt judy. i wonder what he wants to see corny for. he hasn't been here since he paid the last of his old rent; and then he as good as threw it in corny's face, i thought. larry. no wonder! of course they all hated us like the devil. ugh! [moodily] i've seen them in that office, telling my father what a fine boy i was, and plastering him with compliments, with your honor here and your honor there, when all the time their fingers were itching to beat his throat. aunt judy. deedn why should they want to hurt poor corny? it was he that got mat the lease of his farm, and stood up for him as an industrious decent man. broadbent. was he industrious? that's remarkable, you know, in an irishman. larry. industrious! that man's industry used to make me sick, even as a boy. i tell you, an irish peasant's industry is not human: it's worse than the industry of a coral insect. an englishman has some sense about working: he never does more than he can help--and hard enough to get him to do that without scamping it; but an irishman will work as if he'd die the moment he stopped. that man matthew haffigan and his brother andy made a farm out of a patch of stones on the hillside--cleared it and dug it with their own naked hands and bought their first spade out of their first crop of potatoes. talk of making two blades of wheat grow where one grew before! those two men made a whole field of wheat grow where not even a furze bush had ever got its head up between the stones. broadbent. that was magnificent, you know. only a great race is capable of producing such men. larry. such fools, you mean! what good was it to them? the moment they'd done it, the landlord put a rent of pounds a year on them, and turned them out because they couldn't pay it. aunt judy. why couldn't they pay as well as billy byrne that took it after them? larry [angrily]. you know very well that billy byrne never paid it. he only offered it to get possession. he never paid it. aunt judy. that was because andy haffigan hurt him with a brick so that he was never the same again. andy had to run away to america for it. broadbent [glowing with indignation]. who can blame him, miss doyle? who can blame him? larry [impatiently]. oh, rubbish! what's the good of the man that's starved out of a farm murdering the man that's starved into it? would you have done such a thing? broadbent. yes. i--i--i--i--[stammering with fury] i should have shot the confounded landlord, and wrung the neck of the damned agent, and blown the farm up with dynamite, and dublin castle along with it. larry. oh yes: you'd have done great things; and a fat lot of good you'd have got out of it, too! that's an englishman all over! make bad laws and give away all the land, and then, when your economic incompetence produces its natural and inevitable results, get virtuously indignant and kill the people that carry out your laws. aunt judy. sure never mind him, mr broadbent. it doesn't matter, anyhow, because there's harly any landlords left; and ther'll soon be none at all. larry. on the contrary, ther'll soon be nothing else; and the lord help ireland then! aunt judy. ah, you're never satisfied, larry. [to nora] come on, alanna, an make the paste for the pie. we can leave them to their talk. they don't want us [she takes up the tray and goes into the house]. broadbent [rising and gallantly protesting] oh, miss doyle! really, really-- nora, following aunt judy with the rolled-up cloth in her hands, looks at him and strikes him dumb. he watches her until she disappears; then comes to larry and addresses him with sudden intensity. broadbent. larry. larry. what is it? broadbent. i got drunk last night, and proposed to miss reilly. larry. you hwat??? [he screams with laughter in the falsetto irish register unused for that purpose in england]. broadbent. what are you laughing at? larry [stopping dead]. i don't know. that's the sort of thing an irishman laughs at. has she accepted you? broadbent. i shall never forget that with the chivalry of her nation, though i was utterly at her mercy, she refused me. larry. that was extremely improvident of her. [beginning to reflect] but look here: when were you drunk? you were sober enough when you came back from the round tower with her. broadbent. no, larry, i was drunk, i am sorry to say. i had two tumblers of punch. she had to lead me home. you must have noticed it. larry. i did not. broadbent. she did. larry. may i ask how long it took you to come to business? you can hardly have known her for more than a couple of hours. broadbent. i am afraid it was hardly a couple of minutes. she was not here when i arrived; and i saw her for the first time at the tower. larry. well, you are a nice infant to be let loose in this country! fancy the potcheen going to your head like that! broadbent. not to my head, i think. i have no headache; and i could speak distinctly. no: potcheen goes to the heart, not to the head. what ought i to do? larry. nothing. what need you do? broadbent. there is rather a delicate moral question involved. the point is, was i drunk enough not to be morally responsible for my proposal? or was i sober enough to be bound to repeat it now that i am undoubtedly sober? larry. i should see a little more of her before deciding. broadbent. no, no. that would not be right. that would not be fair. i am either under a moral obligation or i am not. i wish i knew how drunk i was. larry. well, you were evidently in a state of blithering sentimentality, anyhow. broadbent. that is true, larry: i admit it. her voice has a most extraordinary effect on me. that irish voice! larry [sympathetically]. yes, i know. when i first went to london i very nearly proposed to walk out with a waitress in an aerated bread shop because her whitechapel accent was so distinguished, so quaintly touching, so pretty-- broadbent [angrily]. miss reilly is not a waitress, is she? larry. oh, come! the waitress was a very nice girl. broadbent. you think every englishwoman an angel. you really have coarse tastes in that way, larry. miss reilly is one of the finer types: a type rare in england, except perhaps in the best of the aristocracy. larry. aristocracy be blowed! do you know what nora eats? broadbent. eats! what do you mean? larry. breakfast: tea and bread-and-butter, with an occasional rasher, and an egg on special occasions: say on her birthday. dinner in the middle of the day, one course and nothing else. in the evening, tea and bread-and-butter again. you compare her with your englishwomen who wolf down from three to five meat meals a day; and naturally you find her a sylph. the difference is not a difference of type: it's the difference between the woman who eats not wisely but too well, and the woman who eats not wisely but too little. broadbent [furious]. larry: you--you--you disgust me. you are a damned fool. [he sits down angrily on the rustic seat, which sustains the shock with difficulty]. larry. steady! stead-eee! [he laughs and seats himself on the table]. cornelius doyle, father dempsey, barney doran, and matthew haffigan come from the house. doran is a stout bodied, short armed, roundheaded, red-haired man on the verge of middle age, of sanguine temperament, with an enormous capacity for derisive, obscene, blasphemous, or merely cruel and senseless fun, and a violent and impetuous intolerance of other temperaments and other opinions, all this representing energy and capacity wasted and demoralized by want of sufficient training and social pressure to force it into beneficent activity and build a character with it; for barney is by no means either stupid or weak. he is recklessly untidy as to his person; but the worst effects of his neglect are mitigated by a powdering of flour and mill dust; and his unbrushed clothes, made of a fashionable tailor's sackcloth, were evidently chosen regardless of expense for the sake of their appearance. matthew haffigan, ill at ease, coasts the garden shyly on the shrubbery side until he anchors near the basket, where he feels least in the way. the priest comes to the table and slaps larry on the shoulder. larry, turning quickly, and recognizing father dempsey, alights from the table and shakes the priest's hand warmly. doran comes down the garden between father dempsey and matt; and cornelius, on the other side of the table, turns to broadbent, who rises genially. cornelius. i think we all met las night. doran. i hadn't that pleasure. cornelius. to be sure, barney: i forgot. [to broadbent, introducing barney] mr doran. he owns that fine mill you noticed from the car. broadbent [delighted with them all]. most happy, mr doran. very pleased indeed. doran, not quite sure whether he is being courted or patronized, nods independently. doran. how's yourself, larry? larry. finely, thank you. no need to ask you. [doran grins; and they shake hands]. cornelius. give father dempsey a chair, larry. matthew haffigan runs to the nearest end of the table and takes the chair from it, placing it near the basket; but larry has already taken the chair from the other end and placed it in front of the table. father dempsey accepts that more central position. cornelius. sit down, barney, will you; and you, mat. doran takes the chair mat is still offering to the priest; and poor matthew, outfaced by the miller, humbly turns the basket upside down and sits on it. cornelius brings his own breakfast chair from the table and sits down on father dempsey's right. broadbent resumes his seat on the rustic bench. larry crosses to the bench and is about to sit down beside him when broadbent holds him off nervously. broadbent. do you think it will bear two, larry? larry. perhaps not. don't move. i'll stand. [he posts himself behind the bench]. they are all now seated, except larry; and the session assumes a portentous air, as if something important were coming. cornelius. props you'll explain, father dempsey. father dempsey. no, no: go on, you: the church has no politics. cornelius. were yever thinkin o goin into parliament at all, larry? larry. me! father dempsey [encouragingly] yes, you. hwy not? larry. i'm afraid my ideas would not be popular enough. cornelius. i don't know that. do you, barney? doran. there's too much blatherumskite in irish politics a dale too much. larry. but what about your present member? is he going to retire? cornelius. no: i don't know that he is. larry [interrogatively]. well? then? matthew [breaking out with surly bitterness]. we've had enough of his foolish talk agen lanlords. hwat call has he to talk about the lan, that never was outside of a city office in his life? cornelius. we're tired of him. he doesn't know hwere to stop. every man can't own land; and some men must own it to employ them. it was all very well when solid men like doran and me and mat were kep from ownin land. but hwat man in his senses ever wanted to give land to patsy farrll an dhe like o him? broadbent. but surely irish landlordism was accountable for what mr haffigan suffered. matthew. never mind hwat i suffered. i know what i suffered adhout you tellin me. but did i ever ask for more dhan the farm i made wid me own hans: tell me that, corny doyle, and you that knows. was i fit for the responsibility or was i not? [snarling angrily at cornelius] am i to be compared to patsy farrll, that doesn't harly know his right hand from his left? what did he ever suffer, i'd like to know? cornelius. that's just what i say. i wasn't comparin you to your disadvantage. matthew [implacable]. then hwat did you mane be talkin about givin him lan? doran. aisy, mat, aisy. you're like a bear with a sore back. matthew [trembling with rage]. an who are you, to offer to taitch me manners? father dempsey [admonitorily]. now, now, now, mat none o dhat. how often have i told you you're too ready to take offence where none is meant? you don't understand: corny doyle is saying just what you want to have said. [to cornelius] go on, mr doyle; and never mind him. matthew [rising]. well, if me lan is to be given to patsy and his like, i'm goin oura dhis. i-- doran [with violent impatience] arra who's goin to give your lan to patsy, yowl fool ye? father dempsey. aisy, barney, aisy. [sternly, to mat] i told you, matthew haffigan, that corny doyle was sayin nothin against you. i'm sorry your priest's word is not good enough for you. i'll go, sooner than stay to make you commit a sin against the church. good morning, gentlemen. [he rises. they all rise, except broadbent]. doran [to mat]. there! sarve you dam well right, you cantankerous oul noodle. matthew [appalled]. don't say dhat, fadher dempsey. i never had a thought agen you or the holy church. i know i'm a bit hasty when i think about the lan. i ax your pardn for it. father dempsey [resuming his seat with dignified reserve]. very well: i'll overlook it this time. [he sits down. the others sit down, except matthew. father dempsey, about to ask corny to proceed, remembers matthew and turns to him, giving him just a crumb of graciousness]. sit down, mat. [matthew, crushed, sits down in disgrace, and is silent, his eyes shifting piteously from one speaker to another in an intensely mistrustful effort to understand them]. go on, mr doyle. we can make allowances. go on. cornelius. well, you see how it is, larry. round about here, we've got the land at last; and we want no more goverment meddlin. we want a new class o man in parliament: one dhat knows dhat the farmer's the real backbone o the country, n doesn't care a snap of his fingers for the shoutn o the riff-raff in the towns, or for the foolishness of the laborers. doran. aye; an dhat can afford to live in london and pay his own way until home rule comes, instead o wantin subscriptions and the like. father dempsey. yes: that's a good point, barney. when too much money goes to politics, it's the church that has to starve for it. a member of parliament ought to be a help to the church instead of a burden on it. larry. here's a chance for you, tom. what do you say? broadbent [deprecatory, but important and smiling]. oh, i have no claim whatever to the seat. besides, i'm a saxon. doran. a hwat? broadbent. a saxon. an englishman. doran. an englishman. bedad i never heard it called dhat before. matthew [cunningly]. if i might make so bould, fadher, i wouldn't say but an english prodestn mightn't have a more indepindent mind about the lan, an be less afeerd to spake out about it, dhan an irish catholic. cornelius. but sure larry's as good as english: aren't you, larry? larry. you may put me out of your head, father, once for all. cornelius. arra why? larry. i have strong opinions which wouldn't suit you. doran [rallying him blatantly]. is it still larry the bould fenian? larry. no: the bold fenian is now an older and possibly foolisher man. cornelius. hwat does it matter to us hwat your opinions are? you know that your father's bought his farm, just the same as mat here n barney's mill. all we ask now is to be let alone. you've nothin against that, have you? larry. certainly i have. i don't believe in letting anybody or anything alone. cornelius [losing his temper]. arra what d'ye mean, you young fool? here i've got you the offer of a good seat in parliament; n you think yourself mighty smart to stand there and talk foolishness to me. will you take it or leave it? larry. very well: i'll take it with pleasure if you'll give it to me. cornelius [subsiding sulkily]. well, why couldn't you say so at once? it's a good job you've made up your mind at last. doran [suspiciously]. stop a bit, stop a bit. matthew [writhing between his dissatisfaction and his fear of the priest]. it's not because he's your son that he's to get the sate. fadher dempsey: wouldn't you think well to ask him what he manes about the lan? larry [coming down on mat promptly]. i'll tell you, mat. i always thought it was a stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing sort of thing to leave the land in the hands of the old landlords without calling them to a strict account for the use they made of it, and the condition of the people on it. i could see for myself that they thought of nothing but what they could get out of it to spend in england; and that they mortgaged and mortgaged until hardly one of them owned his own property or could have afforded to keep it up decently if he'd wanted to. but i tell you plump and plain, mat, that if anybody thinks things will be any better now that the land is handed over to a lot of little men like you, without calling you to account either, they're mistaken. matthew [sullenly]. what call have you to look down on me? i suppose you think you're everybody because your father was a land agent. larry. what call have you to look down on patsy farrell? i suppose you think you're everybody because you own a few fields. matthew. was patsy farrll ever ill used as i was ill used? tell me dhat. larry. he will be, if ever he gets into your power as you were in the power of your old landlord. do you think, because you're poor and ignorant and half-crazy with toiling and moiling morning noon and night, that you'll be any less greedy and oppressive to them that have no land at all than old nick lestrange, who was an educated travelled gentleman that would not have been tempted as hard by a hundred pounds as you'd be by five shillings? nick was too high above patsy farrell to be jealous of him; but you, that are only one little step above him, would die sooner than let him come up that step; and well you know it. matthew [black with rage, in a low growl]. lemme oura this. [he tries to rise; but doran catches his coat and drags him down again] i'm goin, i say. [raising his voice] leggo me coat, barney doran. doran. sit down, yowl omadhaun, you. [whispering] don't you want to stay an vote against him? father dempsey [holding up his finger] mat! [mat subsides]. now, now, now! come, come! hwats all dhis about patsy farrll? hwy need you fall out about him? larry. because it was by using patsy's poverty to undersell england in the markets of the world that we drove england to ruin ireland. and she'll ruin us again the moment we lift our heads from the dust if we trade in cheap labor; and serve us right too! if i get into parliament, i'll try to get an act to prevent any of you from giving patsy less than a pound a week [they all start, hardly able to believe their ears] or working him harder than you'd work a horse that cost you fifty guineas. doran. hwat!!! cornelius [aghast]. a pound a--god save us! the boy's mad. matthew, feeling that here is something quite beyond his powers, turns openmouthed to the priest, as if looking for nothing less than the summary excommunication of larry. larry. how is the man to marry and live a decent life on less? father dempsey. man alive, hwere have you been living all these years? and hwat have you been dreaming of? why, some o dhese honest men here can't make that much out o the land for themselves, much less give it to a laborer. larry [now thoroughly roused]. then let them make room for those who can. is ireland never to have a chance? first she was given to the rich; and now that they have gorged on her flesh, her bones are to be flung to the poor, that can do nothing but suck the marrow out of her. if we can't have men of honor own the land, lets have men of ability. if we can't have men with ability, let us at least have men with capital. anybody's better than mat, who has neither honor, nor ability, nor capital, nor anything but mere brute labor and greed in him, heaven help him! doran. well, we're not all foostherin oul doddherers like mat. [pleasantly, to the subject of this description] are we, mat? larry. for modern industrial purposes you might just as well be, barney. you're all children: the big world that i belong to has gone past you and left you. anyhow, we irishmen were never made to be farmers; and we'll never do any good at it. we're like the jews: the almighty gave us brains, and bid us farm them, and leave the clay and the worms alone. father dempsey [with gentle irony]. oh! is it jews you want to make of us? i must catechize you a bit meself, i think. the next thing you'll be proposing is to repeal the disestablishment of the so-called irish church. larry. yes: why not? [sensation]. matthew [rancorously]. he's a turncoat. larry. st peter, the rock on which our church was built, was crucified head downwards for being a turncoat. father dempsey [with a quiet authoritative dignity which checks doran, who is on the point of breaking out]. that's true. you hold your tongue as befits your ignorance, matthew haffigan; and trust your priest to deal with this young man. now, larry doyle, whatever the blessed st peter was crucified for, it was not for being a prodestan. are you one? larry. no. i am a catholic intelligent enough to see that the protestants are never more dangerous to us than when they are free from all alliances with the state. the so-called irish church is stronger today than ever it was. matthew. fadher dempsey: will you tell him dhat me mother's ant was shot and kilt dead in the sthreet o rosscullen be a soljer in the tithe war? [frantically] he wants to put the tithes on us again. he-- larry [interrupting him with overbearing contempt]. put the tithes on you again! did the tithes ever come off you? was your land any dearer when you paid the tithe to the parson than it was when you paid the same money to nick lestrange as rent, and he handed it over to the church sustentation fund? will you always be duped by acts of parliament that change nothing but the necktie of the man that picks your pocket? i'll tell you what i'd do with you, mat haffigan: i'd make you pay tithes to your own church. i want the catholic church established in ireland: that's what i want. do you think that i, brought up to regard myself as the son of a great and holy church, can bear to see her begging her bread from the ignorance and superstition of men like you? i would have her as high above worldly want as i would have her above worldly pride or ambition. aye; and i would have ireland compete with rome itself for the chair of st peter and the citadel of the church; for rome, in spite of all the blood of the martyrs, is pagan at heart to this day, while in ireland the people is the church and the church the people. father dempsey [startled, but not at all displeased]. whisht, man! you're worse than mad pether keegan himself. broadbent [who has listened in the greatest astonishment]. you amaze me, larry. who would have thought of your coming out like this! [solemnly] but much as i appreciate your really brilliant eloquence, i implore you not to desert the great liberal principle of disestablishment. larry. i am not a liberal: heaven forbid! a disestablished church is the worst tyranny a nation can groan under. broadbent [making a wry face]. don't be paradoxical, larry. it really gives me a pain in my stomach. larry. you'll soon find out the truth of it here. look at father dempsey! he is disestablished: he has nothing to hope or fear from the state; and the result is that he's the most powerful man in rosscullen. the member for rosscullen would shake in his shoes if father dempsey looked crooked at him. [father dempsey smiles, by no means averse to this acknowledgment of his authority]. look at yourself! you would defy the established archbishop of canterbury ten times a day; but catch you daring to say a word that would shock a nonconformist! not you. the conservative party today is the only one that's not priestridden--excuse the expression, father [father dempsey nods tolerantly]--cause it's the only one that has established its church and can prevent a clergyman becoming a bishop if he's not a statesman as well as a churchman. he stops. they stare at him dumbfounded, and leave it to the priest to answer him. father dempsey [judicially]. young man: you'll not be the member for rosscullen; but there's more in your head than the comb will take out. larry. i'm sorry to disappoint you, father; but i told you it would be no use. and now i think the candidate had better retire and leave you to discuss his successor. [he takes a newspaper from the table and goes away through the shrubbery amid dead silence, all turning to watch him until he passes out of sight round the corner of the house]. doran [dazed]. hwat sort of a fella is he at all at all? father dempsey. he's a clever lad: there's the making of a man in him yet. matthew [in consternation]. d'ye mane to say dhat yll put him into parliament to bring back nick lesthrange on me, and to put tithes on me, and to rob me for the like o patsy farrll, because he's corny doyle's only son? doran [brutally]. arra hould your whisht: who's goin to send him into parliament? maybe you'd like us to send you dhere to thrate them to a little o your anxiety about dhat dirty little podato patch o yours. matthew [plaintively]. am i to be towld dhis afther all me sufferins? doran. och, i'm tired o your sufferins. we've been hearin nothin else ever since we was childher but sufferins. haven it wasn't yours it was somebody else's; and haven it was nobody else's it was ould irelan's. how the divil are we to live on wan anodher's sufferins? father dempsey. that's a thrue word, barney doarn; only your tongue's a little too familiar wi dhe devil. [to mat] if you'd think a little more o the sufferins of the blessed saints, mat, an a little less o your own, you'd find the way shorter from your farm to heaven. [mat is about to reply] dhere now! dhat's enough! we know you mean well; an i'm not angry with you. broadbent. surely, mr haffigan, you can see the simple explanation of all this. my friend larry doyle is a most brilliant speaker; but he's a tory: an ingrained oldfashioned tory. cornelius. n how d'ye make dhat out, if i might ask you, mr broadbent? broadbent [collecting himself for a political deliverance]. well, you know, mr doyle, there's a strong dash of toryism in the irish character. larry himself says that the great duke of wellington was the most typical irishman that ever lived. of course that's an absurd paradox; but still there's a great deal of truth in it. now i am a liberal. you know the great principles of the liberal party. peace-- father dempsey [piously]. hear! hear! broadbent [encouraged]. thank you. retrenchment--[he waits for further applause]. matthew [timidly]. what might rethrenchment mane now? broadbent. it means an immense reduction in the burden of the rates and taxes. matthew [respectfully approving]. dhats right. dhats right, sir. broadbent [perfunctorily]. and, of course, reform. cornelius } father dempsey} [conventionally]. of course. doran } matthew [still suspicious]. hwat does reform mane, sir? does it mane altherin annythin dhats as it is now? broadbent [impressively]. it means, mr haffigan, maintaining those reforms which have already been conferred on humanity by the liberal party, and trusting for future developments to the free activity of a free people on the basis of those reforms. doran. dhat's right. no more meddlin. we're all right now: all we want is to be let alone. cornelius. hwat about home rule? broadbent [rising so as to address them more imposingly]. i really cannot tell you what i feel about home rule without using the language of hyperbole. doran. savin fadher dempsey's presence, eh? broadbent [not understanding him] quite so--er--oh yes. all i can say is that as an englishman i blush for the union. it is the blackest stain on our national history. i look forward to the time-and it cannot be far distant, gentlemen, because humanity is looking forward to it too, and insisting on it with no uncertain voice--i look forward to the time when an irish legislature shall arise once more on the emerald pasture of college green, and the union jack--that detestable symbol of a decadent imperialism--be replaced by a flag as green as the island over which it waves--a flag on which we shall ask for england only a modest quartering in memory of our great party and of the immortal name of our grand old leader. doran [enthusiastically]. dhat's the style, begob! [he smites his knee, and winks at mat]. matthew. more power to you, sir! broadbent. i shall leave you now, gentlemen, to your deliberations. i should like to have enlarged on the services rendered by the liberal party to the religious faith of the great majority of the people of ireland; but i shall content myself with saying that in my opinion you should choose no representative who--no matter what his personal creed may be--is not an ardent supporter of freedom of conscience, and is not prepared to prove it by contributions, as lavish as his means will allow, to the great and beneficent work which you, father dempsey [father dempsey bows], are doing for the people of rosscullen. nor should the lighter, but still most important question of the sports of the people be forgotten. the local cricket club-- cornelius. the hwat! doran. nobody plays bats ball here, if dhat's what you mean. broadbent. well, let us say quoits. i saw two men, i think, last night--but after all, these are questions of detail. the main thing is that your candidate, whoever he may be, shall be a man of some means, able to help the locality instead of burdening it. and if he were a countryman of my own, the moral effect on the house of commons would be immense! tremendous! pardon my saying these few words: nobody feels their impertinence more than i do. good morning, gentlemen. he turns impressively to the gate, and trots away, congratulating himself, with a little twist of his head and cock of his eye, on having done a good stroke of political business. haffigan [awestruck]. good morning, sir. the rest. good morning. [they watch him vacantly until he is out of earshot]. cornelius. hwat d'ye think, father dempsey? father dempsey [indulgently] well, he hasn't much sense, god help him; but for the matter o that, neither has our present member. doran. arra musha he's good enough for parliament what is there to do there but gas a bit, an chivy the goverment, an vote wi dh irish party? cornelius [ruminatively]. he's the queerest englishman i ever met. when he opened the paper dhis mornin the first thing he saw was that an english expedition had been bet in a battle in inja somewhere; an he was as pleased as punch! larry told him that if he'd been alive when the news o waterloo came, he'd a died o grief over it. bedad i don't think he's quite right in his head. doran. divil a matther if he has plenty o money. he'll do for us right enough. matthew [deeply impressed by broadbent, and unable to understand their levity concerning him]. did you mind what he said about rethrenchment? that was very good, i thought. father dempsey. you might find out from larry, corny, what his means are. god forgive us all! it's poor work spoiling the egyptians, though we have good warrant for it; so i'd like to know how much spoil there is before i commit meself. [he rises. they all rise respectfully]. cornelius [ruefully]. i'd set me mind on larry himself for the seat; but i suppose it can't be helped. father dempsey [consoling him]. well, the boy's young yet; an he has a head on him. goodbye, all. [he goes out through the gate]. doran. i must be goin, too. [he directs cornelius's attention to what is passing in the road]. look at me bould englishman shakin hans wid fadher dempsey for all the world like a candidate on election day. and look at fadher dempsey givin him a squeeze an a wink as much as to say it's all right, me boy. you watch him shakin hans with me too: he's waitn for me. i'll tell him he's as good as elected. [he goes, chuckling mischievously]. cornelius. come in with me, mat. i think i'll sell you the pig after all. come in an wet the bargain. matthew [instantly dropping into the old whine of the tenant]. i'm afeerd i can't afford the price, sir. [he follows cornelius into the house]. larry, newspaper still in hand, comes back through the shrubbery. broadbent returns through the gate. larry. well? what has happened. broadbent [hugely self-satisfied]. i think i've done the trick this time. i just gave them a bit of straight talk; and it went home. they were greatly impressed: everyone of those men believes in me and will vote for me when the question of selecting a candidate comes up. after all, whatever you say, larry, they like an englishman. they feel they can trust him, i suppose. larry. oh! they've transferred the honor to you, have they? broadbent [complacently]. well, it was a pretty obvious move, i should think. you know, these fellows have plenty of shrewdness in spite of their irish oddity. [hodson comes from the house. larry sits in doran's chair and reads]. oh, by the way, hodson-- hodson [coming between broadbent and larry]. yes, sir? broadbent. i want you to be rather particular as to how you treat the people here. hodson. i haven't treated any of em yet, sir. if i was to accept all the treats they offer me i shouldn't be able to stand at this present moment, sir. broadbent. oh well, don't be too stand-offish, you know, hodson. i should like you to be popular. if it costs anything i'll make it up to you. it doesn't matter if you get a bit upset at first: they'll like you all the better for it. hodson. i'm sure you're very kind, sir; but it don't seem to matter to me whether they like me or not. i'm not going to stand for parliament here, sir. broadbent. well, i am. now do you understand? hodson [waking up at once]. oh, i beg your pardon, sir, i'm sure. i understand, sir. cornelius [appearing at the house door with mat]. patsy'll drive the pig over this evenin, mat. goodbye. [he goes back into the house. mat makes for the gate. broadbent stops him. hodson, pained by the derelict basket, picks it up and carries it away behind the house]. broadbent [beaming candidatorially]. i must thank you very particularly, mr haffigan, for your support this morning. i value it because i know that the real heart of a nation is the class you represent, the yeomanry. matthew [aghast] the yeomanry!!! larry [looking up from his paper]. take care, tom! in rosscullen a yeoman means a sort of orange bashi-bazouk. in england, mat, they call a freehold farmer a yeoman. matthew [huffily]. i don't need to be insthructed be you, larry doyle. some people think no one knows anythin but dhemselves. [to broadbent, deferentially] of course i know a gentleman like you would not compare me to the yeomanry. me own granfather was flogged in the sthreets of athenmullet be them when they put a gun in the thatch of his house an then went and found it there, bad cess to them! broadbent [with sympathetic interest]. then you are not the first martyr of your family, mr haffigan? matthew. they turned me out o the farm i made out of the stones o little rosscullen hill wid me own hans. broadbent. i have heard about it; and my blood still boils at the thought. [calling] hodson-- hodson [behind the corner of the house] yes, sir. [he hurries forward]. broadbent. hodson: this gentleman's sufferings should make every englishman think. it is want of thought rather than want of heart that allows such iniquities to disgrace society. hodson [prosaically]. yes sir. matthew. well, i'll be goin. good mornin to you kindly, sir. broadbent. you have some distance to go, mr haffigan: will you allow me to drive you home? matthew. oh sure it'd be throublin your honor. broadbent. i insist: it will give me the greatest pleasure, i assure you. my car is in the stable: i can get it round in five minutes. matthew. well, sir, if you wouldn't mind, we could bring the pig i've just bought from corny. broadbent [with enthusiasm]. certainly, mr haffigan: it will be quite delightful to drive with a pig in the car: i shall feel quite like an irishman. hodson: stay with mr haffigan; and give him a hand with the pig if necessary. come, larry; and help me. [he rushes away through the shrubbery]. larry [throwing the paper ill-humoredly on the chair]. look here, tom! here, i say! confound it! [he runs after him]. matthew [glowering disdainfully at hodson, and sitting down on cornelius's chair as an act of social self-assertion] n are you the valley? hodson. the valley? oh, i follow you: yes: i'm mr broadbent's valet. matthew. ye have an aisy time of it: you look purty sleek. [with suppressed ferocity] look at me! do i look sleek? hodson [sadly]. i wish i ad your ealth: you look as hard as nails. i suffer from an excess of uric acid. matthew. musha what sort o disease is zhouragassid? didjever suffer from injustice and starvation? dhat's the irish disease. it's aisy for you to talk o sufferin, an you livin on the fat o the land wid money wrung from us. hodson [coolly]. wots wrong with you, old chap? has ennybody been doin ennything to you? matthew. anythin timme! didn't your english masther say that the blood biled in him to hear the way they put a rint on me for the farm i made wid me own hans, and turned me out of it to give it to billy byrne? hodson. ow, tom broadbent's blood boils pretty easy over ennything that appens out of his own country. don't you be taken in by my ole man, paddy. matthew [indignantly]. paddy yourself! how dar you call me paddy? hodson [unmoved]. you just keep your hair on and listen to me. you irish people are too well off: that's what's the matter with you. [with sudden passion] you talk of your rotten little farm because you made it by chuckin a few stownes dahn a hill! well, wot price my grenfawther, i should like to know, that fitted up a fuss clawss shop and built up a fuss clawss drapery business in london by sixty years work, and then was chucked aht of it on is ed at the end of is lease withaht a penny for his goodwill. you talk of evictions! you that cawn't be moved until you've run up eighteen months rent. i once ran up four weeks in lambeth when i was aht of a job in winter. they took the door off its inges and the winder aht of its sashes on me, and gave my wife pnoomownia. i'm a widower now. [between his teeth] gawd! when i think of the things we englishmen av to put up with, and hear you irish hahlin abaht your silly little grievances, and see the way you makes it worse for us by the rotten wages you'll come over and take and the rotten places you'll sleep in, i jast feel that i could take the oul bloomin british awland and make you a present of it, jast to let you find out wot real ardship's like. matthew [starting up, more in scandalized incredulity than in anger]. d'ye have the face to set up england agen ireland for injustices an wrongs an disthress an sufferin? hodson [with intense disgust and contempt, but with cockney coolness]. ow, chuck it, paddy. cheese it. you danno wot ardship is over ere: all you know is ah to ahl abaht it. you take the biscuit at that, you do. i'm a owm ruler, i am. do you know why? matthew [equally contemptuous]. d'ye know, yourself? hodson. yes i do. it's because i want a little attention paid to my own country; and thet'll never be as long as your chaps are ollerin at wesminister as if nowbody mettered but your own bloomin selves. send em back to hell or c'naught, as good oul english cromwell said. i'm jast sick of ireland. let it gow. cut the cable. make it a present to germany to keep the oul kyzer busy for a while; and give poor owld england a chawnce: thets wot i say. matthew [full of scorn for a man so ignorant as to be unable to pronounce the word connaught, which practically rhymes with bonnet in ireland, though in hodson's dialect it rhymes with untaught]. take care we don't cut the cable ourselves some day, bad scran to you! an tell me dhis: have yanny coercion acs in england? have yanny removables? have you dublin castle to suppress every newspaper dhat takes the part o your own counthry? hodson. we can beyave ahrselves withaht sich things. matthew. bedad you're right. it'd only be waste o time to muzzle a sheep. here! where's me pig? god forgimme for talkin to a poor ignorant craycher like you. hodson [grinning with good-humored malice, too convinced of his own superiority to feel his withers wrung]. your pig'll ave a rare doin in that car, paddy. forty miles an ahr dahn that rocky lane will strike it pretty pink, you bet. matthew [scornfully]. hwy can't you tell a raisonable lie when you're about it? what horse can go forty mile an hour? hodson. orse! wy, you silly oul rotten it's not a orse it's a mowtor. do you suppose tom broadbent would gow off himself to arness a orse? matthew [in consternation]. holy moses! don't tell me it's the ingine he wants to take me on. hodson. wot else? matthew. your sowl to morris kelly! why didn't you tell me that before? the divil an ingine he'll get me on this day. [his ear catches an approaching teuf-teuf] oh murdher! it's comin afther me: i hear the puff puff of it. [he runs away through the gate, much to hodson's amusement. the noise of the motor ceases; and hodson, anticipating broadbent's return, throws off the politician and recomposes himself as a valet. broadbent and larry come through the shrubbery. hodson moves aside to the gate]. broadbent. where is mr haffigan? has he gone for the pig? hodson. bolted, sir! afraid of the motor, sir. broadbent [much disappointed]. oh, that's very tiresome. did he leave any message? hodson. he was in too great a hurry, sir. started to run home, sir, and left his pig behind him. broadbent [eagerly]. left the pig! then it's all right. the pig's the thing: the pig will win over every irish heart to me. we'll take the pig home to haffigan's farm in the motor: it will have a tremendous effect. hodson! hodson. yes sir? broadbent. do you think you could collect a crowd to see the motor? hodson. well, i'll try, sir. broadbent. thank you, hodson: do. hodson goes out through the gate. larry [desperately]. once more, tom, will you listen to me? broadbent. rubbish! i tell you it will be all right. larry. only this morning you confessed how surprised you were to find that the people here showed no sense of humor. broadbent [suddenly very solemn]. yes: their sense of humor is in abeyance: i noticed it the moment we landed. think of that in a country where every man is a born humorist! think of what it means! [impressively] larry we are in the presence of a great national grief. larry. what's to grieve them? broadbent. i divined it, larry: i saw it in their faces. ireland has never smiled since her hopes were buried in the grave of gladstone. larry. oh, what's the use of talking to such a man? now look here, tom. be serious for a moment if you can. broadbent [stupent] serious! i!!! larry. yes, you. you say the irish sense of humor is in abeyance. well, if you drive through rosscullen in a motor car with haffigan's pig, it won't stay in abeyance. now i warn you. broadbent [breezily]. why, so much the better! i shall enjoy the joke myself more than any of them. [shouting] hallo, patsy farrell, where are you? patsy [appearing in the shrubbery]. here i am, your honor. broadbent. go and catch the pig and put it into the car--we're going to take it to mr haffigan's. [he gives larry a slap on the shoulders that sends him staggering off through the gate, and follows him buoyantly, exclaiming] come on, you old croaker! i'll show you how to win an irish seat. patsy [meditatively]. bedad, if dhat pig gets a howlt o the handle o the machine-- [he shakes his head ominously and drifts away to the pigsty]. act iv the parlor in cornelius doyle's house. it communicates with the garden by a half glazed door. the fireplace is at the other side of the room, opposite the door and windows, the architect not having been sensitive to draughts. the table, rescued from the garden, is in the middle; and at it sits keegan, the central figure in a rather crowded apartment. nora, sitting with her back to the fire at the end of the table, is playing backgammon across its corner with him, on his left hand. aunt judy, a little further back, sits facing the fire knitting, with her feet on the fender. a little to keegan's right, in front of the table, and almost sitting on it, is barney doran. half a dozen friends of his, all men, are between him and the open door, supported by others outside. in the corner behind them is the sofa, of mahogany and horsehair, made up as a bed for broadbent. against the wall behind keegan stands a mahogany sideboard. a door leading to the interior of the house is near the fireplace, behind aunt judy. there are chairs against the wall, one at each end of the sideboard. keegan's hat is on the one nearest the inner door; and his stick is leaning against it. a third chair, also against the wall, is near the garden door. there is a strong contrast of emotional atmosphere between the two sides of the room. keegan is extraordinarily stern: no game of backgammon could possibly make a man's face so grim. aunt judy is quietly busy. nora it trying to ignore doran and attend to her game. on the other hand doran is reeling in an ecstasy of mischievous mirth which has infected all his friends. they are screaming with laughter, doubled up, leaning on the furniture and against the walls, shouting, screeching, crying. aunt judy [as the noise lulls for a moment]. arra hold your noise, barney. what is there to laugh at? doran. it got its fut into the little hweel--[he is overcome afresh; and the rest collapse again]. aunt judy. ah, have some sense: you're like a parcel o childher. nora, hit him a thump on the back: he'll have a fit. doran [with squeezed eyes, exsuflicate with cachinnation] frens, he sez to dhem outside doolan's: i'm takin the gintleman that pays the rint for a dhrive. aunt judy. who did he mean be that? doran. they call a pig that in england. that's their notion of a joke. aunt judy. musha god help them if they can joke no better than that! doran [with renewed symptoms]. thin-- aunt judy. ah now don't be tellin it all over and settin yourself off again, barney. nora. you've told us three times, mr doran. doran. well but whin i think of it--! aunt judy. then don't think of it, alanna. doran. there was patsy farrll in the back sate wi dhe pig between his knees, n me bould english boyoh in front at the machinery, n larry doyle in the road startin the injine wid a bed winch. at the first puff of it the pig lep out of its skin and bled patsy's nose wi dhe ring in its snout. [roars of laughter: keegan glares at them]. before broadbint knew hwere he was, the pig was up his back and over into his lap; and bedad the poor baste did credit to corny's thrainin of it; for it put in the fourth speed wid its right crubeen as if it was enthered for the gordn bennett. nora [reproachfully]. and larry in front of it and all! it's nothn to laugh at, mr doran. doran. bedad, miss reilly, larry cleared six yards backwards at wan jump if he cleared an inch; and he'd a cleared seven if doolan's granmother hadn't cotch him in her apern widhout intindin to. [immense merriment]. aunt judy, ah, for shame, barney! the poor old woman! an she was hurt before, too, when she slipped on the stairs. doran. bedad, ma'am, she's hurt behind now; for larry bouled her over like a skittle. [general delight at this typical stroke of irish rabelaisianism]. nora. it's well the lad wasn't killed. doran. faith it wasn't o larry we were thinkin jus dhen, wi dhe pig takin the main sthreet o rosscullen on market day at a mile a minnit. dh ony thing broadbint could get at wi dhe pig in front of him was a fut brake; n the pig's tail was undher dhat; so that whin he thought he was putn non the brake he was ony squeezin the life out o the pig's tail. the more he put the brake on the more the pig squealed n the fasther he dhruv. aunt judy. why couldn't he throw the pig out into the road? doran. sure he couldn't stand up to it, because he was spanchelled-like between his seat and dhat thing like a wheel on top of a stick between his knees. aunt judy. lord have mercy on us! nora. i don't know how you can laugh. do you, mr keegan? keegan [grimly]. why not? there is danger, destruction, torment! what more do we want to make us merry? go on, barney: the last drops of joy are not squeezed from the story yet. tell us again how our brother was torn asunder. doran [puzzled]. whose bruddher? keegan. mine. nora. he means the pig, mr doran. you know his way. doran [rising gallantly to the occasion]. bedad i'm sorry for your poor bruddher, misther keegan; but i recommend you to thry him wid a couple o fried eggs for your breakfast tomorrow. it was a case of excelsior wi dhat ambitious baste; for not content wid jumpin from the back seat into the front wan, he jumped from the front wan into the road in front of the car. and-- keegan. and everybody laughed! nora. don't go over that again, please, mr doran. doran. faith be the time the car went over the poor pig dhere was little left for me or anywan else to go over except wid a knife an fork. aunt judy. why didn't mr broadbent stop the car when the pig was gone? doran. stop the car! he might as well ha thried to stop a mad bull. first it went wan way an made fireworks o molly ryan's crockery stall; an dhen it slewed round an ripped ten fut o wall out o the corner o the pound. [with enormous enjoyment] begob, it just tore the town in two and sent the whole dam market to blazes. [nora offended, rises]. keegan [indignantly]. sir! doran [quickly]. savin your presence, miss reilly, and misther keegan's. dhere! i won't say anuddher word. nora. i'm surprised at you, mr doran. [she sits down again]. doran [refectively]. he has the divil's own luck, that englishman, annyway; for when they picked him up he hadn't a scratch on him, barrn hwat the pig did to his cloes. patsy had two fingers out o jynt; but the smith pulled them sthraight for him. oh, you never heard such a hullaballoo as there was. there was molly, cryin me chaney, me beautyful chaney! n oul mat shoutin me pig, me pig! n the polus takin the number o the car, n not a man in the town able to speak for laughin-- keegan [with intense emphasis]. it is hell: it is hell. nowhere else could such a scene be a burst of happiness for the people. cornelius comes in hastily from the garden, pushing his way through the little crowd. cornelius. whisht your laughin, boys! here he is. [he puts his hat on the sideboard, and goes to the fireplace, where he posts himself with his back to the chimneypiece]. aunt judy. remember your behavior, now. everybody becomes silent, solemn, concerned, sympathetic. broadbent enters, roiled and disordered as to his motoring coat: immensely important and serious as to himself. he makes his way to the end of the table nearest the garden door, whilst larry, who accompanies him, throws his motoring coat on the sofa bed, and sits down, watching the proceedings. broadbent [taking off his leather cap with dignity and placing it on the table]. i hope you have not been anxious about me. aunt judy. deedn we have, mr broadbent. it's a mercy you weren't killed. doran. kilt! it's a mercy dheres two bones of you left houldin together. how dijjescape at all at all? well, i never thought i'd be so glad to see you safe and sound again. not a man in the town would say less [murmurs of kindly assent]. won't you come down to doolan's and have a dhrop o brandy to take the shock off? broadbent. you're all really too kind; but the shock has quite passed off. doran [jovially]. never mind. come along all the same and tell us about it over a frenly glass. broadbent. may i say how deeply i feel the kindness with which i have been overwhelmed since my accident? i can truthfully declare that i am glad it happened, because it has brought out the kindness and sympathy of the irish character to an extent i had no conception of. several {oh, sure you're welcome! present. {sure it's only natural. {sure you might have been kilt. a young man, on the point of bursting, hurries out. barney puts an iron constraint on his features. broadbent. all i can say is that i wish i could drink the health of everyone of you. doran. dhen come an do it. broadbent [very solemnly]. no: i am a teetotaller. aunt judy [incredulously]. arra since when? broadbent. since this morning, miss doyle. i have had a lesson [he looks at nora significantly] that i shall not forget. it may be that total abstinence has already saved my life; for i was astonished at the steadiness of my nerves when death stared me in the face today. so i will ask you to excuse me. [he collects himself for a speech]. gentlemen: i hope the gravity of the peril through which we have all passed--for i know that the danger to the bystanders was as great as to the occupants of the car--will prove an earnest of closer and more serious relations between us in the future. we have had a somewhat agitating day: a valuable and innocent animal has lost its life: a public building has been wrecked: an aged and infirm lady has suffered an impact for which i feel personally responsible, though my old friend mr laurence doyle unfortunately incurred the first effects of her very natural resentment. i greatly regret the damage to mr patrick farrell's fingers; and i have of course taken care that he shall not suffer pecuniarily by his mishap. [murmurs of admiration at his magnanimity, and a voice "you're a gentleman, sir"]. i am glad to say that patsy took it like an irishman, and, far from expressing any vindictive feeling, declared his willingness to break all his fingers and toes for me on the same terms [subdued applause, and "more power to patsy!"]. gentlemen: i felt at home in ireland from the first [rising excitement among his hearers]. in every irish breast i have found that spirit of liberty [a cheery voice "hear hear"], that instinctive mistrust of the government [a small pious voice, with intense expression, "god bless you, sir!"], that love of independence [a defiant voice, "that's it! independence!"], that indignant sympathy with the cause of oppressed nationalities abroad [a threatening growl from all: the ground-swell of patriotic passion], and with the resolute assertion of personal rights at home, which is all but extinct in my own country. if it were legally possible i should become a naturalized irishman; and if ever it be my good fortune to represent an irish constituency in parliament, it shall be my first care to introduce a bill legalizing such an operation. i believe a large section of the liberal party would avail themselves of it. [momentary scepticism]. i do. [convulsive cheering]. gentlemen: i have said enough. [cries of "go on"]. no: i have as yet no right to address you at all on political subjects; and we must not abuse the warmhearted irish hospitality of miss doyle by turning her sittingroom into a public meeting. doran [energetically]. three cheers for tom broadbent, the future member for rosscullen! aunt judy [waving a half knitted sock]. hip hip hurray! the cheers are given with great heartiness, as it is by this time, for the more humorous spirits present, a question of vociferation or internal rupture. broadbent. thank you from the bottom of my heart, friends. nora [whispering to doran]. take them away, mr doran [doran nods]. doran. well, good evenin, mr broadbent; an may you never regret the day you wint dhrivin wid halligan's pig! [they shake hands]. good evenin, miss doyle. general handshaking, broadbent shaking hands with everybody effusively. he accompanies them to the garden and can be heard outside saying goodnight in every inflexion known to parliamentary candidates. nora, aunt judy, keegan, larry, and cornelius are left in the parlor. larry goes to the threshold and watches the scene in the garden. nora. it's a shame to make game of him like that. he's a gradle more good in him than barney doran. cornelius. it's all up with his candidature. he'll be laughed out o the town. larry [turning quickly from the doorway]. oh no he won't: he's not an irishman. he'll never know they're laughing at him; and while they're laughing he'll win the seat. cornelius. but he can't prevent the story getting about. larry. he won't want to. he'll tell it himself as one of the most providential episodes in the history of england and ireland. aunt judy. sure he wouldn't make a fool of himself like that. larry. are you sure he's such a fool after all, aunt judy? suppose you had a vote! which would you rather give it to? the man that told the story of haffigan's pig barney doran's way or broadbent's way? aunt judy. faith i wouldn't give it to a man at all. it's a few women they want in parliament to stop their foolish blather. broadbent [bustling into the room, and taking off his damaged motoring overcoat, which he put down on the sofa]. well, that's over. i must apologize for making that speech, miss doyle; but they like it, you know. everything helps in electioneering. larry takes the chair near the door; draws it near the table; and sits astride it, with his elbows folded on the back. aunt judy. i'd no notion you were such an orator, mr broadbent. broadbent. oh, it's only a knack. one picks it up on the platform. it stokes up their enthusiasm. aunt judy. oh, i forgot. you've not met mr keegan. let me introjooce you. broadbent [shaking hands effusively]. most happy to meet you, mr keegan. i have heard of you, though i have not had the pleasure of shaking your hand before. and now may i ask you--for i value no man's opinion more--what you think of my chances here. keegan [coldly]. your chances, sir, are excellent. you will get into parliament. broadbent [delighted]. i hope so. i think so. [fluctuating] you really think so? you are sure you are not allowing your enthusiasm for our principles to get the better of your judgment? keegan. i have no enthusiasm for your principles, sir. you will get into parliament because you want to get into it badly enough to be prepared to take the necessary steps to induce the people to vote for you. that is how people usually get into that fantastic assembly. broadbent [puzzled]. of course. [pause]. quite so. [pause]. er--yes. [buoyant again] i think they will vote for me. eh? yes? aunt judy. arra why shouldn't they? look at the people they do vote for! broadbent [encouraged]. that's true: that's very true. when i see the windbags, the carpet-baggers, the charlatans, the--the--the fools and ignoramuses who corrupt the multitude by their wealth, or seduce them by spouting balderdash to them, i cannot help thinking that an honest man with no humbug about him, who will talk straight common sense and take his stand on the solid ground of principle and public duty, must win his way with men of all classes. keegan [quietly]. sir: there was a time, in my ignorant youth, when i should have called you a hypocrite. broadbent [reddening]. a hypocrite! nora [hastily]. oh i'm sure you don't think anything of the sort, mr keegan. broadbent [emphatically]. thank you, miss reilly: thank you. cornelius [gloomily]. we all have to stretch it a bit in politics: hwat's the use o pretendin we don't? broadbent [stiffly]. i hope i have said or done nothing that calls for any such observation, mr doyle. if there is a vice i detest--or against which my whole public life has been a protest--it is the vice of hypocrisy. i would almost rather be inconsistent than insincere. keegan. do not be offended, sir: i know that you are quite sincere. there is a saying in the scripture which runs--so far as the memory of an oldish man can carry the words--let not the right side of your brain know what the left side doeth. i learnt at oxford that this is the secret of the englishman's strange power of making the best of both worlds. broadbent. surely the text refers to our right and left hands. i am somewhat surprised to hear a member of your church quote so essentially protestant a document as the bible; but at least you might quote it accurately. larry. tom: with the best intentions you're making an ass of yourself. you don't understand mr keegan's peculiar vein of humor. broadbent [instantly recovering his confidence]. ah! it was only your delightful irish humor, mr keegan. of course, of course. how stupid of me! i'm so sorry. [he pats keegan consolingly on the back]. john bull's wits are still slow, you see. besides, calling me a hypocrite was too big a joke to swallow all at once, you know. keegan. you must also allow for the fact that i am mad. nora. ah, don't talk like that, mr keegan. broadbent [encouragingly]. not at all, not at all. only a whimsical irishman, eh? larry. are you really mad, mr keegan? aunt judy [shocked]. oh, larry, how could you ask him such a thing? larry. i don't think mr keegan minds. [to keegan] what's the true version of the story of that black man you confessed on his deathbed? keegan. what story have you heard about that? larry. i am informed that when the devil came for the black heathen, he took off your head and turned it three times round before putting it on again; and that your head's been turned ever since. nora [reproachfully]. larry! keegan [blandly]. that is not quite what occurred. [he collects himself for a serious utterance: they attend involuntarily]. i heard that a black man was dying, and that the people were afraid to go near him. when i went to the place i found an elderly hindoo, who told me one of those tales of unmerited misfortune, of cruel ill luck, of relentless persecution by destiny, which sometimes wither the commonplaces of consolation on the lips of a priest. but this man did not complain of his misfortunes. they were brought upon him, he said, by sins committed in a former existence. then, without a word of comfort from me, he died with a clear-eyed resignation that my most earnest exhortations have rarely produced in a christian, and left me sitting there by his bedside with the mystery of this world suddenly revealed to me. broadbent. that is a remarkable tribute to the liberty of conscience enjoyed by the subjects of our indian empire. larry. no doubt; but may we venture to ask what is the mystery of this world? keegan. this world, sir, is very clearly a place of torment and penance, a place where the fool flourishes and the good and wise are hated and persecuted, a place where men and women torture one another in the name of love; where children are scourged and enslaved in the name of parental duty and education; where the weak in body are poisoned and mutilated in the name of healing, and the weak in character are put to the horrible torture of imprisonment, not for hours but for years, in the name of justice. it is a place where the hardest toil is a welcome refuge from the horror and tedium of pleasure, and where charity and good works are done only for hire to ransom the souls of the spoiler and the sybarite. now, sir, there is only one place of horror and torment known to my religion; and that place is hell. therefore it is plain to me that this earth of ours must be hell, and that we are all here, as the indian revealed to me--perhaps he was sent to reveal it to me to expiate crimes committed by us in a former existence. aunt judy [awestruck]. heaven save us, what a thing to say! cornelius [sighing]. it's a queer world: that's certain. broadbent. your idea is a very clever one, mr keegan: really most brilliant: i should never have thought of it. but it seems to me--if i may say so--that you are overlooking the fact that, of the evils you describe, some are absolutely necessary for the preservation of society, and others are encouraged only when the tories are in office. larry. i expect you were a tory in a former existence; and that is why you are here. broadbent [with conviction]. never, larry, never. but leaving politics out of the question, i find the world quite good enough for me: rather a jolly place, in fact. keegan [looking at him with quiet wonder]. you are satisfied? broadbent. as a reasonable man, yes. i see no evils in the world--except, of course, natural evils--that cannot be remedied by freedom, self-government, and english institutions. i think so, not because i am an englishman, but as a matter of common sense. keegan. you feel at home in the world, then? broadbent. of course. don't you? keegan [from the very depths of his nature]. no. broadbent [breezily]. try phosphorus pills. i always take them when my brain is overworked. i'll give you the address in oxford street. keegan [enigmatically: rising]. miss doyle: my wandering fit has come on me: will you excuse me? aunt judy. to be sure: you know you can come in n nout as you like. keegan. we can finish the game some other time, miss reilly. [he goes for his hat and stick. nora. no: i'm out with you [she disarranges the pieces and rises]. i was too wicked in a former existence to play backgammon with a good man like you. aunt judy [whispering to her]. whisht, whisht, child! don't set him back on that again. keegan [to nora]. when i look at you, i think that perhaps ireland is only purgatory, after all. [he passes on to the garden door]. nora. galong with you! broadbent [whispering to cornelius]. has he a vote? cornelius [nodding]. yes. an there's lots'll vote the way he tells them. keegan [at the garden door, with gentle gravity]. good evening, mr broadbent. you have set me thinking. thank you. broadbent [delighted, hurrying across to him to shake hands]. no, really? you find that contact with english ideas is stimulating, eh? keegan. i am never tired of hearing you talk, mr broadbent. broadbent [modestly remonstrating]. oh come! come! keegan. yes, i assure you. you are an extremely interesting man. [he goes out]. broadbent [enthusiastically]. what a nice chap! what an intelligent, interesting fellow! by the way, i'd better have a wash. [he takes up his coat and cap, and leaves the room through the inner door]. nora returns to her chair and shuts up the backgammon board. aunt judy. keegan's very queer to-day. he has his mad fit on him. cornelius [worried and bitter]. i wouldn't say but he's right after all. it's a contrairy world. [to larry]. why would you be such a fool as to let him take the seat in parliament from you? larry [glancing at nora]. he will take more than that from me before he's done here. cornelius. i wish he'd never set foot in my house, bad luck to his fat face! d'ye think he'd lend me pounds on the farm, larry? when i'm so hard up, it seems a waste o money not to mortgage it now it's me own. larry. i can lend you pounds on it. cornelius. no, no: i wasn't putn in for that. when i die and leave you the farm i should like to be able to feel that it was all me own, and not half yours to start with. now i'll take me oath barney doarn's goin to ask broadbent to lend him pounds on the mill to put in a new hweel; for the old one'll harly hol together. an haffigan can't sleep with covetn that corner o land at the foot of his medda that belongs to doolan. he'll have to mortgage to buy it. i may as well be first as last. d'ye think broadbent'd len me a little? larry. i'm quite sure he will. cornelius. is he as ready as that? would he len me five hunderd, d'ye think? larry. he'll lend you more than the land'll ever be worth to you; so for heaven's sake be prudent. cornelius [judicially]. all right, all right, me son: i'll be careful. i'm goin into the office for a bit. [he withdraws through the inner door, obviously to prepare his application to broadbent]. aunt judy [indignantly]. as if he hadn't seen enough o borryin when he was an agent without beginnin borryin himself! [she rises]. i'll bory him, so i will. [she puts her knitting on the table and follows him out, with a resolute air that bodes trouble for cornelius]. larry and nora are left together for the first time since his arrival. she looks at him with a smile that perishes as she sees him aimlessly rocking his chair, and reflecting, evidently not about her, with his lips pursed as if he were whistling. with a catch in her throat she takes up aunt judy's knitting, and makes a pretence of going on with it. nora. i suppose it didn't seem very long to you. larry [starting]. eh? what didn't? nora. the eighteen years you've been away. larry. oh, that! no: it seems hardly more than a week. i've been so busy--had so little time to think. nora. i've had nothin else to do but think. larry. that was very bad for you. why didn't you give it up? why did you stay here? nora. because nobody sent for me to go anywhere else, i suppose. that's why. larry. yes: one does stick frightfully in the same place, unless some external force comes and routs one out. [he yawns slightly; but as she looks up quickly at him, he pulls himself together and rises with an air of waking up and getting to work cheerfully to make himself agreeable]. and how have you been all this time? nora. quite well, thank you. larry. that's right. [suddenly finding that he has nothing else to say, and being ill at ease in consequence, he strolls about the room humming a certain tune from offenbach's whittington]. nora [struggling with her tears]. is that all you have to say to me, larry? larry. well, what is there to say? you see, we know each other so well. nora [a little consoled]. yes: of course we do. [he does not reply]. i wonder you came back at all. larry. i couldn't help it. [she looks up affectionately]. tom made me. [she looks down again quickly to conceal the effect of this blow. he whistles another stave; then resumes]. i had a sort of dread of returning to ireland. i felt somehow that my luck would turn if i came back. and now here i am, none the worse. nora. praps it's a little dull for you. larry. no: i haven't exhausted the interest of strolling about the old places and remembering and romancing about them. nora [hopefully]. oh! you do remember the places, then? larry. of course. they have associations. nora [not doubting that the associations are with her]. i suppose so. larry. m'yes. i can remember particular spots where i had long fits of thinking about the countries i meant to get to when i escaped from ireland. america and london, and sometimes rome and the east. nora [deeply mortified]. was that all you used to be thinking about? larry. well, there was precious little else to think about here, my dear nora, except sometimes at sunset, when one got maudlin and called ireland erin, and imagined one was remembering the days of old, and so forth. [he whistles let erin remember]. nora. did jever get a letter i wrote you last february? larry. oh yes; and i really intended to answer it. but i haven't had a moment; and i knew you wouldn't mind. you see, i am so afraid of boring you by writing about affairs you don't understand and people you don't know! and yet what else have i to write about? i begin a letter; and then i tear it up again. the fact is, fond as we are of one another, nora, we have so little in common--i mean of course the things one can put in a letter--that correspondence is apt to become the hardest of hard work. nora. yes: it's hard for me to know anything about you if you never tell me anything. larry [pettishly]. nora: a man can't sit down and write his life day by day when he's tired enough with having lived it. nora. i'm not blaming you. larry [looking at her with some concern]. you seem rather out of spirits. [going closer to her, anxiously and tenderly] you haven't got neuralgia, have you? nora. no. larry [reassured]. i get a touch of it sometimes when i am below par. [absently, again strolling about] yes, yes. [he begins to hum again, and soon breaks into articulate melody]. though summer smiles on here for ever, though not a leaf falls from the tree, tell england i'll forget her never, [nora puts down the knitting and stares at him]. o wind that blows across the sea. [with much expression] tell england i'll forget her ne-e-e-e-ver o wind that blows acro-oss-- [here the melody soars out of his range. he continues falsetto, but changes the tune to let erin remember]. i'm afraid i'm boring you, nora, though you're too kind to say so. nora. are you wanting to get back to england already? larry. not at all. not at all. nora. that's a queer song to sing to me if you're not. larry. the song! oh, it doesn't mean anything: it's by a german jew, like most english patriotic sentiment. never mind me, my dear: go on with your work; and don't let me bore you. nora [bitterly]. rosscullen isn't such a lively place that i am likely to be bored by you at our first talk together after eighteen years, though you don't seem to have much to say to me after all. larry. eighteen years is a devilish long time, nora. now if it had been eighteen minutes, or even eighteen months, we should be able to pick up the interrupted thread, and chatter like two magpies. but as it is, i have simply nothing to say; and you seem to have less. nora. i--[her tears choke her; but the keeps up appearances desperately]. larry [quite unconscious of his cruelty]. in a week or so we shall be quite old friends again. meanwhile, as i feel that i am not making myself particularly entertaining, i'll take myself off. tell tom i've gone for a stroll over the hill. nora. you seem very fond of tom, as you call him. larry [the triviality going suddenly out of his voice]. yes i'm fond of tom. nora. oh, well, don't let me keep you from him. larry. i know quite well that my departure will be a relief. rather a failure, this first meeting after eighteen years, eh? well, never mind: these great sentimental events always are failures; and now the worst of it's over anyhow. [he goes out through the garden door]. nora, left alone, struggles wildly to save herself from breaking down, and then drops her face on the table and gives way to a convulsion of crying. her sobs shake her so that she can hear nothing; and she has no suspicion that she is no longer alone until her head and breast are raised by broadbent, who, returning newly washed and combed through the inner door, has seen her condition, first with surprise and concern, and then with an emotional disturbance that quite upsets him. broadbent. miss reilly. miss reilly. what's the matter? don't cry: i can't stand it: you mustn't cry. [she makes a choked effort to speak, so painful that he continues with impulsive sympathy] no: don't try to speak: it's all right now. have your cry out: never mind me: trust me. [gathering her to him, and babbling consolatorily] cry on my chest: the only really comfortable place for a woman to cry is a man's chest: a real man, a real friend. a good broad chest, eh? not less than forty-two inches--no: don't fuss: never mind the conventions: we're two friends, aren't we? come now, come, come! it's all right and comfortable and happy now, isn't it? nora [through her tears]. let me go. i want me hankerchief. broadbent [holding her with one arm and producing a large silk handkerchief from his breast pocket]. here's a handkerchief. let me [he dabs her tears dry with it]. never mind your own: it's too small: it's one of those wretched little cambric handkerchiefs-- nora [sobbing]. indeed it's a common cotton one. broadbent. of course it's a common cotton one--silly little cotton one--not good enough for the dear eyes of nora cryna-- nora [spluttering into a hysterical laugh and clutching him convulsively with her fingers while she tries to stifle her laughter against his collar bone]. oh don't make me laugh: please don't make me laugh. broadbent [terrified]. i didn't mean to, on my soul. what is it? what is it? nora. nora creena, nora creena. broadbent [patting her]. yes, yes, of course, nora creena, nora acushla [he makes cush rhyme to plush]. nora. acushla [she makes cush rhyme to bush]. broadbent. oh, confound the language! nora darling--my nora--the nora i love-- nora [shocked into propriety]. you mustn't talk like that to me. broadbent [suddenly becoming prodigiously solemn and letting her go]. no, of course not. i don't mean it--at least i do mean it; but i know it's premature. i had no right to take advantage of your being a little upset; but i lost my self-control for a moment. nora [wondering at him]. i think you're a very kindhearted man, mr broadbent; but you seem to me to have no self-control at all [she turns her face away with a keen pang of shame and adds] no more than myself. broadbent [resolutely]. oh yes, i have: you should see me when i am really roused: then i have tremendous self-control. remember: we have been alone together only once before; and then, i regret to say, i was in a disgusting state. nora. ah no, mr broadbent: you weren't disgusting. broadbent [mercilessly]. yes i was: nothing can excuse it: perfectly beastly. it must have made a most unfavorable impression on you. nora. oh, sure it's all right. say no more about that. broadbent. i must, miss reilly: it is my duty. i shall not detain you long. may i ask you to sit down. [he indicates her chair with oppressive solemnity. she sits down wondering. he then, with the same portentous gravity, places a chair for himself near her; sits down; and proceeds to explain]. first, miss reilly, may i say that i have tasted nothing of an alcoholic nature today. nora. it doesn't seem to make as much difference in you as it would in an irishman, somehow. broadbent. perhaps not. perhaps not. i never quite lose myself. nora [consolingly]. well, anyhow, you're all right now. broadbent [fervently]. thank you, miss reilly: i am. now we shall get along. [tenderly, lowering his voice] nora: i was in earnest last night. [nora moves as if to rise]. no: one moment. you must not think i am going to press you for an answer before you have known me for hours. i am a reasonable man, i hope; and i am prepared to wait as long as you like, provided you will give me some small assurance that the answer will not be unfavorable. nora. how could i go back from it if i did? i sometimes think you're not quite right in your head, mr broadbent, you say such funny things. broadbent. yes: i know i have a strong sense of humor which sometimes makes people doubt whether i am quite serious. that is why i have always thought i should like to marry an irishwoman. she would always understand my jokes. for instance, you would understand them, eh? nora [uneasily]. mr broadbent, i couldn't. broadbent [soothingly]. wait: let me break this to you gently, miss reilly: hear me out. i daresay you have noticed that in speaking to you i have been putting a very strong constraint on myself, so as to avoid wounding your delicacy by too abrupt an avowal of my feelings. well, i feel now that the time has come to be open, to be frank, to be explicit. miss reilly: you have inspired in me a very strong attachment. perhaps, with a woman's intuition, you have already guessed that. nora [rising distractedly]. why do you talk to me in that unfeeling nonsensical way? broadbent [rising also, much astonished]. unfeeling! nonsensical! nora. don't you know that you have said things to me that no man ought to say unless--unless--[she suddenly breaks down again and hides her face on the table as before] oh, go away from me: i won't get married at all: what is it but heartbreak and disappointment? broadbent [developing the most formidable symptoms of rage and grief]. do you mean to say that you are going to refuse me? that you don't care for me? nora [looking at him in consternation]. oh, don't take it to heart, mr br-- broadbent [flushed and almost choking]. i don't want to be petted and blarneyed. [with childish rage] i love you. i want you for my wife. [in despair] i can't help your refusing. i'm helpless: i can do nothing. you have no right to ruin my whole life. you--[a hysterical convulsion stops him]. nora [almost awestruck]. you're not going to cry, are you? i never thought a man could cry. don't. broadbent. i'm not crying. i--i--i leave that sort of thing to your damned sentimental irishmen. you think i have no feeling because i am a plain unemotional englishman, with no powers of expression. nora. i don't think you know the sort of man you are at all. whatever may be the matter with you, it's not want of feeling. broadbent [hurt and petulant]. it's you who have no feeling. you're as heartless as larry. nora. what do you expect me to do? is it to throw meself at your head the minute the word is out o your mouth? broadbent [striking his silly head with his fists]. oh, what a fool! what a brute i am! it's only your irish delicacy: of course, of course. you mean yes. eh? what? yes, yes, yes? nora. i think you might understand that though i might choose to be an old maid, i could never marry anybody but you now. broadbent [clasping her violently to his breast, with a crow of immense relief and triumph]. ah, that's right, that's right: that's magnificent. i knew you would see what a first-rate thing this will be for both of us. nora [incommoded and not at all enraptured by his ardor]. you're dreadfully strong, an a gradle too free with your strength. an i never thought o whether it'd be a good thing for us or not. but when you found me here that time, i let you be kind to me, and cried in your arms, because i was too wretched to think of anything but the comfort of it. an how could i let any other man touch me after that? broadbent [touched]. now that's very nice of you, nora, that's really most delicately womanly [he kisses her hand chivalrously]. nora [looking earnestly and a little doubtfully at him]. surely if you let one woman cry on you like that you'd never let another touch you. broadbent [conscientiously]. one should not. one ought not, my dear girl. but the honest truth is, if a chap is at all a pleasant sort of chap, his chest becomes a fortification that has to stand many assaults: at least it is so in england. nora [curtly, much disgusted]. then you'd better marry an englishwoman. broadbent [making a wry face]. no, no: the englishwoman is too prosaic for my taste, too material, too much of the animated beefsteak about her. the ideal is what i like. now larry's taste is just the opposite: he likes em solid and bouncing and rather keen about him. it's a very convenient difference; for we've never been in love with the same woman. nora. an d'ye mean to tell me to me face that you've ever been in love before? broadbent. lord! yes. nora. i'm not your first love? broadbent. first love is only a little foolishness and a lot of curiosity: no really self-respecting woman would take advantage of it. no, my dear nora: i've done with all that long ago. love affairs always end in rows. we're not going to have any rows: we're going to have a solid four-square home: man and wife: comfort and common sense--and plenty of affection, eh [he puts his arm round her with confident proprietorship]? nora [coldly, trying to get away]. i don't want any other woman's leavings. broadbent [holding her]. nobody asked you to, ma'am. i never asked any woman to marry me before. nora [severely]. then why didn't you if you're an honorable man? broadbent. well, to tell you the truth, they were mostly married already. but never mind! there was nothing wrong. come! don't take a mean advantage of me. after all, you must have had a fancy or two yourself, eh? nora [conscience-stricken]. yes. i suppose i've no right to be particular. broadbent [humbly]. i know i'm not good enough for you, nora. but no man is, you know, when the woman is a really nice woman. nora. oh, i'm no better than yourself. i may as well tell you about it. broadbent. no, no: let's have no telling: much better not. i shan't tell you anything: don't you tell me anything. perfect confidence in one another and no tellings: that's the way to avoid rows. nora. don't think it was anything i need be ashamed of. broadbent. i don't. nora. it was only that i'd never known anybody else that i could care for; and i was foolish enough once to think that larry-- broadbent [disposing of the idea at once]. larry! oh, that wouldn't have done at all, not at all. you don't know larry as i do, my dear. he has absolutely no capacity for enjoyment: he couldn't make any woman happy. he's as clever as be-blowed; but life's too earthly for him: he doesn't really care for anything or anybody. nora. i've found that out. broadbent. of course you have. no, my dear: take my word for it, you're jolly well out of that. there! [swinging her round against his breast] that's much more comfortable for you. nora [with irish peevishness]. ah, you mustn't go on like that. i don't like it. broadbent [unabashed]. you'll acquire the taste by degrees. you mustn't mind me: it's an absolute necessity of my nature that i should have somebody to hug occasionally. besides, it's good for you: it'll plump out your muscles and make em elastic and set up your figure. nora. well, i'm sure! if this is english manners! aren't you ashamed to talk about such things? broadbent [in the highest feather]. not a bit. by george, nora, it's a tremendous thing to be able to enjoy oneself. let's go off for a walk out of this stuffy little room. i want the open air to expand in. come along. co-o-o-me along. [he puts her arm into his and sweeps her out into the garden as an equinoctial gale might sweep a dry leaf]. later in the evening, the grasshopper is again enjoying the sunset by the great stone on the hill; but this time he enjoys neither the stimulus of keegan's conversation nor the pleasure of terrifying patsy farrell. he is alone until nora and broadbent come up the hill arm in arm. broadbent is still breezy and confident; but she has her head averted from him and is almost in tears]. broadbent [stopping to snuff up the hillside air]. ah! i like this spot. i like this view. this would be a jolly good place for a hotel and a golf links. friday to tuesday, railway ticket and hotel all inclusive. i tell you, nora, i'm going to develop this place. [looking at her] hallo! what's the matter? tired? nora [unable to restrain her tears]. i'm ashamed out o me life. broadbent [astonished]. ashamed! what of? nora. oh, how could you drag me all round the place like that, telling everybody that we're going to be married, and introjoocing me to the lowest of the low, and letting them shake hans with me, and encouraging them to make free with us? i little thought i should live to be shaken hans with be doolan in broad daylight in the public street of rosscullen. broadbent. but, my dear, doolan's a publican: a most influential man. by the way, i asked him if his wife would be at home tomorrow. he said she would; so you must take the motor car round and call on her. nora [aghast]. is it me call on doolan's wife! broadbent. yes, of course: call on all their wives. we must get a copy of the register and a supply of canvassing cards. no use calling on people who haven't votes. you'll be a great success as a canvasser, nora: they call you the heiress; and they'll be flattered no end by your calling, especially as you've never cheapened yourself by speaking to them before--have you? nora [indignantly]. not likely, indeed. broadbent. well, we mustn't be stiff and stand-off, you know. we must be thoroughly democratic, and patronize everybody without distinction of class. i tell you i'm a jolly lucky man, nora cryna. i get engaged to the most delightful woman in ireland; and it turns out that i couldn't have done a smarter stroke of electioneering. nora. an would you let me demean meself like that, just to get yourself into parliament? broadbent [buoyantly]. aha! wait till you find out what an exciting game electioneering is: you'll be mad to get me in. besides, you'd like people to say that tom broadbent's wife had been the making of him--that she got him into parliament--into the cabinet, perhaps, eh? nora. god knows i don't grudge you me money! but to lower meself to the level of common people. broadbent. to a member's wife, nora, nobody is common provided he's on the register. come, my dear! it's all right: do you think i'd let you do it if it wasn't? the best people do it. everybody does it. nora [who has been biting her lip and looking over the hill, disconsolate and unconvinced]. well, praps you know best what they do in england. they must have very little respect for themselves. i think i'll go in now. i see larry and mr keegan coming up the hill; and i'm not fit to talk to them. broadbent. just wait and say something nice to keegan. they tell me he controls nearly as many votes as father dempsey himself. nora. you little know peter keegan. he'd see through me as if i was a pane o glass. broadbent. oh, he won't like it any the less for that. what really flatters a man is that you think him worth flattering. not that i would flatter any man: don't think that. i'll just go and meet him. [he goes down the hill with the eager forward look of a man about to greet a valued acquaintance. nora dries her eyes, and turns to go as larry strolls up the hill to her]. larry. nora. [she turns and looks at him hardly, without a word. he continues anxiously, in his most conciliatory tone]. when i left you that time, i was just as wretched as you. i didn't rightly know what i wanted to say; and my tongue kept clacking to cover the loss i was at. well, i've been thinking ever since; and now i know what i ought to have said. i've come back to say it. nora. you've come too late, then. you thought eighteen years was not long enough, and that you might keep me waiting a day longer. well, you were mistaken. i'm engaged to your friend mr broadbent; and i'm done with you. larry [naively]. but that was the very thing i was going to advise you to do. nora [involuntarily]. oh you brute! to tell me that to me face. larry [nervously relapsing into his most irish manner]. nora, dear, don't you understand that i'm an irishman, and he's an englishman. he wants you; and he grabs you. i want you; and i quarrel with you and have to go on wanting you. nora. so you may. you'd better go back to england to the animated beefsteaks you're so fond of. larry [amazed]. nora! [guessing where she got the metaphor] he's been talking about me, i see. well, never mind: we must be friends, you and i. i don't want his marriage to you to be his divorce from me. nora. you care more for him than you ever did for me. larry [with curt sincerity]. yes of course i do: why should i tell you lies about it? nora reilly was a person of very little consequence to me or anyone else outside this miserable little hole. but mrs tom broadbent will be a person of very considerable consequence indeed. play your new part well, and there will be no more neglect, no more loneliness, no more idle regrettings and vain-hopings in the evenings by the round tower, but real life and real work and real cares and real joys among real people: solid english life in london, the very centre of the world. you will find your work cut out for you keeping tom's house and entertaining tom's friends and getting tom into parliament; but it will be worth the effort. nora. you talk as if i were under an obligation to him for marrying me. larry. i talk as i think. you've made a very good match, let me tell you. nora. indeed! well, some people might say he's not done so badly himself. larry. if you mean that you will be a treasure to him, he thinks so now; and you can keep him thinking so if you like. nora. i wasn't thinking o meself at all. larry. were you thinking of your money, nora? nora. i didn't say so. larry. your money will not pay your cook's wages in london. nora [flaming up]. if that's true--and the more shame for you to throw it in my face if it is true--at all events it'll make us independent; for if the worst comes to the worst, we can always come back here an live on it. an if i have to keep his house for him, at all events i can keep you out of it; for i've done with you; and i wish i'd never seen you. so goodbye to you, mister larry doyle. [she turns her back on him and goes home]. larry [watching her as she goes]. goodbye. goodbye. oh, that's so irish! irish both of us to the backbone: irish, irish, irish-- broadbent arrives, conversing energetically with keegan. broadbent. nothing pays like a golfing hotel, if you hold the land instead of the shares, and if the furniture people stand in with you, and if you are a good man of business. larry. nora's gone home. broadbent [with conviction]. you were right this morning, larry. i must feed up nora. she's weak; and it makes her fanciful. oh, by the way, did i tell you that we're engaged? larry. she told me herself. broadbent [complacently]. she's rather full of it, as you may imagine. poor nora! well, mr keegan, as i said, i begin to see my way here. i begin to see my way. keegan [with a courteous inclination]. the conquering englishman, sir. within hours of your arrival you have carried off our only heiress, and practically secured the parliamentary seat. and you have promised me that when i come here in the evenings to meditate on my madness; to watch the shadow of the round tower lengthening in the sunset; to break my heart uselessly in the curtained gloaming over the dead heart and blinded soul of the island of the saints, you will comfort me with the bustle of a great hotel, and the sight of the little children carrying the golf clubs of your tourists as a preparation for the life to come. broadbent [quite touched, mutely offering him a cigar to console him, at which he smiles and shakes his head]. yes, mr keegan: you're quite right. there's poetry in everything, even [looking absently into the cigar case] in the most modern prosaic things, if you know how to extract it [he extracts a cigar for himself and offers one to larry, who takes it]. if i was to be shot for it i couldn't extract it myself; but that's where you come in, you see [roguishly, waking up from his reverie and bustling keegan goodhumoredly]. and then i shall wake you up a bit. that's where i come in: eh? d'ye see? eh? eh? [he pats him very pleasantly on the shoulder, half admiringly, half pityingly]. just so, just so. [coming back to business] by the way, i believe i can do better than a light railway here. there seems to be no question now that the motor boat has come to stay. well, look at your magnificent river there, going to waste. keegan [closing his eyes]. "silent, o moyle, be the roar of thy waters." broadbent. you know, the roar of a motor boat is quite pretty. keegan. provided it does not drown the angelus. broadbent [reassuringly]. oh no: it won't do that: not the least danger. you know, a church bell can make a devil of a noise when it likes. keegan. you have an answer for everything, sir. but your plans leave one question still unanswered: how to get butter out of a dog's throat. broadbent. eh? keegan. you cannot build your golf links and hotels in the air. for that you must own our land. and how will you drag our acres from the ferret's grip of matthew haffigan? how will you persuade cornelius doyle to forego the pride of being a small landowner? how will barney doran's millrace agree with your motor boats? will doolan help you to get a license for your hotel? broadbent. my dear sir: to all intents and purposes the syndicate i represent already owns half rosscullen. doolan's is a tied house; and the brewers are in the syndicate. as to haffigan's farm and doran's mill and mr doyle's place and half a dozen others, they will be mortgaged to me before a month is out. keegan. but pardon me, you will not lend them more on their land than the land is worth; so they will be able to pay you the interest. broadbent. ah, you are a poet, mr keegan, not a man of business. larry. we will lend everyone of these men half as much again on their land as it is worth, or ever can be worth, to them. broadbent. you forget, sir, that we, with our capital, our knowledge, our organization, and may i say our english business habits, can make or lose ten pounds out of land that haffigan, with all his industry, could not make or lose ten shillings out of. doran's mill is a superannuated folly: i shall want it for electric lighting. larry. what is the use of giving land to such men? they are too small, too poor, too ignorant, too simpleminded to hold it against us: you might as well give a dukedom to a crossing sweeper. broadbent. yes, mr keegan: this place may have an industrial future, or it may have a residential future: i can't tell yet; but it's not going to be a future in the hands of your dorans and haffigans, poor devils! keegan. it may have no future at all. have you thought of that? broadbent. oh, i'm not afraid of that. i have faith in ireland, great faith, mr keegan. keegan. and we have none: only empty enthusiasms and patriotisms, and emptier memories and regrets. ah yes: you have some excuse for believing that if there be any future, it will be yours; for our faith seems dead, and our hearts cold and cowed. an island of dreamers who wake up in your jails, of critics and cowards whom you buy and tame for your own service, of bold rogues who help you to plunder us that they may plunder you afterwards. eh? broadbent [a little impatient of this unbusinesslike view]. yes, yes; but you know you might say that of any country. the fact is, there are only two qualities in the world: efficiency and inefficiency, and only two sorts of people: the efficient and the inefficient. it don't matter whether they're english or irish. i shall collar this place, not because i'm an englishman and haffigan and co are irishmen, but because they're duffers and i know my way about. keegan. have you considered what is to become of haffigan? larry. oh, we'll employ him in some capacity or other, and probably pay him more than he makes for himself now. broadbent [dubiously]. do you think so? no no: haffigan's too old. it really doesn't pay now to take on men over forty even for unskilled labor, which i suppose is all haffigan would be good for. no: haffigan had better go to america, or into the union, poor old chap! he's worked out, you know: you can see it. keegan. poor lost soul, so cunningly fenced in with invisible bars! larry. haffigan doesn't matter much. he'll die presently. broadbent [shocked]. oh come, larry! don't be unfeeling. it's hard on haffigan. it's always hard on the inefficient. larry. pah! what does it matter where an old and broken man spends his last days, or whether he has a million at the bank or only the workhouse dole? it's the young men, the able men, that matter. the real tragedy of haffigan is the tragedy of his wasted youth, his stunted mind, his drudging over his clods and pigs until he has become a clod and a pig himself--until the soul within him has smouldered into nothing but a dull temper that hurts himself and all around him. i say let him die, and let us have no more of his like. and let young ireland take care that it doesn't share his fate, instead of making another empty grievance of it. let your syndicate come-- broadbent. your syndicate too, old chap. you have your bit of the stock. larry. yes, mine if you like. well, our syndicate has no conscience: it has no more regard for your haffigans and doolans and dorans than it has for a gang of chinese coolies. it will use your patriotic blatherskite and balderdash to get parliamentary powers over you as cynically as it would bait a mousetrap with toasted cheese. it will plan, and organize, and find capital while you slave like bees for it and revenge yourselves by paying politicians and penny newspapers out of your small wages to write articles and report speeches against its wickedness and tyranny, and to crack up your own irish heroism, just as haffigan once paid a witch a penny to put a spell on billy byrne's cow. in the end it will grind the nonsense out of you, and grind strength and sense into you. broadbent [out of patience]. why can't you say a simple thing simply, larry, without all that irish exaggeration and talky-talky? the syndicate is a perfectly respectable body of responsible men of good position. we'll take ireland in hand, and by straightforward business habits teach it efficiency and self-help on sound liberal principles. you agree with me, mr keegan, don't you? keegan. sir: i may even vote for you. broadbent [sincerely moved, shaking his hand warmly]. you shall never regret it, mr keegan: i give you my word for that. i shall bring money here: i shall raise wages: i shall found public institutions, a library, a polytechnic [undenominational, of course], a gymnasium, a cricket club, perhaps an art school. i shall make a garden city of rosscullen: the round tower shall be thoroughly repaired and restored. keegan. and our place of torment shall be as clean and orderly as the cleanest and most orderly place i know in ireland, which is our poetically named mountjoy prison. well, perhaps i had better vote for an efficient devil that knows his own mind and his own business than for a foolish patriot who has no mind and no business. broadbent [stiffly]. devil is rather a strong expression in that connexion, mr keegan. keegan. not from a man who knows that this world is hell. but since the word offends you, let me soften it, and compare you simply to an ass. [larry whitens with anger]. broadbent [reddening]. an ass! keegan [gently]. you may take it without offence from a madman who calls the ass his brother--and a very honest, useful and faithful brother too. the ass, sir, is the most efficient of beasts, matter-of-fact, hardy, friendly when you treat him as a fellow-creature, stubborn when you abuse him, ridiculous only in love, which sets him braying, and in politics, which move him to roll about in the public road and raise a dust about nothing. can you deny these qualities and habits in yourself, sir? broadbent [goodhumoredly]. well, yes, i'm afraid i do, you know. keegan. then perhaps you will confess to the ass's one fault. broadbent. perhaps so: what is it? keegan. that he wastes all his virtues--his efficiency, as you call it--in doing the will of his greedy masters instead of doing the will of heaven that is in himself. he is efficient in the service of mammon, mighty in mischief, skilful in ruin, heroic in destruction. but he comes to browse here without knowing that the soil his hoof touches is holy ground. ireland, sir, for good or evil, is like no other place under heaven; and no man can touch its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse. it produces two kinds of men in strange perfection: saints and traitors. it is called the island of the saints; but indeed in these later years it might be more fitly called the island of the traitors; for our harvest of these is the fine flower of the world's crop of infamy. but the day may come when these islands shall live by the quality of their men rather than by the abundance of their minerals; and then we shall see. larry. mr keegan: if you are going to be sentimental about ireland, i shall bid you good evening. we have had enough of that, and more than enough of cleverly proving that everybody who is not an irishman is an ass. it is neither good sense nor good manners. it will not stop the syndicate; and it will not interest young ireland so much as my friend's gospel of efficiency. broadbent. ah, yes, yes: efficiency is the thing. i don't in the least mind your chaff, mr keegan; but larry's right on the main point. the world belongs to the efficient. keegan [with polished irony]. i stand rebuked, gentlemen. but believe me, i do every justice to the efficiency of you and your syndicate. you are both, i am told, thoroughly efficient civil engineers; and i have no doubt the golf links will be a triumph of your art. mr broadbent will get into parliament most efficiently, which is more than st patrick could do if he were alive now. you may even build the hotel efficiently if you can find enough efficient masons, carpenters, and plumbers, which i rather doubt. [dropping his irony, and beginning to fall into the attitude of the priest rebuking sin] when the hotel becomes insolvent [broadbent takes his cigar out of his mouth, a little taken aback], your english business habits will secure the thorough efficiency of the liquidation. you will reorganize the scheme efficiently; you will liquidate its second bankruptcy efficiently [broadbent and larry look quickly at one another; for this, unless the priest is an old financial hand, must be inspiration]; you will get rid of its original shareholders efficiently after efficiently ruining them; and you will finally profit very efficiently by getting that hotel for a few shillings in the pound. [more and more sternly] besides those efficient operations, you will foreclose your mortgages most efficiently [his rebuking forefinger goes up in spite of himself]; you will drive haffigan to america very efficiently; you will find a use for barney doran's foul mouth and bullying temper by employing him to slave-drive your laborers very efficiently; and [low and bitter] when at last this poor desolate countryside becomes a busy mint in which we shall all slave to make money for you, with our polytechnic to teach us how to do it efficiently, and our library to fuddle the few imaginations your distilleries will spare, and our repaired round tower with admission sixpence, and refreshments and penny-in-the-slot mutoscopes to make it interesting, then no doubt your english and american shareholders will spend all the money we make for them very efficiently in shooting and hunting, in operations for cancer and appendicitis, in gluttony and gambling; and you will devote what they save to fresh land development schemes. for four wicked centuries the world has dreamed this foolish dream of efficiency; and the end is not yet. but the end will come. broadbent [seriously]. too true, mr keegan, only too true. and most eloquently put. it reminds me of poor ruskin--a great man, you know. i sympathize. believe me, i'm on your side. don't sneer, larry: i used to read a lot of shelley years ago. let us be faithful to the dreams of our youth [he wafts a wreath of cigar smoke at large across the hill]. keegan. come, mr doyle! is this english sentiment so much more efficient than our irish sentiment, after all? mr broadbent spends his life inefficiently admiring the thoughts of great men, and efficiently serving the cupidity of base money hunters. we spend our lives efficiently sneering at him and doing nothing. which of us has any right to reproach the other? broadbent [coming down the hill again to keegan's right hand]. but you know, something must be done. keegan. yes: when we cease to do, we cease to live. well, what shall we do? broadbent. why, what lies to our hand. keegan. which is the making of golf links and hotels to bring idlers to a country which workers have left in millions because it is a hungry land, a naked land, an ignorant and oppressed land. broadbent. but, hang it all, the idlers will bring money from england to ireland! keegan. just as our idlers have for so many generations taken money from ireland to england. has that saved england from poverty and degradation more horrible than we have ever dreamed of? when i went to england, sir, i hated england. now i pity it. [broadbent can hardly conceive an irishman pitying england; but as larry intervenes angrily, he gives it up and takes to the bill and his cigar again] larry. much good your pity will do it! keegan. in the accounts kept in heaven, mr doyle, a heart purified of hatred may be worth more even than a land development syndicate of anglicized irishmen and gladstonized englishmen. larry. oh, in heaven, no doubt! i have never been there. can you tell me where it is? keegan. could you have told me this morning where hell is? yet you know now that it is here. do not despair of finding heaven: it may be no farther off. larry [ironically]. on this holy ground, as you call it, eh? keegan [with fierce intensity]. yes, perhaps, even on this holy ground which such irishmen as you have turned into a land of derision. broadbent [coming between them]. take care! you will be quarrelling presently. oh, you irishmen, you irishmen! toujours ballyhooly, eh? [larry, with a shrug, half comic, half impatient, turn away up the hill, but presently strolls back on keegan's right. broadbent adds, confidentially to keegan] stick to the englishman, mr keegan: he has a bad name here; but at least he can forgive you for being an irishman. keegan. sir: when you speak to me of english and irish you forget that i am a catholic. my country is not ireland nor england, but the whole mighty realm of my church. for me there are but two countries: heaven and hell; but two conditions of men: salvation and damnation. standing here between you the englishman, so clever in your foolishness, and this irishman, so foolish in his cleverness, i cannot in my ignorance be sure which of you is the more deeply damned; but i should be unfaithful to my calling if i opened the gates of my heart less widely to one than to the other. larry. in either case it would be an impertinence, mr keegan, as your approval is not of the slightest consequence to us. what use do you suppose all this drivel is to men with serious practical business in hand? broadbent. i don't agree with that, larry. i think these things cannot be said too often: they keep up the moral tone of the community. as you know, i claim the right to think for myself in religious matters: in fact, i am ready to avow myself a bit of a--of a--well, i don't care who knows it--a bit of a unitarian; but if the church of england contained a few men like mr keegan, i should certainly join it. keegan. you do me too much honor, sir. [with priestly humility to larry] mr doyle: i am to blame for having unintentionally set your mind somewhat on edge against me. i beg your pardon. larry [unimpressed and hostile]. i didn't stand on ceremony with you: you needn't stand on it with me. fine manners and fine words are cheap in ireland: you can keep both for my friend here, who is still imposed on by them. i know their value. keegan. you mean you don't know their value. larry [angrily]. i mean what i say. keegan [turning quietly to the englishman] you see, mr broadbent, i only make the hearts of my countrymen harder when i preach to them: the gates of hell still prevail against me. i shall wish you good evening. i am better alone, at the round tower, dreaming of heaven. [he goes up the hill]. larry. aye, that's it! there you are! dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming! keegan [halting and turning to them for the last time]. every dream is a prophecy: every jest is an earnest in the womb of time. broadbent [reflectively]. once, when i was a small kid, i dreamt i was in heaven. [they both stare at him]. it was a sort of pale blue satin place, with all the pious old ladies in our congregation sitting as if they were at a service; and there was some awful person in the study at the other side of the hall. i didn't enjoy it, you know. what is it like in your dreams? keegan. in my dreams it is a country where the state is the church and the church the people: three in one and one in three. it is a commonwealth in which work is play and play is life: three in one and one in three. it is a temple in which the priest is the worshipper and the worshipper the worshipped: three in one and one in three. it is a godhead in which all life is human and all humanity divine: three in one and one in three. it is, in short, the dream of a madman. [he goes away across the hill]. broadbent [looking after him affectionately]. what a regular old church and state tory he is! he's a character: he'll be an attraction here. really almost equal to ruskin and carlyle. larry. yes; and much good they did with all their talk! broadbent. oh tut, tut, larry! they improved my mind: they raised my tone enormously. i feel sincerely obliged to keegan: he has made me feel a better man: distinctly better. [with sincere elevation] i feel now as i never did before that i am right in devoting my life to the cause of ireland. come along and help me to choose the site for the hotel. none the young engineers in colorado or, at railwood building in earnest by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. the cub engineers reach camp ii. bad pete becomes worse iii. the day of real work dawns iv. "trying out" the gridley boys v. tom doesn't mind "artillery" vi. the bite from the bush vii. what a squaw knew viii. 'gene black, trouble-maker ix. "doctored" field notes? x. things begin to go down hill xi. the chief totters from command xii. from cub to acting chief xiii. black turns other colors xiv. bad pete mixes in some xv. black's plot opens with a bang xvi. shut off from the world xvii. the real attack begins xviii. when the camp grew warm xix. sheriff grease drops dave xx. mr. newnham drops a bomb xxi. the trap at the finish xxii. "can your road save its charter now?" xxiii. black's trump card xxiv. conclusion chapter i the cub engineers reach camp "look, tom! there is a real westerner!" harry hazelton's eyes sparkled, his whole manner was one of intense interest. "eh?" queried tom reade, turning around from his distant view of a sharp, towering peak of the rockies. "there's the real thing in the way of a westerner," harry hazelton insisted in a voice in which there was some awe. "i don't believe he is," retorted tom skeptically. "you're going to say, i suppose, that the man is just some freak escaped from the pages of a dime novel?" demanded harry. "no; he looks more like a hostler on a leave of absence from a stranded wild west show," tom replied slowly. there was plenty of time for them to inspect the stranger in question. tom and harry were seated on a mountain springboard wagon drawn by a pair of thin horses. their driver, a boy of about eighteen, sat on a tiny make-believe seat almost over the traces. this youthful driver had been minding his own business so assiduously during the past three hours that harry had voted him a sullen fellow. this however, the driver was not. "where did that party ahead come from, driver?" murmured tom, leaning forward. "boston or binghamton?" "you mean the party ahead at the bend of the trail?" asked the driver. "yes; he's the only stranger in sight." "i guess he's a westerner, all right," answered the driver, after a moment or two spent in thought. "there! you see?" crowed harry hazelton triumphantly. "if that fellow's a westerner, driver," tom persisted, "have you any idea how many days he has been west?" "he doesn't belong to this state," the youthful driver answered. "i think he comes from montana. his name is bad pete." "pete?" mused tom reade aloud. "that's short for peter, i suppose; not a very interesting or romantic name. what's the hind-leg of his name?" "meaning his surnames" drawled the driver. "yes; to be sure." "i don't know that he has any surname, friend," the colorado boy rejoined. "why do they call him 'bad'?" asked harry, with a thrill of pleasurable expectation. as the driver was slow in finding an answer, tom reade, after another look at the picturesque stranger, replied quizzically: "i reckon they call him bad because he's counterfeit." "there you go again," remonstrated harry hazelton. "you'd better be careful, or bad pete will hear you." "i hope he doesn't," smiled tom. "i don't want to change bad pete into worse pete." there was little danger, however, that the picturesque-looking stranger would hear them. the axles and springs of the springboard wagon were making noise enough to keep their voices from reaching the ears of any human being more than a dozen feet away. bad pete was still about two hundred and fifty feet ahead, nor did he, as yet, give any sign whatever of having noted the vehicle. instead, he was leaning against a boulder at the turn in the road. in his left hand he held a hand-rolled cigarette from which he took an occasional reflective puff as he looked straight ahead of him as though he were enjoying the scenery. the road---trail---ran close along the edge of a sloping precipice. fully nine hundred feet below ran a thin line of silver, or so it appeared. in reality it was what was left of the snake river now, in july, nearly dried out. over beyond the gulch, for a mile or more, extended a rather flat, rock-strewn valley. beyond that were the mountains, two peaks of which, even at this season, were white-capped with snow. on the trail, however, the full heat of summer prevailed. "this grand, massive scenery makes a human being feel small, doesn't it?" asked tom. harry, however, had his eyes and all his thoughts turned toward the man whom they were nearing. "this---er---bad pete isn't an---er---that is, a road agent, is he?" he asked apprehensively. "he may be, for all i know," the driver answered. "at present he mostly hangs out around the s.b. & l. outfit." "why, that's our outfits---the one we're going to join, i mean," cried hazelton. "i hope pete isn't the cook, then," remarked tom fastidiously. "he doesn't look as though he takes a very kindly interest in soap." "sh-h-h!" begged harry. "i'll tell you, he'll hear you." "see here," tom went on, this time addressing the driver, "you've told us that you don't know just where to find the s.b. & l. field camp. if mr. peter bad hangs out with the camp then he ought to be able to direct us." "you can ask him, of course," nodded the colorado boy. soon after the horses covered the distance needed to bring them close to the bend. now the driver hauled in his team, and, blocking the forward wheels with a fragment of rock, began to give his attention to the harness. bad pete had consented to glance their way at last. he turned his head indolently, emitting a mouthful of smoke. as if by instinct his right hand dropped to the butt of a revolver swinging in a holster over his right hip. "i hope he isn't bad tempered today!" shivered harry under his breath. "i beg your pardon, sir," galled tom, "but can you tell us-----" "who are ye looking at?" demanded bad pete, scowling. "at a polished man of the world, i'm sure," replied reade smilingly. "as i was saying, can you tell us just where we can find the s.b. & l.'s field camp of engineers?" "what d'ye want of the camp?" growled pete, after taking another whiff from his cigarette. "why, our reasons for wanting to find the camp are purely personal," tom continued. "now, tenderfoot, don't get fresh with me," warned pete sullenly. "i haven't an idea of that sort in the world, sir," tom assured him. "do you happen to know the hiding-place of the camp?" "what do you want of the camp?" insisted pete. "well, sir, since you're so determined to protect the camp from questionable strangers," tom continued, "i don't know that it will do any harm to inform you that we are two greenhorns---tenderfeet, i believe, is your more elegant word---who have been engaged to join the engineers' crowd and break in at the business." "cub engineers, eh, tenderfoot?" "that's the full size of our pretensions, sir," tom admitted. "rich men's sons, coming out to learn the ways of the rookies?" questioned bad pete, showing his first sign of interest in them. "not quite as bad as that," tom reade urged. "we're wholly respectable, sir. we have even had to work hard in order to raise money for our railway fare out to colorado." bad pete's look of interest in them faded. "huh!" he remarked. "then you're no good either why." "that's true, i'm afraid," sighed tom. "however, can you tell us the way to the camp?" from one pocket bad pete produced a cigarette paper and from another tobacco. slowly he rolled and lighted a cigarette, in the meantime seeming hardly aware of the existence of the tenderfeet. at last, however, he turned to the colorado boy and observed: "pardner, i reckon you'd better drive on with these tenderfeet before i drop them over the cliff. they spoil the view. ye know where bandy's gulch is?" "sure," nodded the colorado boy. "ye'll find the railroad outfit jest about a mile west o' there, camped close to the main trail." "i'm sure obliged to you," nodded the colorado boy, stepping up to his seat and gathering in the reins. "and so are we, sir," added tom politely. "hold your blizzard in until i ask ye to talk," retorted bad pete haughtily. "drive on with your cheap baggage, pardner." "cheap baggage, are we?" mused tom, when the wagon had left bad pete some two hundred feet to the rear. "my, but i feel properly humiliated!" "how many men has bad pete killed?" inquired harry in an awed voice. "don't know as he ever killed any," replied the colorado boy, "but i'm not looking for trouble with any man that always carries a revolver at his belt and goes around looking for someone to give him an excuse to shoot. the pistol might go off, even by accident." "are there many like mr. peter bad in these hills nowadays?" tom inquired. "you'll find the foothills back near denver or pueblo," replied the colorado youth coldly "you're up in the mountains now." "well, are there many like peter bad in these mountains?" tom amended. "not many," admitted their driver. "the old breed is passing. you see, in these days, we have the railroad, public schools, newspapers, the telegraph, electric light, courts and the other things that go with civilization." "the old days of romance are going by," sighed harry hazelton. "do you call murder romantic?" reade demanded. "harry, you came west expecting to find the colorado of the dime novels. now we've traveled hundreds of miles across this state, and mr. bad wore the first revolver that we've seen since we crossed the state line. my private opinion is that peter would be afraid to handle his pistol recklessly for fear it would go off." "i wouldn't bank on that," advised the young driver, shaking his head. "but you don't carry a revolver," retorted tom reade. "pop would wallop me, if i did," grinned the colorado boy. "but then, i don't need firearms. i know enough to carry a civil tongue, and to be quiet when i ought to." "i suppose people who don't possess those virtues are the only people that have excuse for carrying a pistol around with their keys, loose change and toothbrushes," affirmed reade. "harry, the longer you stay west the more people you'll find who'll tell you that toting a pistol is a silly, trouble-breeding habit." they drove along for another hour before a clattering sounded behind them. "i believe it's bad pete coming," declared harry, as he made out, a quarter of a mile behind them, the form of a man mounted on a small, wiry mustang. "yep; it is," nodded the colorado boy, after a look back. the trail being wider here bad pete whirled by them with a swift drumming of his pony's hoofs. in a few moments more he was out of sight. "tom, you may have your doubts about that fellow," hazelton remarked, "but there's one thing he can do---ride!" "humph! anyone can ride that knows enough to get into a saddle and stick there," observed the colorado boy dryly. readers of the "_grammar school boys series_" and of the "_high school boys series_", have already recognized in tom reade and harry hazelton two famous schoolboy athletes. back in old gridley there had once been a schoolboy crowd of six, known as dick & co. under the leadership of dick prescott, these boys had made their start in athletics in the central grammar school, winning no small amount of fame as junior schoolboy athletes. then in their high school days dick & co. had gradually made themselves crack athletes. baseball and football were their especial sports, and in these they had reached a degree of skill that had made many a college trainer anxious to obtain them. none of the six, however, had gone to college. dick prescott and greg holmes had secured appointments as cadets at the united states military academy, at west point. their adventures are told in the "_west point series_." dave darrin and dan dalzell, feeling the call to the navy, had entered the united states naval academy at annapolis. their further doings are all described in the "_annapolis series_." tom reade and harry hazelton, however, had found that their aspirations pointed to the great constructive work that is done by the big-minded, resourceful american civil engineer of today. bridge building, railroad building, the tunneling of mines---in a word, the building of any of the great works of industry possessed a huge fascination for them. tom was good-natured and practical, harry at times full of mischief and at others dreamy, but both longed with all their souls to place themselves some day in the front ranks among civil engineers. at high school they had given especial study to mathematics. at home they had studied engineering, through correspondence courses and otherwise. during more than the last year of their home life our two boys had worked much in the offices of a local civil engineer, and had spent part of their school vacations afield with him. finally, after graduating from school both boys had gone to new york in order to look the world over. by dint of sheer push, three-quarters of which tom had supplied, the boys had secured their first chance in the new york offices of the s.b. & l. not much of a chance, to be sure, but it meant forty dollars a month and board in the field, with the added promise that, if they turned out to be "no good," they would be promptly "bounced." "if 'bounced' we are," tom remarked dryly, "we'll have to walk home, for our money will just barely take us to colorado." so here they were, having come by rail to a town some distance west of pueblo. from the last railway station they had been obliged to make thirty miles or more by wagon to the mountain field camp of the s.b. & l. since daybreak they had been on the way, eating breakfast and lunch from the paper parcels that they had brought with them. "how much farther is the camp, now that you know the way." reade inquired an hour after bad pete had vanished on horseback. "there it is, right down there," answered the colorado youth, pointing with his whip as the raw-boned team hauled the wagon to the top of a rise in the trail. of the trail to the left, surrounded by natural walls of rock, was an irregularly shaped field about three or four acres in extent. here and there wisps of grass grew, but the ground, for the most part, was covered by splinters of rock or of sand ground from the same. at the farther end of the camp stood a small wooden building, with three tents near try. at a greater distance were several other tents. three wagons stood at one side of the camp, though horses or mules for the same were not visible. outside, near the door of one tent, stood a transit partially concealed by the enveloping rubber cover. near another tent stood a plane table, used in field platting (drawing). signs of life about the camp there were none, save for the presence of the newcomers. "i wonder if there's anyone at home keeping house," mused tom reade, as he jumped down from the wagon. "there's only one wooden house in this town. that must be where the boss lives," declared harry. "yes; that's where the boss lives," replied the colorado youth, with a wry smile. "let's go over and see whether he has time to talk to us," suggested reade. "just one minute, gentlemen," interposed the driver. "where do you want your kit boxes placed? are you going to pay me now?" "drop the kit boxes on the ground anywhere," tom answered. "we're strong enough to carry 'em when we find where they belong." and---yes: we are going to pay you now. eighteen dollars, isn't it?" "yes," replied the young driver, with the brevity of the mountaineer. tom and harry went into their pockets, each producing nine dollars as his share of the fare. this was handed over to the colorado youth. "'bliged to you, gentlemen," nodded the colorado boy pocketing the money. "anything more to say to me?" "nothing remains to be said, except to thank you, and to wish you good luck on your way back," said reade. "i wish you luck here, too, gentlemen. good day." with that, the driver mounted his seat, turned the horses about and was off without once looking back. "now let's go over to the house and see the boss," murmured tom. together the chums skirted the camp, going up to the wooden building. as the door was open, tom, with a sense of good manners, approached from the side that he might not appear to be peeping in on the occupants of the building. gaining the side of the doorway, with harry just behind him, reade knocked softly. "quit yer kidding, whoever it is, and come in," called a rough voice. tom thereupon stepped inside. what he saw filled him with surprise. around the room were three or four tables. there were many utensils hanging on the walls. there were two stoves, with a man bending over one of them and stirring something in a pot. "oh, i beg your pardon," said tom. "i thought i'd find mr. timothy thurston, the chief engineer, here." "nope," replied a stout, red-faced man of forty, in flannel shirt and khaki trousers. "mr. thurston never eats between meals, and when he does eat he's served in his own mess tent. whatcher want here, pardner?" "we're under orders to report to him," tom answered politely. "new men in the chain gang?" asked the cook, swinging around to look at the newcomers. "maybe," reade assented. "that will depend on the opinion that mr. thurston forms of us after he knows us a little while. i believe the man in new york said we were to be assistant engineers." "there's only one assistant engineer here," announced the cook. "the other engineers are just plain surveyors or levelers." "well, we won't quarrel about titles," tom smilingly assured the cook. "will you please tell us where mr. thurston is?" "he's in his tent over yonder," said the cook, pointing through the open doorway. "shall we step over there and announce ourselves?" tom inquired. "why, ye could do it," rejoined the red-faced cook, with a grin. "if tim thurston happens to be very busy he might use plain talk and tell you to git out of camp." "then do you mind telling us just how we should approach the chief engineer?" "whatter yer names?" "reade and hazelton." "bob, trot over and tell thurston there's two fellows here, named reade and hazelnut. ask him what he wants done with 'em." the cook's helper, who, so far, had not favored the new arrivals with a glance, now turned and looked them over. then, with a nod, the helper stepped across the ground to the largest tent in camp. in a few moments he came back. "mr. thurston says to stay around and he'll call you jest as soon as he's through with what he's doing," announced bob, who, dark, thin and anemic, was a decrepit-looking man of fifty years or thereabouts. "ye can stand about in the open," added the cook, pointing with his ladle. "there's better air out there." "thank you," answered tom briskly, but politely. once outside, and strolling slowly along, reade confided to his chum: "harry, you can see what big fellows we two youngsters are going to be in a rocky mountain railroad camp. we haven't a blessed thing to do but play marbles until the chief can see us." "i can spare the time, if the chief can," laughed harry. "hello---look who's here!" bad pete, now on foot, had turned into the camp from the farther side. espying the boys he swaggered over toward them. "how do you do, sir?" nodded tom. "can't you two tenderfeet mind your own business?" snarled pete, halting and scowling angrily at them. "now, i come to think of it," admitted tom, "it _was_ meddlesome on my part to ask after your health. i beg your pardon." "say, are you two tenderfeet trying to git fresh with me?" demanded bad pete, drawing himself up to his full height and gazing at them out of flashing eyes. almost unconsciously tom reade drew himself up, showing hints of his athletic figure through the folds of his clothing. "no, peter," he said quietly. "in the first place, my friend hasn't even opened his mouth. as for myself, when i _do_ try to get fresh with you, you won't have to do any guessing. you'll be sure of it." bad pete took a step forward, dropping his right hand, as though unconsciously, to the butt of the revolver in the holster. he fixed his burning gaze savagely on the boy's face as he muttered, in a low, ugly voice: "tenderfoot, when i'm around after this you shut your mouth and keep it shut! you needn't take the trouble to call me peter again, either. my name is bad pete, and i am bad. i'm poison! understand? poison!" "poison?" repeated tom dryly, coolly. "no; i don't believe i'd call you that. i think i'd call you a bluff---and let it go at that." bad pete scowled angrily. again his hand slid to the butt of his revolver, then with a muttered imprecation he turned and stalked away, calling back threateningly over his shoulder: "remember, tenderfoot. keep out of my way." behind the boys, halted a man who had just stepped into the camp over the natural stone wall. this man was a sun-browned, smooth-faced, pleasant-featured man of perhaps thirty-two or thirty-three years. dressed in khaki trousers, with blue flannel shirt, sombrero and well-worn puttee leggings, he might have been mistaken for a soldier. though his eyes were pleasant to look at, there was an expression of great shrewdness in them. the lines around his mouth bespoke the man's firmness. he was about five-feet-eight in height, slim and had the general bearing of a strong man accustomed to hard work. "boys," he began in a low voice, whereat both tom and harry faced swiftly about, "you shouldn't rile bad pete that way. he's an ugly character, who carries all he knows of law in his holsters, and we're a long way from the sheriff's officers." "is he really bad?" asked tom innocently. "really bad?" laughed the man in khaki. "you'll find out if you try to cross him. are you visiting the camp?" "reade! hazelton!" called a voice brusquely from the big tent. "that's mr. thurston calling us, i guess," said tom quickly. "we'll have to excuse ourselves and go and report to him." "yes, that was thurston," nodded the slim man. "and i'm blaisdell, the assistant engineer. i'll go along with you." throwing aside the canvas flap, mr. blaisdell led the boys inside the big tent. at one end a portion of the tent was curtained off, and this was presumably the chief engineer's bedroom. near the centre of the tent was a flat table about six by ten feet. just at present it held many drawings, all arranged in orderly piles. not far from the big table was a smaller one on which a typewriting machine rested. the man who sat at the large table, and who wheeled about in a revolving chair as tom and harry entered, was perhaps forty-five years of age. his head was covered with a mass of bushy black hair. his face was as swarthy, in its clean-shaven condition, as though the owner had spent all of his life under a hot sun. his clothing like that of all the rest of the engineers in camp was of khaki, his shirt of blue flannel, with a long, flowing black tie. "mr. thurston," announced the assistant engineer, "i have just encountered these young gentlemen, who state that they are under orders from the new york offices to report to you for employment." mr. thurston looked both boys over in silence for a few seconds. his keen eyes appeared to take in everything that could possibly concern them. then he rose, extending his hand, first to reade, next to hazelton. "from what technical school do you come?" inquired the engineer as he resumed his chair. "from none, sir," tom answered promptly "we didn't have money enough for that sort of training." mr. thurston raised his eyebrows in astonished inquiry. "then why," he asked, "did you come here? what made you think that you could break in as engineers?" chapter ii bad pete becomes worse timothy thurston's gaze was curious, and his voice a trifle cold. yet he did not by any means treat the boys with contempt. he appeared simply to wonder why these young men had traveled so far to take up his time. "we couldn't afford to take a college course in engineering, sir," tom reade continued, reddening slightly. "we have learned all that we possibly could in other ways, however." "do you expect me, young men, to detail an experienced engineer to move about with you as instructor until you learn enough to be of use to us?" "no, indeed, we don't, sir," tom replied, and perhaps his voice was sharper than usual, though it rang with earnestness. "we believe, sir, that we are very fair engineers. we are willing to be tried out, sir, and to be rated exactly where you find that we belong. if necessary we'll start in as helpers to the chainmen, and we have pride enough to walk back over the trail at any moment when you decide that we're no good. we have traveled all the way from the east, and i trust, sir, that you'll give us a fair chance to show if we know anything." "it won't take long to find that out," replied mr. thurston gravely. "of course you both understand that we are doing real engineering work and haven't any time to instruct amateurs or be patient with them." "we don't want instruction, mr. thurston," hazelton broke in. "we want work, and when we get it we'll do it." "i hope your work will be as good as your assurance," replied the chief engineer, with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "what can you do?" "we know how to do ordinary surveying, sir," tom replied quickly. "we can run our courses and supervise the chaining. we know how to bring in field notes that are of some use. we can do our work well within the limits of error allowed by the united states government. we also consider ourselves competent at leveling. give us the profile plan and the notes on an excavation, and we can superintend the laborers who have to make an excavation. we have a fair knowledge of ordinary road building. we have the strength of usual materials at our finger's ends, and for beginners i think we may claim that we are very well up in mathematics. we have had some all-around experience. here is a letter, sir, from price & conley, of gridley, in whose offices we have done quite a bit of work." mr. thurston took the letter courteously, though he did not \ immediately glance at it. "country surveyors, these gentlemen, i suppose?" he asked, looking into tom's eyes. "yes, sir," nodded reade, "though mr. price is also the engineer for our home county. both mr. price and mr. conley paid us the compliment of saying that we were well fitted to work in a railway engineering camp." "well, we'll try you out, until you either make good or convince us that you can't," agreed the chief engineer, without any show of enthusiasm. "you may show them where they are to live, mr. blaisdell, and where they are to mess. in the morning you can put these young men at some job or other." the words sounded like a dismissal, but blaisdell lingered a moment. "mr. thurston," he smiled, "our young men ran, first thing, into bad pete." "yes?" inquired the chief. "did pete show these young men his fighting front?" blaisdell repeated the dialogue that had taken place between tom and bad pete. the chief listened to his assistant in silence. tom flushed slightly under the penetrating glance mr. thurston cast upon him during the recital. when the assistant had finished, the chief merely remarked: "blaisdell, i wish you could get rid of that fellow, bad pete. i don't like to have him hanging about the camp. he's an undesirable character, and i'm afraid that some of our men will have trouble with him. can't you get rid of him?" "i'll do it if you say so, mr. thurston," blaisdell answered quietly. "how?" inquired his chief. "i'll serve out firearms to five or six of the men, and the next time pete shows his face we'll cover him and march him miles away from camp." "that wouldn't do any good," replied mr. thurston, with a shake of his head. "pete would only come back, uglier than before, and he'd certainly shoot up some of our men." "you asked me, a moment ago, mr. thurston, what i could do," tom broke in. "give me a little time, and i'll agree to rid the camp of peter." "how?" asked the chief abruptly. "not with any gun-play! pete would be too quick for you at anything of that sort." "i don't carry a pistol, and don't wish to do so," tom retorted. "in my opinion only a coward carries a pistol." "then you think bad pete is a coward, young man?" returned the chief. "if driven into a corner i'm pretty sure he'd turn out to be one, sir," tom went on earnestly. "a coward is a man who's afraid. if a fellow isn't afraid of anything, then why does he have to carry firearms to protect himself?" "i don't believe that would quite apply to pete," mr. thurston went on. "pete doesn't carry a revolver because he's afraid of anything. he knows that many other men are afraid of pistols, and so he carries his firearms about in order that he may enjoy himself in playing bully." "i can drive him out of camp," tom insisted. "all i'll wait for will be your permission to go ahead." "if you can do it without shooting," replied the chief, "try your hand at it. be careful, however, reade. there are plenty of good natural lead mines in these mountains." "yes---sir?" asked reade, looking puzzled. "much as we'd like to see pete permanently out of this camp, remember that we don't want you to give the fellow any excuse for turning you into a lead mine." "if peter tries anything like that with me," retorted tom solemnly, "i shall be deeply offended." "very good. take the young men along with you, blaisdell. i'll hear your report on them tomorrow night." the assistant engineer took tom and harry over to a seven by nine tent. "you'll bunk in here," he explained, "and store your dunnage here. there are two folding cots in the tent, as you see. don't shake 'em out until it's time to turn in, and then you'll have more room in your house. now, come on over and i'll show you the mess tent for the engineers." this blaisdell also showed them. there was nothing in the tent but a plain, long table, with folding legs, and a lot of camp chairs of the simplest kind. "what's that tent, mr. blaisdell?" inquired harry, pointing to the next one, as they came out of the engineers' mess. "mess tent for the chainmen and rod men laborers, etc.," replied their guide. "now, the fellows will be in soon, and supper will be on in half an hour. after you get your dunnage over to your tent amuse yourselves in any way that you care to. i'll introduce you to the crowd at table." tom and harry speedily had their scanty dunnage stored in their own tent. then they sat down on campstools just outside the door. "thurston didn't seem extremely cordial, did he?" asked hazelton solemnly. "well, why should he be cordial?" tom demanded. "what does he know about us? we're trying to break in here and make a living, but how does he know that we're not a pair of merely cheerful idiots?" "i've an idea that mr. thurston is always rather cool with his staff," pursued harry. "do your work, old fellow, in an exceptionally fine way, and i guess you'll find that he can thaw out. mr. thurston is probably just like other men who have to employ folks. when he finds that a man can really do the work that he's paid to do i imagine that thurston is well satisfied and not afraid to show it." "what's that noise?" demanded harry, trying to peer around the corner of their tent without rising. "the field gang coming in, i think," answered tom. "let's get up, then, and have a look at our future mates," suggested harry hazelton. "no; i don't believe it would be a good plan," said tom. "we might be thought fresh if we betrayed too much curiosity before the crowd shows some curiosity about us." "reade!" sounded blaisdell's voice, five minutes later. "bring your friend over and inspect this choice lot of criminals." tom rose eagerly, followed by harry. as they left the tent and hurried outside they beheld two rows of men, each before a long bench on which stood agate wash basins. the toilet preceding the evening meal was on. "gentlemen," mr. blaisdell, as the two chums drew near, "i present two new candidates for fame. one is named reade, the other hazelton. take them to your hearts, but don't, at first, teach them all the wickedness you know. reade, this is jack rutter, the spotted hyena of the camp. if he ever gets in your way just push him over a cliff." a pleasant-faced young man in khaki hastily dried his face and hands on a towel, then smilingly held out his right hand. "glad to know you, reade," he laughed. hope you'll like us and decide to stay." "hazelton," continued the announcer, "shake hands with slim morris, whether he'll let you or not. and here's matt rice. we usually call him 'mister' rice, for he's extremely talented. he knows how to play the banjo." the assistant engineer then turned away, while one young man, at the farther end of the long wash bench stood unpresented. "oh, on second thoughts," continued blaisdell, "i'll introduce you to joe grant." the last young man came forward. "joe used to be a good fellow---once," added the assistant engineer. "in these days, however, you want to keep your dunnage boxes locked. joe's specialty is stealing fancy ties---neckties, i mean." joe laughed good-humoredly as he shook hands, adding: "we'll tell you all about blaisdell himself, boys, one of these days, but not now. it's too far from pay day, and old blaze stands in too thickly with the chief." "if you folks don't come into supper soon," growled the voice of the cook, jake wren, from the doorway of the engineer's mess tent, "i'll eat your grub myself." "he'd do it, too," groaned slim morris, a young man who nevertheless weighed more than two hundred pounds. "blaze, won't you take us inside and put us in our high chairs?" there was infinite good humor in this small force of field engineers. as was afterwards learned, all of them were graduates either of colleges or of scientific schools but not one of them affected any superiority over the young newcomers. just as the party had seated themselves there was a step outside, and bad pete stalked in looking decidedly sulky. "evening," he grunted, and helped himself to a seat at the table. "reade and hazelton, you've had the pleasure of meeting pete, i believe?" asked blaisdell, without the trace of a smile. "huh!" growled pete, not looking up, for the first supply of food was on the table. "we've had the pleasure, twice today, of meeting mr. peter," replied tom, with equal gravity. "see here, tenderfoot," scowled bad pete, looking up from his plate, "don't you call me 'peter' again. savvy?" "we don't know your other name, sir," rejoined tom, eyeing the bad man with every outward sign of courtesy. "i'm just plain pete. savvy that? "certainly, plain pete," reade nodded. pete dropped his soup spoon with a clatter letting his right hand fall to the holster. "be quiet, pete," warned blaisdell, his eyes shooting a cold glance at the angry man. "reade is a newcomer, not used to our ways yet. remember that this is a gentleman's club." "then let him get out," warned pete blackly. "he belongs here by right, pete, and you're a guest. of course we enjoy having you here with us, but, if you don't care to take us as you find us, the fellows in the chainmen's mess will be glad to have you join them." "that tenderfoot is only a boy," growled pete. "if he can't hold his tongue when men are around, then i'll teach him how." "reade hasn't done anything to offend you," returned blaisdell, half sternly, half goodhumoredly. "you let him alone, and he'll let you alone. i'm sure of that." "blaisdell, if you don't see that i'm treated right in this mess, i'll teach you something, too," flared bad pete. "threatening the president of the mess is a breach of courtesy on the part of any guest who attempts it," spoke blaisdell again. "gentlemen, what is your pleasure?" "i move," suggested slim morris quietly, "that pete be considered no longer a member or guest of this mess." "second the motion," cried rutter, rice and grant together. "the motion appears to have been carried, without the necessity for putting it," declared mr. blaisdell. "pete, you have heard the pleasure of the mess." "huh!" scowled bad pete, picking up his soup plate and draining it. jake wren, at this moment, entered with a big platter of roast beef, bob, the helper, following with dishes of vegetables. then bob came in with plates, which he placed before blaisdell. the latter counted the plates, finding eight. "we shan't need this plate, bob," declared blaisdell evenly, handing it back. then he began to carve. "put that plate back with the rest, bob, you pop-eyed coyote," ordered bad pete. bob, looking uneasy, started to do so, but blaisdell waved him away. at that instant jake wren came back into the tent. "for the present, jake," went on the assistant engineer, "serve only for seven in this tent. pete is leaving us." "do you mean-----" flared pete, leaping to his feet and striding toward the engineer. "i mean," responded blaisdell, without looking up, "that we hope the chainmen's mess will take you on. but if they don't like you, they don't have to do so." for ten seconds, while pete stood glaring at blaisdell, it looked as though the late guest would draw his revolver. pete was swallowing hard, his face having turned lead color. "won't you oblige us by going at once, pete?" inquired blaisdell coolly. "not until i've settled my score here," snarled the fellow. "not until i've evened up with you, you-----" at the same time pete reached for his revolver in evident earnest. both his words and his movement were nipped short. morris and rice were the only men in the engineers' party who carried revolvers. they carried weapons, in the day time, for protection against a very real foe, the rocky mountain rattlesnakes, which infested the territory through which the engineers were then working. both these engineers reached swiftly for their weapons. before they could produce them, however, or ore pete could finish what he was saying, tom reade leaped up from his campstool, closing in behind the bad man. "ow-ow! ouch!" yelled pete. "let go, you painted coyote." "walk right out of the tent, and i shall rejoice to let you depart," responded tom steadily. standing behind the fellow, he had, with his strong, wiry fingers, gripped pete hard right over the biceps muscle of each arm. like many another of his type pete had developed no great amount of bodily strength. though he struggled furiously, he was unable to wrench himself free from this youth who had trained hard in football training squads. "step outside and cool off, peter," advised tom, thrusting the bad man through the doorway. "have too much pride, man, to force yourself on people who don't want your company." reade ran his foe outside a dozen feet, then released him, turning and reentering the tent. "no, you don't! put up your pistol," sounded the warning voice of cook jake wren outside. "you take a shot at that young feller, pete, and i'll never serve you another mouthful as long as i'm in the rockies!" bad pete gazed fiercely toward the engineers' tent, hesitated a moment, and then walked wrathfully away. chapter iii the day of real work dawns the meal was finished in peace after that. it was so hearty a meal that tom and harry, who had not yet acquired the keen edge of appetite that comes to hard workers in the rockies, had finished long before any one else. "you fellers had better hurry up," commanded jake wren finally. "it'll soon be dark, and i'm not going to furnish candles." as the cook was an autocrat in camp, the engineers meekly called for more pie and coffee, disposed of it and strolled out of the mess tent over to their own little village under canvas. "bring over your banjo, matt," urged joe. "nothing like the merry old twang to make the new boys feel at home in our school." rice needed no further urging. as darkness came down a volume of song rang out. "what time do we turn out in the morning?" tom asked, as mr. blaisdell brought over a camp stool and sat near them. "at five sharp," responded the assistant engineer. "an hour later we hit the long trail in earnest. this isn't an idling camp." "i'm glad it isn't," reade nodded. then blaisdell chatted with the boys, drawing out of them what they knew, or thought they knew, of civil engineering, especially as applied to railroad building. "i hope you lads are going to make good," said blaisdell earnestly. "we're in something of a fix on this work at best, and we need even more than we have, of the very best hustling engineers that can be found." "i am beginning to wonder," said tom, "how, when you have such need of men of long training, your new york office ever came to pick us out." "because," replied the assistant candidly, "the new york office doesn't know the difference between an engineer and a railroad tie. tim thurston has been making a long yell at the new york offices of the company for engineers. knowing the little that they do, our new york owners take anyone who says he's an engineer, and unload the stranger on us." "i hope we prove up to the work," sighed harry. "we're going to size up. we've got to, and that's all there is to it," retorted tom. "we've been thrown in the water here, harry, and we've got to swim---which means that we're going to do so. mr. blaisdell," turning to the assistant, "you needn't worry as to whether we're going to make good. we _shall_!" "i like your spirit, at any rate, and i've a notion that you're going to win through," remarked the assistant. "you try out a lot of men here, don't you?" asked harry. "a good many," assented blaisdell. "from what i heard at table," hazelton continued, "mr. thurston drops a good many of the new men after trying them." "he doesn't drop any man that he doesn't have to drop," returned blaisdell. "tim thurston wants every competent man that he can get here. let me see-----" blaisdell did some silent counting on his fingers. then he went on: "in the last eleven weeks, thurston has dropped just sixteen new men." "whew!" gasped harry, casting a sidelong glance at his shoes, with visions of a coming walk at least as far back as denver or pueblo. "mr. thurston isn't going to drop us," tom declared. "mr. blaisdell, hazelton and i are here and we're going to hang on if we have to do it with our teeth. we're going to know how to do what's required of us if we have to stay up all night finding out. we've just got to make good, for we haven't any money with which to get home or anywhere else. besides, if we can't make good here we're not fit to be tried out anywhere else." "we're in an especially hard fix, you see," the assistant engineer explained. "when we got our charter something less than two years ago we undertook to have every mile of track ballasted and laid on the s.b. & l., and trains running through, by september th of this year. there are three hundred and fifty-four miles of road in all. now, in july, less than three months from the time, this camp is forty-nine miles from the terminus of the road at loadstone, while the constructing engineers and the track-layers are thirty-eight miles behind us. do you see the problem?" "you can get an extension of time, can't you?" asked tom. "we can---_not_! you see, boys, the s.b. & l. is the popular road. that is, it's the one that the people of this state backed in the main. when we got our charter from the legislature there was a lot of opposition from the w.c. & a. railroad. that organization wishes to add to their road, using the very locations that our preliminary engineering force selected for the s.b. & l. the w.c. & a. folks have such a bewildering number of millions at their back that they would have won away from us, had they been an american crowd. the w.c. & a. has only american officers and a few small stockholders in this country. the w.c. & a. is a foreign crowd throughout in reality, and back of them they have about all the money that's loose in london, paris and berlin. the w.c. & a. spent a lot of money at the state capital, i guess, for it was common report that some of the members of the legislature had sold out to the foreign crowd. so, though public clamor carried our charter through the legislature by sheer force, the best concession we could get was that our road must be built and in operation over the entire length by september th, or the state has the privilege of taking over our road at an appraised value. do you see what that means?" "does it mean that the state would then turn around and sell this road to the w.c. & a. at a good profit?" asked reade. "you've hit it," nodded mr. blaisdell. "the w.c. & a. would be delighted to take over our road at a price paid to the state that would give colorado quite a few millions in profits. the legislature would then have a chance to spend those millions on public improvements in the state. i think you will understand why public clamor now seems to have swung about in favor of the w.c.& a." "yet it seems to me," put in harry, "that, even if the s.b. & l. does fail to get the railroad through in time, the stockholders will get their money back when the state takes the road over." "that, one can never count on," retorted blaisdell, shaking his head. "the state courts would have charge of the appraising of the value of the road, and one can never tell just what courts will award. ten chances to one the appraisal wouldn't cover more than fifty per cent. of what the s.b. & l. has expended, and thus our company would be many millions of dollars out of pocket. besides, if the courts could be depended upon to appraise this uncompleted road at twenty per cent. more than has been expended upon it, our company would still lose, for what the s.b. & l. really expects to do is to bag the big profits that can be made out of the section of the state that this road taps. take it from me, boys, the officials of this road are crazy with anxiety to get the road through in time, and not lose the many millions that are waiting to be earned by the s.b. & l. getting this road through is all that tim thurston dreams of, by night or day. his reputation---and he has a big one in railroad building---is wholly at stake on his carrying this job through. it'll be a big prize for all of us, professionally, if we can back thurston's fight to win." "i'll back it to win," glowed tom ardently "mr. blaisdell, i am well aware that i'm hardly more than the lens cap on a transit in this outfit, but i'm going to do every ounce of my individual share to see this road through and running on time, and i'll carry as much of any other man's burden as i can load onto my shoulders!" "good!" chuckled blaisdell, holding out his hand. "i see that you're one of us, heart and soul, reade. what have you to say, hazelton?" "i always let tom do my talking, because he can do it better," smiled harry. "at the same time, i've known tom reade for a good many years, and his performance is always as good as his promise. as for me, mr. blaisdell, i've just told you that tom does my talking, but i back up all that he promises for me." "pinkitty-plank-plink!" twanged matt rice's banjo, starting into another rollicking air. "i guess it's taps, boys," called blaisdell in his low but resonant voice. "look at the chief's tent; he's putting out his candles now." a glance at the gradually darkening walls of the chief engineers big tent showed that this was the case. "we'll all turn in," nodded blaisdell. so tom and harry hastened to their tent, where they unfolded their camp cots and set them up. there was not much bed-making. the body of the cot was of canvas, and required no mattress. from out of their baggage each took a small pillow and pair of blankets. at this altitude the night was already rather chilly, despite the fact that it was july. rapidly undressing in the dark the young engineers crawled in between their blankets. "well, at last," murmured harry, "we're engineers in earnest. that is," he added rather wistfully, "if we last." "we've got to last," replied tom in a low voice, hardly above a whisper, "and we're going to. harry, we've left behind us the playtime of boyhood, and we're beginning real life! but in that playtime we learned how to play real football. from now on we'll apply all of the best and most strenuous rules of football to the big art of making a living and a reputation. good night, old fellow! dream of the folks back in gridley. i'm going to." "and of the chums at west point and annapolis," gaped hazelton. "god bless them!" that was not the only short prayer sent up, but within five minutes both youngsters had fallen sound asleep. the man who can sleep as they did, when the head touches the pillow, has many successes still ahead of him! nor did they worry about not waking in season in the morning. slim morris had promised to see to it that they were awake on time. slam! bump! tom reade was positive he had not been asleep more than a minute when that rude interruption came. he awoke to find himself scrambling up from the ground. tom had his eyes open in time to see harry hazelton hit the ground with force. then slim morris retreated to the doorway of the tent. "are you fellows going to sleep until pay days" slim demanded jovially. tom hustled into his clothes, reached the doorway of the tent and found the sun already well up in the skies. "the boys are sitting down to breakfast," called slim over his shoulder. "want any?" "_do_ i want any?" mocked tom. he had laid out his khaki clothing the night before, and was now in it, save for his khaki jacket, which he caught up on his arm as he raced along toward the wash bench. nor had he gone very far with the soap and water when harry hazelton was beside him. "tom, tom!" breathed harry in ecstacy. "do you blame people for loving the rocky mountains? this grand old mountain air is food and drink---almost." "it may be for you. i want some of the real old camp chuck---plenty of it," retorted reade, drawing a pocket comb out and running it through his damp locks while he gazed into the foot-square camp mirror hanging from a tree. "may we come in?" inquired tom, pausing in the doorway of the engineers' mess tent. "not if you're in doubt about it," replied mr. blaisdell, who was already eating with great relish. the boys slid into their seats, while bob rapidly started things their way. how good it all tasted! bacon and fried eggs, corn bread and potatoes, coffee and a big dish of that time-honored standby in engineers' camp---baked beans. then, just as tom and harry, despite their appetites, sat back filled, bob appeared with a plate of flapjacks and a pitcher of molasses. "ten minutes of six," observed mr. blaisdell, consulting his watch as he finished. "not much more time, gentlemen." tom and harry followed the assistant engineer out into the open. "can you tell us now, mr. blaisdell, what we're to do today?" reade inquired eagerly. "see those transits?" inquired blaisdell, pointing to two of the telescoped and compassed instruments used by surveyors in running courses. "one for each of you. take your choice. you'll go out today under charge of jack rutter. of course it will be a little bit slow to you the first two or three days, but between you, i hope to see you do more than rutter could do alone. you'll each have two chainmen. rutter will give you blank form books for your field notes. he'll work back and forth between the two of you, seeing that you each do your work right. boys, don't make any mistakes today, will you, so much depends, you know, upon the way you start in at a new job." "we'll do the best that's in us," breathed tom ardently. "engineer rutter," called blaisdell, "your two assistants are ready. get your two sets of chainmen and make a flying start." animated by the spirit of activity that pervaded the camp, tom and harry ran to select their instruments, while rutter hastened after his chainmen. bad pete had not appeared at either mess this morning. he had small need to, for, in the still watches of the night, he had burglarized the cook's stores so successfully that not even that argus-eyed individual had noticed the loss. having breakfasted heartily in a deep thicket, pete now looked down over the camp, his eyes twinkling in an evil way. "i'll get bounced out of mess on account of two pasty-faced tenderfeet like those boys, will i?" pete grumbled to himself. "before this morning is over i reckon i'll have all accounts squared with the tenderfeet!" chapter iv "trying out" the gridley boys the chainmen picked up the transits, carrying also the chains and rods. rutter led the way, tom and harry keeping on either side of him, except when the rough mountain trail narrowed. then they were obliged to walk at his heels. "we are making this survey first," rutter explained, "and then the leveling over the same ground follows within a few days. both the surveying and the leveling have to be done with great care. they must tally accurately, or the work will all go wrong, and the contractors would be thrown out so badly that they'd hardly know where they stood. a serious mistake in surveying or leveling at any point might throw the work down for some days. as you've already heard explained, any delay, now, is going to lose us our charter as sure as guns." for more than a mile and a half the brisk walk continued. at last rutter halted, pointing to a stake driven in the ground. "see the nail head in the top of the stake?" he inquired. "yes," tom nodded. "you'll find a similar nail head in every stake. the exact point of the plummet of your bog-line must centre on the middle of that nail head. you can't be too exact about that, remember." turning to one of the chainmen, rutter added: "jansen, take a rod and hustle along to the next stake." "yes, sir," answered the man, and started on a run. nor did he pause until he had located the stake. then he signaled back with his right hand. tom reade, in the meantime, had quickly set up his transit over the first stake on his part of the course. he did some rough shifting, at first, until the point of the plummet was exactly over the nail head. then followed some careful adjusting of the instrument on its supports until two fine spirit levels showed that the compass of the instrument was exactly level. "now, let me see you get your sight," urged rutter. tom did so, coolly, manipulating his instrument as rapidly as he could with safety, yet not with speed enough to cause himself confusion or worry. "i've got a sight on the rod," announced reade, without emotion. "are the cross-hairs, as you see them through the telescope, just on the mark?" rutter demanded. "yes, sir." "let me have a look," ordered rutter. "a fine, close sight," he assented, after taking a careful look through the telescope. "now, take your reading." this showed the course by the compass, and was expressed in degrees, minutes and seconds. the poor reading of a course is one of the frequent faults of new or careless engineers. "here is a magnifier for the vernier," continued rutter, just after tom had started to make his reading. "thank you; i have a pretty good one of my own," tom answered, diving into one of his pockets and bringing to light a small but powerful reading glass with an aplanatic lens. "you carry a better magnifier than i do," laughed rutter. "hazelton, do you carry a pocket glass?" "yes, sir," nodded harry "i have one just like reade's." "good! i can see that you youngsters believe in good tools." tom in the meantime was busy with the vernier of his transit. this is an ingenious device for showing the smaller divisions into which the circles of the compass are divided. tom quickly jotted down his field note in degrees, minutes and seconds. one chainman now held an end of a hundred-link chain at the nail head on the stake, while a second man started toward the rodman, unfolding the chain as he went. tom remained over his transit. the traveling chainman frequently glanced back for directions from reade whether or not he was off the course of a straight line to the next stake. soon the chain-bearer was a little to the left of the line. tom held a hand over the telescope of the transit, moving it very slowly to the right. the chain-bearer, glancing slowly back, stepped slowly to the right of the course until tom's hand fell abruptly. then the chain-bearer stopped, knowing that he was on the right line. a metal stake, having a loop at the top from which fluttered a marker of red flannel, the man stuck upright in the ground. tom took a peep, signaling so gently that the man moved the stake just half an inch before reade's hand again fell. "that stake is right; go ahead," ordered tom, but he said it not by word of mouth, but merely with a slight gesture of pushing forward. "you've been well trained, i'll bet a hat," smiled butter. "i can tell that by the practiced way that you signal. o'brien!" "yes, sir," answered another chainman, stepping forward. "take thane with you, and carry mr. hazelton's transit to grizzly ledge. mr. hazelton and i will be there presently." two more chainmen started away. now, both of tom's chainmen started forward, the rear one moving to the first metal stake that displayed the red marker. tom still remained at the transit, motioning to the men whenever they got the least out of a true straight line to the rodman. it was not hard work for reade at this point, but it required his closest attention. after some time had passed the chainmen had "chained" the whole distance between tom's stake and the rod resting on the next stake. now the rodman, after making a close measurement, signaled back. nine downward sweeps of his right arm signified nine chains; next the movements of his arm signaled the forty-four links of a tenth chain. then seven movements of the left hand across in front of the eyes, and reade knew that stood for seven-tenths of a link. hence on the page of his field note book tom wrote the distance between the stakes as nine chains and forty-four and seven-tenths links. "that's good," nodded rutter, who had been watching every move closely. the forty-four signaled by the rodman's left arm, instead of being made up of forty-four downward strokes, had consisted of four such strokes, followed by a pause, and then four more strokes. "i'll go along and see you get the course and distance to the third rod," said rutter. this course and distance, too, in time, had been measured and carefully noted by reade. "you'll get along all right, if you pay strict attention and don't become confused or careless," nodded jack rutter. "now, i'll write 'reade' on this starting stake of yours, and i'll write hazelton on your friend's starting stake. after you've surveyed to hazelton's starting stake let your rodman bring you forward until you overhaul me." "very good, sir," nodded tom coolly. rutter and harry moved along the trail, leaving tom with his own "gang." "nothing very mentally wearing in this job," reflected tom, when he found himself left to his own resources. "all a fellow has to do is to keep his head clear, be faithful and exactly honest with his work, and move with all the speed that good, straight work will allow." so reade moved ahead, getting courses and distances to five more stakes. then, as he reached the sixth, he gazed ahead and smiled. a mountain pond lay right in his straight path to the seventh stake. "can that pond be easily forded?" reade asked the nearer chainman. "no, sir; it's about ten feet deep in the centre." tom smiled grimly to himself. "rutter didn't say anything about this to me," tom muttered to himself. "he put this upon me, to see how i'd get over an obstacle like an unfordable pond. well, it's going to take a lot of time but i'll show mr. jack rutter!" accordingly, reade allowed his chainmen to proceed measuring until they were fairly close to the pond. then he went forward to the metal stake that had just been driven. from this stake he laid out a new course to the north and at exact right angles with the proper course, sending his chainmen forward with markers. when he had thus passed the end of the pond reade took another course at exactly right angles to the northerly course, but now going westerly. this he extended until it passed the pond by a few feet. once more reade laid out a course, southerly, at exact right angles with the westerly course, the southerly line being exactly four chains in length, as the northerly line had been. now, the young engineer was able to resume his surveying toward the seventh stake. the extra route that he had followed made three sides of a square. tom was now in line again, with the pond passed, and the exact distance between the sixth and seventh stakes. "i guess that was where rutter was sure he'd have me," chuckled tom quietly. "he's probe ably waiting ahead to see me come hot-footing over the trail to ask for orders." at the tenth stake tom found "hazelton" written thereon. "men," said the young engineer, "i guess this is where we go forward and look for the crowd. get up the stuff and we'll trot along." nearly an hour of solid tramping over the trail followed before tom and his party, guided by the rodman, came upon harry hazelton. jack rutter, chewing a blade of grass, sat under a tree at a little distance from where harry was watching and signaling to two chainmen who were getting a distance. "is your own work all done?" asked rutter. "yes, sir," tom answered. "let me see your field notes." reade passed over the book containing them. from an inner pocket rutter drew out his own field note book. before another minute had passed tom had opened his eyes very wide. "your field notes are all straight, my boy. if you've made any errors, then i've made the same." "you've already been over this work that we've been doing?" demanded tom, feeling somewhat abashed. "of course," nodded the older and more experienced engineer. "you don't for a moment suppose we'd trust you with original work until we had tried you out, do you? we have all the field notes for at least three miles more ahead of here. hazelton!" "coming," said harry, after jotting down his last observations and the distance. "let me see your last notes, hazelton," directed rutter. "yes; your work is all right." "what do you know about this, harry?" laughingly demanded reade. "i've suspected for the last two hours that mr. rutter was merely trying us out over surveyed courses," laughed harry. "if you don't know how to do anything other than transit work," rutter declared, "the chief can use all your time at that. he'll be pleased when i tell him that you're at least as good surveyors as i am. and, reade, i see from your notes that you knew how to measure across a pond that your chainmen couldn't ford." "mr. price taught me that trick, back in gridley," tom responded. suddenly jack rutter sprang to his feet sniffing vigorously. "boys," he announced, "an adventure is coming our way. can you guess what it is?" tom and harry gazed at him blankly. chapter v tom doesn't mind "artillery" "i give it up," reade replied. "well, it's dinner time," declared rutter, displaying the face of his watch. "do we have to walk all the way back to camp?" queried harry, who knew that no provisions had been brought with them. "no; camp is going to be brought to us," smiled rutter. "at least, a part of the camp will be brought here. look up the trail there, at that highest rise. do you see dust near there?" "yes," nodded tom. "a burro pack-train, conveying our food and that of the other surveying parties ahead of us," nodded rutter. "you'll find the cook's helper, bob, in charge of it." "is that the way the meals are brought out every day?" asked hazelton. "no; but now we're getting pretty far from camp, and it would waste a lot of our time to go back and forth. so our noon meals will come by burro route. tomorrow or the day after the camp will be moved forward." "how long before that train will be here?" tom wanted to know. "probably ten minutes," guessed rutter. "then i'm going to see if i can't find some little stream such as i've passed this morning," tom went on. "i want to wash before i'm introduced to clean food." "i'll go along presently," nodded harry to his chum. "there's something about the spirit level on this transit of mine that i want to inspect." so tom reade trudged off into the brush alone. after a few minutes he returned. "that burro outfit in sight?" he called, as he neared the trail. "no," answered rutter. "but it's close. once in a while i can hear a burro clicking his hoofs against stones." harry appeared two minutes later, just as the foremost burro, with bob by its head, put in an appearance about fifty yards away. "all ready for you, bob," called rutter good-humoredly. "you gentlemen of the engineer corps are always ready," grunted the cook's helper. a quick stop was made, bob unloading tin plates, bowls and cups. "soup!" cried rutter in high glee. "this is fine living for buck engineers, bob!" "there's even dessert," returned the cook's helper gravely, exposing an entire apple pie. there was also meat, still fairly warm, as well as canned vegetables in addition to potatoes. a pot of hot coffee finished the repast that bob unloaded at this point. "everything but napkins!" chuckled rutter, as he and the boys quickly "set table" on the ground. "no; something else is missing," answered tom gravely. "bob forgot the finger-bowls." the helper, beginning to feel that he was being "guyed," took refuge in cold indifference. "just stack the things up at this point when you're through," directed bob. "i'll pick 'em up when i come back on the trail." rutter, like a good chief, saw to it that his two assistants and the chainmen were started on their meal ere he himself began. in half an hour every morsel of food and the final drop of coffee had disappeared. "twenty minutes to loaf," advised rutter, throwing himself on the ground and closing his eyes. "i'll take a nap. you'd better follow my example." "then who'll call us?" asked tom. "i will," gaped rutter. "without a clock to ring an alarm?" "humph! any real backwoods engineer can wake up in twenty minutes if he sets his mind on it," retorted jack. this was a fact, though it was the first that tom or harry had heard of it. "see the time?" called rutter, holding out his watch. "twenty minutes of one. i'll call you at one o'clock---see if i don't." in that fine air, with all the warmth of the noon hour, there was no difficulty in going to sleep. truth to tell, tom and harry had tramped so far that forenoon that they were decidedly tired. within sixty seconds both "cubs" were sound asleep. "one o'clock!" called rutter, sitting up and consulting his watch. "fall to, slaves! there is a big batch of work awaiting us. hazelton, you can go right on where you left off. survey along carefully until you come upon a stake marked 'reade.' then come forward until you find us. reade, i'll go along with you and show you where to break in." preceded by their chainmen, rutter and reade trudged along the trail for something like a mile. "halt," ordered jack rutter. "reade, write your autograph on that stake and begin." tom stepped over to the transit, adjusting it carefully and setting the hanging plummet on dead centre with the nail head in the top of the short stake. "never set up a transit again," directed rutter, "without making sure that your levels are absolutely true, and that your vernier arrangement is in order." "i don't believe you'll ever catch me at that, mr. rutter," tom answered, busying himself with the finer adjustments of the transit. "mr. price pounded that into me every time that he took me out in the field." "nevertheless," went on rutter, "i have known older engineers than you, reade, who became careless, and their carelessness cost their employers a lot of wasted time and money. now, you-----" at this juncture jack rutter suddenly crouched behind a low ledge at the right. "get behind here, quickly, reade!" called rutter. "bad pete is up the hillside, about two hundred yards from you-----" "i haven't time to bother with him, now," tom broke in composedly. "duck fast, boy! pete has an ugly grin on his face, and he's reaching for his pistol. he's got it out---he's going to shoot!" whispered rutter, drawing his head down where it would be safe from flying bullets. the chainmen, lounging nearby, had wasted no time in getting safely to cover. "going to shoot, is he?" murmured tom, without glancing away from the instrument. "does peter really know how to shoot," "you'll find out! jump---like a flash, boy!" tom went calmly on tinkering with the mechanism of his instrument. bang! sounded up the trail. tom's fingers didn't falter as he adjusted a small, brass screw. bang! came the second shot. tom betrayed no more annoyance than before. bad pete was aiming to drive bullets into the ground close to the young engineer's feet, making him skip about. the sixth shot pete was saving for clipping reade's hat from his head. the shots continued to ring out. tom, though he appeared to be absorbed in his instrument, counted. when he had counted the sixth shot reade dropped suddenly, picked up a stone that lay at his feet, and whirled about. tom reade hadn't devoted years to ball-playing without knowing how to throw straight. the stone left his hand, arching upward, and flew straight toward bad pete, who had advanced steadily as he fired. whiff! though pete tried, too late, to dodge the stone, it landed against his sombrero, carrying that away without injuring the owner. "kindly clear out!" called tom coolly. "you and your noise annoy me when i'm trying to do a big afternoon's work." snatching up his sombrero, bad pete vanished into a clump of brush. jack rutter leaped up from his haven of safety, advancing swiftly to his cub assistant. "reade," he exclaimed, with ungrudging admiration, "you're the coolest young fellow i ever met, without exception. but you're foolhardy, boy. bad pete is a real shot. one of these days, when you're just as cool, he'll fill you full of lead!" "if he does?" retorted tom, again bending over his transit, "and if i notice it, i'll throw a bigger stone at him than i did that time, and it'll land on him a few inches lower down." "but, boy, don't you understand that the days of david and goliath are gone by," remonstrated rutter. "it's true you're turned the laugh on pete, but that fellow won't forgive you. he may open on you again within two minutes." "i don't believe he will," replied tom, with his quiet smile. "at the same time, i'll be prepared for him." bending to the ground, and rummaging about a bit, reade selected three stones that would throw well. these he dropped into one of his pockets. "now, let the bad man trot himself on, if he has to," added the cub engineer, waving a signal to the rodman, who had just halted at the next stake. "well, of all the cool ones!" grunted rutter, under his breath. "but, then, reade's a tenderfoot. he doesn't understand just how dangerous a fellow like pete can be." the chainman started away to measure the distance. from up the hillside came sounds of smothered but very bad language. "there's our friend peter again," tom chuckled to rutter. "yes, and the ruffian may open on you again at any moment," warned jack, keeping an anxious glance turned in the direction whence came the disturbing voice of bad pete. "oh, i don't think he will," drawled tom, making a hand signal to the leading chainman to step a little more to the left. "i hope not, anyway, for the noise of revolver shots takes my thoughts away from my work." jack rutter said no more after that, though through the rest of the afternoon he kept an alert lookout for signs of pete. there were none, however. rather earlier than usual, on account of the distance back to camp, rutter knocked off work for the entire party and the start on the return to camp was made. harry hazelton was considerably excited when he heard the news of the firing on his chum. reade, however, appeared to be but little interested in the subject. pete was not in camp that evening. rutter went at once to the tent of the chief, to tell him how well the "cubs" had done during the day. nor did jack forget to relate the encounter with bad pete. just as the underlings of the staff were seating themselves around the table in their mess, mr. thurston thrust his head in at the doorway. "reade," called the chief engineer, "i have heard about your trouble with pete today." "there wasn't any real trouble, sir," tom answered. "fortunately for you, reade, pete didn't intend to hit you. if he had meant to do so, he'd have done it. i've seen him shoot all the spots out of a ten of clubs. don't provoke the fellow, reade, or he'll shoot you full of fancy holes. of course it showed both grit and coolness on your part in keeping steadily on with your work all the time the fellow was firing at you. still, it was unwise to expose yourself needlessly to danger." "i didn't consider bad pete particularly dangerous," tom rejoined. "a lawless man with a loaded revolver is hardly a safe person to trifle with," retorted mr. thurston dryly. "i see that i shall have to make a confession," smiled tom. "it was this way, sir. when hazelton and i were on our way west harry insisted that we were coming into a dangerous country and that we'd need firearms. so harry bought two forty-five six-shooters and several boxes of cartridges, too. i was provoked when i heard about it, for we hadn't any too much money, and harry had bought the revolvers out of our joint treasury." "i felt sure we'd need the pistols," interrupted hazelton. "today's affair shows that i was right. tom, you'll have to carry one of the revolvers after this." "i'm no gun-packer," retorted tom scornfully. "young men have no business carting firearms about unless they're hunting or going to war. any fellow who carries a pistol as he would a lead pencil is either a coward or a lunatic." "i'm glad to hear you say that, reade," nodded mr. thurston approvingly. "two of my staff carry pistols, but they do so under my orders. in the first place they're grown men, not boys. in the second place, they're working over a stretch of ground where rattlesnakes are thick. your coolness today served you better than a pistol would have done. if you had had a revolver, and had drawn it, pete would have drilled you through the head." "drilled me through the head---with what?" asked tom, smiling. "with a bullet, of course, young man," retorted mr. thurston. "i don't believe he would have gone as far as that," laughed tom. "you see, sir, it was like this: when i found harry so set on carrying a pistol, i went down deep in my own pocket and bought two boxes of blank cartridges to fit the forty-fives. i thought if harry were going to do some shooting, it would be the part of friendship to fix him so that he could do it in safety to himself and others." harry's face turned decidedly red. he was beginning to feel foolish. "now, this morning," tom continued, "when i got the khaki out of my dunnage, i ran across the blanks. i don't know what made me do it, but i dropped the box of blanks into one of my pockets. this noon, when i went off to find a stream where i could wash up, i almost stepped on our friend peter, asleep under a bush. for greater comfort he had taken off his belt and holster. somehow, i didn't like the idea of his being there. as softly as i could i crept close. i emptied his revolver and fitted in blanks from my own box. then i took about twenty cartridges out of peter's belt and replaced them with blanks." "do you mean to tell me," broke in rutter, "that bad pete, when he turned his revolver loose on you, was shooting nothing but blanks?" "that was all he had to shoot," tom returned coolly. "and blanks were all he had in his belt to reload with. don't you remember when we heard him making a noise up the hillside, and talking in dots and dashes!" "i do," nodded rutter, looking half dazed. "that," grinned reade, "was when he started in to reload? and discovered that he had nothing on hand but temperance cartridges. here-----" tom began to unload one of his pockets upon the wooden table before the astonished eyes of the others. there was a mixture of his own blank cartridges with the real ammunition that he had stealthily abstracted from bad pete's revolver and belt. such a whoop of glee ascended that the head chainman came running from the other nearby mess tent to see what was up. "just a little joke among our youngsters, my man," explained mr. thurston. "the young gentlemen are going to keep the joke to themselves for the present, though." so the mystified and disappointed chainman returned to his own crowd. "let me see, reade," continued mr. thurston, turning once more to tom, "what is your salary?" "i was taken on, sir, at forty dollars a month, as a starter," tom replied. "a young man with your size of head is worth more than that to the company. we'll call it fifty a month, reade, and keep our eyes on you for signs of further improvement," said the chief engineer, as he turned to go back to his own waiting dinner. chapter vi the bite from the bush from the time that they parted in the morning, until they started to go back to camp in the afternoon, tom and harry did not meet the next day. each, with his chainmen, was served from bob's burro train at noon. "did you see bad pete today?" was harry's greeting, as they started back over the trail. "no." "did you hear from him or of him in any way?" pressed hazelton. "not a sign of any sort from peter," tom went on. "i've a theory as to what's keeping him away. he's on a journey." "journey?" "yes; between you and me, i believe that peter has gone in search of someone who can sell him, or give him, a few forty-five cartridges." "he'd better apply to you, then, tom," grinned harry. "why, i couldn't sell him any," tom replied. "what did you do with those you had last night?" "you remember the unfordable pond that came in one of my courses yesterday?" "yes." "to-day i threw all of peter's . 's into the middle of the pond. they must have sunk a foot into the mud by this time." "seriously, tom, don't you believe that you'd better take one of the revolvers that i bought and wear it on a belt?" "not i," retorted reade. "harry, i wish you could get that sort of foolishness out of your head. a revolver is of no possible use to a man who hasn't any killing to do. i'm trying to learn to be a civil engineer, not a man-killer." "then i believe that bad pete will 'get' you one of these days," sighed hazelton. "wait until he does," smiled tom. "then you can have the fun of coming around and saying 'i told you so.'" their chainmen were ahead of the "cub" engineers on the trail. tom and harry were talking earnestly when they heard a pony's hoofs behind them. hazelton turned with a start. "oh, it's rutter mounted," hazelton said, with a sigh of relief. "i was afraid it was bad pete." "take my word for it, harry. peter is a good deal of a coward. he won't dare to show up until he has some real cartridges. the temperance kind do not give a man like peter any real sense of security in the world." rutter rode along on his sure-footed mountain pony at a rapid jog. when he came close, tom and harry stepped aside into the brush to let him go by on the narrow trail. "don't get off into the brush that way," yelled rutter from the distance. "we're trying to give you room," tom called. "i don't need the room yet. i won't run over you, anyway. stand out of the brush, i tell you." tom good-humoredly obeyed, harry moving, too, though starting an instant later. prompt as he was, however, tom reade was a fraction of a second too late. behind them there was a half-whirring, half-clicking sound. then reade felt a stinging sensation in his left leg three or four inches from the heel. "look out!" yelled rutter, more excitedly than before. "get away from there!" tom ran some distance down the trail. then he halted, laughing. "i wonder what's on rut's mind," he smiled, as hazelton joined him. jack rutter came at a gallop, reining up hard as he reached where tom had stood. again that whirring, clicking sound. rutter's pony reared. "still, you brute!" commanded rutter sternly. then, without waiting to see whether his mount would stand alone, rutter leaped from saddle, going forward with his quirt---a rawhide riding whip---uplifted. into the brush from which tom had stepped rutter went cautiously, though he did not lose much time about it. swish! swish! swish! sounded the quirt, as rutter laid it on the ground ahead of him. then he stepped out. the pony had drawn back thirty or forty feet and now stood trembling, nostrils distended. "is that the way you take your exercise?" reade demanded. rutter, however, came running along the trail, his face white as though from worry. "reade," he demanded, "did that thing strike you?" "what thing," asked tom in wonderment. "the rattler that i killed!" "rattler?" gasped both cub engineers. "yes. from the distance i thought i saw it strike out at you. there's a nest of the reptiles at some point near that brush. that's why i warned you to get away from there. never stand in brush, in the rockies, unless you've looked before stepping. were you struck?" "i believe something did sting me," reade admitted, remembering that smarting sensation in his left leg. "which leg was it? demanded rutter, halting beside the cub. "left---a little above the ankle," replied tom. "take off your legging. i must have a look. hazelton, call to one of your chainmen and send him back to make sure of my pony." harry hastened to obey, then came back breathless. rutter, in the meantime, had turned up enough of tom's left trousers' leg to bare a spot on the flesh that was red. there were fang marks in the centre of this reddened surface. "you got it, boy," spoke rutter huskily. "now we'll have to go to work like lightning to save you." "how are you going to do it?" asked tom coolly, though he felt decidedly queer over the startling news. "hazelton," demanded rutter, turning upon the other cub engineer, "have you nerve enough to put your lips to that wound, and draw, draw draw as hard as you can, and keep on until you've drawn all the poison out?" "i have," nodded harry, sinking to his knees beside his chum. "i'll draw all the poison out if i have to swallow enough to kill me." "you won't poison yourself, hazelton," replied rutter quickly, as one of the chainmen came near with the recaptured pony. "snake venom isn't deadly in the stomach---only when it gets into the blood direct. there's no danger unless you've a cut or a deep scratch in your mouth. spit the stuff out as you draw." 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." "he may give all of us university boys the swift run," laughed another of the draughtsmen. "i don't believe it," tom replied. "the added help that you fellows have given us has enabled us to double our rush forward. i've a notion that president newnham is a man of great common sense." "how are the sick men this morning," inquired harry. "is either one of them fit to talk with the president?" "doc gitney says he won't allow any caller within a thousand feet of his patients," tom smiled. "and doc seems to be a man of his word." both mr. thurston and mr. blaisdell were now weakly conscious, in a half-dazed sort of way. their cases were progressing favorably on the whole, though it would be weeks ere either would be fit to take charge of affairs. the camp had been moved forward, so as to leave the sick men about a fifth of a mile away from the scenes of camp activity. this insured quiet for them until they were able to endure noise once more. "you'll be amazingly busy until the president gets here, i take it," remarked bushrod, another college boy, without glancing up from his drawing table. "yes," drawled tom, with a smile. "when you get time to breathe look out of the door and see what i'm doing." tom walked over to his favorite seat, a reclining camp chair that he had placed under a broad shade tree. seating himself, the cub chief opened a novel that he had borrowed from one of the college boys. "it looks lazy," yawned tom, "but what can i do? i've hustled the corps, but i'm up with them to the last minute of work they've done. there is nothing more i can do until they bring me more work. i might ride out and see how the fellows are coming along in the field, but i was out there yesterday, and i know all they're doing, and everyone of their problems. besides, if i rode afield, i'd miss mr. newnham." so he opened the book and read for an hour. then he glanced up as a stranger on horseback rode into camp. "tell me where i can find mr. reade," said the new arrival. "you're looking at hire," tom replied. "no, son; i want your father," explained the horseman. "if you go on horseback it will take you months to reach him," tom explained. "my father lives 'way back east." "but i want the chief engineer of this outfit," insisted the stranger. "then you're at the end of your journey." "don't tell me, young man, that you're the chief engineer," protested the horseman. "no," tom admitted modestly. "i'm only the acting chief. hold on. if you think i'm not responsible for that statement you might ask any of the fellows over in the headquarters tent." at that moment harry hazelton thrust his head out through the doorway. "young man," hailed the stranger, "i want to find the chief." "reach out your hand, and you can touch him on the shoulder," answered hazelton, and turned back. "i know i don't look entirely trustworthy," grinned tom, "but i've been telling you the truth." "then, perhaps," continued the stranger, looking keenly at the cub engineer, "you'll know why i'm here. i'm dave fulsbee." "you're mighty welcome, then," cried tom, reaching out his hand. "i've been wondering where you were." "i came as soon as i could get the wagon-load of equipment together," grinned fulsbee. "where is the wagon?" "coming along up the trail. it will be here in about twenty minutes." "i'll be glad to see your equipment, and to set you at work as soon as we're ready," reade went on. "harry, show mr. fulsbee the tent we've set aside for himself and his helper." "who is that party?" questioned watson, as hazelton started off with the newcomer in tow. "oh, just a new expert that we're taking on," tom drawled. ten minutes later all other thoughts were driven from reade's mind. a mountain wagon was sighted coming up the trail, drawn by a pair of grays. the stout gentleman, on the rear seat, dressed in the latest fashion, even to his highly polished shoes, must surely be all the way from broadway. "mr. newnham?" queried tom, advancing to the wagon as it halted. "yes; is mr. reade here?" "you're speaking to him, sir," smiled the cub engineer. mr. newnham took a quick look, readjusted his spectacles, and looked once more. tom bore the scrutiny calmly. "i expected to find a very young man here, mr. reade, but you're considerably younger than i had expected. yet howe, in charge of the construction corps, tells me that you've been hustling matters at this field survey end. how are you, reade?" mr. newnham descended from the wagon, at once holding out his hand. "i'm very comfortable, thank you, sir," tom smiled. "you're dreadfully busy, i'm sure," continued the president of the s.b. & l. "in fact, reade, i feel almost guilty in coming here and taking up your time when you've such a drive on. don't let me detain you. i can go right on into the field and talk with you there." "it won't be necessary, sir," tom answered, with another smile. "i'm not doing anything in particular." "nothing in particular? why, i thought-----" "i don't do any tearing around myself," laughed reade. "since you were kind enough to make me acting chief engineer here i've kept the other fellows driving pretty hard, and i have every bit of work done right up to the minute. yet, as for myself, i have little to do, most of the day, except to sit in a camp easy chair, or else i ride a bit over the ground and see just where the fellows are working." "you take it mighty easily," murmured president newnham. "a chief may, if he has the sense to know how to work his subordinates," tom continued. "i don't believe, sir, that you'll find any fault with the way matters have gone forward." "let me see the latest reports," urged mr. newnham. "certainly, sir, if you'll come into the head-quarters tent." leading the way into the tent where harry hazelton and his draughting force were at work, tom announced: "gentlemen, mr. newnham, president of the s.b. & l., wishes to look over the reports and the maps with me. you may lay off until called back to work." as the others filed out of the tent, tom made harry a sign to remain. then the three went over the details of what the field survey party was doing. "from all i can see," remarked president newnham, "you have done wonderfully well, reade. i can certainly find no fault with tim thurston for recommending that you be placed in charge. thurston will certainly be jealous when he gets on his feet again. you have driven the work ahead in faster time than thurston himself was able to do." "it's very likely, sir," replied tom reade, "that i have had an easier part of the country to work through than mr. thurston had. then, again, the taking on of the engineer student party from the state university has enabled us to get ahead with much greater speed." "i wonder why thurston never thought to take on the students," murmured mr. newnham. bang! sounded an explosion, a mile or two to the westward. "i didn't know that you were doing any blasting, reade," observed the president of the s.b. & l. "neither did i, sir," tom replied, rising and listening. bang! bang! bang! sounded a series of sharp reports. tom ran out into the open mr. newnham following at a slower gait. bang! bang! bang! "hi, there, riley!" roared tom promptly. "saddle two horses as quickly as you can. harry, make ready to follow with me as soon as the horses are ready." "is anything wrong?" inquired the president. he was answered by more explosions in the distance. "i'm afraid so," tom muttered, showing his first trace of uneasiness. "however, i don't want to say, mr. newnham, until i've investigated." before the horses were ready tom descried, half a mile away, on a clear bit of trail, a horseman riding in at a furious gallop. "there comes a messenger, mr. newnham," tom went on. "we'll soon know just what the trouble is." "trouble?" echoed mr. newnham, in astonishment. "then you believe that is the word, do you?" "i'm afraid, mr. newnham, that you've reached here just in time to see some very real trouble," was reade's quick answer. "but wait just two minutes, sir, and we'll have exact information. guessing won't do any good." once or twice, through the trees, they caught sight of the on-rushing rider. then jack rutter, a big splotch of red on the left sleeve of his shirt, rode hard into camp. "reade," he shouted, "we're ambushed! hidden scoundrels have been firing on us." "you've ordered all the men in?" called tom, as rutter reined up beside him. "every man of them," returned jack. "poor reynolds, of the student party, is rather seriously hit, i'm afraid. some of the fellows are bringing him in." "you're hit yourself," tom remarked. "what? that little scratch?" demanded rutter scornfully. "don't count me as a wounded man, reade. there are some firearms in this camp. i want to get the men armed, as far as the weapons will go, and then i want to go back and smoke out the miserable rascals!" "it won't be wise, jack," tom continued coolly. "you'll find that there are too many of the enemy. besides, you won't have to fatigue yourselves by going back over the trail. the scoundrels will be here, before long. they doubtless intend to wipe out the camp." "assassins coming to wipe out the camp?" almost exploded president newnham. "reade, this is most extraordinary!" "it is---very," tom assented dryly. "but who can the villains be?" "a picked-up gang of gun-fighters, sent here to blow this camp off the face of the earth, since that is the only way that the backers of the rival road can find to set us back," tom rejoined. "if they drive us away from here, they'll attack the construction force next!" chapter xvi shut off from the world five horsemen belonging to the field party rode in furiously, matt rice at their head. "it's a shame," yelled rice, as he threw himself from his horse. "i'd have stayed behind---so would the others---if we had had rifles with us. the scoundrels kept up a fire at a quarter of a mile range. then we passed the men who are carrying reynolds---they're almost here now---but it wouldn't have done any good for us to stand by them. we'd have made the other party only a bigger mark. where are the revolvers, reader? we've got to make a stand here. we can't run away and leave our camp to fall into their hands." "we're not going to run away," said reade grimly. "but i'll tell you what a half dozen of you can do. hustle for shovels and dig a deep hole here. this gentleman is mr. newnham, president of the company that employs us. if the camp is attacked we can't afford to have the president of the road killed." "mr. newnham would do far better to ride down the trail as fast as he can go, and try to join the construction camp," offered rutter. the president of the s.b. & l. had been silent during the last few exciting moments. but now he opened his mouth long enough to reply very quickly: "mr. newnham hasn't any thoughts of flight. i am not a fighting man, and never saw a shot fired in anger in my life, but i'm going to stand my ground in my own camp." "dig the hole, anyway," ordered tom. "we'll want a safe place to put young reynolds. we can't afford to leave him exposed to fire." "where are the revolvers?" rice insisted, as others started to get shovels and dig in a hurry. "oh, never mind the revolvers," replied tom. "we won't use 'em, anyway. we can't, for they wouldn't carry far enough to put any of the enemy in danger." "mr. reade," remarked mr. newnham, in a quiet undertone, "does it occur to you that you are making no preparations to defend the camp! that, in fact, you seem wholly indolent in the matter?" "oh, no; i'm not indolent, sir," smiled tom. "you'll find me energetic enough, sir, i imagine, when the need for swift work comes." "of course you couldn't foresee the coming of any such outrage as this," mr. newnham continued. "oh, i rather guessed that this sort of thing was coming," tom confessed. "you guessed it---and yet the camp has been left undefended? you haven't taken any steps to protect the company's rights and property at this point?" gasped mr. newnham. "you will find, sir, that i am not wholly unprepared," reade remarked dryly, while the corners of his mouth drew down grimly. tom was apparently the only one in camp, after the excitement started, who had noted that dave fulsbee, at the first shots, had leaped to his horse and vanished down the trail to the eastward. at this moment a party of a dozen, headed by professor coles, came in on foot, bearing young reynolds with them. "harry, mount one of the saddled horses and rush down yonder for doc gitney," tom ordered. "give him your horse to come back on. he must see to young reynolds promptly." some of the field party came in on horseback, followed soon by still others on foot. many of the field engineering party, in their haste, had left their instruments, rods and chains behind. tom, after diving into and out of the headquarters tent, held up a pair of powerful binocular field glasses. with these he took sweeping views of the near-by hills to the westward. "the scoundrels haven't gotten in at close quarters yet, sir," reade reported to president newnham. "at least, i can't make out a sign of them on the high ground that commands this camp." "this whole business of an armed attack on us is most incomprehensible to me," remarked mr. newnham. "i know, of course, that the w.c. & a. haven't left a stone unturned to defeat our efforts in getting our road running within the limits set in the charter. however, the w.c. & a. people are crazy to send armed assassins against us in the field in this fashion. no matter, now, whether we finish the road on time, this rascally work by the opposition will defeat their hopes of getting the charter away from us." "it might prevent them from doing so, sir," tom rejoined quietly, "if you were able to prove that the scoundrels who fired on our engineering parties this morning were really employed by the w.c. & a. railroad crowd." "prove it?" snorted the man from broadway. "who else would have any interest in blocking us?" "would that statement go in court, or before a legislature?" tom pressed. "no, it wouldn't," president newnham admitted thoughtfully. "i see the point, reade. after the scoundrels have done their worst against us, they can disperse, vanishing among the hills, and the w.c. & a. people will simply deny that they were behind the attack, and will call upon us to prove it." "not only that, sir," continued the cub chief engineer, "but i doubt if any of the officials of the w.c. & a. have any real knowledge that such a move is contemplated. this trick proceeds from the fertile mind of some clever, well-paid scoundrel who is employed in the opposition railroad's gloom department. it is a cleverly thought-out scheme to make us lose three or four days of work, which will be enough to prevent us from finishing the road on time. so, the enemy think that we must lose the charter, sir." "that trick will never work," declared mr. newnham angrily. "reade, there are courts, and laws. if the state of colorado doesn't protect us in our work, then we can't be held to am count for not finishing within a given time." "that's as the legislature may decide, i imagine, sir," hazarded the young engineer. "there are powerful political forces working to turn this road's charter over to the w.c. & a. crowd. your company's property, mr. newnham, is entitled to protection from the state, of course. the state, however, will be able to reply that the authorities were not notified, and could not send protection to us." "but we have a telegraph running from here out into the world!" cried the man from broadway way, wheeling like a flash. "reade, we're both idiots not to have remembered, at the first shots, to send an urgent message to denver. where's your operating tent?" "over there. i'll take you there, sir," offered tom, after pointing. "still it won't do any good, mr. newnham, to think of telegraphing." "not do us any good?" echoed the other, aghast. "what nonsense are you talking, reade? if we are hindered the feet of our having wired to the governor of the state will be our first proof of having appealed to the state for protection. can't you see that, reade?" the pair now turned in at the operator's tent. "operator," said reade, to the young man seated before the keys on a table, "this gentleman man is president newnham, of the s.b. & l. send any messages that he dictates." "get denver on the wire," commanded mr. newnham. "hustle!" click-click-click! rattled the sounder. "it won't do a particle of good," tom uttered calmly. "'gene black, the engineer discharged from this camp, is serving the enemy. black has brains enough to see that our wire was cut before he started a thing moving." click-click-click! spoke the sounder again. "i can't get a thing," explained the operator. "i can't even get a response from the construction camp. mr. reade must be right---our wire has been cut and we're shut off from the outside world." chapter xvii the real attack begins hearing the moving wheels of a wagon on the trail, tom looked outside, then seized mr. newnham's arm rather roughly. "come along, sir, and come quickly, if you want to see something that will beat a carload of telegrams," urged the cub engineer. having gotten the president of the road outside, tom let go of his arm and raced on before that astonished man from broadway. "here, you fellows," called tom, almost gayly, as he ran to where engineers and chainmen men were standing in little groups, talking gloomily over the forenoon's work. "get in line, here---a whole crowd of you!" dave fulsbee was now riding briskly toward the centre of the camp, ahead of the wagon for which he had gone down the trail. laughing quietly, tom hustled group after group of young men into one long line. "hold up your right hands!" called out the young cub engineer. wondering, his subordinates obeyed. fulsbee reined up, dismounting before the line. "they're all ready for you, friend," called tom gayly. "listen, boys!" commanded dave fulsbee, as he faced the line on foot. "you do each and all of you, singly and severally, hereby swear that you will serve truly and well as special deputy sheriffs, and obey all lawful orders, so help you god?" almost in complete silence the hands fell as their owners nodded. both the engineers and rodmen felt a trifle dazed. why was this solitary deputy sheriff before them, and with what did he expect them to fight! were they to stand and throw rocks at an enemy armed with rifles? but just then the wagon was driven in front of them. "hustle the cases out, boys! get 'em open!" commanded dave, though he spoke without excitement. "forty rifles and ten thousand cartridges, all borrowed from the national guard of the state. get busy! if the coyotes down to the westward try to get busy around here we will talk back to them!" "whoop!" yelled the college boys. they pushed and crowded about the wooden cases that were now unloaded. "see here," boomed in the deep voice of professor coles, "i wasn't sworn in, and i now insist that i, too, be sworn." "mr. newnham, tell the professor that fighting is a boy's business, and that there isn't any call for him to risk himself," appealed tom. "there are plenty of youngsters here to do the fighting and to take the chances." "surely, there appear to be enough men," chuckled president newnham, who, since he realized that rifles and ammunition were at hand, appeared to be wonderfully relieved. "professor, don't think of running yourself into any danger. look on, with me." "rifles are all given out, now, anyway," called dave fulsbee coolly. "now, youngsters, i'm going to show you where to station yourselves. mr. reade, have you seen anything through the glasses that looks interesting?" "by jove," tom admitted, flushing guiltily, "i quite forgot to keep the lenses turned on the hills to the west." he now made good for his omission, while fulsbee led his young men away, stationing them in hiding places along the westward edge of the camp. each man with a rifle was ordered not to rise from the ground, or to show himself in any way, and not to fire unless orders were given. then dave hurried back to the wagon. something else was lifted out, all canvas covered, and rushed forward to a point just behind a dense clump of bushes. "reade, i want to apologize to you," cried the man from broadway, moving quickly over to where tom stood surveying the hills beyond through his glass. "i thought, for a few minutes, that you had suspected some such rascally work afoot, and that you had failed to take proper precautions." "if i had failed, sir," murmured tom, without removing the glass from before his eyes, "you would have arrived just in time, sir, to turn out of the camp a man who wasn't fit to be in charge. yet it was only accident, sir, that led me to suspect what might be in the air." thereupon tom hastily recounted to the president of the company the story of how he had accidentally overheard fragments of talk between 'gene black and bad pete. "that gave me a hint of how the wind was blowing," tom continued, "though i couldn't make out enough of their talk, on either occasion, to learn just what was happening. i telegraphed to the nearest town that had a sheriff in it, and that put me in touch with fulsbee. then dave, over the wire, offered to bring arms here and to help us to defend our camp." "mr. reade," exclaimed president newnham hoarsely, "you are a wonderful young man! while seeming to be idle yourself, you have rushed the work through in splendid shape." even when our enemies plot in the dark, and plan incredible outrages against us, you fully inform yourself of their plans. when the cowards strike you are ready to meet them, force for force. you may be only a cub engineer, but you have an amazing genius for the work in which chance has placed you out here." "you may be guilty, mr. newnham, of giving me far more credit than i deserve," laughed tom gently. "in the matter of finding out the enemy's designs, i didn't, and i don't know fully yet what the other side intends to do to us. what i did learn was by accident." "very few other young men would have been equal to making the greatest and best use of what accident revealed," insisted mr. newnham warmly. harry hazelton came now, from the hole in the ground, to report that dr. gitney had done all he could for the comfort of poor young reynolds. "gitney says that reynolds ought to come along all right, as far as the mere wound itself is concerned," hazelton added. "what will have to be looked out for is suppuration. if pus forms in and around the wound it may carry reynolds off, for there are no hospital conveniences to be had in this wild neck of the woods." "is the doctor staying with reynolds?" tom asked, still using the glasses on the hilly country that lay ahead. "no; he has gone back to mr. thurston and mr. blaisdell," hazelton answered. "doc says he'll have to be with them to quiet them in case the firing gets close. he says both men will become excited and try to jump out of bed and come over here. doc says he's going to strap 'em both down." "dr. gitney may be badly needed here, if a fight opens," tom mused aloud. "he says, if we need him, to send for him." "come through a hot fire?" tom gasped. "surely! doc gitney is a colorado man, born and bred. he doesn't mind a lead shower when it comes in the line of duty," laughed harry. "now, if you're through using me as a messenger, i'm going to find a rifle." "you won't succeed," tom retorted. "every rifle in camp already has an amateur soldier behind it." "just my luck!" growled harry. "you're a good, husky lad," tom continued. "if you want to be of real use, just lie down hug the earth, take good care not to be hit, and-----" "fine and manly!" interjected hazelton with contempt. "now, don't try to be a hero," urged tom teasingly. "there are altogether too many green, utterly inexperienced heroes here at present. be useful, harry, old chum, and let those who are good for nothing else be heroes." "following your own advice?" asked hazelton. "is that why you haven't a rifle yourself?" "why do i need a rifle?" demanded reade. "i'm a non-combatant." "you-----" "box the chatter, harry, and ship it east," tom interposed, showing signs of interest. then, in a louder voice, tom called: "dave fulsbee!" "here," answered the deputy sheriff from his hiding place in the brush. "do you see that bald knob of rock ahead, to your left; about a quarter of a mile away?" "i do." "i make out figures crawling to the cover of the line of brush just to the right of the bald knob," tom continued. "there are eight of them, i think." "i see figures moving there," dave answered. then, in a low voice, the deputy instructed the engineers on each side of him. "i see half a dozen more figures---heads, rather---showing just at the summit line of the rock itself," went on reade. "yes; i make 'em," answered fulsbee, after a long, keen look. again more instructions were given to the engineers. "say, i've _got_ to have a rifle," insisted harry nervously. "you know, i always have been 'cracked, on target shooting. this is the best practical chance that i'll ever have." "you'll have to wait your turn, harry," tom urged soothingly. "my turn?" "yes; wait until one of our fellows is badly hit. then you can take up his rifle and move into his place on the line. when you're hit, then i can have the rifle." hazelton made a face, though he said nothing. meanwhile fulsbee's assistant, the man who had driven the wagon into camp, stood silent, motionless, behind the canvas-covered object in the bushes just behind the engineer's fighting line. "now, if one of you galoots dares to fire before he gets the word," sounded dave fulsbee's warning voice in the ominous calm that followed, "i'll snatch the offender out of the line and give him a good, sound spanking. the only man for me is the man who has the nerve to wait when he's being shot at." crack! far up on the bald knob a single shot sounded, and a bullet struck the ground about six feet from where tom reade stood with the binocular at his eyes. then there came a volley from the right of the rock, followed by one from the rock itself. "easy, boys," cautioned fulsbee, as the bullets tore up the ground back of the firing line. "i'll give you the word when the time comes." another volley sounded. bullets tore up the ground near president newnham, and one leaden pellet carried off that gentleman's soft hat. "please lie down, mr. newnham," begged tom, turning around. now that the fight had opened the cub chief saw less use for the binocular. "we can't have you hit, sir. you're the head of the company, please remember." "i don't like this place, but i'm only one human life here," the man from broadway replied quietly, gravely. "if other men so readily risk their lives for the property of my associates and myself, then i'm going to expose myself at least as much as these young men ahead of us do." "just one shot apiece," sounded dave fulsbee's steady voice. "fire where you've been told." it was an irregular volley that ripped out from the defenders of the camp. half of the marksmen fired to the right of the rook, the others at its crest. right on top of this came another volley, fired from some new point of attack. it filled the air at this end of the camp with bullets. "livin' rattlers!", cried dave fulsbee, leaping to his feet. "that's the real attack. reade, locate that main body and turn us loose on 'em. if you don't, the fellows in the real ambush will soon make a sieve of this camp. there must be a regiment of 'em!" chapter xviii when the camp grew warm president newnham had prudently decided to lie down flat on the ground. nor was it any reflection on his courage that he did so. he was taking no part in the fight, and the leaden tornado that swept the camp from some unknown point was almost instantly repeated. at the same time the marksmen on and at the right of the bald knob continued to fire. the camp defenders were in a criss-cross of fire that might have shaken the nerves of an old and tried soldier. tom watched the ground as bullets struck, trying to decide their original course from the directions in which the dust flew. then he swung around to the right. with modern smokeless powder there was no light, bluish haze to mark the firing line of the new assailants. tom reade had to search and explore with his binocular glass until he could make out moving heads, waving arms. "i've found 'em, fulsbee!" young reade cried suddenly, above the noise of rifles within a few yards of where they stood, as the engineers made the most of their chances to fire. "turn the same way that i'm looking. see that blasted pine over there to your right, about six hundred there to the gully southeast of the tree. got the line? well, along there there's a line of men hidden. through the glass i can sometimes make out the flash of their rifles. take the glass yourself, and see." dave fulsbee snatched the binoculars, making a rapid survey. "reade," he admitted, "you have surely located that crowd." "now, go after them with your patent hay rake," quivered tom, feeling the full excitement of the thing in this tantalizing cross fire. then the cub added, with a sheepish grin: "i hope you'll scare 'em, instead of hitting 'em, dave." fulsbee stepped over to his assistant. between them they swung the machine gun around, the assistant wrenching off the canvas cover. fulsbee rapidly sighted the piece for six hundred yards. the assistant stood by to feed belts of cartridges, while dave took his post at the firing mechanism. cr-r-r-r-rack! sounded the machine gun, spitting forth a pelting storm of lead. as the piece continued to disgorge bullets at the rate of six hundred a minute, dave, a grim smile on his lips, swung the muzzle of the piece so as to spread the fire along the entire line of the main ambush. "take the glass," tom roared in harry's ear, above the din. "see how fulsbee is throwing up dust and bits of rock all along that rattled line." hazelton watched, his face showing an appreciative grin. "it has the scoundrels scared and going!" hazelton yelled back. fully fifteen hundred cartridges did the machine gun deliver up and down that line. then, suddenly, dave fulsbee swung the gun around, delivering a hailstorm of bullets against the bald knob rock and the bushes to the right of it. "there's the answer!" gleefully uttered hazelton, who had just handed the glass back to his chum. the "answer" was a fluttering bit of white cloth tied to a rifle and hoisted over the bushes at the right of the bald knob. "who do you suppose is holding the white cloth?" chuckled tom. "i can't guess," harry confessed. "our old and dangerous friend peter," tom laughed. "bad pete!" "no; scared pete." there was a sudden twinkle in hazelton's eyes as he espied dave fulsbee's rifle lying on the ground beside the machine gun. in another instant harry had that rifle and was back at tom's side. harry threw open the magazine, making sure that there were cartridges in the weapon. then he dropped to one knee, taking careful sight in the direction of the white flag. "you idiot---what are you doing?" blazed tom. the fire from the camp had died out. that from the assailants beyond had ceased at least thirty seconds earlier. one sharp report broke the hush that followed. "who's doing that work? stop it!" ordered fulsbee, turning wrathfully. "i'm through," grinned harry meekly. "what do you mean by shooting at a flag of truce?" demanded the deputy sheriff angrily. "i didn't," harry argued, laying the rifle down on the ground. "i sent one in with my compliments, to see whether the fellow with the white rag would get the trembles. i guess he did, for the white rag has gone out of sight." "they may start the firing again," uttered dave fulsbee. "they'll feel that you don't respect their flag of truce." "i didn't feel a heap of respect for the fellow that held up the white flag," hazelton admitted, with another grin. "it was bad pete, and i wanted to see what his nerve was like when someone else was doing the shooting and he was the target." "peter simply flopped and dropped his gun, tom declared. "say," muttered harry, his face showing real concern, "i hope i didn't hit him." "did you aim at him?" demanded tom. "i did not." "then there _is_ some chance that peter was hit," tom confessed. "harry, when you're shooting at a friend, and in a purely hospitable way, always aim straight for him. then the poor fellow will have a good chance to get off with a whole skin!" "cut out that line of talk," ordered hazelton, his face growing red. "back in the old home days, tom, you've seen me do some great shooting." "with the putty-blower---yes," tom admitted, with a chuckle. "say, wasn't old dut jones, of the central grammar, rough on boys who used putty-blowers in the schoolroom?" "if pete was hit, it wasn't my shot that did it," muttered harry, growing redder still. "i aimed for the centre of that white rag. if we ever come across the rag we'll find my bullet hole through it. that was what i hit." deputy dave's assistant was now cleaning out the soot-choked barrels of the machine gun, that the piece might be fit for use again as soon as the barrels had cooled. "i reckon," declared dave, "that our friends have done their worst. it's my private wager that they're now doing a foot race for the back trails." "is any one of our fellows hit?" called tom, striding over to the late firing line. "anyone hit? if so, we must take care of him at once." tom went the length of the line, only to discover that none of the camp's defenders had been injured, despite the shower of bullets that had been poured in during the brief but brisk engagement. three of the engineers displayed clothing that had been pierced by bullets. "dave," called tom, "how soon will it be safe to send over to the late strongholds and find out whether any of naughty peter's friends have any hurts that demand doc gitney's attention?" "huh! if any of the varmints are hit, i reckon they can wait," muttered fulsbee. "not near this camp!" retorted reade with spirit. "if any human being around here has been hurt he must have prompt care. how soon will it be safe to start?" "i don't know how soon it will be safe," dave retorted. "i want to take about a half dozen of the young fellows, on horseback, and ride over just to see if we can draw any fire. that will show whether the rascals have quit their ambushes." "if they haven't," mocked tom, "they'll also show your little party some new gasps in the way of excitement." nevertheless reade did not object when fulsbee called for volunteers. if any new firing was to be encountered it was better to risk a small force rather than a large one. harry hazelton was one of the six volunteers who rode out with deputy dave. though they searched the country for miles they did not encounter any of the late raiders. neither did they find any dead or wounded men. the abandoned transits and other instruments and implements were found and brought back to camp. while this party was absent tom took mr. newnham back to headquarters tent, where he explained, in detail, all that had been accomplished and all that was now being done. late in the afternoon dave fulsbee and his little force returned. tom listened attentively to the report made by the sheriff's officer. "they've cheated you out of one day's work, anyway," muttered the man from broadway, rather fretfully. "we can afford to lose the time," tom answered almost carelessly. "our field work is well ahead. it's the construction work that is bothering me most. i hope soon to have news as to whether the construction outfit has been attacked." "the wires are all up again, sir," reported the operator, pausing at the doorway of the tent. "the men you sent back have mended all the breaks. i've just heard from the construction camp that none of the unknown scoundrels have been heard from there." "they found you so well prepared here," suggested president newnham, "that the rascals have an idea that the construction camp is also well guarded. i imagine we've heard the last of the opposition." "then you're going to be fooled, sir," tom answered, very decisively. "for my part, i believe that the tactics of the gloom department of the w.c. & a. have just been commenced. fighting men of a sort are to be had cheap in these mountains, and the w.c. & a. railroad is playing a game that it's worth millions to win. they're resolved that we shan't win. and i, mr. newnham, am determined that we shall win!" chapter xix sheriff grease drops dave tom's prediction came swiftly true in a score of ways. the gloom department of the w.c. & a. immediately busied itself with the public. the "gloom department" is a comparatively new institution in some kinds of high finance circles. its mission is to throw gloom over the undertakings of a rival concern. at the same time, through such matter as it can manage to have printed in some sorts of newspapers the gloom department seeks to turn the public against its business rivals. that same day news was flashed all over the country that a party of railway engineers, led by a mad deputy sheriff had wantonly fired on a party of travelers who had had the misfortune to get upon the building railway's right of way. in many parts of colorado a genuine indignation was aroused against the s.b. & l. president newnham sought to correct the wrong impression, but even his carefully thought out statements were misconstrued. the w.c. & a., though owned mainly abroad, had some clever american politicians of the worst sort in its service. many of these men were influential to some extent in colorado. the sheriff of the county was approached and inflamed by some of these politicians, with the result that the sheriff hastened to the field camp, where he publicly dismissed dave fulsbee from his force of deputies. the sheriff solemnly closed his fiery speech by demanding dave's official badge. "that's funny, but don't mind, dave," laughed tom, as he witnessed the handing over of the badge. "you won't be out of work." "won't be out of work, eh?" demanded sheriff grease hotly. "just let him wait and see. there isn't a man in the county who wants dave fulsbee about now." "then what a disappointed crowd they're going to be," remarked tom pleasantly, "for mr. newnham is going to make dave chief of detectives for the company, at a salary of something like six thousand a year. "he is, oh?" gulped down sheriff grease. "i'll bet he won't. i'll protest against that, right from the start." "dave will be our chief of detectives, if you protest all night and some more in the morning," returned tom reade. "and dave, i reckon, is going to need a force of at least forty men under him. dave will be rather important in the county, won't he, sheriff, if he has forty men under him who feel a good deal like voting the way that dave believes? a forty-man boss is quite a little figure in politics, isn't he, sheriff?" grease turned nearly purple in the face, choking and sputtering in his wrath. "come along, dave, and see if that job as chief detective is open today," urged tom, drawing one arm through fulsbee's. "if you're interested in knowing the news, sheriff, you might wait." "i'll-----" ground out grease, gritting his teeth and clenching one fist. tom waited patiently for the county officer to finish. then, as he didn't go further, reade rejoined, half mockingly: "exactly, sheriff. that's just what i thought you'd do." then tom dragged dave down to the headquarters tent, where they found the president of the road. "mr. newnham," began tom gravely, "the sheriff has just come to camp and has discharged fulsbee from his force of deputies, just because fulsbee acted as a real law officer and stopped the raid on the road. i have told mr. fulsbee, before sheriff grease, that you are going to make him chief of detectives for the road at a salary of about six thousand a year." mr. newnham displayed his astonishment very openly, though he did not speak at first. "that's all right," replied president newnham. "mr. fulsbee, do you accept the offer of six thousand as chief detective for the road," "does a man accept an invitation to eat when he's hungry?" replied dave rather huskily. "then it's settled," put in tom, anxious to clinch the matter, for he had a very shrewd idea that he would need dave badly ere long. "now, mr. newnham, until we get everything running smoothly, mr. fulsbee ought to have a force of about forty men. they will cost seventy-five dollars a month, per man, with an allowance for horses, forage, etc. hadn't mr. fulsbee better get his force together as soon as possible? for i am certain, sir, that the next move by the opposition will be to tear up and blow up our tracks at some unguarded points. at the same time, sir, i feel certain that we can get far more protection from chief of detectives fulsbee's men than from a man like sheriff grease." "reade?" returned president newnham, "it is plain to be seen that you lose no time in making your plans or in arranging to put them into execution. i imagine you're right, for you've been right in everything so far. so arrange with mr. fulsbee for whatever you think may be needed." "thank you, sir," murmured tom. then he signaled fulsbee to get out of the tent, and followed that new official. "never hang around, dave, after you've got what you want," chuckled tom. "hello, mr. sheriff! this is just a line to tell you that fulsbee has a steady job with the company, and that he'll need the services of at least forty men, all of whom must be voters in this county. the pay will be seventy-five a month and keep, with extra allowance for horses." sheriff grease didn't look much more pleasant than he felt. "are you homeward bound---when you go?" continued reade. the sheriff nodded. "then you might spread the word that men are needed, and tell the best men to apply to dave fulsbee, at this camp," suggested tom. "be strong on the point that all applicants have to be voters in this county." "i will," nodded the sheriff, choking down his wrath by a great effort. "dave won't have any trouble in getting good men when i spread the word. you're a mighty good fellow, dave. i always said it," added the sheriff. "i'm sorry i had to be rough with you, but---but-----" "of course we understand here that orders from a political boss have to be obeyed," tom added good-naturedly. "we won't over-blame you, mr. grease." the sheriff rode away, tom's smiling eyes following him. "that touch about your having forty voters at your beck and call must have stuck in the honorable sheriff's crop, dave," chuckled the cub chief engineer. "i reckon it does," drawled dave. "a man like grease can't understand that a man of my kind wouldn't ask any fellow working for him what ticket he voted for on election day. you certainly hit the sheriff hard, mr. reade. in the first place, six thousand a year is a lot more money than the sheriff gets himself. forty voters are fully as many as he can control, for which reason grease, in his mind's eye, sees me winning his office away from him any day that i want to do so." ere three days had passed sheriff grease had lost fully half of his own force, and some of his controlled voters as well, for many of his deputies flocked to serve under dave fulsbee. the rest of the needed detectives also came in, and dave was soon busy posting his men to patrol the s.b. & l. and protect the workers against any more raids by armed men. after a fortnight student reynolds recovered sufficiently to be sent to denver, there to complete his work of recovering from his wound. president newnham also saw to it that reynolds was well repaid for his services. the camp moved on. soon lineville was sighted from the advanced camp of the engineers. as lineville was to be the western terminus of the new railroad the work of the field party was very nearly finished. president newnham, who was all anxiety to see the first train run over the road, remained with the field engineers. "i couldn't sleep at night, if i were anywhere else than here," explained the president, "though i feel assured now that the w.c. & a. will make no more efforts, in the way of violence; to prevent us from finishing the building of the road." "then you're more trustful than i am," smiled tom reade. "what's worrying me most of all is that i can't quite fathom in what way the w.c. & a's gloom department will plan to stop us. that they have some plan---and a rascally one---i'm as certain, sir, as i am that i'm now speaking with you." "has fulsbee any suspicions?" inquired mr. newnham. "loads of 'em," declared tom promptly. "what does he think the w.c. & a. will try to do?" "dave's suspicions, mr. newnham, aren't any more definite than mine. he feels certain, however, that we're going to have a hard fight before we get the road through." "then i hope the opposition won't be able to prevent us from finishing," murmured mr. newnham. "oh, the enemy won't be able to hinder us," replied tom confidently. "you have a fulsbee and a reade on the job, sir. don't worry. i'm not doing any real worrying, and i promise you that i'm not going to be beaten." "it will be a genuine wonder if reade is beaten," reflected mr. newnham, watching the cub's athletic figure as tom walked through the centre of the camp. "i never knew a man of any age who was more resourceful or sure to win than this same cub, tom reade, whose very name was unknown to me a few weeks ago. yet i shiver! i can't help it. men just as resourceful as tom reade are sometimes beaten to a finish!" chapter xx mr. newnham drops a bomb the field work was done. yet the field engineers were not dismissed. instead, they were sent back along the line. the construction gang was still twelve miles out of lineville, and the time allowed by the charter was growing short. at denver certain politicians seemed to have very definite information that the s.b. & l. r.r., was not going to finish the building of the road and the operating of the first through train within charter time. where these politicians had obtained their news they did not take the trouble to state. however, they seemed positive that, under the terms of the charter, the state would take over as much of the railroad as was finished, pay an appraisal price for it, and then turn the road over to the w.c. & a. promoters to finish and use as part of their own railway system. these same politicians, by the way, were a handful of keen, unscrupulous men who derived their whole income from politics, and who had always been identified with movements that the better people of the state usually opposed. mr. thurston and his assistant, blaisdell, were now able to be up and to move about a little, but were not yet able to travel forward to the point that the construction force had now reached. neither thurston nor blaisdell was in fit shape to work, and would not be for some weeks to come. mr. newnham, who had learned in these weeks to ride a horse, came along in saddle as tom and harry stood watching the field camp that was now being rapidly taken down by the few men left behind. "idling, as usual, reade?" smiled the president of the road. "this time i seem to have a real excuse, sir," chuckled tom. "my work is finished. there isn't a blessed thing that i could do, if i wanted to. by tomorrow i suppose you will be paying me off and letting me go." "let you go---before the road is running?" demanded mr. newnham, in astonishment. "reade, have you noted any signs of my mind failing lately?" "i haven't, sir." "then why should you imagine that i am going to let my chief engineer go before the road is in operations" "but i was acting chief, sir, only of the field work." "reade," continued mr. newnham, "i have something to tell you. thurston has left our employ. so has blaisdell. they are not dissatisfied in any way, but neither man is yet fit to work. besides, both are tired of the mountains, and want to go east together as soon as possible and take up some other line of engineering work. so---well, reade, if you want it, you are now chief engineer of the s.b. & l. in earnest." "don't trifle with me, sir!" begged tom incredulously. "i'm too far from home." "no one has ever accused me of being a humorist," replied mr. newnham dryly. "now tell me, reade, whether you want the post i have offered you?" "want it?" echoed tom. "of course i do. yet doesn't it seem too 'fresh' in a cub like myself to take such a post?" "you've won it," replied the president. "it's also true that you're only a cub engineer in years, and there are many greater engineers than yourself in the country. you have executive ability, however, reade. you are able to start a thing, and then put it through on time---or before. the executive is the type of man who is most needed in this or any other country." "is an executive a lazy fellow who can make others work!" asked reade. "no; an executive is a man who can choose other men, and can wisely direct them to big achievements. an executive is a director of fine team play. that describes you, reade. however---you haven't yet accepted the position as chief engineer of the s.b. & l." "i'll end your suspense then, sir," smiled the cub. "i _do_ accept, and with a big capital 'a'." "as to your salary," continued mr. newnham, "nothing has been said about that, and nothing need be said until we see whether the road is operating in season to save its charter. if we save our charter and the road, your salary will be in line with the size of the achievement." "if we should lose the charter, sir," tom retorted, his face clouding, "i don't believe i'd take any interest in the salary question. money is a fine thing, but the game---the battle---is twenty times more interesting. however, i'm going to predict, mr. newnham, that the road will operate on time." "i believe you're going to make good, reade, no matter what a small coterie of politicians at denver may think. i never met a man who had success stamped more plainly on his face than you have. by the way, i shall ask you to keep mr. howe as an assistant. you still have the appointment of one other assistant, in place of mr. blaisdell." "i know the fellow i'd like to appoint," cried tom eagerly. "if you're sure about him, then go ahead and appoint him," responded the president of the s.b. & l. railway. "hazelton!" proclaimed tom. "good, old dependable harry hazelton!" "hazelton would be a wise choice," nodded mr. newnham. "harry!" called reade, as his chum appeared in the distance. "come here hustle!" mr. newnham turned away as hazelton came forward. tom quickly told his chum the news. "i? assistant chief engineer?" gasped harry, turning red. "whew, but that's great! however, i'm not afraid of falling down, tom, with you to steer me. what's the pay of the new job!" "not decided," rejoined tom. "wait until we get the road through and the charter is safe." "never mind the wages. the job's the thing, after all!" cried harry, his face aglow. "whew! i'll send a letter home tonight with the news." "make it a small post card, then, concealed under a postage stamp," counseled reade dryly. "we've work ahead of us---not writing." "what's the first thing you're going to do?" inquired hazelton. "the first thing will be to get on the job." "you're going back to the construction force?" "i am." "when?" "well, we start within five minutes." "whew!" his face still aglow with happiness, harry hazelton bounded off to his tent. tom called to one of the men to saddle two horses, and then followed. "you're going back to the construction camp?" inquired mr. newnham, looking in at the doorway. "as fast as horses can take us, sir," tom replied, as he whipped out a clean flannel shirt and drew it over his head. "i'm going with you," replied mr. newnham. "you'll ride fast, if you go with us, sir," called tom. "i can stand it, if you can, reade. your enthusiasm and speed are 'catching,'" replied the president, with a laugh, as he started off to give orders about his horse. "if the president is going with us, then we'll have to take two of dave fulsbee's men with us," mused tom aloud to his chum. "it would never do to have our president captured just before we're ready to open the road to traffic." the orders were accordingly given. tom then appointed one of the chainmen to command the camp until the construction gang came up. just seven minutes after he had given the first order, tom reade was in saddle. hazelton was seated on another horse some thirty seconds afterward. the two railroad detectives rode forward, halting near by, and all waited for mr. newnham. nor did the president of the s.b. & l. delay them long. during his weeks in camp in the rockies the man from broadway had learned something of the meaning of the word "hustle." as the party started tom ordered one of the detectives to ride two hundred yards in advance of the party, the other the same distance to the rear. "set a good pace, and keep it," called tom along the trail. shortly after dark the party reached the construction camp, which now numbered about five hundred men. assistant chief engineer howe appeared more than a little astonished when he learned that tom reade was the actual chief engineer of the road. however, the man who had been in charge so far of the construction work made no fuss about being supplanted. "show me what part of the work you want me to handle," offered howe, "and you'll find me right with you, mr. reade." "thank you," responded tom, holding out his hand. "i'm glad you feel no jealousy or resentment. there's just one thing in life for all of us, now, and that is to win the fight." howe produced the plans and reports, and the three---for hazelton was of their number---sat up until long after midnight laying out plans for pushing the work faster and harder. at four in the morning, while it was still dark, tom was up again. he sat at the desk, going over the work once more until half past five o'clock. then he called harry and howe, and the trio of chiefs had a hurried breakfast together. at six in the morning mr. newnham appeared, just in time to find tom and harry getting into saddle. "not going to stay behind and sit in an easy chair this morning, reade?" called the president. "not this, or any other morning, sir," tom replied. "you amaze me!" "this construction work requires more personal attention, sir. i may have twenty minutes to dream, in the afternoon, but my mornings are mortgaged each day, from four o'clock on." an hour later mr. howe joined reade and hazelton in the field. tom had already prodded three or four foremen, showing them how their gangs were losing time. "if we get the road through on time, and save the charter," tom called, on leaving each working party, "every laborer and foreman is to have an extra week's pay for his loyalty to us." in every instance that statement brought forth a cheer. "did mr. newnham tell you that you could promise that?" inquired harry. "no," said tom shortly. "then aren't you going a bit far, perhaps!" "i don't care," retorted tom. "victory is the winning of millions; defeat is the loss of millions. do you imagine mr. newnham will care about a little thing such as i've promised the men? harry, our president is a badly worried man, though he doesn't allow himself to show it. once the road is finished, operating and safe, he won't care what money he has to spend in rewards. he-----" tom did not finish his words. instead he dug his heels into his pony, bringing his left hand down hard on that animal's flank. "yi, yi, yi! git!" called tom, bending low over his mount's neck. he drove straight ahead. hazelton looked astonished for a space of five seconds, then started in pursuit of his chum and chief. it was not long ere tom reined in, holding up a hand as a signal to harry to do the same thing. "here, hold my horse, and stay right here," ordered the young chief. "tom, what on earth-----" tom reade was already a hundred yards away, running in amid the brush. at last he halted, studying the ground earnestly. then reade disappeared. "one thing i know, anyway," muttered the puzzled hazelton, "tom is not crazy, and he doesn't dash off like that unless he has something real on his mind." the minutes passed. at last tom came back, walking energetically. he took his horse's bridle and leaded into saddle. "harry, ride back, hard, and send me two or three of the railroad detectives, unless you happen to meet some of them this side of the camp. i want the men on the rush. don't fail to tell 'em that." "any---er---explanations" queried hazelton. "for you---yes---but don't take the time to pass the explanation on to the men. just hustle 'em here. when i started my horse forward it was because i caught sight of 'gene black's head over the bush tops. i found a few of his footprints, then lost the trail. send dave fulsbee along, too, if you have the luck to see him. i want 'gene black hunted down before he does some big mischief. now---ride!" harry hazelton went back over the trail at a gallop. not until he reached camp did he come upon fulsbee's men. these he hustled out to find tom. two hours later reade came back over the trail, at a slow jog. the young chief engineer looked more worried than hazelton had ever seen his chum look before. chapter xxi the trap at the finish a number of days passed, days full of worry for the young chief engineer. yet, outwardly, tom reade was as good-humored and cheery as ever. he was sure that his eyes had played him no trick, and that he really had seen 'gene black in the brush. the presence of that scoundrel persuaded tom that someone working in the interests of the w.c. & a. railroad company was still employing black in an attempt to block the successful completion of the s.b. & l. moreover, the news that dave fulsbee received from denver showed that two of the officials of the w.c. & a. were in that city, apparently ready to proceed to get possession of the rival road. politicians asserted that it was a "cinch" that the new road would fall short of the charter requirement in the matter of time. "all this confidence on the part of the enemy is pretty fair proof that the scoundrels are up to something," tom told mr. newnham. "or else they're trying to break down our nerve so that we'll fail through sheer collapse," replied the president of the s.b. & l., rubbing his hands nervously. "reade, why should there be such scoundrels in the world?" "the president is all but completely gone to pieces," reade confided to his chum. "say, but i'm glad mr. newnham himself isn't the one who has to get the road through in time. if it rested with him i'm afraid he'd fizzle. but we'll pull it through, harry, old chum---we'll pull it through." "if this thing had to last a month more i'm afraid good old tom would go to pieces himself," thought harry, as he watched his friend stride away. "tom never gets to his cot now before eleven at night, and four thirty in the morning always finds him astir again. i wonder if he thinks he's fooling me by looking so blamed cheerful and talking so confidently. whew! i'd be afraid for poor old tom's brain if anything should happen to trip us up." harry himself was anxious, but he was not downright nervous. he did not feel things as keenly as did his chum; neither was hazelton directly responsible for the success of the big undertaking. mile after mile the construction work stretched. trains were running now for work purposes, nearly as far as the line extended. the telegraph wires ran into the temporary station building at lineville, and the several operators along the line were busy carrying orders through the length of the wire service. back at stormburg, where the railroad line began, three trains lay on side tracks. these were passenger trains that were to run the entire length of the road as soon as it was opened. back at stormburg, also, the new general superintendent slept at his office that he might receive messages from president newnham the more quickly. at bakerstown a division superintendent was stationed, he, too, sleeping at his office. once more tom reade had brought his work within sight of lineville. in fact, the track extended all but the last mile of the line. ties were down nearly all of the way to the terminal station. this was the state of affairs at two o'clock in the afternoon. before midnight the last rail must be laid, and the first through train from stormburg must run in. if, at the stroke of midnight, the first train had failed to go through, then the charter of the s.b. & l. would be forfeited and subject to seizure and sale by the state. up from denver some of the worst politicians had come. they were quartered at the new little hotel in lineville. dave fulsbee had detailed three of his men covertly to watch these same politicians. tom, inwardly consumed with fever, outwardly as cheery as human being might be, stood watching the laying of the rails over that last stretch. the men who could be prevented from dropping in their tracks must work until the last rail had been spiked into place. away up in lineville harry hazelton was personally superintending the laying of the last ties. the honk of an automobile horn caused tom reade to glance up. approaching him was president newnham, himself driving the runabout that he had had forwarded. "reade!" called the president of the s.b. & l., stopping his car, and tom went over to him. "the suspense is over, at last, reade," exclaimed mr. newnham, smiling broadly. "look! the road is all but completed. hundreds of men are toiling. the first train left stormburg this morning. by seven tonight you'll have the last rails in place. between eight and nine this evening the first through train will have rolled into lineville and we shall have won the fight that has brought me many gray hairs. at last the worry is over!" "of course, sir," nodded tom. "reade, don't you really believe that the stress is over---that we shall triumph tonight?" "of course we shall, sir," tom responded. "i have predicted, all along, that we'd have the road through in time, haven't i?" "and the credit is nearly all yours, reade," admitted mr. newnham gleefully. "nearly all yours, lad!" honk! honk! unable to remain long at one spot, mr. newnham started his car again. reade felt a depression that he could not shake off. "it's just the reaction following the long train," tom tried to tell himself. "whew! until within the last two or three days i haven't half realized how much the strain was taking out of me! i'll wager i'll sleep, tonight, after i once have the satisfaction of seeing the first train roll in!" by six o'clock tom felt as though he could hardly stand up. be wondered if his teeth were really chattering, or whether he merely imagined it. to take up his time tom tried a brisk canter, away from the railroad. at seven o'clock he rode into lineville. "tom, tom!", bawled harry, from the centre of a group of workmen. "we've been looking for you! come here quickly!" tom urged his pony forward to the station from which hazelton had called him. "watch this---just watch it!" begged harry. clank! clank! clank! tom reade, gazing in fascination, saw the last spike of the last rail being driven into place. "two sidetracks and switches already up!" called harry. tom threw his bridle to one of the workmen, then sprang from his horse. out of the station came mr. newnham, waving a telegram. "our first train, with passengers, has just left the station at brand's ranch junction, a hundred and ten miles away," shouted the president of the road. "the train should be here long before ten o'clock." from the crowd a cheer greeted the announcement. "there's nothing left but to wait to win," continued mr. newnham. five hundred voices in the crowd cheered the announcement. a group of five denver politicians smiled sardonically. tom pushed his way gently through the crowd, glancing inside the station. there was no one there, save an operator. closing the door behind him, tom crossed to a seat and sank wearily upon it. here he sat for some minutes, to be discovered by the telegraph operator when the latter came out to light the lamps in the waiting room. "mr. reade is all in, i guess," thought the operator. "i don't wonder. i hope he goes to sleep where he sits." ten minutes later the receiver of one of the up the terminal station. the operator broke in, sending back his response. then a telegram came, which he penned on paper. "mr. reade," called the operator, "this is for you." tom sat up, brushing his eyes, and read: "if you can spare time wish you would ride down track to point about two miles west of miller's where brook crosses under roadbed. have something to show you that will interest you. nothing serious, but will fill you with wonder. my men all along line report all safe and going well. come at once." (signed) "dave fulsbee." tom's first instinct was to start and tremble. he felt sure that fulsbee had bad news and was trying to conceal the fact until he could see the young chief engineer in person. "but that's really not dave's way," reade told himself in the next breath. "fulsbee talks straight out from the shoulder. what has he to show me, i wonder! gracious, how tired i am! if fulsbee knew just how i feel at this moment he wouldn't send for me. but of course he doesn't know." stepping outside, tom looked about, espying his pony standing where it had been tied to one of the porch pillars of the station. "i'll get harry to ride with me," reade thought, but he found his chum engaged in testing a stretch of rails near the station, a dozen of the college students with him. "pshaw! i'm strong enough to ride five miles alone," muttered tom. "thank goodness my horse hasn't been used up. never mind, tom reade. to-morrow you can ride as far as you like on the railroad, with never a penny of fare to pay, either!" unnoticed, the young chief engineer untied his horse in the dark, mounted and rode away. how dark and long the way seemed. truth to tell, tom reade was very close to the collapse that seemed bound to follow the reaction once his big task was safely over. only his strength of will sustained him. he gripped the pony's sides with his knees. "i wouldn't want anyone to see me riding in this fashion!" muttered the lad. "i must look worse than a tenderfoot. why, i'll be really glad if dave fulsbee can ride back with me. i had no idea he was so near. i believed him to be at least fifty or sixty miles down the line." tom was nearing the place appointed when a sudden whistle rang out from the brush beside the track. then half a dozen men leaped out into view in the darkness, two of them seizing the bridle of his horse. "good evening, reade!" called the mocking voice of 'gene black. "down this way to see your first train go through? stay with us, and we'll show you how it doesn't get through---not tonight!" chapter xxii "can your road save its charter now?" "oh, i guess the train will go through, all right," replied tom reade, with much more confidence expressed in his tone than he really felt. "stay with us and see it go through," mocked 'gene black. "if it's just the same to you i'd rather ride on," tom proposed. "but it isn't all the same to us," black chuckled. "then i guess i prefer to ride on, anyway." "you won't, though," snapped black. "you'll get off that horse and do as we tell you." "eh?" demanded the young chief engineer. he appeared astonished, though he was not. "you came down the line to meet your railroad detective, fulsbee," black continued sneeringly. "you'd better give it up." "you seem to think you know a good deal about my business," tom continued. "i know all about the telegram," 'gene retorted. "i sent it---or ordered it sent." tom started in earnest this time. "did you ever hear of ways of cutting out a telegraph wire and then attaching one of the cut ends to a box relay?" queried the scoundrel. "i---i believe i have heard of some such thing," reade hesitated. "was that the trick you played on me?" "yes," nodded gene black. "we cut the wire just below here. we've got a box relay on the wire going both ways. your operators can't use the wire much tonight. your company can't use it from lineville at all." tom's face showed his dismay. 'gene black laughed in intense enjoyment. "so you cut the wire, oh, and attached box relays?" "surely," black nodded. "i'm glad you confess it," replied tom slowly. "cutting telegraph wires, or attaching box relays without proper authority is a felony. the punishment is a term in state's prison." "bosh!" sneered black. "with all the political pull our crowd has behind it do you suppose we fear a little thing like that?" "i'll talk the crime over with dave fulsbee," tom continued. "a lot of good fulsbee will do you," jeered 'gene. "we have him attended to as well as we have you." "that's a lie," reade declared coolly. "do you want us to show him to you?" "yes," nodded tom. "you'd have to show me dave fulsbee before i'd believe you." "yank the cub off that horse!" ordered 'gene black harshly. three or four men seized reade, dragging him out of the saddle and throwing him to earth. tom did not resist, for he saw other men standing about with revolvers in their hands. he did not believe that this desperate crew of worthless characters would hesitate long about drilling holes through him. "take the horse, you, and ride it away," directed black, turning to one of the men, who promptly mounted and rode off into the darkness. "tie that cub's hands behind him," was black's next order. "now, bring him along." 'gene black led the way back from the track and into the woods for a few rods. then the party wheeled, going eastward in a line parallel with the track. tom did not speak during the journey. it was not his nature to use words where they would be worse than wasted. after proceeding a quarter of a mile or so, black parted the bushes of a dense thicket and led the way inside. at the centre the brush had been cleaned out, clearing a circular space about twenty feet in diameter and dimly lighted by a lantern placed in the centre of the inclosure. "a snug little place, reade," chuckled the scoundrel, turning about as reade was piloted into the retreat. "how do you like it?" "i like the place a whole lot better than the company," tom answered promptly. "what's the matter with the company?" jeered black. "a hangman would feel more at home in a crowd like this." "see here, cub! don't you try to get funny," warned black, his eyes snapping dangerously. "if you attempt any of your impudence here you'll soon find out who's master." "master?" scoffed tom, his own eyes flashing. "black, do you draw any comfort from feeling that you're boss of such an outfit? though i daresay that the outfit is better than its boss. however, you asked my opinion, and you got it. i'll give you a little more of my opinion, black, and it won't cost you a cent." he looked steadily into his enemy's eyes as he continued: "black, a good, clean dog wouldn't willingly stand by this crowd!" thump! 'gene blacks clenched fist landed in reade's face, knocking him down. "thank you," murmured reade, as he sat up. "much obliged, are you?" jeered black. "yes," admitted tom. "as far as it goes. that was a coward's act---to have a fellow's hands tied before daring to hit him." black's face now turned livid with passion. "lift the fool to his feet, if he wants to stand," ordered black savagely. "he's trying to make me waste my time talking to him. operator, call up brewster's and ask if he held the train as ordered by wire." "oho!" thought tom. "so that's your trick? you have the wire in your control, and you're sending supposed train orders holding the train at a station so that it can't get through you're a worse scoundrel than i thought!" off at the edge of the brush, on the inner side, a telegraph instrument had been set up on a barrel. from the instrument a wire ran toward the track. in another moment the sounder of the sender was clicking busily. there was a pause, then the answer came back: click-click-click-clickety-click! the operator, a seedy-looking fellow over whose whole appearance was written the word "worthless," swung a lantern so that the light fell on a pad of paper before him. pencil in hand, he took off the message as it came. "come over here and read it, sir?" inquired the operator. black crossed, bending over the sheet. despite himself the scoundrel started. then he moved so that the light should not fall across his face. plainly black was greatly disappointed. he swallowed hard, then strolled back to the main group, of which tom was one. "that's the way to do business," announced 'gene black, with a chuckle. "we sent fake train orders from the top of that barrel, and your own railroad operator handed the orders to the conductor of your through train. therefore the train is switched off on to the side track at brewster's, and the engineer, under the false orders, is allowing his steam to cool. now, do you believe you will get your train through tonight?" "oh, yes!" yawned tom coolly. "for you are lying. the message that came back over the wire from our operator at brewster's read in these words: 'showed your order to train conductor. he refused order, saying that it was not signed properly. train has proceeded.'" it was an incautious speech for tom reade black fairly glared into his eyes. "so you can pick up telegraph messages by the sounds" 'gene demanded. "'most anyone can who has ever worked over a telegraph key," tom admitted. now that the secret was out, black plainly showed his anger over the fact that the conductor had refused train orders at brewster's. "you s.b. & l. fellows have put up some trick to beat us off!" he declared, looking accusingly into tom's face. "what of it?" reade inquired. "it's our railroad, isn't it? can't we do what we please with our own road?" "it won't be your road after tonight!" black insisted, grinding his teeth in his rage. "fortunately, we have other ways of stopping that train from getting through. you'll soon know it, too." black called to the tramp operator. "my man, call up the box relay fellow below here." the sounder clicked busily for some moments. "i have the other box relay man," declared the operator. "then send this, very carefully," black continued hoarsely: "x-x-x---a-a-a---b-b-b." the operator repeated it. black nodded. once more the instrument clicked. "the other box relay man signals that he has it," nodded black's present operator. "listen! everyone of you! not a sound in this outfit," commanded 'gene black. for fully three minutes the intense silence continued. then black turned again to the operator, saying: "ask the other box relay man if anything has happened near him?" a minute later black's operator reported: "he says: 'yes; happened successfully.'" "good!" laughed black, a look of fierce joy lighting up his eyes. "now, reade, i guess you'll admit yourself beaten. an electric spark has touched off a charge of giant powder under the roadbed. the rails have been blown skyward and a big hole torn out of the roadbed itself. even if you had a wrecking crew at the spot at this moment the road couldn't be prepared for traffic inside of twenty-four hours. now, will your through train reach lineville tonight? can your road save its charter _now_?" tom reade's face turned deathly white. 'gene black stood before him, gazing tauntingly into the eyes of the young chief engineer. chapter xxiii black's trump card "you scoundrel---you unhung imitation of satan himself!" gasped reade, great beads of perspiration standing out on his face. "oho! we're fools, are we?" sneered black "we're people whom you can beat with your cheap little tricks about a different signature for each station on the line, are we? for that was why the conductor refused the false order at brewster's. he has a code of signatures for train orders---a different signature to be used for messages at each station?" black's keen mind had solved the reason for the conductor's refusal to hold his train on a siding. the conductor _had_ been supplied with a code list of signatures---a different one for each station along the line. "now, you know," mocked black, enjoying every line of anxiety written on tom reade's face, "that we have you knocked silly. you know, now, that your train can't get through by tonight---probably not even by tomorrow night. you realize at last---eh?---that you've lost your train and your charter---your railroad?" "i wasn't thinking of the train, or of the road," tom groaned. "what i'm thinking of is the train, traveling at high speed, running into that blown-out place. the train will be ditched and the crew killed. a hundred and fifty passengers with them---many of them state officials. oh, black, i wouldn't dare stand in your shoes now! the whole state---the entire country---will unite in running you down. you can never hope to escape the penalty of your crime!" "what are you talking about?" sneered black. "do you think i'm fool enough to ditch the train? no, sir! don't believe it. i'm not running my neck into a noose of that kind. a cluster of red lights has been spread along the track before the blow-out. the engineer will see the signals and pull his train up---he has to, by law! no one on the train will be hurt, but the train simply can't get through!" "oh, if the train is safe, i don't care so much," replied reade, the color slowly returning to his face. "as for getting through tonight, the s.b. & l. has a corps of engineers and a full staff in other departments. black, you'll lose after all your trouble." "humph!" muttered black unbelievingly. "your train will have to get through in less than three hours, reade!" "it'll do it, somehow," smiled tom. "yes; your engineers will bring it through, somehow," taunted black. "we have the chief of that corps with us right now." "that's all right," retorted tom. "you're welcome to me, if i can be of any real comfort to you. but you forget that you haven it my assistant. harry hazelton is at large, among his own friends. harry will see the train through tonight. never worry." click-click-click-click! sounded the machine on the barrel. "it's the division superintendent at lineville, calling up brewster's," announced the operator. "answer for brewster, then," directed black. "let us see what the division super wants, anyway." more clicking followed, after which the operator explained: "division super asks brewster if through train has passed there." "answer, 'yes; twelve minutes ago,'" directed black. the instrument clicked furiously for a few moments. "the division super keeps sending, 'sign, sign, sign!'" explained the operator at the barrel. "so i've kept on signing 'br,' 'br,' over and over again. that's the proper signature for brewster's." again the machine clicked noisily. "still insisting on the signature," grinned the operator uneasily. "do you know the name of the operator at brewster's?" demanded 'gene black. "yes," nodded the man at the barrel. "the operator at brewster's is a chap named havens." "then send the signature, 'havens, operator, brewster's," ordered black. still the machine clicked insistently. "super still yells for my signature," explained the man at the barrel desk. "he demands to know whether i'm really the operator at brewster's, or whether i've broken in on the wire at some other point." "don't answer the division super any further, then," snorted black disgustedly. tom, with his ability to read messages, was enjoying the whole situation until black, with a sudden flash of his eyes, turned upon the cub chief engineer. "reade," he hissed, "you must know the proper signature for tonight for the operator at brewster's to use." "nothing doing," grunted tom. "give us that signature the right one for brewster's." "nothing doing," tom repeated. "put a pistol muzzle to his ear and see his memory brighten," snarled the scoundrel. one of the hard-looking men behind tom obeyed. reade, it must be confessed, shivered slightly when he felt the cold touch of steel behind his ear. "give us the proper signature!" insisted 'gene. "nothing doing," tom insisted. "give us the right signature, or take the consequences!" "i can't give it to you," tom replied steadily. "i don't know the signature." "you lie!" "thank you." tom had gotten his drawl back. "do you want to have the trigger of that pistol pulled?" cried 'gene black hoarsely. "i certainly don't," tom confessed. "neither do i doubt that you fellows are scoundrels enough to do such a trick. however, i can't help you, even though i have to lose my life for my ignorance. i honestly don't know the right signature for brewster's tonight. that information doesn't belong to the engineering department, anyway." "shall i pull the trigger, black?" asked the man who held the weapon to reade's head. "yes; if he doesn't soon come to his senses," snarled black. "i've already told you," persisted tom, "that i couldn't give you the proper signature, even if i wanted to---which i don't." "you may be glad to talk before we're through with you tonight," threatened black. "the time for trifling is past. either give us that signature or else prepare to take the consequences. for the last time, are you going to answer my question?" "i've told you the truth," reade insisted. "if you won't believe me, then there is nothing more to be said." "you lie, if you insist that you don't know the signatures for tonight!" cried black savagely. "all right, then," sighed tom. "i can't tell you what i don't know." from off in the distance came the shrill too-oo-oot! of a locomotive. tom reade heard, and, despite his fears for his safety, an exclamation of joy escaped him. "oh, you needn't build any false hopes," sneered black. "that whistle doesn't come from the through train. it's one of the locomotives that the s.b. & l. had delivered over the d.v. & s., which makes a junction with your road at lineville. a locomotive or a train at the lineville end won't help your crowd any. that isn't the through train required by the charter. the s.b. & l. loses the game, just the same." "oh, i don't know," tom argued. "the s.b. & l. road was finished within charter time. no railroad can get a train through if the opposition sends out men to dynamite the tracks." "humph!" jeered black maliciously. "that dynamited roadbed won't save your crowd. the opposition can make it plain enough that your crowd dynamited its own roadbed through a well-founded fear that the tracks clear through weren't strong enough to stand the passing of a train. don't be afraid, reader the enemies of your road will know how to explain the dynamiting this side of brewster's." "that's a question for tomorrow, black," rejoined tom reade. "no man can ever tell, today, what tomorrow will bring forth." too-oo-oot! sounded a locomotive whistle again. one of the men in the thicket threw himself to the ground, pressing his ear to the earth. "there's a train, or a locomotive, at least, coming this way from lineville, boss," reported the fellow. "a train?" gasped black. then his face cleared. "oh, well, even if it's a fully equipped wrecking train, it can't get the road mended in time to bring the through train in before midnight, as the charter demands." now the train from lineville came closer, and the whirr of its approach was audible along the steel rails. the engine's bell was clanging steadily, too, after the manner of the engines of "specials." 'gene black crowded to the outer edge of the thicket, peering through intently. the bright headlight of an approaching locomotive soon penetrated this part of the forest. then the train rolled swiftly by. "humph!" muttered black. "only an engine, a baggage car and one day coach. that kind of train can't carry much in the way of relief." as the train passed out of sight the engine sent back a screeching whistle. "the engineer is laughing at you, black," jeered tom. "let him," sneered the other. "i have the good fortune to know where the laugh belongs." toot! toot! too-oot-oot! something else was coming down the track from lineville. then it passed the beholders in the thicket---a full train of engine and seven cars. "good old harry hazelton!" glowed tom reade. "i'll wager that was harry's thought---a pilot ahead, and then the real train!" "small good it will do," laughed 'gene black disagreeably. then, a new thought striking him, he added: "bill hoskins, you and some of the men get the dynamite under the track opposite here. you know how to do it! hustle!" "you bet i know how," growled bill eagerly, as he stepped forward, picking out the fellows he wanted as his helpers. "i'll have the blast against the roadbed here ready in five minutes, black." "now, you'll have three trains stalled along the line tonight, cub reade," laughed black sneeringly. "getting any train as far as this won't count for a copper's worth! your road has to get a through train all the way into lineville before midnight. we'll blow out the roadbed here, and then where are you?" chapter xxiv conclusion at these words even the brief hope that had been in tom reade's mind, died out. with the roadbed gone at this point also, he did not see the slightest chance for the s.b. & l. to save its charter or its property rights. "here's the racketty stuff," went on hoskins, indicating the boxes. "that small box has the fuses. get the stuff along, and i'll lay the magneto wire." "not quite so hastily!" sternly broke in a new voice. tom reade fairly yelled for joy, for the new speaker, as he knew at the first sound, was dave fulsbee. the amazed and dismayed scoundrels huddled closer together for a moment in the middle of the thicket. "spread, men! don't let one of 'em get out alive!" sounded dave fulsbee's voice. the scurrying steps of fulsbee's men could be heard apparently surrounding the thicket. with an exclamation of rage, black made a dash for freedom. "stand where you are, black, if you want to live!" warned dave. "no use to make a kick you rascals! we've got you covered, and the first man who makes a move will eat his breakfast in another world. now, listen to me. one at a time you fellows step up to me, drop your weapons on the ground, where i can see you do it, and then come out here, one at a time. no tricks---for, remember, you are covered by my men out here. we don't want to shoot the whole lot of you up unless we have to, but we won't stand for any fooling. reade, you come through first. any man who offers to hinder mr. reade will be sorry he took the trouble---that's all!" his heart bounding with joy, tom stepped through the thicket, going straight toward the sound of fulsbee's voice. "i've got a knife in my left hand," announced fulsbee, as tom neared him in the dark. "turn around so that i can cut the cords at your wrists." in a moment this was done. "you might stay here and help me," whispered dave. tom nodded. "now, black, you can be the first," called dave in a brisk, business-like tone. "step up here and drop your weapons on the ground." wincing under a bitter sense of defeat, 'gene black stepped forward. he was not really a coward, but he valued his life, little as it was actually worth. so he dropped a revolver to the ground. "what i have to say to you, black, applies to the others," dave continued from outside the thicket. "if any man among you doesn't drop all his weapons, we'll make it lively for him when we get him out here." a look of malignant hate crossed his face, then 'gene black dropped also a knife to the ground. "come on out, black," directed dave fulsbee. "mr. reade, will you oblige me by running your hands over the fellow's clothing to see if he, has any more weapons." tom promptly complied. a hasty search revealed no other weapons. "now, step right along over there, black, where you'll find two of my men," nodded dave fulsbee. again black obeyed. he saw, dimly, two men some yards further away in the darkness and joined them. click-click! then the scoundrel cried out in the bitterness of his rage, for the two railway detectives had handcuffed him. "you, with the black hair, next," summoned fulsbee, his vision aided by the lantern in the centre of the thicket. "you come here, but first stop and drop your weapons on the pile---all the trouble-makers you happen to have." thus they came, one at a time, the operator being the last of all. the crowd of prisoners under guard of the two railway detectives grew steadily, and each was handcuffed as he reached the detectives after having been searched by tom reade. "good job," nodded dave coolly, as he am approached the captives. "now, we have you all under lock and key. my, but you're a pretty-looking outfit!" "come on, men. march 'em up the track. then we'll come back, or send someone else after the dynamite and other stuff. that'll be handy as evidence." guarded by fulsbee and his two detectives, the prisoners marched along a few rods. "mr. reade," called dave, pointing, "you'll find your horse tied to that tree yonder. i reckon you'll be glad to get in saddle again." indeed, tom was glad. he ran over, untying the animal, which uttered a whinny of recognition. in saddle, tom joined the marching party. "you don't seem to think us a very hard crowd to guard," remarked 'gene black curiously. "why don't you call off the men you posted around the thickets" "i didn't post any," fulsbee answered simply. "i sent these two men of mine running around the thicket. then they had to come together and attend to handcuffing you fellows." "and were you the only man who had the drop on us?" gasped 'gene black. "i was," dave fulsbee responded. "if you fellows hadn't had such bad nerves, you could have escaped. but it's an old story. when men go bad their nerves go bad with them." as for black's followers, now that they knew the nature of the trick that had fooled them, several of them hung back. "you fellows needn't think you can balk now," observed fulsbee grimly. "you're all of you handcuffed, and there are enough of us to handle you. i promise you that, if anyone of you tries to run away, i won't run after him until i've first tried dropping him with a shot." so the party proceeded, and in time reached lineville. there was great excitement in that little junction town when the citizens first heard of the dastardly work that the prisoners had attempted. dave marched his captives into the waiting room of the station. all outsiders were ushered forth politely. mr. newnham was hurriedly summoned, and to him tom reade disclosed what he had learned of the work of enemies along the line. naturally the president of the s.b. & l. was greatly excited. "we knew something was wrong, from the nature of the telegraph messages that came in," cried mr. newnham. "it was your friend, hazelton, who first suggested the idea of sending a full train down the line, with a short pilot train ahead." "good, great old harry!" murmured tom admiringly. both fulsbee and the president of the road tried to question 'gene black. that treacherous fellow, however, steadfastly refused to talk. two or three of his gang were willing enough to talk, but they knew little, as black had carried all his plans and schemes in his own head. "no matter!" muttered dave fulsbee. "my two men and i were close to that thicket for some time before we broke in on the affair. we heard enough to supply all the evidence that the courts will want against these worthies." as the futile questioning was drawing to a close, 'gene black suddenly roused himself to say sneeringly: "gentlemen, look at your station clock. it's fifteen minutes before midnight. a quarter of an hour left! where's your through train? if it reaches here fifteen minutes from now it will be too late." "send a message down the line quickly," gasped mr. newnham, turning pale. then he wheeled savagely upon the prisoner, exclaiming: "i forgot, black. you rascals cut the wires. we could have mended them at the nearer point, but the wires were cut, too, at the scene of the blow-out. oh, but you have been a thorn in our sides!" from the crowd that still lingered outside came a cheer. tom reade sprang to the nearest door, throwing it open. "listen!" he shouted. the sound that had started the crowd to cheering was repeated again. _too-oo-oo-oot_! "it's the train!" cried reade joyously. "it can't be more than two or three miles below here, either. it will get through on time!" with nine minutes to spare, the train rolled into the station at lineville. it was not the same train that had left stormburg, for that train had been halted, safely, just before reaching the scene of the disastrous blow-out. at that point the passengers had alighted and had been conducted on foot to the other side of the gap caused by the explosion. here hazelton's lineville special stood ready to convey them into lineville. so the road had been legally opened, since the passengers from stormburg---among whom was the lieutenant governor of the state had been brought all the way through over the line. within the meaning of the law a through train had been operated over the new line, and within charter time. the s.b. & l. had won! it had saved its charter. on the morrow, in wall street, the value of the road's stock jumped by some millions of dollars. let us not forget the pilot train. that returned to lineville in the rear of the passenger train. though the pilot train had a conductor, harry hazelton was in real charge. "look whom we have here, tom!" called harry from the open side door of the baggage car, as reade raced up to greet his successful chum. a man, bandaged, injured and groaning, lay on the floor of the baggage car. "why, it's naughty peter, himself!" cried tom. "peter, i'm sorry to find you in this shape. i am afraid you have been misbehaving." "we found him not far from the track, near the blow-out," hazelton explained. "whether he attended to that bit of bad work all alone, or whether his companions believed him dead and fled for their own safety, i can't learn. bad pete won't say a word. he was unconscious when we first discovered him. now he knows what's going on around him, but he's too badly hurt to do more than hold his tongue." it was only when bad pete recovered his health---in jail---and found himself facing a long term in prison, that he was ready to open his mouth. he could tell nothing, however, beyond confessing that he and three other men, including an operator, had attended to the blow-out. pete had no knowledge of the real parties behind the plot. he knew only that he had acted under 'gene blanks orders. so bad pete was shown no mercy, but sent behind the bars for a term of twenty-five years. owing to black's stubborn silence the outrages were never traced back to any official of the w.c. & a. 'gene black was sentenced to prison for thirty years. the other rascals, who had worked under his direction, all received long terms. the student engineers, wholly happy and well paid, returned to their college. the s.b. & l. is still under the same management, and is one of the prosperous independent railroads of the united states. dave fulsbee continues as the head of its detective system. tom reade and harry hazelton had made good in their first professional undertaking. they were paid in proportion to their services, and given the opportunity to retain their positions at the head of the railway's engineering corps. for some time they kept their positions, filling them always with honor. yet, in the end, the desire to do other great things in their chosen profession led them into other fields of venture. their greatest adventures, their severest trials and deepest problems, as well as their gravest perils were still ahead of them in their path of duty. the young engineers were bound to go on and up, yet their way was sure to be a stormy one. we shall meet these fine young americans again in the next volume of this series, which is published under the title, "the young engineers in arizona; or, laying tracks on the man-killer quicksand." it is a rousing narrative of real people and real happenings. the young engineers in mexico or, fighting the mine swindlers by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. the land of golden eggs ii. the wolf who showed his teeth iii. gato strikes the up trail iv. tom does some sampling v. the mine that did and didn't vi. watching the midnight lights vii. don luis's engineering problem viii. dangling the golden bait ix. don luis shows his claws x. the spirit of a true engineer xi. a piece of lead in the air xii. nicolas does an errand xiii. pining for the good old u.s.a. xiv. next to the telegraph key xv. the job of being an hidalgo xvi. two victims of rosy thoughts xvii. the stranger in the tent xviii. craft--or surrender? xix. the hidalgo plans gratitude xx. two real signatures xxi. the final touch of tragedy xxii. mr. haynes asks a few questions xxiii. the engineer turns xxiv. conclusion chapter i the land of golden eggs luis montez, mine owner, stood on the broad veranda in front of his handsome home, looking out over the country sweeping away to the eastward. "gentlemen, you are in a land of golden promise," began senor montez, with a smile and a bow. "i should call it more than promise. why not? my beloved country, mexico, has been shipping gold to the world ever since the days of montezuma." "yes; in a mineral sense mexico has truly a golden history," nodded tom reade, one of the engineers to whom montez was speaking. "and a golden history in every sense," added senor montez, with a quick rush of patriotism. "mexico is the finest country on earth. and, though we are neither as numerous in population, or as progressive as your own great country, still mexico has greater possibilities than the united states." tom was too polite to argue that point. and harry hazelton, whom a seventy-mile ride in an automobile over dusty roads, that day, had rendered very drowsy, didn't consider an argument worth while. "mexico has almost incredible natural wealth," montez went on, his voice soft and purring, his eyes glowing with something that might have passed for pride. "yet, through all the centuries that white men have been here, i am confident that not one per cent. of the country's natural resources has yet been taken from the ground. enough wealth lies at man's beck and call to change the balance of power between the nations of the world. i have been in your great city, new york. it is a place of tremendous wealth. yet, within ten years, gold enough can be taken from the ground within a radius of twenty miles of here to buy the whole great city of new york at any sane valuation." "that purchase would require billions of dollars," broke in the practical hazelton. "but the wealth is here," insisted senor montez, still smiling. "truly, _caballeros_, as i have told you, this is the land of golden--" again the mexican paused, eloquently. "the land of golden eggs?" suggested harry. for an instant there was a flash in the mexican's eyes. then the friendly smile reappeared. "of course, you jest, senor," he replied, pleasantly. "not at all, senor montez," hazelton assured him. "when gold is so plentiful that it can be picked up everywhere, there must be a goose at hand that lays golden eggs. eggs are among the most common things that we have. when gold nuggets are as large and as abundant as eggs then we may properly call them golden eggs." senor montez, flipped away the cigar that he had finished, and reached for another. this he carefully cut at the end, lighting it with graceful, elegant deliberation. the mexican was a distinguished-looking man above medium height. a little past forty years of age, he possessed all the agility of a boy of twenty. frequently his sudden, agile movements indicated the possession of unusual strength. dark, like most of his countrymen, constant exposure to the tropical sun had made his face almost the color of mahogany. his carriage was erect, every movement instinctive with grace. clad in a white linen suit, with white shoes, he wore on his head a panama hat of fine texture and weave. the house of which the broad veranda was a part, was a low, two-story affair in stone, painted white. through the middle of the house extended the drive-way leading into a large court in which a fountain played. around the upper story of the house a balcony encircled the court and around the windows there were also small balconies. many servants, most of them male, ministered to the wants of those in the house. there were gardeners, hostlers, drivers, chauffeurs and other employs, making a veritable colony of help that was housed in small, low white houses well to the rear. some thirty acres of grounds had been rendered beautiful by the work of engineers, architects and gardeners. nature, on this estate, had been forced, for the natural soil was stony and sterile, in keeping with the mountains and the shallow valleys in this part of the little and seldom-heard-of state of bonista. to the eastward lay, at a distance of some two miles, one of the sources of senor montez's wealth _el sombrero_ mine, producing some silver and much more gold. at least so the owner claimed. it was senor luis montez himself who had gone to the nearest railway station, seventy miles distant, and there had made himself known, that forenoon, to the two young engineers from the united states. tom and harry had come to _el sombrero_ at the invitation of montez. after many careful inquiries as to their reputation and standing in their home country, montez had engaged the young men as engineers to help him develop his great mine. nor had he hesitated to pay the terms they had named--one thousand dollars, gold, per month, for each, and all expenses paid. over mountain trails, through the day, much of the way had of necessity been made slowly. wherever the dusty, irregular roads had permitted greater speed, the swarthy mexican who had served senor montez as chauffeur on the trip had opened wide on the speed. at the end of their long automobile ride tom and harry fairly ached from the jolting they had received. "there are other beautiful features of this gr-r-rand country of mine," the mexican mine owner continued, lighting his second cigar. "i am a noble, you know, senor tomaso. in my veins flows the noble blood of the hidalgos of good old spain. my ancestors came here two hundred and fifty years ago, and ever since, ours has been truly a mexican family that has preserved all of the most worthy traditions of the old spanish nobles. we are a proud race, a conquering one. in this part of bonista, i, like my ancestors, rule like a war lord." "you don't have much occupation at that game, do you, senor?" tom asked, with an innocent smile. "that--that--game?" repeated senor montez, with a puzzled look at his young guest. "the game of war lord," reade explained. "mexico is not often at war, is she?" "not since she was forced to fight your country, senor tomaso, as you help to remind me," pursued montez, without a trace of offense. "though i was educated in your country, i confess that, at times, your language still baffles me. what i meant to say was not 'war lord,' but--but--" "over lord?" suggested reade, politely. "ah, yes! perhaps that better expresses what i mean. in mexico we have laws, senor, to be sure. but they are not for _caballeros_ like myself--not for men who can boast of the blood of spanish hidalgos. i am master over these people for many miles around. absolute master! think you any judge would dare sign a process against me, and send _peon_ officers of the law to interfere with me? no! as i tell you, i, luis montez, am the sole master here among the mountains. we have laws for the _peons_ (working class), but i--i make my own laws." "does it take much of your time, may i ask?" "does what take much of my time?" repeated senor montez, again looking puzzled. "law making," explained tom reade. montez shot a swift look at the young engineer. he wondered if the american were making fun of him. but reade's face looked so simple and kindly, his eyes so full of interest, that the mexican dismissed the thought. "i spend no time in making laws--unless i need them," the mexican continued. "i make laws only as the need arises, and i make them to suit myself. i interpret the laws as i please for my own pleasure or interests. do you comprehend?" "i think so," tom nodded. "many of the big corporations in my country do about the same thing, though the privilege has not yet been extended to individuals in the united states." "here," continued the mine owner, earnestly, "no man disputes my will. that, of itself, is law. here no man sues me, for if he attempted to do so, he would go to prison and remain there. if i tell a man to leave these mountains, he does so, for otherwise he would never leave them. if a man annoys me, and i tell one of my trusted servants to attend to my enemy--then that enemy never troubles me further." "that is interesting--it's so simple and effective!" cried tom, pretended enthusiasm glowing in his eyes. "say, but that's practical! a man annoys you, and you send a servant to tell him to stop. then he stops." "because my enemy also vanishes, you understand," smiled senor luis, indulgently. "but doesn't the governor of bonista ever hear of the disappearances?" suggested reade, very casually. "what if he does?" demanded don luis, snapping his fingers gayly. "are not his excellency, the governor, and i, the best of friends? would he give heed to rumors against me, brought by evil-tongued men? oh, no! _el gobernador_ (the governor) has, at times, even kindly lent me his troops to make sure that an enemy of mine doesn't travel too far. no! i tell you, senor tomaso, i am over lord here. i am the law in these mountains." "it must be a great comfort, don luis--if you have many enemies," suggested tom reade smilingly. "ah, no! i have no enemies to-day," cried the mexican. "why should i? i am generous and indulgent, and the soul of honor. no one has just reason to disagree with me. here i give all men the round trade--no, what in your country you call the square deal. but you shall see. you are now associated with me in a great, a gr-r-rand enterprise. you shall soon see how just and generous i can be--am always. you shall understand why the son of a noble house need have no foes. senor tomaso, i have taken one great liking to you in the few hours that we have been together. and as for you, senor henrico--" with a courtly flourish don luis wheeled about to face young hazelton. but the sound of deep breathing was all that came from harry. fatigued by the long, rough automobile ride, that young engineer had dropped fast asleep in the broad porch rocker. "your friend is much fatigued," spoke don luis, with fine consideration. "if you deem it best, senor tomaso, we will arouse him and he shall go to his room for an hour's sleep before the evening meal." "if his sleeping in the chair doesn't annoy you, don luis, my friend will wake up, refreshed, in twenty minutes or so." "so be it, then. let him sleep where he is. but you, senor tomaso, would you not like to step inside and lie down for a while?" "no, i thank you," reade answered. "unlike hazelton, i feel very wide awake. when shall we go to the mine?" "to-morrow, or the next day," replied the mexican, with a gesture which almost said that "any day" would do. "first, you must both rest until you are wholly refreshed. then you may want to stroll about the country a bit, and see the odd bits of natural beauty in these mountains, before you give too serious thought to work." "but that is not our way, don luis," tom objected. "when we are paid a thousand dollars a month apiece we expect to do an honest day's work six days in every week." "ah, then, to-morrow, perhaps we will talk about the work. and now, if you will pardon me, i will go inside for a few minutes in order to see about some business matters." readers of the "_grammar school boys series_," the "_high school boys series_" and of the preceding volumes in the present series, will feel that they are already intimately acquainted with tom reade and harry hazelton, a pair of young civil engineers who, through sheer grit, persistence and hard study had already made themselves well known in their profession. in the first volume of the "_grammar school boys series_," dick prescott and his five boy chums, greg holmes, dave darrin, dan dalzell, tom reade and harry hazelton, were introduced under the name of dick & co. these six chums, standing shoulder to shoulder, made a famous sextette in school athletics. their start was made during their grammar school days, when they had many adventures and did much in the field of junior sport. their high school life, as set forth in the series of that name, was one of athletics, mixed with much study and efforts to find their true paths in life. in high school athletics the members of dick & co. won a statewide reputation, as to-day members of winning high school athletic teams are bound to do. it was during their high school days that dick & co. determined on their professions through life. dick prescott and greg holmes both secured competitive appointments to the united states military academy, and their further doings are set forth in the "_west point series_." dave darrin and dalzell, with a burning desire for naval life, obtained appointments to the united states naval academy at annapolis. what befell them is fully told in the "_annapolis series_." as for tom reade and harry hazelton, while still in high school they became seized with a strong desire for careers as civil engineers. they were fortunate enough to secure their first practice and training in a local engineering office in the home town of gridley. then, with vastly more courage than training, tom and harry went forth into the world to stand or fall as engineers. their first experiences are told in the opening volume of this series, "_the young engineers in colorado_." joining a western engineering force as "cub" engineers, at first the laughing-stock of the older engineers on the staff of a new railroad then building in colorado, the two boys did their best to make good. how well they succeeded is known to readers of that volume. their adventures in the rocky mountains were truly astounding; some of them, especially those with "bad pete," a braggart and scoundrel of the old school, were sometimes mirth-provoking and sometimes tragic. other adventures were vastly more serious. when the boys reached the crisis of their work it seemed as though every tree in the mountains concealed an enemy. all these and many more details are told in that first volume. in "_the young engineers in arizona_," we found the pair engaged in a wholly new task--that of filling up an apparently unfillable quicksand in the desert so that a railway roadbed might be built safely over the dangerous quicksand that had justly earned the name of the "man-killer." here, too, adventures quickly appeared and multiplied, until even the fearful quicksand became a matter of smaller importance to the chums. how the two young engineers persevered and fought pluckily all the human and other obstacles to their success the readers of the second volume now know fully. then tom and harry, who had been putting in many spare hours, days and weeks on the study of metallurgy and the assaying of precious metals, went, for a "vacation," to nevada, there further to pursue their studies. quite naturally they became interested in gold mining itself, and all their adventures, their mishaps, failures, fights and final successes were fully chronicled in the third volume, entitled "_the young engineers in nevada_." the mine that finally proved a dividend payer was named "the ambition mine." a staunch nevadan, jim ferrers, by name, became their partner in the ambition. jim, who was an old hand at nevada mining, was now managing the mine while tom and harry, after going east and establishing an engineers' office in a large city not far from new york, had traveled to other states, studying mines and assay methods. within the last few months, so rapid had been their progress in mine engineering, that they had been consulted by a number of mine owners. articles that they had written had appeared in journals devoted to mining and engineering, and the fame of our two friends had been rapidly spreading. both scrupulously honest in all things, reade and hazelton had also won a reputation as "square" mining men. with their skill and honesty established, the opinions of the two partners on mining problems were generally respected wherever they happened to be known. so, in time, luis montez had heard of them, and had decided that he needed their services at _el sombrero_ (the hat) mine in the mexican state of bonista. after some correspondence the two engineers had been speedily engaged, and the opening of this volume deals with the time of their arrival at the handsome country house of senor montez. after his host had gone inside, and harry hazelton slept on, tom, who had risen--to bow to senor montez, remained on his feet, pacing slowly and thoughtfully up and down the porch. "now that i've seen my new employer," mused tom, under his breath, "i wonder just how much i really like him. he's a polished man, and a charming fellow from the little that i've seen of him. but his talk of ruling these hills, even in life and death--does that speak well for him. is he a knave, or only a harmless braggart? is he a man against whom one should be seriously on his guard? don luis's manners, in general, i admire, but i don't quite like the cruel expression about his month when he laughs. however, that may be the way of the country, and i may be the victim of prejudice. anyway, as far as harry and i are concerned, we needn't worry much about the kind of man don luis is. the few thousands of dollars that he will owe us as his engineers we are pretty certain to get, for don luis is a very wealthy man, and he couldn't afford to cheat us. for the rest, all he wants us to do is to work hard as engineers and show him how to get more valuable ore out of his mines. so, no matter what kind of man don luis may be, we have nothing to fear from him--not even being cheated out of our pay." having settled this in his mind, tom reade sank into one of the roomy porch chairs, half closing his eyes. he was soon in danger of being as sound asleep as was harry hazelton. certainly reade would have been intensely interested had he been able to render himself invisible and thus to step into one of the rooms of the big, handsome house. in a room that was half office, half library, senor luis montez was now closeted with another man, whom neither of the engineers had yet met. this man was short, slight of build and nervous of action and gesture--a young man perhaps twenty-six years of age. carlos tisco was secretary to don luis. tisco was a graduate of a university at the capital city of mexico, a doctor of philosophy, no mean chemist, a clever assayer of precious metals and an engineer. in a word dr. tisco had been so well trained in many fields of science that it was a wonder that don luis should feel the need of employing the two young american engineers. "you have seen my new engineers, carlos?" queried don luis, almost in a whisper, as the two men, bending forward, faced each other over a flat-top desk. "through the window shutters--yes, don luis," nodded the secretary, a strange look in his eyes. "then what do you think of the gringo pair, my good carlos?" pursued don luis. "gringo" is a word of contempt applied by some mexicans to americans. "i--i hardly like to tell you, don luis," replied the younger man, with an air of pretended embarrassment. "ah! then no doubt you feel they are not as clever as they have been rated--my two gringos," smiled the mine owner. "rest easy, carlos. it may be better if they be not too clever." "it--it is that which i fear, don luis," replied the secretary, in a still lower voice. "i have been studying their faces--especially their eyes as they spoke. don luis, i much fear that they are very clever young men." "ah! then again that is not bad," laughed the master gayly. "if they be clever, then they will not need so much explanation." now the secretary became bolder. "don luis, though you have spent many years in the united states, i fear you do not at all understand some traits of the gringo character," warned dr. tisco. "for example, you want these young men for a special service, and you are willing to pay them generously--lavishly in fact. has it escaped you, don luis, that some of these obstinate, mule-headed gringos are guilty of an especial form of ingratitude which they term honor?" "i know that some gringos make much bombastic use of that term, while other gringos scoff at the word 'honor,'" replied the mine owner, thoughtfully. "but even suppose that these gringos have absurdly fanciful ideas of honor? they will never guess for what i really want them. their work will be done, to my liking, and they will go away from here with never a suspicion of the kind of service they have performed for me." "pardon me, don luis," murmured dr. tisco, "but to me they do not look like such fools. they will suspect; they will even know." "it matters little what they suspect, if they hold their tongues," replied the mine owner. "you will have to appeal to their love of money, then," suggested the secretary. "you will have to pay them extremely well. even then they may balk and refuse." "refuse?" repeated don luis opening his eyes wide. "carlos, you do not seem to understand how hopeless it would be for them to refuse. i am master here. none knows better than you that i hold life and death in my hand in these mountains. do not all men hereabouts obey my orders? will _el gobernador_ ask any awkward questions if two gringos should stroll through these mountains and never be heard from again? who can escape the net that i am able to spread in these mountains? the gringos refuse me--betray me? are they such fools as to refuse me when they find that i hold their lives in the palm of my hand?" "they may even refuse your bait with death as the alternative," persisted the secretary. "don luis, you know that there are such foolish men among the gringos." "then let them refuse me," proposed don luis, jestingly, though his white teeth shone in a savage smile. "if they are difficult to manage--these two young gringos--then they will quickly disappear, and other gringos shall come until i find those that will serve me and be grateful for their rewards." "i wish you good fortune with your great schemes, don luis," sighed young dr. tisco. "carlos, you have not eaten for hours. you are so famished that the whole world is colored blue before your eyes. come, it is close to the hour for the meal. you shall meet and talk with my gringos. you will then be able to judge whether i shall be able to tame them." chapter ii the wolf who showed his teeth a rare host at table was don luis montez. he possessed the manner, even if not the soul, of a great nobleman. his daughter, francesca, reputed to be a beauty, did not appear at table. so far the young engineers had not met her. they would be presented, however, within a day or two, after the mexican custom, for tom reade and harry hazelton were to be guests in the white palace during their residence in this part of mexico. dr. tisco, too, tried to be most entertaining, and succeeded. "you are the surgeon at the mine?" harry ventured. "a _medico_?" suggested dr. tisco, with a bow of humility. "ah, no, senor, i have not that honor. i am a doctor of philosophy, not of medicine." "then you may be a scientific expert," harry hazarded. "you are the expert here at the mine?" "not so," broke in don luis, gently. "it is true that carlos has some knowledge of chemistry, but he is not a mining expert. he is my secretary, my man of affairs." "oh, really the manager of the mine, then?" pursued harry. "pardon me if i ask too many questions. i do not mean to be impertinent. but, as we are going to work here i wish to know who's who is senor montez' representative." "carlos," broke in don luis, again, "is rather more than the mine manager. he serves me in a variety of interests, and the mine is only one of them." "if you wish to know whether you are to be under my instructions," dr. tisco continued, "i can assure you that you are not. i seldom give orders except as the direct--i might say the directed--mouthpiece of don luis." "i have a separate manager at the mine," added don luis. "you shall meet him to-morrow. his name is pedro gato. you will find him a self-opinionated fellow, and one used to having his own way. he has to be somewhat turbulent, or he would never hold some of my _peons_ (laborers) in check. but under the surface you will find pedro gato an excellent fellow if you do not rub him too hard the wrong way." "gato will not attempt to give us any orders, of course?" tom asked very quietly. "possibly not," dubiously replied don luis. "i really do not know. that point has not before come up to me for consideration." "then i hope you will make it clear to senor gato, don luis, that we are engineers, wholly in charge of our own work; that we have been engaged as experts and that we manage our own work in the way that appears to us best to serve our employer's interests." "that can all be arranged very amicably, i am certain," replied don luis, as though to dismiss the matter for the present. dr. tisco, covertly, was intently watching the eyes and faces of the young engineers. the secretary was most anxious to take an accurate measure of these two young americans, who were now highly \ important to his plans. after the evening meal, don luis summoned a number of his home retainers, who played mandolins and guitars. some of them sang with considerable sweetness and power. the full moon, soon to wane, shed lustrous light over the tropical scene of beauty. it was a delightful evening. tom and harry, when they retired, found themselves ready to sleep instantly. their bedrooms opened into a common parlor. early in the morning they were astir. "what shall we wear, tom?" inquired hazelton, going toward his trunks. "eh?" "i wonder what people wear in mexico," harry continued. "i don't want to make any mistake in my clothing." "the best clothing for engineers about to go down into a mine will be top-boots, khaki trousers and flannel shirts." "but will that be suitable to go to breakfast in?" harry asked. "will it be showing sufficient courtesy to our host? and suppose the daughter should be at table?" "that's so," reade nodded. "i am sorry that we didn't fish for points last evening." a knock came at the door. "aqui!" (here) tom answered. the door opened slowly. a man servant of perhaps twenty-five years, attired in clean white clothes, but bare-footed, stood in the doorway, bowing very low. "_buenos dias_, _caballeros_!" (good morning, gentlemen) was his greeting. tom invited him to enter. "_caballeros_," announced the _peon_, "i am your servant, your slave, your dog! my name is nicolas." "how do you do, nicolas," responded tom, holding out his hand, which the mexican appeared too dazed, or too respectful to take. "we may find a servant useful. but we never kept slaves, and we wouldn't dream of calling any man a dog." "i am your dog, _caballeros_," nicolas asserted. "i am yours to do with as you wish. beat me, if i do not perform my work well." "but i wouldn't beat a dog. almost any dog is too fine a fellow to be served in that fashion," tom explained. "_caballeros_, i am here to receive your pleasure and commands concerning breakfast." "is it ready?" demanded harry hopefully. "the kitchen is open, and the cooks there," nicolas responded. "when your excellency's orders have been given the cooks will prepare your meal with great dispatch." "has don luis come down yet?" tom inquired. "no; for his great excellency has not yet eaten," answered the _peon_. "oh! then your master eats in his own room?" tom asked. "don luis eats always his breakfast in bed," nicolas told them. "then i guess we were too fresh, tom, in getting up," laughed harry. as this was spoken in english, nicolas, not understanding, paid no heed. tom and harry, on the other hand, had a conversational smattering of spanish, for in arizona they had had a large force of mexican laborers working under them. "nicolas, my good boy," tom went on, "we are quite new to the ways of mexico. we shall have to ask you to explain some matters to us." "i am a dog," said nicolas, gravely, "but even a dog may speak according to his knowledge." "then of what does the breakfast here usually consist?" "of anything in don luis's larder," replied the _peon_ grandly. "yet surely there must be some rule about the meal." "the only rule, excellency, is the pleasure of the host." "what does don luis, then, usually order?" "chocolate," replied the servant. "nothing else?" "and a roll or two, excellency." "what does he eat after that?" harry demanded, rather anxiously. "nothing, _caballero_, until the next meal." "chocolate and a roll or two," muttered harry. "i am afraid that wouldn't hold me through a day's work. not even a forenoon's toil. i never did like to diet on a plan of tightening my belt." "anything for which the _caballero_ will ask shall be brought," replied nicolas, with another bow. "how about a steak, tom?" harry asked, turning to his chum. "pardon, excellency, but we have no such thing here," nicolas interposed, meekly. "eggs?" harry guessed. "excellency, we shall hope to have some eggs by to-morrow," "harry, you idiot, why didn't you ask for mince pie and doughnuts, too?" laughed reade. "nicolas, my boy, the trouble with me," harry explained, "is that chocolate and rolls will never hold my soul and body together for more than an hour at a time. chocolate and rolls by all means, but help us out a bit. what can we call for that is more hearty." "there are _tortillas_ to be had sometimes," the servant answered. "also, sometimes, _frijoles_." "they both sound good," harry assented vaguely. "bring us some." "_caballeros_, you shall be served with the speed at which the eagle flies!" exclaimed the servant. with a separate bow to each he withdrew, softly closing the door after him. "now harry, let's hustle into some clothes," urged tom. "since we are to eat here mine clothes will be the thing. hustle into them!" bred in the ways of the camps, ten minutes later tom and harry were washed, dressed and otherwise tidy in every respect. "i've a mind to go outdoors and get some glimpses of the scenery for a few minutes," harry hinted. "don't think of it. you don't want to come back to a cold breakfast." so both seated themselves, regretting the absence of morning newspapers. then the time began to drag. finally the delay became wearisome. "i wonder how many people nicolas is serving this morning?" murmured hazelton, at last. "everyone in the house would be my guess," laughed tom. still time dragged by. "what on earth will don luis think of us?" harry grunted. "there is only one thing for it, if this delay lasts any longer," tom answered. "if this delay lasts much longer we shall have to put off breakfast until to-morrow and get to work." "put off breakfast until to-morrow?" hazelton gasped. "that's where i draw the line. before i'll stir a step from here i must have at least food enough to grubstake a canary bird." some minutes later, nicolas rapped at the door. he then entered, bearing a tray enveloped in snowy linen. this tray he put down, then spread a tablecloth that he had brought over one arm. "will you be seated, _caballeros_?" he asked, respectfully, as he took his stand by the tray. then he whisked away the linen cover. gravely he set upon the table a pot of chocolate, two dainty cups and saucers and a plate containing four rolls. "where's the butter, nicolas?" asked harry. "butter, _caballero_? i did not understand that you wished it. i will get it. i will run all the way to the kitchen and back." "never mind the butter this morning, nicolas," spoke up tom, at the same time kicking harry gently under the table. "can i serve you further, now, _caballeros_" inquired nicolas, with great respect, "or shall i bring you the remainder of your breakfast?" "bring us the rest of the breakfast, by all means," begged harry, and the servant left them. "why did you tell him not to mind the butter?" grunted hazelton. "because," tom answered, "it struck me that, in mexico, it may not be customary to serve butter in the morning." harry took a bite of one of the rolls, finding it to be soft, flaky and delicious. then he removed another linen covering from the pot and started to pour the chocolate. that beverage did not come as freely as he had expected. "what ails the stuff?" grunted hazelton. "this isn't the first of april." then harry removed the lid from the pot, glancing inside, next he picked up a spoon and stirred the contents of the pot. "i wish nicolas were here," said hazelton. "why?" tom wanted to know. "i'm bothered about what's etiquette in mexico. i don't know whether it's right to eat this stuff with a knife, or whether we're expected to spread the stuff on the rolls." "it is pretty thick stuff," tom agreed, after taking a look. "but let me have the pot and the spoon. i think i can manage it." after some work tom succeeded in reducing the chocolate to a consistency that admitted of pouring, though very slowly. "it took you almost three minutes to pour two cups," said harry, returning his watch to his pocket. "come on, now! we've got to make up for lost time. what will don luis think of us? and yet it is his household arrangements that are keeping us away from our work." chocolate and rolls were soon disposed of. then the two engineers sat back, wondering whether nicolas had deserted them. finally, both rose and walked to stretch their legs. "no restaurant in new york has anything on this place for slow-march service!" growled hazelton. as all things must come at last, so did nicolas. he carried a tray and was followed by a second servant, bringing another. the _tortillas_ proved to be, as harry put it, "a cross between a biscuit and flapjack." the _frijoles_ were just plain boiled beans, which had evidently been cooked on some other day, and were now mushy. but it was a very solid meal that now lay before them, and the young engineers ate heartily. "will the _caballeros_ have some more chocolate?" suggested nicolas. "not now," said hazelton. "but you might order some for to-morrow's breakfast, and then we shan't have to wait for so long next time." the additional servant had gone, noiselessly, but nicolas hovered about, silently. at last the meal was finished. tom had chewed his food thoroughly, what he had eaten of it, but harry, in his hunger, had eaten hurriedly. "now we'll have to find don luis and apologize," hinted tom. "hereafter i can see that we shall have to rise much earlier. confound it, it's a quarter of nine, already." the two youngsters hastened out to the veranda. a man servant was lazily dusting and placing porch chairs. "has don luis gone to the mine?" asked tom in spanish. "don luis?" repeated the servant, in evident astonishment. "presently his excellency will be dressing." "thank you," nodded tom, and paced the veranda, leisurely. "harry, we didn't make such a bad break after all, then. plainly don luis didn't plan an early start." "is dr. tisco around?" asked harry, of the servant. "the learned doctor must be dressing by this time, _caballero_," replied the servant respectfully. "hm!" mused harry. "can it be that the people in bonista do their work at night?" "oh, i'll wager the poor _peons_ at the mine have been at work for some time," tom smiled. "anyway, i'm glad we haven't kept everyone else waiting." at half-past ten o'clock dr. tisco appeared, immaculate in white. he bowed low and courteously to the guests. "i trust, _caballeros_, that you have enjoyed perfect rest." "yes," answered harry. "and now we're fidgeting to get at work. but, of course, we can't start for the mine until don luis gives us the word, and we are at his pleasure." "it is nearly time for don luis to appear," said tisco gravely. "is he always as late as this?" "here, senor hazelton, we do not call eleven o'clock a late hour for appearing." twenty minutes later don luis appeared, clad in white and indolently puffing at a mexican cigarette. "you will smoke, gentlemen?" inquired their host, courteously, after he had inquired concerning their rest. "thank you," tom responded, pleasantly. "we have never used tobacco." don luis rang and a servant appeared. "have one of my cars ordered," commanded don luis. ten minutes later a car rolled around to the entrance. "you will come with us, carlos?" inquired don luis. "assuredly, don luis," replied the secretary, in the tone of a man who was saying that he would not for worlds miss an expected treat. it was a seven-passenger car of late design. into the tonneau stepped the two mexicans and the two young engineers. "to the mines," ordered don luis. "do you wish speed, excellency?" inquired the chauffeur. "no; we will go slowly. we may wish to talk." gravely, in military fashion, the chauffeur saluted, then allowed the automobile to roll slowly away. "it is not an attractive road, after we leave the _hacienda_," explained don luis montez to tom. "it is a dusty road, and a somewhat hard one. the mining country is not a beautiful place in which to live." "it is at least more beautiful than the country in which our mine is located," tom replied. "are you gentlemen, then, mine owners as well as mine experts?" inquired their host. tom told don luis briefly about their mine, the ambition, in the indian smoke range, nevada. "and is your mine a profitable one?" inquired the mexican. "it hasn't made us millionaires," tom rejoined, modestly, "but it pays us more money, every month, than we really need." don luis glanced covertly at his secretary, with a look that conveyed: "if these young gringos have all the money they want, and more, then we may find it difficult to appeal to their avarice." dr. tisco's return glance as much as said: "i am all the more certain that we shall find them difficult." don luis commented to the two young men on the country through which they were passing. finally the car drew up before the entrance to _el sombrero_ mine. there was the shaft entrance and near it a goodly-sized dump for ore. not far from the entrance was a small but very neat looking office building, and a second, still smaller, which might have been a timekeeper's office. "hello, pedro!" called don luis. out of the office building sprang a dark-featured mexican, perhaps forty years of age. he was truly a large man--more than six feet in height, broad of shoulder and deep of chest, a splendid type of manhood. "my good gato," purred don luis, "pay your respects to _los caballeros_ reade and hazelton." gato approached, without offering his hand. his big, wolfish eyes looked over the young american pair keenly. "so don luis has brought you here to show whether you are any good?" said the mine manager, in a voice as big as his frame. "i shall soon know." before the big, formidable manager harry hazelton remained silent, while don luis and his secretary slid softly into the office building. "gato, just what do you mean by your remark?" asked tom reade, very quietly. "i mean that i shall put you at work and find out what you can do," leered the mine manager. "mistake number one!" rejoined tom coolly. "i do not understand that you have any authority to give us orders." "you shall soon learn, then!" growled the man. "i am the mine manager here." "and we are the engineers about to be placed in charge," tom continued. "if we stay, gato, you will assist us in all ways that you can. then, when you have received our instructions you will carry them out according to the best of your ability." the two looked each other sternly in the eyes, pedro gato appearing as though he enjoyed young americans better than any other food in the world. indeed, he might have been expected to eat one of them right then and there. behind a shade in the office building dr. tisco stirred uneasily. "what did i say to you, don luis?" inquired the secretary. "did i not suggest that these gringos would not be easily controlled?" "wait!" advised don luis montez. "wait! you have not yet seen what my gato will do. he is not a baby." "these gringos will balk at every hour of the day and night," predicted dr. tisco. "wait until you have seen my good gato tame them!" chuckled don luis, softly. chapter iii gato strikes the up trail "when you speak to me, gringo," bellowed pedro gato, "you will--" "stop, greaser!" shot back tom, sternly, though he did not even stir or raise his hands. "greaser?" bellowed pedro gato. "that is foul insult!" "not more so than to call me a gringo," tom reade went on coolly. "so we are even, though i feel rather debased to have used such a word. gato, if you make the mistake, again, of using an offensive term when addressing me, i shall--well, i may show a somewhat violent streak." "you?" sneered gato. then something in the humor of the situation appealed to him. he threw back his head and laughed loudly. "gringo," he began, "you will--" "stop that line of talk, fellow," commanded tom quietly. "when you address me, be good enough to say either 'senor' or 'sir.' i am not usually as disagreeable as this in dealing with my fellow men, but you have begun wrong with us, gato, and the first thing you'll have to learn to do will be to treat us with proper courtesy." from the shaft entrance showed the faces of four grinning, wondering mexicans of the usual type. the talk had proceeded in spanish, and they had been able to follow it. as for the mine manager, his bronzed face was distorted with rage. the veins near his forehead were swelling. with a sudden roar, pedro gato sprang forward, aiming a blow with his open right hand at reade's face. bump! that blow failed to land. it was gato, instead, who landed. he went down on his back, striking the ground with jarring force. "what did i say?" whispered dr. tisco. "wait!" responded don luis, with a shrug of his shoulders. well-nigh frothing at the mouth, pedro gato leaped to his feet. all was red now before his eyes. he rushed forward bellowing like a bull, intent on crushing the young american who had dared to treat him thus. tom's left fist drove into the fellow's unguarded face. his right followed, and gato, big as he was, staggered back. tom's right foot performed a trip that sent the big mexican bully to earth again. "now get up, gato, like a man of intelligence, and behave yourself," advised reade coolly. "just because we have had a bad introduction is no reason why we should continue enemies. you treat me with proper respect and i'll do as much for you." but gato snarled like a wild beast. he was not armed. with every man in these bonista mountains afraid of him, gato had never felt the need of carrying weapons. but now he plunged to the doorway of the shaft house, then came bounding back, flourishing a knife that he had snatched from one of the _peons_. "back! back, gato!" shouted dr. tisco, rushing from the office building. to the secretary gato paid no heed. he was close to tom now, circling cautiously around the young engineer. harry, though not at all minded to bolt, had stepped back far enough to give reade elbow room. "stop, gato!" shouted don luis. "it is i who command it--i, don luis. throw your knife on the ground." gato snarled, but he was cowed. the brutal manager held his employer in awe. he was about to cast his weapon down when tom reade interposed. "don luis, i ask you to let the fellow go on. this question will have to be settled right before we can proceed. this fellow is only a coward, or he wouldn't need a knife in fighting with a man half his size." "better throw away your knife, my good gato," purred don luis, "or senor reade will shoot you." "i won't," tom retorted. "i couldn't, anyway. i am not armed. i never was enough afraid of any one to carry weapons. but let gato go on with his knife. if he fails, then i shall hit him until my arm aches." "stop, senor reade! i command it!" cried don luis, imperiously. "and you, gato, throw down your knife. i will not have fighting here among men who must be friends." but gato, after hearing himself described as a coward, saw only red before his eyes. he must have this gringo's life, and that quickly. afterwards he would explain and seek don luis's pardon. "if you prefer, gato, we will shake hands and forget this," suggested tom reade. "ah, so you are afraid?" sneered the mine manager. "try me and see, if you prefer that," tom retorted. with a snarl gato circled closer. don luis montez snatched from one of his pockets a silver-mounted revolver, but hazelton caught the flash and in the next instant he had wrenched the pistol away from the mine owner. "this is reade's fight, don luis," harry explained. "hand back my pistol instantly," hissed don luis. "not until the fight is decided, don luis," harry rejoined. slipping the weapon into one of his own pockets he retreated a few yards. suddenly gato sprang, the knife uplifted. tom reade leaped in the same fraction of a second. tom's shoulder landed under gato's right shoulder, and the knife did not descend. like a flash tom bent as he wheeled. gripping the mine manager by the captured arm, tom threw him forcefully over his own shoulder. pedro gato landed, half-dazed, on the ground. tom, snatching the knife, hurled it as far as he could throw it. snarling, the big fellow started to rise. as he did so tom reade's fist landed, sending the greaser bully to earth. the big fellow made several efforts to rise, but each time tom's fist sent him flat again, until a final heavy blow silenced him. "don luis," explained tom, quietly, turning and bowing, "i can't begin to tell you how much i regret this unavoidable scene. when i encountered this big bully i was at once tempted to resign my position here with you, for i realize, of course, that i cannot hope to go on with any such man in a position where i would have to depend so much upon his cheerful and friendly service. i would have resigned, but i realize, don luis, how much expense you have gone to in the matter of getting us here, and i know, also, that there might be a good deal of delay in getting some one else to take our places." "gato will not trouble you again," promised don luis, bowing charmingly. "of course not, sir," tom rejoined. "i couldn't work here and let him go on annoying me all the time. don luis, i shall have to crave your indulgence to the extent of discharging this fellow and securing another manager who is less of a wild beast and more of a man." "oh, but i cannot let pedro gato go," protested don luis, quickly. "he is too old an employ, too valuable a man. no other could manage my _peons_ as he does." "let me go!" begged gato, harshly. "let me go, that i may have all my time to myself that i may find the best way to avenge myself on this miserable gringo. don luis, do not think of attempting to keep me penned in _el sombrero_. i must be idle that i may have the more time to think." tom remained silent. he had stated his case, and the decision must be found by don luis. "for many reasons," whispered dr. tisco, "let gato go. for either good or bad reasons it will be best to let him go." "you are right, carlos," nodded the mine owner quickly. then, raising his voice: "my good gato, you shall have your wish," he went on, in his purring tone. "yet do not think there is anger behind my words. i let you go because it is your wish. i do not so decide that i may humiliate you, but because you have served me well. when you need a friend, gatito, you will know to whom to send word. go your way in friendship." even tom reade, with his somewhat scant knowledge of spanish, was quick to note, mentally, the meaning of that term, "gatito," which meant "little gato," and was used as a term of affection. it was a form of telegraphy that was not wasted on the departing mine manager, either, for it told him that don luis had some excellent reason for thus quickly falling in with the wishes of the new american chief engineer. with a grateful smile at don luis, then with a scowl of unutterable hatred flung in tom reade's direction, pedro gato next turned on his heel and strode up the path. from his pocket harry hazelton drew forth the silver-mounted revolver and approached the owner of the mine. "allow me to return this to you, don luis," urged hazelton. "i must also apologize for having snatched it from you so rudely. i did not know what else to do, for i feared that you intended to interfere in the quarrel." "and what if i had so intended?" asked the mexican mine owner, with one of his puzzling smiles. "just this," harry answered, candidly. "mr. reade never gets into a fight if he can help it. when he does find himself in one i have learned, from long experience, not to interfere unless he calls for help. so i did not want any one to interfere between him and gato." "it was a most unfortunate affair," said the mexican. "senor tomaso, i must warn you that pedro gato is one who never forgives an injury. he will devote himself to thoughts of a revenge that shall be terrible enough to satisfy his wounded feelings. you will do well to be on your guard." tom smiled as he replied: "don luis, i trust that i have seen the last of the fellow." "be assured that you have not seen the last of him, senor tomaso." "then it may go hard with gato," smiled tom, carelessly. "but i trust i have not offended you in this matter, don luis. if i have, i am willing to withdraw, and i will reimburse you for the expense you have incurred in bringing us here." "i shall not let you go," smiled the mexican, "unless you feel that you no longer wish to remain in the same country with pedro gato." "that thought has not entered my mind, sir," reade responded, almost stiffly. "then we will say no more about the matter, and you will remain," nodded the mexican. "and now we will go down into the mine and give you your first chance to examine our problems there." as they entered the shaft house it was discovered that the elevator cage was at the foot of the shaft. while they waited for the cage to come up, keen dr. tisco whispered to tom: "senor reade, night and day you must be unceasingly on your guard against gato. in these mountains a hundred men will follow his beck and call." "if they are all like him, then gato should turn bandit," laughed young reade. "it is not unlikely that he will do so," sighed tisco, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "in mexico, when a defeated man seeks blood revenge it is no uncommon thing for him to turn bandit until he has accomplished his hope of a terrible revenge. then, afterwards, if the bandit has annoyed the government enough, and has repeatedly escaped capture, the bandit makes his peace with the authorities and receives his pardon." the cage arriving at this moment, the four men entered, and started downward. three hundred and sixty feet from the earth's surface don luis led them from the car into a tunnel. "i will now show you," promised don luis, "something of the problem that confronts the engineers of this mine." "keep your eyes open, and your wits about you, harry," whispered tom reade. "i may be wholly wrong, yet, somehow, i can't quite rid myself of a notion that don luis wants us for some piece of rascally work, though of what kind i can't imagine." "i shall watch these two gringos like a cat," reflected dr. tisco. "i half suspect that they will foolishly sacrifice their lives sooner than serve us." chapter iv tom does some sampling at sight of don luis's party a mexican foreman came running forward. "how runs the ore this morning?" asked don luis. "not quite as well as usual, excellency," replied the man, with a shrug of his shoulders. "how! do you mean to tell me that the ore is running out for a streak!" "oh, no, excellency. yet it is the poorest ore that we have struck for a fortnight. however, it will pay expenses and leave something for profit, too, excellency." "show us what you have been doing," don luis directed. leading the way with a lantern that threw a brilliant light, the foreman went on down the tunnel to the heading. as he neared the end of the tunnel the man called loudly and a number of workmen stepped aside. as they reached the spot, tom's quick eye saw that the morning's blasts had loosened some eight tons or so of ore. drillers stood ready to drive through the rock for the next blast. "let us look at the ore, senor tomaso," suggested the mine owner. tom began to delve through the piles of shattered, reduced rock. the foreman held the lantern close, that the young engineer might have all the light he wanted, and called to miners to bring their lights closer. then harry, also, began to examine the rock. for some minutes the two young engineers picked up specimens and examined them. "what do you make of it?" inquired don luis montez at last. "is this what you call a run of poor luck?" tom asked the foreman, dryly. "yes, senor; rather poor," answered the foreman. "then it must be rather exciting here when the ore is running well," smiled tom. "at a guess i should say that this 'poor' stuff before us will run thirty dollars to the ton." "it usually runs fifty, senor," broke in don luis. "sometimes, for a run of a hundred tons, the ore will show up better than seventy-five dollars per ton." "whew!" whistled reade. "then no wonder you call this the land of golden promise." "by comparison it would make the mines in the united states look poor, would it not?" laughed the mine owner. "there are very few mines there that show frequent runs of fifty dollars to the ton," harry observed. "are you going to clear out this ore, and send it to the dump" tom asked the foreman. "yes." "then i would be glad if you would do so at once," tom remarked. for answer the mexican foreman stared at tom in a rather puzzled way. "i will do so as soon as i am ordered," he responded, respectfully. "all right," returned reade. "i'll give you the order. clear this stuff out and get it up in the ore cage. clear this tunnel floor with all the speed you comfortably can." "perhaps the senor will explain?" suggested the foreman. "these _caballeros_ are the new engineers in charge of the mine," said dr. tisco. "ah! so? then if pedro gato will only give the order--" began the foreman. "if pedro gato gives you any orders," tom suggested, briskly, "you will ignore them. pedro gato is no longer connected with the mine." "not connected?" gasped the foreman, who plainly doubted his ears. "no," broke in don luis. "you will take no more orders from gato. these _caballeros_ are the engineers, and they are in charge. you heard the order of senor reade. you will clean out this tunnel, sending the ore above to the dump." "it shall be done," cried the foreman, bowing low before the mine owner. "and now, senor tomaso, if it suits you, we will go to another tunnel," proposed don luis. "very good, sir," tom assented. "what had been in my mind was to order the drillers at work here and see a blast made." "we can be back long before the next blast can be prepared," replied montez. "carlos, lead the way to tunnel number four." the secretary turned, retracing his steps, don luis bringing up the rear. "oho! i have dropped my cigar case," remarked don luis a minute later. "i will go back and get it." the others waited near the shaft. tom wondered, slightly, why dr. tisco had not volunteered to go back after his employer's missing cigar case. presently don luis appeared. "now we will go to number four," he said. the cage carried them to a lower level. here another foreman came forward to meet them and to conduct them to the heading. here were some five tons of rock. tom and harry found it to be about the same grade of ore as that seen above. "is this ore as good as you usually find in this vein?" tom inquired of the second foreman. "not quite, senor, though to-day's blasts have turned out to be very fair ore," responded the foreman. "i should say it is good ore," tom remarked dryly. "now, will you set the shovelers at work moving this stuff back a little way? i want to see a new drilling made and watch the results of the blast." "if pedro gato--" began the foreman, reluctantly. "pedro gato has nothing to do with this," tom answered quickly. "mr. hazelton and i are privileged to give such orders as we deem best. will you kindly tell the foreman so, don luis?" "it is quite true," replied the mine owner. "gato is no longer with us, and these gentlemen are in charge." "then i will have the ore moved back at once," agreed the foreman. "but first we will go back out of the dirt and out of the danger from the blast," spoke don luis, using a good deal the tone of an order. "the rest of you may go back," suggested reade. "but i wish to see the drilling done." "it is unnecessary, senor tomaso," smiled don luis, blandly. "come back with us." "i must see the men work, don luis, if i am to understand the work here," tom rejoined, very quietly, though with a firmness that was wholly apparent. "oh, very good then," smiled montez, with a shrug of his shoulders. three of the inspecting party went back, but tom remained close behind the drillers. twice he stopped them in their work, to collect small samples of the pulverized stuff that the drills turned back. these specimens he placed in sample envelopes and stored in his pockets. from the ore that was being shoveled back he chose other small specimens, labeling the envelopes in which he stored them. by the time that the ore had been shoveled well back the drillers had completed their work. now the "dope men" came forward, putting the sticks of dynamite in place. tom watched them closely. "do you call this last work well done?" tom inquired of the foreman of the tunnel. "yes, yes, senor, as well as i have been able to see," responded the mexican. "then come with me. just look at the tamping. hardly worthy of the name of tamping, is it?" tom asked, poking at the material that had been forced in as tamping. "senor, my men must have been indolent, this time," admitted the foreman. "very indolent, or else indifferent," tom smiled, grimly. "here, you men, come here and let me show you how to set dynamite and tamp it. perhaps i do not understand the job very well, but we shall see." ten minutes later tom reade abandoned his work, rather well satisfied. "now, when we fire the blasts, we shall move some rock, i believe," he smiled. the wires were attached, and all hands went back, most of them going considerably to the rear of the man at the magneto battery. a rocking explosion followed. tom was among the first to run forward. at the heading were heaps of rock. "get in and pry it loose. shovel it back," tom ordered, in spanish. shortly after, don luis, dr. tisco and harry appeared on the scene. they found tom turning over the ore as it came back. more than a dozen samples he dropped into envelopes, labeled them and put them away in his pockets. "what ails this lot of ore?" inquired harry, after looking at specimens. "it is not running as well," said tom briefly. "go through the stuff and see what you think of it." "but we have much more to see, _caballeros_," interposed don luis. "if you will be kind enough to indulge me here, for a few minutes more, i shall be grateful," tom informed him. "oh, very good," assented don luis, with a shrug of his shoulders. "but it is not my purpose to tire you with too many observations on our first trip through the mine." with a fine sample of castillian courtesy and patience, don luis waited, smoking, until reade had quite finished his inspection. "i am now at your service, don luis," announced the young chief engineer, rising and going toward his employer. the remaining four tunnels of _el sombrero_ mine were visited. in each tunnel was the same pile of ore awaiting them, and it all looked good. that in number three was the richest ore of all. "now, i think we have seen enough for today," announced don luis, when they had inspected number three tunnel. "then if you will go along and let me join you later, i shall appreciate it," tom suggested politely. "you wish to linger?" queried don luis, looking amused. "i wish to see a blast made here," tom replied. "i, too, would like to see one," harry added. "then we will wait for you," agreed don luis, with a sigh that contained just a trace of impatience. a drilling and a blast were made. again a lot of poor rock was loosened. tom and harry collected specimens, labeling them. "now, we will return to the house," said don luis. "i would really like to put in a long day here at the mine," proposed reade, reluctantly. "to-morrow, then," nodded don luis. "but, for to-day, i am tired of this place. there is much about which i wish to consult you, _caballeros_, at my office." tom glanced swiftly, covertly at harry, then responded: "in that case, my dear don luis, we are wholly at your service." chapter v the mine that did and didn't at the head of the shaft, nicolas, the servant, awaited them. "nicolas, you rascal!" exclaimed don luis, angrily. "you have not been attending your _caballeros_." "your pardon, excellency, but the automobile moved too swiftly for me," pleaded nicolas. "all the way to the mine i ran, and here i have waited until now." "keep pace with your duties hereafter, scoundrel," commanded don luis, angrily. nicolas stepped meekly to the rear of the party. it was his business to attend tom and harry everywhere. in mexico one of the grade of gentleman, if he wishes only a glass of water, does not go for it; he sends the attending servant. this time nicolas slipped up on the front seat of the car beside the chauffeur. the car traveled at a high rate of speed over the rough road. "it must cost you a mint of money for tires and repairs, not to speak of new cars," laughed tom, after he had been bounced up two feet in the air as the automobile ran over a rough place in the road. "pouf! what does it matter, to a man who owns _el sombrero_?" smiled don luis montez. "i am answered," tom agreed. "the price of a few imported cars cannot matter much to you." "how many better mines than _el sombrero_ have you seen?" questioned the mine owner, leaning forward. "none," said tom, promptly. "if all days' indications are as good as those of to-day," harry added. "to-day has been but a poor day at the mine," murmured dr. tisco. "then _el sombrero_ is indeed a marvel," tom declared. "it is a very rich mine," nodded don luis. "yet there may be richer ones, in these mountains, yet undiscovered." "where is the next best mine around here?" tom inquired. "perhaps it is _el padre_," murmured don luis, after a slight pause. "where is _el padre_ (the priest) located?" tom wanted to know. "it is about four miles from here, up over that road," don luis rejoined, pointing out the direction. "may i ask if _el padre_ is one of your properties, don luis?" tom continued. "no; why should i want it when i own _el sombrero_?" "not unless you wish to own as many mines as possible." "_el sombrero_ should be enough for my greatest dreams of wealth," declared don luis, closing his eyes dreamily. then the car stopped before the house. don luis alighted, tom and harry at his heels. a servant appeared at the entrance to the court and informed him that the midday meal was ready to serve. "we will go to the table, then," exclaimed the mexican. "after having luncheon we shall be ready for an afternoon of hard work." no sooner had the young engineers slipped into their seats at table than nicolas appeared behind their chairs. he served them gravely and without a word. for nearly an hour the luncheon lasted. finally the dishes were cleared away and several boxes of cigars were brought. tom and harry both declined them. dr. tisco lighted a cigar at once; don luis spent much time in selecting his cigar. this he lighted with the same deliberation. at last the mine owner settled back in his seat. "_caballeros_," he inquired, suddenly, "what did you think of _el sombrero_?" "i would call it, don luis," harry replied, with enthusiasm, "the finest mine i have seen or heard of." "you did not see the best of the ore to-day," montez assured them. "what ore we did see is as fine as any we would ever wish to see," tom said. "then you were delighted with the mine?" inquired their host, turning to reade and speaking more eagerly. "if the ore always runs as well," tom rejoined, "it ought to be one of the richest gold and silver properties in the world." "pouf! the ore usually runs much better--is worth much more than that which you saw to-day," protested don luis. "then you are to be congratulated on possessing a treasure among mines," tom commented. "i am delighted to hear you say that." "but when we adjourn to your office," reade continued, "there are a few questions that i shall want to ask you." "why not ask them here, senor tomaso?" queried don luis, in his purring, half affectionate voice. "here at your table?" protested reade. "but this is not dinner. this is a mere business luncheon," replied don luis, with another smile. "yet i would like to discuss some of the samples with you, don luis," tom explained. "surely, you do not wish me to bring out dirty samples to spread on your fine linen." "it would matter not," declared the mexican. "still, if you have scruples about the proprieties, then we will go to the office within a few minutes." the two who were smoking continued to do so. don luis started to describe some of his experiments in raising spanish mules. the finest mules that come out of spain, class, in price, with blooded horses. don luis talked with the enthusiasm of one who understood and loved mules. then, finally, they passed to the office. "now, i shall be glad to talk with you for hours," the mexican hidalgo assured the young engineers. dr. tisco, as though to show that he took no personal interest in the talk, retired to an armchair at the further end of the room. nevertheless, the secretary observed carefully all that was said. covertly he studied the faces of the young engineers at all times. "ask me what you will," begged don luis, as he sank into an easy chair close to the table on which tom began to arrange his envelopes of specimens taken from the mine. "first of all, don luis," tom began, "you spoke of some problems that you wished us to solve in the operation of your mine." "yes, senor tomaso." "i would like to ask you what the problems are that we are to consider," tom announced. "did you not see some of the problems before you, while we were going through the mine?" inquired montez. "at the risk, don luis, of appearing stupid, i must confess that i did not." "ah, well, then we shall come to the problems presently. you have other questions. ask some of them." for a moment or two reade studied what he had written on the various envelopes before him. then he picked out two. "here, don luis," the young chief engineer went on, "are samples of two lots of ore. the first is from the pile that we found pried loose when we went into the first tunnel that we visited. it is rich ore." "it is good enough ore," montez replied, with a polite shrug of the shoulders. "now, from the second tunnel that we entered, and where we also found a pile of loose ore, here is another sample. it is as rich as the first sample." "certainly, senor tomaso." "but in this second tunnel i had a drilling made and a blast fired. here," picking up a third envelope and emptying it, "is a sample of the ore that we saw taken from that blast. if this sample contains any gold or silver the quantity is so small, evidently, as to render this kind of ore worthless." "yes?" murmured don luis, softly. "what is it that you have to say?" "why, sir, how does it happen that, right on top of such extra-fine ore we run upon blank rock at the very next blasting." "that sometimes happens in _el sombrero_," don luis replied, smoothly, "how often has it happened?" asked tom, looking up from the table and glancing keenly at don luis. dr. tisco, though he appeared to be almost asleep, stirred uneasily. "how often has it happened?" repeated don luis. "oh, perhaps a dozen times in a few months, taking all the tunnels together." "how long have these streaks of blank rock been?" insisted tom reade, while harry wondered at what his chum was driving. "how long?" echoed montez, with a shrug of his shoulders. "oh, how should i know? personally i am not interested in such things." "but have you gone as much as a whole week drilling and blasting through blank rock?" tom pressed. "a week? no; not for two days. of that i am certain. but why do you ask all this, senor tomaso?" "in order that i may better understand the nature of the mine," reade responded. "i want to know what the chances are, as based on the record of the mine to date. of course, don luis, you know what it means, often, when pay ore fails to come out of a streak, and a solid wall of blank rock is encountered." by "blank rock" tom meant rock that did not contain a promising or paying amount of metal in the ore. "what it means?" montez asked. "no; i can't say that i do." "the wall of blank rock, found at the end of a vein of gold, don luis, often, if not usually, means that the vein has run out, and that it is useless to dig further." "i did not know that," murmured the mexican, in a tone of merely polite astonishment. "then you believe that _el sombrero_ will not turn out much more profitable ore?" "i didn't say that," tom continued. "but i will admit that finding the wall of blank rock ahead made me a bit nervous. some great mines have been started, don luis, as you must be aware. for a few weeks they have panned out ore of the highest value. much capital has been put into such mines, and for a time men have thought they owned a new golconda. then--suddenly--the blank wall, and no more gold has ever come out of that mine. in other words, it was but a pocket of rich gold that had been struck, and nothing more. hundreds of men have ruined themselves by investing in such mines." "i see," murmured don luis, thoughtfully. "you did not know this before?" tom asked, in some amazement. "no, senor tomaso. i have been a good business man, i suppose, for i have prospered; and much of my money has been made in mining. yet i have never had the assurance to consider myself a practical mining man. dr. tisco, here, is--" "an ignoramus on the subject of mining," declared the secretary, who appeared just then to wake up. "carlos is modest," laughed don luis. "true, he is not a skilled mining man, yet he knows so much on the subject that, compared with him, i am an ignoramus. but that is what you are here for, you two. you are the experts. investigate, and then instruct us." "have you any record of the number of times that you have encountered the blank rock, and the number of feet in thickness of the wall in each case?" tom asked. "oh, no." "that is unfortunate," said reade, thoughtfully. "hereafter we will keep such a record carefully. don luis, i will admit that i am perplexed and worried over this blank rock problem. i know hazelton is, too." "yes, it is very strange," agreed harry, looking up. truth to tell, he had hardly been following the talk at all. harry hazelton was quite content to be caught napping whenever tom reade had his eyes open. "now, i would like to go back to the mine and stay there until some time in the night," tom proposed. "i would like to take hazelton with me. soon we will arrange it, if necessary, so that harry and i shall divide the time at the mine. whenever, in any of the tunnels, blank rock is struck, whichever one of us is in charge will stay by the blank rock blasting, keeping careful record, until pay ore is struck again." "you two young engineers are too infernally methodical," grumbled dr. tisco under his breath." "that is a very excellent plan," smiled montez, amiably. "we will put some such plan into operation as soon as we are fairly under way. but not to-day." "i would like to start at once," tom insisted. "not to-day," once more replied don luis, though without losing patience. "yet, if you are anxious to know how the blank rock is coming i can telephone the mine and get all the information within five minutes. that will be an excellent idea. i will do it now, in fact." crossing the room, don luis rang and called for the mine. "our young engineers are very sharp--especially senor reade," murmured dr. tisco to himself, while the telephone conversation was going on in spanish. "yet i wonder if our young engineer does not half suspect that don luis has no man at the other end of the wire?" tom did not suspect the telephone trick. in fact, the young chief engineer had as yet no deep suspicion that don luis was a rogue at heart. "the report is excellent," called don luis, gayly, as he came back. "in that tunnel where we saw the blasting done the blank rock has been penetrated, and the rich ore is coming again." "how i'd like to see it!" tom glowed. "why?" asked don luis, quickly. "because i am anxious to know all the secrets, all the indications, of fine old _el sombrero_." "it _is_ a fine mine, isn't it, senor tomaso?" demanded don luis, enthusiastically. "from all indications it ought to be," reade answered. "yet it's a new formation of rock to me--this sandwich formation as i might call it, with the alternate layers of rich ore and blank stuff." "i have been drawing up a report on the mine," murmured montez, opening a drawer in his desk. "this report describes the operations and the profits so far. glance through it with me." the report had been written in english, by either dr. tisco or his employer. tom and harry listened carefully to the reading. "but why do you put so much enthusiasm into the report, don luis, when the mine is not for sale and is not to be run as a stock company property?" "of course, _el sombrero_ is my sole property, and of course i shall keep it so," smiled the mexican. "but i like, even in a report to myself, for my own use, to have the report set forth all the truths concerning the mine." "that is reasonable," tom agreed. "now, senor tomaso, as you have seen, this report is couched in my own english. i would be glad if you would write this out for me, putting it into better english." "it would seem like presumption in me to think that i could put it into better english," reade protested. "nevertheless, to please me, will you put this report into your own english?" requested don luis. "with all the pleasure in the world," tom assented. "here are writing materials, then." "but i see that you have a typewriting machine over in the corner," suggested the young chief engineer. "i can write the report much better and more rapidly on the machine." "ah!" breathed the mexican, looking highly pleased. "if you will but do that! we will go outside so as not to disturb you." the report, being a long one and containing several tables of figures, reade was occupied nearly three hours. during this time don luis conducted harry over the estate, pointing out many things of interest. at last tom, with a slight backache from bending so long over the machine, leaned back and carefully read what he had written. "do you wish anything, _caballero_?" inquired nicolas, appearing as though from hiding. "you might be good enough to tell don luis that i have finished, and that i await his pleasure." nicolas disappeared. five minutes later montez, his secretary and hazelton came in. tom read through his typewritten draft of the report. "excellent! gr-r-r-rand! glorious!" breathed don luis. "ah, you are a master of english, senor tomaso. myself, i understand spanish better. and now one stroke of the pen for each of you," added the _hidalgo_, crossing the room to his desk. "as my new engineers you shall both sign this report, and i shall have much pleasure from reading this, many times, when i am an old man." don luis dipped a pen in ink, then held it up. harry was about to take the pen when tom reade drawled: "it wouldn't be quite right for us to sign this report, don luis." "why not?" queried the mexican, wheeling like a flash. "just for the simple reason," reade answered, "that to sign the report would be to state all the facts contained in the report as being of our personal observation. we haven't seen enough of the mine, as yet, for it to be right for us to sign the report. an engineer's signature to a report is his statement--on honor--that he personally knows such report to be true. so i am very certain you will understand that it would be a breach of honor for us to sign this document." "ah! he is clever--and now the real trouble must begin!" dr. tisco told himself. "these engineers are not easily duped, but in don luis's hands they will destroy themselves!" chapter vi watching the midnight lights don luis montez laid down the pen. outwardly he was as amiable as ever; certainly he was all smiles. "a thousand pardons, _caballeros_!" he murmured. "of course, you are quite right. it had not occurred to me in that light before. true, the report was intended only for my own pleasure in later years, but that does not alter the nice point of honor." tom reade was deceived by don luis's manner. he did not suspect that, at this very instant, the mexican was consumed with demoniacal rage. "i shall not be patient another time," muttered don luis, between his teeth and under his breath. yet aloud he said: "we have had too much of business to-day. we are tiring ourselves. until dinner time let us go outside and be gentlemen. business for to-morrow or next week. and my dear daughter. brute! i have been forgetting her." senorita francesca, a darkly beautiful girl of eighteen, shy and retiring from the convent schooling that had ended but lately, soon came downstairs at her father's summons. dr. tisco bowed low before the charming girl. tom and harry were presented, and tried to make themselves agreeable to the young mexican girl. senorita francesca's shyness, however, made this somewhat difficult, so the young engineers felt inwardly grateful when dr. tisco strolled down the porch with her. dinner proved to be a somewhat formal affair. yet, as soon as the meal was finished senorita francesca was escorted from the dining room by her father and returned to her room. "what did you think of the young lady, tom?" harry asked his chum when he could do so privately. "a fine-looking girl," reade answered briefly. "but i fear she would be highly offended if she knew that, all through dinner, my every thought was on the mine and the problems that we shall find there." "i want to talk with you about that mine, and about some impressions that i have formed here," murmured hazelton. "then another time, my dear fellow, for here comes don luis, and i see dr. tisco returning from the garden." that forestalled conversation for the time being. when the young engineers, still relentlessly attended by nicolas, sought their own rooms hazelton was so drowsy that he undressed hurriedly and dropped into bed. later in the night harry sat up suddenly in the dark. some one was moving in the parlor that separated the two bedrooms. an instant after awakening harry slipped off the bed, then stole toward the next room. in the darkness he made out a moving figure. like a panther harry sprang, landing on the all but invisible figure. "now, i've got you!" hazelton hissed, wrapping his arms around the prowler. "and small credit to you," drawled tom's dry voice. "hist!" "what's up?" demanded hazelton, dropping his voice to a whisper. "you and i are." "but what's the matter?" "i couldn't sleep," tom whispered. "you--troubled with nerves!" gasped hazelton. "not just the way you understand it," returned tom. "but i was thinking, thinking, and i sat by the window yonder. come over there, harry, but step without noise." wondering what it all meant, hazelton softly followed his chum to the open window. "now, look," said tom, pointing, "and tell me what you see." "a moment ago i thought i saw a light twinkling over there among the hills." "look sixty seconds longer, and you'll see more lights, harry; those lights are on the trail that leads from the nearest gold mines to _el sombrero_. it is the trail don luis pointed out to us to-day." "but what--" "harry, i'm going to get on my clothes and slip over in that direction. do you want to go with me?" "yes; but what--" "i can tell you better when we're on the way. come on; dress! we can easily leave the house without being detected." though harry had already been through hosts of adventures, he felt creepy as he dressed with speed and stealth, bent on slipping unobserved out of their employer's house. but he was used to following his chum's lead. when both were ready, which was very soon, tom softly opened the door of their parlor, thrusting one foot out into the broad corridor. as he did so he kicked against a man lying prostrate on the floor. it was nicolas, the mexican attendant, sleeping across their threshold that he might be on hand when wanted. the man stirred, muttered something almost inaudible, then gradually began to breathe more deeply. tom, after waiting, took a step over the body of nicolas. harry closed the door behind them, then followed. soon after they stood out on the lawn. "i'm glad nicolas went to sleep again," muttered tom, in a low voice. "the fellow would have insisted on following us, and i wouldn't want him with us to-night, to tell don luis everything." "but what on earth--" "harry, old fellow, don luis is the essence of courtesy. he has been very polite to us, too. yet something has aroused a suspicion in me that don luis montez wishes to use us in some way that we wouldn't care to be used. so i'm saying little, but my eyes are going to be open all the time from now on." "oh, don luis must be on the square," hazelton retorted. "what could he want of us that is crooked?" "i don't know, yet," tom replied, as he led the way rapidly down the road. "but i'm going to watch, and, if there's anything wrong, i'm going to get a line on it." "_el sombrero_ is don luis's own mine. surely he hasn't hired us to fool him about his own property." "i don't know what it is that's wrong," tom admitted. "nor am i sure that anything is wrong. but i'm going to do my own watching and gather some of my own information. see, there are the lights on that trail beyond, and there are several lights. it looks like a caravan moving down the trail." "a caravan?" harry repeated. "of what?" "i don't know, harry. that's what i'm here to-night to find out." brisk, soft walking brought them nearer and nearer to the twinkling lights along the trail that ran into their own road at a point lower down. "i wish i knew what on earth tom is thinking about," harry muttered to himself. "however, i may as well save my breath just now. if i hang to him i'm likely to know what it is." "we'll reach a hiding place from which we can watch that caravan, or whatever it is, turn from the hill trail into this road," tom whispered, after they had gone somewhat further. at this point the main road that ran from. don luis's estate to his mine was decidedly irregular. many boulders jutted out, making a frequent change in the course of the road necessary. it was tom's intention to gain the nearest ledge of rock of this sort to the hill trail, and there hide to watch the caravan. they had nearly reached this point when out of the darkness a figure stole softly to meet them. "nicolas!" muttered tom, in a low voice, all but rubbing his eyes. "how on earth did you get here?" "am i not commanded to keep with you everywhere, and serve you in all things?" demanded the servant. "do not go around that next point in the road, _caballeros_. if you do, you will run straight into pedro gato, who has other men with him." chapter vii don luis's engineering problem "gato?" whispered harry. "what is he doing around here?" "there is no reason why we should care what he is doing," tom returned. "he isn't in the employ of the mine. come along, harry." but nicolas seized the young chief engineer by the arm. "beat me, if you will, senor americano," pleaded nicolas. "but don't encounter gato. it would be as much as your life is worth." "why? is gato on the warpath for us?" tom questioned. "i fear so," nicolas answered. "don't let him see you." "but i must see him, if the fellow is out for us," muttered tom. "show me where he is." "he and three or four men are camped just around there," said the mexican servant, pointing. "come along, harry," tom whispered. "go cat-foot." ere the young engineers came in sight around the turn a slight glow of light against the stones caught their glance. tom held a hand behind him as a signal to hazelton to slow up. then reade peered around a jutting ledge of rock. on the ground, around a low camp-fire, were seated four mexicans. two of the number had rifles, that lay on the ground near them. behind them, an ugly scowl on his face, sat gato, his back resting against a rock. "but you will not find your enemies out here to-night, senor gato," softly remarked one of the quartette around the fire. "no," admitted gato, in a growling voice. "then why are we waiting here?" "because it pleases me," snapped the big fellow. "what ails you? am i not paying you?" "but two of us--and i am one of them--do not like to be seen," rejoined the speaker at the fire. "the troops hunt us. there is a price on our heads." "bandits!" muttered tom reade, under his breath, as he drew back. "i have heard that mexico is overrun with bandits. these gentlemen are some of the fraternity." "take us up to the house, gato," urged one of the men at the fire. "we shall know how to enter and find your friends. everyone sleeps there. it will be the safer way." "it does not suit me," retorted gato, sullenly. "but why not?" "am i not paying you?" "yes." "then take my orders and do not ask questions." at this there were sounds of dissatisfaction from all four of these bad men. "for one thing," gato explained, "don luis would not like it. he would accuse me of treachery--or worse. i do not want don luis's ill will, you see." "but don luis will be angry, in any case, if you injure his engineers, won't he?" asked one of the men. "a little, but after a while, don luis will not care what i do to the americanos," growled pedro gato. "humph! that's interesting--if true," whispered tom reade. "yet what are we doing here?" insisted one of the men. "here, so close to where the troops might pick us up?" "you are obeying orders," snarled gato. "but that information is not quite enough to suit us," objected one of the mexicans. "you might go your own way, then," sneered gato. "i can find other men who are not so curious. however, i will say that, when daylight comes, we will hide not far from here. none of you know the americanos by sight. i will point them out to you as they pass by in the daylight." "and then--what?" pressed one of the rough men. "are we to kill the americanos from ambush?" "eh?" gasped tom reade, with a start. "if you have to," nodded pedro gato. "though, in that case, i shall call you clumsy. i shall pay you just four times as much if you bring them to me as prisoners. remember that. before i despatch these infernal gringos i shall want the fun of tormenting them." "oh, you will eh?" thought tom, with a slight shudder. "i heard, gato," ventured one of the mexicans, incautiously, "that one of the americanos beat you fearfully--that he threw you down and stamped on you." "it is a lie!" uttered gato, leaping to his feet, his face distorted with rage. "it is a lie, i tell you. the man does not live who can beat me in a fight." "i was struck with amazement at the tale," admitted the mexican who had brought about this outburst. "and well you might be," continued gato, savagely. "but the americanos procured my discharge. and that was humiliation enough." "yet what difference does it make, gato. as soon as don luis is through with the americanos he will restore you to your old position." "it is because the americanos treated me with such contempt," retorted pedro. "no man sneers at me and lives." "you unhung bandit!" muttered tom under his breath. "why don't you tell your bandit friends that you are angry because of the trouncing i gave you before a lot of men? but i suppose you hate to lose caste, even before such ragged specimens as your friends." suddenly one of the men around the fire snatched at his rifle. next scattering the embers of the fire, the fellow threw himself down flat, peering down the road. "the troops are coming," he whispered. "i hear their horses." "the horses that you hear are mules," laughed gato, harshly. "it is the nightly transport of ore down to _el sombrero_. just now don luis is having fine ore brought over the hills from another mine and dumped into _el sombrero_." "why should he bring ore from another mine to _el sombrero_?" asked one of the men, curiously. "how should i know?" demanded gato, shrugging his shoulders and spitting on the ground. "why should i concern myself with the business that belongs to an hidalgo like don luis?" "it is queer that--" "silence!" hissed gato. "do not meddle with the secrets of don luis montez, or you will be sorry for it." gato's explanation about the mule-train had quieted the fears of the bandits as to the approach of troops. in some mountainous parts of mexico the government's troops are nearly always on the trail of bandits and the petty warfare is a brisk one. "go to sleep, my friends. there will be nothing to do until day comes." "then, good gato, take us somewhere off this road," pleaded one of the men. "it is too public here to be to our liking." "you may go to a quieter place," nodded gato. "you know where--the place i showed you this afternoon. as for me, after the mule-train has left the mine, i must go there. i will join you before daybreak." "we'll go now, then," muttered one of the men, rising. they were coming up the road in the direction of the young engineers. there was no time to retreat. tom glanced swiftly around. then he made a sign to harry. both young engineers flattened themselves out behind a pile of stones at the roadside. their biding-place was far from being a safe one. but four drowsy bandits plodded by without espying the eavesdroppers. as for nicolas, he had vanished like the mist before the sun. "ha-ho-hum!" yawned pedro gato, audibly. tom raised his head, studying their immediate surroundings. he soon fancied he saw a safe way of slipping off to the southward and finding the road again below where gato stood. signing to hazelton, reade rose softly and started off. two or three minutes later the young engineers were a hundred yards away from gato, though in a rock-littered field where a single incautious step might betray them. "come on, now," whispered tom. "toward the mine." "and run into gato?" grimaced harry. "great!" "if we meet him we ought to get away with him between us," tom retorted. "one of us did him up this morning." "go ahead, tom!" reade led the way in the darkness. they skirted the road, though keeping a sharp lookout. "there are the lights of the mule-train ahead," whispered tom. "now, we're close enough to see things, for there is _el sombrero_ just ahead." "what's the game, anyway?" whispered harry. "surely you guess," protested tom. "why, it seems that don luis is having ore from another mine brought down in the dead of the night." "yes, and a lot of it," tom went on. "did you notice how much rich ore there was in each tunnel to-day? and did you notice, too, that when blasts were made with us looking on, no ore worthy of the name was dug loose? don luis has been spending a lot of money for ore with which to salt his own mine!" "salting" a mine consists of putting the gold into a mine to be removed. such salting gives a worthless mine the appearance of being a very rich one. "but why should don luis want to salt his own mine?" muttered harry. "so that he can sell it, of course!" "but he doesn't want to sell." "he says he doesn't," tom retorted, with scorn. "this afternoon, you remember, he got me to copy a report in english about his mine and then he wanted us to sign the report as engineers. doesn't that look as though he wanted to sell? harry, don luis has buyers in sight for his mine, and he'll sell it for a big profit provided he can impose on the buyers!" "what does he want us for, then? he spoke of engineering problems." "don luis's engineering problem," uttered tom reade, with deep scorn, "is simply to find two clean and honest engineers who'll sign a lying report and enable him to swindle some man or group of men out of a fortune." "then don luis is a swindler, and we'll throw up the job," returned harry hazelton, vehemently. "we'll quit." "we won't help him swindle any one," tom rejoined. "we won't quit just yet, but we'll stick just long enough to see whether we can't expose the scoundrel as he deserves! harry, we'll have to be crafty, too. we must not let him see, too soon, that we are aware of his trickery." chapter viii dangling the golden bait creeping closer to the mine, tom and harry saw the ore dumped from a train of forty mules. they also heard the fellow in charge of the train say that he would be back with two more loads that night. "we don't need to wait to see the rest of the ore brought," tom whispered to his chum. "we know enough now." "look over there," urged hazelton. "there goes the rest of the trick. men are shoveling the borrowed ore into the ore hoists." "of course," nodded tom, disgustedly. "the ore is going below, to be piled in the tunnels. it will be 'salted' there all right for us to inspect in the morning. oh, this trickery makes me sick!" "what are you going to do now?" hazelton asked. "we may as well go back to the house and get some sleep." "i'm strong for getting out of here in the morning," harry muttered. "fine!" tom agreed. "so am i. but what i want to do is to find out who is marked out for the victim of this gigantic swindle. i want to put the victim wise. i'd be wild if i failed to find don luis's intended dupe and tell him just what he's in for." "do you imagine that montez will ever allow us to get face to face with the man who's to be fleeced?" "he won't do it intentionally, harry. but we may have a way of locating the victim in time to save him from being robbed." "anyway, i should think the victim would have every chance in the world to sue and get his money back," harry mused. "how is one to get back the money that he has put into a gold mine?" tom demanded. "everyone knows that the most honest mine is a gamble. it may stop turning out paying ore at any hour. besides, what show would a stranger have in the courts in this part of mexico? you have heard don luis boast that he practically owns the governor of bonista. no, sir! the only way to stop a swindle will be to stop it before it takes place." tom rose from his hiding place, back in the dark away from the lights at the mine shaft. he nudged his chum, then started to creep away. presently they rose and moved forward on foot. ere long they had left the mine well behind. "i hate to go back into that polished robber's house at all," harry muttered. "tom, what do you say? we can cover at least the first dozen miles between now and daylight. let's make a streak for the railway and get back to the states." "but what about saving the victim of the intended swindle?" objected reade. "we could come out with a newspaper exposure that would stop any american from buying the mine, or putting any money into it," proposed hazelton. "we might, only no newspaper would print such stuff. it would be libelous, and subject the newspaper editor to the risk of having to go to jail." "all i know," sighed harry, "is that i want, as speedily as possible, to put as much distance as possible between us and don luis's home." "we'll go out through the front door, though, when we go," tom proposed. "we won't sneak." they did not encounter gato on the way back to the big, white house. though they did not know it, the boys were being trailed by the alert, barefooted nicolas. nor did that servant feel easy until he had seen them softly enter the house. then nicolas, as before, stretched himself on the floor before the door of the rooms occupied by the young engineers. tom's alarm clock woke him that morning. in another moment reade was vigorously shaking hazelton. "now don't give a sign to-day," tom whispered to his friend. "if don luis is going to be crafty, we shall have to fight him with craft--at the outset, anyway." "i hate to eat the old scoundrel's food," muttered harry. "so do i, but it can't be helped for the present. we're not guilty of a breach of hospitality in planning to show the rascal up. it is don luis who is guilty in that direction. he is planning to use his guests as puppets in a dishonest game. keep up your nerve, harry, and don't let your face, your manner, or anything give you away." nicolas knocked as soon as he heard the boys stirring. he moved with speed this morning, spreading the table and then rushing away for chocolate, _frijoles_ and _tortillas_. as soon as the boys had finished their breakfast they hastened out to the porch, but they found their host ahead of them. more, don luis wore field clothing and high-topped, laced walking boots. "going afield, sir?" tom inquired, genially. "i have been afield, already," replied montez, bowing and smiling. "down to the mine i have been and back. the air is beautiful here in the early morning, and i enjoyed the walk. you, too, will enjoy our walks when you become used to them." dr. tisco came out, bowing most affably to the young americans. "you look as though you had been walking, too," suggested tom, noting tisco's high-topped shoes. "i went with don luis," replied the secretary. "oh, by the way, senor hazelton, i believe some of your property has come into my possession. this is yours, is it not?" tisco held out a fine linen handkerchief, with an embroidered initial "h" in one corner. harry was fond of fine linen, and effected these handkerchiefs. "yes; it's mine, thank you," nodded harry, accepting the proffered bit of linen and pocketing it. "i found it in a field, just this side of _el sombrero_," remarked tisco, artlessly, turning away. though the secretary did not watch hazelton's face, don luis did, and saw the slight start of surprise and the flush that came to the young engineer's face. "you, too, have been walking then, senor hazelton?" inquired don luis, pleasantly, though with an insistence that was not to be denied. harry didn't know how to lie. he might have dodged the question, but he was quick enough to see that evasion would make the matter worse. "tom and i took a stroll last night," he admitted, indifferently. "how far did we go, tom?" "who can say?" replied reade, lightly. "it was so dark, and the way so unfamiliar that we were glad when we got home, i know." "they have been prowling," muttered don luis, sharply, under his breath. "i must have them watched." "are we going to the mine this morning, don luis?" tom asked, carelessly. "do you care to go, senor tomaso?" "why, that's just as you say, sir," reade rejoined. "of course, we would like to get actively engaged at our work. in fact, it seems to me that harry and i should rise earlier and be at the mine at least from eight in the morning until six at night." "you would soon tire yourselves out. the mine is a dirty hole." "by the way, sir," reade went on, carelessly, "how far do you have to send ore to have it smelted." "about sixty miles." "by mule-train, i suppose." "yes, senor tomaso." "it must be costly shipping." "so it is," sighed don luis, "and yet the ore is rich enough to bear easily the cost of shipping." "in what direction is the smelter?" don luis pointed. "straight ahead, as i am showing you," he added. "we saw the lights of a train last night," tom went on. "i judged that the mule-train came from the mines above. yet the mule-train did not follow the direction that you have just shown me. the road runs crooked, i take it." "oh, yes," nodded their host, as carelessly as tom had spoken. "do the other mines pay as well as _el sombrero_?" "oh, no, senor tomaso," montez replied quickly. "the other mines yield not anywhere near as rich ore as comes from _el sombrero_." "are you going to take us to see the other mines?" tom hinted. "gladly would i do so, senor tomaso, only i am not on good terms with the owners." "i'm sorry," tom sighed. "while we are here i wish that we could see much of mexican mines. nevertheless, when we are through here i have no doubt that you can give us letters to other mine owners." "beyond a doubt," smiled don luis, "and it will give me great pleasure. but i, myself own many mines, and i am seeking to locate more. if you are suited with my employment, and if we agree, i shall be able, undoubtedly, to keep you both engaged for many years to come. indeed, if you display sufficient resourcefulness in handling mines i do not believe it will be long ere i shall be able to pay you each fifty thousand dollars a year. i have plenty of money, and i pay generously when i am pleased and well served." "the scoundrel is fishing for something," thought tom reade, swiftly. "i must not let him beat me in craft." so he exclaimed, aloud: "fifty thousand dollars a year, don luis? you are jesting!" "i beg to assure you that i am not," replied montez, smiling and bowing. "but fifty thousand a year is princely pay!" cried reade. "such pay goes, of course, only to the most satisfactory of employes," declared don luis. "at such pay," tom said, "harry and i ought to be satisfied to remain in mexico all our lives." "we shall see," nodded montez. "but the sunlight is growing too strong for my eyes. suppose, _caballeros_, that we move into the office?" the others now rose and followed don luis. "what on earth is tom driving at?" harry wondered. "he's stringing don luis, of course, but to what end?" montez stood at the door of his office, indicating that the young engineers pass in ahead of him. the instant they had done so montez turned to his secretary, whispering: "send my daughter here." dr. tisco vanished, though he soon reappeared and entered the office. don luis, after indicating seats to the young americans, crossed to a ponderous safe, toyed with the combination lock, threw open the door and then brought out a ledger that he deposited on one of the flat-top desks. five minutes later his daughter francesca entered the room. "now, what part is the girl to play here?" wondered tom, instantly. "if i know anything of human nature she's a sweet and honest girl. she is no rascal, like her father. yet he has sent for her to play some part!" chapter ix don luis shows his claws senorita francesca greeted her guests with extreme courtesy. "she's a fine young woman," thought harry, with a guilty feeling. "blazes, but it's going to come hard to show her father up as a scoundrel." "_chiquita_," (pet) called her father, "it has not been the custom of this country to train our women in the ways of business. but you are my only child. every _peso_ (dollar) that i earn and save is for you one of these days. i have much money, but i crave more, and it is all for you, _chiquita_. it is my wish to see you, one of these days, a very queen of wealth, as you are already a queen of goodness and tenderness. since you must handle the great fortune that i am building for you i have concluded to override the customs of our people for generations. in other words, i am going to begin to train you, _chiquita_, in business." "business?" murmured the girl. "ah! that word frightens me--i am so ignorant." "your first lesson shall not tire or dismay you," promised don luis, gently. "now, place your chair close beside mine, and look over this ledger with me. i shall not attempt to make you comprehend too much at first." with pencil and paper beside the ledger, don luis read off many items. occasionally he did some figuring on the sheet of paper, as though to make the matters more clear to his daughter. she made a very pretty picture, trying to follow her father's explanations, but the perplexed wrinkling of her brow showed how hard it was for her to do so. the figures that don luis took from his ledger all tended to show the immensity of the wealth already produced from _el sombrero_. tom and harry listened courteously, for they had been invited to join the group. "you are tired, _chiquita_," said her father, at last. "i have taken you too far on our first excursion into the realm of finance. this morning we will have no more figures. but here is something that cannot fail to interest you in parts at least." shoving aside the ledger, don luis drew from a drawer a bulky document. "this is the report which senor reade prepared for me yesterday," montez explained, looking at the young engineers for an instant. "the report is written in english, as i desired it written so. but i will read the most interesting parts in spanish to you, _chiquita_. you will observe that this report is a masterpiece of business composition." "i am sure that it must be," murmured francesca, and tom bowed his thanks. "this report, too, is a part of your fortune," continued don luis. "that is, it will help to make your fortune, for it concerns _el sombrero_, one of the finest parts of your fortune. we have been planning, these _caballeros_ and i, that they shall remain in my employ indefinitely, and they are to be paid better and better if they serve you through me and serve us well. i shall reward them as an hidalgo ever rewards." "i do not need to be told that my father is generous when he is pleased," murmured francesca. "listen, then, to what senior reade has written. it cannot help but give you much pleasure." "the shameless rascal!" tom exclaimed, inwardly, as the trick became clear to him. "don luis is trading upon our sympathies for the girl in order to induce us to sign his lying report." don luis began to read the report, translating into spanish as he went along. when he came to tables of tedious figures montez skipped over them hurriedly. he dwelt eagerly, however, on the paragraphs of the report that asserted such vast wealth to exist in _el sombrero_. francesca listened with rising color. once in a while she shot a pretty, sidelong glance at tom to show her pleasure over the report, the whole authorship of which she plainly believed to belong to him. "why, it reads like a romance!" the girl cried, clapping her hands when the reading had finished. "a romance? yes!" ground tom, under his breath. "it is romance--pure fiction and absurdly false in every line!" "it must be a wonderful talent to possess, senor," said francesca, turning to tom reade. "a wonderful talent to be able to describe a matter of business in such eloquent language." "it is a rare gift," tom admitted modestly, though he had a design in what he was saying. "a rare gift, indeed, and one which i must not claim. this is your father's report, not mine. he had written it in english, and all i did was to copy it on the typewriter, and to make the english stronger at points. so i am not the author--merely the clerk." don luis frowned for a fleeting instant. then his brow cleared, and one of his charming smiles lighted his face. "the report is a superb piece of work, and you must not believe as much as senor tomaso's modesty would lead him to believe, chiquita. but this is an engineer's report, and, as such, it is not complete until it is signed. hand it to senor reade, _chiquita_, and ask him to sign it. then senor hazelton will do the same." francesca accepted the document from her father, turned, and, with a fascinating smile, handed it to the young chief engineer. it was a cleverly contrived bit of business, in which the girl played a wholly innocent part. francesca dipped a pen in ink and offered it to tom, who accepted it. surely, he could not embarrass the girl, nor could he seem to refuse to add to her fortune by any means within his power. don luis had brought about the climax with great cleverness, for he felt certain of tom reade's gallantry. and gallant tom reade ever was. yet he was keen and self-possessed as well. while he held the pen in his hand be turned to the mexican with one of his pleasantest smiles. "don luis," said the young engineer, "i feel certain that you did not wholly understand what i said yesterday. what i meant to make clear was that an engineer's signature to a report is his written word of honor that every word in the report is true, to his own knowledge. as i merely transcribed this report from your own, and have not yet had sufficient opportunity to prove to myself the value of the mine, i could not in honor sign this report as yet. as a man of honor you will certainly understand my position." "but you are too particular on a point of honor," insisted don luis montez, with a shrug of his shoulders. "you do not need to draw the line so sharply with a man of honor. i assure you that every word in the report is true. therefore, will you not be so good as to sign the report?" "i regret that i have not yet succeeded in making an engineer's point of honor clear," tom replied, placing the pen back on the stand. "it will be some weeks, don luis, before hazelton and i can possibly hope to find ourselves sufficiently well informed about the mine to sign the report." francesca was by no means stupid. while she did not understand business matters, she was sufficiently keen to note, from her father's very insistent manner, and from tom's equally firm refusal to sign, that some point of honor was in dispute between the two. she flushed deeply, glanced wonderingly from one to the other, and then her gaze fell to the floor. "_chiquita_," said don luis, tenderly, "i have been thoughtless, and have given you too long a lesson in business. besides, senor reade is not yet ready to serve us in this matter. you may go to your room, my daughter." without a word francesca rose and left the room. as soon as the door had closed don luis broke forth bitterly: "you have done well to insult me before my daughter. she understands only enough to realize that you have doubted my honor, and she certainly wonders why i permitted you to live longer. senor reade, whether or not your american ideas of courtesy enable you to understand it, you have grievously insulted me in my own house, and have intensified that insult by delivering it before my daughter. there is now but one way in which you can retrieve your conduct." don luis montez rose, dipped the pen freshly in ink, and thrust it into reade's hand. "_sign that report_!" ordered the mexican. tom rose to his feet. so did harry. "don luis," spoke reade calmly, though he was inwardly raging. "i always like to do business like a gentleman. i feel very certain that i must have made it very clear to you yesterday that i could not possibly sign any such report at the present time. i still prefer to keep our talk within the limits of courtesy if that be also your wish." "sign that report!" "_i won't do it!_" tom accompanied his response by tossing the pen across the room. "don luis, i don't believe that you are a fool," continued the young chief engineer, calming down again. "if you consider that i am utterly a fool, either, then you are doing your own intelligence an injustice. i refuse to sign this report until i have gained the knowledge for myself that every word in it is true. further, i don't believe that i would sign it after i had made the fullest investigation. i am aware that, last night, mule-trains brought ore down over the hills from another mine, and that ore was sent down by the ore hoists into _el sombrero_." "that's a lie!" cried the mexican, hoarsely. "i am describing what i saw with my own eyes," tom insisted. "you will sign this report, and at once!" quivered don luis montez, a deadly look glittering in his eyes. "i am quite satisfied that i shall never sign it," tom retorted. "that goes for me, too," put in harry, stolidly. "i feel that we have finished our work here, since we can do nothing more for you, don luis," tom went on. "i therefore ask you to consider our engagement at an end. if you are disinclined to furnish us with transportation to the railway, then we can travel there on foot." "do you hear the gringo, my good carlos?" laughed don luis, derisively. "i hear the fellow," indifferently replied dr. tisco, from the other end of the room. "will you furnish us with transportation from here?" tom inquired. "i will not," hissed montez, allowing his rage to show itself now at its height. "you gringo fools! do you think you can defy me--that here, on my own estates, you can slap me in the face and ride away with laughter?" "i haven't a desire in the world to slap your face," tom rejoined, dryly. "all i wish and mean to do is to get back to my work in life." "then listen to me, gringos," said don luis montez, in his coldest tones. "your work here is to sign that report. if you do not, then you shall never leave these mountains! your lives are in my hands. if you do not serve me as i have ordered, then i shall feel obliged--in self-defense--to destroy you!" chapter x the spirit of a true engineer "do you know, don luis," drawled tom, "that you have one fine quality?" "what do you mean?" demanded the mexican. "you are very explicit. you are also extremely candid! you don't leave the other fellow guessing." don luis montez frowned. he felt certain that fun was being poked at him. "i am trying to make you young men understand that you must do exactly what i wish of you," he returned, after a moment. "and we have tried to make it plain, sir, that we haven't, any idea of doing what you want," tom reade answered him. "you will change your minds," retorted the mine owner. "time will show you that, sir. in the meantime, since we cannot live here, what do you expect us to do?" "i have said nothing about your not living here," uttered don luis, looking astonished. "you are very welcome to all that my poor house affords." "thank you; but we can't live here, just the same." "and why not, _caballeros_?" "because we shall henceforth be on the most wretched sort of terms with the owner of this house." "there is no need of that, _caballeros_. you will, i think, find me extremely courteous. my house is open to you, and there is no other place that you can go." "nowhere to go but out," mimicked harry hazelton, dryly. "you will find yourselves unable to get out of these hills," don luis informed them, politely, though with an evil smile. "you may decide to leave us, and you may start at any time, but you will assuredly find yourselves stopped and brought back. you simply cannot leave me, _caballeros_, until i give my consent. remember, no king could rule in these hills more absolutely than i do. no one may enter or leave this part of the state of bonista without my consent." "as to that, of course we shall know more later, don luis," tom returned. "however, we cannot and shall not remain longer as guests in your house." "i trust you will consider well and carefully on that point," retorted the mexican. "no; we simply can't and won't remain here unless--well, unless--" "what are you trying to say, senor?" "then possibly you have overlooked building any dungeons under the house? dungeons, i understand, were a part of the housekeeping scheme in old mexico." "there are no dungeons here," said don luis icily. "you relieve me, sir. then the last obstacle is removed to our departure. we shall go at once. come on, harry." tom turned to leave the room, hazelton at his heels. but montez, with an angry exclamation, leaped to the doorway, barring their exit. "_caballeros_, you shall not leave like this!" "no?" tom inquired. "harry, our late host wishes us to leave by the windows." "all right," nodded hazelton, smiling. "i used to be something of an athlete." "you shall not leave me in any such childish spirit," don luis insisted, stubbornly. "if you are going to try to reopen the proposition that you made us," said reade, "you may as well stop." "you will come to your senses presently." "we are in full possession of them at present." "we shall yet come to a sensible arrangement of the matter," montez continued, coaxingly. indeed, the mexican had suddenly come to see that he was absolutely dependent upon the young americans if he hoped to sell his mine in the near future. "you are wrong, don luis," reade continued. "we can come to no understanding. matters have now gone so far that we are no longer bound by the rules of courtesy. nor do the laws of hospitality weigh with us, for you have chosen to bully and threaten us under your own roof. i will therefore be frank enough to tell you that we regard you as a mere rogue. am i right, harry?" "wholly right," nodded hazelton. "don luis, i cannot see that you are one whit more honest, or in any sense more of a gentleman, than any of the outlawed bandits who roam these mountains. therefore, as americans and gentlemen, we find it wholly impossible for us to remain either your employs or your guests. there can be no hope whatever that we shall consent to serve you, even in the most innocent way." don luis heard them with rising anger, which, however, he kept down with a fine show of self-control. "_caballeros_, you are young. you have not seen much of the world. you are mere boys. you have not even, as yet, developed good manners. therefore i overlook in you what, in men, might arouse my anger. take my advice. go to your rooms. think matters over. when you have cooled we will talk again. no--not a word, now." don luis stepped aside. tom bowed, very stiffly, in passing the mexican. harry merely gazed into the mexican's eyes with a steadiness and a contempt that made the mine owner wince. straight down the hallway, to their rooms, tom marched, harry following. barefooted nicolas sprang forward, bowing, then swinging open the door. he bowed again as the young engineers stepped inside. then nicolas pulled the door shut. "are you going to stay, tom, and have any further talk with this thief?" sputtered harry, who had held in about as long as was safe for him. "what do you think?" tom asked, grimly, as he knelt upon his trunk and tugged at the strap. "i reckon i think about the same as you do," rejoined hazelton, closing his own trunk and strapping it. "one--two _hoist_!" ordered reade, settling his own trunk upon his shoulder. harry followed suit. in indian file they moved across the room. "nicolas," called tom, "be good enough--the door!" the barefooted servant swung the barrier open. "thank you," said tom, marching out. then he dumped the trunk, noiselessly, to the floor. going into an inner pocket he produced a five dollar bill. "nicolas," said the young chief engineer, "you have certainly done all in your power to make us comfortable. i am sorry that we are not longer to have the comfort of your services. will you do me the favor of accepting this as a remembrance? it is american money, but you can easily get it changed. and now, let us shake hands." nicolas appeared dazed, both by the money and by tom's desire to shake hands with him. the hand that tom clasped trembled. "same here," murmured harry, also producing a five-dollar bill. "nicolas, you're a mexican, but i wish they produced more of your kind on the american side of the rio grande." "the _caballeros_ have been too generous with me," protested the poor fellow, in a husky voice. "i have not deserved this. and, though i have been a stupid servant, you have not once beaten me with your canes." "if you can find the canes you may keep them, then, as a souvenir of what you didn't get," laughed reade. "and now, nicolas, we must hasten, or we shall lose our trains." the mexican would have said more, but he was too dazed. in his left hand he held ten dollars in american money, about the same thing as twenty in mexican coin. it was more money than he had ever held of his own before--it was almost a fortune. surely, these _americanos_ must suddenly have taken leave of their senses! then, too, senor reade had just spoken of missing the train. did they not realize that the nearest railway train was seventy miles away? assuredly, they must be mad! in the meantime tom and harry, having once more shouldered their trunks, kept on down the broad hallway and out on to the porch. there was no one there to oppose them, though don luis was secretly regarding them through the crack of a nearly closed door. there was an evil, leering smile on the face of the mexican mine owner. down the steps, along the drive--it was not a short one, and then out into the road, tom continued. his back was beginning to feel the unaccustomed load on his shoulder. "drop it, pretty soon, tom," muttered hazelton, behind him. "i believe i will reade nodded. reaching the farther side of the road he dropped one end of the trunk to the ground. harry did likewise. "whew!" sputtered tom. "i'd rather be an engineer, any day, than a delivery wagon!" "well, we're here," announced harry. then inquired, "what are we going to do now?" chapter xi a piece of lead in the air "get your wind back," advised tom. "also ease your shoulder a bit." "and then?" "we'll carry the trunks up the slope and dump them in some depression in the rock." "what's the use of the trunks, anyway?" harry wanted to know. "no one else will shelter us in this country. we can't get a wagon to take our trunks away in. surely, you don't intend to shoulder these trunks to the railway station--seventy miles away?" "no," reade admitted. "we'll have to abandon our trunks. all i wanted to be sure about was to get them out of don luis's house. and now i am just as anxious to get them out of sight of his porch. as long as the trunks stand here they'll tell don luis of our discomfort. i don't want that thieving rascal to have the satisfaction even of laughing at our trunks." "all right, if that's the way you feel about it," hazelton grunted. "i'm ready to shoulder mine." "come along, then," tom nodded. "up the slope we go." their climb was a hard one. but at last they halted, dropping their heavy baggage on a flat surface of rock that was not visible from the big white house. then up a little higher the now unencumbered engineers trod. when they halted they could see far and wide over this strange country. "now, what?" asked hazelton. "luncheon, if i had my choice," muttered tom. "but that's out of the question, i fear." "unless we can catch a rabbit, or something, with our hands." "harry, i wonder if we can find the trail all the way back to the railroad. these mountain paths are crooked affairs at best." "we know the general direction, and our pocket compasses will serve us," hazelton nodded. "don luis seems to think that he can stop us from getting through to the railroad." "i'm not so sure that he can't, either, tom. hang these little mexicans. with our hands either one of us could thrash an armful of these people, but a mexican with a gun is almost the size of an american with a gun. tom, if we only had a brace of revolvers i believe we could go through to civilization without mishap." "we haven't any pistols, so there's no use in talking about them," reade retorted. "but we would have had revolvers, at least in our baggage, if you hadn't always been so dead set against carrying them," harry complained. "i'm just as much set against firearms as ever," tom answered, dryly. "revolvers are made for killing people. now, why any sane man should desire to kill any one goes beyond me." "humph! we'll be lucky if we can get out of these mountains without killing any one," grunted hazelton. "cheer up!" laughed tom. "the whole world hasn't turned black just because we've skipped our luncheon." "i wouldn't mind the luncheon," harry began, "if--" he stopped short, as he caught a glimpse of the spot where they had left their trunks. "tom, let's hustle back to where we left our trunks," he whispered. "i just saw some one moving about on that spot" "oh, if any thief is after our baggage, let him have it," smiled tom. "the stuff all goes to a thief in the end, anyway, for we know that we can't carry our trunks with us." but that didn't suit. hazelton, who still felt as though he owned his own trunk. so he started back, soft-footed. presently they came in sight of a human being seated on reade's trunk. "nicolas!" breathed tom. "_si, senor_," (yes, sir) returned the servant. "but what are you doing here?" "i am your servant," replied the mexican, calmly. "wrong; you're don luis's servant." "but he ordered me to wait on you both unceasingly, senor." "we have left don luis's house, for good," tom continued, walking over to where the barefooted one sat. "that may be true, senor; it is true, since you say it, but my orders have not been changed. until don luis tells me differently i shall go on serving you." "did don luis send you after us, nicolas?" reade demanded, wonderingly. "no, senor." "did any one at the house send you?" "no, senor. i did not need to be sent. i am faithful." nicolas followed this with a smile that showed his white teeth. he spoke in utter simplicity. "and now what can i do for you, _caballeros_?" the mexican inquired. "nicolas," asked tom, with sudden inspiration, "is there any store hereabouts? any place where food can be purchased?" "no, senor; there is a store not far from the shaft entrance of _el sombrero_ mine. that is where the _peons_ of the mine draw their food, and have it charged against their pay accounts. but no one may buy there for cash." "is there no place where you can buy food for us?" "_caballeros_, of course, i will not pretend not to understand that you are on bad terms with don luis. hence, both his storekeeper and his _peons_ would hesitate to sell food for you or to you. but i have a relative who works in the mine, and he is a brave man. i think i can persuade him to sell me food and ask no questions. in fact, _caballeros_, that is what i will do." "it won't get your relative into any trouble, will it, nicolas?" tom asked. "i can manage it, senor, so that no trouble will follow." "then take this money and get some food, my good nicolas, if you can manage it without getting any one into trouble." "it will have to be very plain food, senor reade, such as _peons_ eat," urged nicolas. "plain food never killed any man yet," tom laughed. "well, then, take this money and serve us at your convenience." "i have no need of money," replied the mexican, shaking his head. "i am well supplied, _caballeros_." displaying the two banknotes that he had received an hour before, nicolas took three steps backward, then vanished. "there goes a faithful fellow!" glowed tom. "if he isn't doing this under don luis's orders," muttered hazelton. "harry, i'm ashamed of you," retorted tom, finding a soft, grass-covered spot and stretching himself out. he pulled his sombrero forward over his face and lay as though asleep. any one, however, who had tried to creep upon reade would speedily have discovered that he was far from drowsy. "humph!" said harry, after glancing at his chum. "you don't appear to realize that there's any such thing as danger around us." "if there is, i can't keep it away," tom rejoined. "harry, this idle life is getting into my blood, i fear. now, i know just how happy a tramp feels." "go ahead and enjoy yourself, then," laughed hazelton. "for fifteen minutes at a time you'd make an ideal tramp. then you'd want to go to work" "i wouldn't mind having a little work to do," reade admitted. "harry, it took nerve to throw up our connection with don luis. at least, that meant some work to do." "it did not," harry contradicted. "don luis didn't want us in his mine at all, and showed us that as plainly as he could. all the work he wanted out of us was the writing of two signatures. the need of the signatures was all that ever made him bring us down from the united states." "he'd he such a charming fellow, too, if he only knew a little bit about being honest," sighed tom, regretfully. "there is one thing about his rascality that i shall never forgive," growled hazelton. "that was, dragging his innocent daughter into the game, just in the hope that her presence would influence us to sign." "i trust, _caballeros_, that you did not find me too slow and lazy," broke in the soft voice of nicolas, as that servant stole back in on them. he was well laden with parcels, at sight of which reade sat up with a jerk. "anything in that lot that's all ready to be eaten without fussy preparation, nicolas?" the young chief engineer asked eagerly. "oh, _si senor_!" "then lead us to it, boy!" the mexican servant unwrapped a package, revealing and holding up a tin. "food of your own kind, from your own country, _caballeros_," the mexican announced proudly. "canned baked beans," chuckled harry, after glancing at the label. "hurry and get the stuff open." nicolas opened two tins of the beans, then produced a package of soda biscuits. "this will be enough for one meal, _caballeros_?" he asked. "oh, plenty," nodded tom. "and then i have some of our mexican beans, dried," nicolas continued. "they will do when we are not so near a food supply. i have also a little dish in which to boil them over a fire. oh, we shall get along excellently, _caballeros_." shortly the very simple meal was ready and eaten in record time. "and here is something else that we shall drink in the morning," nicolas announced, presently as he held up a package. "it is chocolate." as tom and harry both detested this beverage, they were forced to feign their enthusiasm. "now, i feel as though we ought to do some walking," tom declared, rising and stretching. "walking?" queried nicolas. "where?" "over the hills to the nearest telegraph station. there is one within twenty miles, is there not?" "there is, _caballero_," nicolas assented, gravely, "but it will be impossible for us to reach it." "impossible? why?" reade demanded. "on my way back i kept my eyes open," the mexican explained. "as a result i discovered who is in these hills about us." "who, then?" harry asked. "pedro gato," nicolas affirmed solemnly. "who?" said tom. "oh, gato? only he?" "only he and some of his worthless, criminal companions," the servant went on, solemnly. "senor reade, at no greater distance than this from don luis you may be safe from gato. yet, if you stroll but a few miles from here pedro gato will not so greatly fear the hidalgo. then gato will work his own will with you." "he will, oh?" tom demanded grimly. "of a surety, senor!" "if i should see pedro gato first, he would be likely to come in for another walloping," tom laughed, dryly. "but you would not see him, senor. you would hear him only, and gato's message would be a bullet." "can gato shoot any better than he fights?" smiled reade. bang! an unseen rifle spoke. judged by the sound the marksman was not more than three hundred yards away. "sz-z-z-zz!" the leaden missile sang through the air. it flattened against a rock in front of which the young chief engineer was standing. "you are answered, _mi caballero_!" cried nicolas, throwing himself flat on the earth. "drop to the earth, senor, before the second shot is fired!" chapter xii nicolas does an errand tom did not follow the advice to flatten himself on the ground. instead, he stood straighter--even rose on his toes and stared in the direction whence he judged the shot to have come. "gato, you treacherous scoundrel!" read roared, in spanish. "do you call yourself a brave man, to fight an unarmed foe like this?" all was silent amid the rocks in the distance. "have you too little courage to answer me?" tom again essayed. "or are you man enough to show yourself--to come forward and listen to me. don't be afraid. i can't hurt you. i have no weapon worse than my fists." as the young chief engineer spoke in spanish, nicolas understood. "don't! don't, _mi caballero_," implored the mexican servant "don't let him know that you are unarmed. make a move as though to draw a pistol, and gato may run away instead of sighting his rifle once more at you." "now i know you, gato, for the wolfish coward that you are," tom reade shouted mockingly. "you are desperately afraid when you won't meet me, unarmed as i am." "if senor reade is so utterly brave when he has no weapons," thought the barefooted servant, "then if he had a gun in his hand he would be the bravest man in all the world!" "i guess that yellow dog isn't going to bark at us again, just now," laughed tom, carelessly, when some moments had passed without another shot. "doubtless, the fellow was frightened away by the sound of his own rifle." "that shot was a warning," chattered nicolas. "it is his way of sending you his defiance. when gato fires again he will try in earnest to kill you, and he will keep on firing until he succeeds. oh, _mi caballero_, if you will give me some more of your americano money, i will hasten about until i find some one who will sell me a gun for you. you must have one in your hands all the time." "not for mine," smiled reade. "to tell you the truth, nicolas, guns sometimes make me nervous. if i had one i might be clumsy enough to shoot myself with it." "nicolas is talking sense," interrupted hazelton, speaking in english. "both you and i should be armed." "by all means have nicolas get a gun for you, harry, if you will," reade answered, coolly. "but none for me." "i'd like to meet gato face to face and on equal terms," harry went on, dropping back into the spanish tongue. "so would i," agreed his chum. "i have much to say to gato. if there were mail boxes in this wild country i'd drop him a letter." "do you really wish to send gato a letter?" asked nicolas, eagerly. "why, i'd send him one if i could," nodded tom. "have you writing materials?" pressed the servant. "yes--but what's the use?" "write your letter, _mi caballero_, and i will hand it to gato," urged the mexican. "you?" gasped tom. "certainly." "but how?" "i will hand the letter to him in person." "you--go to gato?" "yes. why not?" "gato would kill you!" "kill a poor _peon_?" smiled nicolas. "oh, no; i am not worth while. i am not a fighting man." "do you mean to tell me," demanded tom, astonished, "that you could go openly and safely to gato?" "assuredly," declared nicolas, composedly. "gato would not harm me. i am one of his own people, a mexican, and have not the courage to fight. so he would only disgrace himself in the eyes of his countrymen if he tried to do me harm." "is that the truth?" reade persisted. "certainly, senor reade. if there were a priest here i would swear to it as the truth." "and you have the courage to try to hand a note to gato?" "under the circumstances it does not require courage, since i am safe," replied nicolas, steadily and easily. "hanged if i don't think i will write a note to pedro gato!" chuckled tom. "do so, _mi caballero_; at your convenience." tom tore a page out of a notebook, and with his fountain pen wrote the following note in spanish: "pedro gato: if you had half the courage of a rabbit you would not go skulking through the hills, shooting at me without giving me any chance to tell you or show you what i think of you. a shot has just struck near my head, yet no glimpse was to be had of the man who fired the shot. if you did that, then you are a coward of a low, mean type. if you do not feel like accepting my opinion of you, then will you meet me and explain your conduct as one real man talks with another? if you will not give me this explanation, and persist in trying to shoot at me, then i warn you that i will and must pummel you with my fists if i ever have the pleasure of meeting you face to face." "thomas reade." harry glanced through the note and smiled. "that ought to scare the bold, bad man," said he. "read this, nicolas, and see if you think the note will shame the scoundrel," laughed tom. "pardon, _mi caballero_," objected nicolas, "but i am no scholar. i do not know how to read or write." "oh!" said tom simply. "then let me read it to you." tom repeated what he had written, then asking: "do you think, nicolas, that it will be safe for you to take this to pedro gato?" "assuredly, senor." "and you are sure you can find the scoundrel?" "i think so, though it may take considerable time." nicolas took the note, holding it tight in his left hand. he was visible for a few steps, after which he dodged down behind a rock and was seen no more. moving stealthily over the hillsides, nicolas spent a full hour in obtaining the first glimpse of gato. that worthy was seated on the ground, smoking and chatting in low tones with his desperate-looking companions. suddenly pedro caught sight of the servant and started up. he beckoned, and nicolas approached. "you have come to serve us," said gato, delightedly. "you are a good youth, and i shall reward you handsomely some day. you are ready to tell us how we can trap the two gringos. how many weapons have they, and of what kind?" "truly, i do not know, senor gato," nicolas answered. "that taller gringo taunted me with the claim that he was not armed at all," grinned gato, ferociously. "but i am too old a man to be caught by any such lie as that. he was trying to lead us on, that we might walk into their gringo trap. was he not?" "truly i do not know," nicolas repeated. "then what are you doing here, if you bring us no news?" snarled gato, whereat nicolas began to tremble. "i--i bring a letter from his excellency, _el caballero_, reade," faltered the servant. "a letter?" cried gato, hoarsely. "why did you not say so before." "i have been waiting, senor gato, until you gave me time to speak," protested the messenger. "hand me the letter," ordered gato, stretching forth his hand. nicolas handed over the page torn from tom's notebook. gato slowly puzzled his way through the note, his anger rising with every word. "the insolent gringo!" he cried. "he insults my courage! this from one who is a mere gringo--the most cowardly race of people on the earth. oh, i shall exact revenge for this insolence. and you, nicolas, had the impudence to come here with such an insult." "i assure you, senor gato, i was but the unfortunate messenger." nicolas replied, meekly. "since you brought this insolence to me you shall take back my message. tell the dogs of gringos that i laugh at them. tell the gringo, reade, that, in these hills, i shall do as i please. that i shall let him pass safely, if i am so minded, or that i shall shoot at him whenever i choose. assure him that i regard his life as being my property. begone, you rascal!" nor did nicolas linger. from the outset he had been badly scared, though he had been truthful in assuring tom reade that a bandit would hardly hurt a poor _peon_. when nicolas at last reached the young engineers he delivered the message that pedro gato had regarded the whole matter as insolence, and had been very angry. "gato added," continued nicolas, "that he would shoot at you when and where he pleased. and he will do it. he is a ferocious fellow." "humph!" muttered tom. "if your feet don't mind, my good nicolas, i have a good mind to send gato another and much shorter note. is it far to go!" "n-not very far," said nicolas, though he began to quake. "of course, i shall pay you well for this and all the other trouble you are taking on my account," tom continued, gently. "i am finely paid by being allowed to serve you at all, senor reade," nicolas protested. chapter xiii pining for the good old u.s. "you will have to be very careful that gato does not get another chance to shoot at you, _mi caballero_," nicolas went on. "he does not believe that you are unarmed, or he would speedily settle with you. but he will shoot at you frequently, from ambush, if you give him the chance." "then i hope he'll do it frequently," grimaced reade. "the need of frequent shooting indicates bad marksmanship." "senor," begged nicolas, "i would not joke about gato. he means to kill you, or worse." "worse?" queried tom, raising his eyebrows. "how could that be?" the mexican servant made a gesture of horror. "it is worse when our mexican bandits torture a man," he replied, his voice shaking. "they are fiends--those of our mexicans who have bad hearts." "then you believe that gato plans something diabolical, just because i walloped him in a fair fight--or in a fight where the odds were against me?" "it matters not as to the merits of the fight," nicolas went on. "gato will never be satisfied until he has hurt you worse than you hurt him." "and perhaps don luis may be behind the rascal, urging him on and offering to protect him from the law? what do you think about that, nicolas?" "i cannot say," nicolas responded, with a slight shrug. "i am don luis's servant." "pardon my forgetting that," begged harry. "i should not have spoken as i did." "for more than one reason," tom muttered, "we shall do well to get out of this unfriendly stretch of country. harry, we're pining for the good old u.s., aren't we?" "just a glimpse of the american side of the border--that's all we want," laughed hazelton. "and, if we're to be killed, we'll at least be killed while trying to reach the border," reade proposed. "do you intend starting now, senor?" asked nicolas, in a low voice. "not before dark," tom murmured. "then why do you two not sleep for a while?" begged the servant. "you will need some strength if you are to travel through these mountains all night. sleep! you can trust me to keep awake and to warn you if danger gets close." "thank you, old fellow; i know we can trust you," tom replied. he stretched himself out on the ground, pulling his hat down over his eyes. within two minutes he was sound asleep. not more than a minute after that harry, too, was dozing. it was still daylight when tom awoke. he sat up. harry was sleeping soundly, and nicolas was not in sight. "abandoned?" thought reade. "no; that's hardly likely. nicolas rings true. hiding close to here, undoubtedly, that he may keep better watch. a call will bring him here." tom rose, to look about. "be cautious, senor," came the whispered advice from an unseen speaker. "if you expose yourself you may invite a bullet." tom promptly accepted the advice. going toward the sound of the voice, he found nicolas crouched in a trough of rock not far from where they had lain down. "now, nicolas, it's your turn," whispered reade. "my turn for what, senor?" "sleep!" "i am but a servant, senor. i do not need rest." "nicolas, you go in and lie down near hazelton, and go to sleep." the mexican grumbled a little, but all his life he had been taught to obey orders. within sixty seconds the servant was sound asleep. an hour later it began to darken. harry hazelton awoke with a start, to find tom with his finger on his lips. "nicolas is asleep," whispered reade. "don't make any noise that will awaken him. i have no doubt that he would go through with us and be our guide. but that would put him in bad with don luis, and we have no right to expose the poor fellow to blame. move about without noise, and we'll eat some of the stuff that nicolas brought us." this was done. it was dark by the time that the simple meal had been finished. tom drew out another five-dollar bill, which he pinned to the shirt of the poor mexican. "now we'll take all the food with us," tom whispered. "nicolas won't need any of it, as he's less than twenty minutes' walk from a square feed. come along--on tip-toe." tom led the way through the darkness, not halting until they were well away from the mexican. "now, wait a moment, until we get our bearings from the stars," tom proposed. "then we'll make a straight, fast, soft hike to the telegraph station." "only twenty miles away, over the boulders," murmured hazelton. "this is where our past physical training comes in finely," tom rejoined. he looked up at the sky, pointing to and naming several of the fixed stars. "now, as we know our course, we can hardly, go astray," reade suggested. "ready! forward march!" tom took the lead in this, as he did in nearly everything else. for more than an hour the young engineers trudged ahead. when at last they halted for breath they had covered at least three miles of their way. "nicolas will feel insulted when he wakes, i'm afraid," suggested hazelton. "i'm afraid he will. nicolas may have a copper skin, and be under-sized and illiterate, but he's one of the old-fashioned, true-to-the-death kind. but, if he helped guide us out of this wilderness, don luis would probably flay the poor fellow alive afterwards." "i wonder if we're going to make the telegraph station by daylight!" harry went on. "i'm afraid not. but we ought to be there some time during the forenoon." "that will give don luis time, perhaps, to wake up to our disappearance and send men after us," hinted harry. tom's face grew long at this suggestion. he was well aware that don luis montez was a man who was both dreaded and obeyed in these mountains. "oh, well, we'll do all we can for ourselves," tom proposed. "we'll keep cheerful about it, too--until the worst happens." "i'm rested, tom. shall we start along?" "yes; for we're both anxious to get through!" once more reade took the lead. they trudged another mile, often without finding the semblance of a trail. finally, they discovered what seemed to be a crude road leading in their general direction. ahead boulders loomed up. they were getting into a rough part of the mountains. as tom plodded around a bend in the road, past a big rock, he heard a low laugh. "oblige me, senores, by showing me how high you can reach in the air!" came a mocking voice. tom and harry had both stepped around into the plain range of vision of pedro gato. that scoundrel stood with rifle butt to his shoulder, his glance running along the barrel. the weapon covered them. "don't forget! your hands, _caballeros_!" insisted gato, jubilantly. for a brief instant tom reade hesitated. he was doing some lightning calculating as to whether he would be able to spring forward under the rifle barrel and knock up the weapon. but a second glance showed him that he could not hope to do it. pedro gato was completely master of the situation. "for the third time--and the last, _caballeros_ your hands! up high!" commanded gato exultantly. "now, stand just so, until i get back of you," ordered gato. "do not attempt any tricks, and do not turn to look back at me. if you do i shall pull the trigger--once and again. this rifle shoots fast." while talking gato had placed himself to the rear of his captives, who, with hands up, remained facing ahead. "do you want us to keep our hands up forever?" demanded tom reade, gruffly. "to take them down will be the signal for death," replied gato coolly. "take your hands down, or turn this way, if you deem it best. possibly you will prefer to die, for to-night's entertainment may strike you as being worse than death. the matter is within your own choice, wholly, _caballeros_. perhaps on the whole it would be far better for you to lower your hands and die." "cut out the thrills and the mock-comedy, gato, and tell us what else you want us to do," tom urged, stiffly. "oho! my gringo wild-cat is much tamer, isn't he?" sneered gato. "but he shall be tamer still before the night is over. now--are you listening?" harry made no sign, but tom shrugged his shoulders. "keep your noses pointed the same way. march!" commanded gato. chapter xiv next to the telegraph key tom and harry started along the trail, side by side. something whizzed through the air. then something struck the earth heavily, and there was a slight, quickly repressed groan. "quick, _caballeros_!" for the life of him tom could not help halting and wheeling about. the next second he uttered a low cry of glee. for pedro gato lay flat on the ground, nicolas bending over him. "quick, _caballeros_!" implored nicolas again. "you fine chap," chuckled reade, bounding back and bending over gato, as nicolas was doing. "there was no other way to save you," whispered the servant. "i had to do it." as nicolas raised his right hand, reade could not help seeing that it was stained with blood. "see here," gasped tom, recoiling. "you didn't--you didn't knife the scoundrel?" he had all of an american's disgust of knife-fighting. "oh, no--not i," returned the little mexican. "i do not use the knife. i am a servant, not a coward. but i had to throw a stone. i am thankful, senor, that my aim was good." tom now discovered that blood was coming from a wound in gato's head. moreover, the rascal was beginning to moan. he would soon recover consciousness. "do you know how to use this, senor?" nicolas asked, as he passed over a small coil of stout hempen cord. "i think we can fix the fellow," tom nodded. "roll him over, harry, and hold him. don't let the scoundrel reach for any other weapons." gato's rifle lay on the ground. tom pushed it aside with one foot as harry turned the fellow. "get his hands behind him," muttered tom. "i'll do the tying." in a very short space of time gato's hands had been securely bound behind him. more cord was tied around his ankles, in such a way that gato would be able to take short steps but not run. suddenly gato groaned and opened his eyes. "you'll be more comfortable on your back, old fellow," murmured tom. "wait. i'll turn you." gato stared blankly, at first. evidently he did not realize the situation all at once. at last a curse leaped to his lips. "go easy on that bad-talk stuff," tom urged him. "gentlemen don't use such language, and men who travel with us must be gentlemen." "you miserable gringo!" wailed gato, gnashing his teeth. "you will always be full of treacherous tricks. even when i had you in front of me, and my eyes on you, you managed to knock me down." "oh, no!" laughed tom. "the credit for this stunt belongs to good little nicolas!" the servant uttered a protesting cry, but too late. tom had spoken indiscreetly. "nicolas! you? you little mountain rat of a _peon_!" growled gato. "excellent! i am glad i know, for i shall destroy you." nicolas cowered and shivered before the baleful glare in the larger mexican's eyes. but tom took a savage grip of one of gato's shoulders, digging in with his pressure until he made the scoundrel wince. "you'd better go slow with that talk, gato," tom warned him. "if you don't we'll turn you over to nicolas to do with as he pleases." "all right," sneered gato, not a whit dismayed. "he would dare to do nothing to me. he would be too afraid of the vengeance that he well knows stalks in these hills." "it is all too true," shuddered nicolas. "come, brace up, nicolas, and be a man," tom urged, slapping the servant cordially on the shoulder. "don't be afraid of any man. let gato threaten you if he wants to. nothing has happened to you yet, and he who is afraid is the only man that suffers. come, gato, you will have to get up on your feet. we can't let you delay us." "i shall not stir a step," declared the fellow, grimly. "oh, yes, you will." "not if you kill me for refusing. if you wish to take me anywhere, gringos, you will have to carry me every step of the way." "we won't carry you, either," tom continued, coolly. "gato, a few moments ago, you had the whip-hand. now, we're carrying the whip. we don't want any nonsense. if you carry matters too far you'll discover that hazelton and i have had more or less experience as wild animal trainers. but, first of all, your head. it must be attended to." tom wiped away the blood, which was now clotting, with his own handkerchief. "help me to stand him on his feet, harry," reade then commanded. between them they dragged the heavy fellow to his feet, but gato promptly cast himself down again. "we'll haul you up again," tom went on, patiently. "don't try that mulish trick any more, gato, or i promise you that you'll regret it." no sooner had he been placed on his feet than. gato once more threw himself down. as soon as he went down, however, tom jerked him to his feet. a roar like that of an angry bull escaped the lips of the suffering mexican. "he is trying to summon his men!" cried nicolas, snatching up the rifle. no sooner was gato upright than he threw himself down once more. again he was roughly jerked to a standing position. the fourth time that gato was placed on his feet he stood, though he was shaking with fury. "that's a little better," tom nodded. "now, nicolas, i imagine you know more than i do about where your countrymen carry their extra arms. search this fellow for weapons, and don't overlook anything." no pistol was revealed by the search, but a long, keen-edged knife was brought to light. "no gentleman has any occasion to carry a thing like that," mocked reade. thrusting the blade into a cleft of rock close by, tom snapped the blade, rendering the weapon useless. "now, we're ready to go on," announced tom. "harry, will you keep behind our guest of the evening and spur him on if he shows signs of lagging?" "take this gun, senor reade," nicolas hinted, trying to pass the weapon to the young chief engineer. "i don't want it," returned tom, shaking his head and making a gesture of repulsion. "i don't like guns. they always make me nervous. i'm afraid of accidents, you see." "you take the gun, then, senor hazelton," begged nicolas, turning to the other engineer. "don't you believe it," retorted harry, gruffly. "i'd lose caste forever with tom if i carried firearms. tom says that nobody but a coward will carry firearms. you keep the gun yourself." "_muy bien, senor_," (very good, sir) agreed nicolas, meekly. "it is better that i should carry the weapon then, for i am truly worthless. i am but a _peon_." "oh, confound you!" choked harry. "i didn't mean that. you're one of the best fellows on earth, nicolas, for you're a man that can be trusted. better unstrap that belt of cartridges from gato, too." the big mexican ground his teeth and cursed in helpless rage while the little servant stripped him of the belt and adjusted it about his own waist. "now, let's get along," reade urged. "we've been losing a lot of valuable time. besides, we don't know when we'll run into some of this mountain pirate's choice friends." tom strode on ahead. nicolas ran to his side, walking with him. then came gato, urged on by harry hazelton. "see here, you nicolas," remarked tom, protestingly, "why on earth didn't you stay put? we left you behind to-night so that you wouldn't run into trouble with don luis." "don luis himself told me to wait on your excellencies night and day, as long as you remained in bonista," nicolas affirmed, solemnly. "don luis hasn't yet changed those orders, and so i must remain with you. but i had flattered myself that just now i was of enough service to you so that you wouldn't be displeased." "displeased? not a bit of it," muttered tom. "but we didn't want you to get yourself into trouble on our account. now, you've gone and written your name in gato's bad books for certain." "i have, senor," the _peon_ admitted. "gato will take delight in cutting my throat for me one of these days." "great scott!" reade gasped, shivering. "that's cheerful." "so that, perhaps, senor," suggested the _peon_, slyly, "you will be willing to take me with you to your own country. perhaps there, also, you will be able to give me work as your servant." "rest assured of one thing, nicolas. if we can get you safely over on to the american side of the border we'll look after you properly." "i am very grateful, senor," protested nicolas, humbly. "but we're a long way from the american border as yet," tom went on. "you will get there safely, senor," predicted the _peon_. "you are a great man, and you know how to do things." "well, for simple faith you're the limit, nicolas, my boy. for one thing, though, it strikes me that our getting over the border, which is some hundreds of miles away, might be hindered if we have the tough luck to run into any of gato's armed pals along this route." "you do well to remind me, senor!" cried nicolas, in a low tone, but one, nevertheless, which was full of self-reproach. "so much have i enjoyed my talk with you that i have been forgetting to look after your safety. pardon me, senor. i will vanish, but i shall watch over you with the wide-open eyes of the panther." in another instant nicolas had vanished from the trail. tom, however, did not worry. he knew that nicolas was not far away, and that the little _peon_ was doubtless as valuable a scout as their expedition could have. "i wish i had asked him to unload that gun, though," reade muttered to himself. "he's likely as not to hurt some one else beside the enemy with a stray bullet or two." three miles further on tom, harry and their prisoner halted, for on the rough road they were now becoming winded. "i am near, senores," whispered a familiar voice, though nicolas did not show himself over the rocks that concealed him. "yes," sneered gato, harshly, "you are indeed near--near death, you silly little fool. always before you have been safe because you were not a fighting man. but now you have taken to deeds of arms, and you shall take your chances whenever you stir in these mountains. for that matter you will surely be cut down before the dawn comes." "that reminds me," muttered tom. "we want to be farther from don luis before dawn arrives. gato, oblige us by rising and joining in the hike." though gato snarled, he allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. then, with alert harry behind him the villain allowed himself to be ordered along the trail. when dawn came nicolas informed the young engineers that they were now within about four miles of the nearest telegraph station. the food that they had brought along was opened; even gato had his share. then nicolas vanished once more, and the march was resumed. the sun was well up, and beating down hot and fiery when nicolas, standing on a jutting ledge of rock, pointed down into the valley at a little clump of wooden buildings, roofed with corrugated iron. "that third house is the telegraph station," said the _peon_. "you will know it by the wires running in." "shan't we all go down?" asked harry. "i'm afraid it wouldn't be wise," tom answered. "we can't turn our prisoner loose. on the other hand, if we took him with us, roped as he is, it might stir up a lot of questioning and make some trouble. but nicolas will know better. what do you say, my boy?" "i say that senor reade is right." tom therefore started down into the valley alone. a few half-clad natives lounged in the street. they stared curiously at this stalwart-looking, bronzed young gringo who walked toward them with alert step. two or three of the children, after the custom of their kind, called out for money. tom, smiling pleasantly, drew forth a few loose american coins that he had with him and scattered them in the road. then he hastened on to the telegraph station, a squalid-looking little one-room shanty. but the place looked good to tom, for its wires reached out over the civilized world, and more especially ran to the dear old united states that he was so anxious to reach with a few words. tom passed inside, to find a bare-footed, white-clad mexican soldier at a telegraph desk. the soldier wore the chevrons of a sergeant. "sergeant, may i send a telegram from here?" tom inquired in spanish. "certainly, senor," replied the sergeant, pushing forward a blank. as this telegraph station was a military station, it was under the exclusive control of the soldiery. tom picked up the blank and the proffered pencil. he dated the paper, then wrote the name and address of the manager of his and harry's engineering office in the united states. below this reade wrote: "hazelton and i are now endeavoring to reach railway and return immediately. if not heard from soon, look us up promptly through washington." "our man will know, from this, if he doesn't hear from us soon," tom reflected, "that there has been foul play, and that he must turn the matter over to the united states government at washington for some swift work by uncle sam on our behalf. once this message gets through to the other end, harry and i won't have to worry much about being able to get out of mexico in safety." the sergeant read the english words through carefully. "will the senor pardon me for saying," ventured the telegrapher, "that this message reads much as though yourself and a friend are trying to escape?" the man spoke in english, though with a spanish accent. "what do you mean, sergeant?" tom queried, quickly. "why should you need to escape, if you are honest men, engaged in honest business?" demanded the sergeant, eyeing reade keenly. "why, it isn't a felony to try to get out of mexico, is it?" tom counter-queried. "that depends," said the sergeant. "it depends, for instance, on why you are leaving." "we're leaving because we want to," tom informed him. "you are senor reade, are you not?" pressed the sergeant, after eyeing the telegram once more. "and your friend, who does not appear here in person, is senor hazelton? unless i am wrong, then you are the two engineers whom don luis montez engaged. how do i know that you have any right to leave mexico? how do i know that you are not breaking a contract?" "breaking a contract?" tom retorted, somewhat indignantly. "sergeant, we are not contract laborers. we are civil engineers--professional men." "nevertheless," replied the sergeant, handing back the telegram into the hands of bewildered. tom reade, "i cannot undertake to send this message until it is endorsed with the written approval of don luis montez, your employer." "does don luis own this side of mexico, or this wing of the mexican army?" tom inquired, with biting sarcasm. "i cannot send the telegram, senor, except as i have stated." whereupon the sergeant began firmly, though gently, to push tom out of the room. comparing the size and muscular development of the two, it looked almost humorous to see this effort. but tom, who now realized how hopeless his errand was, allowed himself to be pushed out. then the door was slammed to and locked behind him. "nothing doing!" muttered reade, in chagrin and dismay. "in fact, much less than nothing! harry and i will simply have to tramp fifty miles further and find the railway. great scott! i doubt if the conductor will even let us aboard his train without a pass signed by don luis. hang the entire state of bonista!" deep in thought, and well-nigh overwhelmed by the complete realization of his defeat, tom stalked moodily back up among the rocks. as he turned a sharp, jutting ledge, tom suddenly recoiled, as a brisk military voice called: "para! quien vive!" (halt! who goes there?) reade found a mexican military bayonet pressing against his chest, behind the bayonet a rifle, and to the immediate rear of the rifle a ragged, barefooted young soldier, though none the less a genuine mexican soldier! further back other soldiers squatted on the ground. in their centre sat the scowling gato, handcuffed and therefore plainly a prisoner. harry and nicolas were also there--not handcuffed, yet quite as plainly prisoners. chapter xv the job of being an hidalgo "this must be a part of the army that don luis also owns!" flashed through reade's mind. from behind the group stepped forth a boyish-looking young fellow at whose side dangled a sword. he was a very young lieutenant. "are these your men?" inquired tom. "yes," nodded the lieutenant. "why have they stopped me?" tom demanded, calmly. "on suspicion, senor." "suspicion of what?" demanded reade, his eyes opening wider. "is it suspicious for a foreigner to be walking about in mexico?" "i am not here to answer questions, senor," replied the young officer. "you will be good enough not to resist." "i haven't any intention of resisting," tom retorted. "i know better than to think that i can thrash the whole mexican army that is behind you." "you are as sensible as i had hoped you would be, senor," continued the lieutenant, with a slight bow. "but i wish you would tell us why you are holding us," tom insisted. "i am not obliged to tell you, senor, and i am not certain that it would be wise of me to do so," the officer answered. "however, i will say that i found your party with a mexican citizen as a prisoner." "and you seem to have made a prisoner of the same fellow yourself," reade retorted. "as an officer of the mexican army, senor, that is my privilege," came the lieutenant's response. "as to your right, however, to arrest and hold a mexican citizen, there may be some question. i shall have to satisfy myself on this point before i can release you." "why, i'll be wholly frank with you," tom reade offered. "this fellow, gato, is a rascal whom i had occasion to thrash. in revenge for the humiliation he has given me to understand that he would kill me. last night he held us up at the point of his rifle. our servant, nicolas, threw a stone that bowled gato over. then, for our own safety, we tied him up and brought him with us." "why was it necessary to your safety, senor, since you had the fellow's rifle and his ammunition? you see, i have gained this much from your friend." "why was it necessary?" tom repeated, wonderingly. "why, lieutenant, do you feel that we should have turned a deadly enemy loose?" "but you had no right to arrest him, senor." "nor did we arrest him in the sense that you mean, lieutenant. all we did was to render gato helpless and bring him along with us until we should have passed out of the bit of country in which he might have been dangerous to our safety." "how could he be dangerous when you had his weapon?" the lieutenant demanded, argumentatively. "why, he had other men out with him. how long would it have taken gato to find his men and bring them down upon us--three or four guns against one?" "but did you see his other men at any time in the night?" "no," tom admitted. "senor, you have made a grave mistake in arresting and holding the man, gato. you had no right to do so." "why, in our own country," tom protested, "any one may arrest a man who is committing a crime. in our own case we very likely would have lost our lives to bandits if we had not tied gato and brought him with us." "had you tied him and left him behind it might have been different," explained the lieutenant. "but what you did, senor reade, was to make an actual arrest, and this you, as an american, had no right to do. therefore, i shall hold you until this matter has been further inquired into." it was a bad plight, and there seemed to be no simple way out of it. the young chief engineer began to see that, innocently, and wholly for the purpose of self-protection, he very likely had infringed upon the kinds of rights that foreigners in mexico do not possess. "all right, lieutenant," sighed tom. "i suppose we shall have to go along with you. where are you taking us?" "that will have to be decided," said the officer. "nowhere for the presents my men are tired and need rest. we will not humiliate you, senor reade, by placing you in irons, but i will ask your word of honor that you won't attempt to escape from us." "i give you that word of honor," said tom, simply. "and i have only to remind you, senor, that, if you make the mistake of breaking your word, bullets travel fast and several of my men are sharpshooters." "i am an american and a gentleman," reade returned, with offended dignity. "my word of honor is not given to be broken." "then you will seat yourself, senor, or stroll about and amuse yourself within the narrow limits of this small camp." tom stepped over, rested his hand on harry's shoulder, then dropped to a seat beside his chum. "can you beat it?" tom demanded, in ready american slang. "it would be hard to, wouldn't it?" harry asked, smiling sheepishly. pedro gato turned to regard them with a surly grin. though handcuffed, gato seemed to feel that he was now enjoying his own innings. for an hour or more the soldiers continued to rest. all of them, including the lieutenant, who sat stiffly aloof from his men, rolling and smoking cigarettes. "i see a bully argument against cigarette smoking," whispered tom in his chum's ear. "what is it?" harry wanted to know. "all of these fellows are smoking cigarettes. i am proud of myself to feel that i don't belong in their class." "a year ago alf drew would have felt at home in this cigarette-puffing, sallow-faced lot, wouldn't be?" grinned harry. "i am glad to say that alf now knows how measly a cigarette smoker looks," answered tom. alf drew, as readers of the preceding volume will remember, was a boy addicted to cigarettes, but whom tom had broken of the stupid habit. alf was now employed in the engineering offices of reade & hazelton. "there's something coming," announced reade, presently. "it sounds like a miniature railroad train." "i wish it were a real one, and that we had our baggage aboard," muttered harry, with a grimace. one of the sentries had gone to intercept the approaching object. instead the soldier now permitted the approaching object to roll into camp. it proved to be don luis's big touring car. in the tonneau sat the mine owner and dr. carlos tisco. "what is this, senor reade?" cried don luis montez, in pretended astonishment. "in trouble? lieutenant, these gentlemen are friends of mine. may i ask you what this means?" tom was not deceived by this by-play. he snorted mildly while the young army lieutenant explained why he had detained the engineers. "but these gentlemen are friends and employes," don luis explained. "what they tell you about gato is quite true. will you oblige me by releasing these gentlemen, lieutenant." the young officer seemed to hesitate. "it's all a part of the comedy," whispered tom, and harry nodded. "i--i will let these americanos go, for the present, don luis," suggested the lieutenant, "provided you will take them back to your estate, and agree to be responsible for them if they are wanted. "thank you very much, lieutenant. i will readily undertake that," agreed montez, smiling. "then come, senores reade and hazelton, and i will interrupt my journey to take you back to safety under a hospitable roof." "i don't know that i wouldn't rather go with the soldiers," harry muttered to his chum. "no!" murmured reade. "i've heard too much about these mexican prisons to care anything about going to one. i reckon we'd better go with don luis. after we've rid ourselves of military guard, and have reached the montez estate, we are at least released from our word of honor not to attempt an escape. i guess, harry, we had better take up with don luis's rascally offer." "well, _caballeros_, does it need much discussion to enable you to accept my kindness?" called montez, banteringly. "not at all, don luis," tom made answer. "we're going with you--with the lieutenant's consent." the young lieutenant bowed his agreement. tom and harry lifted their hats lightly to the officer, then stepped into the tonneau of the car. "home," said don luis. the chauffeur made a quick turn, and the car speedily left the camp behind. "i have often heard, gentlemen, that foreigners have difficulty in understanding our laws," observed don luis. he spoke affably, but mockery lurked in his tones. "without realizing it you two have committed a serious offense against our laws. you have ventured to arrest a mexican citizen." nicolas, who sat in front with the chauffeur, sat as stiff and silent as though he had been a figure of stone. "what will be the outcome of this adventure, under the law?" tom inquired, dryly. "it would need one of our judges to say that," replied don luis, shrugging his shoulders. "however, i may be able to arrange the matter with the authorities." "and, if you can't arrange it--?" "why, then, i dare say, my friends, you will have to be arrested again. then you would be taken to one of our prisons until your trial came off. you might even be held _incommunicado_, which means that, as prisoners, you would not be allowed to communicate with the outside world--not even with your american government." "and how long would we be held _incommunicado_?" tom asked. don luis gave another shrug of his shoulders. "you would be held _incommunicado_, senor reade, until the judges were ready to try you." "and that might be years off," tom muttered. don luis beamed delightedly, while a thin smile curled on dr. tisco's lips. "you are beginning, senor, to get some grasp of mexican law," laughed montez. "in other words, don luis," said tom, dryly, "it's a game wherein you can't possibly lose, and we can remain out of prison only as long as you are gracious enough to will it?" "that might be rather a strong way of stating the case," murmured the mexican. "however, after your unlawful act of last night, you undoubtedly are liable to a long confinement in one of our prisons. but believe me, senor reade, you may command me as far as my humble influence with our government goes!" the situation was certainly one to make tom think hard. he was certain that don luis had engineered the whole situation, even to urging gato on to a part in this grin drama. "well, you've got us!" sighed tom. "you will find me your best friend, always," protested montez. "you have us," tom continued, "but you haven't our signatures to the report on your mine. that is going to be more difficult." "time heals all breaches between gentlemen who should be friends," declared don luis, quite graciously. after that it was a silent party that rode in the touring car. though the road back to the estate was worthy of no such name as road, the big car none the less "ate up the miles." it was not long before the young engineers caught sight of the big white house. "come, gentlemen," begged don luis, alighting, and turning to the young engineers with a courtly grace that concealed a world of mockery. "you will find your rooms ready, and my household ready to minister to your comfort." tom reade, as he stepped upon the porch, drew himself up as stiffly as any american soldier could have done. "we've had to come this far with you, don luis," admitted the young engineer, dropping all his former pretense of dry good humor, "but you can't make us live under your roof unless you go so far as to have us seized, tied and carried in." "i have no intention of being anything but a gracious friend and host," murmured montez. "then, while we probably must stay here," tom resumed, "we'll leave your place and go to live somewhere in the open near you. we can accept neither your house nor your food." "very good," answered montez, meekly, bowing again. "i will only suggest, _caballeros_, that you do not attempt to go too far from my house. if you do, the soldiers will surely find you. then they will not bring you back to me, and you will learn what _incommunicado_ means in our mexican law. _adios_, _caballeros_!" "am i still the servant of the american gentlemen, don luis?" asked nicolas, humbly. "you may go with them. they will need you, little nicolas," answered don luis, and watched the three out of sight with smiling eyes. montez could afford to be cheerful. he knew that he had triumphed. chapter xvi two victims of rosy thoughts "there is one thing about it," remarked reade, as he rose and stood at the doorway of the tent. "we're not being overworked." "nor are we getting awfully rich, as the weeks go by, either," smiled harry. "no; but we're puppets in a game that interests me about as much as any that i ever saw played," tom smiled back. "this game--interests you?" queried harry, looking astonished. "that is a new idea to me, tom. i never knew you to be interested, before, in any game that wasn't directly connected with some great ambition." "we have a great ambition at present." "i'd like to know what it is," grumbled harry. "it's three weeks since that scoundrel, don luis, brought us back in triumph. we refused to enter his house as guests, and started to camp in the open in these two old tents that nicolas secured for us. in all these three weeks we haven't done a tap of work. we haven't studied, or read because we have no books. we sleep, eat, and then sleep some more. when we get tired of everything else we go out and trudge over the hills, being careful not to get too far, lest we run into the guns of gato and his comrades, for undoubtedly gato was turned loose as soon as he was lost to our sight. we don't do anything like work, and we're not even arranging any work for the future. yet you say that you're boosting your ambitions." "i am," tom nodded solemnly. "harry, isn't it just as great an ambition to be an honest engineer as it is to be a highly capable one?" "of course." "don't capitalists usually invest large sums on a favorable report from engineers?" "often." "and, if the engineers were dishonest the capitalists would lose their money, wouldn't they?" "certainly." "then here's our ambition, and we're working it out--finely, too," tom went on, with much warmth. "don luis has a scheme to rob some people of a large sum of money by selling them a worthless mine in a country where there are several good ones. if he could get us to help him, to our own dishonor, don luis montez would succeed in swindling this company of men. harry, we're just lying around here, day after day, doing no hard work, but we're blocking don luis's game and saving money for honest men. don luis doesn't care to have us assassinated, for he still hopes to break down our resistance. he can't bring the capitalists here to meet us until we do give in, and so the game lags for don luis. he can't bring in other engineers, for they'd meet us and we would post them. the american engineer must be a serious problem for don luis. he thought he could buy almost any of us. our conduct has made him afraid that american engineers can't be bought. evidently he must have his report signed by american engineers of repute, which means that he is trying to sell his worthless mine to americans. harry, we're teaching don luis to respect the honesty of american engineers; we're saving some of our countrymen from being swindled, probably out of thousands of dollars; we're proving that the american engineer is honest, and we're discouraging rascals everywhere from employing us in crooked work. now, honestly, isn't all that ambition enough to hold us for a few weeks?" "i suppose so," harry agreed. "but what is the end of all this to be. won't don luis merely have us assassinated in the end, if we go on proving stubborn?" "he may," tom answered, pressing his lips grimly. "but, if he does, he'll pay heavily for his villainy." "how?" "every man has to pay for his sins." "that's what we were taught in sunday school," harry nodded, "and i've always believed it. yet here, in these remote mountains of the state of bonista, if anywhere, don luis would appear to be safe. if a few of his men crept up here, late some night, with pistols or knives, and finished us before we had time to wake up, do you imagine that any one hereabouts would dare to make any report of the matter? would our fate ever reach the outside world?" "it would be sure to, in time, i believe," tom answered, thoughtfully. "how?" "that i can't tell. but i believe in the invariable triumph of right, no matter how great the odds against it may seem." "let right triumph, after we're buried," continued harry, "and what good would it do us?" "none, in any ordinary material sense. yet good would come to the world through our fate, even if only in proclaiming, once more, the sure defeat of all wicked plans in the end." harry said no more, just then. tom reade, who ordinarily was intensely practical, was also the kind of young man who could perish for an ideal, if need be. tom went outside, stretching himself on the grass under a tree. he sighed for a book, but there was none, so he lay staring off over the valley below. twenty minutes later harry, after trying vainly to take a nap on a cot in the tent, followed his chum outside. "odd, isn't it, tom?" questioned hazelton. "we're living what looks like a wholly free life. nothing to prevent us from tramping anywhere we please on these hills, and yet we know to a certainty that we wouldn't be able to get twenty miles from here before soldiers would have us nabbed, and marching away to a prison from which, very likely, no one in the outside world would ever hear of us again." "it is queer," agreed tom, nodding. "oh, just for one glimpse of yankee soil!" "twice," went on harry, "we've even persuaded nicolas to bribe some native to take a letter from us, to be mailed at some distant point. after two or three days don luis, in each instance, has come here, and, with a smile, has shown us our own intercepted letter. yet nicolas has been honest in the matter, beyond a doubt. it is equally past question that the native whom nicolas has trusted and paid has made an honest attempt to get away and post our letter; but always the cunning of a montez overtakes the trusted messenger." "and one can only guess what has happened to the messengers," tom said, soberly. "undoubtedly both of the two poor fellows are now passing the days _incommunicado_. it makes a fellow a bit heartsick, doesn't it, chum, to think of the probable fates of two men who have tried to serve us. and what, in the end, is to be the fate of poor little nicolas? don luis montez is not the sort of man to forgive him his fidelity to us." "and where's nicolas, all this time?" suddenly demanded harry, glancing at his watch. "why, the fellow hasn't been here for three hours! where can he be?" "_quien sabe_?" responded reade, using the common spanish question, given with a shrug, which means, "who knows! who can guess?" "can nicolas have fallen into any harm?" asked hazelton, a new note of alarm in his voice. "the poor, faithful little fellow! it gives me a shiver to think of his suffering an injury just because he serves us so truly." "i shall be interested in seeing him get back," tom nodded thoughtfully. "and i'm beginning to have a creepy feeling that he won't come back!" cried harry. "he may at this moment be past human aid, tom, and that may be but the prelude to our own craftily-planned destruction." tom reade sat up, leaning on one elbow, as he regarded his chum with an odd smile. "harry," tom uttered, dryly, "we certainly have no excuse for being blue when we have such rosy thoughts to cheer us up!" "hang mexico!" grunted hazelton. chapter xvii the stranger in the tent by and by tom reade began to grow decidedly restless. he would sit up, look and listen, and then lie down again. then he would fidget about nervously, all of which was most unusual with him, for reade's was one of those strong natures that will endure work day and night as long as is necessary, and then go in for complete rest when there is nothing else to do. harry did not observe this, for he had gone back into the tent. two sheets of a mexican newspaper had come wrapped around one of nicolas's last food purchases. hazelton was reading the paper slowly by way of improving his knowledge of spanish. at last tom called, in a low voice: "don't worry about me, chum, if you miss me. i'm going to take a little stroll." "all right, tom." reade did not hurry away. he had to remember that in all probability he was being watched. so he strolled about as though he had no particular purpose in mind. yet, after some minutes, he gained a point from which he could gaze down the hill-slope toward the little village of huts in which the mine laborers lived. there were a few small children playing about the one street that ran through the village. a few of the women were out of doors, also, but none of the men were in sight, for these were toiling away at the mine. though _el sombrero_ had so far shown no ore that amounted to anything, don luis, while waiting to sell his mine for a fortune, kept his _peons_ working hard in the hope that they might strike some real ore. after tom had been gazing for three or four minutes his eves suddenly lighted, for he saw nicolas come out of one of the huts. "i wonder what has kept the little fellow so long," tom murmured. but he turned away with an appearance of listlessness, for, if he were observed, he did not care to have a watcher note his interest in the servant's coming. so nicolas passed on toward the tents without having observed reade. "i won't get back too soon," tom decided. "if we are watched at all it wouldn't do to have me appear too much interested in the _peon's_ doings." now that his mind was somewhat easier, tom strolled on once more. his roundabout path took him along among the rocks that littered the ground over the principal tunnels of _el sombrero_. hundreds of feet beneath him now toiled some of the _peons_ who lived in the village of huts yonder. presently reade increased his speed considerably, deciding that now it would be safe to return directly to camp. suddenly he stopped short, head up, his gaze directed at the tops of three or four rocks. some human being had just dodged out of sight at that point. tom felt a swift though brief chill. something had made him suspect that the prowler might be gato, or one of the latter's companions. instead of running away tom made for the place of hiding in short leaps. "hold on there a minute, my friend," tom called in spanish. "i think it may be worth my while to look you over." just as reade was ready to bound over the rocks a figure rose as though to meet him. a light leap landed reade on top of the stranger, who was borne to earth. "mercy senor!" begged the other. "do not be rough with me. i am not strong enough to stand it." the man spoke spanish and was well past middle age, of a very spare figure, and his face was very thin, although there was a deep flush on his cheeks. "oh, i beg your pardon," said tom in spanish. he touched the stranger's cheeks, which were hot with fever. then tom slid off his poor captive and squatted beside him. reaching for the man's left wrist and resting two fingers on his pulse, tom added, gently: "tell me all about it, senor." "there is not much to tell," panted the stranger, weakly, for tom's landing on him had jarred him severely. "i am sick, as you can see." "oh, that isn't much," said tom, blithely. "with decent care you will soon he well. it is plain that you are a gentleman--no _peon_. yonder, some distance, is a house where i think you are very likely to be well taken care of. don luis montez--" despite the hectic flush in the cheeks, the stranger's face paled visibly. tom, always observant, noted this. "oh, i see," reade went on, calmly. "you do not like don luis montez, or you do not care about going to his house." the stranger gazed up wistfully at the young engineer's kindly face. "senor," he asked, "you would not betray me?" "you mean to don luis?" a weak nod was the answer. "rest easy on that score, my friend," tom begged, dryly. "don luis and i are not on the best of terms. i do not like him very well myself." "will you help to hide me here, and then go away and be silent?" "go away and leave you here?" suggested reade. "yes, senor. it will be a great favor." "it would be murder," tom retorted. "man, you're ill and you need care--nursing. i don't know much about doctoring, but if you have any reason why you don't want don luis to know you're here, then i'll do the best i can for you here. i have a chum who'll help me. you have been traveling for some time?" tom continued, his glance taking in the stranger's well-worn shoes and trousers. "that is true, yes," nodded the stranger. "you've been over a rough road, also," tom continued, "and now you're ill. your pulse is a hundred and twenty, and you're breathing thirty-two times to the minute. you must have a good bed, be covered comfortably and have plenty of water to drink while we're getting some medicines for you." "you are indeed kind, but i fear," protested the stranger, "that you will attract attention my way, and then i shall be captured." tom studied the face of the sick man keenly. "i wish you would tell me something about yourself," the young engineer hinted. "it might help me to decide what it is best to do for you." "senor," begged the stranger, with a start of dread "it would be a great kindness to me if you would go away and leave me here. do not come back--and forget that you have seen me." "it can't be done," replied tom, with gentle positiveness. "it wouldn't be in american nature to go away and leave a fellow creature to die of helplessness when a little care and nursing ought to put that man on his feet again. but i won't argue with you, for i see the excitement is bringing a deeper flush into your face. senor, as you are a gentleman trust another gentleman to serve you loyally and not betray you. i am going to leave you for a little while. will you give me your word to remain here until i return?" "yes," nodded the other, weakly. "i'll wrap this around you," reade continued, taking off his own blouse and wrapping it around the thin body of the older man. "this will help you a little if you are taken with chills. i shall be back as soon as i can possibly come without attracting attention. do not be startled if you hear other footsteps than my own. i shall bring with me a friend. i would trust in his hands anything or all that i have in the world. will you trust me to serve you, senor?" "i shall trust you," promised the other, simply. "in truth, my young friend, i have many reasons why i could wish to recover of this illness and be well again." tom slipped away, then rose to his full height, and resumed his late appearance of lounging along without an object. as he neared the camp he espied nicolas, whom he had forgotten. "our little fellow came back, you see," called harry, as tom neared the tents. "what have you been doing?" "loafing," yawned reade, as he strolled up. when he reached the cook tent, however, he stepped inside and the mexican servant followed him. "senor," nicolas reported, in a whisper, "i think i succeeded in my errand." "but you do not yet know?" queried tom. "how can i know so soon, senor?" questioned nicolas. "true," nodded tom. then he stepped outside the tent, remarking: "our food supply is so low, nicolas, that i fear you will have to take the basket and go after more." "it shall be done, senor," promised the servant, and going into the tent appeared a moment later with a basket. tom handed him some money. "i am listening to your orders, senor." "oh, you know as well what food to get as i do," tom rejoined. "but," he added, under his voice, "you _must_ get me some--" here tom added the spanish names of three or four drugs that he wanted. "i think i shall be able to get the drugs, senor. some of the _peons_ must keep them in their houses." "you must get them, as i said. now, make good time. i will await your return." then tom drew harry aside, describing the finding of the fever-stricken stranger. "who on earth can he be?" wondered harry, curiously. "and what can he be doing in this out of the way part of the world?" "that's his own secret," retorted tom, dryly; and the man is bent on keeping it. there are only two things that we need to know--one that he is ill, and the other that he is very plainly a gentleman, who would be incapable of repaying our kindness with any treachery. what do you say, harry? shall we bring him here and look after him?" "that's for you to say, tom." "it's half for you to say, harry. half the risk is also yours, if anything goes wrong." "tom, i feel the same way that you do about it," harry declared, his eyes shining brightly. "a fellow creature in distress is one whom we can't pass by. we can't leave him to die. such a thing would haunt me as long as i live. when do you want to go after him?" "just as soon as it's dark," reade replied. "that will be within the hour, for here in the tropics night comes soon after the sun sets." when the time came tom and harry left their tent, strolling slowly. it was very dark and the young engineers listened intently as they went along. they found their stranger and lifted him from the ground. he was so slight and frail that he proved no burden whatever. apparently without having been seen by any one reade and hazelton bore their man back to camp. "into the cook tent," whispered reade. "don luis, if he should visit us, is less likely to look there than anywhere else." into the cook tent they bore the stranger, arranging a bed on the floor, and covering the sick man with such blankets as his condition appeared to call for. "i am back, _caballeros_," announced nicolas, treading softly into the tent. "to the praise of heaven, be it said, i secured the medicines you told me to get." then nicolas stopped short, gazing wonderingly at the fever-flushed face of the stranger. chapter xviii craft--or surrender? "he's a puzzle," remarked harry, four days later. "meaning our sick man?" "of course. but he isn't going to be a sick man much longer, thanks to you, tom. you were born to be a physician." "don't you believe it," smiled reade. "the only previous experience i've had was when i simply had to pull you through out on indian smoke range last winter. harry, i was afraid you were a goner, and i couldn't let you go. but then, just when you were at your worst i had the best of outside help in pulling you through." "you mean you got help after you had pulled me out of all danger," hazelton retorted. "and now you've pulled our stranger through. or the next thing to it. his fever is gone, and he's mending." "nothing much ailed him, i reckon, but intense anxiety and too little food. our man is resting, now, and getting strong." "but he's a mystery to me," harry continued. "how so?" "i can't make anything out of him." "that's right." "do you figure out anything concerning him?" hazelton inquired. "i don't want to. it isn't any of my business. our unknown guest is very plainly a gentleman, and that's enough to know about him. if he hasn't told us anything more then it's because he thinks his affairs are of more importance to himself than to us." "oh, of course, i didn't mean that i wanted to pry into his affairs," harry protested. "no; and we won't do it, either, harry. if our guest should happen to be missing some morning, without even a note of thanks left behind, we'll understand what it cost him to slip away without saying farewell." the day before don luis had made one of his occasional visits, but he had not gone into the cook tent. even had he done so the mine owner would probably have seen nothing to make him curious. at the further end of the cook tent lay the stranger, and his bed had been curtained off by a dark-colored print curtain that looked as though it might have been placed there to partition off part of the tent. don luis had called merely to chat with the young engineers, and to use his keen eyes in determining whether his enforced guests were any nearer to the point of yielding to his demands upon them. concerning the sick man, nicolas had remained wholly silent. he did not offer to go near the sick man, but brought whatever tom or harry had called for. to have the sick man on their hands had been a rather welcome break for the young engineers, since it had given them something with which to occupy themselves. just before dark on the fifth day, tom strolled into the cook tent, going to the rear and parting the curtain. "how do you feel, now?" reade asked in a whisper. "much stronger, senor," came the grateful answer. "last night, when your servant slept, i rose and walked about the tent a little to find the use of my legs again. to-day, when alone, i did the same thing. by morning i shall be fit to walk once more. senor, do not think me ungrateful if you come into this tent, some morning, soon, and find my end of it deserted. i shall go, but i shall never forget you." "you will please yourself, sir," tom answered, simply. "yet i beg you not to attempt to leave until you are able to take care of yourself. we shall not think you ungrateful if it be a long time before we hear from you again. another thing, sir. when you go do not fail to take with you, in your pockets, food enough to last you for some days." "i--i cannot pay for it," hesitated the stranger. "nor, for the present, can i offer to pay you back the money you have expended on my medicines." "now, who said anything about that?" tom asked, nearly as gruffly as it was possible for him to speak to a sick man. "pay for nothing here, sir, and do not worry about it, either. you do not know how much pleasure your coming has given us. we needed something to do needed it with an aching want that would not be stilled. looking after you, sir, has been a very welcome treat to us." "you have been kinder to me, senores, than any one has been to me in many years," murmured the stranger, tears starting to his eyes. "there, there! forget it," urged tom. "good evening, don luis!" sounded harry's voice outside. "ah, dr. tisco." "that's our warning to stop talking," whispered tom in the stranger's ear, then rose and slipped outside the curtain. "where is senor reade?" inquired don luis. "any one calling me?" inquired tom, looking out of the cook tent. "ah, good evening, gentlemen." tom stepped outside, offering his hand. as this was the first time of late that he had made any such overture to the mine owner, montez was quick to grasp the hope that it conveyed. "you are not comfortable here, senor reade," said don luis, looking about. "i regret it the more when i remember how much room i have under my poor roof. why don't you move up there, at once. there are several apartments any one of which you may have." "on the contrary we are very comfortable here," tom rejoined, seating himself on the ground. "we have lived the open-air life so much that we are really happier in a tent than we could be in any house." "i cannot understand why you can feel so about it," murmured the mexican stepping to the entrance of the larger tent and glancing inside. "i will admit, senor reade, that you keep a very tidy house under canvas, and your wants may be extremely simple. but a house offers comforts that cannot possibly be found in a tent like this. and the other is still smaller and more cheerless," he added, crossing into the other tent. don luis was now within arm's length of the thin curtain, and was apparently about to push it aside. "won't you come outside," suggested tom, "and tell me the object of your call this evening? it is too warm in here." "gladly," smiled the mexican, letting go of the curtain, which he had just touched, and wheeling about. "hang the rascal!" muttered tom, inwardly. "has he gotten wind of the fact that we have a stranger here? does don luis know all about the man? is he playing on my nerves at this moment?" but montez, with an appearance of being wholly interested in tom reade, went outside with him. harry placed campstools for the callers, while the young engineers threw themselves upon the ground. don luis montez, as usual, was to do the talking, while dr. tisco's purpose in being present was to use his keen, snapping eyes in covertly studying the faces of the two americans. "i have called to say," declared don luis, coming promptly to the point, "that within three days a party of american visitors will be here. they come with a view to buying the mine, and i shall sell it to them at a very handsome profit. before we can deal with these americans it will be absolutely necessary for me to have that report, signed by you both. moreover, you must both give me your word of honor that you will meet the americans, and stand back of that report. that you will do all in your power to make possible the sale of the mine." "we've discussed all of that before," said harry, dryly. "and we shall yet require a little more time before we can give a too definite answer," tom broke in hastily, to head off his chum. "but the time is short, _caballeros_," don luis urged, a new light, however, gleaming in his eyes, for this was the first time that the young engineers had shown any likelihood of granting his wishes. "a great deal can be decided upon in three days, don luis," tom went on, slowly. "you will have to give us a little more time, and we will weigh everything carefully." "but you believe that you will be ready to meet my views?" don luis demanded, eagerly. "i cannot see how our endorsement of your mine can be of any very great value to you," tom resumed. "it is hardly likely that any of these capitalists who are coming have ever heard of us. in any case, they are quite likely to feel that we are much too young to be able to form professional opinions of any value." "you give me your help in the matter," coaxed montez, "and i will attend to the rest. more, _caballeros_; stand by me so well that i dispose of the mine, and i will promise you twenty thousand dollars, gold, apiece." "that is a lot of money," reade nodded, thoughtfully. "but there are other considerations, too." "yes; your liberty and your safety," montez broke in, quickly, with a meaning smile. "_caballeros_, do not for one moment think that i can be hoodwinked, and that you will be safe as soon as you meet your fellow americans. one single flaw in your conduct, after they arrive, and i assure you that you will be promptly arrested. that would be the end of you. it is always easy for government officers to report that prisoners attempted to escape, and were shot dead because of the attempt. that is exactly what will happen if you do aught to hinder the sale of this mining property." "nothing like a clear understanding," smiled tom, rising, and once more holding out his hand. "don luis, it will be enough if we give you our answer by the morning of day after to-morrow? and i will add that i think we shall see our way clear to help along the sale of this mining property at a high figure. let me see; at what value do you hold it?" "at two million and a half dollars, senor reade." "i think we can assure your visitors that they are doing well enough," tom nodded. "one word more, _caballeros_," said montez, as he let go of the young chief engineer's hand. "if you fail us, do not either of you imagine, for a moment, that you have any further lease of life." "i don't believe we shall fail you," tom assured the mexican. "i believe that the visiting americans will buy. if they don't it won't be our fault." "and now that we are at such an excellent understanding once more, senor reade," proposed the mine owner, "can't we prevail upon you to come up to the house and spend a pleasant evening." "thank you," tom returned, graciously. "but not to-night. i am restless. i must do considerable thinking, and i don't want to talk much. action is what i crave. if you see us running all over your property, don't imagine that we are trying to run away from here." "my property is at your disposal," smiled don luis. "i shall feel assured that you will not go many miles from here." the remark covered the fact that montez had all avenues of escape so well guarded that the young engineers simply could not escape by flight. good nights were exchanged, and the visitors, smiling politely, departed. "now, why on earth did you talk to don luis in that fashion?" harry demanded, as soon as they were alone. "you know, well enough, that not even the certainty of immediate death would make you accede to his rascally wishes." "i'm afraid i don't know anything of the sort," tom drawled. "on the contrary, we may help montez sell out to the american visitors." harry gasped. "tom reade, are you going crazy?" "not that i've noticed." "then what are you talking about?" "harry, i'm tired, and i think you are." "i'm sick and tired with disgust that don luis should think he could use us to bait his money-traps with," hazelton retorted. "let's turn in and get a good night's rest." "oh, bother!" retorted the junior engineer. "i couldn't sleep. tom, i shan't sleep a wink to-night, for dreading that you'll turn rascal-helper. tell me that you've been joking with me, tom!" "but i can't truthfully tell you that," reade insisted. "i am not joking, and haven't been joking to-night." "then i wish you'd open up and tell me a few things." "wait," begged tom. "wait until i'm sure that the few things will bear telling." with that much harry hazelton found that he would have to be content. he allowed himself to be persuaded to turn in. tom reade was asleep in a few minutes. it was after two in the morning ere harry, after racking his brains in vain, fell asleep. the next morning it was found that the stranger in the back of the cook tent had made good his prophecy by vanishing. chapter xix the hidalgo plans gratitude soon after an early breakfast tom and harry were afield. from behind a window in the upper part of his big house, don luis, equipped with a powerful field glass, watched them keenly whenever they were in sight. "what on earth are the gringos doing?" he wondered, repeatedly. "are they just walking about, aimlessly? at times it looks like it. at other times it doesn't." then montez sent for tisco and discussed with him the seeming mystery of the actions of the young engineers. "don't ask me, don luis," begged the secretary. "i am not clever at guessing riddles. more, i have not pretended to understand this gringo pair." "are they, in the end, going to trick me, carlos?" "who can say?" demanded dr. tisco, with a shrug of his shoulders. "of course, they both know that it will be but a short cut to suicide if they attempt to fool you." "their deaths will cause me no anxiety, carlos, either before or after the sale," murmured montez. "in fact, my good carlos--" "say it," leered dr. tisco, as his employer paused. "i may as well say it, for you have guessed it, carlos. yes, i will say it. even if this gringo pair appear honestly to aid me in making the sale--and even if i do make the sale and receive the money--this gringo pair must die. we know how to arrange that, eh, my staunch carlos?" dr. tisco shrugged his shoulders. "of course, we can put them out of the way, at any time, with secrecy and dispatch, don luis. but what will be the use--provided they help you to get the american money into your hands? to be sure, the new buyers will soon find that they have a worthless mine on their hands, but that may happen with the finest mine. the new buyers will never be able to prove that you brought all of your pretty-looking ore from another mine. you can depend upon the secrecy of the people from whom you have been buying the baiting ore for _el sombrero_." "ah, but there is another side to that, carlos. if senores reade and hazelton serve us, and then go safely back to the united states, they can swear that they found and knew _el sombrero_ to be worthless. then their evidence, flanked by the sudden running-out of _el sombrero_, will make a case that the new american buyers could take into court." "let them take it into court," proposed the secretary, contemptuously. "the governor of bonista rules the judges of the courts of the state of bonista with an iron hand. rest assured that, if the americans were to take their claims into the courts of this state, the judges would decide for you, and that would be the end of the matter. and do you believe, don luis, that, after senores reade and hazelton once get alive out of bonista, any consideration would tempt them to come back here to testify? they have sampled your power," "yet why do you object, carlos, to having the gringo pair put out of the way?" "i do not care anything about their lives," tisco declared, coolly. "it is only on general business principles that it seems to me unwise to have human lives taken when it is not necessary. he who resorts too often to the taking of life is sure to meet his own doom." "not in bonista," jeered montez, "and not where don luis is concerned in business matters." "as you will, then," sighed the secretary. "you will please your own self, anyway, don luis." "truly, carlos. and so i have decided that these gringo engineers shall perish, anyway, as soon as they have served my purpose." this talk had taken place in a cupola. down the stair, with stealthy steps, crept a young, horrified, trembling girl. francesca, knowing that her father had gone to the cupola, had followed him to talk with him. she had halted on hearing voices. now, with despair in her eyes, the terrified girl stole away like one haunted and hunted by evil spirits. "my father--an intending murderer! he, of a proud hidalgo family, a vile assassin, in thought at least?" moaned the girl, wringing her hands as soon as she had stolen to the privacy of her own rooms. "my father's hands--to be covered with human blood!" sobbed francesca, sinking down before a crucifix to pray. for hours the girl remained in terror-stricken solitude. then she rose, somewhat comforted at last, and with the aid of cold water removed the traces of her tears from her dark, beautiful face. her plan was to seek her father, throw herself at his feet, and beg him not to disgrace the blood of the hidalgos nor to destroy his own soul with a hideous crime. "i must seek him in private. there must be no others near when i make my appeal!" thought the girl. just then a servant entered. "your father is in the garden, senorita francesca," reported the woman, "and wonders why you do not join him. it is his wish that you join him now." "say to my father that his wish is my law," quavered the terrified girl. five minutes later francesca went timidly up to her father in the gardens before the house. don luis turned to her. he was thinking, at the moment, of his dark plans regarding the young engineers. in his eyes, despite his effort to smile on his daughter, was a deadly glitter that dried up hope in the heart of the daughter. "you have been secluding yourself more than usual to-day, _chiquita_," chided montez. that word _chiquita_, meaning "pet," caused the girl to recoil inwardly. could it be that this hard, cruel man had the right to address her in endearing terms? "i am not well to-day, my father," she answered, in a low voice. "then take my arm, _chiquita_, and walk with me," urged montez. "my father," she cried, shrinking back, "if you will indulge me, i will walk alone. perhaps, in that way, i shall gain more strength from the exercise." "as you will," smiled don luis, coldly. "for myself, i have much to think of. i have american guests coming soon. i expect that they will buy _el sombrero_ for money enough to make you one of the richest heiresses in all mexico, _chiquita_." "for me? and i do not know how to care for money!" answered the girl, unsteadily. then she turned away, swiftly, unable to stand longer looking into don luis's eyes. through the day tom and harry had tramped about almost feverishly, stopping at intervals as though for rest. now, in the late afternoon, they were on their way back to camp by a route that took them not far from don luis's grounds. as they came within sight of the place, tom espied montez and dr. tisco walking slowly at one end of the garden, seemingly engaged in earnest conversation. at the farther end of the garden from them, francesca walked by herself, seeming outwardly composed. "it seems strange, doesn't it," asked harry, "that such a fine girl can possibly be don luis's daughter?" "she inherits her mother's purity and goodness, doubtless," tom replied. "ouch!" grunted hazelton, stumbling over a stone with which his foot had collided. at harry's exclamation tom glanced up, then his eyes met a strange sight. lying in a cleft in the rocks, with his head behind a bush, and well concealed, lay the stranger whom the young engineers had nursed through an illness. that stranger was intently gazing at the garden of don luis. so absorbed was he that he had either not heard or did not heed the passing of the two americans. for a brief instant tom reade halted, regarding the face of the absorbed stranger. "i didn't have an idea about you, mr. stranger," muttered tom to himself, as he plodded forward once more. "but now--now, i'll wager that i've guessed who and what you are. mr. stranger, i believe that this one glance at your face has told me your story and your purpose in being in these mountains of bonista!" chapter xx two real signatures though they were in mexico the young engineers found it chilly that evening, after sundown. "nicolas, can you spare wood enough to start a little campfire?" tom asked, as he put on his blouse after supper. "yes," replied the little mexican. "for what is the use of being strong if i could not tramp after more wood to-morrow?" "we'll pay you well for all your trouble for us, _mi muchacho_" (my boy) tom promised. "i am rewarded enough in being allowed to serve you, _caballeros_," nicolas answered. "and the queer part of it is that he means what he says," muttered tom, gazing after the departing little _peon_. very shortly a cheerful fire was crackling away. tom and harry brought their campstools and sat down before it. "i'll be thankful when we get back to the states," mused tom. "i hope it'll be soon, too," answered harry, with a wistful glance toward the north, where, several hundred miles away, lay their country. nor did either one expect to be many days more away from home. the young engineers had arrived at a somewhat surprising conclusion. they had agreed to sign a suitable report and to stand back of don luis in all the claims he might make concerning _el sombrero_ mine. much different would their feelings have been had they known all that frightened little francesca had overheard that they were to be secretly slain, as soon as their usefulness in the swindle was past. rather late into the night the young engineers sat up, talking in such low tones that even nicolas, squatted on the ground beside a smaller fire, could not hear what they were saying. he would not have understood, anyway, as the young engineers were talking in english. it was very late when the young engineers turned in that night. it was eight in the morning when nicolas aroused them. "is the stranger back in your tent, nicolas?" tom inquired, as soon as his eyes were open. "no, senor." "well, i'm not astonished. i didn't really expect him to return." tom and harry were quickly astir, and ready for breakfast. nicolas served them carefully, as always. "we're not through much too early, anyway," tom murmured. "here come don luis and his artful shadow." the touring car stopped, at a little distance from camp. after the two passengers had alighted the chauffeur drove on two hundred yards further ere he drew up to wait for them. "good morning," hailed don luis, cordially. "i see you are waiting for us." "we have been ready for you since we first rose," tom answered. "is your answer ready?" don luis demanded, eyeing them searchingly. "don luis," tom replied, instantly, "the report that you wanted us to sign for you would hardly answer the purpose with shrewd american investors. that report goes back too far; it covers too many points that you might be supposed to know were true, but which engineers who had been here but a few weeks could hardly be expected to know at first hand. do you see the point that i am raising?" don luis deliberated for a few moments. "i think i do see the point, senor reade. you mean that the report will not do." "so," tom continued, "hazelton and i don't feel that we ought to sign that report. however, we will get up and sign for you a report that will answer in every way, and this new report will be satisfactory. if you will let your driver take nicolas up to the house, nicolas can bring the typewriting machine from your office, and some stationery with it. we can set the machine up on the camp table, and within the next two hours we can agree upon a satisfactory report, which i will write out on the machine." "and you will sign the new report--when?" "just as soon as we have it written out in form that will suit you." "you will want the big ledger for facts?" asked montez. "no," smiled tom; "because the ledger doesn't contain facts anyway. we can invent just as good statements without any reference to the ledger." don luis laughed softly. then he turned to his secretary. "my good carlos, see that nicolas knows what he is going after. then let him go in the car." nicolas sped away in the automobile. presently he was back, with the typewriting machine and an abundance of stationery. tom quickly fitted a sheet of heavy bond paper to the carriage of the typewriter. "now, let us agree," asked tom, "on what the report is to contain." slowly at first, then more rapidly, the matter was planned. tom winced a bit, as he made up some tables of alleged output of the mine supposed to have come under his own observation and harry's. but he wrote it all down with lead pencil and afterwards copied it on the machine. at the end of three hours the report was finished. tom read it all over slowly to don luis. as tom laid down each page dr. tisco picked it up to scan it. at last the infamously lying document had been read through and approved. "let us have the end of it over with quickly," begged tom, producing and shaking his fountain pen. he affixed his signature. hazelton did the same. "so far, good," declared don luis, passing the complete, signed document to dr. tisco. "now, senores, let us have the whole matter understood. the report is excellent; it could not be better for the purpose. the american visitors will be delighted with it. but you are not to play me any tricks of any kind!" "don luis," promised tom, earnestly, "we shall stand by that report first, last and through to the finish. we shall not--by word, gesture, wink, or by any trick or device--give your coming american visitors the least warning that the report is not fully as honest as it appears to be." we shall back you firmly and as strongly as we know how, and help you in any way in our power to put the deal through. can we promise you more?" "no," said the mine owner. "and, on my part, i promise you that, if i sell the mine, as i now surely shall do, you shall have twenty thousand dollars, gold, apiece, and your lives also. here is my hand on the pledge of an hidalgo." don luis shook hands with both american engineers. even as he did so a wolfish gleam crept into his eyes. montez, in his mind's eye, already saw the two gringos stretched on the ground in death in a remoter part of the mountains. that was to be his real reward to the young dupes of his villainy. "when do you expect your purchasers?" tom reade inquired. "two days after to-morrow, senor reade. but, in the meantime, now that we are friends and really partners--will you not come over and share the comforts of my poor home while we wait?" "you will pardon us for not accepting, don lids," tom urged. "we have met your wishes, and shall continue to meet them, but we feel that we would rather remain where we are--at least, until your visitors arrive." "so be it, then," muttered don luis. yet he appeared slightly offended by their decision. since the young engineers had now proved themselves to be as great rascals as he himself, don luis montez could not understand why they should refuse to associate with him. "you wish me to leave you alone, now?" asked the mine owner, smiling rather coldly. "only when you wish to leave us, don luis," tom protested, so artlessly that the mexican felt less offended. "sit down and chat with us until you tire of our company," urged harry hazelton. so montez and tisco dropped into the campstools again. they tried to chat on various topics, but conversation proved a failure. "we will go, now," said don luis, rising twenty minutes later. "but, senores, we shall hope to see you daily until our investors arrive and then all the time." "you will find us always at your command, don luis," tom remarked, cordially. "ah, my good carlos," murmured don luis, as the mexican pair sped homeward in the car, "for once you made a bad guess. you insisted that the gringos would hold out and would not serve me. you have seen my patience and my firmness win over their foolish, stubborn objections." "but they still hope to trick you, my patron," suggested dr. tisco. "doubtless, now, their intention is to serve you until they can escape; then they plan to get back to the united states and furnish the testimony on which the american investors can sue you in the courts for the return of the purchase money on a charge of fraud." "there, again, the gringos can meet only defeat," chuckled don luis, his lips to his secretary's ears. "as soon as the sale is made i shall see to it that our pair of young american engineers are promptly done to death!" chapter xxi the final touch of tragedy on the day announced, at about eleven in the morning, two automobiles reached don luis's home. besides the mine owner the cars contained nine other travelers, all americans. these were the investors who were expected to buy _el sombrero_ at a price of two and a half million dollars. over at the camp tom and harry saw the party arrive. they could see the travelers being served with refreshments on the veranda. "there's the crowd, harry. and here's a car, coming this way, undoubtedly for us. now, we've got to go over there for our first practice as bunco men." harry hazelton made an unpleasant grimace. "i feel like a scoundrel of the worst sort, but it can't be helped," he muttered. the car was soon at hand. tom and harry were dressed and ready. though their clothing suggested the field engineer, they were none the less dressed with a good deal of care. they entered the tonneau of the automobile and started on their way to help put the mine swindle through. "here are my engineers, gentlemen," smiled don luis, "and at least three of your number, i believe, are well acquainted with messrs. reade and hazelton." tom ascended the steps, feeling rather weak in the knees. then the young engineers received one of the severest jolts of their lives. three of the gentlemen in that group, both young men knew well. they were president haynes, general manager ellsworth and director hippen of the a.g.& n.m. railroad. these gentlemen tom and harry had served in railroad work in arizona, as told in "_the young engineers in arizona_." now, in a flash, it was plain to both young americans why don luis had wanted them, especially, to report favorably concerning _el sombrero_ mine. president haynes and his associates in the a.g.& n.m. r.r. had every reason in the world to trust the young engineers, who had served them so faithfully on another occasion. these gentlemen would believe in anything that reade and hazelton backed with their judgment. "you?" cried tom, with a start, as president haynes held out his hand. then, by a mighty effort, reade recovered himself and laughed easily. "this is a pleasant surprise, mr. haynes! and you, mr. ellsworth, and you, mr. hippen." "and we're equally surprised to find you here, reade, and you, hazelton," rejoined president haynes. "but we feel more at home, already. you know, reade, we're quite accustomed to looking upon anything as an assured success when you're connected with it." "and, in its way, this mine is the biggest success we've backed yet," tom declared readily. don luis montez, though he was keenly watchful, was delighted so far. "what do you really think of this mine, reade?" broke in mr. ellsworth. "is it all that a careful investor would want?" "if you're getting what i think you are," tom answered, "you're getting a lot more, even, than you might be led to expect. _el sombrero_, if it includes the limits that i suppose the tract does, will be worth a great deal more than you are paying for it." "the limits?" asked mr. ellsworth, keenly. "don't you really know, reade, what the limits of the property are?" "why, that is a matter to which i haven't given much attention, so far," answered tom, with disarming candor. "but, if we can have a map of this part of the country, i'll quickly mark off the limits on which i think you should insist." don luis caught at this readily. "my good carlos," don luis directed, turning to his secretary, "place in senor reade's hands a map of this part of the country." "a map of your possessions only, don luis?" asked dr. tisco. "a map of my possessions, of course," agreed don luis. the map was brought, a large one, and spread on the table. "now, perhaps," suggested tom, "the tract i am about to mark off on this map is a larger one than don luis had intended to include in the sale, but let us see what don luis will have to say." with harry's help reade marked off on the map a tract containing about forty-four hundred acres. this was fully twice as large as the tract don luis had planned to deed with _el sombrero_. however, as don luis reckoned all this wild mountain land to be worth not more than twenty-five cents an acre, he did not care about tom's liberality in the matter of real estate. "we will have these limits ruled in with red ink," montez proposed, "and the deed shall cover the limits so indicated. yes; i will sell that whole tract of rich mineral land to you, gentlemen, for two million and a half of dollars." "then," declared tom reade, "you will find that you will not regret your purchase, gentlemen." "you are confident of that, reade?" asked president haynes, anxiously. "i am more than confident," tom declared, promptly. "i am as certain of what i state as ever an engineer can be of anything." "if we were alone," thought don luis montez, exultantly, "i would take off my hat to this young gringo, reade. he is a far more accomplished liar than i can ever hope to be. and these americanos are becoming convinced all ready." "do you agree with your associate, hazelton?" inquired mr. ellsworth. "absolutely," harry proposed. "i have been watching tom reade to see if he was making the statement emphatic enough to suit my ideas. gentlemen, the property we have staked off on this map is a good investment one that will soon make the american financial markets ring." "i'm satisfied, on reade and hazelton's report," declared mr. haynes. "i know these young men, and i'd trust my life or my fortune to their honesty or their judgment alike." "i'm satisfied, too," nodded ellsworth. "i can say the same," nodded mr. hippen. "then we hardly need to look or inquire further," laughed another of the intending investors, pleasantly. from this will be seen how much frequently depends upon the reputation of an engineering firm for honor and judgment. in new york city, downtown, is an almost dingy suite of offices. it is the business headquarters of a firm of mining engineers known and trusted the world over. probably the entire equipment of these offices, including the laboratories and assay rooms, could be purchased for seven or eight thousand dollars. the real asset of this firm is its reputation for splendid judgment and unfailing honor. let this firm of engineers indorse a new mine sufficiently, and wall street will promptly raise twenty million dollars to finance the scheme. this firm of engineers, despite its rather dingy quarters, often earns a yearly income running into hundreds of thousands of dollars. these men of the a.g.& n.m. r.r. knew tom reade and harry hazelton as well and favorably as the mining world at large knows the new york firm which has been referred to above. "it all looks good to me," declared president haynes, speaking again. "and to me," nodded several others of the visitors. "in the mine, this afternoon," tom proposed, "we can show you much more that you will like." now, as by magic, don luis's servants appeared with tables which they set and spread on the porch and luncheon was served. "now, we will go see _el sombrero_ itself," don luis proposed. "i shall not have much to say to-day. i understand that you are willing to have senor tomaso reade do the explaining." "more than willing--anxious," replied general manager ellsworth. that night tom and harry returned to their tent. as they went at a late hour their absence from the house was barely noted. all through the afternoon the visitors had been busy inspecting ore supposed to have been blasted in the tunnels of _el sombrero_ mine. as the reader will understand, every bit of this ore had been brought from a profitable mine further up in the mountains. "how does it seem to be a rascal, tom?" inquired harry, as he blew out the candle in their tent. "great!" muttered tom reade. the day following was given somewhat to sight-seeing in and around the mine, but still more to a discussion of the intended purchase. as don luis would not hear to reducing his price, the visitors were finally satisfied to pay the money demanded. "when will you be ready to turn the money over, gentlemen?" inquired montez. "as soon as we can reach a town where there is both a bank and a telegraph office," replied mr. haynes. "the whole amount of money is on deposit in new york city, subject to sight draft. if you are well enough known at the bank, don luis, to introduce us, the draft may be drawn at that bank, and accepted from new york on telegraphic inquiry." "the speed of you american business men is marvelous!" cried don luis montez, delightedly. the next morning don luis, mr. haynes and a new york capitalist in the party departed in an automobile, going back to the railway town. two days later they returned. the entire deal had been put through. the mine had become the property of this group of american capitalists. don luis's home was included in the sale. the money had been paid over on telegraphic advice from new york. don luis, in turn, had transferred his huge credit to mexico city by wire, and this fortune now awaited his orders at the capital of the republic. soon after don luis had returned he called the young engineers aside. "_caballeros_," he murmured, "i am delighted with the loyal service you have rendered me. before to-day is over i shall hand you drafts on my bank at the capital for twenty thousand dollars each, gold. then the transaction will be closed. again i thank you. be good enough to remain about, for i shall soon want you." over the hills a white-clad figure rode on horseback. as he came nearer, still at a gallop, the man was seen to be a soldier. "i wonder if there is any treachery in this?" muttered harry, in tom's ear. "does don luis intend to have us arrested, after all, and sent to prison to be held _incommunicado_, and so make sure of keeping us out of the way?" "i don't believe so," tom replied. "it wouldn't be a wise move on his part. he'd be afraid that we'd denounce him even as we were being led away." "then why the soldier?" "let's wait and see." no one else appeared to have paid any heed to the horseman. a few minutes later the soldier rode up the driveway. "senor--haynes?" called the soldier, holding up an envelope. tom passed the word. messrs, haynes and ellsworth were absent, it seemed, on a walk. "if it's a telegram," said mr. hippen, "i'm a director in the same road. it may be on railroad business. i'll take the telegram." it was turned over to him. mr. hippen broke the seal of the envelope, took out the enclosure and read it. then he read it aloud, as follows: "train thirteen wrecked this forenoon." it was signed by president haynes's secretary. "humph!" said mr. hippen. "i don't see the need of wasting the railroad's money to send that despatch here." he folded it and placed it in his pocket, against mr. haynes's return. "i shall want to talk with you two for a few minutes," don luis presently whispered to tom. "i shall have my car here soon. when you see it, both of you come forward and be ready to take a short ride with me." in the background stood dr. tisco, looking on with cynical eyes. "of course, the poor american fools haven't any idea that they will set out on the ride, but will never return," murmured don luis's secretary, to himself. "pedro gato, turned loose on the same day he was arrested, has waited a long time for his revenge. he and the dozen bandits he has gathered around him will shoot the american engineers full of holes out on the road, and don luis, when he returns, deluged in his own tears, will tell the awful story of the encounter with the bandits. what a clever scoundrel don luis is!" fifteen minutes later the automobile stood before the steps to the big porch. "you two, my friends," called don luis, resting a hand on tom's shoulder and beckoning to harry. "you will take one last ride with me, will you not? and, while we are gone, i shall discuss a few more of my plans with you." wholly unsuspicious of this final tragic touch to the drama, tom reade and harry hazelton went down the steps, following don luis montez into the car. chapter xxii mr. haynes asks a few questions slowly the car started clown the drive. "oh, don luis!" called mr. hippen, running to the corner of the porch. "stop!" said montez to his chauffeur. "mr. haynes is signaling you," continued mr. hippen. "i think he wants to say something to you." don luis turned, and beheld the president and the general manager of the a.g.& n.m. railroad hastening toward the gate. "drive down to the gate and await the gentlemen there," was don luis's next order. mr. hippen, too, started down the roadway, seeing which dr. tisco reached his side and went with him. there was a general meeting of the different parties at the gate. "i signaled you, don luis, to inquire if ellsworth and myself might go on your drive with you?" explained mr. haynes. "gentlemen, i am truly sorry," began don luis montez, in his most honeyed tones, "but the truth is that i desire to have a private conference with senores reade and hazelton." "then we won't ask to accompany you, this time." said mr. haynes, laughing. "we would be glad to take you, but our business conversation would then be delayed," don luis explained. "however, if you wish--" "i don't want to spoil your talk," laughed mr. haynes. "but i have this to say to reade and hazelton. we gentlemen have been discussing the new management of the mine, and we are united in feeling that we want these young men to remain here and manage our new property for us. in fact, with such a valuable mining property on our hands we wouldn't feel in the least easy with any one else in charge." "here is a telegram that came for you, mr. haynes," said mr. hippen, quietly, handing over the sheet. "of course, reade and hazelton are not going to sign with any one else." "pardon me," said mr. haynes, and let his glance fall on the telegram. any one noting the railway president's face at that moment would have noted a quick, though suppressed, change there. "don luis," went on mr. haynes, quickly, "i fear that i really shall have to interrupt your drive for a little while. i have just received news that i shall want to discuss with you." "why, your news refers to nothing more than a wreck on your arizona railway system, doesn't it?" inquired don luis, who was eager to get away and attend, as speedily as possible, to the impending assassination of the young engineers. "you will oblige me by coming back to the house, won't you, don luis?" insisted mr. haynes, who seemed, somehow, a changed man within the last minute. "certainly," agreed the mexican courteously, and the chauffeur turned the car. as they walked along, mr. haynes managed to whisper a few words in mr. ellsworth's ear. "i have sent ellsworth to call all our associates together," explained mr. haynes, as he joined don luis and the young engineers on the porch. something in the changed atmosphere of the place made don luis montez feel decidedly uneasy. the americans responded quickly to mr. ellsworth's rounding up. each of them, as he came forward, looked unusually grave. mr. haynes waited until he saw all of his associates around him. then he began: "don luis, in my recent absence a telegram came for me. mr. hippen, though a director of our railway, is not familiar with the telegraph code that we use in our inner office. this telegram, sir"--unfolding it--"is from my private secretary, a most careful and trustworthy man of affairs. i feel certain, don luis, that he would not have sent this telegram unless he had had the strongest reasons. now, in our office code a wire relating to a wreck of train thirteen--there's no such train on our schedule--means always just one thing. the significance of this telegram is, 'don't on any account put through the impending deal.'" if don luis montez felt any inward start he controlled his facial expression wonderfully. "senor haynes," he replied, "i don't understand the meaning of your code message. you have no deal here to put through. you have made and closed the only deal here about which i have the honor to know anything." "but my secretary doesn't yet know the state of affairs here," continued mr. haynes, gravely, "and he doesn't know that we have yet bought the _el sombrero_ mine. therefore, his despatch can't refer to anything else. my private secretary is certainly warning me not to buy _el sombrero_ mine until we have further information." "but you have bought it," cried don luis, in a voice pitched rather higher than usual. "you have bought it and have the deed to all this property. the money has been paid, and is now mine, subject to my order." "don luis," continued the american railway president, "i ask you, before all my associates, to consider the matter still open until i can receive further particulars from my private secretary. if there is any good and sound reason why we should not have bought this mine--" "but you have bought it, paid for it, and the money is mine!" cried don luis montez. "there is no more to be said about it." "sir," went on mr. haynes, gravely, "there is but one question of fact that can affect the sale. suppose--i hate to say it, but suppose that the mine is not a rich one, not worth any such price as we paid for it, and that you sold it to us, knowing--" "the mine is a rich one--one of the richest in mexico," insisted montez, "and you have secured a very great bargain." "i trust and hope that all that is true," continued mr. haynes. "yet, if such should not be the case, and if we have bought a property under conditions that would make it certain swindle had been perpetrated--" "senor!" warned don lids, taking a step forward, a deadly light in his eyes. "be careful!" "i am only stating a supposition," resumed mr. haynes, coolly. "don luis, i believe i have stated enough of that supposition to make it all clear. if that supposition is true, then you would have to buy the mine back from us again." "would i?" sneered the mexican. "yes, don luis, or we could bring the matter about in another way. i know the name of the bank in mexico city to which you have transferred the funds received from us. our attorneys, acting through mexican lawyers, can tie that money up and keep it in the bank until the question has been decided as to whether--" "be careful, senor!" again warned don luis. "sir," demanded mr. haynes, bluntly, "is the mine a valuable one, or is it a swindle?" "you should not ask me," montez retorted, bitterly. "you have your own engineers on the ground--engineers whom you trust. ask them! they will tell you." "thank you," assented mr. haynes, bowing. then, turning to tom, the american railway president went on: "reade, tell me the truth about this matter in a word. have we been defrauded in any way?" "you have not, mr. haynes," tom answered steadily. "you have now in your possession a property that is worth far more than has been paid for it." "you agree with that statement, do you, hazelton?" asked mr. haynes. "i do, sir," harry nodded. dr. tisco, standing in the background, had all he could do to keep himself from dancing a few jig-steps. "decidedly, these young americans are champion liars!" he thought to himself. "they can readily outlie don luis or myself. now, if don luis still insists on having these gifted young engineers killed i am afraid i shall look upon him as being a man without honor." "you have heard your own engineers, senores," broke in don luis. "you trust them. now, are you not satisfied that i have dealt fairly with you?" "somehow, i ought to be satisfied," agreed mr. haynes. "and yet my private secretary is such a very careful and dependable man that i shall have to await further advices. of course, i place the fullest confidence in the honesty of our american engineers, reade and hazelton. tom, do you believe that you could possibly have been deceived as to the valued of this mining property?" "i do not believe it possible, sir," tom replied, as steadfastly as before. "in the face of anything that might be said, hazelton and i will continue to claim that you have bought a property here worth more than you have paid for it." "then i apologize, don luis, for what might have seemed to be slighting language," mr. haynes continued, bowing to the mexican. "you will understand, of course, what good reason i had to be anxious." "say no more, senor. you had most excellent reasons," smiled don luis, at ease once more. "i cannot blame you in the least for your passing doubts, but i am glad they have been set at rest by these capable and honest young engineers. and now, senores reade and hazelton, shall we resume our interrupted ride in the car?" chapter xxiii the engineer turns "you are about to have more visitors, i see," announced mr. hippen, from a corner of the porch. barely five hundred yards from the house, on one of the roughest roads coming down the mountains, were some forty or fifty horsemen. nor did it require more than a second glance to show that the newcomers were cavalry troops of the mexican army. at the head of the cavalcade rode three or four men who had an official appearance. "it is one of the periodical visits of the governor of the state of bonista," explained don luis. "ah, if the governor is with that party, senor haynes, you will soon have more reason to know that it would be impossible for me to defraud you. the governor himself will assure you that i am of an old spanish family and of the highest personal honor." "i shall be most glad to meet the governor," remarked mr. haynes, dryly. don luis montez stepped to where he could obtain a better view of the horsemen, who were moving their horses at a walk. he held his hands over his eyes to keep the light from interfering with his view. "i am afraid, after all, that his excellency, the governor of the state, is not one of the horsemen," said montez, regretfully. "not unless he is riding at the rear of the party. but we shall soon know." just inside the limits of the estate all of the cavalrymen except a half dozen halted. three officers, six troopers and a gentleman in citizen's dress rode on up to the porch. "is don luis montez of your number?" called the man in citizen's clothes. "i am don luis," responded montez, going forward and raising his hat. "i am manuel honda," continued the stranger, raising his hat in return. "will you be good enough to have one of your servants take my horse?" this was done at a gesture from montez. senor honda dismounted, then came up the steps. "you are very welcome, senor," said don luis, holding out his hand, which the other accepted. then the stranger swept his glance over the others grouped on the porch. "these are your american visitors?" inquired honda. "yes," nodded don luis. "we will withdraw if you two gentlemen have business to discuss," suggested mr. haynes. "i beg that all of you gentlemen will remain," urged senor honda. "i wish to show you every courtesy, senor," said montez, quickly, "but it seems to me that you are taking the liberty of giving orders in my home." "have you sold your mine?" asked honda. "yes," montez acknowledged. "and this estate was part of the mine property?" "yes." "then i would suggest, don luis," honda answered, with a smile, "that this place is no longer your home." "senor, are you making fun of me?" demanded don luis, with heightening color. "by no means, don luis. but you have observed that i have an escort of our country's troops." "assuredly." "from that what would you infer?" "you may very likely hold some government commission," guessed don luis. "assuredly i do," honda replied. "in the state of bonista especially?" "even so." "then if you hold a commission in the state of bonista," replied don luis monte; "you must represent my very good friend, his excellency, the governor of this state." "just at present the governor of bonista is in difficulties," hinted senor manuel honda. "how?" demanded don luis. "yes; in difficulties," continued the visitor. "at least, his excellency, the governor, is not able to leave his house." "ah! he is ill, then?" "ill in spirit, yes," smiled senor honda. "will you be good enough to explain?" montez asked, anxiously. "don luis, it was i, manuel honda, who confined his excellency to his official dwelling and placed a guard about the buildings." "oh? is there a revolution, then, in the state of bonista?" "none that i know of," honda rejoined. "don luis, i am from the national capital. i represent the government of the republic of mexico, and i have considerable power in this state. i am solely in command, at present, of all the national troops within this state. these army officers will assure you that i hold a national commission to investigate affairs even in this remote state of bonista. i could show you my credentials from the national government, if it were worth while." "then will you be good enough, senor honda, to tell me what you wish here." "don luis, i am here because i believe this to be one of the central points in the investigation that i am about to hold. i will come to the point at once. you have sold your mining property here. one of my first acts will be to make sure that you do not draw the proceeds of the sale from any mexican bank until after the national government is satisfied." "that is a high-handed proceeding, senor honda!" cried montez, a deadly glitter in his eyes. "it is such a proceeding as a national government may take at need," replied senor honda, calmly. "of course, don luis, if your conduct in selling the mine is found to be blameless, then you will soon be able to use your money in any way that you please. but, first of all, the government must be satisfied." "have you any further questions that you wish to ask me at present?" montez demanded, suddenly. though he had kept himself rather calm up to the present, the rascal felt that he must soon vent the spite and hate welling up within him, or explode from the pent-up force of his own emotions. the late mine owner, though he could not penetrate the mysteries of the present situation, was now sure that tom reade and harry hazelton must be in some way behind it. no matter what happened to him afterwards, don luis was now furiously bent on getting the young engineers off on the lonely mountain trail where gato and his comrades were lying in wait for the two young americans. "i shall have no more questions for you, for the present," senor honda replied. "just now i wish to have some conversation with these americans." "then come, senores," cried don luis, with forced gayety, as he thrust a hand under the arms of tom and harry. "come, we will have our ride and our talk. we will be back here in half an hour and then we shall hear this affair through. come!" tom reade threw off the fellow's arm, exclaiming, warningly: "if you touch me again, you snake in the grass, i'll reduce you to powder with a fist that's fairly aching to hit you!" the vehemence of tom's declaration made every one within hearing gasp with astonishment. "what does this mean, reade?" gasped president haynes, looking thunderstruck. "it means, sir," reported tom, wheeling about, "that this fellow, montez, threatened us with death if we did not sign a glaringly false report concerning _el sombrero_ mine. we were also to be killed if we did not stand by our report to the fullest degree after you and your friends arrived." "then _el sombrero_ mine is worthless?" cried mr. haynes, his face turning a ghastly white. "as far as i know, sir, or as far as hazelton knows," tom reade made prompt answer. "_el sombrero_ isn't worth the cost even of filling up the shaft." "and you, reade--and you, hazelton--the men we trusted implicitly--you stood by and saw us robbed!" chapter xxiv conclusion "i don't blame you for being angry," tom answered, quickly. "however, you may safely go a bit slow on the idea that we stood by to see you robbed, merely to save our lives. we had tried to escape from here. we even sent out two letters by secret messengers, these letters to be mailed at points distant from here. the letters would have told our friends in the united states what was up. but, in some way of his own, don luis managed to catch the messengers and get hold of the letters." "then," added harry hazelton, "we thought we were doomed if we didn't yield to don luis's commands. even at that, we were prepared to accept death sooner than sell ourselves out. death would have been the cheapest way out of the scrape. but at last we found a way of helping don luis in the way he wanted, and of getting square with the rascal at the same time. tell them what i mean, tom." "why, it was like this," said tom, seating himself on the railing of the porch, and facing the assemblage. "harry and i began to roam all over this property, as though to kill time. out in nevada, as it happens, we two and a friend of ours own a mine that seemed almost worthless. almost by accident we discovered that we were working the mine just a little off from the real vein. now, we didn't find that _el sombrero_ was being worked off the vein. what we did find was in that big strip of forest over to the east of _el sombrero_--" tom turned, for an instant, to point to the forest that he meant. "you will remember, mr. haynes, that we had don luis include that forest tract in the title of the _el sombrero_ purchase. that forest is really a jungle. one has the greatest time forcing his way through it. when you open it up on a big scale you'll have to send hundreds of men in there with machetes to chop paths through and clear off the tangled brush. we spent days in that jungle, at first because we had nothing better to do. mr. haynes, and gentlemen, if we know anything about mining, then that forest land is worth an immense fortune in the minerals it will yield. you paid two and a half millions of dollars for the entire property. that great forest stretch, in our opinion as engineers, is worth as much and perhaps more than that." "that's right!" leered don luis. "jest with them, senor reade, to your heart's content." "i'm telling these countrymen of mine the truth, fellow," retorted tom reade, casting a look of withering scorn at don luis montez. "had you been square and decent with us, we would have told you of the mineral wealth in yonder forest. as it is, we've punished your conduct by beating you at your own game." "if i believed you, senor reade--" began don luis, bending his head low as he thrust it forward and gazed piercingly at tom's face. "i don't care anything about your believing me," retorted tom. "but harry and i will prove to these real men every word that we've been saying." "you have robbed me!" hissed don luis, now believing. his hand flew to a rear pocket. he drew a pistol. but two soldiers had crept up behind montez at a sign from senor honda. now, one of the barefooted soldados struck the weapon down. it clattered on the porch, and the other soldier picked it up. there was a struggle between don luis and the soldiers. two other soldiers came to their aid, and--click! snap! montez was securely handcuffed. "take them off!" screamed montez, paling like one about to die. "senor honda, this is an outrage, and you shall--" "peace, fellow! hold your tongue!" ordered honda. "do you not understand? you are a prisoner, nor are you ever likely to be much better off than that. a complaint of the treatment of these americans, reade and hazelton, was forwarded to our government by the american minister in mexico city. the complaint mentioned that the governor of bonista was a confederate of yours in more than one underhanded bit of business. on account of the urgings of the american minister to this country, i was despatched here to investigate, and with authority to arrest the governor of bonista, if necessary, and any other rogues." "that's a lie!" snarled don luis. "how could the american minister learn what was going on in this country? these mountains of bonista have never told my secrets." "they did, for this one time," tom broke in, gleefully. "and i can tell you how it happened. harry, do you remember the day that nicolas was gone so long that you were uneasy about him? well, i knew where nicolas was, for i had sent him off. he thought he had found a messenger who would have more success in getting our letters mailed than had fallen to the lot of the messengers with our first two letters. nicolas's messenger, from to-day's developments, must have got through. while i was sending one letter i thought it as well to send two. one letter was to our home offices, directing that the matter contained in my letter be taken on the jump to the government at washington. the other letter, mr. haynes, was directed to you, sir, for i did not then know that you were one of the americans expected here. i thought, mr. haynes, that your active hustling with the washington government might help in rushing matters. for some unknown reason, my letter to our offices must have gotten through before the letter did that was sent to arizona. your private secretary, mr. haynes, must have opened my letter addressed to you. he realized that he could not with safety to us send you more than the telegraphic code warning to keep out of the deal. i never told hazelton, until just now, in the presence of you all, that i had ordered nicolas to send off more letters by a messenger whom nicolas felt that he could trust. but you remember the day well enough, harry?" "i do," nodded hazelton. "i was fussing about the long absence of nicolas just before you turned up with that stranger whom we nursed." "and speaking of strangers," muttered reade, glancing off down the driveway, "there's the identical stranger, at this moment talking with the soldiers halted by the gate." almost as though he had heard himself called the stranger glanced up at the group on the porch, then came forward. he walked briskly, despite his lean, wasted frame. "how? so this fellow is in irons?" queried the stranger, halting as he saw the handcuffs on don luis's wrists. "justice is sometimes very tardy, though in this instance she has not failed. handcuffs become this felon; they are his natural jewelry!" "then you know don luis?" questioned tom, after an instant's silence. "i should know don luis well," boasted the stranger, drawing himself up proudly. "also i know this fellow!" "my father!" cried a startled feminine voice from the doorway. then francesca, her eyes filled with fright, hastened across the porch. she would have thrown her arms around the neck of the manacled man had not the stranger caught her by one arm and held her back. "how dare you, senor?" panted the girl, turning upon the stranger. "and who are you?" "do not touch this felon with your clean hands," warned the stranger, with a sternness that was tempered with gentleness. "who are you, senor?" the girl insisted. "can't you guess?" broke out tom reade, wonderingly. "senorita francesca, i helped take care of this man while he was ill in our cook tent. in his fever i heard some words fall from his lips that started me to wondering. but the other day i beheld this gentleman gazing upon you from a distance. in his eyes, as he looked at you, senorita, i saw a light that i had never seen in the eyes of this manacled brute. then my guess was turned to knowledge!" "then, senor reade," begged the girl, "who is this man who would hold me back from my--" "tell her, sir," tom urged the stranger. "child," said the latter, with wonderful gentleness and tenderness, "i am the real don luis montez--your father!" "then who is _he_?" cried francesca, pointing to the handcuffed mexican, who had sunk upon a chair looking more dead than alive. "his true name," said the stranger, "is paulo rabasco. he was born of good family, but was always dissolute and criminal. once he was my friend, i am ashamed to say; at least, i believed myself his. we traveled, once, in a part of mexico in which we were both strangers. while there rabasco became engaged in a budding revolution, that was quickly nipped by the central government. in my efforts to shield my supposed friend from the consequences of supposed rebellion, i myself became suspected. in the night rabasco stole my papers, putting his own in my pocket. when the police came they searched us both. i was believed to be rabasco, and this scoundrel insisted that i was. the papers in our respective pockets seemed to prove it. the papers in mine connected me with the intended rebellion. a swift military trial, and within a few hours i was on my way to serve a life sentence of imprisonment in yucatan. "rabasco, the self-asserted don luis, was turned loose. we looked not unlike in those days. rabasco, as i have since learned, grew a beard. then he went back to my home. my wife had died within a few days. most of the old servants had gone. rabasco, the unutterable scoundrel, set himself up as don luis montez. he imposed on the nurse, and took her away with my infant child whom i had never seen after she was three months old. rabasco went to the united states as soon as he had established a flimsy title to my modest property. in after years he returned, an older and more successful impostor. yet he feared to live on my estate, dreading that some day his treachery might be discovered. so, still calling himself don luis montez, this scoundrel sold my estate and took my child away to other parts of mexico. my estate was a modest one. on that foundation this fellow has been building a larger fortune--but fate has overtaken him at last. there are still friends of mine alive who will help me to unmask this scoundrel and prove him paulo rabasco. he never would have been known, had i not, after many years, escaped from yucatan. i did not dare proclaim myself at once, for fear of being arrested as paulo rabasco and sent back to yucatan. but now i no longer fear. i am don luis montez. i shall prove it without difficulty at last." "then, if this be so, we haven't bought this mining property of the rightful owner," interposed mr. haynes. "i imagine that the real don luis will establish full claim to a property that was founded on his stolen fortune. we shall recover our money from the sham don luis, but i fear we shall not be able to obtain this rich mineral property." "tell me the particulars," begged the real don luis. tom reade stated the case fully, though in the fewest words that would accomplish the telling. "you shall have the property by transferring the purchase price to me after i have recovered this estate at law," promised the real don luis simply. "but, my dear sir," objected mr. haynes, honestly, "do you realize that we paid two and a half millions for the property, and that our trusted engineers assure us that it may be worth more." "that makes no difference, senor," replied the new don luis. "the money you were first willing to pay is far more money than i shall ever need. i crave only life and my child. if you journeyed down into mexico, expecting to buy a property at a certain figure, and if you did do it, acting in perfectly good faith, then that is enough. i will ratify the bargain." "but that would hardly be good business," smiled mr. haynes. "business is a word that will interest me but little after i have established my rights in the world," remarked don luis, mildly. the true don luis montez did establish his rights. he secured the estate built by rabasco on the looted montez fortune. the money paid rabasco for the mining property was easily recovered through the courts and turned over to the rightful don luis. then the americans secured the property at the original figure. don luis soon won the affection of his daughter, and the two were wonderfully happy together. rabasco, the impostor, was sentenced to twenty years of penal servitude. on his way to begin serving his sentence he broke away from the military guard, and was shot to death. dr. carlos tisco died, of fever, within six months of the time of the real don luis's arrival. the governor of bonista was discovered guilty of so much corruption in office that he died, while serving a sentence in prison. pedro gato became an avowed outlaw. senor honda, while acting for the government in bonista, sent the troops in pursuit of the outlaw. he was caught and shot by the soldiers. as for tom reade and harry hazelton, they were happy indeed when they found themselves wholly reestablished in the respect of mr. haynes and his friends. the young engineers had played a most daring game throughout, and would have gone to their deaths at the hands of the sham don luis sooner than to have betrayed their own honor. tom and harry spent days showing the american investors through that forest stretch. it proved an amazingly wonderful mineral claim, and has since paid enormous dividends. "mr. haynes," tom asked, anxiously, one day, "would you have done the same as we did, had you been in our place?" "i don't know, my boy," replied the railway president, with a frank smile. "i'd hope that i would have done the same, but i don't know that i would have had the same magnificent courage that you two displayed throughout. it isn't every man who has the courage to back his conscience with his life." tom reade and harry hazelton remained some three months longer in the mountains of bonista. finally, when they could be spared from the task of superintending the start of this rich mineral claim they returned to the united states. "and what is to become of me, _caballeros_?" nicolas mournfully inquired, the day before their departure. "do you think you could stand life with us, in the united states?" asked tom. "could i?" exclaimed the poor fellow, clasping his hands. "senor, do not jest with me! can it be that you mean it?" "i certainly do," nodded tom. ambition's lure led the young engineers back to the home country. we shall speedily find them engaged again in the great fields of their calling, and we shall find them, too, in a setting of truly extraordinary adventure. all that happened to them will be stirringly told in the next volume of this series, which is published under the title, "_the young engineers on the gulf; or, the dread mystery of the million-dollar breakwater_." the young engineers in nevada or, seeking fortune on the turn of a pick by h. irving hancock contents chapters i. alf and his "makings of manhood" ii. trouble brews on the trail iii. jim's army appears iv. sold out for a toy bale! v. no need to work for pennies vi. tom catches the "nevada fever" vii. ready to handle the pick viii. jim ferrers, partner ix. harry does some pitching x. tom's fighting blood surges xi. planning a new move xii. new owners file a claim xiii. jim tries the new way xiv. the cook learns a lesson xv. why reade wanted gold xvi. the man who made good xvii. the miners who "stuck" xviii. the goddess of fortune smiles wistfully xix. harry's signal of distress xx. tom turns doctor xxi. the wolves on the snow crust xxii. dolph gage fires his shot xxiii. tom begins to doubt his eyes xxiv. conclusion chapter i alf and his "makings of manhood" "say, got the makings?" "eh?" inquired tom reade, glancing up in mild astonishment. "got the makings?" persisted the thin dough-faced lad of fourteen who had come into the tent. "i believe we have the makings for supper, if you mean that you're hungry," tom rejoined. "but you've just had your dinner." "i know i have," replied the youngster. "that's why i want my smoke." "your wha-a-at?" insisted tom. by this time light had begun to dawn upon the bronzed, athletic young engineer, but he preferred to pretend ignorance a little while longer. "say, don't you carry the makings?" demanded the boy. "you'll have to be more explicit," tom retorted. "just what are you up to? what do you want anyway?" "i want the makings for a cigarette," replied the boy, shifting uneasily to the other foot. "you said you'd pay me five dollars a month and find me in everything, didn't you?" "yes; everything that is necessary to living," reade assented. "well, cigarettes are necessary to me," continued the boy. "they are?" asked tom, opening his eyes wider. "why, how does that happen?" "just because i am a smoker," returned the boy, with a sickly grin. "you are?" gasped tom. "at your age? why, you little wretch!" "that's all right, but please don't go on stringing me," pleaded the younger american. "just pass over the papers and the tobacco pouch, and i'll get busy. i'm suffering for a smoke." "then you have my heartfelt sympathy," tom assured him. "i hate to see any boy with that low-down habit, and i'm glad that i'm not in position to be able to encourage you in it. how long have you been smoking, drew?" alf drew shifted once more on his feet. "'bouter year," he answered. "you began poisoning yourself at the age of thirteen, and you've lived a whole year? no; i won't say 'lived,' but you've kept pretty nearly alive. there isn't much real life in you, drew, i'll be bound. come here." "do i get the makings?" whined the boy. "come here!" drew advanced, rather timidly, into the tent. "don't shrink so," ordered tom. "i'm not going to spank you, though some one ought to. give me your wrist." reade took the thin little wrist between his thumb and finger, feeling for the pulse. "are you a doctor?" sneered drew. "no; but generally i've intelligence enough to know whether a pulse is slow or fast, full or weak." "but-----" "keep quiet," tom commanded, as he drew out his watch. his face expressed nothing in particular as he kept the tip of his forefinger against the radial artery at the boy's wrist. "fine," commented the young engineer, a few moments later, as he let go the captive wrist. "good pulse, eh?" questioned alf drew. "great!" quoth tom. "fine and wiry, and almost skips some beats. i'm not much of an authority on such subjects, but i believe a boy of your age ought to have a normal pulse. where do you expect to wind up with your 'makings' and your cigarettes?" "they don't hurt me," whined alf. "they don't, eh?" demanded reade, rising and drawing himself up to his full height of five-feet-eleven. "drew, do you think you look as healthy as i do?" as he stood there, erect as a soldier, with his fine athletic figure revealed, and the bronze on his face seemingly inches deep, tom reade looked what he was---every inch a man though still a boy in years. "do you think you look as healthy as i do?" tom repeated. "no-o-o-o," admitted alf. "but you're older'n me." "not so much, as years go," tom rejoined. "for that matter, if you go on with your cigarettes you'll be an old man before i get through with being a young man. fill up your chest, alf; expand it---like this." as he expanded his chest reade looked a good deal more like some greek god of old than a twentieth century civil engineer. alf puffed and squirmed in his efforts to show "some chest." "that isn't the right way," tom informed him. "breathe deeply and steadily. draw in your stomach and expand your chest. fill up the upper part of your lungs with air. watch! right here at the top of the chest." alf watched. for that matter he seemed unable to remove his gaze from the splendid chest development that young reade displayed so easily. then the boy tried to fill the upper portions of his own lungs in the same manner. the attempt ended in a spasm of coughing. "fine, isn't it?" queried tom reade, scornfully. "the upper parts of your lungs are affected already, and you'll carry the work of destruction on rapidly. alf, if you ever live to be twenty you'll be a wreck at best. don't you know that?" "i---i have heard folks say so," nodded the boy. "and you didn't believe them?" "i---i don't know." "why did you ever take up smoking?" "all men smoke," argued alf drew. "lie number one. all men _don't_ smoke," tom corrected him. "but i think i catch the drift of your idea. if you smoke you think men will look upon you as being more manly. that's it, it?" "it must be manly, if men do it," alf argued. "you funny little shaver," laughed tom, good-humoredly. "so you think that, when men see you smoking cigarettes, they immediately imagine you to be one of them? cigarette-smoking, for a boy of fourteen, is the short cut to manhood, i suppose." tom laughed long, heartily, and with intense enjoyment. at last he paused, to remark, soberly: "answering your first question, drew, i haven't the 'makings.' i never did carry them and never expect to." "what do you smoke then?" queried alf, in some wonder. "a pipe?" "no; i never had that vice, either. i don't use tobacco. for your own sake i'm sorry that you do." "but a lot of men do smoke," argued alf. "jim ferrers, for instance." "ferrers is a grown man, and it would show a lot more respect on your part if a 'kid' like you would call him 'mr. ferrers.' but i'll wager that mr. ferrers didn't smoke cigarettes at your age." "i'll bet he did." "we'll see." tom stepped to the doorway of the tent, alf making way for him, and called lustily: "ferrers! oh, mr. ferrers!" "here, sir!" answered the voice of a man who was invisible off under the trees. "want me?" "if you please," tom called back. ferrers soon appeared, puffing at a blackened corn-cob pipe. he was a somewhat stooped, much bronzed, rather thin man of middle age. ferrers had always worked hard, and his body looked slightly the worse for wear, though he a man of known endurance in rough life. "ferrers, do you know what ails this boy?" demanded tom. "laziness," jim answered, rather curtly. "you hired him for a chore-boy, to help me. he hasn't done a tap yet. he's no good." "don't be too hard on him, ferrers," pleaded tom solemnly. "i've just heard the youngster's sad story. do you know what really ails him? cigarettes!" "him? cigarettes!" observed ferrers disgustedly. "the miserable little rascal!" "you see," smiled tom, turning to the boy, "just what men think of a lad who tries to look manly by smoking cigarettes." "cigarettes? manly?" exploded jim ferrers, with a guffaw. "_men_ don't smoke cigarettes. that's left for weak-minded boys." "say, how many years you been smoking, jim ferrers?" demanded alf, rather defiantly. "answer him, please," requested tom, when he saw their guide and cook frown. "lemme see," replied the nevada man, doing some mental arithmetic on his fingers. "i reckon i've been smoking twenty-three years, because i began when i was twenty-four years old. hang the stuff, i wish i had never begun, either. but i didn't smoke at your age, papoose. if i had done so, the men in the camps would have kicked me out. don't let me catch you smoking around any of the work you're helping me on! is that all, mr. reade? 'cause i've got a power of work to do." "that's all, thank you," tom assured him. "but, ferrers, we'll have to take young drew in hand and try to win him back to the path of brains and health." "say, i don't believe i'm going to like this job," muttered alf drew. "i reckon i'll be pulling my freight outer this camp." "don't go until tomorrow, anyway," urged tom. "you'll have to go some distance to find other human beings, and grub doesn't grow on trees in nevada." with a sniff of scorn ferrers tramped away. "i guess, perhaps, what you need, drew is a friend," remarked tom, resting a hand on the boy's nearer shoulder. "make up your mind that you can't have a cigarette this afternoon, take a walk with me, in this fresh air and the good old sunshine. let's drop all talk of cigarettes, and give a little thought to brains and a strong body. they don't flourish where you find boys smoking cigarettes. come along! i'm going to show you how to step out right, and just how to breathe like a human being. let's try it." tom had almost to drag the boy, to make him start. but reade had no intention of hectoring the, dough-faced little fellow. it was rough ground along this mountain trail in the indian smoke range of mountains, in nevada. soon the pulses of both began to beat more heavily. tom took in great breaths of the life-giving air, but alf was soon panting. "let's stop, now," proposed tom, in a kindly voice. "after you've rested a couple of minutes i'm going to show you how to breathe right and fill your lungs with air." soon they were trying this most sensible "stunt." alf, however, didn't succeed very well. whenever he tried hard it set him to coughing. "you see, it's mostly due to the cigarettes," said tom gravely. "alf, you've simply got to turn over a new leaf. you're headed just right to have consumption." "cigarettes don't give a fellow consumption!" retorted the younger boy sullenly. "i don't believe they do," tom admitted, thoughtfully. "consumption is caused by germs, i've heard. but germs take hold best in a weakened part of the body, and your lungs, alf, are weak enough for any germ to find a good place to lodge. what you've got to do is to make your lungs so strong that they'll resist germs." "you talk like a doctor!" "no; i'm trying to talk like an athlete. i used to be a half-way amateur athlete, drew, and i'm still taking care of my body. that's why i've never allowed any white-papered little 'coffin-nails' to fool around me. bad as your lungs are, alf, they're not one whit worse than your nerves. you'll go to pieces if you find yourself under the least strain. you'll get to shivering and crying, if you don't stop smoking cigarettes." "don't you believe it," muttered the boy, sullenly. "alf," smiled tom, laying a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, "you don't know me yet. you haven't any idea how i can hang to a thing until i win. i'm going to keep hammering at you until i make you throw your cigarettes away." "i'm never going to stop smoking 'em," retorted drew. "there wouldn't be any comfort in life if i stopped." "is it as bad as that?" queried tom, with ready sympathy. "then all the more reason for stopping. come; let's finish our walk." "say, i don't want to go down and through that thick brush," objected alf drew, slowing his steps. "why not?" "snakes!" "are you afraid of snakes, alf?" "some kinds." "what kinds?" "well, rattlers, f'r instance." "there are none of that kind on this part of the indian smoke range," reade rejoined. "come along with me." there was something mildly though surely compelling in tom's manner. alf drew went along, though he didn't wish to. the two were just at the fringe of the thick underbrush when there came a warning sound just ahead of them. click! cl-cl-click! "whee! me for outer this!" gasped alf, going whiter than ever as he turned. but tom caught him by the shoulder. "what's the matter?" demanded reade. click cl-cl-click! "there it is again," cried alf, in fear. "what on earth are you talking about?" tom demanded. once more the dread sound smote the air. "rattlers!" wailed drew, perspiring from fear. "lemme get away from this." "nonsense!" retorted reade, retaining a strong clutch on the boy's shoulder, though once more the sound reached their ears. "it's all your nerves, alf," tom insisted. "you just imagine such things. that's what cigarettes do to your nerves." "but don't you hear the rattlesnake?" "i don't," tom gravely informed him, though once more the nerve-disturbing sound rose clearly on the air. "see here, alf, rattlers, whatever their habits, certainly don't climb trees. i'll put you up on that limb." tom's strong young arms lifted alf easily until he could clutch at the lowest limb of a tree. "climb up there and sit down," reade ordered. drew sat on the limb, shaking with terror. "now, i'll show you that there isn't a snake anywhere in that clump of brush," tom proposed, and forthwith stepped into the thicket, beating about lustily with his heavy boots. "l-l-l-look out!" shivered drew. "you'll be bitten!" "nonsense, i tell you. there isn't a rattler anywhere on this part of the range. it's your nerves, alf. cigarettes are destroying 'em. there! i've beaten up every bit of this brush and you see that i've not been bitten. now i'll help you down to the ground, and you want to get a good, steadying grip on your nerves." alf drew permitted himself to be helped to the ground. no sooner, however, had his feet touched the earth than there came that ominous rattling sound. "there, you big idiot!" howled alf. "there it is again!" "just your bad nerves, alf," tom smiled. "they're so bad that i'll overlook your lack of respect calling me an idiot!" "don't you s'pose i know rattlers when i hear 'em?" asked drew, sullenly. "i was almost bitten by one once, and that's why i'm so afraid of 'em." "i _was_ bitten once," tom replied. "yet you see that i'm not very nervous about them, especially in a part of the country where none are ever found. it's your nerves, alf---and cigarettes!" "i wish i had one now," sighed the younger boy. "a rattlesnake?" tom inquired innocently. "no---of course not! a cigarette." "but you're going to forget those soul-destroying little coffin-nails," reade suggested. "you're going to become a man and act like one. you're going to learn how much more fun it is to have your lungs filled with pure air instead of stifling cigarette smoke." "maybe i am!" muttered the boy. "oh, yes; i'm sure of it," said reade cheerfully. cl-cl-cl-click! "o-o-o-ow!" shrilled alf, jumping at least two feet. "now, what's the matter with you?" inquired tom in feigned astonishment. "don't tell me you didn't hear the rattler just now," cried young drew fiercely. "no; i didn't," tom assured him. "and how could we find a rattler--_here_? we're crossing open ground now. there is no place within three hundred feet of us for a rattlesnake to move without our seeing him." cl-cl-cl-click! alf drew held back, trembling. "i'm not going forward another step," he insisted. "this ground is full of rattlers." "let's go back to camp, then, if your nerves are so unstrung," reade proposed. they turned, starting backward. again the warning rattle sounded, seemingly just in front of alf, though there was no place for a snake to conceal itself nearby. alf, however, turned paler still, halted and started off at right angles to his former course. again the rattle sounded. "hear that snake?" demanded young drew. "no; and there isn't one," tom assured him. "why will you be so foolish---so nervous? in other words, why do you destroy your five senses with cigarettes in this fashion?" cl-cl-click! alf drew halted, trembling so that he could hardly stand. "i'm going to quit camp---going to get out of this place," he shivered. "the ground is full of rattlers. o-o-o-oh! there's another tuning up." tom laughed covertly. the disturbing sound came again. "i never saw a place like this part of the range," alf all but sobbed, his breath catching. "oh, won't i be glad to see a city again!" "just so you can find a store where you can buy cigarettes?" tom reade queried. "i wish i had one, now," moaned the young victim. "it would steady me." "the last ones that you smoked didn't appear to steady you," the young engineer retorted. "just see how unstrung you are. every step you take you imagine you hear rattlers sounding their warning." "do you tell me, on your sacred honor," proposed alf, "that you haven't heard a single rattler this afternoon?" "i give you my most solemn word that i haven't," tom answered. "come, come, alf! what you want to do is to shake off the trembles. let me take your arm. now, walk briskly with me. inflate your chest with all the air you can get in as we go along. just wait and see if that isn't the way to shake off these horrid cigarette dreams." something in reade's vigorous way of speaking made alf drew obey. tom put him over the ground at as good a gait as he judged the cigarette victim would be able to keep up. readers of the preceding volumes of this series, and of other, earlier series, need not the slightest introduction to tom reade and harry hazelton. our readers of the "_grammar school series_" know tom and harry as two of the members of that famous sextette of schoolboy athletes who, under the leadership of dick prescott, were known as dick & co. in the "_high school boys series_," too, our readers have followed the fortunes of tom reade and harry hazelton, through all their triumphs on football fields, on baseball diamonds and in all the school sports. dick prescott and greg holmes succeeded in winning appointments to the united states military academy, and their adventures are fully set forth in the "_west point series_." dave darrin and dan dalzell "made" the united states naval academy at annapolis, and what befell them there has been fully set forth in the "_annapolis series_." reade and harry hazelton elected to go through life as civil engineers. in "_the young engineers in colorado_" has been fully set forth the extraordinary work of these young men at railroad building through the mountains wilds. in "_the young engineers in arizona_" we have followed tom and harry through even more startling adventures, and have seen how they handled even greater problems in engineering. up to date the careers of these two bright young men had not been humdrum ones. the surroundings in which their professional lives had been passed had been such as to supply them with far more startling adventures than either young man had ever looked for. and now they were in nevada, the state famous for its gold and silver mines. yet they had come ere solely in search of a few weeks of rest. rest? there was anything but rest immediately ahead of the young engineers, but the curtain had not been lifted. immediately after the completion of their great work in arizona, tom reade and harry hazelton had gone back east to the good old home town of gridley. while there they had encountered dick prescott and greg holmes, their old school chums, at that time cadets at the united states military academy. the doings of the four old chums at that time in gridley are set forth fully in "_dick prescott's third year at west point_." during the weeks spent east, tom and harry had taken almost their first steps in the study of metallurgy. they had succeed in mastering the comparatively simple art of assaying gold and silver. so now, with the summer past, we find our young engineers out in nevada, taking a little more rest just because no new engineering task of sufficient importance had presented itself. "if we're going to be engineers out west, though, harry, we simply must know a good deal about assaying precious metals," tom had declared. so, though the chums were "taking a rest," as they phrased it, they had brought with them a small furnace and the rest of the outfit for assaying minerals in small quantities. today, however, was altogether too fine for thoughts of work. just after breakfast harry hazelton had borrowed the only horse in camp, belonging to jim ferrers, their cook and guide, and had ridden away for the day. barely had hazelton departed when alf drew, hungry, lonely and wistful, had happened along. he asked for "a job." there really wasn't one for him, but good-natured reade created one, offering five dollars a month and board. "no telling, young man, how long the job will last," tom warned him. "we may at any hour break camp and get away." but alf had taken the job and gratefully. not until after the noon meal had the little fellow revealed his unfortunate vice for cigarette smoking. "you've simply got to give up that habit, alf" tom urged, as they walked along. "you can't make me," retorted young drew. "you've no right to." "no, i haven't," tom admitted soberly. "if i had any real rights over you i'm afraid i'd turn you over my knee and spank you, three times a day, until you gave up the beastly habit." "you're not going to bounce me, are you?" asked alf. "no; i'll keep you here as long as we can use a boy. but, mark me, alf, somehow, and before very long, i'm going to break you from your cigarettes. i don't know how i'm going to do it, but i'm going to do it just the same!" alf drew looked uncommonly solemn, but he said nothing. for five minutes more they walked on, then came suddenly out from under a line of trees and stood at the edge of a low cliff, gazing down in astonishment at the gully below them. "what on earth-----" began tom reade, in amazement. "let's scoot!" begged alf tremulously. "there's going to be some killing right down there!" it certainly looked that way. in the gully three automobiles, showing the effects of long travel over hard roads, stood close together. more than a dozen people, all but two of whom were dressed in "eastern" clothes, stood by the machines. two of the party were women, and one a girl of twelve. the two men who belonged to the party, but did not appear to be "eastern," had drawn revolvers, and now stood facing four sullen-looking men who stood with the butts of their rifles resting on the ground. "gracious! we can't have any shooting with women and children standing around to get hit!" gasped tom reade. chapter ii trouble brews on the trail so silent had been the approach of tom and his waif companion that those below had not perceived them. moreover, judging from the expressions on the faces of the people almost at reade's feet, they were all too deeply absorbed in their own business to have any eyes or ears for outside matters. through the scene below was one of armed truce that might, at any moment, break into hostilities, with human lives at stake, tom glanced coolly downward for a few seconds after his first startled, unheard remark. "i'm going, to duck out of this," whispered alf drew, whose slim little figure was shaking in a way suggestive of chills. "don't be in a hurry," tom murmured. "we may be of some use to some of these people." "tote those guns away, friends," spoke one of the revolver-armed men with the automobile party, "and march yourselves under the guns. remember, we have women here." "they can get away," returned one of the sullen-faced men with rifles. "we won't hinder 'em. we'll give 'em two full minutes to get where it's safe. then we're going to turn our talking machines loose." from the top of the low cliff came tom meade's drawling voice: "oh, i say, friends!" startled, all below glanced quickly upward. "there seems to be trouble down there," tom suggested. "there sure is," nodded one of the armed men with the automobile party. "now, it's too glorious a day to spoil it with fighting," reade went on. "can't we arbitrate?" "the first move for you, young man," warned one of the four men, raising his rifle, "is to face about and git outer here." "not while there are women and children present who might get hurt," tom dissented, with a shake of his head. "git, i tell you!" shouted the man, now aiming his rifle full at tom's chest. git---before i count five." "save your cartridge," proposed tom. "i'm too poor game, and i'm not armed, either. surely you wouldn't shoot a harmless orphan like me." saying which the young engineer, having found a path down the cliff nearby, started slowly to descend. "get back there! another step, and i'll put a ball through you!" roared the man who had reade covered with his rifle. "that wouldn't prove anything but your marksmanship," suggested tom, and coolly continued to descend. "going to get back?" howled the man behind the gun. without further answer reade quickened his pace somewhat, reaching the flat bottom of the gully on a run. though he felt that the chances were eight out of ten that he would be shot at any second, tom didn't betray any outward fear. the truth was that even if he wanted to stop, he would have found it somewhat difficult on that steep incline. where he landed, on his feet, tom stood between the hostile parties. had hostilities opened at that moment he would have been in a bad position between the two fires. "great scott!" gasped the frightened alf, peering down. that youngster had thrown himself flat on his stomach his head behind a bush. he was trying to make himself as small as possible. "whew! but reade has the real grit!" first of all tom gazed curiously at the four men, who glared back at him with looks full of hate. "who are you, anyway?" demanded the spokesman of the sullen four. "i might be the sheriff," tom replied placidly. "huh!" retorted the spokesman. "but i'm not," tom went on, rather genially. "i'm just an inquisitive tourist." "heard o' bald knob?" demanded the leader of the four. "no," admitted reade, opening his eyes with interest. "who is he, and how did he become bald?" "bald knob is a place," came the information. "it's the place where inquisitive tourists are buried in these parts." "i'll look it up some day," tom promised, good-humoredly. "you'll look it up before dark if we have time to pack you there," growled the leader of the men. "now, are you going to stand aside?" tom shook his head. "let's shake hands all around and then sit down for a nice little talk," the young engineer suggested. "there's been too much talk already," snarled tom's antagonist. the men of the automobile party were silent. they had scented in tom an ally who would help their cause materially. "then you won't be sociable?" reade demanded, as if half offended. "git out and go about your business," ordered the leader of the four men. "it's always my business when women and children appear to be in danger," returned tom. he turned on his heel, presenting his broad back as a target to the rifles as he stepped over to automobile party. oddly the four men, though they had the look of being desperate, did not offer to shoot. tom's audacity had almost cowed them for the moment. "i hope i can be of some use to you," suggested tom, raising his hat out of respect to the women. "i reckon you can, if you're a good hand with a gun," replied the older of the two armed men with the motor party. "got any shooting irons about you?" "nothing in that line," tom admitted. "then reach under the cushion, left-hand front seat of that car," returned the same speaker. "you'll find an automatic revolver there." reade, however, chose to ignore the advice. he had small taste for the use of firearms. seeing, the young engineer's reluctance the younger of the two armed men went himself to the car, taking out the revolver and offering it to this cool young stranger. "thank you," was tom's smiling reply. "but that tool is not for me. i'm the two-hundred-and-thirteenth vice president of the peace society." "you'd better fight, or hike," advised the older of the two men. "this isn't going to be a safe place for just nothing but chin. and, ladies, i ask you to get behind one of the cars, since you won't leave here. throw yourselves flat on your faces. we don't want any good women hit by any such mean rascals as that crowd over there." the men with the rifles scowled dangerously. "now, listen to me---all hands," begged tom, raising his right hand. "it's none of my business, as i very well know, but may i inquire what all this trouble is about?" a rather portly, well dressed and well-groomed man of sixty, who had been leaning against the side of one of the cars, now spoke up promptly enough: "i am head of the company that has legally staked out a claim here, young man. ours is a mining company. the men yonder say that they own the claim---that they found it first, and that it is theirs. however, they never staked it off---never filed their claim." "it's our claim, just the same," spoke up the at the four men. "and we won't have it jumped by any gang of tenderfeet on earth. so get out of here, all of you, or the music will start at once. we don't want to hit any woman or children, but we're going to hold our own property. if the women and the child won't get out of here, then they'll have to take their chances." "that's the case, and the line of action!" growled another of the men. "but let me ask you men," continued tom, facing the quartette, "do you claim that you ever made legal entry of your asserted title here?" "maybe we didn't," grunted the spokesman. but we've known of this place for 'most a year today we came to settle here, stake off our claims, file our entry and begin living here. but we found these benzine trotters on the ground. "but these people state that they have made legal claim here," tom urged. "we have," insisted the portly man in black. "if there is any dispute over the facts, my friends," tom continued, turning once more to the four men, "then it looks like a case for the courts to settle. but if these people, who appear to be from the east, have acquired legal title here then they'll be able to hold it, and you four men are only intruders here. why, the matter begins to look rather clear---even for a nevada dispute." "these folks are going to move, or we'll topple 'em over and move 'em ourselves," insisted the leader. "men," rejoined reade, "i'm afraid you're not cool enough to settle this case fairly. we'll call in a few of the neighbors and try to get the facts of the case. we'll-----" "neighbors?" jeered the leader of the quartette. "where are you going to find any?" "right near at hand," tom proposed. "much nearer than you think. drew!" alf still lay behind the bush near the edge of the cliff. he was still present mainly because he had not courage enough to run away. "drew!" tom repeated, this time speaking sharply, for he guessed that the cigarette fiend was shaking in his boots. "yes, sir," piped the faltering voice of alf. "drew, run to camp as fast as you can. tell ferrers to bring the whole crowd over at once." alf was astounded by this staggering command, which sounded like an order to rush an army to the spot. yet he managed to gasp: "yes, sir." "now, go! make fast time. don't let any of this outfit catch you and hinder you." "no, sir!" this time alf drew's voice sounded faintly, over his shoulder from a considerable distance, for the boy was running fast, fear lending speed his feet. "you see," tom went on coolly, standing so that he could face both factions in this quarrel, "i don't know much about the merits of the case, and i'm a stranger here. i don't want to be accused of being too fresh, so i've sent for some of the natives. they'll know, better than just what to advise here. it won't take 'em long to get here." tom wound up this last statement with a cheerful smile. "so jim ferrers is over in your camp, is he?" demanded the leader of the four men. "yes," tom assented affably. "do you know him?" "maybe." "jim is a fine fellow," reade went on warmly. "he knows all about nevada, too, and he's a man of good judgment. he'll be a lot of use to us in getting at the rights of this case." "there's only one right side," insisted the leader of the quartette. "so my friend here has informed me," answered reade, nodding in the direction of the stout man in black. "yet there seems to be a good deal of difference in opinion as to which is really the right side. but just wait until jim and his friends get here. they'll be able to set us all straight and there won't be any need for doing any rough work like shooting." "dolph, we'd better shoot up the whole crowd, including the cheeky young one, before jim ferrers and his crowd gits here," propose one of the quartette. "jim ferrers will be awfully displeased, you do," drawled tom. "do you know jim? he has a reputation, i believe, for being rather sore on folks who shoot up his friends." "i'll do it for you, anyway, kid!" growled one of the four, leveling his rifle. but their leader struck the weapon up angrily just before the shot barked out. "who's having fourth of july around here?" called a laughing voice from some distance down the rising path at the rear of the quartette. the four men turned quickly, but tom had recognized joyfully the tones of harry hazelton's voice. "you keep out of here, stranger!" ordered one of the quartette gruffly. "don't you do anything of the sort, harry!" roared reade's voice. "you keep right on an join us." "did you hear my advice?" insisted the leader of the four, holding his rifle as though would throw the butt to his shoulder. "yes," said hazelton, calmly, "but i also heard my senior partner's order. he and i stick together. gangway, please." harry was cool enough as he rode his horse at a walk past the men. hazelton will never understand how near death he was at that moment. but there had been a few whispered words between the men, and they had allowed him to ride by. "what's the game here, tom?" harry called cheerily. "any real excitement going on?" "no." tom shook his head. "just a little misunderstanding over a question of fact." "then i see that the lie hasn't been passed," grinned hazelton. "the ground isn't littered at all." he rode up to his chum, displaying no curiosity. that the automobile party had been much cheered by the arrival of the young engineers was wholly apparent. for the same reason the four men appeared to be a good deal less certain of themselves. "i guess there isn't going to be any real trouble," spoke reade carelessly. "but there's a question at issue that i feel it would be impertinent in me to try to settle, so i've sent for jim ferrers to bring over the whole crowd." though harry couldn't imagine where ferrers's "crowd" was, he wisely held his tongue. at the same time an earnest conference was going on among the four men. they spoke in low whispers. "jim ferrers, alone, we could handle," declared the leader. "but if jim has a crowd back of him things won't go our way when it come to the shooting." "let's start it before ferrers's party gets here," growled another of the sullen ones. "we would be tracked down and shot at by ferrers and a crowd," argued the leader. "things are too warm for us here, just now. in a case like this remember that a fellow lasts longer when he does his shooting from ambush and at his own time. we won't let this dunlop crowd fool us out of our rights, but we'll have to choose a better time---and fight from ambush at that." it was soon plain that this view prevailed among the quartette. as they turned to move away, the leader remarked: "we'll leave you for a while, dunlop, but don't image you've won. don't get any notion that you'll ever win. you'll hear from us again." "and you'll hear a plenty as long as your hearing remains good," snarled another of the men. the four disturbers, turning their backs, started down the sloping trail. "oh, but i'm glad we've seen the last of them!" shuddered one of the women of the dunlop party. "don't be deceived into thinking that the last has been seen of that crew, madam," spoke tom reade gently. "those fellows will be heard from again, and at no very distant hour, either. mr. dunlop---i believe that is your name, sir?" the stout man bowed. "mr. dunlop," reade went on, earnestly, "i urge you to get these women and the child away from here as soon as you can. also any of the men who may happen to have no taste for fighting. i don't believe you'll see those four men in the open any more, but there'll be more than one shot fired from ambush. you surely won't expose these women and the child any further!" "but, father," broke in one of the women, tremulously, "if we leave, it will take one of your two fighting men to run the car. think how weak that will leave your defense." "you forget, my dear," spoke mr. dunlop, gently, "that our newly-found young friends have just sent for other men." tom smiled grimly as he thought of jim ferrers's "crowd"---consisting of poor, frighten little alf with the cigarette-stained fingers. "at any cost or risk, sir," tom went on, after a moment, "you must get the women and the child away from here. but---why, where is the child?" there was an instant of dismay. the little girl had vanished. "gladys!" spoke dr. dunlop's daughter in alarm. from under one of the cars a muffled voice answered, "here i am." then gladys, sobbing and shaking, emerged into view. "i was so frightened!" cried the child. "i just had to hide." "the men have gone away, dear," explained her mother soothingly. "and now we're going too. we'll be safe after this." at that instant three shots, fired in rapid succession, rang out. chapter iii jim's "army" appears "down on your faces!" called the older of the armed men with the motor party. "not necessary," spoke tom, dryly. "the shots were fired by jim ferrers's army." "and i missed the pesky critter, too!" spoke jim's voice, resentfully, as he showed his head over the edge of the cliff, where three puffs of smoke slowly ascended. "don't show yourself, jim! careful!" reade warned their guide. "it's all right," declared ferrers indifferently, as he rose to his full height, then discovered the path by which tom had descended. "the critters took to cover as soon as they heard me making a noise." with that explanation ferrers slid rather than walked down into the gully. "where are the rest of your men?" questioned mr. dunlop, eagerly. "i'm all there are," explained jim, "except one pesky little puffer of cigarettes. he's hiding his stained fingers somewhere in the brush half a mile from here." "there are no more men to your crowd?" spoke dr. dunlop anxiously. "none," tom broke in. "my order to the boy, drew, was intended by way of conversation to interest your four callers." "then, indeed, we must look out for an ambush," said one of mr. dunlop's companions, a man of thirty. "and you will be in real danger every minute of the time," said dunlop's daughter, fearfully. "father, why can't you come out of this wild country? is the money that you may make out here worth all the risk?" "yes," answered mr. dunlop, with a firmness that seemed intended to settle the matter. "why did you fire on those men without provocation?" tom asked, aside, of jim ferrers, who stood stroking his rifle barrel with one hand. "i had provocation," ferrers answered. "oh," said reade, who was none the wiser. "i'll 'get' dolph gage yet, if i ever have a fair chance without running my neck into the noose of the law," added ferrers, with silent fury in his tone. "is there a story behind it all, eh" queried tom mildly. "yes, mr. reade. too long a story to tell in a minute." "i didn't mean to pry into your affairs, ferrers," tom made haste to say. "well, for one thing, dolph gage shot the only brother i ever had---and got cleared of the charge in the court!" muttered ferrers. "was your brother killed?" tom inquired. "didn't i state that dolph gage shot him?" demanded jim in a semi-injured tone. "men don't often waste ammunition out in this county, even if i did send in three wild shots just now. but that was because i was excited, and couldn't see straight. i'll try to do better next time." mr. dunlop was now engaged in making his daughter, her child and the other woman comfortable in one of the touring cars. several of the men in the party, also, had decided that they did not care to remain if they were to be exposed to shooting at all hours of the day. in the end mr. dunlop had but three of the men in his party left with him. the younger of the two armed men was sent to drive the car containing the women. one of the guests of the dunlop party drove a second car. in this order they started for dugout city, thirty miles away. as the roads hardly deserved the name the motor cars would not be likely to reach dugout before dark. "look out for ambushes," exclaimed mr. dunlop, to the armed driver of the women's car. "yes, sir; but there isn't much danger of our being fired on. gage's gang will be only too glad to see the women folks leaving here. we won't be troubled." mr. dunlop stood anxiously gazing after the two touring cars as long as they could be seen. then he stepped briskly back, holding out his hand to tom reade. "permit me, now, to thank you for your timely aid," said the stout man. "you know my name. will you kindly introduce your friends?" this tom did at once, after which mr. dunlop presented his three companions. one was his nephew, dave hill, the second, george parkinson, mr. dunlop's secretary, and the third a man named john ransome, an investor in mr. dunlop's mining enterprise. the elder of the armed men who remained behind was joe timmins, both guide and chauffeur. the young man who had gone with one of the cars was timmins's son. "you have a mining claim hereabouts, mr. dunlop?" tom inquired. "yes; but not exactly at this point," added the older man, with a smile as he noted reade staring about him with a quizzical smile. "the claim stands over there on that slope"--- pointing to the westward. "has it been prospected, sir?" asked hazelton. "yes: it's a valuable property, all right. i brought my party out here to show it to them. the friends who have returned to dugout, and mr. ransome here, have the money ready to put up the needed capital as soon as they are satisfied." "i'm satisfied now," spoke up ransome, "and i'm sure that the others are, after what mr. dunlop showed us this morning." "how soon do you begin operations?" tom asked with interest. "as soon as my men have talked it over and have concluded to put up the money, replied mr. dunlop. "we're ready, now---all of us," ransome broke in. "then," said mr. dunlop, "the next step will be to get in touch with a satisfactory engineer. you see, mr. reade, it's either a tunneling or a boring claim. we must either sink a shaft or drive a tunnel---whichever operation can be done at the least cost. either way will be expensive, and we must find out for a certainty which will be the cheaper. there's a lot of refractory rock in the slope yonder. in the morning our party will get all the ore we can from the surface croppings, then start for dugout, going from there to carson city. at carson we hope to find an honest engineer and a capable metallurgist." "then you haven't engaged any engineer?" reade asked, almost eagerly. "not yet. there was no need, until we had satisfied the investors." "perhaps hazelton and i can make some deal with you, mr. dunlop," reade proposed. "in what line?" inquired dunlop. "are you miners---or machinists?" "when we want to be really kind to ourselves," smiled tom, "we call ourselves engineers." "mining engineers?" demanded mr. dunlop, gazing at the two youths in astonishment. "no, sir. neither hazelton nor myself ever handled a mine yet," tom answered. "but we have done a lot of railroad work." "railroad work isn't mine digging," objected mr. dunlop. "i'm aware of that, sir," tom agreed. "yet boring is largely excavation work; so is tunneling. we've had charge of considerable excavating in our services to railroads." "very likely," nodded dunlop, reflectively. but how about the assays for gold and silver? sometimes, when searching for drifts and runs of the metal we may need a dozen assays in a single week." "we have the furnace with us, sir; the assay balance and all the tools and chemicals that are used in an ordinary assay." "you have?" asked mr. dunlop. "then you must have come prepared to go into this line of work." "we thought it more than likely that we'd amuse ourselves along that line of work for a while," tom explained truthfully. "yet mining attracts us. we'd stay here and go into the thing in earnest if we could make good enough terms with you." "would seventy-five dollars a month for each of you be satisfactory?" asked mr. dunlop keenly. "no, sir," replied reade with emphasis. "nor would we take a hundred and seventy-five dollars, either. when i said that we would consider a good proposition i meant just that, sir." "hm-m-m-m!" murmured mr. dunlop. "i shall have to give this matter thought, and question you a good deal more on your qualifications. i suppose you would be willing to let this matter remain open for a few days?" "certainly, sir; we are in no hurry. however, until we are definitely engaged we do not bind ourselves to be ready for your work." "where is your camp?" said mr. dunlop. jim ferrers explained the easiest way of reaching the camp in a motor car. "and i'd advise you to come to our camp, too," tom added. "you'll be safer there than here." "but we would; expose you to danger, too," mr. dunlop objected. "we're rather used to danger," smiled tom placidly. "in fact, just a little of danger makes us feel that we're getting more enjoyment out of life." "do you think it a good plan to take up the invitation of these gentlemen, timmins?" inquired mr. dunlop. "it's the safest thing you can do, sir," answered joe timmins. "we'll start back, now," proposed tom. "if you don't drive too fast you'll give us a chance to reach our camp in time to welcome you." "you start now, and we'll start within ten minutes," proposed mr. dunlop. this being agreed to, tom, harry and ferrers began the task of climbing the cliff path. at last they reached the top, then started at long strides toward camp, ferrers's horse having been surrendered by harry to dave hill. "who knows," laughed tom, "we may become mining engineers here in nevada" "small chance of it," harry rejoined. "in opinion mr. dunlop is a good enough fellow, but he's accustomed to making all the money himself. he'd want us at about a hundred dollars a month apiece." "he can want, then," tom retorted. "yet, somehow, i've an idea that mr. dunlop will turn to be generous if he decides that we're the engineers for him." for some minutes the trio tramped on silently, in indian file, ferrers leading. "hello, alf!" bellowed tom through the woods, as they neared their camp site. no answer came. "where did you leave the little fellow, jim?" inquired reade. "i didn't notice which way he went, sir," returned the guide. "he looked plumb scared, and i reckon he ducked into cover somewhere. maybe he headed for dugout city and hasn't stopped running yet." then a turn of the path under the trees brought them in sight of their camp. rather, where the camp had been. jim ferrers rubbed his eyes for an instant, for the tents had been spirited away as though by magic. nor were the cots to be seen. blankets lay strewn about on the ground. a quarter the camp's food supplies was still left, and that was all. "is it magic, jim?" gasped puzzled tom reade. "no, sir; just plain stealing," ferrers responded grimly. "then who-----" "dolph gage's crew, i'll be bound, sir. they don't want you two hanging around in this country, and they want me a heap sight less. but maybe we'll show 'em! the trail can't be hard to find. we'll have to start at once." "after we've seen and spoken to mr. dunlop," tom amended. "we can't run off without explanation to the guests that we have invited to share the camp that we thought had." barely a hundred yards away four men lay on their stomachs, heads concealed behind a low fringe of brush under which the muzzles of their rifles peeped. "remember," whispered dolph gage faintly, "all of you fire your first shot into jim ferrers. after that we'll take charge of the youngsters! get a close bead on jim. ready!" chapter iv sold out for a toy bale! jim ferrers had stated a plain truth when he remarked that nevada men did not often waste ammunition. with four rifles aimed at him, at that short, point-blank range, it would seem that jim's last moment had come. yet at that instant the sound of an approaching motor ear was heard. then the car, moving at twelve miles an hour mounted the crest at a point less than seventy yards from where the four ambushed men lay. joe timmins caught sight of them. "take the wheel!" muttered timmins, forcing parkinson's nearer hand to the wheel. in an instant joe was upon his feet, drawing his revolver. he fired at the men in ambush, but a lurch of the car on the rough ground destroyed his aim. "dolph gage and his rascals at the ridge," bellowed joe, in a fog-horn voice, pointing. jim ferrers dropped to the ground, hugging it flat. harry followed suit. tom reade hesitated an instant, then away he flew at a dead run. close to a tree tom stopped, thrusting right hand in among the bushes. up and down his hand moved. "shoot and duck!" snarled dolph, in a passion because of their having been discovered. boom! over by the ridge where gage and his fellow rascals lay it looked as though a volcano had started in operation on a small scale. fragments of rock, clouds of dirt, splinters and bits of brush shot up in the air. following the report came a volley of terrific yells from dolph and his fellows. they had been on the instant of firing when the big explosion came. jim ferrers, too, was taking careful aim at the moment. it is a law of nature that whatever goes up debris, mixed with larger pieces of rock and clots of earth, descended on the scene of the explosion. yet little of this flying stuff reached dolph gage and his companions, for they were up and running despite the mark that they thus presented to ferrers. nor did the rascals stop running until they had reached distant cover. "stop it, jim---don't shoot!" gasped tom reade, choking with laughter, as ferrers leaped to his feet, taking aim after the fugitives. "i want dolph gage, while i've got a good, legal excuse," growled ferrers, glancing along rifle barrel at the forward sight. "don't think of shooting," panted tom, darting forward and laying a hand on the rifle barrel to spoil the guide's aim. "jim, it isn't sportsmanlike to shoot a fleeing enemy in the back! fight fair and square, jim---if you must fight." there was much in this to appeal to the guide's sense of honor and fair play. though scowled, he lowered the rifle. "tom, you everlasting joker, what happened?" demanded harry hazelton. "you saw for yourself, didn't you?" retorted reade. "yes; but-----" "are you so little of an engineer that you don't know a _mine_ when you see one, harry?" "but how did that mine come to be there?" "i planted it." "when?" "today, when you started on your ride." "oh!" "you see, harry, i was pondering away over mining problems this morning. as you had the only horse, that was all that there was left for me to do. now, you must have noticed that most of the outcropping rock around here is of a very refractory kind?" "yes," nodded hazelton. "then, of course, you realize that for at least a hundred feet down in the mine the rock that would be found would be the same." "undoubtedly." "so, harry, i was figuring on a way to blast ore rock out whenever we should find refractory stuff down a shaft or in the galleries or tunnels of a mine." "fine, isn't it?" retorted hazelton. "a great scheme! you blast out the rock and the force of the explosion shoots all the fine particle of gold into the walls of the mine---just the way you'd pepper a tree with birdshot!" mr. dunlop had drawn close and now stood smiling broadly. "that appears to be one on you, reade," suggested the mine promoter. "that's what i want to find out," returned tom soberly; "whether i'm a discoverer, or just a plain fool." "what do you think about it?" "let's go and look at the ledge, and then i can tell you, sir," reade answered, striding forward. "look out!" cautioned joe timmins. "those hyenas will shoot. they'll be sore over the trick you played on them, and they'll be hiding waiting for a chance for a shot." "oh, bother the hyenas," tom retorted, impatiently. "i'm out for business today. coming, mr. dunlop?" the mine operator showed signs of hanging back. harry promptly joined his chum at what was left of the little ledge. after a few moments mr. dunlop, seeing that no shots were fired, stepped over there also, followed by his nephew. jim ferrers climbed a tree, holding his rifle and keeping his eyes open for a shot, while timmins threw himself behind a rock, watching in the direction that the four men had taken. "this looks even better than i had expected," tom explained, his eyes glowing as he held up fragments of rock. "you see, the dynamite charge was a low-power one. it just splintered the rock. there wasn't so very much driving force to the explosion. another time i could make the force even lower." "here's gold in this bit of rock!" cried harry, turning, his eyes sparkling. "yes; but not enough to look promising," replied mr. dunlop, after examining the specimen. "but we'll look through the rest of the stuff that's loose." the two men who had hung back soon joined them. "i wouldn't care about filing a claim to it," mr. dunlop, shaking his head after some further exploration. "this rock wouldn't yield enough to the ton to make the work profitable." "just a little, outcropping streak, possibly from the claim that i have below," was mr. dunlop's conclusion "by the way, reade, how did you explode the mine?" "with a magneto," tom explained, then ran and took the battery from behind the tree from which he had fired it. "i buried the wire, of course, so that no one would trip over it," he added. "just after i got it attended to alf drew happened along, looked forlorn, and wanted a job. so i had almost forgotten the mine, until i realized that the thing was planted right in front of where dolph gage's crew were hidden. by the way, jim, where is alf?" "all the information i've got wouldn't send you two feet in the right direction," the guide reported gruffly. "and where are our tents and the other stuff?" harry demanded. "gage's crew couldn't get far with them in the time they've had. shall we hustle after our property?" "yes," nodded tom. "at the momentary risk of being shot to pieces," added mr. dunlop, dryly. "those little chances go with being involved in a nevada mining dispute, don't they?" queried reade. "where can we begin to look?" harry pressed. "let's scurry about a bit. surely men can't get away with tents without leaving some trail." within two minutes they had the trail. marks were discovered that plainly had been made by dragging canvas and guy-ropes along over the ground. "we'll find our stuff soon," predicted tom, striding along over a rough trail. "the scoundrels didn't have a team, and they wouldn't take the stuff far without other transportation than their own backs. hello! what's in there?" tom had detected some motions in a clump of brush. "look out!" warned jim ferrers, bringing his rifle to "ready." but tom darted straight into the brush. "then this is where you are?" demanded tom dryly. he glanced down at the cowering form of alf drew. "so you've got the 'makings,' have you?" reade demanded, seizing alf by the collar and yanking him up to his feet. paper and tobacco fell from young drew's nerveless grasp to the ground. "you made me drop the makings of a good one," whined alf resentfully. "you didn't have that stuff two hours ago. where did you get it?" reade demanded. "found it," half whimpered drew. "do you expect me to believe any such fairy tales as that?" insisted tom reade. "if you have tobacco and cigarette papers," tom continued, "then some one gave the stuff to you. it was dolph gage, or one of his rascals, wasn't it?" "don't know him," replied the boy, with a shake of his head. "now, don't try to fool me, drew," warned tom, with a mild shake administered to the youngster's shoulders. "how much tobacco have you?" "a whole package," admitted alf reluctantly, feeling that it would be of no use to try to deceive his employer. "and plenty of papers to go with it?" "ye-es." "you got it from four men?" "no; i didn't." "well, from one of four men, then? tell me the truth." "ye-es." "what did you do to please the four men?" alf drew shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and then back again. "come! speak up!" reade insisted sternly. "you're wasting our time. what did you do for the four men?" "i didn't do anything," alf evaded. "what did you tell them, then?" reade wanted to know. "they asked me a few questions." "of course; and you answered the questions." "well, i-----" "what did the men want to know about?" pressed tom, the look in his eyes growing sterner still. "they wanted to know how many men jim ferrers had," admitted the drew boy. "oh, i see," pondered tom aloud, a half smile creeping into his face. "they were guessing the size of ferrers's army, were they?" "i---i guess so," alf replied. "and you told them-----?" "i told 'em the camp was made up of you and mr. hazelton, jim ferrers and myself." "and then they gave you the tobacco for cigarettes, did they?" "i made 'em gimme that first," alf retorted, a look of cunning in his eyes. "so, my bright little hero, you sold us out for a toy bale of cigarettes, did you?" demanded tom reade, staring coldly down at the shame-faced youngster. chapter v no need to work for pennies "i---i didn't see how it could do any harm," sniveled young drew. "perhaps it didn't," tom admitted. "so far, it has resulted only in our being ambushed and all but murdered. now, where did they take our tents and the other stuff?" "i don't know," declared alf. "are the tents gone?" he answered so promptly that reade believed him. "very much so," replied reade, releasing his grip on drew's shoulder. "come on, friends, we'll hunt further." "say, what was that big explosion?" asked alf, running after the party when he found himself being left alone. "no time to talk until we find our camp stuff," tom called back over his shoulder. "i'll help you," proposed alf eagerly. "you're full of helpfulness," reade jibed. but alf evidently preferred to stick to them. he ran along at the heels of the last rapidly striding man. joe timmins was the only one absent, he having remained at the camp site to keep a watchful eye over the automobile. jim ferrers was in the lead, his trained eyes searching the ground for the trail of the tents. within five minutes the party came upon the tents and the food supplies, all of which had been dumped into a thicket in confused piles. "we'll sort this out and get it back to camp," tom proposed. "alf, little hero, redeem yourself by buckling down to a good load. come here; let me load you down." alf meekly submitted, cherishing a half hope that he would not be discharged from his new position after all. at the end of an hour the stuff had all been taken back and the camp looked a good deal as it had looked that morning. "now, alf," directed tom in a milder, kinder tone, "you hustle over and break your back helping mr. ferrers to get supper ready. we're a famished lot. understand?" alf was only too glad to be able to understand that his part in the dismantling of the camp had been overlooked. while tom and harry led their guests into one of the tents, young drew hastened over to where jim ferrers was starting a fire in the camp stove. "now, put that stuff back in your pockets, or i'll throw it in the fire!" sounded the angry voice of ferrers. "you can't use any of that stuff when you're working around me." "the poor little cigarette pest must have been trying to use his newly acquired 'makings,'" grinned tom. while ferrers was thus busied with preparation of the meal, joe timmins had taken the guide's rifle and was keeping a watchful eye over the approaches to the neighborhood. "so you young men think you could serve me satisfactorily as engineers," questioned mr. dunlop. "i think we could," tom answered. "but i am afraid you young men have a rather large notion as to the pay you're worth," continued the mine promoter. "that's right, sir," reade nodded. "we have a good-sized idea on the pay question. now, when you go to dugout city next you might wire the president of the s.b. & l. railroad, at denver, or the president of the a.g. & n.m., at tucson, arizona, and ask those gentlemen whether we are in the habit of making good on large pay." "how much will you young men want?" "for work of this character," replied tom, after a few moments of thought, during which harry hazelton was silent, "we shall want six hundred dollars a month, each, with two hundred dollars apiece added for the fighting risk." "the fighting risk?" questioned mr. dunlop. "well, we shall have dolph gage and his crowd to guard against, won't we?" reads counter-questioned. "but such pay is absurd!" he protested. "from your view-point, very likely, sir. from our view-point it will be very ordinary compensation, and nothing but our desire to learn more about mining will tempt us to go into it at the figure we have named." "your price puts your services out of the question for my company," replied mr. dunlop, with a shake of his head. "very good, sir," tom rejoined pleasantly. "no harm done, and we need not talk it over any more. we wish you good luck in finding proper engineers for your work. you will probably motor back to dugout tomorrow morning, won't you?" "we'll have to," mr. dunlop answered. "we're not safe here until we hire a few good men to come out here to keep gage and his fellows at a distance." "that's true, sir," tom nodded. "as you'll need a good many men here by the time you start work on your mine you'll do well to bring at least a score of them down at once. twenty good, rough men, used to this life and not afraid of bullets, ought to make you feel wholly safe and secure on your own property." there was more talk, but neither tom nor harry again referred to their serving the new company as engineers. in due course of time jim ferrers, with such help as alf was able to give, had supper ready to serve. it was a rough meal, of hard tack, pilot bread, potatoes, canned meats and vegetables, but outdoor life had given all a good appetite and the meal did not long remain on the camp table. for guard duty that night it was arranged that jim ferrers and joe timmins should relieve each other. tom also offered to stay up with ferrers, harry taking the watch trick with timmins, though neither of the young engineers was armed or cared to be. harry and timmins were to take the first watch. the others retired early. tom reade was about to begin undressing when hazelton came in for a moment. while the chums were chatting, alf drew's forlorn figure showed at the doorway of the tent. "say, boss," complained alf, "i haven't any place to sleep." "what?" reade demanded in pretended surprise, "with nearly all the ground in nevada at your disposal?" "but that isn't a bed," contended alf. "right you are there, lad" agreed tom. "now, see here, boss, only one of you two is going to sleep at a time tonight. i'm tired---i ache. why can't i sleep on the other cot in this tent?" "come here," ordered tom. alf wonderingly advanced. whiff! whiff! moved the young engineer's nostrils. "just as i thought," sighed reade. "you've been smoking cigarettes without any let-up ever since supper." "well, i have ter," argued drew. "and now you smell as fragrant as a gas-house, alf. mr. hazelton is rather particular about the little matter of cleanliness. if you were to sleep on his cot the smell of cigarettes would be so strong that i don't believe mr. hazelton could stay on his cot when it came his time to turn in." "but say! if you knew how dead, dog-tired i am!" moaned alf. "oh, let him sleep on my cot," interposed harry, good-heartedly. "if i can't stand the cot when i come to use it, then it won't be the first night that i've slept on hard ground and rested well." "all right, alf, climb in," nodded tom. "but see here. cigarettes make you as nervous as a lunatic. if you have any bad dreams tonight, and begin yelling, then i'll rise and throw you outdoors. do you understand?" "yes," mumbled the boy. "but i won't dream. i'm not nervous now. it's only when i can't get enough cigs that i'm nervous." "you should have seen him this afternoon," tom continued, turning to his chum. "the lad and i took a walk. at every other step he kept imagining that he heard rattlesnakes rattling." "and i did, too," contended alf stoutly. "you know i did. you heard 'em yourself, mr. reade." "i didn't hear a single rattler," tom replied soberly. "let the tired little fellow go to bed in peace," urged harry. "all right," tom agreed. alf went to the head of the cot, to turn the blanket down from the head. click-ick-ick-ick! came the warning sound. with a yell of terror alf drew bounded back. "there's another rattler," he screamed. "it's under that blanket." "it's all your nerves," tom retorted. "there isn't a rattler within miles of here." "didn't you hear a rattle, mr. reade?" wailed the cigarette fiend. "no; i didn't." "didn't you, mr. hazelton?" harry was on the point of answering "yes," but tom caught his eyes, and harry, knowing that something was up, shook his head. "you must both be deaf, then," argued drew. "why, see here, you nervous little wreck of a cigarette," said tom, grinning good-humoredly, "i'll show you that there is no snake in that bed. watch me." with utmost unconcern, tom took hold of the blanket, stripping it from the cot. then he ran his hands over the under blanket. "not a thing in this bed but what belongs here," tom explained. "alf, do you see how cigarettes are taking the hinges off your nerves." shame-faced, and believing that tom was right, alf advanced toward the cot. as he reached the side of it----- click-ick-ick! sounded close to him. "you can't make me stay in this tent. it's the most dangerous spot in nevada," cried drew, turning and fleeing into flee open. the two chums could hear his feet as he sped to another part of the camp. "some trick about that rattling?" queried harry in a whisper. "of course," tom admitted with a wink. "it's a shame to tease the youngster so." "it would be," tom assented rather gravely, "but i'm using that means to make the lad afraid to smoke cigarettes. if young drew goes on smoking the miserable little things he'll become come a physical wreck inside of a year." "how do you do the trick, anyway?" asked harry curiously. "does it really sound like the click of a rattler?" asked tom. "does it? i was 'stung' almost as badly as poor alf was. how do you do the trick?" "i'll show you, some time," nodded tom reade. with that promise harry had to be content, and so must the reader, for the present. hazelton went out to stand first watch with joe timmins. alf drew, finding that the dunlop party had no room for him under the shelter they had rigged from the rear of the automobile, curled himself on the ground under a tree and fitfully wooed sleep. by daylight the little fellow was fretfully awake, his "nerves" refusing him further rest until he had rolled and smoked two cigarettes. by the time the smoke was over jim ferrers called to him to help start the breakfast. nothing had been seen of the four intruders through the night. "i think we shall try to get safely through to dugout city this morning," suggested mr. dunlop. "you'll make it all right, if you have gasoline enough," remarked ferrers, who hovered close at hand with a frying pan filled with crisp bacon. "you don't believe gage will try to attack us on the way?" "he has no call to," replied ferrers. "you're obeying him by leaving the claim, aren't you?" "then probably gage and his companions will settle down on the claim after we leave," suggested mr. dunlop. "if gage tries to jump the claim in your absence," proposed ferrers, "your course is easy. if you have the legal right to the claim you'll have to bring back force enough to drive those hyenas off." "will you people try to keep an eye over the claim while i'm gone?" asked mr. dunlop. "that would be a little out of our line," tom made reply. "besides, mr. dunlop, i'm not at all sure that we shall be here until you return." "but we haven't settled, reade, whether you and your partner are to be our engineers at the bright hope mine." "quite true, sir," nodded tom. "on the other hand, you haven't engaged us, either" "won't you keep the matter open until our return?" "that would be hardly good business, mr. dunlop." "yet suppose i had engaged you," "then we'd be going back to dugout city with you." "why, reade?" "so that we might get in touch with the world and find out whether you are financially responsible. we wouldn't take an engagement without being reasonably sure of our money." "you're a sharp one," laughed mr. dunlop. yet he made no further reference to engaging the two young engineers, a fact that reade was keen enough to note. within an hour after breakfast the dunlop ear pulled out, leaving tom reade with only his own party. "what our friend wants," smiled harry, "is a pair of mining engineers at the salary of one mere surveyor." "he won't pay any more than he has to," rejoined reade. "do you really want to work for dunlop?" "i really don't care a straw whether i do or not," was tom's answer. "harry, we're in the very heart of the gold country and we don't need to work for copper pennies." "if you'll allow me to say so, friends," put in jim ferrers, "i believe you two are the original pair with long heads and i'm going to stick to you as long as you'll let me." "me, too," piped up alf drew ungrammatically. the young cigarette fiend was at that instant engaged in rolling one of his paper abominations. click-ick-ick-ick! "rattlers again!" shivered alf. paper and tobacco fell from his fingers and he fled in terror. chapter vi tom catches the "nevada fever" two nights passed without adventure. on each of these nights the three campers---for alf didn't "count" divided the hours of darkness into three watches, each standing guard in his turn. on the third morning after the departure of the bright hope group the campers were seated at breakfast around the packing case that served as table. "i feel as though we ought to be at work," suggested hazelton. "good!" mocked tom. "you've been riding every day lately, and i have remained in camp, testing samples of ore that i've picked up on my strolls." "you take the horse today," proposed harry, "and i'll stay in camp and work." "suppose both of us stay in and work," proposed reade. "that'll be all right, too," nodded harry, pleasantly. "may i ask, tom, what you're up to, anyway?" "yes," reade smiled. "if the bright hope is a real mine there must be other good property in this region. i've been looking about, and making an assay every now and then. jim, you've prospected a bit, haven't you?" "yes," nodded the guide. "and, gentlemen, in my day i've been sole owner of three claims, each one of which panned out a fortune." "great!" glowed harry. "but how did you lose your money, jim!" "i never got a cent out of any of the mines," rejoined the guide grimly. "how did that happen?" "did you ever hear of 'square gamblers'?" inquired ferrers. "some," tom admitted with a grimace. "we ran up against one of that brood in arizona, eh, harry?" "you didn't play against him, i hope, hinted jim soberly. "yes, we did," admitted tom. "not with his own marked cards, though, nor with any kind of cards. we met him with men's weapons, and it is necessary to add that our 'square gambler' lost." "the 'square gamblers' that i met didn't lose," sighed jim ferrers. "they won, and that's why all three of my mines passed out of my hands before they began to pay." "you must know something about ore and croppings, and the like, jim?", tom continued. "in a prospector's way, yes," ferrers admitted. "then we'll take a walk, now. alf can wash up the dishes." "it's all the little wretch is fit for," muttered ferrers contemptuously. jim looked carefully into the magazine of his repeating ride, then saw to it that his ammunition belt was filled. "ready when you gentlemen are," he announced. "say, won't you take me with you?" pleaded alf. "you wouldn't be of any use to us," reade answered. "but i---i am afraid to stay here alone." "do you believe yourself to be so valuable that any one will want to steal you?" tom laughed. alf made a wry face and watched the others depart. then, filled with needless alarm, he crawled out into a thicket and hid himself. he didn't mean to be trapped by prowlers! tom led the way for nearly a mile. at last the trio climbed a slight ascent, halting at the top of the ridge. "you see, jim," tom explained, "this ridge runs southwesterly from here." "i see it does?" nodded the guide. "now, to the northeastward i don't believe there are any croppings that look good enough. but just keep along to the southeast, picking up a specimen here and there. some of the rock looks good to me." jim ferrers didn't answer in words, though his eyes gleamed with the old fever that he had known before. "here's a pretty piece of stone," called the guide in a low tone. he stood holding a fragment about as big as his two fists. "it's streaked" pretty well with yellow, you see, gentlemen," he remarked; "it is," tom agreed, taking the specimen. "does the vein run with the top of the ridge?" demanded harry eagerly. "it runs a little more to eastward, from this point, i think," tom made answer. "but let us walk along, in three parallel lines, and see who finds the best indications." by noon all three were fairly tired out by the steep climbing over the rocky ground. each had as many specimens as he could carry. the result of the exploration had tended to confirm tom's notion as to where the vein lay. "now, let's see about where we'd stake the claim," tom proposed. "of course, we want to get the best rock obtainable. we don't want to leave the best part of this slope for some one else to stake out. it seems to me that the claim ought to start up by that blasted tree. what do you say, jim?" "well, i don't like to make mistakes where you young gentleman are concerned," ferrers answered, taking off his felt hat and scratching his head. "you see, it isn't my claim." "the dickens it isn't!" reade retorted. "why, you---you gentlemen didn't plan to take me in, did you," asked ferrers, opening his eyes very wide in his amazement over the idea. "you see i---i can't contribute my share of the brains, along with a pair like you," continued the guide. "look at you two---engineers already! then look at me---more'n twice as old as either of you, and yet i'm only a cook." "you're an honest man, aren't you, jim?" demanded reade. "why, there's some folks who say i am," ferrers slowly admitted. "and we're among those who believe that way," tom continued. "now, jim, you're with us, and you've every right to be a partner if we find anything worth taking up in the mine line." "but there ain't no sense in it," protested the guide, his voice shaking with emotion. "you don't need me." "we need a man of your kind, jim," tom rejoined, resting a very friendly hand on the guide's shoulder. "listen to me. hazelton and i are engineers first of all. we'd sooner be engineers than kings. now, the lure of gold is all well enough, and we're human enough to like money. yet a really big engineering chance would take us away from a gold mine almost any day in the year. eh, harry!" "i'm afraid it would," confirmed hazelton. "if we left a paying mine, jim, what would we want?" tom continued. "we'd want an honest partner, wouldn't we---one whom we could leave for six months or a year and still be able to depend on getting our share of the profits of the mine. you've gambled in the past, jim, but you stopped that years ago. now you're honest and safe. do you begin to see, jim ferrers, where you come in? another point. how old do you take us to be?" "well, you're more than twenty-one, each of you," replied ferrers. "not quite, as yet," tom answered. "so, you see, in order to take out a claim we'd need a guardian, and one whom we could depend upon not to rob us. jim, if we're to take up a mine we must have a third man in with us. do you know a man anywhere who'd use us more honestly than you would?" "i don't," exclaimed jim ferrers. "at the same time, gentlemen, i know your kind well enough. both of you talk of fighting as though you dreaded it, but i'll tell you, gentlemen, that i wouldn't _dare_ to try any nasty tricks on either of you." "we understand each other, then," tom nodded. "now, then, let us try to make up our minds just where we would want to stake off this claim if the gold assays as well as it looks." at the beginning tom and harry built a little pile of stones. then, by mere pacing they laid off what they judged to be the fifteen hundred feet of length which the government allows to a single mining claim. "we can attend to the proper width later," suggested tom. "now, what do you say if we make for camp at once. i'm not hungry; still, i think i could eat my half of a baked ox." the instant that the trio reached camp, jim ferrers, with an unwonted mist in his eyes, began to juggle the cooking utensils. tom busied himself with building the best fire that he could under the chamber of the assaying furnace, while harry hazelton, rolling up his sleeves, began to demonstrate his muscle by pulverizing little piles of ore in a hand-mill. "be careful not to mix the lots, harry," advised tom, glancing over from his station by the furnace. "thanks for the caution," smiled hazelton. "but i have just enough intelligence left to understand the value of knowing from what section of the slope each particular lot of rock comes." dinner was eaten in silence. for one thing the campers were ravenously hungry. in the second place, though each kept as quiet as possible, he was deep in the thrall of the fever to dig up hidden gold. the meal was nearly over when alf drew came into camp. "are you leaving anything to eat?" he asked. "maybe," said jim ferrers grimly, "but you were left to wash the breakfast dishes, and you haven't done it yet. now, you'll wash the breakfast things, and then the dinner things, before you get even a cold bite to eat." alf didn't protest. now that he was back safe in camp he felt much ashamed of himself for having run away and left the camp unwatched. as soon as he had eaten his dinner tom reade went back to the assay furnace to improve the fire. "now, harry, we'll get the powdered stuff ready to roast," reade remarked. "we've a lot of it to rush through this afternoon." "and we want to be sure to finish it at least two hours before dark, too," larry nodded. "if we decide to file a claim jim ought to be riding for dugout city by dark, ready to file the papers the first thing in the morning." "and jim can bring back half a dozen men to help us sink the first shaft," proposed tom. "that's where i feel like a fool," muttered ferrers. "i haven't a blessed dollar to put in as capital." "we'll take your honesty for a good deal in the way of capital, jim," tom hinted cheerfully. "harry, you might get out the transit, the tape, markers and other things. if we stake out a claim we'll do it so accurately that there can be no fight, afterward, as to the real boundaries of our claim." "what shall we call the claim?" inquired hazelton, as he came back with the surveying outfit. "suppose we wait until the assay is done, and find out whether the claim is worth anything better than a bad name," laughed tom. the crucibles were in the furnace now, and a hot flame going. jim ferrers sat by, puffing reflectively at his pipe as he squatted on the ground nearby. alf drew was smoking, too, somewhere, but he had taken his offensive cigarettes to some place of concealment. harry anxiously watched the course of the sun, while tom kept his gaze, most of the time, near the furnace. "come on, harry!" called tom at last. "we'd rake out the crucibles. my, but i hope the buttons are going to be worth weighing." a withering blast of hot air reached the young engineers as the oven door of the portable assay furnace was thrown open. the crucibles were raked out and set in the air to cool. "would fanning the crucibles with my hat do any good?" asked hazelton eagerly. "some," yawned tom, "if you're impatient." reade strolled off under the trees, whistling softly to himself. jim ferrers smoked a little faster, the only sign he gave of the anxiety that was consuming him. harry frequently sprang to his feet, walked up and down rapidly, then sat down again. two or three times hazelton burned his fingers, testing to see whether the crucibles were cool enough to handle. at last tom strolled back, his gaze on the dial of his watch. "cool enough for a look, now, i think," reade announced. harry bounded eagerly toward the crucibles, feeling them with his hands. "plenty cool enough," he reported. "but how did you guess, tom?" "i didn't guess," reade laughed. "i've timed the crucibles before this, and i know to a minute how long it ought to take." "what a chump i am!" growled harry, in contempt for self. "i never think of such things as that." tom now carefully emptied the crucibles. in the bottom of each was found a tiny bead of half-lustrous metal, which miners and assayers term the "button." "the real stuff!" glowed hazelton. "ye-es," said tom slowly. "but the next question is whether the buttons will weigh enough to hint at good-paying ore. even at that, these buttons are only from surface ore." "but the ore underneath is always better than the surface ore," contended hazelton. "usually is," tom corrected. "if we get good enough results from this assay it will at least be worth while to stake a claim and work it for a while." harry waited with feverish impatience. tom reade, on the other hand, was almost provokingly slow and cool as he carefully adjusted the sensitive assaying balance and finally weighed the buttons. then he did some slow, painstaking calculating. at last he looked up. "well, sir?" asked jim ferrers. "from this surface ore," replied tom calmly, "twenty-eight dollars in gold to the ton; silver, six dollars." "that's good enough for me!" cried ferrers, his eyes brightening. "wow! whoop! oh---whee!" vented harry, then ran and snatched up the surveying transit. "yes; i guess we'd better go along and do our staking," assented tom. "and i'll be ready at daylight to file the claim at dugout city," promised jim. "i won't sleep until i've seen our papers filed." "you'll file the claim in your own name, jim," tom suddenly suggested. "no; i won't," retorted ferrers. "i'll play squarely." "that will be doing squarely by us, jim," tom continued. "we don't want to use up our claim privileges on one stretch of nevada dirt." if we can find claims enough we'll stake out three, and then pool them all together in a gentlemen's agreement." "that's a good deal of trust you're showing in me, gentlemen," said jim huskily. "never mind, jim," returned reade quietly. "you can show us, you know, that we didn't waste our confidence." while they were still talking the three came in sight of the ridge. "look there!" gasped harry suddenly. "dolph gage and his tin-horn crowd!" flared jim ferrers, in anger. "hang the fellow! this time i'll-----" "stop fingering your rifle, jim," ordered reade. "remember, nothing like fighting! if they haven't filed notice in due form on the claim, we're safe yet. if they have-----" "look!" hissed ferrers. at that moment dolph gage could be seen nailing a sheet of white paper to a board driven into the soil. "we've staked what you want, i reckon!" bellowed gage laconically. "staked it in due form, too, if you want to know." "i guess we've lost that claim," said tom slowly. "have we?" hissed jim ferrers. chapter vii ready to handle the pick "keep off this ground!" yelled dolph gage, snatching up his rifle. "stop that nonsense," tom bellowed back in his own lusty voice. "you've no right on this ground." "yes, we have, if you want to know," tom continued. "you haven't filed your papers at dugout yet." "how do you know we haven't?" "i'll take a chance on it," smiled tom amiably, as he and his companions continued to walk nearer. jim ferrers held his rifle so that it would take him but an instant to swing it into action if the need came. "if you've filed your papers for this claim" tom continued, lowering his voice somewhat as they drew nearer to the four rascals. "have you any such paper to show us?" "perhaps not," growled dolph gage, his evil eyes seeming to shoot flame. "but we've got our notice of claim nailed up here. we got it here first, and now you can't file any mining entry at dugout city for this bit o' ground." "not if your notice is written in the prescribed language," tom admitted. "well, it is. now, keep off this ground, or we'll shoot you so full of holes that you'll all three pass for tolerable lead mines!" "if you don't shoot and make a good job of it," reade insisted, "i'm going to look over your notice of claim and see whether it's worded in a way that will hold in law." "drop 'em, boys! don't let 'em near!" roared dolph gage, swinging his rifle as though to bring it to his shoulder. but jim ferrers had forestalled him. the guide was gazing at his enemy through his rifle sights. "drop your weapon, dolph gage, and do it blazing quick, or i'll shoot you where you stand!" sounded jim's voice, low and businesslike. "if any of you other galoots tries to raise his weapon i'll turn and drop him." as jim ferrers had a reputation in nevada as a rifle shot the others hesitated, then let their rifles drop to the ground. "hold them to their present good intentions, jim," said tom, with a smile, as he continued to move forward. "now, mr. gage---i believe that's your name let me see what kind of notice you know how to draw up." "there 'tis," muttered dolph sullenly, pointing to the board. tom read the notice through under his breath, word by word. "you've done this sort of thing before, i guess, gage," said reade quietly. "you bet i have. find it all reg'lar, too, don't you?" "as nearly as i can tell, it is," agreed tom. "and the claim is ours." "it's yours if you file the formal papers soon enough." "they'll be filed first thing tomorrow morning," grunted dolph gage. "now, try a two-step off the dirt that goes with this claim." "not until i've seen the borders that you claim," tom rejoined. "why!" demanded gage cunningly. "going to start your claim right at the corners of ours." "if you'll pardon me," reade smiled, "i don't believe i'll tell you anything about my intentions." "maybe you think this claim is a pretty valuable one," gage insinuated. "i didn't say so." "but you would have staked if we hadn't done it first." "that's what you've got to guess," smiled reade. "say, now you've lost this claim, tell us some thing straight, won't youth begged dolph. "tell you something straight?" repeated tom. "certainly. i'll tell you something just as straight as i know how," "well," he said, at last, "you said you'd tell us something straight." "and so i will," laughed tom. "it's just this: go to blazes!" "come, now, don't get fresh, kid!" warned dolph angrily. "if we're going to be on neighboring claims you may find it a heap to your advantage to use us about half-way decent and polite." tom didn't answer at once. he was rapidly covering the statement of location from the paper nailed to the board. "you fellows picked up a lot of ore stuff around here," continued dolph gage. "yes?" tom inquired. "did you see us?" "yes, and we also saw you making an assay." "you did." "of course we did. say, friend, how did that assay come out?" "it came out of the furnace," tom answered still writing. "'course it did. but say, how did that assay read?" "read?" repeated tom. "why, bless me, i never knew that an assay could read." "you know what i meant, younker. how did it figger?" "to the best of my belief," said tom, "an assay is as much unable to figure as it is to read." "don't waste any more time on the kid, dolph," growled another of the group. "he won't tell you anything that you want to know." "if he doesn't" rejoined gage, "maybe he'll miss something. see here---reade's your name, isn't it?" "you've got that much of your information straight," assented tom, looking up with a smile. "well, reade, maybe you'd better be a bit more polite and sociable. you've missed staking this claim, but i think we can fix it to give you a job here as engineer." "that would be very kind of you, i'm sure," nodded tom. "but i can't undertake any work for you." "then you'll lose some money." "i'm used to losing money," smiled tom. "as for my partner, he's a real wonder in the way of losing money. he lost ten cents yesterday." "we've got a fine claim," asserted dolph gage. it's right under our feet, and there isn't another such claim in nevada. now, if you two want to make any real money you'd better begin to be decent with us right now. otherwise, you won't get the job. now, what do you say?" "i vote for 'otherwise,'" laughed reade, turning on his heel. "oh, you run along and be independent, then," called dolph gage after him. "if you're going to stick the winter through on this range you'll be hungry once or twice between now and spring, if you don't take the trouble to get in right with us." "why?" questioned reade, halting and looking squarely back. "do you steal food, too?" once more tom turned on his heel. harry walked along with him. jim ferrers all but walked backward, holding his rifle ready and keeping a keen eye over the claim stealers. "come along, jim," called tom at last. "those fellows won't do any shooting. their minds are now set on their new claim. they expect to dig out gold enough to enable them to buy two or three banks. they won't shoot unless they're driven to it." jim ferrers turned and walked with the boys. fifteen seconds later a rifle cracked out behind them, the bullet striking the dirt well to the left of tom's party. "it's a bluff, jim, and-----" began reade. crack! spoke ferrers's ride. "i knocked gage's hat off," said the guide dryly. "now, if he fires again, it'll show that he's looking for trouble." "the fellow who goes looking for trouble is always a fool," tom remarked. "because trouble is the most worthless thing in the world, yet a fellow who goes looking for it is always sure to find twice as much as he thought he wanted." by the time the young engineers had reached their own camp, harry, whose face had been growing gradually "longer" on the walk, sank to the ground in an attitude of dejection. "just our luck!" he growled. "gage is right when he says that claim is the best in this part of nevada. and, just because we were too slow, we lost it. fortune, you know, tom, knocks but once at any man's door." "i don't believe that," said tom stoutly. "harry, now that we've made a start and lost, my mind is made up as to our course now. i hope you'll agree with me." "what is it?" hazelton asked. "harry, old fellow, we'll turn mining engineers in earnest for the present. we'll engineer our own mines, with jim for a partner. harry, we'll get up our muscle with pickaxes. we'll stake our fortunes on the turn of a pick!" chapter viii jim ferrers, partner "you mean it, do you?" asked hazelton, after a pause of a few moments. "i never meant anything more in my life!" "then, of course, i'll agree to it, tom. if i go astray, it'll be the first time that i ever went wrong through following your advice." "and you're with us, ferrers?" inquired tom, looking around. "gentlemen," spoke the guide feelingly, "after the way you've used me, and the way you've talked to me, i'm with you in anything, and i can wait a month, any time, to find out what that 'anything' means. just give me your orders." "orders are not given to partners," tom told him. "orders go with _this_ partner," jim asserted gravely. "and, gentlemen, if we make any money, just hand me what you call my share and i'll never ask any questions." "jim, we're going in for mining," tom continued. "i can speak for mr. hazelton now, for he has authorized me to do so. mining it is, jim, but we three are young and tender, and not expert with pickaxes. we'd better have some experts. can you pick up at least six real miners at dugout city?" "a feller usually can," ferrers replied. "then if you'll put in a good part of tonight riding, tomorrow you can do your best to pick up the men. get the kind, jim, who don't balk at bullets when they have to face 'em, for we've a hornets' nest over yonder. get sober, level-headed fellows who know how to fight---men of good judgment and nerve. pay 'em what's right. you know the state of wages around here. while you're at dugout, jim, pick out a two-mule team and a good, dependable wagon for carting supplies. put all the chuck aboard that you think we'll need for the next two or three weeks. i'll give you, also, a list of digging tools and some of the explosives that we'll need in shaft sinking. while you're in dugout, jim, pick up two good ponies, with saddles and bridles. i guess i'd better write down some of these instructions, hadn't i?" "and write down the street corner where i'm to pick up the money, mr. reade," begged ferrers dryly. "you can't do much in the credit line in nevada." "the street corner where you're to find the money, eh, jim?" smiled tom. "yes; i believe i can do that, too. you know the map of dugout, don't you?" "'course." "you know where to find the corner of palace avenue and mission street?" "sure." "on one of those four corners," tom continued, "you'll find the dugout city bank." "i've seen the place," nodded ferrers, "but i never had any money in it." "you will have, one of these days," smiled tom, taking out a fountain pen and shaking it. next he drew a small, oblong book from an inside pocket, and commenced writing on one of the pages. this page he tore out and handed ferrers. "what's this?" queried the guide. "that's an order on the dugout city bank to hand you one thousand dollars." ferrers stared at the piece of paper incredulously. "what'll the feller pay me in?" he demanded. "lead at twelve cents a pound? and say, will he hand me the lead out of an automatic gun?" "if the paying teller serves you that way," rejoined reade, "you'll have a right to feel peevish about it. but he won't. hazelton and i have the money in bank to stand behind that check." "you have?" inquired ferrers, opening his eyes wide. "fellers at your age have that much money in banks" "and more, too," tom nodded. "did you think, jim, that we had never earned any money?" "well, i didn't know that you probably made more'n eighteen or twenty dollars a week," ferrers declared. "we've made slightly more than that, with two good railroad jobs behind us," tom laughed. "and here's our firm pass-book at the bank, jim. you'll see by it that we have a good deal more than a thousand dollars there. now, you draw the thousand that the check calls for. when you're through you may have some money left. if you do, turn the money in at the bank, have it entered on the pass-book and then bring the book to me." "i'll have to think this over," muttered ferrers, "and you'd better set down most of it in writing so that i won't forget." the smoke from the cook fire brought alf drew in from hiding, his finger-tips stained brown as usual. "now, see here, young man," said tom gravely, "there is no objection to your taking some of your time off with your 'makings,' but ferrers is going away, and you must stay around more for the next two or three days. otherwise, there won't be any meals or any payday coming to you." "is mr. ferrers going to dugout city?" asked alf, with sudden interest. "yes." "say, i'll work mighty hard if you'll advance me fifty cents and let me get an errand done by mr. ferrers." "here's the money," smiled tom, passing over the half dollar. alf was in such haste that he forgot to express his thanks. racing over to jim the little fellow said something in a very low voice. "no; i won't!" roared ferrers. "nothing of the sort!" "does he want you to get the 'makings,' jim!" called tom. "yes; but i won't do it," the guide retorted. "please do," asked tom. "what? _you_ ask me to do it, sir? then all right. i will." "what do you want to do that for?" murmured harry. "let the poor little runt have his 'makings,' if he wants," tom proposed. "but i don't believe that alf will smoke the little white pests very much longer." "you're going to stop him?" "i'm going to make him want to stop it himself," tom rejoined, with a slight grin. alf came back, looking much pleased. "let me feel your pulse," requested reade. "now, let me see your tongue." this much accomplished, tom next turned down the under lid of one of young drew's eyes and gazed at the lack of red there displayed. "i see," remarked reade gravely, "that your nerves are going all to pieces." "i feel fine," asserted alf stolidly. "you must, with your nerves in the state i now find them," retorted the young engineer. "next thing i know you'll be hearing things." click-ick-ick! "wow-ow-wow!" shrieked alf drew, bounding some ten feet away from the low bush near which he had been standing. click-ick-ick-ick! "get away from that bush, mr. reade!" howled the young cigarette fiend. "that rattler will bite you, if you don't." "i didn't hear any rattler," said tom gravely. "did you, harry?" "not a rattle," said hazelton soberly. jim ferrers looked on and grinned behind alf's back. the youngster was trembling. as tom came near him the "rattle" sounded again. within five minutes two more warning "rattles" had been heard near the boy. "the camp must be full of 'em," wailed the terrified boy. "and i'm afraid of rattlers." "so am i, alf," tom assured him, "but i haven't heard one of the reptiles. the trouble is with your nerves, drew. and your nerves are in league with your brain. if you go on smoking cigarettes you won't have any brain. or, if you do, it will be one that will have you howling with fear all the time. why don't you drop the miserable things when you find they're driving you out of your heads" "perh-h-h-haps i will," muttered the boy. after an early supper, jim ferrers rode away. he offered to leave his rifle in camp, but tom protested. "i'd feel responsible for the thing if you left it here, you know, jim. and i don't want to have to keep toting it around all the time you're away." "but suppose dolph gage and his crew come over here, and you're not armed?" "then i'll own up that we haven't anything to shoot with, and ask him to call again," tom laughed. "but don't be afraid, jim. gage and his crew will be anxious, for the next few days, to see whether they can coax us into serving them. they need an engineer over at their stolen claim, and they know it." so ferrers rode away, carrying his rifle across his saddle. alf spent an evening of terror, for the ground around the camp appeared to be full of "rattlers". chapter ix harry does some pitching as tom had surmised, dolph gage was anxious to become friends with the young engineers. "they're only kids," dolph explained to his comrades, "but i've heard that they know their business. if we can get their help for a month, then when they hand in their bill we can give them a wooden check on a cloud bank." "their bill would be a claim against our mine wouldn't it?" asked one of the other men. "maybe," dolph assented. "but, if they try to press it, we can pay it with lead coin." the morning after jim had gone, one of gage's companions stalked into camp. "the boss wants to see you," said this messenger. "whose boss?" tom inquired. "well, maybe he's yours," scowled the messenger. "and maybe you'll be sorry if you fool with him." "i? fool with gage?" inquired reade, opening his eyes in pretended astonishment. "my dear fellow, i've no intention of doing anything of the sort." "then you'll come over to our camp, right away?" "nothing like it," tom replied. "kindly present my compliments to your boss, and tell him that i have another appointment for today." "you'd better come over," warned the fellow. "you heard what i said, didn't you?" reade inquired. "there'll sure be trouble," insisted the fellow, scowling darkly. "there's always trouble for those who are looking for it," tom rejoined smilingly. "is dolph gage hunting it?" "you'll find out, if you don't come over!" "really," argued reade, "we've disposed of that subject, my dear fellow. have you any other business here! if not, you'll excuse us. mr. hazelton and i are to be gone for the day." "going prospecting?" "we're going minding," smiled reade. "mining?" repeated the visitor. "mining what?" "we are going off to mind our own business," tom drawled. "good morning." "then you're not coming over to our place?" "no!" shouted harry hazelton, losing patience. "what do you want?" "as you will observe, friend," suggested tom, smiling at the messenger, "my partner has well mastered the lesson that a soft answer is a soother." "are you going to leave our camp?" harry demanded, as the visitor squatted on the ground. "if you two are going away," scowled the other, "you'll need some one to stay and watch the camp. i'll stay for you." "come on, harry!" tom called, starting away under the trees. alf drew had already gone. breakfast being over the young cigarette fiend had no notion of staying in camp for a share in any trouble that might be brewing. "why on earth are you leaving the camp at that fellow's mercy?" quivered harry indignantly, as he and tom got just out of earshot of the visitor. "because i suspect," reade returned, "that he and his crowd want to steal our assaying outfit." "and you're leaving the coast clear for that purpose?" hazelton gasped in high dudgeon. "now, harry, is that all you know about me?" questioned his partner, reproachfully. "listen. around here you'll find plenty of stones of a throwing size. just fill your pockets, your hands---your hat. creep in close to camp and hide. if you see 'mr. sulky' poking his nose into anything in our camp---the furnace, for instance, or the assay balance, then just drop a stone so near to him that it will make him jump. be careful that you don't drop a stone on that balance. you used to be a pretty fair pitcher, and i believe you can drop a stone where you want." "and what will you be doing?" asked harry curiously. "oh, i'll be keeping out of harm's way, i promise you," laughed tom reade. "humph! yes, it would be like you to put me into danger and to leave yourself out of it, wouldn't it?" mocked harry hazelton, unbelievingly. "well, i'll try to make good use of my time, harry, old fellow. for one thing, if you haunt camp and keep gage's crowd busy, then you'll keep them from following or watching me. don't you see?" "no; i don't see," grunted hazelton. "but what i do suspect is that you have something up your sleeve that i may not find out for two or three days to come. yet, whatever it is, it will be for our mutual good. i can depend upon you, tom reade! go ahead; go as far as you like." "get the stones gathered up, then, and get back to camp," counseled reade. "don't lose too much time about it, for gage's rascal may be able to do a lot of harm in the two or three minutes that you might be late in getting back." harry industriously picked up stones. hardly had he started when tom reade silently vanished. "well, i'm glad, anyway, that tom doesn't want us both away from camp while he's doing something," reflected hazelton, as he began to move cautiously back. "there wouldn't be any camp by noon if we were both away." even before he secured his first glimpse of camp, harry heard some one moving about there. "the rascal must feel pretty sure that we're both fools enough to be away," quivered hazelton indignantly. "what on earth is he doing, anyway?" then the young engineer crawled in close enough to get an excellent view of what was going on. "well, of all the impudence!" choked harry, balancing a stone nicely in his right hand. first of all the visitor had rounded up all the firewood into one heap. now, to this combustible material the fellow was bringing a side of bacon and a small bag of flour. these he dropped on the firewood, then went back for more of the camp's food supply. "just wait," scowled hazelton. "oh, my fine fellow, i'll make your hands too hot for holding other people's property!" over the brush arched a stone. hazelton had been a pitcher in his high school days, and no mistake. the descending stone fell smack across the back of the fellow's right hand. "that's right! howl!" cried harry, exultantly. "now, for a surprise." the second stone flew with better speed, carrying away the fellow's hat without hitting his head. "hey, you, stop that!" roared the fellow. from behind the bushes all was quiet. the camp prowler stood up straight, staring to see whence the next stone would come. after nearly two minutes he bent to pick up the case of biscuit that he had dropped. smack! even as his nearer hand touched the box a sharp stone struck the back of that hand, cutting a gash and causing the blood to spurt. "i'll have your scalp for that!" howled the enraged man. making a pretty good guess at the direction from which the stone had come, the fellow started toward the brush on a run. "here's where you get all of yours!" chuckled harry hazelton. still crouching he let three stones fly one after the other. the first struck the prowler in the mouth, the second on the end of the nose and the third over the pit of his stomach. "you two-legged gatling gun!" howled the fellow, shaking with rage and pain. he halted, shaking his fist in the direction from which the stones had come. another lot of stones flew toward him. the prowler waited no longer, but turned, making for gage's camp as fast as he could go. "that ought to hold those rascals for a little while," speculated harry. "but, of course, there'll be a come-back. what'll they do to me now, i wonder?" by way of precaution hazelton cautiously shifted to another hiding place. within fifteen minutes he saw the same prowler stealing back into camp. when the fellow was near enough, harry let fly a stone that dropped near the rascal's toes. "hey, you stop that, or i'll make you wish you had!" roared the fellow, shaking his fist. harry's answer was to drive two more stones in, sending them close to the fellow, yet without hitting him. again the man shouted at him, though he did not attempt to come any nearer to so expert a thrower of stones. then, suddenly, just behind him, harry hazelton heard a sound. in the next instant two men hurled themselves upon the young engineer, pinning him to the ground. "i ought to have suspected this!" grunted harry inwardly, as he fought back with all his strength. he might have succeeded in slipping away from the two men who sought to pin him down, but the third man, still aching from contact with harry's missiles, now darted into the scrimmage, striking several hard blows. harry was presently conquered and tied. "take the cub to his own camp!" sounded the exultant voice of dolph gage. "with one of the pair tied, it won't be hard to handle the other whenever he happens along." chapter x tom's fighting blood surges "take another hitch of rope around that young steer," dolph ordered, after he had flung harry violently to the ground. "he wont get away as he is," replied one of the other two men. "maybe not, but take an extra roping, as i told you," was gage's tart retort. so another length of line was passed around hazelton, until he felt as though he had been done up in network. "now; we'll give your partner a chance to show up," muttered gage, throwing himself on the ground. "you young fellers will have to learn the lesson that you're thirty miles from anywhere, and that we rule matters around here. we're going to keep on ruling, too, in this strip of nevada." "are you?" grimaced hazelton. "then, my friend, allow me to tell you that you are making the mistake of trying to reckon without tom reade!" "is that your partner's name?" jeered dolph gage. "a likely enough boy, from what i've heard of him. but he isn't old enough to understand nevada ways." "no, perhaps not," harry admitted ironically. "so far tom has gotten his training only in colorado and in arizona. i begin to realize that he isn't bright enough to have his own way among the bright men of nevada. but reade learns rapidly---don't forget that!" "huh!" growled gage. "the young cub seems to think that he has come out here to take charge of the range. according to his idea he has only to pick out what he wanted here; and take it. he never seems to understand that gold belongs to the first man who finds it. i was on this range long before reade was out of school." "and he doesn't object to your staying here," remarked hazelton calmly. "that's good of him, i'm sure," snapped gage. "i've no objection to his staying here, either. fact is, i'm going to encourage both of you to stay here." "encourage us?" grinned harry. "well, then, i'm going to make you stay here, if you like that word any better." "that will be more difficult," suggested hazelton. "first of all, we're going to tote your assay outfit over to our camp. you won't be able to do much without that. look around a bit, eb," added dolph, turning to one of his companions. "perhaps you'd better get the furnace out first. two of you can carry it. i wish we had our other man back from dugout. we need hands here." "can't you use some of my muscle in helping you to loot our camp?" suggested hazelton, ironically. "i'm fairly strong, you know." "yes; i know you are. that's why we've tied you up," growled gage. the man addressed as eb had taken the other fellow aside, and they were now lifting the assay furnace in order to decide how heavy it was. "it doesn't weigh much over a hundred and fifty pounds," called out dolph gage. "two men like you can get it over to camp. and bring over our guns, too. it was a mistake to leave 'em over in camp." gage watched until the pair were out of sight among the trees. "hurry, you men!" gage roared after them. then he started in to nose around the camp. as he passed a clump of bushes there was a slight stir among them. then tom reade leaped forth. in a twinkling dolph gage had been caught up. he was in the grip of a strong, trained football player. "drop me!" ordered gage, with a slight quiver in his voice. "i'm going to," agreed tom, hurling the fellow fully a dozen feet. with an oath gage leaped to his feet. before he was fairly tom reade's fist caught him in the left eye, sending him to earth once more. "is that the way you fight, you young cub?" roared gage hoarsely. "i can fight harder if you want me to," tom retorted, as the other again got to his feet. "now, put your hands up, and i'll show you." tom went at it hammer and tongs. he was a splendidly built young athlete, and boxing was one of his strong points, though he rarely allowed himself to get into a fight. indeed, his usually abounding good nature made all fighting disagreeable to him. now, however, he drove in as though dolph gage were a punching-bag. "stand up, man, and fight as though you had some sand in you!" tom ordered. "get up steam, and defend yourself." "i have had enough," gage gasped. indeed, his face looked as though he had. "are you a baby?" reade demanded contemptuously. "can't you fight with anything but your tongue!" "you wait and i'll show you," snarled the badly battered man. "what's the need of waiting?" tom jeered, and swung in another blow that sent gage to the ground. "eh! josh!" bellowed gage, with all the breath he had left. "hustle o-o-o-over here!" "let 'em come!" vaunted reade. "you'll be done for long before they can get here." "i'll have you killed when they get here with the guns!" cried gage hoarsely. tom continued to punish his opponent. then dolph, on regaining his feet, sought to run. tom let him go a few steps, then bounded after him with the speed of the sprinter. gage was caught by the shoulders, swung squarely around, and soundly pummelled. "let up! let up!" begged gage. "i'm beaten. i admit it." "beaten, perhaps, but not punished enough," retorted tom. as dolph would no longer stand up, reade threw himself upon the fellow and pummelled him fearfully. "this is no fair fight," protested gage, now fairly sobbing in his pain and terror, for good-humored reade seemed to him now to be the impersonation of destroying, fury. "fair fight?" echoed reade. "of course it isn't. this is a chastisement. you villain, you've done nothing but annoy us and shoot at us ever since we've met you. you've got to stop it after this; do you understand?" "i'll stop it---i'll stop it. please stop yourself," begged gage, now thoroughly cowed. "i'll wager you'll stop," gritted tom. "i've never hammered a man before as i've hammered you, and i'm not half through with you. by the time i am through with you you'll slink into a corner every time you see me coming near. you scoundrel, you bully!" tom's fists continued to descend. dolph's tone changed from one of entreaty to one of dire threats. he would spend the rest of his life, he declared, in dogging reade's tracks until he succeeded in killing the boy. "that doesn't worry me any. you'll experience a change of heart---see if you don't," tom rejoined grimly, as he added to the pounding that the other was receiving. harry hazelton had struggled to his feet, though he had been unable to free his hands from the cords that held them behind his back. "you're not talking quite the way you did a few minutes ago, gage," harry put in dryly. "you'll see---both of you young pups!" moaned the battered wretch. "ask any one, and they'll tell you that dolph gage never overlooks a pounding such as i've had." "and you got it from the boy that you were going to teach something," jeered hazelton, "gage, you know a little more about tom reade, now, don't your?" then harry straightened up, as he caught sight of moving objects in the distance. "get through with him, tom" advised the other young engineer. "i see eb and josh coming on the run. they'll have the guns. we've got to look out for ourselves." tom flung the badly beaten man from him where he lay on the ground moaning over his hurts and vowing vengeance on tom. "stand still, harry, and i'll have you free in a jiffy," tom proposed, hauling out his pocket knife. "it won't do for us to stand still too long," urged hazelton, as his chum began to slash at the cords. "the other scoundrels will kill us when they see what's been going on here." "no, they won't," tom promised calmly. "we'll take care of 'em both. you wait and see which one i take. then you take the other. we'll handle 'em to the finish." this seemed like foolhardy talk when it was considered that the other two men would return armed. but harry had unlimited confidence in his friend, and so followed tom, crouching, until they had hidden behind bushes along the trail. "where be you, dolph?" called the voice of eb, as the pair drew near. "he's over there," spoke reade, springing out of the bushes. "you'll join him after a bit." neither eb nor josh was armed. tom sailed into eb, while harry sprang at josh. for a few minutes the trail was a scene of swift action, indeed. shortly eb and josh tried to run away, as gage had done, but each time the young engineers caught them and compelled them to renew the fight. "my man's going to sleep, now, harry!" tom called, and drove in a knockout blow with his left. josh swiftly followed eb to the ground. "they'll keep quiet for a little while," declared tom, after a look at each. dolph gage had by this time painfully risen to his feet and came limping slowly down the trail. "you might look after your friends, gage," tom called, pointing. "they need attention." "how did they come to be here?" gasped dolph. "they'll give you full particulars when they have time," tom laughed. "you boys won't feel quite so smart when our turn comes," snarled gage. "not a bit," reade answered. "if you fellows have any sense you'll conclude that you've had about all the settlement that you can stand." gage didn't make any answer. doubtless he concluded that it wouldn't be wise to talk back so he began working over eb and josh, until they showed signs of reviving. "did ye---did ye kill 'em for us, dolph?" gasped josh, as he opened his eyes and beheld the face of his comrade. "no," said gage curtly. "why not?" "shut up!" not many minutes more had passed when eb became conscious. "you fellows can go over to your camp, any time you want," suggested tom. slowly, painfully, the trio started. "i feel almost ashamed of myself," harry muttered. "so do i," tom agreed. "yet what else was there for us to do! we've stood all the nonsense we can from that crowd. they'd have killed us if we hadn't done something to bring them to their senses. now, i believe they'll let us alone." "they'll ambush us," predicted hazelton "well, they won't have any guns to do it with," tom grinned. "why, what became of their guns" "i'm the only fellow on earth who knows," tom laughed. "then you were at their camp?" "of course. my telling you to stone any prowler who visited this place was only a trap. i thought that he'd run off and get the rest of the crew. knowing you to be alone and unarmed, and believing me to be far away prospecting, they didn't imagine that they'd need their rifles. as soon as they left their camp i dropped in and borrowed the rifles and all their ammunition." "where is the stuff now?" "come on and i'll show you." "hold on a minute," begged harry, as tom leaped up. "do you miss anything?" "what?" "our assay furnace. eb and josh carted it away." "then we'll go after that, first," tom smiled. "our friends are so sore that it would be hardly fair to ask them to return the furnace." that missing article was found about halfway between the two camps. tom and harry picked it up, carrying it back to where it had been taken from. "going after the guns, now?" hazelton inquired. "first of all," tom suggested, "i think we had better start a roaring good campfire." "what do we want such a thing as that for?" harry protested. "the day is warm enough." "the fire will be just the thing," laughed tom quietly. "come on and gather the wood with me. alf! oh, you alf drew!" but the cigarette fiend was not in evidence if he heard, he did not answer. "we might as well pay that imitation boy for his time and let him go," muttered harry. "oh, i hardly think so," dissented reade. "it's worth some time and expense to see if we can't make something more nearly resembling a man out of him." the fire was soon crackling merrily. tom led the way to a thicket an eighth of a mile from camp. here he produced from hiding three repeating rifles and several boxes of ammunition. "we'll hold on to these," hazelton said. "for what reason?" "they'll come in handy to steer off that other crowd." "i wouldn't be bothered with keeping the rifles about camp," tom retorted, as they started backward. "but say! gage's man that went to dugout will soon be back. do you forget that he carries a rifle?" "jim ferrers will be back at about the same time," tom rejoined. "they'll have rifles until the camp will look like an outdoor arsenal. we don't want these added rifles around camp. besides, if we kept 'em we'd soon begin to feel like thieves with other folks' property." "what are you going to do with these guns, then?" "by tomorrow," reade proposed, "i rather expect to put these guns out where gage's crew can find them again." "well, you're full of faith in human nature, then!" gasped harry. "wait and see what happens," begged tom. when they stepped back into camp tom threw the magazine of one of the rifles open, extracting the cartridges. then he stepped over and carefully deposited the rifle across the middle of the fire. "i might have known!" cried hazelton. the other two rifles were soon disposed of in the same manner. "let the rifles cook in the fire for an hour," smiled reade," and the barrels will be too crooked for a bullet ever to get through one again." "what are you going to do with the cartridges, though?" "fire a midnight salute with them," tom answered briefly. "wait and you'll hear some noise." alf drew cautiously approached camp when he felt the pangs of hunger. the cigarette fiend must have been satisfied, for tom and harry had already gotten the meal. but reade, without a word of rebuke to their supposed helper, allowed young drew to help himself to all he wanted in the way of hot food and coffee. bringing midnight two hours nearer---that is to say, at ten o'clock, tom and harry, aided this time by alf, built a large fire-pile in a gully at a safe distance from camp. the wood was saturated with oil, a powder flash laid, then tom laid a fuse-train. lighting the fuse, the three speedily decamped. presently they saw the flames of the newly kindled fire shooting up through the trees. then the volleying began, for tom had carefully deposited through the fire-pile all the captured cartridges. for fully five minutes the cartridges continued to explode, in ragged volleys. "it's a regular fourth of july," harry laughed, back in camp. "tom, who's going to take the first trick of watch tonight?" "neither one of us," reade replied. "we'll both get a sound sleep." but the enemy?" "it would take four mules apiece to drag them over here tonight," laughed reade, as he rolled himself up in his blanket. "good night!" chapter xi planning a new move barely were the young engineers astir the following morning when alf drew came racing back with news. "there's a whole slew of men coming, on horseback and on foot!" alf reported. "and a whole train of wagons!" "good enough!" nodded tom. "i hope the new folks camp right close to here. we need good neighbors more than anything else." "but they may belong to gage's crowd," alf insisted. "don't you believe it, lad. dolph gage hasn't money enough to finance a crowd like that." "it may be dunlop's crowd," suggested hazelton. "that's more likely," said tom. "well we'll be glad enough to see dunlop back here with a outfit. this part of the woods will soon be a town, at that rate." "come out where you can get a look a new crowd," urged alf. "if it's any one who wants to be neighborly," reade answered with a shake of his head, "he's bound to stop in and say 'howdy.' we're going to get breakfast now." "then i'll be back soon, and tell you anything i can find out about the new folks," cried alf, darting away. but tom raced after the lad, collaring him. "alf, listen to me. we're not paying you to come in on time to get your meals. you get over there by jim's cooking outfit and be ready to take orders." "humph!" grunted young drew, but he went as directed, for there was nothing else to do. five minutes later mr. dunlop turned his horse's head and rode down into the camp. "howdy, boys!" called the mine promoter. "glad to see you back, mr. dunlop," tom nodded, while harry smiled a welcome. "i've sent my outfit around by the other trail," explained mr. dunlop. "i've brought back men enough to start work in earnest. there will be a mule train here by tomorrow with donkey engines and machinery enough to start the work of mine-digging in earnest. here, boy, take my horse and tie him." as alf led the animal away, mr. dunlop turned to the young engineers with a smile of great amiability. "boys, i'm glad to say that i wired the two railroad presidents you mentioned to me. both wired back, in effect, that my mine was bound to be a success if i turned the engineering problem over to you. so i'm going to accept your offers---hire you at your own figures. i want you to come over to the bright hope claim as soon as you've had breakfast." tom glanced at his chum, then answered, slowly: "i'm sorry, mr. dunlop, sorry indeed, if-----" "what are you trying to say?" demanded the mine promoter sharply. "when you left here, mr. dunlop, we told you that we couldn't agree to hold our offer open." "oh, that's all right. i've come right back and taken up your terms with you," replied the promoter easily. "but i'm sorry to say, sir, that you are too late." "too late? what are you talking about, reade? you haven't entered the employ of any one else not in this wilderness." "we've formed a partnership with ferrers, sir," reade gravely informed mr. dunlop, "and we're going into the mining business on our own account." "nonsense! where's your claim?" "somewhere, sir, in this part of nevada." "you haven't found the claim yet, then?" asked the promoter, with a tinge of relief in his voice. "no, sir. we located a promising claim, but the gage gang tricked us out of it. we'll find another, though." "then you'll prove yourselves very talented young men," scoffed mr. dunlop. "lad, don't you know that i've been all over this country with old-time prospectors? there isn't any claim left that will pay you for the trouble of locating and working it." "we're going to hope for better luck than your words promise us, sir," harry hinted. "you'll have your labor for your pains, then, and the satisfaction of finding yourselves fools," exclaimed dunlop testily. "you'd better drop all that nonsense, and report to me after breakfast." "it's not to be thought of, mr. dunlop," tom replied gravely. "we are here in the land of gold. we think we see our chance to work for ourselves for a while, and we're going to make the most of our chance." "then you're a pair of idiots," quivered indignant dunlop. "we'll be our own fools, then," smiled harry. "i beg your pardon for getting out of patience," spoke mr. dunlop, more gently. "i'm disappointed in you. all the way here i have been planning to get you both at work early. the stockholders in the bright hope are all looking for early results." "couldn't you get hold of an engineer at dugout?" tom inquired. "not one." "then you'll have to go farther---carson city," reade suggested. "there must be plenty of mining engineers in nevada, where their services are so much in demand." "a lot of new claims are being filed these days," explained mr. dunlop. "the best i could learn in dugout was that i'd have to wait until some other mine could spare its man." "i'm sorry we can't help you, sir," tom went on thoughtfully. "i shall feel it a personal grievance, if you don't," snapped the mine promoter. "we can't do anything for you, mr. dunlop," spoke reade decisively. "just as soon as ferrers returns, so that our camp can be taken care of, we three partners are going to hustle out on the prospect. will you have breakfast with us, sir?" mr. dunlop assented, but his mind was plainly on his disappointment all through the meal. even when harry hazelton related how dolph gage and his crew had been served, the mine promoter displayed but little enthusiasm. "by the way, sir," suggested tom, "you are not going to use all of your men today?" "i cannot use any of them for a day or two." "then you might do us a great favor by sending a few of your men over here. i expect that gage's absent comrade will return at any time. he will have his rifle, and one gun in the hands of a marksman, might be enough to make considerable trouble around here." "you ask me a favor, and yet you won't work for me," complained their guest. "i think we did you a favor, once upon a time, by helping to chase off the gage crowd at a critical time for you," said tom bluntly. "however, if you don't wish-----" "i'll send half a dozen men over here until ferrers returns," interjected mr. dunlop hastily. the men reported to tom and harry within half an hour. a few minutes after their arrival harry espied dolph gage's absent man galloping over to the gage claim. "there would have been trouble, if we hadn't shown a few armed men here," muttered hazelton. "there's some excitement in that camp, as it is," exclaimed tom, who had a pair of binoculars at his eyes. "gage, eb and josh are crowding around the new arrival. take the glasses, harry. note how excited they are about something." "gage is stamping about and looking wild," harry reported. "he looks as though, for two cents, he'd tear his hair out. and eb has thrown his hat on the ground and is stamping on it. i wonder what the trouble can be?" two hours later jim ferrers rode into camp at the head of his new outfit. he had the two-mule team and wagon, and seven men, all miners and armed. two of the men rode the ponies that reade had instructed jim to buy. "jim," called tom, as he ran toward their mining party, "have you any idea what's wrong with the gage crowd?" "i've a small notion," grinned the guide. "the man who was sent over couldn't file their claim to the ridge." "couldn't file it! why not?" "because every man in that crowd has exhausted his mineral land privileges taking up claims elsewhere." "why, then, man alive!" gasped tom, halting, a look of wonder on his face, and then a grin of realization, "if they can't file the claim to that strip, why can't we!" "we can, if we're quick enough," ferrers answered. "i tried to file the claim while i was over in dugout, but the clerk at the mining claim office said he 'lowed that we'd have to have our declaration tacked up on the ridge first of all." "that'll take us a blessed short time," muttered reade. "harry and i have all the particulars we need for writing out the notice of claim. get some breakfast on the jump, jim, and we'll hustle over there." "i had my breakfast before i rode in here," errors answered, his eyes shining. "i'd a-missed my guess, mr. reade, if you hadn't been ready for prompt action." "then there's no reason, jim, under mining customs, why we shouldn't ride over there and stake out that claim?" "not a reason on earth, mr. reade, except that gage will probably put up a big fight." "let him!" added tom, in a lower voice. "take it from me, jim ferrers, that claim on the ridge yonder is worth all kinds of fight. here, get the horses saddled again, while harry and i write our notice in record-breaking time for legible penmanship." tom's eyes were gleaming in a way that they had not done in months. for, despite his former apparent indifference to the trick gage had played on them, tom reade would have staked his professional reputation on the richness of the ridge claim. "it's gold, harry---gold!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, in his chum's ear. "it's gold enough to last us through life if we work it hard from the start." "we'll have to kill a few men before we can get gage off that ridge, though," hazelton predicted. "it's gold, i tell you, harry. when the gold-craze gets into a fellow's blood nothing but gold can cure it. we won't kill any one, and we'll hope not to be killed ourselves. but that claim was our discovery, and now the way is clear for us to own that strip of nevada dirt. gold, harry, old chum---gold!" then they fell to writing. harry did the pen work while reade dictated rapidly. if engineer tom reade had been briefly excited he did not betray the fact when he stepped outside the tent. "horses saddled, mr. reade," announced ferrers. "i s'pose you're going to take some of the boys over with us, in case gage tries to put up any shooting bluff?" "yes," nodded tom. "but don't take with us any fellow who is hot-blooded enough to do any real shooting." "it'll take real shooting to get gage's crew off that ridge," ferrers warned the young engineer. "all men get gold crazy when they find their feet on a claim. dolph gage will fight while he has breath left. don't try to go over there, sir, if you're not satisfied to have a little shooting done at need." "we're going over," declared tom, the lines about his mouth tightening, "and we're going to take the claim for our own, as long as we have the legal right to do so. but i hope there won't have to be any gun-powder burned. killing belongs only to one line of business---war!" chapter xii new owners file a claim dolph gage, after his richly deserved battering of the day before, presented a sorry-looking sight as he stood near the notice of his claim location. in his right hand he gripped the only rifle there now was in his outfit, the one brought back by the man who had been to dugout. jim ferrers, rifle resting across the front of his saddle, rode at the head of the reade-hazelton party as that outfit reached the edge of the claim. on either side of the guide, just to the rear, rode tom and harry. behind them tramped four men armed with rides, the other two men carrying a board, stakes and a hammer. "the first man who sets foot on this claim dies!" shouted dolph gage hoarsely. "same thing for any man who raises a rifle against us," ferrers called back. "gage, i want only a good excuse for taking one honest shot at you!" the moment was tense with danger. heedless of the black looks of dolph, tom dug his heels into his pony's flanks, moving forward at a trot. "gage," called the young engineer, steadily, "i think you have been in wrong often enough. this time i am sure that you will want to keep on the right side." "you keep on the right side by staying off the claim!" gage ordered, but at that instant reade rode over the boundary. for an instant no man could guess who would fire the first shot. gage was angry and desperate enough to fire and take great chances. had he fired at that moment there was no doubt that he would have been killed at the next breath. something stuck in gage's throat. he did not raise his rifle, but instead he growled: "you're a fine lot, to bring a small army against one man!" "we have as much right here, gage, as you have, spoke tom, steadily. "what do you want here!" "we have come to look this claim over." "get off, then. you have no right here." "you know, quite well, gage, that we have as much right here as you have," tom rejoined easily. "we are quite well aware that your man failed to file the claim because all of you have exhausted your mineral rights under the law. "so you think you can come here and take it from us, do you?" glared gage, his face livid with passion. "we have just the same right to this claim now that any man has who has any mineral rights left under the law," reade made answer. "but you haven't. i'm going to get this claim yet," gage insisted. "i've sent for a friend who hasn't taken up any mineral rights yet. he will file the claim. see here!" gage moved aside, displaying a new board, on which a notice had been written. "that's signed with the name of the man the claim belongs to now," declared gage, triumphantly. tom handed his bridle to harry, then dismounted, bending over to scan the new notice. it was a duplicate of the former one, except that the new signature was that of one, joseph pringle. "where is pringle?" tom demanded. "none of your business." "but you see," explained the young engineer dryly, "it happens to be my business." from under his coat reade drew forth a folding camera. quickly opening and focussing he held the camera close, pressing the bulb. "that photograph will enlarge to almost any size," tom declared. "now, then, gage, do you claim that this strip has been claimed by one, pringle?" "i do," scowled gage, "and pringle is our partner. we're going to work this claim with him, and you're trespassing." "is that pringle's own signature?" tom insisted. "none of your business!" "you've given me that same kind of an answer before," tom smiled. "as it happens, this is our business. gage, the writing of that notice looks exactly like your writing, and pringle's alleged signature is in the same hand-writing. if you've signed pringle's name---and i charge that you have---then that notice has no legal value whatever. recollect, i have a photograph of the notice and signature, and that this notice in turn, so that you may remember that the writing throughout is the same that my photograph is going to reveal." jim ferrers quickly came forward. gage stepped squarely in front of the board holding the notice. but tom took a swift step forward. gage, shaking, drew back out of possible reach of reade's fists. then, one after the other, the other members of tom's party inspected the writing. "much good may it do you!" jeered dolph gage harshly. "you'll find that this claim is ours!" "look at what that cub is doing!" broke in eb excitedly, pointing to harry. unobserved at first by others, hazelton had slipped back of the crowd. now he was placing a board in position, and that board announced the fact that jim ferrers had staked out this strip for himself. "take that down!" raged gage, as soon as he saw the new board and paper. "it won't do you any good." "we'll take a chance on it, anyway, and watch it for a few days," jim declared. "are you through with me now, mr. reade?" "certainly," nodded tom. mounting his horse, jim ferrers rode away at an easy gait. "this is a mean trick to try to play on us, reade," snarled gage. "if you hadn't played a mean trick on us, and staked this place off while you knew we were making the assay of ore taken from here," rejoined tom, "then we might be inclined to waive the purely legal side of the case and give you a fair chance to get your friend pringle here. but you must remember that you tricked us out of this claim in the first place, and now you have no right at all to complain. this claim now stands in jim ferrers's name, and so it will continue to stand." "go ahead," snarled gage. "try to take ore out of here. no man shall be a partner in this claim and live to spend any of the money he gets out of this mine! i've said it, and i'll pledge myself to back it up." "and you've made that threat before witnesses, also, gage. remember that," tom advised sternly. "and all the time you're chinning, dolph," broke in josh, "jim ferrers is riding hard for dugout city to file the new claim entry!" "if he is, something may happen to him on the way!" raged dolph, wheeling about like a flash. his saddle horse, ready for action, stood tied to a tree near by. gage leaped into his saddle after he had freed the horse. "boss, he's going after ferrers, to do him harm on the road," hoarsely whispered one of tom's new miners. "are you going to let the scoundrel start?" "yes," nodded tom coolly, "at ferrers's special request. he didn't want gage stopped from trying to overtake him." gage was now galloping away. "you've seen the last of ferrers," jeered josh, after gage had vanished in the distance. "perhaps we've seen the last of one of the men," replied reade coldly. chapter xiii jim tries the new way "i've attended to the firm's business," exclaimed jim ferrers, wrathfully, on his return to camp. "i filed the papers at dugout city, and the claim now stands in my name, though it belongs to the firm. and now, having attended to the firm's business, i'm going out to settle some of my own." "what business is that!" tom inquired over the supper table. it was three days after the morning on which ferrers had ridden away. "that mongrel dog, dolph gage, took a shot at me this afternoon!" ferrers exploded wrathfully. "i'd ought to have gotten him years ago. now i'm going to drop all other business and find the fellow." "what for?" tom inquired innocently. "what for?" echoed jim, then added, ironically: "why, i want to do the hyena a favor, of course." "if you go out to look for him, you're not going armed, are you?" reade pursued. "armed?" repeated ferrers, with withering sarcasm. "oh, no, of course not. i'm going to ride up to him with my hands high in the air and let him take a shot at me." "jim," drawled tom, "i'm afraid there's blood in your eye---and not your own blood, either." "didn't that fellow kill my brother in a brawl?" demanded ferrers. "hasn't he pot-shotted at me? and didn't he do it again this afternoon?" "why didn't the law take up gage's case when your brother was killed?" tom inquired. "well, you see, mr. reade," ferrers admitted, "my brother had a hasty temper, and he drew first---but gage fired the killing shot." "so that the law would say that gage fired in self-defense, eh?" "that's what a coroner's jury did say," jim admitted angrily. "but my brother was a young fellow, and hot-headed. gage knew he could provoke the boy into firing, and then, when the boy missed, gage drilled him through the head." "i don't want to say anything unkind, jim," reade went on, thoughtfully. "please don't misunderstand me. but, as i understand the affair, if your brother hadn't been carrying a pistol he wouldn't have been killed?" "perhaps not," ferrers grudgingly admitted. "then the killing came about through the bad practice of carrying a revolver?" "bad practice!" snorted jim. "well, if that's a bad practice more'n half the men in the state have the vice." "popular custom may not make a thing right," argued reade. "but what are you going to do when the men who have a grudge against you pack guns?" jim queried, opening his eyes very wide. "i've had a few enemies---bad ones, too, some of them," tom answered slowly. "yet i've always refused to carry an implement of murder, even when i've been among rough enemies. and yet i'm alive. if i had carried a pistol ever since i came west i'm almost certain that i'd be dead by this time." "but if you won't carry a gun, and let folks suspect you of being a white-flagger, then you get the reputation of being a coward," argued ferrers. "then i suppose i've been voted a coward long ago," reade nodded. "no, by the great nugget, you're not a coward," retorted ferrers. "no man who has seen you in a tough place will ever set you down for a coward." "yet i must be, if i don't tote a gun in a wild country," smiled reade. "but to go back to the case of that good-for-nothing, dolph gage," jim ferrers resumed. "you advise me to forget that he shot at me?" "oh, no, i don't," tom retorted quietly. "but you don't have to go out and take your own revenge. there are laws in this state, aren't there?" "of course." "and officers to execute the laws" "to be sure." "then why not go back to dugout city, there to lay information against gage. that done, the sheriff's officers will have to do the hunting. having nothing personal against the officers, gage will very likely hold up his hands when the officers find him, and then go back with them as peaceable as a lamb. jim, you want to be even with gage for shooting your brother and for trying to finish you. won't it give you more satisfaction to feel that you've put gage day for his bread and water? i know that is the way i'd want to punish a man that i had cause to hate. at least, i believe it's the way; i don't really know, for i can't recall any man that i hate hard enough to wish him worse than out of my sight." "say, it would be kinder funny to go up to the state 'pen' some day, and see dolph gage walking lock-step with a lot of rascally chinamen, drunken indians, knife-sticking foreigners and sassy bill-collectors, wouldn't it?" grinned jim ferrers. "i'm glad your sense of humor is improving," smiled tom reade. "now, tomorrow, morning, jim, you take two of the other men, and our ponies, and ride into dugout. if you run across gage don't try to pick up any trouble. of course, i don't mean to say that you shouldn't shoot in self-defense if you're attacked, but try, if possible, to keep out of any trouble with gage. just save him for the sheriff. it's the law's business to handle such fellows. let the law have its own way." "i'll do it," promised ferrers. "putting it the way you've done, mr. reade, it doesn't seem like such a baby trick to use the sheriff instead of killing the hyena, myself. yes; i'll sure leave it to the law. if dolph gage gets caught and sent to the 'pen' i'll sure go there on some visiting day and see how he looks in his striped suit!" instead of being offended, it was plain that ferrers was in high good humor. he went about camp whistling that night, and with a cheery word for everyone. camp had been moved over to the ridge, and the young engineers were ready to begin blasting operations the following morning. ferrers was no longer concerned with cooking, he having engaged a man to do that work. the new man kept a sharp eye on alf drew, making that youngster do a really honest day's work every day in the week. "i hate to take two men from you, mr. reade right at the start of operations," complained jim, the next morning at breakfast. "i don't need two men, either, to protect me." "i don't need the two men here, either, jim for a few days. as for you, you don't know how many men you are going to need. all three of gage's partners have vanished, and i'm sure that they're together somewhere out on the range. they undoubtedly have rifles again, at that, and if you meet them, three men won't be any too many to stand off those four rascals." tom watched the trio of horsemen out of sight in the morning. "if jim doesn't lose his head that trip will mean that we shall see the last of dolph gage," mused the young engineer. for once tom reade was in grave error, as subsequent events proved. "it's ten minutes of seven," harry reminded him. "get ready, men," tom shouted to their few laborers, who were enjoying a few minutes leisure after breakfast. at seven o'clock the young engineers and their handful of toilers moved over to the point in the outcropping vein of ore that reade had selected for their first blast. a small portable engine had already been fired, and all was ready for turning on the steam drill. twenty minutes later a satisfactory boring had been made. "bring up the dynamite," called tom. "are you going to pack the charge?" harry inquired. "yes," nodded tom, and received the stick of dynamite from the miner who brought it. while this was being made ready, hazelton superintended the laying of the wires to the magneto battery. all was soon in readiness. "the red flag is up," tom shouted. the dynamite had been rather loosely tamped home, for young reade wanted to begin with light rending force and work up, through successive blasts, to just the proper amount of force. "get back, everybody!" reade called, and there was a flying of feet. tom was last to leave the spot. he ran over to where harry stood at a safe distance. "pump her up, harry," nodded the young chief engineer. "you watch me, and see just how i run this magneto," hazelton said to one of their men who stood near by. "this will be your job after we've fired a few charges. i want you to get the hang of the trick." harry worked the handle of the magneto up and down. bang! over where the drilling had been done a mass of dirt and rock was shot up into the air. "what are you running so fast for, harry?" laughed tom, as he pursued his chum back to the scene of the blast. "i want to see if we stirred up any real ore. i want to know if our claim is worth the grub it takes to feed the men," was hazelton's almost breathless response. chapter xiv the cook learns a lessen arrived on the spot it took tom only a moment to estimate that considerably less than a quarter of a ton of ore had been loosened from the rock bed by the blast. "we'll drill six inches deeper next time, and put in fifty per cent. more dynamite," reade decided. the men brought up the drill and set it, after which the engineer was signaled. harry, in the meantime, was down on his hands and knees, curiously turning over the small, loose bits of rock. "stung, if this stuff proves anything," sighed hazelton. "you can't judge by one handful, harry," tom told him. "besides, we may have to get down twenty, or even fifty feet below surface before we strike any pay-stuff. don't look for dividends in the first hour. i've been told that gold-mining calls for more sporting blood than any other way in which wealth can be pursued." "but i don't find a bit of color in this stuff," harry muttered. "if we're on the top of a vein of gold it seems to me that we ought to find a small speck of yellow here and there." a dozen blasts were made that morning. when the men knocked off at noon harry hazelton's face bore a very serious expression. "tom," he murmured to his partner, "i'm afraid we have a gold brick of a gold mine." "it's an even chance," nodded reade. "and think of all the money---out of our savings---we've sunk in this thing." "i hope you're not going to get scared as early as this," protested tom. "why, before we even get in sight of pay-rock we may have to sink every dollar of our savings." "then hadn't we better get out of it early, and go to work for some one who pays wages?" questioned hazelton. "yes," tom shot out, quickly, "if that's the way you feel about it." "but do you feel differently, tom?" "i'm willing to risk something, for the sake of drawing what may possibly turn out to be the big prize in the mining lottery." "but all our savings," cried harry, aghast. "that seems like a foolish risk, doesn't it?" "if you say so, i'll draw out now," tom proposed. "what do you think about it?" "if all the money at stake were mine," reade said slowly, "then i'd hang on as long as i had a penny left to invest." "tom reade, i believe you're turning gambler at heart!" "i intend to be a good, game business man, if that's what you mean by gambling. but see here, harry, i don't want to pull your money into this scheme if you feel that you'd rather hold on to what you have." "if you're going to stay in, tom, then so am i. i'm not the kind of fellow to go back on a chum's investment." "but if we lose all we've saved then you'll feel-----" "don't argue any more, tom," begged hazelton. "i'm going to be game. you've voted, old fellow, to stay by this claim as long as you can, and that's enough for me." "but if we lose all our savings," tom urged. he had now become the cautious one. "if we lose them, we lose them," declared hazelton. "and we're both of us young enough to be able to save more before we're seventy-five or eighty years old. go ahead, tom. i'm one of the investors here, but the whole game is in your hands. go as far as you like and i'll stand back of you." "but-----" "say no more. tom, i shall try never again to be a quitter. whoop! let the money slip! we'll make the old mine a dividend payer before we are through with it." that afternoon about a dozen and a half more blasts were laid and fired. some five hundred feet of the surface of the vein had been lightly blasted, and several tons of ore thrown up. "i wouldn't call it ore, though," muttered harry to himself. "i don't believe this rook holds gold enough to put a yellow plating on a cent." "it does look rather poor, doesn't it, harry?" tom asked, trying to speak blithely. "humph! we've got to go deeper than this before we can expect to loosen rock worth thirty dollars to the ton," harry declared cheerily. "oh, we'll surely strike pay-rock in big lots after a while," predicted reade, smiling happily and whistling merrily as he strode away. "i'm glad harry has his courage with him and his hopes high," reade added to himself. "i'm glad tom is so cheerful and positive," thought hazelton. "i'll do my best to help him keep in that frame of mind; though, for myself, i believe we would make more money if we stood on a cliff and tossed pennies into the ocean." "i'm glad to see that all your high hopes have returned," declared tom, at supper that evening. "oh, i've got the gold fever for fair," laughed hazelton. "tom, how are we going to spend the money when we get it?" "a new house for the folks at home will take some of my money, when i get it," tom declared, his eyes glowing. "any old thing that the folks take a fancy to will catch my share of the gold," harry promised. "but, of course, we'll wait until we get it." "you haven't any doubts about getting the gold, have you?" "not a doubt. have you?" "i'm an optimist," harry asserted. "what's your idea of an optimist, anyway?" laughed tom. "an optimist is a fellow who believes that banknotes grow on potato vines," laughed harry. "oh, we'll get our gold all right," reade predicted. "we will, and a lot more. tom, you and i still have mineral rights that we can file, with ferrers as trustee." "we'll go prospecting for two more bully claims just as soon as we begin to see pay-rock coming out of this vein," tom planned. "alf, you lazy cigarette fiend, hurry up and bring me some more of the canned meat." "bring me another cup of coffee on the jump," called harry. "while you're about it make it two cups of coffee." as soon as he had brought the required things alf tried slyly to slip away by himself, for he had already had his own supper. "here, you son of the shiftless one, get back here and drag the grub to this table," yelled one of the men at the miners' table. after that alf remained on duty until all hands had been fed. then he tried to slip away again, only to be roped by a lariat in the hands of the new cook. "let me catch you trying to sneak away from work again, and i'll cowhide you with this rope," growled the cook. "why are you trying to sneak away before your work is finished?" "i'm almost dead for a smoke," said alf. "smoke, is it? you stay here and wash the dishes. don't try to get away again until i tell you you can go. if you do---but you won't," finished the cook grimly. alf worked away industriously. at last this outdoor kitchen work was finished. "now i can go, can't i?" spoke up alf, hopefully. "say, i'm perishing for want of a smoke." "stay and have a man's smoke with me," said the cook. "here, hold this between your teeth." alf drew back, half-shuddering from the blackened clay pipe, filled with strong tobacco, which the cook passed him. "you're always itching to be a man," mocked the cook. "and now's your chance. a pipe is a man's smoke. them cigs are fit only for 'sheeters." "i don't wanter smoke it," pleaded alf, drawing back from the proffered pipe. "you take matches, light that pipe and smoke it," insisted the cook, a man named leon, in a tone that compelled obedience. poor alf smoked wretchedly away. finally, when he thought leon wasn't looking, he tried to hide the pipe. "here, you keep that a-going!" ordered the cook wrathfully, wheeling upon the miserable youngster. so alf puffed up, feebly, and, when the pipe went out, he lighted the tobacco again. "here!" he protested, three minutes later, handing back the pipe. "smoke it!" gruffed leon. "i---i don't wanter." "smoke it!" "i---i can't," pleaded alf drew, the ghastly pallor of his face bearing out his assertion. "you smoke that pipe, or i'll-----" "you can kill me, if you wanter," gasped, alf, feeling far more ill than he had ever felt in his life before. "i don't care---but i won't smoke that pipe. there!" he flung it violently to the ground, smashing the pipe. "you little-----" began the cook, making a leap after the youngster. but alf, his sense of self-preservation still being strong, fled with more speed than might have been looked for in one so ill. tom reade, passing a clump of bushes, and hearing low moans, stopped to investigate. he found the little cigarette fiend stretched out on the ground, his face drawn and pale. "what on earth is the matter, mosquito?" inquired reade, with more sympathy than his form of speech attested. "oh, dear!" wailed alf. "so i gathered," said tom dryly. "but who got behind you and scared you in that fashion?" "o-o-oh, dear!" "you said that before; but what's up?" "at first i was afraid i was going to die," alf declared tremulously. "yes?" "and now i'm afraid i won't die!" alf sat up shivering convulsively. "now, alf," tom pursued, "tell me just what happened." by degrees the young engineer extracted the information that he was after. bit by bit alf told the tale, interspersing his story with dismal groans. "i always told you, alf, that smoking would do you up if you ever tackled it," reade said gravely. "but i have smoked for a year," alf protested. "oh, no," tom contradicted him. "the use of cigarettes isn't smoking. it's just mere freshness on the part of a small boy. but smoking---that's a different matter, as you've found out. now, alf, i hope you've learned a needed lesson, and that after this you'll let tobacco alone. while you're about it you might as well quit cigarettes, too. but i'm going to change your job. don't go back to the cook. instead, report to me in about an hour." then tom strode forward. after he had left young drew there was an ominous flash in the young engineer's eyes. he strode into camp and went straight to the cook's shack. "leon," tom demanded, "what have you been doing to that poor little shrimp of a helper?" the cook turned around, grinning. "i've been teaching him something about smoking," the man admitted. "so i've heard," said tom. "that's why i've dropped in here---to tell you what i think about it." "if you're going to get cranky," warned the cook, angrily, "you needn't take the trouble." "punishing alf isn't your work, leon," tom went on quietly. "i'm one of the heads here, and the management of this camp has been left more or less in my hands. i gave you a weak, deluded, almost worthless little piece of humanity as a helper. i'll admit that he isn't much good, but yet he's a boy aged fourteen, at any rate, and therefore there may be in that boy the makings of a man. your way of tackling the job is no good. it's a fool way, and, besides, it's a brutal, unmanly way." "i guess you'd better stop, right where you are, mister reade!" snapped leon, an ugly scowl coming to his face. "i don't have to take any such talk as that from you, even if you are the boss. you may be the boss here, but i'm older and i've seen more of the world. so you may pass on your way, mister reade, and i'll mind my own business while you mind yours." "good!" smiled tom amiably. "that's just the arrangement i've been trying to get you to pledge yourself to. mind your own business, after this, just as you've promised. don't play the brute with small boys." "you needn't think you can boss me, mister reade," sneered leon, a dangerous look again coming into his eyes. "i've told you that i won't take that kind of talk from you." "you'll have to listen to it, just as long as you stay in camp," reade answered. "i don't want to be disagreeable with any man, and never am when i can avoid it. but there are certain things i won't have done here. one of them is the bullying of small boys by big fellows like you. do i make myself plain?" "so plain," leon answered, very quietly, as one hand traveled back to the butt of the revolver hanging over his right hip, "that i give you just ten seconds, mister reade, to get away and do your talking in another part of the camp." tom saw the motion of the hand toward the weapon, though no change in his calm face or steady eyes denoted the fact. "i believe i've just one thing more to say to you, leon. i've told young drew that he needn't bother about coming back as your helper. he is to report to me, and i shall find him another job." "are you going to get away from here?" snarled the angry cook. "presently." "i'll give you only until i count ten," leon snapped, his hand still resting on the butt of his revolver. "you're not threatening me with your pistol, are you?" tom inquired in a mild tone. "you'll find out, if you don't vamoose right along. one---two---" "stop it," tom commanded, without raising his voice. "you may think you could get your pistol out in time to use it. try it, and you'll learn how quickly i can jump on you and grab you. try to draw your weapon, or even to shift your position ever so little, and i'll show you a trick that may possibly surprise you." there was no trace of braggadocio in tom reade's quiet voice, but leon knew, instantly, that the young engineer could and would be as good as his word. "take your hand away from the butt of your pistol," came tom's next command. something in the look of the young engineer's eyes compelled the angry cook to obey. "now, unbuckle your belt and hand it to me, revolver and all." "i'll-----" leon flared up, but tom interrupted him. "exactly, my friend. you'll be very wise if you do, and very sorry if you don't!" white with rage leon unbuckled his belt. then he handed it out, slowly. he was prepared to leap upon the young engineer like a panther, but tom was watching alertly. he received the belt with his left hand, holding his right hand clenched ready for "business." "thank you," said tom quietly. "now, you may return to your work. i'm ready to forget this, leon, if you are." leon glared speechlessly at his conqueror. this cook had lived in some of the roughest of mining camps, and had the reputation of being dangerous when angry. from outside came an appreciative chuckle. then jim ferrers stepped into the shack. "so you were hanging about, ready to back up the kid?" demanded the cook. "i? oh, no," chuckled jim. "leon, when you've known mr. reade as long and as well as i do you'll understand that he doesn't ask or need any backing. mr. reade wants only what's right---but he's going to have it if he has to move a township." tom departed, swinging the belt and revolver from his right hand. "i'm through here," muttered leon, snatching off his apron. "that is, just as soon as i've squared up accounts with that kid." "then you'd better put your apron on again," jim drawled, humorously. "it takes longer than you've got left to live when any one goes after tom reade to get even." "jim ferrers, you know me well enough," remarked leon, reaching for his hat. "most times i'm peaceable, but when i get started i'm a bad man." "exactly," nodded jim undisturbed. "that's why you can never hope to come out on top in a row with mr. reade. while you may be a bad man, he's a good man---and all man! you don't stand any show with that kind. hang up your hat, leon. here's your apron. put it on and stay with us. when you cool down you can stay right along here and take lessons in the art of being a real man!" jim ferrers strolled out of the shack, leaving the vanquished cook in a towering rage. by degrees the expression on the fellow's face altered. ten minutes later he was at work---at cook's duties. chapter xv why reade wanted gold four weeks moved on rapidly. all too rapidly, in some respects, to please engineer harry hazelton. sheriff's officers had ridden into camp, and had scoured that part of the country, in an effort to locate dolph gage and that worthy's friends. just where the four vagabonds were now no man knew, save themselves. however, another spectre had settled down over the camp. the truth was that the young engineers were now using up the last thousand dollars of their combined savings. by way of income, less than fifty dollars' worth of gold and silver had been mined. every few days some promising-looking ore was turned out, but it never came in sufficient quantities. none of this ore had yet been moved toward dugout city. there wasn't enough of it to insure good results. brilliant in streaks, still the mine looked like a commercial fizzle. "hang it, the gold is down there!" grunted tom, staring gloomily at the big cut that had been blasted and dug out along the top of the ridge. "i'll be tremendously happy when you show me a little more of it," smiled hazelton weakly. "it's lower down," argued tom. "we've got to dig deeper---and then a lot deeper." "on the capital that we have left?" ventured harry. "oh, we may strike enough, any day, to stake us for a few weeks longer," urged tom. "we'll soon have to be working in covered outs, where the frost won't put up trouble for us, you know," hazelton hinted. "yes; i know that, of course. what we must begin to do, soon, is to sink the shaft deeper and then tunnel." "that will cost a few thousand dollars, tom." "i know it. come on, harry. get a shovel." tom himself snatched up a pick. "what are you going to do, tom?" "work. you and i are strong and enduring. we can save the wages of two workmen." both young engineers worked furiously that afternoon. yet, when knocking-off time came, they had to admit that they had no better basis for hope. "i wonder, tom, if we'd better get out and hustle for jobs?" harry asked. "you might, harry. i'm going to stick." mr. dunlop dropped in at camp, that evening, after dark. "you young men are doing nothing," said the mine promoter. "i can use you a couple of months, if you'll stop this foolishness here and come over to me." "why, i suppose hazelton could go over and work for you, mr. dunlop," tom suggested. "that would be of no use. i need you both, but you, reade, most of all." "i can't go to you now, mr. dunlop," tom replied regretfully. "i'm committed to the development of this piece of property, which is only a third my property." "bosh! a decent farm would be worth more to you than this claim," argued mr. dunlop derisively. "perhaps. but neither of my partners has quit, mr. dunlop, and i'm not going to quit, either." "this is the last chance i can give you, reade. you'd better take it." "no; though i beg you to accept my best thanks, mr. dunlop. however, hazelton can go over and help you." "both, or neither," returned mr. dunlop firmly. harry looked half eagerly at reade, but tom shook his head. "what do you say, mr. reade?" pressed the promoter. "last call to the dining car. with your funds running low, and a hard winter coming on you'll soon know what it means to be hungry." "i'm much obliged, sir but i'm going to stick here at my own work." "what do you say, hazelton?" coaxed the promoter. "nothing," harry replied loyally. "you heard what my partner had to say. in business matters he talks for both of us." "good night, then," grunted mr. dunlop, rising. "if you should change your minds in the morning, after breakfast, come and tell me." after dunlop had gone tom and harry walked up and down the trail together under the stars. "sixteen hundred dollars a month dunlop is offering the two of us," half sighed hazelton. "two months of that would mean thirty-two hundred dollars. how much money have we now, tom?" "six hundred and forty-two dollars and nineteen cents," reade answered dryly. "that won't last us long, will it?" "no; especially as we owe some of it on bills soon due at dugout." "then---what?" "i don't know," tom answered almost fiercely. "yes; i do know! as soon as our present few pennies are gone it means a future of fight and toil, on empty stomachs. but it's worth it, harry---if we live through the ordeal." "and for what are we fighting?" inquired harry musingly. "first of all, then, for gold." "tom, i never knew you to be so crazy about gold before. what are we going to do with it---if we get it?" "there are the folks at home." "of course, tom, and they would be our first thought---if we had the gold. but we can do all we want to for the home folks out of the pay that we are able to earn at steady jobs." "true." "then why are we fooling around here? we are nearly broke, but we can honestly settle all the debts we owe. then we could get back to work and have bank accounts again within a few months." "yes; but only pitiful bank accounts---a few hundreds of dollars, or a few thousands." it would be steady and growing." "yes; but it would take years to pile up a fortune, harry." "what do we really want with fortunes?" "we want them, harry," tom went on, almost passionately, "because we have ambitions. look out upon the great mountains of this range. think of the rugged bits of nature in any part of the world, waiting for the conquering hand and the constructive brain of the engineer! harry, don't you long to do some of the big things that are done by engineers? don't you want to get into the real---the big performances of our profession?" "of course," nodded hazelton. "for that reason, aren't we doubly wasting our time here?" "that's just as it turns out," reade went on, with a vehemence that astonished his chum. "harry, what's our office address? where are our assistant engineers---where our draftsmen? where are our foremen that we could summon to great undertakings? where is the costly equipment that we would need as a firm of really great engineers? you know that we must these things before we can climb to the top of our profession. the gold that's hidden somewhere under that ridge would give us the offices, the assistants, the draftsmen, the equipment and the bank account that we need before we can launch ourselves into first class engineering feats of the great civilization that rules the world today. harry, i've firm faith in our claim, and i can go on working on a meal every third day." "then now, as always, you can count on me to stand by you without limit or complaint," said harry generously. "but, just the same, you haven't my faith in the mine, have you?" tom queried half-disappointedly. "er---er---" "out with it, chum!" "so far i have been disappointed in the claim. but i am well aware that i may be wrong. listen, tom, old fellow. this isn't a matter of faith in the mine; it's one of faith in you. go as far as you like, and, whichever way it turns out, remember that i regard your judgment as being many times as good as my own." "yet you'd drop out if the decision rested solely with you, wouldn't you, harry," "you'll never again get my opinion of this claim of ours," laughed hazelton. "you'll have to be contented with my good opinion of you and your judgment." "but see here, harry, i wish you'd get out of here for a while. go back into the world; take a position that will support you and provide the luxuries and savings as well. i'll work here faithfully and work for both of us at the same time." "you must have a mighty small opinion of me, tom reade, to think i'd leave you in the lurch like that." "but i ask it as a favor, harry." "if you ever ask that sort of a favor again, tom reade, you and i will be nearer to fighting than we've ever been yet in our lives!" it was plain that hazelton intended to stick to the mine, even to the starving point, if reade did. after some further talk the two went back to their tent and lay down on their cots. five minutes later harry's quiet, regular breathing betrayed the fact that he was asleep. with a stealthy movement, tom reade threw down the blankets, reached for his shoes, his coat and hat and stole out into the quiet and darkness. from other tents and shacks nearby came snores that showed how soundly miners could sleep. "i believe this is the first night that i ever failed to sleep on account of business worries," muttered reade grimly, as he strode away. "this may be a fine start toward becoming a nervous wreck. in time i may become as shattered as poor little alf drew. i wonder if i shall ever fall so low as to smoke cigarettes!" for some minutes tom plodded on through the darkness. he did not go toward the claim, but in the opposite direction. he walked like one who felt the need of physical exhaustion. presently coming to a steep trail winding along among boulders he took to the trail, striding on at barely diminished speed. at last, out of breath from the rapid climb, tom halted and gazed down over the rugged landscape. "the gold is there," he muttered. "i'm sure of it. oh, if we could only find it!" as tom stood, deep in thought, the face of his patient friend rose before him. "i don't mind going to smash for myself, in a good, hard fight," reade went on audibly. "but it seems a crime to drag harry down to poverty with me. if i could only get him to go away i'd give up my own life, if need be, to prove what's under our ridge of nevada dirt." "ye'll give up your life for less'n that, i reckon!" sounded another voice, close at hand. around a boulder dolph gage stepped into view, followed by two of his men. chapter xvi the man who made good "good evening, gage," tom responded pleasantly, after a slight start of alarm. "what brings you in this section again?" "wanter know?" sneered gage, while his companions scowled. "that was my object in inquiring," tom smiled. "we're hiding---that's what we're doing here," gage volunteered harshly, though he spoke in a low voice. "hiding here---with the officers looking for you?" "well, what could be a safer place than right where we're wanted?" demanded dolph. "the officers are scouring other counties for us, and they have handbills up offering rewards for us. right here, overlooking your claim, they'd never think of looking for men who have a price set on their capture." "well, you needn't be afraid of me," offered reade, with mock generosity. "i'm short of money, but i'm not looking for blood money. you had better travel fast from here. i'll give you until daylight before i send word to the law's officers." "daylight? you'll never see daylight again," gage retorted. "you will be lying here, looking up at the stars, but you won't see anything!" "your words have a mysterious ring to them," laughed tom. he wasn't in any doubt as to what the rascals meant to do with him. it was a rule with tom reade, however, that he wasn't dead until he had actually been killed. even while he spoke so lightly, tom, through his half-closed eyes, was taking in every detail of the situation. none of the trio had yet drawn their weapons, though all wore them in plain sight. if they started to draw their pistols tom decided that he would leap forward holding to gage, kicking one of the latter's companions so as to render the fellow helpless, and---- "but the third man will get me with his pistol," tom decided. "that is, unless they become flustered when i show fight. it's a slim chance for me---a mighty slim chance, but i'll do my best as soon as these wretches start something!" "lost your money in your claim, haven't you?" jeered gage, who was plainly playing with his intended victim. "serves you right, after jumping us out of the property just because the law said you could! but the gold's there, and we've got a man with mineral rights to nab the claim as soon as you give up." "that will be a long while, i imagine," tom smiled back at the rascal. "not as long as you may think," laughed gage harshly. "we've got you now, and we'll get hazelton and jim ferrers, next thing you know. then our claim will be established through our friend, and we'll protect him from being jumped by any one else." "if you live," tom reminded the fellow. "oh, we'll live!" gage retorted grimly. "we're hunted, now, and we'll kill every man that comes near enough." "begin with this cub!" spoke up eb, gruffly. "don't play with him until he tricks us and gets away." "perhaps you don't realize how close help is to me," tom broke in quickly. it was a "bluff," but he hoped that it might have its effect. "if there's help near you," quivered gage, his anger rising, "we'll make sure that it doesn't get here in time to do you any good. draw and finish him boys!" before reade could tense his muscles for a spring, a shot rang out behind them. eb fell, with a swift, smothered groan of pain. "duck!" panted dolph gage. "out of this! to cover, and then we'll reckon with any one who tries to follow us!" in the same instant tom turned, bounding down the trail in the direction from which the shot had come. "good! keep on going, boss!" whispered a calm voice. "don't let 'em catch you again." "who are you?" tom demanded, halting and trying to make out the man's face in the intense shadow under a ledge of rock. "duck!" commanded the same voice. "i'll follow close. i'm alone, and some of that crew may pluck up heart and follow us. vamoose!" "i'll go at your side, but i won't run ahead of you," tom whispered back. "i know you, now. thank you, leon!" in the darkness, in lieu of shaking hands tom gripped one of the man's elbows in sign of thanks. "we'd better get out of this," tom went on, in a barely louder whisper. "but how did you come to be on hand, leon?" "followed you," was the terse reply. "from the camp?" "yes." "why?" "wanted to get even with you." "you're talking in riddles," reade protested, in a puzzled tone. "at the same time i'm greatly obliged to you." "thought you'd be," grunted leon. "that's how i got even." "what do you mean?" tom wanted to know. "you got even by placing me under a great obligation?" "just that," nodded the cook, "we had trouble, once, and you came out on top, didn't you?" "yes; but that little affair needn't have prevented us from being friends." "it did, until i had done something to make you needed me as a friend," the cook declared. tom laughed at this statement of the case. it accorded quite closely, however, with the cook's generally sulky disposition. even a friendship leon would offer or accept grudgingly. "but why did you follow me?" tom continued, as they neared the camp. "did you think i was going to run into danger?" leon hesitated. "well," he admitted, finally, "when i saw you stealing off, soft like, i had a queer notion come over me that, maybe, you were discouraged, and that you were going off to put an end to yourself." tom started, stared in amazement, then spoke in a tone of pretended anger: "much obliged for your fine opinion of me, leon," he declared. "only cowards and lunatics commit suicide." "that's all right," nodded the cook doggedly. "i've seen men lose their minds out here in these gold fields." they were now in camp. "wait, and i'll call ferrers and a few of the men, leon," tom proposed. "what for? to stand guard?" "no; we must send back a few of the men to find that man you wounded. it was eb. he fell in a heap. if his own companions didn't carry him away he was left in a bad fix." "you'll be going back to nurse rattlesnakes yet!" almost exploded the cook. "that's all right, but we're going to find that wounded man if he's in need of help," tom stoutly maintained. he called jim ferrers, who roused five more men. then the party returned to the place on the trail where eb had been left. there were still blood spots on the ground, but eb had vanished. the party spent some minutes in searching the vicinity, then concluded that gage had rescued and carried away the wounded man. it may be said, in passing, that eb was subsequently found, by officers, lying in a shack not far from dugout city. the fellow was nearly dead, when found, from careless handling of his wound. at dugout the surgeons amputated his wounded leg, and eb finally wound up in prison. during all the excitement hazelton had not been aroused. he knew nothing of what had happened until morning came. before tom reade turned in that night he shook hands with the sullen cook. "i think you and i are going to be good friends, after this, leon," tom smiled. "i hope so, anyway." "and i'm glad you gave me back my gun," grunted leon. "it gave me a chance to do something for you. yes; i reckon we'll be good friends after this." chapter xvii the miners who "stuck" "hey, tom!" harry called down, from the top of their shaft, now one hundred and thirty feet down into the ground. "yes!" reade answered from below, making a trumpet of his hands. "doing anything?" harry bawled. "not much. why?" "if you want to come up i'll show you something." "what?" "the first snow of winter is falling." harry tried to speak jovially, but his tone was almost sepulchral. "yes, i'll come up, then," tom reade answered. "it's high time for us to see to building a shelter that will keep out of the shaft the big snows that are coming." "the big snows are likely to be here, now, within a week," remarked one of the miners who had paused to rest from digging for a moment. "men!" bawled tom, stepping from the long into the short tunnel. "all hands knock off and go up to the surface." there was a tub hand-hoist for carrying up ore, but the men always used the series of ladders that had been built in on the side of the shaft. two minutes later these ladders swarmed with men going above. as they stepped out into the world the first soft flakes of winter floated into their faces. "reade, we'll have to start building the cover to the shaft," spoke jim ferrers, who stood beside hamilton. "i know it," tom nodded. "however, first of all, i want a few words with you and harry." the three partners stepped aside, waiting in silence while a whispered consultation went on around tom. at length reade stepped back. "men" he began, and every eye was turned in his direction. "you are waiting for orders to start on shedding over the shaft, and the lumber is ready. however, we mean to be fair with you. you all know that this claim has been going badly. when my partners and i started we had some capital. before we do any more work here it is only fair to tell you something. we now have money enough left so that we can pay you your wages up to saturday. when we've paid that we shall have a few dollars left. if you men want to quit now we'll pay you up to saturday, and you'll have time to be in dugout before your time here is up." "do you want us to go, mr. reade?" asked tim walsh." "why, no, of course not," tom smiled. "if we had the money we'd want to keep you here all winter. but we haven't, and so we've no right to ask you to stay." walsh glanced around him, as though to inquire whether the men were willing that he be their spokesman. receiving their nods the big miner went on: "mr. reade, sir, we've seen this coming, though, of course, we didn't know just how big your pile was. we've talked it over some, and i know what the fellows think. if you don't pay us our wages, but put the money into grub only, you can keep a-going here some weeks yet." "yes," tom nodded. "but in that case, if the mine didn't pan out, we wouldn't have a cent left out of which to pay you off. at least, not until reade and i had been at work for months, perhaps a year, on some salaried job. so you see that we can't fairly encourage you men to remain here." "mr. reade," walsh declared, this time without glancing at the other men, and there was a slight huskiness in the big miner's voice, "we wouldn't feel right if we went anywhere else to work. we've never worked under men as fair and square as you three men have been. you've treated all of us white. now, what kind of fellows would we be if we cleared out and left you just because the snow had come and the money had gone. no, sir! by your leave, gentlemen, we'll stay here as long as you do, and the money can take care of itself until it shows up again. mr. reade, and gentlemen, we stick as long as you'll let us!" tom felt slightly staggered, as his face showed it. "men," he protested, "this is magnificent on your part. but it wouldn't be fair to let you do it. you are all of you working for your living." "well, aren't you three working for your living, too?" grinned walsh. "yes; but we stand to make the big stake here, in case of victory at last." "and i reckon we stand a show of having a little extra coming to us, if we do right by you at this minute," laughed walsh. "yes, you do---if we strike the rich vein for which we're hunting. yet have you men any idea a how little chance we may have of striking that vein? men, the mine may---perhaps i would better say probably will---turn out a fizzle. i am afraid you men are voting for some weeks of wasted work and a hungry tramp back to dugout city at the end. as much as we want to go on with the work, we hate to see you all stand to lose so much." "you're no fool, mr. reade. neither is mr. hazelton," returned walsh bluntly. "you're both engineers, and not green ones, either. you've been studying mines and mining, and it isn't just guess-work with you when you say that you feel sure of striking rich ore." "only one of us is sure," smiled tom reade wistfully. "i'm the sure one. as for my partners, i'm certain that they're sticking to me just because they're too loyal to desert a partner. for myself, i wouldn't blame them if they left me any day. as for you men, i shall be glad to have you stay and stand by us, now that you know the state of affairs, but i won't blame you if you decide to take your money and the path back to dugout city." "it's no use, mr. reade," laughed walsh, shaking his shaggy head. "you couldn't persuade one of us to leave you now." "and i'd thrash any man who tried to," declared another miner. "men, i thank you," tom declared, his eyes shining, "and i hope that we shall all win out together." "now, what do you want us to do?" asked walsh. "we have timbers and boards here," tom replied. "if the big snows are likely to be upon us within a week, then we can't lose any time in getting our shaft protected. at the same time we must use other timber for putting up two or three more shacks. the tents will have to come down until spring." harry immediately took eight of the men and started the erection of three wooden shacks not far from the mine shaft. ferrers took the rest of the men and speedily had timbers going up in place over the mouth of the shaft. for three hours the snow continued to float lightly down. then the skies cleared, but the wind came colder and more biting. jim ferrers and one of the men started for dugout city with a two-horse wagon, that the camp might be kept well-supplied with food. by night of the day following all of the carpenter work had been finished, though not an hour too soon, for now the weather was becoming colder. "never put in a winter on the indian smoke range, did you, mr. reade?" walsh inquired. "never." "then you'll find out what cold weather is like. a winter on this range isn't much worse, though, than what i've heard about cold weather in alaska." "it'll be a relief to see six feet of snow, after living on the hot desert of arizona," harry muttered. by evening of the following day, when jim and his companion returned with the wagon-load of provisions, another day's work had been done in the mine. "any color today?" was ferrers's first question. "no signs of gold," sighed harry. "i heard a new one over at dugout city," jim remarked carelessly. "heard a new one?" echoed tom. "what was it?" "a baby," jim answered dryly. "what are you talking about?" harry demanded. "what has a baby to do with a 'new one'?" when the men began to laugh harry suddenly discovered the joke. "that's all right, jim," growled harry. "but i know something that would tickle you." "a feather, or a straw," mocked ferrers. "no! a crowbar!" grunted hazelton making a reach for a tool of that description. jim hastily jumped out of the way as harry balanced the bar. "go and tell the men about the 'new one' you heard, jim," laughed tom. "by the time you get back harry will have the joke pried loose with that bar of his." "'heard a new one'!" grunted harry. but his look of disgust was because it had taken him so long to penetrate the "sell." chapter xviii the goddess of fortune smiles wistfully "haul away!" called jim, from the bottom of the shaft. up came the tub, filled with chunks of ore, each about the size of a man's head. at the top stood harry hazelton, on the crust of two feet of frozen snow. tom thrust his head out through the doorway of the nearby shack in which the partners lived. "is jim sending up any bricks" he inquired. "he's sending up ore, but i don't know whether it's any good," harry answered. "why don't you look the stuff over?" "i haven't had the heart to look at it." close to the shaft stood a wagon. the horses were resting in the stable shack, for by this time the weather averaged only a few degrees above zero and the horses were brought out only when they could be used. "take a good look at the stuff, harry," called tom, as soon as he saw two of the workmen dumping it. then reade closed the door, and went back to the furnace that he had rigged up under the chimney at one end of the shack. "oh, what's the use?" sighed hazelton, to himself, as he paused, irresolute. "in weeks and weeks we haven't brought up enough gold to pay for the keep of the horses." still, as tom had asked him to do so, hazelton presently walked over to the little pile that had just been dumped. "you men up there work faster," sounded jim's voice. "we want to send up a tub every five minutes." "want the team yet?" bawled the teamster, from another shack. "no," harry answered. "not for a half an hour yet." that question was enough to cause the young engineer to forget that he had intended to inspect the tub-load of ore. he strolled back to the head of the shaft. the wind was biting keenly today. harry was dressed in the warmest clothing he had, yet his feet felt like lumps of lead in his shoes. "arizona may be hot, but i'd rather do my mining down there, anyway," thought the young engineer. "if i could move about more, this wouldn't be so bad." just off of the shaft was a rough shack several feet square which contained a small cylinder of a wood stove. there was a fire going in the stove, now, but harry knew from experience that if he went in to the stove to get warm, he would only feel the cold more severely when he came out again. "say, i don't know why i couldn't run that furnace as well as tom, and he likes this cold stuff better than i do," murmured hazelton. "i am going to see if he won't swap jobs for a couple of hours." "getting anything out of those ore-tests of yesterday's dump?" harry demanded, entering their shack. "not so much," tom replied cheerily. "we're in a bad streak of stuff, harry. but i thought you were watching the dump. what's the matter? too cold out there?" "yes," nodded harry. "i feel like a last year's cold storage egg. don't you want to spell me a bit out there, tom? i can run the furnace in here." "certainly," reade agreed, leaping up. "there's nothing to do, now, but weigh the button when it cools." "did you really get a button?" harry asked, casually, as he drew off his heavy overcoat. "yes; a small one." "how much ore did you take it from?" "about two tons, i should say." "then, if the button is worth sixty cents," mocked harry, "it will show that our ore is running thirty cents to the ton." "oh, we'll have better ore, after a while," tom laughed. "we've got to have," grunted hazelton, "or else we'll have to walk all the way to our next job." "just weigh the button, when it cools, and enter the weight on this page of the notebook," directed reade, then went for his own outdoor clothing. "have you been inspecting the dump as the stuff came up?" "you'll think me a fool," cried harry, "but i totally forgot it." "no matter," tom answered cheerily. "i've been doing bench work so long in here that i need exercise. i can run over all the stuff." after reade had pulled on his overcoat and buttoned it he fastened a belt around his waist. through this he thrust a geologist's hammer. "don't go to sleep, harry, old fellow, until you've cooled and weighed the button. then you may just as well take a nap as not." "there he goes," muttered hazelton, as the door closed briskly. "faith and enthusiasm are keeping tom up. he could work twenty-four hours and never feel it. i wish i had some of his faith in this ridge. i could work better for it. humph! i'm afraid the ridge will never yield anything better than clay for brick-making!" harry did succeed in keeping his eyes open long enough to attend to the button. that tiny object weighed, and the weight entered, hazelton sat back in his chair. within a minute his eyes had closed and he was asleep. tom reade, out at the ore dump, looked anything but sleepy. with tireless energy he turned over the pieces of rock, pausing, now and then, to hold up one for inspection. in reaching for a new piece his foot slipped. glancing down, to see just where the object was on which he had slipped, tom suddenly became so interested that he dropped down on his knees in the snow. it was a piece of rock that had come up in the first tubful. at one point on the piece of rock there was a small, dull yellow glow. reads pawed the rock over in eager haste. then he drew the hammer from his belt, striking the rock sharply. piece after piece fell away until a solid yellow mass, streaked here and there faintly with quartz, lay in his hand. "by the great custer!" quivered tom. "what's the matter, boss?" called one of the workmen. "got a sliver in your hand?" "have i?" retorted tom joyously. "come here and take a look." "haul away!" sounded ferrers's hoarse voice from below. "tell jim to stop sending and come up a minute," nodded tom. "do you often see a finer lump than this?" tom wanted to know as the two workmen came to him. he held up a nugget. shaped somewhat like a horn-of-plenty, it weighed in the neighborhood of three ounces. "say, if there are many more like that down at the foot of the shaft this old hole-in-the-ridge will be a producer before another week is out!" answered one of the workmen. "how much is it worth, boss?" "allowing for the quartz that streaks this little gold-piece, it ought to be worth from forty to fifty dollars," tom responded thoughtfully. "fifty dollars?" broke in jim ferrers, as he sprang from the top ladder to the ground. "is there that much money on the indian smoke?" "not minted, of course," laughed tom. "but here's something as good as money." "where did you get it?" jim demanded, tersely, after one look at the nugget. "in this ore-dump." "today's send-up, then?" "of course." without a word ferrers fell at work on the pile of rocks, turning them over fast. tom helped him. the two men, released from hoisting duty, also aided. "nothing more like that sticking out of the rock," jim grunted, turning to one of the men. "bring me a sledge." with that larger hammer, held in both hands, jim placed ore pieces with his feet, swiftly bringing down sharp blows that reduced the rocks to nearly the size of pebbles. "i don't see any more nuggets coming," mused! tom. "but wait a minute. look at the yellow streak through some of these fragments." "we're getting into the vein, i believe," spoke jim solemnly. "look at the stuff! but wait! i've a little more hammering to do." back of them stood the teamster, who had just come up with the horses. "am i to take that stuff and dump it down the ravine?" he asked slowly. "if you do," retorted ferrers heatedly, "i'll hammer in the top of your head, andy! reade, won't you pick out what you want for the site of the ore-dump. we've got some real ore at last!" one of the two hoist-men now ran to the shaft, shouting down the great news. "hold on there, bill," tom called dryly. "don't get the boys excited over what may turn out to be nothing. don't tell 'em any more than that we have-----" "tell 'em yourself, boss," retorted bill. "here they come!" from the ladder a steady stream of men discharged itself until the last one was up. "where are you going, tim?" called tom, turning just in time to note big walsh's movements. "going to call mr. hazelton, sir." "don't do it. don't get him stirred up for nothing." "for nothing, boss?" "don't bother hazelton until we can tell him something more definite. boys, with all my heart i hope that we have something as good as we appear to have. but every man of you knows that, once in a while, gold is found abundantly in a few hundred pounds of rock, and then, from that point on, no more yellow is found. we won't get excited until we get our first thousand dollars' worth out of the ground and have the smelter's check in hand. we'll hope---and pray---but we won't cheer just yet." "humph! if you don't want us to cheer, then what shall we do?" demanded big walsh. "we'll work!" tom retorted energetically. "we'll work as we never did before. we'll keep things moving every minute of the time. back with you into the shaft and out into the tunnel! you hoist-men stand by for a big performance with the tub. jennison, you may stay up from below and tote specimens for me. i shall be at the furnace until midnight at the least." "i'll tote for you till daylight, if the good streak only holds out," laughed jennison, with glowing eyes. "come softly into the shack when you do come," tom directed. "i'm going to put mr. hazelton to bed, and i don't want any one to wake him. when i play out tonight he'll have to be fresh enough to take my place at the assay bench and furnace." softly tom entered their shack. harry lay fast asleep, breathing heavily. "this won't do, old fellow," spoke tom gently, shaking his chum's shoulder. "no; don't wake up. just get into bed. i may want to turn in later, and, when i do, i may have some work left over that i'll want you to do." "anything up?" asked harry drowsily. "i'm going to be busy for a while, and then i want you to be," tom answered. he half pushed his chum toward the narrow bunk against the wall. drowsy hazelton needed no urging, but stretched himself out in his bunk. tom drew the blankets up over him, adding: "don't stir until i call you." hour after hour the men below in the mine sent up tub-lots of rock. jim spent half of his time above ground, the rest below. jennison was busy bringing the best samples in to reade, but he walked so softly that harry slept peacefully on. still the yellow rock came up. none of it looked like the richest sort of ore, but it was good gold-bearing stuff, none the less. tom made many assays. it was seven in the evening ere the excited miners would agree to knock off work for the day. then tom quit and had supper with them. there was excitement in the air, but tom still counseled patience. "we'll know more in a week than we do now," he urged. "that's all right, mr. reade," laughed tim walsh. "as long as you were hopeful we didn't bring up enough yellow to pay for the dynamite we used in blasting. now, boss, you're begging us not to be hopeful, and the luck is changing." "i'm not kicking against hopefulness," tom objected, smiling. "all i ask of you men is not to spend the whole year's profits from the mine before we get even one load fit to haul to the smelter." "we've got the ore dump started," retorted jennison, "and we don't have to haul stuff to the smelter. boss, you can raise money enough without hauling a single load before spring." "how?" tom wanted to know. "the banks at dugout will lend you a small fraction of the value of the dump as soon as they're satisfied that it has any value," jim ferrers explained. "i didn't know that," tom admitted. "now you can understand why the boys are excited tonight. they know you'll outfit the camp liberally enough if the yellow streak holds out." "outfit the camp liberally?" repeated tom. "i'll go just as far in that line as my partners will stand for." "we want a bang-up christmas dinner, you see, boss," tim walsh explained. "we wouldn't have spoken of it if this streak hadn't panned today. now, we know we're going to have doings on the ridge this winter." "if the yellow rook holds out," tom urged. "don't say anything more in that strain, just now, reade," whispered jim. "if you do, and things go badly, the boys will think you've been the camp's jonah." tom went back to work in the partners' shack. jim came in at ten and went to bed. it was midnight when tom shook harry by the shoulder. "time to get up, young man, and give me a rest," tom announced. harry got drowsily out of his bunk. "why didn't you call me before, tom?" "well, to tell the truth, i was too busy. but now you may have a few hours' work all by yourself, while i turn in," drawled reade. "tom, old fellow, there's something up," discovered hazelton, now studying his chum's face keenly. "out with it." then tom told of the day's luck, though he cautioned harry against too soon growing elated. "we'll just wait and hope," reade finished. "now i'll show you the work that's on the bench." the gold news had waked up hazelton. he examined eagerly the assay reports that tom had filled out, then turned to the specimens that awaited his attention. at six in the morning reade was up again, nor did harry turn in. both were present to inspect the first tub-lot of ore that came up the shaft. the yellow streak was continuing. by the middle of the afternoon, however, the streak played out. though the men worked an hour overtime they did not succeed in sending up any more ore. "just one pocket?" wondered tom. "or does our vein run in scattered pockets?" "oh, we'll find more pockets soon," predicted harry cheerily. "our luck has turned again. it's running in the old channels." a feverish week passed. towards its end the first big snow of the winter came, and the ridge was shut off from the rest of the world. it would have been all but impossible to get over even to the bright hope mine. the week of brisk work was using up the stock of dynamite, while the rock was too hard to work much with picks. moreover, the money of the partners was gone. to seek credit at dugout would be a dangerous proceeding, for those who granted the accommodation of credit would be sure to want a high price for it, even to a goodly share in the output of the mine. more than one mine has been taken over by creditors, and the original owners have gone out into the world again, poor men. saturday morning of this week tom and harry descended the shaft together. jim was already there with the men. "i thought we had two more boxes of dynamite, reade," explained ferrers. "i find that we have just six sticks left." "then may the fates favor us with some lucky blasts!", muttered tom. "we can borrow money on our ore dump," suggested harry. "how about that?" asked tom, looking intently at ferrers. "how much do you figure there is in the dump?" queried jim. "about two hundred dollars' worth of metal." ferrers shook his head. "it would cost us forty dollars to cart the stuff to dugout in the spring. then there'd be the smelter's charges. we couldn't borrow more than fifty dollars on such security. no bank is going to bother with such a small item." tom said nothing, but went forward to the heading of the tunnel. here he made a careful examination ere he ordered the men to go ahead. one after another five sticks of the dynamite were fired in small blasts, but the ore that came out did not suggest hope. then another drilling was made, and the sixth stick put in place, the magneto wires being connected with the charge. tom himself seized the magneto handle. "now, hold your breaths," he called, cheerily. "this blast means a lot, and then a bit more, to all of us. this blast may point the path to fortune!" chapter xix harry's signal of distress through the tunnel a dull boom sounded. then, as if by a common impulse, all hands rushed back to the heading. "hard rock!" muttered reade. "the blast didn't make much of a dent. hand me a pick, one of you." then tom swung it with all the force and skill of which he was possessed. some of the miners, who thought themselves strong men, looked on admiringly as tom swung the pick again and again. clack! clack! clack! "some muscle there," proclaimed tim walsh. "i didn't think it was in a slim fellow like you." "i haven't so much muscle," tom informed him, "but i have a tremendous amount at stake here. one of you shovelmen come forward and get this stuff back." reade went tirelessly on with his pick. some of the big fellows came forward with their tools and worked beside him. tom still led. for half an hour all hands worked blithely. then tom, halting, called them off. "no use to go any further, boys, until we get some dynamite," he declared. "we're striking into harder and harder rock every minute. we are dulling our tools without making any headway." "dynamite?" asked jim ferrers, who had been looking over the shoveled back rook with harry. "where are we going to get any?" "it's time for a council of war, i reckon," sighed tom. "at any rate it's no use to work here any longer this morning. let's go above." as it was yet too early for dinner, the men congregated in one of the shacks, while the partners went to their own rough one-room abode. "what's to be done?" asked harry. "i'd say quit," muttered jim ferrers. "only, if we do, we lose our title to our claim. of course, i mean quit only for a while---say until spring---but even that would forfeit our title here." "then it's not to be thought of," rejoined tom, with a vigorous shake of his head. "i haven't lost a bit of my faith that, one of these days, this ridge is going to pay big profits to some one." "we either have to quit, and give up, or stay and starve," rejoined ferrers. "we've got to stick," tom insisted. "in the first place, we owe our men a lot of money." "they offered to take their chances," suggested jim. "true, but it's a debt, none the less. i shall see everyone of these men paid, even if i have to wait until i can save money enough at some other job to square the obligations in full. for myself, i don't intend to quit as long as i can swing a dull pick against a granite ledge." "then what did you come up for?" asked harry dryly. "because there's nothing the men can do for the present, and i wanted all hands to have a chance to get over their disappointment. jim, this snow-crust will bear the weight of a pony, won't it?" "why?" "i must get to dugout city." "for what?" "we haven't a big enough ore dump on which to borrow any money. but i've an idea i can sell this nugget for enough to get another good stock of dynamite." "you don't want to try to get to dugout today or tomorrow," replied ferrers slowly. "but i must," tom insisted. "every hour's delay is worse than wasted time. i must get to dugout and back again as speedily as possible." "hotel living is expensive in dugout," remarked jim. "but i don't intend to stop at a hotel for more than one meal." "have you looked at the sky?" it was reade's turn to ask: "why?" "just go to the door and take a look at the sky," suggested ferrers. tom swung the door open and looked. "well?" he asked. "what do you think of the sky?" jim persisted. "it looks as though we might have a little snow," tom admitted. "a little, and then a whole lot more," nodded ferrers. "notice how still the air is? we're going to have a howling blizzard, and i believe it will start in before night." "then we'd better turn the men out to fell and chop firewood," declared harry, jumping up. "we haven't enough on hand to last through a few days of blizzard." "will you look after the wood, harry?" asked tom. "i want to keep my mind on getting to dugout." "we'll knock over a lot of trees between now and dinner-time," promised hazelton, as he hurried away. "now, reade, you'd better give up your idea of getting to dugout for the present," resumed jim ferrers. "but the work? we've got to keep the men busy, and we must keep the blasts a-going." "you'll have to forget it for a week or so," insisted the nevadan. "your freezing to death in a gale of snow wouldn't help matters any." "but i must get to dugout," tom pleaded. "you won't try it unless you're crazy," jim retorted. "if you make an attempt to stir from camp this afternoon, reade, i'll call on the men to hold you down until i can tie you. do you think i've waited, reade, all these years to find a partner like you, and then allow him to go off in a blizzard that would sure finish him?" "then, if you're sure about this, jim, i won't attempt to go until the weather moderates." "when the time's right i'll go," proposed ferrers. "a pony is no good on this white stuff. from some of the swedes we've had working out in this country i've learned how to make a pair of skis. you can travel on skis where a pony would cut his legs in two against the snow crust." "then, if i'm not going to dugout, i'll go out and swing an axe for a while," tom suggested. "i want to be of some use, and i can't sit still anyway." "oh, sit down," urged ferrers, almost impatiently, as he filled his pipe and lighted it. "i'll amuse you with some stories about blizzards on this range in years past." outside they could hear axes ringing against the trees. then the dinner-horn called the men in. soon after the meal was over all the horses in camp were hitched and employed in bringing in the wood. harry was out again to superintend the men. by half-past two the first big flakes began to come down. there was still no wind to speak of. tom had lain down in a bunk, leaving jim to brighten the fire. ferrers, too, nodded in his chair. it was the howling of the wind that awoke tom. "where's harry?" he asked, sitting up. "eh?" queried! ferrers, opening his eyes. "where's harry! is he out in this storm?" "i've been dozing," jim confessed. "i don't know where he is." "hear the wind howl," cried tom, leaping from his bunk and pulling on his shoes. then he rapidly finished dressing, jim, in the meantime, lighting the reflector lamp. "where on earth can harry be?" tom again demanded. "maybe in one of the other shacks, with some of the men." tom threw open the door. the snow-laden gale, sweeping in on him, nearly took away his breath. then, after filling his lungs, he started resolutely for the nearest shack. "mr. hazelton in here?" tom called, swinging open the door. "no, sir; thought he was with you." tom fought his way through the gale to the next shack. here tim walsh had news. "we came in, sir, when the blizzard got too bad," walsh explained, "but we found we'd left one of the teams behind in the woods. mr. hazelton said he'd go back and get the team. half an hour later one of the boys here noticed that the team was standing up against the door of the stable shack. so i went out and put up the team." "didn't it occur to you to wonder where mr. hazelton was?" tom asked, rather sharply. "why, no, sir; we thought he had gone to your shack." "mr. hazelton wouldn't leave horses out in a storm like this one," tom rapped out briskly. "as a matter of fact he isn't in camp. you men get out lanterns and be ready to go into the woods. we've got to find mr. hazelton at the earliest possible moment!" twenty minutes later the beams of light from lanterns carried by the men revealed the form of harry hazelton, in the woods and nearly covered with snow. "pick him up," ordered tom. "make the fastest time you can to our shack." in the shack the fire was allowed to burn low. harry, still unconscious, was stripped and put to bed. "anything you want, let us know, sir," said tim walsh, as the men tramped out again. then tom and ferrers sat down to try to think out the best thing to do for harry hazelton. he was still alive, his pulse going feebly. he had been briskly rubbed and warmly wrapped, and a quantity of hot, strong coffee forced gently down his throat. after a while hazelton came to, but his eyes had a glassy look in them. "you're a great one, old fellow, to go out into the snow and get lost," tom chided him gently. "did---i get---lost?" harry asked drowsily. "yes. here, drink some more of this coffee. jim, make a fresh pot. you can stir the fire up a bit now." "i---want to sleep," harry protested, but tom forced him to drink more coffee. then hazelton sank into a deep slumber, breathing more heavily. "he's all right, now, or will be when he has slept," declared jim ferrers. "is he?" retorted tom, who held one hand against harry's flushed face, then ran the fingers down under his chum's shirt. "jim, he's burning up with fever. that's all that ails him!" then tom placed one ear over hazelton's heart. "none too strong," reade announced, shifting his head. "and here's a wheezy sound in his right lung that i don't like at all." "you don't suppose it's pneumonia?" asked jim gravely. it was congestion of the right lung that ailed harry hazelton. but tom knew nothing of that. jim ferrers, who had never been ill in his life, knew even less about sickness. as for harry, he lay dangerously ill, with a doctor's help out of the question! chapter xx tom turns doctor the door opened almost noiselessly. "shut that door," cried tom, angrily, without looking around. "whoever you are, do you know that we have a sick man here" "well, the men chased me out of one shack, and wouldn't let me in the other, and i don't want to go near the cook," complained a whining young voice. it was alf drew who uttered the words. "shut the door," tom repeated. "may i stay here?" asked alf, after obeying. "i suppose so, though we have about enough trouble here already. why did the men chase you out of their shack?" "they said they couldn't stand the smell of cigarettes," drew replied. "i don't wonder at that," muttered tom. "they were all smoking. i don't see why i couldn't smoke, too," alf whined. "that's just the point," tom returned. "the men were smoking. now, as i've told you before, the use of cigarettes isn't smoking at all. you annoyed men who were minding their own business." "they're a mean lot," complained young drew. being cold he went over to the fire to warm himself. then he drew a cigarette from one of his pockets, and struck a match. tom reade, slipping up behind the youngster, deftly took the cigarette away from him, tossing it into the fire. "you'll have to quit that," tom ordered sternly. "if i catch you trying to light a cigarette then out you go. we have a man here sick with lung trouble and with a high fever, and we don't propose to have any cigarette smoke around here." "what am i going to do, then?" asked alf, after a minute or so spent in a kind of trance. "do anything you please, as long as you keep quiet and don't light any cigarettes," tom suggested, rummaging in the cupboard for a medicine chest that he knew was there. "but i'll go to pieces, if i can't smoke a cigarette or two," whined the boy. tom had the medicine chest in his lap by this time. his hand touched a bottle of pellets labeled "quassia." "here, chew on one of these, and you won't need your cigarette," tom suggested, passing over a pellet. alf mutely took the pellet, crushing it with his teeth. "ugh!" he uttered disgustedly. "don't spit it out," urged tom. "it's the best thing possible to take the place of a cigarette. keep it in your mouth until it is all dissolved." alf made a wry face, but knew he must obey tom. so he stuck to the pellet until the last of it had dissolved on his tongue. the pellet was gone, but the taste wasn't. "ugh!" grunted the youngster. "you said that before," urged tom. "try to be original. want another pellet?" "no; i don't. i wouldn't touch one again!" "don't happen to want a cigarette, either, do you?" "i don't want anything, now, but just to get that taste out of my mouth," alf uttered. "all right; go over in the corner and keep quiet. jim, do you know anything about the use of the medicines in this chest?" "not a blessed thing," ferrers replied regretfully. "i never took as much as a pinhead of medicine in my life." "but harry must have something," tom insisted. "we can't let him lie there and die." it was one of those ready-made medicine chests that are sold to campers and others who must live at a considerable distance from medical aid. finding a small book of instructions in the chest, tom moved over under the strong light and settled himself to read thoughtfully. harry tossed restlessly, unmindful of what was going on around him. his heavy, rapid breathing filled the place. once in a while he moaned slightly, every sound of this kind going through tom like a knife. a particularly deep moan caused tom to shiver and close the book. he went over and felt harry's hot, drier skin. "jim," he directed, "i'm sure that, somehow, we should force the perspiration through his dry, parched skin. take some of the blankets out of my bunk and spread them over harry." "it'll make his fever worse, won't it?" "i'm sure i don't know," tom admitted helplessly. "we'd better try it for a while, anyway." then tom stood looking down at the flushed face of his chum, muttering below his breath: "harry, old fellow, i wish your mother were here. she'd know just what to do. and for your mother's sake, as well as my own, i've just got to blunder into something that will cure you." heaving a sigh, tom went back under the lamp to read with blurted eyes. at last he struck a paragraph that he thought bore on the case in hand. he read eagerly, praying for light. "i've got it, at last," he announced, moving over to the bunk, beside which ferrers stood. "got what?" asked jim. "i believe i'm on the track of the right stuff to give poor old harry." "what's the name of the stuff you're going to give harry" "there are three medicines mentioned here," replied reade, holding up the book. "they're all to be given." "_three_ medicines!" gasped jim. "by the great custer three are enough to kill a horse!" "i'm going to try 'em," sighed tom stolidly. "the poor fellow will die if nothing is done for him." "wouldn't it be better," suggested ferrers, hopelessly, "to try one medicine on the lad and then wait ten minutes. then, if that doesn't work, try one of the others on him! if that doesn't work then you know that the third kind of stuff is the right sort of bracer." despite his great anxiety, reade could not suppress the smile that jim's advice brought out. it was plain that ferrers, good fellow as he was, would be of no use on the medical end of the fight that must be waged. tom searched the chest and found the medicines. then he looked up the doses and started to administer the remedies as directed. even over the steadily increasing gale the notes of the supper horn reached them faintly. "it's too tough weather to expect the cook to bring the stuff over here tonight," said jim. "so, if you can spare me, i'll go and eat with the boys. then i'll bring your chuck over to you." alf came out of his corner, pulling on the ragged overcoat that he had picked up in a trade with an undersized man down at the bright hope mine. left alone, tom drew a stool up beside the bunk, and sat studying his chum's face. twenty minutes later hazelton opened his eyes. "you're feeling better, now, aren't you?" asked tom hopefully. "i---i guess so," harry muttered faintly. "where does it hurt you most, chum?" "in---in my chest." "right lung!" "yes." "is the pain severe, harry?" "it's about all i can---can stand---old fellow." "poor chap. don't try to talk, now. we're taking good care of you, and we'll keep on the job day and night. you've had some medicine, though you didn't know it. now, try to sleep, if you can." but hazelton couldn't sleep. he tossed restlessly, his face aflame with fever. jim ferrers came back with the supper, but reade could eat very little of it. alf drew did not return. he had made his peace with the workmen. through the night harry grew steadily worse. when daylight came in, with the blizzard still raging, the young engineer was delirious. chapter xxi the wolves on the snow crust the blizzard lasted for two days. toward the end the temperature rose, with the result that three feet of loose snow lay on top of the harder packed snow underneath. harry hazelton had passed out of the delirium, but he was weak, and apparently sinking. he was conscious, though he spoke but little, nor did poor tom seek to induce him to talk. by this time reade knew the little medicine book by heart. he also knew the label and dose of every drug in the case. but he had not been able to improve upon his first selection of treatment. "do you think he's going to die, jim?" tom frequently asked. "what's the use of a strong young fellow like him dying?" demanded ferrers. "then why doesn't he get better?" "i don't know. but he'll come around all right. don't worry about that. strong men don't go under from a cold in the head, or from a bit of wheeze in the lungs." "but the fever." "that has to burn itself out, i reckon," replied the nevadan. "reade, you'll be sick yourself next. lay out the medicines, and i'll give 'em, to the minute, while you get six hours' sleep." "no, sir!" was reade's quick retort. "then, before you do cave in, partner, suppose you pick out the medicines that you want me to give you when you can't do anything for yourself any longer." tom went back to his chair by the side of harry's bunk. outdoors some of the men were clearing a path to the mine-shaft. not that it was worth while to try to do any work underground. the rock at the tunnel heading was too stubborn to be moved by anything less than dynamite. "i'd get some lumber together, and make a pair of skis," suggested jim, the next day, "but what is the use? we'll have to have twenty-four hours of freezing weather before we'll have a crust. as soon as we can see snow that will bear a human being i'll start for dugout city." "but not for dynamite," declared tom. "no; for a doctor, i suppose." "a physician's visit is the only thing i'm interested in now," tom declared, glancing at the bunk. "i'd give up any mine on earth to be able to pull poor old harry through." on the fifth day, while the weather still remained too warm for the forming of a snow-crust, harry began to show signs of improvement. he was gaunt and thin, but his skin felt less hot to the touch. his eyes had lost some of the fever brightness, and he spoke of the pain in his chest as being less severe than it had been. "i've been an awful nuisance here," he whispered, weakly, as his chum bent over him. "stow all that kind of talk," reade ordered. "just get your strength back as fast as you can. sleep all you can, too. get a nap, now, and maybe when you wake up you'll be hungry enough to want a little something to eat." "i don't want anything," harry replied. "he's a goner, sure!" gasped tom reade, inwardly, feeling a great chill of fear creep up and down his spine. "it's the first time in his life that i ever knew harry to refuse to eat." "the weather is coming on cold," jim ferrers reported that evening, when he came back from the coon shack with tom's supper. "is it going to be cold enough to put a crust on the snow?" reade eagerly demanded. "if it keeps on growing cold we ought to have a good crust by the day after tomorrow." "i'll pray for it," said tom fervently. next day the weather continued intensely cold. jim ferrers went to another shack to construct a pair of skis. these are long, wooden runners on which norwegians travel with great speed over hard snow. jim was positive that he could make the skis and that he could use them successfully. harry still remained weak and ill, caring nothing for food, though his refusals to eat drove reads well-nigh frantic. the morning after the skis were made, jim ferrers, who had relieved worn-out tom at three in the morning, stepped to the young engineer's bunk and shook him lightly. "all right," said reade, sitting up in bed. "i'll get up." he was out of the bunk almost instantly. "i'm going to send tim walsh in to help you a bit," jim whispered. "the crust is right this morning, and i'm off for dugout. before we forget it give me that nugget." tom passed it over, saying solemnly: "remember, jim, you've got to bring a doctor back with you---if you have to do it at the point of a gun!" "i'll bring one back with me, if there's one left in dugout," ferrers promised, fervently. fifteen minutes later jim was on his way. tim walsh came in on tip-toe, and seemed afraid to stir lest he make some slight sound to disturb the sleeping sick lad. "a day or two more will tell the tale, tim," tom whispered in the big miner's ear. "oh, it isn't as bad as that, sir; it can't be," protested the big fellow in a hoarse whisper. "i reckon mr. hazelton is going to get well all right." "he won't eat anything," said tom. "he will when he's hungry, sir." "tim, have you ever had any practice in looking after sick people?" "quite a bit, sir. when i was a younker i was private in the hospital corps in the army." "why on earth didn't you tell me that before?" tom gasped. "why, because, sir, i allowed that a brainy young man like you would know just what to do a heap better than i would." "tim, do you know anything about temperatures and drugs?" "maybe i'd remember a little bit," walsh answered modestly. "it's twelve years since i was in the army." tom brought the medicine case with trembling hands. "to think that, all the time," he muttered, "i've been longing for a doctor's visit, and yet i've had a man in camp who's almost a doctor." "no, sir; a long way from that," protested tim walsh. "and, besides, i've forgotten a whole lot that i used to know." tom rapidly explained how he had been treating hazelton, according to the directions in the little medicine book. tim listened gravely. "was that all right, tim?" tom asked, breathlessly, when he had finished. "i should say about all right, sir." "tim, what shall i do next?" "do you want me to tell you, sir?" "yes, yes, yes!" "then i might as well do it, sir, as tell you," tim drawled out. "mr. reade, you're worn to pieces. you get into your bunk and i'll take charge for an hour." "i want to see you do the things you know how to do." "not a thing will i do, mr. reade, unless you get into your bunk for an hour," declared walsh, sturdily. "will you call me in an hour, if i lie down?" "i will." "you'll call me in an hour?" "on my honor, mr. reade." tim walsh thereupon bundled the young engineer into another bunk, covered him up, and then watched until tom reade, utterly exhausted, fell into a deep sleep that was more like a trance. "but i didn't say in which hour i'd call him," muttered walsh under his breath, his eyes twinkling. then he tip-toed over to look at harry hazelton, who, also, was asleep. through the whole day tom slept nor did the ex-army nurse once quit the shack. when dark came tim walsh had just finished lighting the lamp and shading it when he turned to find tom reade glaring angrily into his eyes. "tim, what does this treachery mean?" reade questioned in a hoarse whisper. "it means, sir, that you had tired yourself out so that you were no longer fit to nurse your partner. he was in bad hands, taking his medicines and his care from a man as dog-tired as you were, mr. reade. it also means, sir, that i've been looking after mr. hazelton all day, and he's a bit better this evening. him and me had a short chat this afternoon, and you never heard us. mr. hazelton went to sleep only twenty minutes ago. when he wakes up you can feel his skin and take his pulse, and you'll find him doing better." "tim, i know you meant it for the best, and that i ought to be thankful to you," tom murmured, "but, man, i've a good notion to skin you alive!" "you'd better not try anything like that, sir," grinned walsh. "remember that i'm in charge here, now, and that you're only a visitor. if you interfere between me and my patient, mr. reade, i'll put you out of here and bar the door against you." tom, though angry at having been allowed to sleep for so long, had the quick good sense to see that the big miner was quite right. "all right, tim walsh," he sighed. "if you can take better care of my chum than i can then you're the new boss here. i'll be good." "first of all," ordered walsh, "go over to the cook shack and get some supper. don't dare to come back inside of an hour, so you'll have time to eat a real supper." tom departed obediently. once out in the keen air he began to understand how much good his day's sleep had done him. he was alive and strong again. taking in deep breaths, he tramped along the path over to the shaft ere he turned his steps toward the cook shack. "come right in, mr. reade, and eat something," urged cook leon. "this is the first time i've seen you in days. you must be hungry." "there's a fellow ten times smarter than i who's looking after hazelton," spoke tom cheerily, "so i believe i am hungry. yes; you may set me out a good supper." "who's the very smart man that's looking after your friend?" leon asked. "tim walsh." "why, he's nothing but a miner!" "you're wrong there, leon. walsh has been a soldier, and a hospital corps man at that. he knows more about nursing in a minute than i do in a month. oh, why didn't i hear about walsh earlier?" leon soon had a steaming hot supper on the table. first of all, reade swallowed a cupful of coffee. then he began his supper. "i wonder if ferrers can get back tonight?" tom mused, after the meal. "he might, but a doctor couldn't get here tonight, unless he, too, could move fast on skis," leon replied. "anyway, i'm not as worried as i was," sighed reade. the door opened, and alf drew entered. that youngster rarely came to the cook shack alone, but the lad learned that tom reade was present. "sit down and keep quiet, if you're going to stay here," ordered cook leon. alf went to the corner of the shack furthest from the other two. tom, watching covertly, saw alf furtively draw out cigarette and match. very softly drew scratched a match. he was standing, his back turned to the others, over a wood-box. click-ick-ick! sounded a warning note. "ow-ow-ow-ow!" howled alf, jumping back, dropping both match and cigarette. "what's the matter, youngster?" demanded tom placidly. "there's a rattlesnake in there under the wood," wailed the boy, his face ashen. "how do you know?" "i heard him rattle!" leon, too, had heard the sound, and would have started after a poker, intent on killing the reptile, had he not seen tom shake his head, a twinkle in his eye. "there are no rattlesnakes about in the dead of winter on this range," tom declared positively. "that one has been keeping hisself warm in the bottom of the wood-box," insisted alf. click-ick-ick! "there, didn't you hear it?" quivered the cigarette fiend. "i heard no rattler," declared tom, innocently. "did you, leon?" the cook thought, to be sure that he had heard one, but he caught the cue from reade and answered in the negative. "go and turn the wood-box out, leon, to show the young man that there's no snake there," tom requested. just then that task was hardly welcome to the cook, but he was a man of nerve, and, in addition, he reasoned that reade must know what he was talking about. so leon crossed the room with an air of unconcern. "here's your rattlesnake, i reckon," growled the cook, picking up alf's dropped cigarette and tossing it toward the boy. "that's the only rattlesnake on the range," tom pursued. "i've been trying to tell alf that cigarettes are undermining his nerves and making him hear and see things." leon unconcernedly overturned the wood-box. alf, with a yell, ran and jumped upon a stool, standing there, his eyes threatening to pop out from sheer terror. leon began to stir the firewood about with his foot. click-ick-ick! alf howled with terror, and seemed in danger of falling from the stool. "you'll keep on hearing rattlers, i expect," grunted reade, "when all the time it's nothing but the snapping of your nerves from smoking cigarettes. the next thing you know your brain will snap utterly." click-ick-ick! on his stool alf danced a mild war-dance from sheer nervousness. "come, be like a man, and give up the pests," advised tom. "i---i---be-believe i will," half agreed the lad. click-ick-ick-ick! "didn't you hear that?" quavered the youngster. "i hear your voice, but no rattlers," reade went on. "are you still hearing the snakes? be a man, alf! come, empty your pockets of cigarettes and throw them in the fire." like one in a dream alf drew obeyed. then he sat down, and presently he began to recover from the worst of his fright. when his hour was up, tom reade went back to the other shack. harry was awake, and feeling rather comfortable under big walsh's ministrations. soon after nine that night, the camp lay wrapped in slumber, save in the partner's shack, where the shaded light burned. tim walsh was still on duty, while tom sat half dozing in a chair. for the first time in days the young chief engineer was fairly contented in mind. he now believed that his chum would surely recover. had tom been outside, hidden and keeping alert watch over the surroundings, his content would have vanished into action. in the deep darkness of the night, dolph gage glided about on the firm snow crust at the further side of the mine shaft. with him, looking more like two evil shadows or spectres, were his two remaining companions. most of the time since they had been seen last, gage and his confederates had been within a mile or so of reade's camp. they had found a cave in which they had been passably comfortable. for food they had depended upon the fact that the commissary at the bright hope mine was easily burglarized, and that no very strict account was kept of the miners' food. thus the three scoundrels had managed not only to hide themselves from the law's officers, but to keep themselves comfortable as well. "now we can fix these youngsters, and slide back to our hiding place during the excitement," gage whispered to his two friends. "this crowd is broke. if we fix the mine in earnest tonight they won't be able to open it again. with the dynamite we brought up from the bright hope on this sled we can fire a blast that will starve and drive reade and hazelton away from the indian smoke range for good and all!" chapter xxii dolph gage fires his shot "yes, if we don't blow ourselves to kingdom come in the effort," growled the man known as josh. "you're talking bosh!" grunted dolph. "why should we blow ourselves up? is this the first time we've used dynamite!" "but there's such a lot of the stuff," grunted josh. "we must have a hundred and fifty sticks on the sled." "all of that," nodded gage. "if the stuff goes oh accidentally, when we're near-----" "then our troubles will be over," said gage grimly. "i'm not so all-fired anxious to have my troubles over that way," grumbled josh. the other man said nothing, but he looked extremely thoughtful. "the best way to make the thing sure," gage went on, "is to get to work before some one comes prowling this way." "who's going to prowl?" queried josh. "the camp is asleep." "reade is up; we know that," dolph insisted. "humph! we saw through the window that he's too drowsy to stir." "don't be too sure," warned gage. "he may be only a boy, but he's a sure terror, the way he finds out things! he may be out at any time. come, we'll hustle, and then get away from here." "i'm ready," said the third man. "then get on to the top ladder," ordered dolph. "when you're down about fifteen feet, then stop and light your lantern. we'll each do the same." dolph waited until the other two had reached the bottom of the shaft and he could see their lanterns. then he, too, descended, lighting two more lanterns after he reached firm ground. "where are you going to set the stuff off?" josh asked. "in two places," gage answered. "one big pile in the tunnel, half-way between the heading and the shaft, and the other at the bottom of the shaft. get picks and a couple of shovels, and we'll soon lay mines and tamp 'em." while the men were obeying, gage reclimbed the ladders. roping about a third of the dynamite sticks, and passing a loop over one shoulder, he succeeded in carrying the dynamite below. in two more trips he brought down the rest. the fourth trip he came down with a magneto and several coils of light firing wire. on account of their industry the time slipped by rapidly. as a matter of fact their wicked task occupied them for nearly four hours. however, no sound of what went on underground reached the ears of those who slept in the shacks. "we're ready for the wiring," announced josh at last. "i'll do that myself," said gage. "i want it well done. each of you hold a lantern here." by the light thus provided dolph attached the light wires so that the electric spark would be communicated to each stick in this "mine." this was done by looping a circuit wire around each separate stick, and connecting the wire with each detonating cap. the dynamite, frozen on the snow crust, had thawed again at this subterranean level. "now, for the last tamping," ordered gage. while the others worked, dolph carefully superintended their operations. at last the tamping was done, and the connecting wires were carried back to the bottom of the shaft. here the second mine was connected in the same manner, and the wires joined so that the circuit should be complete. "one spark from the magneto, now," chuckled dolph, "and both blasts will go on at once. whew! this old ridge will rock for a few seconds!" for a few moments he stood surveying his work with huge satisfaction. "now, get up with you," he ordered. "remember, at the bottom of the last ladder, blow out your lanterns." "the wires?" queried josh. "i'll carry 'em. all you have to do is to get out of here." in quivering silence the three evil-doers ascended. the light of their lanterns extinguished, they stepped out of the shaft and once more on the hard snow crust. "now, take the magneto back about two hundred feet, leaving the wires stretched on the snow," whispered dolph. "who's that coming?" josh demanded, in sudden alarm, clutching his leader's sleeve. for an instant all three men quailed. but they remained silent, peering. "don't get any more dreams, josh," dolph ordered sharply. "there's no one coming. it's all in your nerves." "i was sure i heard some one coming." josh insisted in a whisper. "but you didn't" "what if some one comes now?" "no one is coming." "but if some one should?" "all the more reason for getting our work done with speed. once we've connected the magneto and fired the blast our whole job will be done." josh, only half-convinced, drew a revolver and cocked the weapon. "now, be mighty careful!" snarled dolph. "don't get rattled and shoot at any shadows! a shot might spoil our plans tonight, for it would bring men tumbling out this way as soon as they could get out of their bunks and into some clothes. give me that pistol!" josh, hesitating, obeyed, whereupon dolph gage let down the hammer noiselessly, next dropping the weapon into a pocket of his own badly-frayed overcoat. "now, get the magneto back, as i told you. i'll take care of the wires and see that they don't snap or get tangled." this latter part of the work was quickly executed. dolph deftly attached the wires to the magneto, then seized the handle, prepared to pump. "all ready, now!" he whispered gleefully. "two or three pumps, and damage will be done that it would cost at least fifteen thousand dollars' worth of material and labor to remedy. the kid engineers haven't the money and can't raise it. they'll have to give up---be driven out. then we'll send our own man, who has his mineral rights, in here to take possession, and the mine will be ours once more---as it always has been by rights." "let us get a little way to the rear before you fire the blasts," pleaded josh. "go back a couple of hundred feet, if you want," assented dolph. "but don't you run away! remember that part of your job is to stand by me if we're followed and fired upon." josh and his companion carefully made their way back over the crust. dolph gage waited until he saw them to be a sufficient distance away. "now, work away, my magneto beauty" muttered gage, exultantly. "do your work, straight and true. drive these upstarts off of indian smoke range and bring my mine back into my own hands! these fool engineers have found no gold in the ridge, but it's there---waiting for me. and---now!" he pumped the handle of the magneto vigorously. in another instant the spark traveled. from underground there came a sudden rocking, followed, after a breathless interval, by a loud, crashing boom. both blasts had exploded in the same instant, and the dynamite had done its work! chapter xxiii tom begins to doubt his eyes when the shock came it shook the shacks so that nearly all of the sleeping miners became instantly alert. harry hazelton, dozing lightly, sat up in bed, then felt dizzy and lay down again. "you keep on your pillow, mr. hazelton," tim walsh ordered, gently. "it isn't your time to sit up yet, sir." "what was the racket?" asked harry, anxiously. "a blast in the mine," tom reade answered, truthfully enough. "i didn't know we had any dynamite left," persisted harry. "you haven't been in a condition to know all that has been going on for the last few days," tom retorted, gently. "now, don't ask me any more questions, for i've got to go out and see how the blast came along." as he spoke tom was hustling into his coat and pulling his cap down over his ears. then, full of the liveliest anxiety, the young chief engineer hastened out. his instant conclusion had been that some treachery was afoot, but whence it came he had no idea. just now tom reade wanted facts, not conjectures. as he closed the door and hurried across the camp, tom found the aroused miners flocking out. several of them bore rifles, for they, too, had guessed treachery. "here's the boss!" "what's happened, mr. reade?" "men," tom called softly, "i don't know what's up. but don't talk loudly or excitedly, for hazelton has been aroused by the noise and the shake, and i've tried to turn it off. don't let him hear your voices." "it was in the mine, sir, wasn't it?" asked one man, hurrying to reade's side. "it must have been, hunter. come along, all of you. we'll go over to the shaft and take a look." several of the men were carrying lighted lanterns. at the shaft one of the first evidences they discovered was the wires running back to the magneto. "trickery, here!" muttered one of the men. "mr. reade, shall we try to pick up a trail and follow it?" "no," answered tom, after a moment's thought. "it would be wasted time. even if you pick up a trail on this frozen crust, which is hardly likely, you couldn't follow it except by lantern light. that would be slow work. besides, it would show the rascals where you were and how fast you were moving. they could fire at you easily. no; let's have a look at the damage." looking down the shaft, with their rim light, from the top, all looked as usual about the shaft. "hand me one of the lanterns," called tom. "hunter, you take another and come with me." "careful, sir," warned another man. "the blasts may not be all over as yet." tom reade smiled. "the blasts were fired by magneto," he explained. "there can't be any more blasts, unless some enemy should sneak back and adjust the magneto to some other 'mine.' you won't let any one down the shaft for that purpose, i know." there was a laugh, amid which tom and hunter descended. near the bottom of the third ladder reade found that the rest of the way down the shaft had been blocked by the smashing of the ladders. "go up, hunter," the young engineer directed, "and start the men to knotting ropes and splicing 'em. we want at least a hundred feet of knotted rope." tom waited on the last solid rung while this order was being carried out. by and by hunter reached him with one end of a long, knotted line. "don't pass down any more," tom called, "until i have made this end fast." this was soon done, and the rest of the rope was lowered. "hunter," tom asked, "are you good for going down a hundred feet or so on a knotted rope?" "i don't believe i am, sir." "then don't try it. go up and send down two or three men who feel sure they can do it. but urge every man against taking the risk foolishly. for a man who can't handle himself on a knotted rope it's a fine and easy way to break his neck." "are you going down now, sir?" "at once." "then i'll stay here and hold a lantern for you," replied hunter, doggedly. "i won't stir until i know you're safe at the bottom of the shaft." "go ahead up," ordered tom. "i'm tying a lantern to my coat." this he was even then doing, in fact, making the knot with a handkerchief passed through one of the button-holes of the garment. "why don't you go up, with my message, hunter?" tom demanded. "i'm afraid i can't stir, sir, until i know that you're safe at the bottom." "nonsense! what could you do to save me if i lost my hold and fell?" tom questioned. "nothing at all, sir; but i'll feel a heap easier when i know you're safe at the bottom." "all right, then," called reade. "watch me!" he swung off into space with the skill and sureness of the practiced athlete. a little later tom touched bottom, calling up: "now, get busy, hunter. i'm all right." "are you at the bottom of the shaft, sir?" "i'm on solid ground, but i'm not sure about being at the bottom of the shaft. i'm afraid the opening to the tunnel has been blocked. send down two or three men, and then some tools. the tools can come down in the tub, but forbid any men to try that way. the tub is too uncertain and likely to tip over." "if the tub tips out a pick or two, they might fall on you, sir, and wind up your life," hunter objected. "that's a chance to which no good sport can object," laughed tom. "go ahead and see that my instructions are carried out." one of the men came down the rope first. he landed safely, but looked at his hands in the dim light. "that's a hard road to travel, mr. reade," he remarked. "i'll not be much pleased with the trip back." "it's easy to any one who has had enough practice," tom observed, mildly. then two other men came down in turn. "we've enough men here," shouted reade. "now send tools." before long the young engineer had his little force busily engaged. of course, many of the timbers had been blown out of the walling of the shaft. there was danger of the dirt caving in on the few workers below. "now, you four can keep going, digging straight down and to the eastward," said tom. "i'm going up to get some more men at work, putting in temporary walling. i don't want any of you men hurt by saving dirt from the sides of the shaft." all four men stopped work at once. "what's the matter!" asked reade. "coming down's easy, sir; we're waiting to see you go _up_ that rope." "then i'll endeavor not to keep you long away from your tasks," smiled the young engineer athlete. grasping the rope just above a knot over his head, tom gave a slight heave, then went rapidly up, hand over hand. he was soon lost from the little circle of light thrown by the lanterns at the shaft's bottom. "not many men like him," remarked one of the miners named tibbets, admiringly. "i've been told that's what young fellers learn at college," said another miner, as he spat on his hands and raised his pick. for two hours reade attended to the mending of the walling, as the system of laying walls in shafts is termed. ladders had to be rebuilt even in order to put temporary walling in place. then the young chief engineer deemed it time to run over to the partners' shack. he opened the door softly, peeping in. feeling the draught tim walsh turned and came to the door. "mr. hazelton is doing all right, sir." "has he asked for me?" "no, sir." "if he does, tell him that i'm putting in all night at the mine. if he gets worse run over and get me." then tom went back to his labors. dolph gage and his fellow rascals, owing to their haste, and also to the fact that they did not know as much as they thought they did about laying and tamping blasts, had not done as much harm as they had planned. by the time that the miners had dug down some four feet, sending up the dirt in the hoist-tub, they came to the opening of the tunnel. thus encouraged, they worked faster than ever, until a new shift was sent down the repaired ladders to relieve them. by daylight the men, changing every two hours for fresher details, were well into the tunnel. here, for some yards, the tunnel was somewhat choked. after this semi-obstruction had been cleared away, tom reade was able to lead his men for some distance down the tunnel. then they came upon the scene of the late big blast. here the rock had been hurled about in masses. a scene of apparent wreck met the eyes of the miners and their leader, though even here the damage was not as great as had been expected by gage and his rascals. to the north of the tunnel lay a great, gaping, jagged tear in the wall of rock. this tear, or hole, extended some ten feet to the north of the tunnel proper. as tom entered, a glint caught his eye. something in the aspect of that dull illumination, reflected back to him, made his pulses leap. he passed his left hand over his eyes, wondering if he were dreaming. "i---i can't believe it!" he stammered. "look, boys, and tell me what you see!" chapter xxiv conclusion "it's the gleam of the real metal in the rock, sir---what's what it is," gasped one of the miners, as he held up a lantern to aid him in his quest. it lay there, in streaks and rifts, a dull gleaming here and there. to be sure, it was nothing at all like a solid golden wall, but tom reade could be contented with less than golconda. in spots the precious metal showed in darkish streaks, instead of yellow. but these dark streaks showed admixtures of silver. "run and get me a hammer, one of you," cried tom, breathing fast. when the miner returned with the chisel-nosed hammer he found the young engineer eagerly exploring the whole length of the new wall thus laid bare. "i knew that a real vein lay here," tom went on, as he took the hammer. "the only trouble with us, men, was that we were working eight or ten feet south of where the true vein lay. now, by the great custer, we've hit it---thanks to the enemy!" eagerly tom chipped off specimens of the rich gold and silver bearing rock. he loaded down two men and carried more himself. every piece of rock was a specimen of rich ore. up the shaft they went, emerging into the sunlight. "i'd like to know who the scamps were that fired the blasts in the mine," tom muttered joyously. "i'd like to reward them." "party coming, sir," reported a miner, pointing to the southward. over the snow came a cutter, drawn by two horses, slipping fast over the snow. from one side of the cutter a pair of skis hung outward. "that's jim ferrers and the doctor from dugout," tom breathed. "but who can the other lot of people be." a pung, drawn also by a pair of horses, contained five men. jim was quickly on hand to explain matters. "i've brought dr. scott. he'll have to see hazelton quickly, and then get back to dugout," jim declared. "the doctor is afraid the crust may melt, and then he'll be stalled here with his outfit. "those men over there?" inquired reade, as the pung stopped, and the five men got out "two of them look familiar to me." "i reckon," nodded jim ferrers. "they're officers---all of 'em. they've come over here to hunt the rocks to the south of here. up at the jail the keepers worried out of eb some information about a cave where dolph gage hangs out. it seems that gage and his pals have been stealing supplies at the bright hope mine." jim introduced dr. scott, who said: "i must see my patient and be away in an hour. i don't want to get stalled here by a thaw." so tom led the way to the shack, and did not see the departure of the law's five officers. outside reade carefully dropped the ore he had brought along and made a sign to his workmen to do the same. then the partners and the physician went inside. tom watched closely while the physician placed a thermometer in harry's mouth and felt his pulse. respiration was also counted, after which dr. scott produced a stethoscope and listened at harry's chest and back. a little more, and the examination was completed. "gentlemen," announced dr. scott, "you've brought me all this distance over the snow-crust to see a patient who is just about convalescent. this young man may have some nourishment today, and by day after tomorrow he will be calling loudly for the cook." "what has been the trouble, doc?" hazelton asked. "congestion of the right lung, my son, but the congestion has almost wholly disappeared." a mist came before tom reade's eyes. now that his chum was out of danger reade realized how severe on him the whole ordeal had been. as soon as tom found a chance he asked dr. scott: "will a little excitement of the happiest kind hurt hazelton any?" "just what kind of excitement?" "we've had a disappointing mine that has turned over night into a bonanza. i've a lot of the finest specimens outside." "bring them in," directed the physician. tom came in with an armful. "harry," he called briskly, "we were right in thinking we had a rich vein. the only trouble was that we were working eight or ten feet south of the real vein. look over these specimens." tom ranged half a dozen on the top blanket. when harry's glistening eyes had looked them all over, tom produced other specimens of ore. dr. scott examined them, too, with a critical eye. "if you've got much of this stuff in your mine, reade," said the medical man, "you won't need to work much longer." "won't need to work much longer?" gasped tom reade. "man alive, we don't want to stop working. when a man stops working he may as well consult the undertaker, for he's practically dead anyway. what we want gold for is so that we can go on working on a bigger scale than ever! and now, harry, the name for our mine has come to me." "what are you going to call it?" hazelton asked. "with your consent, and ferrers's, we'll name it the ambition mine. that's just what the mine stands for with us, you know." "the best name in the world," harry declared. "and now, young man," said dr. scott, addressing hazelton, "i want you to rest quietly while tim walsh sponges you off and the cook is busy making some thin gruel for you. reade, in order to get you out of here i'll agree to go down in your mine with you." dr. scott proved more than an interested spectator when he reached the tunnel. he possessed considerable knowledge of ores. "yes; you have your bonanza here, reade," declared the physician. "almost any ambition that money will gratify will soon be yours. from the very appearance of this newly-opened vein i don't believe it is one that will give out in a hurry." "by the way, doe," called ferrers, joining them, "here's that nugget that you wouldn't take when i offered it to you in dugout. you've made your visit, and now the nugget is yours." "i don't want it," smiled dr. scott. "i want real money, in place of the nugget, and i'll be content to wait for it. the owners of this mine will be welcome to run up a very considerable bill with me." "then can you stay a few days?" queried tom eagerly. "until good old harry is wholly out of danger." "yes; i'll stay a few days, if you wish it, mr. reade." finally jim had the presence of mind to pilot the physician to the cook shack. quietly enough the officers from dugout had reentered camp. with them they had borne one long, covered object---the remains of dolph gage, who had been shot and killed while resisting arrest. gage's two remaining companions had been brought in, handcuffed. these expert sheriff's officers from dugout had been able to find a trail, even on the hard-frozen snow crust, and had tracked the criminals directly to their cave. jim ferrers went over to where the body of gage lay on the snow. gently he turned down the cloth that covered the dead man's face. for a few moments ferrers gazed at the still face; then, awkwardly, after hesitating, he lifted his hat from his head. "that man killed your brother, jim," murmured tom, stepping up to his nevada partner. "you had other reasons for hating him. in the old days you would have run dolph gage down and killed him yourself. in these newer days you have left gage to the hands of the law. it is a much better way, and you will never even have to wonder whether you have done any wrong." "the law's way is always best, i reckon," returned jim ferrers, slowly. that same day, after the officers had gone with their men, jim ferrers, finding that the crust was holding, drove fresh horses to the doctor's cutter. the physician remained behind to take care of harry hazelton, but jim went fast toward dugout city. he was armed with letters from dr. scott that told certain dealers in dugout what unlimited credit the partners ought to have on account of their mine. before harry was sitting up vehicles had been employed to bring to ambition mine considerable supplies of dynamite, food and all else that was needed, including half a dozen of the latest books for the amusement of the invalid engineer. everything went on swiftly now. more miners, too, were brought over, while the hard crust lasted, and a score of carpenters. lumber camp also. there was a constant procession of vehicles between dugout and ambition mine. tom did not hesitate to avail himself of his sudden credit, for every day's work showed that the vein was not giving out. an ore dump was piling up that meant big returns when the ore could be hauled to the smelter. ambition mine proved a steady "payer." no; our young men did not become multi-millionaires. mines that will do that for three partners are scarce, indeed. ambition, however, did pay enough so that, by spring, tom and harry, after looking over their bank account, found that they could go ahead and furnish their engineer offices on a handsome scale. some thousands, too, found their way to their families in the good old home town of gridley. the mine was turned into a stock company. tom, harry and jim each retained one-fourth interest. the remaining fourth of the stock was divided evenly between cook leon and the twenty-four miners who had stood by so loyally, so that now each of the original miners, in addition to his day's pay, owned one per cent. of the gold and silver that went up in the new elevator that replaced the tub-hoist. alf drew did not receive one of the small shares in the mine property. his cigarette smoking had made him lazy and worthless, and he had done nothing to promote the success of the once desperate mining venture. however, there was hope for alf. at the time when he threw his remaining "coffin nails" in the cook's fire he really did "swear off," and he afterwards was able to refrain from the use of tobacco in any form. he grew taller and stouter and developed his muscles. tom and harry employed him at the mine as a checking clerk, where he actually earned his money, and saved a goodly amount of it every month. "tom, you rascal, you promised some day to show me how you scared that boy stiff with your rattlesnake click," harry reminded his partner. "nothing very difficult about it," laughed tom. "can you make a noise by grinding your molars together---your grinding teeth? try it." harry did. the noise came forth from his mouth, though it didn't sound exactly like the rattle of a rattler. "keep on practicing, and you'll get that rattle down to perfection---that's all," nodded tom. spring found the young engineers restless for new fields. they longed to tackle other big feats of engineering. jim ferrers understood, and said to them: "you youngsters know, now, that you can trust me to run this mine." "we always knew that we could trust you," tom corrected him. "well, you know it now, anyway. you want to get back into the world. you are restless for new fields to conquer. go ahead; only come back once in a while and shake hands with old jim. while you're away i'll send you a monthly statement of your earnings and see that the money is placed to your credit." on their ride to dugout, tom and harry were favored with the company of mr. dunlop, promoter of the bright hope mine. "i suppose it's a lucky thing for you boys that you stuck to your own mine," said dunlop. "you've come out a good deal better. i wish i had secured your services, though. we're making some money over at the bright hope, but we'd make a lot more with the right engineers in charge. i'm on my way to dugout to use the telegraph wires in earnest. i've learned that the real way to make money out of a mine is to have a real engineer in charge." tom and harry delayed but a couple of hours at dugout. then----- however, their further adventures must be delayed in the narration until they appear between the covers of the next volume in this series. it will be published at once under the title, "_the young engineers in mexico; or, fighting the mine swindlers_." in this new volume will be described what tom and harry did in a land of mystery and romance; a land where the sharp contrasts of wealth and squalor have fostered the development of many noble characters and have created some of the vilest among men. the forthcoming story is one filled with the glamour and the fascination of that neighbor-country of hot-blooded men. in mexico, tom and harry encountered their most startling adventures of all. domain material generously made available by the google books library project (http://books.google.com/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through the the google books library project. see http://books.google.com/books?id=aagdaaaamaaj&printsec=titlepage the city of numbered days by francis lynde illustrated by arthur e. becher charles scribner's sons new york copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published august, to my wife [illustration: "what would i do? a number of things." _page _] contents i. the heptaderm ii. j. wesley croesus iii. sands of pactolus iv. a fire of little sticks v. symptomatic vi. mirapolis vii. the speedway viii. table stakes ix. bedlam x. epochal xi. the feast of hurrahs xii. quicksands xiii. flood tide xiv. the abyss xv. the setting of the ebb xvi. the man on the bank xvii. the circean cup xviii. love's crucible xix. the sunset gun xx. the terror illustrations "what would i do? a number of things" _frontispiece_ brouillard had to look twice before he could attempt to classify her, and even then she baffled him "it's all gone, little girl; it's all gone!" brouillard got between the city of numbered days i the heptaderm it was not characteristic of brouillard--the brouillard grislow knew best--that he should suffer the purely technical talk of dams and reservoirs, bed-rock anchorages, and the latest word in concrete structural processes to languish and should drift into personal reminiscences over their first evening camp-fire in the niquoia. because the personalities were gratefully varying the monotonies, and also because he had a jocose respect for the unusual, grislow was careful not to discourage the drift. there had been a benumbing surfeit of the technical talk dating from the day and hour when the orders had come from washington giving brouillard his step up and directing him to advance with his squad of reclamation-service pioneers upon the new work in the western timanyonis. but, apart from this, the reminiscences had an experimental value. grislow's one unamiable leaning manifested itself in a zest for cleverly turning the hidden facets of the human polygon up to the light; and if the facets chose to turn themselves of their own accord, as in brouillard's case, why, so much the better. "as you were saying?" he prompted, stretching himself luxuriously upon the fragrant banking of freshly clipped spruce tips, with his feet to the blaze and his hands locked under his head. he felt that brouillard was merely responding to the subtle influences of time, place, and encompassments and took no shame for being an analytical rather than a sympathetic listener. the hundred-odd men of the pioneer party, relaxing after the day-long march over the mountains, were smoking, yarning, or playing cards around the dozen or more camp-fires. the evening, with a half-grown moon silvering the inverted bowl of a firmament which seemed to shut down, lid-like, upon the mountain rim of the high-walled valley, was witchingly enchanting; and, to add the final touch, there was comradely isolation, anson, griffith, and leshington, the three other members of the engineering staff, having gone to burn candles in the headquarters tent over blue-prints and field-notes. "i was saying that the present-day world slant is sanely skeptical--as it should be," brouillard went on at the end of the thoughtful pause. "being modern and reasonably sophisticated, we can smile at the signs and omens of the ages that had to get along without laboratories and testing plants. just the same, every man has his little atavistic streak, if you can hit upon it. for example, you may throw flip-flaps and call it rank superstition if you like, but i have never been able to get rid of the notion that birthdays are like the equinoxes--turning-points in the small, self-centred system which we call life." "poodle-dogs!" snorted the one whose attitude was both jocose and analytical, stuffing more of the spruce branches under his head to keep the pipe ashes from falling into his eyes. "i know; being my peculiar weakness instead of your own, it's tommy-rot to you," brouillard rejoined good-naturedly. "as i said a few minutes ago, i am only burbling to hear the sound of my own voice. but the bottoming fact remains. you give a screw twist to a child's mind, and if the mind of the man doesn't exhibit the same helical curve----" "suppose you climb down out of the high-browed altitudes and give it a plain, every-day name?" grumbled the staff authority on watersheds. "it's casting pearls before swine, but you're a pretty good sort of swine, grizzy. if you'll promise to keep your feet out of the trough, i'll tell you. away back in the porringer period, in which we are all like the pin-feathered dicky-birds, open-mouthed for anything anybody may drop into us, some one fed me with the number seven." "succulent morsel!" chuckled grislow. "did it agree with you?" brouillard sat back from the fire and clasped his hands over his bent knees. he was of a type rare enough to be noteworthy in a race which has drawn so heavily upon the anglo-saxon and teutonic stocks for its build and coloring: a well-knit figure of a man, rather under than over the normal stature, but bulging athletically in the loose-fitting khaki of the engineer; dark of skin, even where the sun had not burned its rich mahogany into the olive, and owning a face which, with the upcurled mustaches, the brooding black eyes, and the pure gallic outline of brow and jaw, might have served as a model for a vierge study of a fighting _franc-tireur_. "i don't remember how early in the game the thing began," he resumed, ignoring grislow's joking interruption, "but away back in the dimmest dawnings the number seven began to have a curious significance for me. from my earliest recollections things have been constantly associating themselves with seven or some multiple of it. you don't believe it, of course; but it is true." "which means that you have been sitting up and taking notice when the coincidences hit, and have forgotten the millions of times when they didn't," scoffed the listener. "probably," was the ready admission. "we all do that. but there is one set of 'coincidences,' as you call them, that can't be so easily turned down. back in the pin-feather time that i mentioned somebody handed me a fact--the discovery of the physiologists about the waste and replacement that goes on in the human organism, bringing around a complete cellular change about once in every seven years. are you asleep?" "not yet; go on," said the hydrographer. "it was a long time ago, and i was only a little tad; but i surrounded the idea and took it in literally, in the sense of a sudden and sort of magical change coming at the end of each seven-year period and bound to occur at those particular fixed times. the notion stuck to me like a cockle-bur, and sometimes i wonder if it isn't still sticking." "bugs!" ranted grislow, in good-natured ridicule, and brouillard laughed. "that is what i say to myself, murray, every time the fatal period rolls around. and yet----" "there isn't any 'and yet,'" cut in the scoffer derisively. "this is merely your night for being batty. 'fatal period'--suffering humanity!" "no, hold on: let me tell you, murray--i'd like to get it out of my system if i can. up to my seventh birthday i was a sickly child, puny and only about half alive. i recollect, as if it were only yesterday, how the neighbor women used to come in and condole with my mother, ignoring me, of course, as if i hadn't any ears. i can remember old aunt hetty parsons saying, time and again: 'no, mis' brouillard; you'll never raise that boy the longest day you live!'" "i'm waiting for the 'and yet,'" put in grislow, sitting up to relight his pipe with a blazing splinter from the fire. "it came--the change, i mean--when i was seven years old. that was the year of our removal to vincennes from the country village where i was born. since that time i haven't known what it means to be sick or even ailing." "bully old change!" applauded grislow. "is that all?" "no. what the second period spent on my body it took out of my mind. i grew stouter and stronger every year and became more and more the stupidest blockhead that ever thumbed a school-book. i simply couldn't learn, murray. my mother made excuses for me, as mothers will, but my father was in despair. he was an educated man, and i can imagine that my unconquerable doltishness went near to breaking his heart." "you are safely over that stage of it now, at all events," said the hydrographer in exaggerated sarcasm. "any man who can stare into the fire and think out fetching little imaginations like these you are handing me----" "sometimes i wish they were only imaginings, grizzy. but let me finish. i was fourteen to a day when i squeezed through the final grammar grade; think of it--fourteen years old and still with the women teachers! i found out afterward that i got my dubiously given passport to the high school chiefly because my father was one of the best-known and best-loved men in the old home town. perhaps it wasn't the magic seven that built me all over new that summer; perhaps it was only the change in schools and teachers. but from that year on, all the hard things were too easy. it was as if somebody or something had suddenly opened a closed door in my brain and let the daylight into all the dark corners at once." grislow sat up and finished for him. "yes; and since that time you have staved your way through the university, and butted into the reclamation service, and played skittles with every other man's chances of promotion until you have come out at the top of the heap in the construction division, all of which you're much too modest to brag about. but, say; we've skipped one of the seven-year flag-stations. what happened when you were twenty-one--or were you too busy just then chasing the elusive engineering degree to take notice?" brouillard was staring out over the loom of the dozen camp-fires--out and across the valley at the massive bulk of mount chigringo rising like a huge barrier dark to the sky-line save for a single pin-prick of yellow light fixing the position of a solitary miner's cabin half-way between the valley level and the summit. when he spoke again the hydrographer had been given time to shave another pipe charge of tobacco from his pocket plug and to fill and light the brier. "when i was twenty-one my father died, and"--he stopped short and then went on in a tone which was more than half apologetic--"i don't mind telling you, grislow; you're not the kind to pass it on where it would hurt. at twenty-one i was left with a back load that i am carrying to this good day; that i shall probably go on carrying through life." grislow walked around the fire, kicked two or three of the charred log ends into the blaze, and growled when the resulting smoke rose up to choke and blind him. "forget it, victor," he said in blunt retraction. "i thought it was merely a little splashing match and i didn't mean to back you out into deep water. i know something about the load business myself; i'm trying to put a couple of kid brothers through college, right now." "are you?" said brouillard half-absently; and then, as one who would not be selfishly indifferent: "that is fine. i wish i were going to have something as substantial as that to show for my wood sawing." "won't you?" "not in a thousand years, murray." "in less than a hundredth part of that time you'll be at the top of the reclamation-service pay-roll--won't that help out?" "no; not appreciably." grislow gave it up at that and went back to the original contention. "we're dodging the main issue," he said. "what is the active principle of your 'sevens'--or haven't you figured it out?" "change," was the prompt rejoinder; "always something different--radically different." "and what started you off into the memory woods, particularly, to-night?" "a small recurrence of the coincidences. it began with that hopelessly unreliable little clock that anson persists in carrying around with him wherever he goes. while you were up on the hill cutting your spruce tips anson pulled out and said he was going to unpack his camp kit. he went over to his tent and lighted up, and a few minutes afterward i heard the clock strike--seven. i looked at my watch and saw that it lacked a few minutes of eight, and the inference was that anson had set the clock wrong, as he commonly does. just as i was comfortably forgetting the significant reminder the clock went off again, striking slowly, as if the mechanism were nearly run down." "another seven?" queried grislow, growing interested in spite of a keen desire to lapse into ridicule again. "no; it struck four. i didn't imagine it, murray; i counted: one--two--three--four." "well?" was the bantering comment. "you couldn't conjure an omen out of that, could you? you say there was a light in the tent--i suppose anson was there tinkering with his little tin god of a timepiece. it's a habit of his." "that was the natural inference; but i was curious enough to go and look. when i lifted the flap the tent was empty. the clock was ticking away on anson's soap-box dressing-case, with a lighted candle beside it, and for a crazy half second i had a shock, murray--the minute-hand was pointing to four and the hour-hand to seven!" "still i don't see the miraculous significance," said the hydrographer. "don't you? it was only another of the coincidences, of course. while i stood staring at the clock anson came in with griffith's tool kit. 'i've got to tinker her again,' he said. 'she's got so she keeps pacific time with one hand and eastern with the other.' then i understood that he had been tinkering it and had merely gone over to griffith's tent for the tools." "well," said grislow again, "what of it? the clock struck seven, you say; but it also struck four." brouillard's smile tilted his curling mustaches to the sardonic angle. "the combination was what called the turn, grizzy. to-day happens to be my twenty-eighth birthday--the end of the fourth cycle of seven." "by george!" ejaculated the hydrographer in mock perturbation, sitting up so suddenly that he dropped his pipe into the ashes of the fire. "in that case, according to what seems to be the well-established custom, something is due to fall in right now!" "i have been looking for it all day," returned brouillard calmly, "which is considerably more ridiculous than anything else i have owned to, you will say. let it go at that. we'll talk about something real if you'd rather--that auxiliary reservoir supply from the apache basin, for example. were the field-notes in when you left washington?" and from the abrupt break, the technicalities came to their own again; were still holding the centre of the stage after the groups around the mess fires had melted away into the bunk shelters and tents, and the fires themselves had died down into chastened pools of incandescence edged each with its beach line of silvered ashes. it was murray grislow who finally rang the curtain call on the prolonged shop-talk. "say, man! do you know that it is after ten o'clock?" he demanded, holding the face of his watch down to the glow of the dying embers. "you may sit here all night, if you like, but it's me for the blankets and a few lines of 'tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy'--now, what in the name of a guilty conscience is _that_?" as it chanced, they were both facing toward the lower end of the valley when the quotation-breaking apparition flashed into view. in the deepest of the shadows at the mouth of the gorge, where the torrenting niquoia straightened itself momentarily before entering upon its plunging race through the mountain barrier, a beam of white light flickered unsteadily for a fraction of a second. then it became a luminous pencil to trace a zigzag line up the winding course of the river, across to the foot-hill spur where the camp of the reclamation-service vanguard was pitched, and so on around to the base of chigringo. for certain other seconds it remained quiescent, glowing balefully like the eye of some fabled monster searching for its prey. then it was gone. grislow's comment took the form of a half-startled exclamation. "by jove! wouldn't that give you a fit of the creepies?--this far from civilization and a dynamo?" "it wasn't an electric," returned brouillard thoughtfully, apparently taking grislow's suggestion literally. "it was an acetylene." "supposing it was--what's the difference? aren't we just as far from a carbide shop as we are from the dynamo? what are you calling it?" "your guess is as good as mine," was the half-absent reply. brouillard was still staring fixedly at the distant gulf of blackness where the mysterious light had appeared and disappeared. "then i'll make it and go to bed," said the hydrographer, rising and stretching his arms over his head. "if it had come a couple of hours ago we should have called it the 'spot-light,' turned on to mark the end of your fourth act and the beginning, auspicious or otherwise, of the fifth. maybe it is, anyway; maybe the property-man was asleep or drunk and forgot to turn it on at the spectacular instant. how will that do?" brouillard had got upon his feet and was buttoning his many-pocketed shooting-coat. "it will do to put you into the balaam saddle-beast class, grizzy," he said, almost morosely. then he added: "i'm going to take a little hike down yonder for investigative purposes. want to come along?" but the mapper of watersheds was yawning sleepily. "not on your tintype," he refused. "i'm going to 'cork it orf in me 'ammick.' wake me up when you come back and tell me what the fifth act is going to do to you. the more i think of it the more i'm convinced that it _was_ the spot-light, a little overdue, after all." and he turned away chuckling. it was only a short mile from the camp on the inward slopes of the eastern foot-hills to the mouth of the outlet gorge, across which brouillard could already see, in mental prevision, the great gray wall of the projected niquoia dam--his future work--curving majestically from the broken shoulder of chigringo to the opposing steeps of jack's mountain. the half-grown moon, tilting now toward the sky-line of the western barrier, was leaving the canyon portal in deepest gloom. as brouillard swung along he kept a watchful eye upon the gorge shadows, half expecting a return of the mysterious apparition. but when he finally reached the canyon portal and began to seek for the trail which roughly paralleled the left bank of the stream the mystery was still unexplained. from its upper portal in the valley's throat to the point where the river debouches among the low sand-hills of the buckskin desert the canyon of the niquoia measures little more than a mile as the bird flies, though its crookings through the barrier mountains fairly double the distance. beginning as a broken ravine at the valley outlet, the gorge narrows in its lower third to a cliff-walled raceway for the torrent, and the trail, leaving the bank of the stream, climbs the forested slope of a boundary spur to descend abruptly to the water's edge again at the desert gateway, where the niquoia, leaping joyously from the last of its many hamperings, becomes a placid river of the plain. picking his way judiciously because the trail was new to him, brouillard came in due time to the descending path among the spruces and scrub-pines leading to the western outlook upon the desert swales and sand-hills. at the canyon portal, where the forest thinned away and left him standing at the head of the final descending plunge in the trail, he found himself looking down upon the explanation of the curious apparition. none the less, what he saw was in itself rather inexplicable. in the first desert looping of the river a camp-fire of piñon knots was blazing cheerfully, and beside it, with a picnic hamper for a table, sat a supper party of three--two men and a woman--in enveloping dust-coats, and a third man in chauffeur leather serving the sitters. back of the group, and with its detachable search-light missing, stood a huge touring-car to account for the picnic hamper, the dust-coats, the man in leather, and, doubtless, for the apparitional eye which had appeared and disappeared at the mouth of the upper gorge. also it accounted, in a purely physical sense, for the presence of the picnickers, though the whim which had led them to cross the desolate buckskin desert for the dubious pleasure of making an all-night bivouac on its eastern edge was not so readily apparent. being himself a bedouin of the desert, brouillard's first impulse was hospitable. but when he remarked the ample proportions of the great touring-car and remembered the newness and rawness of his temporary camp he quickly decided that the young woman member of the party would probably fare better where she was. this being the case, the young engineer saw no reason why he should intrude upon the group at the cheerful camp-fire. on the contrary, he began speedily to find good and sufficient reasons why he should not. that the real restraining motive was a sudden attack of desert shyness he would not have admitted. but the fact remained. good red blood with its quickenings of courage and self-reliance, and a manful ability to do and dare, are the desert's gifts; but the penalty the desert exacts in return for them is evenly proportioned. four years in the reclamation service had made the good-looking young chief of construction a man-queller of quality. but each year of isolation had done something toward weakening the social ties. a loosened pebble turned the scale. when a bit of the coarse-grained sandstone of the trail rolled under brouillard's foot and went clattering down to plunge into the stream the man in chauffeur leather reached for the search-light lantern and directed its beam upon the canyon portal. but by that time brouillard had sought the shelter of the scrub-pines and was retracing his steps up the shoulder of the mountain. ii j. wesley croesus measured even by the rather exacting standards of the mining and cattle country, brouillard was not what the west calls "jumpy." four years of field-work, government or other, count for something; and the man who has proved powder-shy in any stage of his grapple with the land of short notice is customarily a dead man. in spite of his training, however, the young chief of construction, making an early morning exploration of the site for the new dam at the mouth of the outlet gorge while the rank and file of the pioneer force were building the permanent camp half-way between the foot-hills and the river, winced handsomely when the shock of a distance-muffled explosion trembled upon the crisp morning air, coming, as it seemed, from some point near the lower end of the canyon. the dull rumble of the explosion and the little start for which it was accountable were disconcerting in more ways than one. as an industry captain busy with the preliminaries of what promised to be one of the greatest of the modern salvages of the waste places, brouillard had been assuring himself that his work was large enough to fill all his horizons. but the detonating crash reminded him forcibly that the presence of the touring party was asserting itself as a disturbing element and that the incident of its discovery the night before had been dividing time pretty equally with his verification of the locating engineer's blue-print mappings and field-notes. this was the first thought, and it was pointedly irritating. but the rebound flung him quickly over into the field of the common humanities. the explosion was too heavy to figure as a gun-shot; and, besides, it was the closed season for game. therefore, it must have been an accident of some sort--possibly the blowing up of the automobile. brouillard had once seen the gasolene tank of a motor-car take fire and go up like a pyrotechnic set piece in a sham battle. between this and a hurried weighting of the sheaf of blue-prints with his field-glass preparatory to a first-aid dash down the outlet gorge, there was no appreciable interval. but the humane impulse doubled back upon itself tumultuously when he came to his outlook halting place of the night before. there had been no accident. the big touring-car, yellow with the dust of the buckskin, stood intact on the sand flat where it had been backed and turned and headed toward the desert. wading in the shallows of the river with a linen dust robe for a seine, the two younger men of the party were gathering the choicest of the dead mountain trout with which the eddy was thickly dotted. coming toward him on the upward trail and climbing laboriously to gain the easier path among the pines, were the two remaining members of the party--an elderly, pudgy, stockily built man with a gray face, stiff gray mustaches and sandy-gray eyes to match, and the young woman, booted, gauntleted, veiled, and bulked into shapelessness by her touring coat, and yet triumphing exuberantly over all of these handicaps in an ebullient excess of captivating beauty and attractiveness. being a fisherman of mark and a true sportsman, brouillard had a sudden rush of blood to the anger cells when he realized that the alarm which had brought him two hard-breathing miles out of his way had been the discharge of a stick of dynamite thrown into the niquoia for the fish-killing purpose. in his code the dynamiting of a stream figured as a high crime. but the two on the trail had come up, and his protest was forestalled by the elderly man with the gray face and the sandy-gray eyes, whose explosive "ha!" was as much a measure of his breathlessness as of his surprise. "i was just telling van bruce that his thundering fish cartridge would raise the neighbors," the trail climber went on with a stout man's chuckle. and then: "you're one of the reclamation engineers? great work the government is undertaking here--fine opportunity to demonstrate the lifting power of aggregated capital backed by science and energy and a whole heap of initiative. it's a high honor to be connected with it, and that's a fact. you _are_ connected with it, aren't you?" brouillard's nod was for the man, but his words were for the young woman whose beauty refused to be quenched by the touring handicaps. "yes, i am in charge of it," he said. "ha!" said the stout man, and this time the exclamation was purely approbative. "chief engineer, eh? that's fine, _fine_! you're young, and you've climbed pretty fast. but that's the way with you young men nowadays; you begin where we older fellows leave off. i'm glad we met you. my name is cortwright--j. wesley cortwright, of chicago. and yours is----?" brouillard named himself in one word. strangers usually found him bluntly unresponsive to anything like effusiveness, but he was finding it curiously difficult to resist the good-natured heartiness which seemed to exude from the talkative gentleman, overlaying him like the honeydew on the leaves in a droughty forest. if mr. j. wesley cortwright's surprise on hearing the brouillard surname was not genuine it was at least an excellent imitation. "well, well, well--you don't say! not of the brouillards of knox county, indiana?--but, of course, you must be. there is only the one family that i ever heard of, and it is mighty good, old _voyageur_ stock, too, dating 'way back to the revolutionary war, and further. i've bought hogs of the farmer brouillards hundreds of times when i was in the packing business, and i want to tell you that no finer animals ever came into the chicago market." "yes?" said brouillard, driving the word in edgewise. "i am sorry to say that i don't know many of the farmers. our branch of the family settled near vincennes, and my father was on the bench, when he wasn't in politics." "what? not judge antoine! why, my dear young man! do you know that i once had the pleasure of introducing your good father to my bankers in chicago? it was years ago, at a time when he was interested in floating a bond issue for some growing industry down on the wabash. and to think that away out here in this howling wilderness, a thousand miles from nowhere, as you might say, i should meet his son!" brouillard laughed and fell headlong into the pit of triteness. "the world isn't so very big when you come to surround it properly, mr. cortwright," he asserted. "that's a fact; and we're doing our level best nowadays to make and keep it little," buzzed the portly man cheerfully, with a wave of one pudgy arm toward the automobile. "it's about a hundred and twenty miles from this to el gato, on the grand canyon, isn't it, mr. brouillard? well, we did it in five hours yesterday afternoon, and we could have cut an hour out of that if rickert hadn't mistaken the way across the buckskin. not that it made any special difference. we expected to spend one night out and came prepared." brouillard admitted that the touring feat kept even pace with the quickening spirit of the age; but he did not add that the motive for the feat was not quite so apparent as it might be. this mystery, however, was immediately brushed aside by mr. cortwright, speaking in his character of universal ouster of mysteries. "you are wondering what fool notion chased us away out here in the desert when we had a comfortable hotel to stop at," he rattled on. "i'll tell you, mr. brouillard--in confidence. it was curiosity--raw, country curiosity. the papers and magazines have been full of this buckskin reclamation scheme, and we wanted to see the place where all the wonderful miracles were going to get themselves wrought out. have you got time to 'put us next'?" brouillard, as the son of the man who had been introduced to the chicago money gods in his hour of need, could scarcely do less than to take the time. the project, he explained, contemplated the building of a high dam across the upper end of the niquoia canyon and the converting of the inland valley above into a great storage reservoir. from this reservoir a series of distributing canals would lead the water out upon the arid lands of the buckskin and the miracle would be a fact accomplished. "sure, sure!" said the cheerful querist, feeling in the pockets of the automobile coat for a cigar. at the match-striking instant he remembered a thing neglected. "by george! you'll have to excuse me, mr. brouillard; i'm always forgetting the little social dewdabs. let me present you to my daughter genevieve. gene, shake hands with the son of my good old friend judge antoine brouillard, of vincennes." it was rather awkwardly done, and somehow brouillard could not help fancying that mr. cortwright could have done it better; that the roughly informal introduction was only one of the component parts of a studied brusquerie which mr. cortwright could put on and off at will, like a well-worn working coat. but when the unquenchable beauty stripped her gauntlet and gave him her hand, with a dazzling smile and a word of acknowledgment which was not borrowed from her father's effusive vocabulary, he straightway fell into another pit of triteness and his saving first impressions of mr. j. wesley cortwright's character began to fade. "i'm immensely interested," was miss cortwright's comment on the outlining of the reclamation project. "do you mean to say that real farms with green things growing on them can be made out of that frightful desert we drove over yesterday afternoon?" brouillard smiled and plunged fatuously. "oh, yes; the farms are already there. nature made them, you know; she merely forgot to arrange for their watering." he was going on to tell about the exhaustive experiments the department of agriculture experts had been making upon the buckskin soils when the gentleman whose name had once figured upon countless thousands of lard packages cut in. "do you know what i'm thinking about, mr. brouillard? i'm saying it over soft and slow to myself that no young man in this world ever had such a magnificent fighting chance as you have right here," he averred, the sandy-gray eyes growing suddenly alert and shrewd. "if you don't come out of this with money enough to buy in all those bonds your father was placing that time in chicago--but of course you will." "i'm afraid i don't quite understand what you mean, mr. cortwright," said brouillard, with some inner monitor warning him that it would be better not to understand. the portly gentleman became suddenly facetious. "hear him, gene," he chuckled, sharing the joke with his daughter; "he says he doesn't understand!" then to brouillard: "say, young man; you don't mean to tell me that your father's son needs a guardian, do you? you know exactly where these canals are going to run and all the choice spots they are going to irrigate; what's to prevent your getting in ahead of the rush and taking up a dozen or so of those prime quarter-sections--homesteads, town sites, and the like? lack of money? why, bless your soul, there are plenty of us who would fall all over ourselves running to back a proposition like that--any god's quantity of us who would fairly throw the working capital at you! for that matter, i don't know but i'd undertake to finance you alone." brouillard's first impulse sprang full-grown out of honest anger. that any man who had known his father should make such a proposal to that father's son was a bald insult to the father's memory. but the calmer second thought turned wrath into amused tolerance. the costly touring-car, the idle, time-killing jaunt in the desert, the dynamiting of the river for the sake of taking a few fish--all these were the indices of a point of view limited strictly by a successful market for hog products. why should he go out of his way to quarrel with it on high moral grounds? "you forget that i am first of all the government's hired man, mr. cortwright," he demurred. "my job of dam building will be fully big enough and strenuous enough to keep me busy. aside from that, i fancy the department heads would take it rather hard if we fellows in the field went plum picking." "let them!" retorted the potential backer of profitable side issues. "what's the odds if you go to it and bring back the money? i tell you, mr. brouillard, money--bunched money--is what talks. a good, healthy bank balance makes so much noise that you can't hear the knockers. if the washington crowd had your chance--but never mind, that's your business and none of mine, and you'll take it as it's meant, as a good-natured hint to your father's son. how far is it up to where you are going to build your dam?" brouillard gave the distance, and mr. cortwright measured the visible trail grades with a deprecatory eye. "do you think my daughter could walk it?" he asked. miss genevieve answered for herself: "of course i can walk it; can't i, mr. brouillard?" "i'll be glad to show you the way if you care to try," brouillard offered; and the tentative invitation was promptly accepted. the transfer of view-points from the lower end of the canyon to the upper was effected without incident, save at its beginning, when the father would have called down to the young man who had waded ashore and was drying himself before the camp-fire. "van bruce won't care to go," the daughter hastened to say; and brouillard, whose gift it was to be able to pick out and identify the human derelict at long range, understood perfectly well the reason for the young woman's hasty interruption. one result of the successfully marketed lard packages was very plainly evident in the dissipated face and hangdog attitude of the marketer's son. conversation flagged, even to the discouragement of a voluble money king, on the climb from the buckskin level to that of the reservoir valley. the trail was narrow, and brouillard unconsciously set a pace which was almost inhospitable for a stockily built man whose tendency was toward increasing waist measures. but when they reached the pine-tree of the anchored blue-prints at the upper portal, mr. cortwright recovered his breath sufficiently to gasp his appreciation of the prospect and its possibilities. "why, good goodness, mr. brouillard, it's practically all done for you!" he wheezed, taking in the level, mountain-enclosed valley with an appraisive eye-sweep. "van bruce and the chauffeur came up here last night, with one of the car lamps for a lantern, but of course they couldn't bring back any idea of the place. what will you do?--build your dam right here and take out your canal through the canyon? is that the plan?" brouillard nodded and went a little further into details, showing how the inward-arching barrier would be anchored into the two opposing mountain buttresses. "and the structure itself--how high is it to be?" "two hundred feet above the spillway apron foot." the lard millionaire twisted his short, fat neck and guessed the distance up the precipitous slopes of chigringo and jack's mountain. "that will be a whale of a chunk of masonry," he said. then, with business-like directness: "what will you build it of?--concrete?" "yes; concrete and steel." "then you are going to need portland cement--a whole world of it. where will you get it? and how will you get it here?" brouillard smiled inwardly at the pork packer's suddenly awakened interest in the technical ways and means. his four years in the desert had taken him out of touch with a money-making world, and this momentary contact with one of its successful devotees was illuminating. he had a growing conviction that the sordid atmosphere which appeared to be as the breath of life to mr. j. wesley cortwright would presently begin to make things taste coppery, but the inextinguishable charm of the veiled princess was a compensation. it was partly for the sake of seeing her with the veil abolished that he recovered the paper-weighting field-glass and gave it to her, showing her how to focus it upon the upper reaches of the valley. "we are in luck on the cement proposition," he told the eager money-maker. "we shall probably manufacture our own supply right here on the ground. there is plenty of limestone and an excellent shale in those hills just beyond our camp; and for burning fuel there is a fairly good vein of bituminous coal underlying that farther range at the head of the valley." "h'm," said the millionaire; "a cement plant, eh? there's money in that anywhere on the face of the globe, just now. and over here, where there is no transportation--gad! if you only had somebody to sell cement to, you could ask your own price. the materials have all been tested, i suppose?" "oh, yes; we've had experts in here for more than a year. the material is all right." "and your labor?" "on the dam, you mean? one advantage of concrete work is that it does not require any great proportion of skilled labor, the crushing, mixing, and placing all being done by machinery. we shall work all the indians we can get from the navajo reservation, forty-odd miles south of here; for the remainder we shall import men from the states, bringing them in over the timanyoni high line--the trail from quesado on the red butte western. at least, that is what we shall do for the present. later on, the railroad will probably build an extension up the barking dog and over war arrow pass." mr. cortwright's calculating eye roved once more over the attractive prospect. "fuel for your power plant?--wood i take it?" he surmised; and then: "oh, i forgot; you say you have coal." "yes; there is coal, of a sort; good enough for the cement kilns. but we sha'n't burn it for power. neither shall we burn the timber, which can be put to much better use in building and in false- and form-work. there are no finer lumber forests this side of the sierras. for power we shall utilize the river. there is another small canyon at the head of the valley where a temporary dam can be built which will deliver power enough to run anything--an entire manufacturing city, if we had one." mr. cortwright made a clucking noise with his tongue and blew his cheeks out like a swimmer gasping for breath. "julius cæsar!" he exploded. "you stand there and tell me calmly that the government has all these resources coopered up here in a barrel?--that nobody is going to get a chance to make any money out of them? it's a crime, mr. brouillard; that's just what it is--a crime!" "no; i didn't say that. the resources just happen to be here and we shall turn them to good account. but if there were any feasible transportation facilities i doubt if we should make use of these native raw materials. it is the policy of the department to go into the market like any other buyer where it can. but here there are no sellers, or, rather, no way in which the sellers can reach us." "no sellers and no chance for a man to get the thin edge of a wedge in anywhere," lamented the money-maker despairingly. then his eye lighted upon the graybeard dump of a solitary mine high up on the face of mount chigringo. "what's that up there?" he demanded. "it is a mine," said brouillard, showing miss cortwright how to adjust the field-glass for the shorter distance. "two men named massingale, father and son, are working it, i'm told." and then again to miss genevieve: "that is their cabin--on the trail a little to the right of the tunnel opening." "i see it quite plainly," she returned. "two people are just leaving it to ride down the path--a man and a woman, i think, though the woman--if it is a woman--is riding on a man's saddle." brouillard's eyebrows went up in a little arch of surprise. harding, the topographical engineer who had made all the preliminary surveys and had spent the better part of the former summer in the niquoia, had reported on the massingales, father and son, and his report had conveyed a hint of possible antagonism on the part of the mine owners to the government project. but there had been no mention of a woman. "the massingale mine, eh?" broke in the appraiser of values crisply. "they showed us some ore specimens from that property while we were stopping over in red butte. it's rich--good and plenty rich--if they have the quantity. and somebody told me they had the quantity, too; only it was too far from the railroad--couldn't jack-freight it profitably over the timanyonis." "in which case it is one of many," brouillard said, taking refuge in the generalities. but mr. cortwright was not to be so easily diverted from the pointed particulars--the particulars having to do with the pursuit of the market trail. "i'm beginning to get my feet on bottom, brouillard," he said, dropping the courtesy prefix and shoving his fat hands deep into the pockets of the dust-coat. "there's a business proposition here, and it looks mighty good to me. that was a mere nursery notion i gave you a while back--about picking up homesteads and town sites in the buckskin. the big thing is right here. i tell you, i can smell money in this valley of yours--scads of it." brouillard laughed. "it is only the fragrance of future reclamation-service appropriations," he suggested. "there will be a good bit of money spent here before the buckskin desert gets its maiden wetting." "i don't mean that at all," was the impatient rejoinder. "let me show you: you are going to have a population of some sort, if it's only the population that your big job will bring here. that's the basis. then you're going to need material by the train load, not the raw stuff, which you say is right here on the ground, but the manufactured article--cement, lumber, and steel. you can ship this material in over the range at prices that will be pretty nearly prohibitory, or, as you suggest, it can be manufactured right here on the spot." "the cement and the lumber can be produced here, but not the steel," brouillard corrected. "that's where you're off," snapped the millionaire. "there are fine ore beds in the hophras and a pretty good quality of coking coal. ten or twelve miles of a narrow-gauge railroad would dump the pig metal into the upper end of your valley, and there you are. with a small reduction plant you could tell the big steel people to go hang." brouillard admitted the postulate without prejudice to a keen and growing wonder. how did it happen that this chicago money king had taken the trouble to inform himself so accurately in regard to the natural resources of the niquoia region? had he not expressly declared that the object of the desert automobile trip was mere tourist curiosity? given a little time, the engineer would have cornered the inquiry, making it yield some sort of a reasonable answer; but mr. cortwright was galloping on again. "there you are, then, with the three prime requisites in raw material: cement stock, timber, and pig metal. fuel you've got, you say, and if it isn't good enough, your dummy railroad can supply you from the hophra mines. best of all, you've got power to burn--and that's the key to any manufacturing proposition. well and good. now, you know, and i know, that the government doesn't care to go into the manufacturing business when it can help it. isn't that so?" "unquestionably. but this is a case of can't-help-it," brouillard argued. "you couldn't begin to interest private capital in any of these industries you speak of." "why not?" was the curt demand. "because of their impermanence--their dependence upon a market which will quit definitely when the dam is completed. what you are suggesting predicates a good, busy little city in this valley, behind the dam--since there is no other feasible place for it--and it would be strictly a city of numbered days. when the dam is completed and the spillway gates are closed, the niqoyastcàdje and everything in it will go down under two hundred feet of water." "the--what?" queried miss cortwright, lowering the glass with which she had been following the progress of the two riders down the buckskin trail from the high-pitched mine on chigringo. "the niqoyastcàdje--'place-where-they-came-up,'" said brouillard, elucidating for her. "that is the navajo name for this valley. the indians have a legend that this is the spot where their tribal ancestors came up from the underworld. our map makers shortened it to 'niquoia' and the cow-men of the buckskin foot-hills have cut that to 'nick-wire.'" this bit of explanatory place lore was entirely lost upon mr. j. wesley cortwright. he was chewing the ends of his short mustaches and scowling thoughtfully out upon the possible site of the future industrial city of the plain. "say, brouillard," he cut in, "you get me the right to build that power dam, and give me the contracts for what material you'd rather buy than make, and i'll be switched if i don't take a shot at this drowning proposition myself. i tell you, it looks pretty good to me. what do you say?" "i'll say what i said a few minutes ago," laughed the young chief of construction--"that i'm only a hired man. you'll have to go a good few rounds higher up on the authority ladder to close a deal like that. i'm not sure it wouldn't require an act of congress." "well, by george, we might get even that if we have to," was the optimistic assertion. "you think about it." "i guess it isn't my think," said brouillard, still inclined to take the retired pork packer's suggestion as the mere ravings of a money-mad promoter. "as the government engineer in charge of this work, i couldn't afford to be identified even as a friendly intermediary in any such scheme as the one you are proposing." "of course, i suppose not," agreed the would-be promoter, sucking his under lip in a way ominously familiar to his antagonists in the wheat pit. then he glanced at his watch and changed the subject abruptly. "we'll have to be straggling back to the chug-wagon. much obliged to you, mr. brouillard. will you come down and see us off?" brouillard said "yes," for miss cortwright's sake, and took the field-glass she was returning to put it back upon the sheaf of blue-prints. she saw what he did with it and made instant acknowledgments. "it was good of you to neglect your work for us," she said, smiling level-eyed at him when he straightened up. he was frank enough to tell the truth--or part of it. "it was the dynamite that called me off. doesn't your brother know that it is illegal to shoot a trout stream?" she waited until her father was out of ear-shot on the gorge trail before she answered: "he ought to know that it is caddish and unsportsmanlike. i didn't know what he and rickert were doing or i should have stopped them." "in that event we shouldn't have met, and you would have missed your chance of seeing the niqoyastcàdje and the site of the city that isn't to be--the city of numbered days," he jested, adding, less lightly: "you wouldn't have missed very much." "no?" she countered with a bright return of the alluring smile which he had first seen through the filmy gauze of the automobile veil. "do you want me to say that i should have missed a great deal? you may consider it said if you wish." he made no reply to the bit of persiflage, and a little later felt the inward warmth of an upflash of resentment directed not at his companion but at himself for having been momentarily tempted to take the persiflage seriously. the temptation was another of the consequences of the four years of isolation which had cut him off from the world of women no less completely than from the world of money-getting. but it was rather humiliating, none the less. "what have i done to make you forget how to talk?" she wished to know, five minutes further on, when his silence was promising to outlast the canyon passage. "you? nothing at all," he hastened to say. then he took the first step in the fatal road of attempting to account for himself. "but i have forgotten, just the same. it has been years since i have had a chance to talk to a woman. do you wonder that i have lost the knack?" "how dreadful!" she laughed. and afterward, with a return to the half-serious mood which had threatened to reopen the door so lately slammed in the face of temptation: "perhaps we shall come back to niqo--niqoy--i simply _can't_ say it without sneezing--and then you might relearn some of the things you have forgotten. wouldn't that be delightful?" this time he chose to ignore utterly the voice of the inward monitor, which was assuring him coldly that young women of miss cortwright's world plane were constrained by the accepted rules of their kind to play the game in season and out of season, and his half-laughing reply was at once a defiance and a counter-challenge. "i dare you to come!" he said brazenly. "haven't you heard how the men of the desert camps kill each other for the chance to pick up a lady's handkerchief?" they were at the final descent in the trail, with the buckskin blanknesses showing hotly beyond the curtaining of pines, and there was space only for a flash of the beautiful eyes and a beckoning word. "in that case, i hope you know how to shoot straight, mr. brouillard," she said quizzically; and then they passed at a step from romance to the crude realities. the realities were basing themselves upon the advent of two new-comers, riding down the chigringo trail to the ford which had been the scene of the fish slaughtering; a sunburnt young man in goatskin "shaps," flannel shirt and a flapping stetson, and a girl whose face reminded brouillard of one of the madonnas, whose name and painter he strove vainly to recall. ten seconds farther along the horses of the pair were sniffing suspiciously at the automobile, and the young man under the flapping hat was telling van bruce cortwright what he thought of cartridge fishermen in general, and of this present cartridge fisherman in particular. "which the same, being translated into buckskin english, hollers like this," he concluded. "don't you tote any more fish ca'tridges into this here rese'vation; not no more, whatsoever. who says so? well, if anybody should ask, you might say it was tig smith, foreman o' the tri'-circ' outfit. no, i ain't no game warden, but what i say goes as she lays. _savez?_" the chauffeur was adjusting something under the upturned bonnet of the touring-car and thus hiding his grin. mr. cortwright, who had maintained his lead on the descent to the desert level, was trying to come between his sullen-faced son and the irate cattleman, money in hand. brouillard walked his companion down to the car and helped her to a seat in the tonneau. she repaid him with a nod and a smile, and when he saw that the crudities were not troubling her he stepped aside and unconsciously fell to comparing the two--the girl on horseback and his walking mate of the canyon passage. they had little enough in common, apart from their descent from eve, he decided--and the decision itself was subconscious. the millionaire's daughter was a warm blonde, beautiful, queenly, a finished product of civilization and high-priced culture; a woman of the world, standing but a single remove from the generation of quick money-getting and yet able to make the money take its proper place as a means to an end. and the girl on horseback? brouillard had to look twice before he could attempt to classify her, and even then she baffled him. a rather slight figure, suggestive of the flexible strength of a silken cord; a face winsome rather than beautiful; coils and masses of copper-brown hair escaping under the jaunty cow-boy hat; eyes ... it was her eyes that made brouillard look the third time: they were blue, with a hint of violet in them; he made sure of this when she turned her head and met his gaze fearlessly and with a certain calm serenity that made him feel suddenly uncomfortable and half embarrassed. nevertheless, he would not look aside; and he caught himself wondering if her cow-boy lover--he had already jumped to the sentimental conclusion--had ever been able to look into those steadfast eyes and trifle with the truth. so far the young chief of construction had travelled on the road reflective while the fish-slaughtering matter was getting itself threshed out at the river's edge. when it was finally settled--not by the tender of money that mr. cortwright had made--the man smith and his pretty riding mate galloped through the ford and disappeared among the barren hills, and the chauffeur was at liberty to start the motor. "_au revoir_, mr. brouillard," said the princess, as the big car righted itself for the southward flight into the desert. then, when the wheels began to churn in the loose sand of the halting place, she leaned out to give him a woman's leave-taking. "if i were you i shouldn't fall in love with the calm-eyed goddess who rides like a man. mr. tri'-circ' smith might object, you know; and you haven't yet told me whether or not you can shoot straight." there was something almost heart-warming in the bit of parting badinage; something to make the young engineer feel figuratively for the knife with which he had resolutely cut around himself to the dividing of all hindrances, sentimental or other, on a certain wretched day years before when he had shouldered his life back-load. [illustration: brouillard had to look twice before he could attempt to classify her, and even then she baffled him.] but the warmth might have given place to a disconcerting chill if he could have heard mr. j. wesley cortwright's remark to his seat companion, made when the canyon portal of the niquoia and the man climbing the path beside it were hazy mirage distortions in the backward distances. "he isn't going to be the dead easy mark i hoped to find in the son of the old bankrupt hair-splitter, genie, girl. but he'll come down and hook himself all right if the bait is well covered with his particular brand of sugar. don't you forget it." iii sands of pactolus if victor brouillard had been disposed to speculate curiously upon the possibilities suggested by mr. j. wesley cortwright on the occasion of the capitalist's brief visit to the niquoia, or had been tempted to dwell sentimentally upon the idyllic crossing of orbits--miss genevieve's and his own--on the desert's rim, there was little leisure for either indulgence during the strenuous early summer weeks which followed the cortwright invasion. popular belief to the contrary notwithstanding, it is not precisely true that all government undertakings are dilatory industrial imitations, designed, primarily, to promote the even-handed cutting of some appropriation pie, and, secondarily, to provide easy sinecures for placemen and political heelers. holding no brief for the government, one may still say without fear of contradiction that _laissez-faire_ has seldom been justly charged against the reclamation service. fairly confronting his problem, brouillard did not find himself hampered by departmental inertia. while he was rapidly organizing his force for the constructive attack, the equipment and preliminary material for the building of the great dam were piling up by the train load on the side-tracks at quesado; and at once the man- and beast-killing task of rushing the excavating outfit of machinery, teams, scrapers, rock-drilling installations, steam-shovels, and the like, over the war arrow trail was begun. during the weeks which followed, the same trail, and a little later that from the navajo reservation on the south, were strung with ant-like processions of laborers pouring into the shut-in valley at the foot of mount chigringo. almost as if by magic a populous camp of tents, shelter shacks, and indian tepees sprang up in the level bed-bottom of the future lake; camp-fires gave place to mess kitchens; the commissary became a busy department store stocked with everything that thrifty or thriftless labor might wish to purchase; and daily the great foundation scorings in the buttressing shoulders of jack's mountain and chigringo grew deeper and wider under the churning of the air-drills, the crashings of the dynamite, and the rattle and chug of the steam-shovels. magically, too, the life of the isolated working camp sprang into being. from the beginning its speech was a curious polyglot; the hissings and bubblings of the melting-pot out of which a new citizenry is poured. poles and slovaks, men from the slopes of the carpathians, the terraces of the apennines, and the passes of the balkans; scandinavians from the pineries of the north, and a colony of railroad-grading greeks, fresh from the building of a great transcontinental line; all these and more were spilled into the melting-pot, and a new babel resulted. only the indians held aloof. careful from the first for these wards of the nation, brouillard had made laws of draconian severity. the navajos were isolated upon a small reservation of their own on the jack's mountain side of the niquoia, a full half mile from the many-tongued camp in the open valley; and for the man caught "boot-legging" among the indians there were penalties swift and merciless. it was after the huge task of foundation digging was well under way and the work of constructing the small power dam in the upper canyon had been begun that the young chief of construction, busy with a thousand details, had his first forcible reminder of the continued existence of mr. j. wesley cortwright. it came in the form of a communication from washington, forwarded by special post-rider service from quesado, and it called a halt upon the up-river power project. in accordance with its settled policy, the reclamation service would refrain, in the niquoia as elsewhere, from entering into competition with private citizens; would do nothing to discourage the investment of private capital. a company had been formed to take over the power production and to establish a plant for the manufacture of cement, and brouillard was instructed to govern himself accordingly. for his information, the department letter-writer went on to say, it was to be understood that the company was duly organized under the provisions of an act of congress; that it had bound itself to furnish power and material at prices satisfactory to the service; and that the relations between it and the government field-staff on the ground were to be entirely friendly. "it's a graft--a pull-down with a profit in it for some bunch of money leeches a little higher up!" was the young chief's angry comment when he had given grislow the letter to read. "without knowing any more of the details than that letter gives, i'd be willing to bet a month's pay that this is the fine italian hand of mr. j. wesley cortwright!" grislow's eyebrows went up in doubtful interrogation. "ought i to know the gentleman?" he queried mildly. "i don't seem to recall the name." brouillard got up from his desk to go and stand at one of the little square windows of the log-built office quarters. for some reason which he had not taken the trouble to define, even to himself, he had carefully refrained from telling the hydrographer anything about the early morning meeting with the automobilists at the edge of the desert basin; of that and of the subsequent visit of two of them to the site of the dam. "no; you don't know him," he said, turning back to the worker at the mapping table. "it was his motor party that was camping at the buckskin ford the night we broke in here--the night when we saw the search-light." "and you met him? i thought you told me you merely went down and took a look--didn't butt in?" "i didn't--that night. but the next morning----" the hydrographer's smile was a jocose grimace. "i recollect now; you said that one of the motorists was a young woman." brouillard resented the implication irritably. "don't be an ass, murray," he snapped; and then he went on, with the frown of impatience still wrinkling between his eyes. "the young woman was the daughter. there was a cub of a son, and he fired a stick of dynamite in the river to kill a mess of trout. i heard the explosion and thought it might be the gasolene tank of the car." "naturally," said grislow guilelessly. "and, quite as naturally, you went down to see. i'm not sure that i shouldn't have done it myself." "of course you would," was the touchy retort. "when i got there and found out what had happened, i meant to make a second drop-out; but cortwright and his daughter were coming up the trail, and he hailed me. after that i couldn't do less than the decent thing. they wanted to see the valley, and i showed them the way in. cortwright is the multimillionaire pork packer of chicago, and he went up into the air like a lunatic over the money-making chances there were going to be in this job. i didn't pay much attention to his chortlings at the time. it didn't seem remotely credible that anybody with real money to invest would plant it in the bottom of the niquoia reservoir." "but now you think he is going to make his bluff good?" "that looks very much like it," said brouillard sourly, pointing to the letter from washington. "that scheme is going to change the whole face of nature for us up here, grislow. it will spell trouble right from the jump." "oh, i don't know," was the deprecatory rejoinder. "it will relieve us of a lot of side-issue industries--cut 'em out and bury 'em, so far as we are concerned." "that part of it is all right, of course; but it won't end there; not by a hundred miles. we've started in here to be a law to ourselves--as we've got to be to handle this mixed multitude of brigands and ditch diggers. but when this new company gets on the ground it will be different. there will be pull-hauling and scrapping and liquor selling, and we can't go in and straighten things out with a club as we do now. jobson says in that letter that the relations have got to be friendly! i'll bet anything you like that i'll have to go and read the riot act to those people before they've been twenty-four hours on their job!" grislow was trying the point of his mapping-pen on his thumb nail. "curious that this particular fly should drop into your pot of ointment on your birthday, wasn't it?" he remarked. "o suffering jehu!" gritted brouillard ragefully. "are you never going to forget that senseless bit of twaddle?" "you're not giving me a chance to forget it," said the map-maker soberly. "you told me that night that the seven-year characteristic was change; and you're a changed man, victor, if ever there was one. moreover, it began that very night--or the next morning." "oh, damn!" "certainly, if you wish it. but that is only another proof of what i am saying. it's getting on your nerves now. do you know what the men have named you? they call you 'hell's-fire.' that has come to be your word when you light into them for something they've done or haven't done. no longer ago than this morning you were swearing at griffith, as if you'd forgotten that the boy is only a year out of college and can't be supposed to know as much as leshington or anson. where is your sense of humor?" brouillard laughed, if only to prove that his sense of humor was still unimpaired. "they are a fearful lot of dubs, grizzy," he said, meaning the laborers; "the worst we've ever drawn, and that is saying a good deal. three drunken brawls last night, and a man killed in haley's place. and i can't keep liquor out of the camp to save my soul--not if i should sit up nights to invent new regulations. the navajos are the best of the bunch and we've managed to keep the fire from spreading over on their side of the niquoia, thus far. but if the whiskey ever gets hold in the tepees, we'll have orders to shoot chief nicagee's people back to their reservation in a holy minute." grislow nodded. "niqoyastcàdje--'place-where-they-came-up.' it will be 'place-where-they-go-down' if the tin-horns and boot-leggers get an inning." "we'll all go to the devil on a toboggan-slide and there is the order for it," declared the chief morosely, again indicating the letter from washington. "that means more human scum--a new town--an element that we can neither chase out nor control. cortwright and his associates, whoever they are, won't care a rotten hang. they'll be here to sweat money out of the job; to sweat it in any and every way that offers, and to do it quick. all of which is bad enough, you'd say, murray; but it isn't the worst of it. i've just run up against another thing that is threatening to raise merry hell in this valley." "i know," said the hydrographer slowly. "you've been having a _séance_ with steve massingale. leshington told me about it." "what did he tell you?" brouillard demanded half-angrily. "oh, nothing much; nothing to make you hot at him. he happened to be in the other room when massingale was here, and the door was open. he said he gathered the notion that the young sorehead was trying to bully you." "he was," was the brittle admission. "see here, grizzy." the thing to be seen was a small buckskin bag which, when opened, gave up a paper packet folded like a medicine powder. the paper contained a spoonful of dust and pellets of metal of a dull yellow lustre. the hydrographer drew a long breath and fingered the nuggets. "gold--placer gold!" he exclaimed, and brouillard nodded and went on to tell how he had come by the bag and its contents. "massingale had an axe to grind, of course. you may remember that harding talked loosely about the massingale opposition to the building of the dam. there was nothing in it. the opposition was purely personal and it was directed against harding himself, with amy massingale for the exciting cause." "that girl?--the elemental brute!" grislow broke in warmly. he knew the miner's daughter fairly well by this time and, in common with every other man on the staff, not excepting the staff's chief, would have fought for her in any cause. brouillard nodded. "i don't know what harding did, but smith, the triangle-circle foreman, tells me that steve was on the war-path; he told harding when he left, last summer, that if he ever came back to the niquoia, he'd come to stay--and stay dead." "i never did like harding's sex attitude any too well," was the hydrographer's definitive comment; and brouillard went back to the matter of the morning's _séance_ and its golden outcome. "that is only a little side issue. steve massingale came to me this morning with a proposal that was about as cold-blooded as a slap in the face. naturally, for good business reasons of their own, the massingales want to see the railroad built over war arrow pass and into the niquoia. in some way steve has found out that i stand in pretty well with president ford and the pacific southwestern people. his first break was to offer to incorporate the 'little susan' and to give me a block of the stock if i'd pull ford's leg on the extension proposition." "well?" queried grislow. "the railroad over war arrow pass would be the biggest thing that ever happened for our job here. if it did nothing else, it would make us independent of these boomers that are coming in to sell us material at their own prices." "exactly. but my hands are tied; and, besides, massingale's offer was a rank bribe. you can imagine what i told him--that i could neither accept stock in his mine nor say anything to influence the railroad people; that my position as chief engineer for the government cut me out both ways. then he began to bully and pulled the club on me." again grislow's smile was jocose. "you haven't been tumbling into the ditch with leshington and griffith and the rest of us and making love to the little sister, have you?" he jested. "don't be a fool if you can help it," was the curt rejoinder. "and don't give yourself leave to say things like that about amy massingale. she is too good and sweet and clean-hearted to be dragged into this mix-up, even by implication. do you get that, murray?" "oh, yes; it's only another way of saying that i'm one of the fools. go on with the stephen end of it." "well, when i turned him down, young massingale began to bluster and to say that i'd have to boost the railroad deal, whether i wanted to or not. i told him he couldn't prove it, and he said he would show me, if i'd take half an hour's walk up the valley with him. i humored him, more to get quit of him than for any other reason, and on the way past the camp he borrowed a frying-pan at one of the cook shacks. you know that long, narrow sand-bar in the river just below the mouth of the upper canyon?" grislow nodded. "that is where we went for the proof. massingale dipped up a panful of the bar sand, which he asked me to wash out for myself. i did it, and you have the results there in that paper. that bar is comparatively rich placer dirt." "good lord!" ejaculated the map-maker. "comparatively rich, you say?--and you washed this spoonful out of a single pan?" "keep your head," said brouillard coolly. "massingale explained that i had happened to make a ten-strike; that the bar wasn't any such bonanza as that first result would indicate. i proved that, too, by washing some more of it without getting any more than a few 'colors.' but the fact remains: it's placer ground." it was at this point that the larger aspect of the fact launched itself upon the hydrographer. "a gold strike!" he gasped. "and we--we're planning to drown it under two hundred feet of a lake!" brouillard's laugh was harsh. "don't let the fever get hold of you, grislow. don't forget that we are here to carry out the plans of the reclamation service--which are more far-reaching and of a good bit greater consequence than a dozen placer-mines. not that it didn't make me grab for hand-holds for a minute or two, mind you. i wasn't quite as cold about it as i'm asking you to be, and i guess massingale had calculated pretty carefully on the dramatic effect of his little shock. anyway, he drove the peg down good and hard. if i would jump in and pull every possible string to hurry the railroad over the range, and keep on pulling them, the secret of the placer bar would remain a secret. otherwise he, stephen massingale, would give it away, publish it, advertise it to the world. you know what that would mean for us, murray." "my lord! i should say so! we'd have boomtown-on-the-pike right now, with all the variations! every white man in the camp would chuck his job in the hollow half of a minute and go to gravel washing!" "that's it precisely," brouillard acquiesced gloomily. "massingale is a young tough, but he is shrewd enough, when he is sober. he had me dead to rights, and he knew it. 'you don't want any gold camp starting up here in the bottom of your reservoir,' he said; and i had to admit it." grislow had found a magnifying-glass in the drawer of the mapping table, and he was holding it in focus over the small collection of grain gold and nuggets. in the midst of the eager examination he looked up suddenly to say: "hold on a minute. why is steve proposing to give this thing away? why isn't he working the bar himself?" "he explained that phase of it, after a fashion--said that placer-mining was always more or less of a gamble and that they had a sure thing of it in the 'little susan.' of course, if the thing had to be given away, he and his father would avail themselves of their rights as discoverers and take their chance with the crowd for the sake of the ready money they might get out of it. otherwise they'd be content to let it alone and stick to their legitimate business, which is quartz-mining." "and to do that successfully they've got to have the railroad. say, victor, i'm beginning to acquire a great and growing respect for mr. stephen massingale. this field is too small for him; altogether too small. he ought to get a job with some of the malefactors of great wealth. how did you settle it finally?" "massingale was too shrewd to try to push me over the edge while there seemed to be a fairly good chance that i would walk over of my own accord. he told me to take a week or two and think about it. we dropped the matter by common consent after we left the bar in the quadjenàï bend, and on the way down the valley massingale pitched in a bit of information out of what seemed to be sheer good-will. it seems that he and his father have done a lot of test drilling up and down the side of chigringo at one time and another, and he told me that there is a bed of micaceous shale under our south anchorage, cautioning me not to let the excavation stop until we had gone through it." "well! that was pretty decent of him." "yes; and it shows that harding was lying when he said that the massingales were opposing the reclamation project. they are frankly in favor of it. irrigation in the buckskin means population; and population will bring the railroad, sooner or later. in the matter of hurrying the track-laying, massingale is only adopting modern business methods. he has a club and he is using it." grislow was biting the end of his penholder thoughtfully. "what are you going to do about it, victor?" he asked at length. "we can't stand for any more chaos than the gods have already doped out for us, can we?" brouillard took another long minute at the office window before he said: "what would you do if you were in my place, murray?" but at this the map-maker put up his hands as if to ward off a blow. "no, you don't!" he laughed. "i can at least refuse to be that kind of a fool. go and hunt you a professional conscience keeper; i went out of that business for keeps in my sophomore year. but i'll venture a small prophecy: we'll have the railroad--and you'll pull for it. and then, whether massingale tells or doesn't tell, the golden secret will leak out. and after that, the deluge." iv a fire of little sticks two days after the arrival of the letter from washington announcing the approaching invasion of private capital, brouillard, returning from a horseback trip into the buckskin, where anson and griffith were setting grade stakes for the canal diggers, found a visitor awaiting him in the camp headquarters office. one glance at the thick-bodied, heavy-faced man chewing an extinct cigar while he made himself comfortable in the only approach to a lounging chair that the office afforded was sufficient to awaken an alert antagonism. quick to found friendships or enmities upon the intuitive first impression, brouillard's acknowledgment was curt and business-brusque when the big man introduced himself without taking the trouble to get out of his chair. "my name is hosford and i represent the niquoia improvement company as its manager and resident engineer," said the lounger, shifting the dead cigar from one corner of his hard-bitted mouth to the other. "you're brillard, the government man, i take it?" "brouillard, if you please," was the crisp correction. and then with a careful effacement of the final saving trace of hospitality in tone or manner: "what can we do for you, mr. hosford?" "a good many things, first and last. i'm two or three days ahead of my outfit, and you can put me up somewhere until i get a camp of my own. you've got some sort of an engineers' mess, i take it?" "we have," said brouillard briefly. with anson and griffith absent on the field-work, there were two vacancies in the staff mess. moreover, the law of the desert prescribes that not even an enemy shall be refused bread and bed. "you'll make yourself at home with us, of course," he added, and he tried to say it without making it sound too much like a challenge. "all right; so much for that part of it," said the self-invited guest. "now for the business end of the deal--why don't you sit down?" brouillard planted himself behind his desk and began to fill his blackened office pipe, coldly refusing hosford's tender of a cigar. "you were speaking of the business matter," he suggested bluntly. "yes. i'd like to go over your plans for the power dam in the upper canyon. if they look good to me i'll adopt them." brouillard paused to light his pipe before he replied. "perhaps we'd better clear away the underbrush before we begin on the standing timber, mr. hosford," he said, when the tobacco was glowing militantly in the pipe bowl. "have you been given to understand that this office is in any sense a tail to your improvement company's kite?" "i haven't been 'given to understand' anything," was the gruff rejoinder. "our company has acquired certain rights in this valley, and i'm taking it for granted that you've had the situation doped out to you. it won't be worth your while to quarrel with us, mr. brouillard." "i am very far from wishing to quarrel with anybody," said brouillard, but his tone belied the words. "at the same time, if you think that we are going to do your engineering work, or any part of it, for you, you are pretty severely mistaken. our own job is fully big enough to keep us busy." "you're off," said the big man coolly. "somebody has bungled in giving you the dope. you want to keep your job, don't you?" "that is neither here nor there. what we are discussing at present is the department's attitude toward your enterprise. i shall be exceeding my instructions if i make that attitude friendly to the detriment of my own work." the new resident manager sat back in his chair and chewed his cigar reflectively, staring up at the log beaming of the office ceiling. when he began again he did not seem to think it worth while to shift his gaze from the abstractions. "you're just like all the other government men i've ever had to do business with, brouillard; pig-headed, obstinate, blind as bats to their own interests. i didn't especially want to begin by knocking you into line, but i guess it'll have to be done. in the first place, let me tell you that there are all kinds of big money behind this little sky-rocket of ours here in the niquoia: ten millions, twenty millions, thirty millions, if they're needed." brouillard shook his head. "i can't count beyond a hundred, mr. hosford." "all right; then i'll get you on the other side. suppose i should tell you that practically all of your bosses are in with us; what then?" "your stockholders' listings concern me even less than your capitalization. we are miles apart yet." again the representative of niquoia improvement took time to shift the extinct cigar. "i guess the best way to get you is to send a little wire to washington," he said reflectively. "how does that strike you?" "i haven't the slightest interest in what you may do or fail to do," said brouillard. "at the same time, as i have already said, i don't wish to quarrel with you or with your company." "ah! that touched you, didn't it?" "not in the sense you are imagining; no. send your wire if you like. you may have the use of the government telegraph. the office is in the second shack north of this." "still you say you don't want to scrap?" "certainly not. as you have intimated, we shall have to do business together as buyer and seller. i merely wished to make it plain that the reclamation service doesn't put its engineering department at the disposal of the niquoia improvement company." "but you have made the plans for this power plant, haven't you?" "yes; and they are the property of the department. if you want them, i'll turn them over to you upon a proper order from headquarters." "that's a little more like it. where did you say i'd find your wire office?" brouillard gave the information a second time, and as hosford went out, grislow came in and took his place at the mapping table. "glad you got back in time to save my life," he remarked pointedly, with a sly glance at his chief. "he's been ploughing furrows up and down my little potato patch all day." "humph! digging for information, i suppose?" grunted brouillard. "just that; and he's been getting it, too. not out of me, particularly, but out of everybody. also, he was willing to impart a little. we're in for the time of our lives, victor." "i know it," was the crabbed rejoinder. "you don't know the tenth part of it," asserted the hydrographer slowly. "it's a modest name, 'the niquoia improvement company,' but it is going to be like charity--covering a multitude of sins. do you know what that plank-faced organizer has got up his sleeve? he is going to build us a neat, up-to-date little city right here in the middle of our midst. if i hadn't made him believe that i was only a draughtsman, he would have had me out with a transit, running the lines for the streets." "a city?--in this reservoir bottom? i guess not. he was only stringing you to kill time, grizzy." "don't you fool yourself!" exclaimed the map-maker. "he's got the plans in his grip. we're going to be on a little reservation set apart for us by the grace of god and the kindness of these promoters. the remainder of the valley is laid off into cute little squares and streets, with everything named and numbered, ready to be listed in the brokers' offices. you may not be aware of it, but this palatial office building of ours fronts on chigringo avenue." "stuff!" said brouillard. "what has all this bubble blowing got to do with the building of a temporary power dam and the setting up of a couple of cement kilns?" grislow laid his pen aside and whirled around on his working-stool. "don't you make any easy-going mistake, victor," he said earnestly. "the cement and power proposition is only a side issue. these new people are going to take over the sawmills, open up quarries, build a stub railroad to the hophra mines, grade a practicable stage road over the range to quesado, and put on a fast-mule freight line to serve until the railroad builds in. wouldn't that set your teeth on edge?" "i can't believe it, murray. it's a leaf out of the book of bedlam! take a fair shot at it and see where the bullet lands: this entire crazy fake is built upon one solitary, lonesome fact--the fact that we're here, with a job on our hands big enough to create an active, present-moment market for labor and material. there is absolutely nothing else behind the bubble blowing; if we were not here the niquoia improvement company would never have been heard of!" grislow laughed. "your arguing that twice two makes four doesn't change the iridescent hue of the bubble," he volunteered. "if big money has seen a chance to skin somebody, the mere fact that the end of the world is due to come along down the pike some day isn't going to cut any obstructing figure. we'll all be buying and selling corner lots in hosford's new city before we're a month older. don't you believe it?" "i'll believe it when i see it," was brouillard's reply; and with this the matter rested for the moment. it was later in the day, an hour or so after the serving of the hearty supper in the engineers' mess tent, that brouillard was given to see another and still less tolerable side of his temporary guest. hosford had come into the office to plant himself solidly in the makeshift easy-chair for the smoking of a big, black, after-supper cigar. "i've been looking over your rules and regulations, brouillard," he began, after an interval of silence which brouillard had been careful not to break. "you're making a capital mistake in trying to transplant the old connecticut blue laws out here. your working-men ought to have the right to spend their money in any way that suits 'em." brouillard was pointedly occupying himself at his desk, but he looked up long enough to say: "whiskey, you mean?" "that and other things. they tell me that you don't allow any open gambling, or any women here outside of the families of the workmen." "we don't," was the short rejoinder. "that won't hold water after we get things fairly in motion." "it will have to hold water, so far as we are concerned, if i have to build a stockade around the camp," snapped brouillard. hosford's heavy face wrinkled itself in a mirthless smile. "you're nutty," he remarked. "when i find a man bearing down hard on all the little vices, it always makes me wonder what's the name of the corking big one he is trying to cover up." since there was obviously no peaceful reply to be made to this, brouillard bent lower over his work and said nothing. at every fresh step in the forced acquaintance the new-comer was painstakingly developing new antagonisms. sooner or later, brouillard knew, it would come to an open rupture, but he was hoping that the actual hostilities could be postponed until after hosford had worn out his temporary welcome as a guest in the engineers' mess. for a time the big man in the easy-chair smoked on in silence. then he began again: "say, brouillard, i saw one little girl to-day that didn't belong to your workmen's-family outfit, and she's a peach; came riding down the trail with her brother from that mine up on the south mountain--massingale's, isn't it? by jove! she fairly made my mouth water!" inasmuch as no man can read field-notes when the page has suddenly become a red blur, brouillard looked up. "you are my guest, in a way, mr. hosford; for that reason i can't very well tell you what i think of you." so much he was able to say quietly. then the control mechanism burned out in a flash of fiery rage and he cursed the guest fluently and comprehensively, winding up with a crude and savage threat of dissection and dismemberment if he should ever venture so much as to name miss massingale again in the threatener's hearing. hosford sat up slowly, and his big face turned darkly red. "well, i'll be damned!" he broke out. "so you're _that_ kind of a fire-eater, are you? lord, lord! i didn't suppose anything like that ever happened outside of the ten-cent shockers. wake up, man; this is the twentieth century we're living in. don't look at me that way!" but the wave of insane wrath was already subsiding, and brouillard, half ashamed of the momentary lapse into savagery, was once more scowling down at the pages of his note-book. further along, when the succeeding silence had been undisturbed for five full minutes, he began to realize that the hot brouillard temper, which he had heretofore been able to keep within prudent bounds, had latterly been growing more and more rebellious. he could no longer be sure of what he would say or do under sudden provocation. true, he argued, the provocation in the present instance had been sufficiently maddening; but there had been other upflashings of the murderous inner fire with less to excuse them. hosford finished his cigar, and when he tossed the butt out through the opened window, brouillard hoped he was going. but the promoter-manager made no move other than to take a fresh cigar from his pocket case and light it. brouillard worked on silently, ignoring the big figure in the easy-chair by the window, and striving to regain his lost equilibrium. to have shown hosford the weakness of the control barriers was bad enough, but to have pointed out the exact spot at which they were most easily assailable was worse. he thought it would be singular if hosford should not remember how and where to strike when the real conflict should begin, and he was properly humiliated by the reflection that he had rashly given the enemy an advantage. he was calling hosford "the enemy" now and making no ameliorating reservations. that the plans of the boomers would speedily breed chaos, and bring the blight of disorder and lawlessness upon the niquoia project and everything connected with it, he made no manner of doubt. how was he to hold a camp of several hundred men in decent subjection if the temptations and allurements of a boomers' city were to be brought in and set down within arm's reach of the work on the dam? it seemed blankly incredible that the department heads in washington should sanction such an invasion if they knew the full meaning of it. the "if" gave him an idea. what if the boomers were taking an unauthorized ell for their authorized inch? he had taken a telegraph pad from the desk stationery rack and was composing his message of inquiry when the door opened and quinlan, the operator, came in with a communication fresh from the washington wire. the message was an indirect reply to hosford's telegraphed appeal to the higher powers. brouillard read it, stuck it upon the file, and took a roll of blue-prints from the bottom drawer of his desk. "here are the drawings for your power installation, mr. hosford," he said, handing the roll to the man in the chair. and a little later he went out to smoke a pipe in the open air, leaving the message of inquiry unwritten. v symptomatic for some few minutes after the gray-bearded, absent-eyed old man who had been working at the mine forge had disappeared in the depths of the tunnel upon finishing his job of drill pointing, the two on the cabin porch made no attempt to resume the talk which had been broken by the blacksmithing. but when the rumbling thunder of the ore-car which the elder massingale was pushing ahead of him into the mine had died away in the subterranean distances brouillard began again. "i do get your point of view--sometimes," he said. "or perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say that i have had it now and then in times past. civilization, or what stands for it, does have a way of shrinking into littleness, not to say cheapness, when one can get the proper perspective. and your life up here on chigringo has given you the needful detached point of view." the trouble shadows in the eyes of the young woman who was sitting in the fish-net hammock gave place to a smile of gentle derision. "do you call _that_ civilization?" she demanded, indicating the straggling new town spreading itself, map-like, in the valley below. "i suppose it is--one form of it. at least it is civilization in the making. everything has to have some sort of a beginning." miss massingale acquiesced in a little uptilt of her perfectly rounded chin. "just the same, you don't pretend to say that you are enjoying it," she said in manifest deprecation. "oh, i don't know. my work is down there, and a camp is a necessary factor in it. you'd say that the more civilized the surroundings become, the less need there would be for me to sit up nights to keep the lid on. that would be the reasonable conclusion, wouldn't it?" "if you were really trying to make the fact fit the theory--which you are not--it would be a sheer, self-centred eye-shutting to all the greater things that may be involved," she continued. "don't you ever get beyond that?" "i did at first. when i learned a few weeks ago that the boomers had taken hold of us in earnest and that we were due to acquire a real town with all the trimmings, i was righteously hot. apart from the added trouble a wide-open town would be likely to give us in maintaining order in the camp, it seemed so crudely unnecessary to start a pigeon-plucking match at this distance from wall street." "but now," she queried--"now, i suppose, you have become reconciled?" "i am growing more philosophical, let us say. there are just about so many pigeons to be plucked, anyway; they'd moult if they weren't plucked. and it may as well be done here as on the stock exchange, when you come to think of it." "i like you least when you talk that way," said the young woman in the hammock, with open-eyed frankness. "do you do it as other men do?--just to hear how it sounds?" brouillard, sitting on the top step of the porch, leaned his head against the porch post and laughed. "you know too much--a lot too much for a person of your tender years," he asserted. "which names one more of the charming collection of contradictions which your father or mother or somebody had the temerity to label 'amy,' sweetest and most seraphic of diminutives." "if you don't like my name--" she began, and then she went off at another tangent. "please tell me why i am a 'collection of contradictions.' tig never says anything like that to me." "'tig,'" said brouillard, "'tig' smith. speaking of names, i've often wondered how on earth our breezy friend of the tri'-circ' ever got such a handle as that." "it's his own name--or a part of it. his father was a country preacher back in tennessee, and i imagine he had the smith feeling that the surname wasn't very distinctive. so he named the poor boy tiglath-pileser. just the same, it is not to laugh," she went on in friendly loyalty. "tig can't help his name, and, anyway, he's the vastest possible improvement on those old assyrian gentlemen who were the first to wear it." brouillard's gaze went past the shapely little figure in the string hammock to lose itself in the far timanyoni distances. "you are a bundle of surprises," he said, letting the musing thought slip into speech. "what can you possibly know about the assyrians?" she made a funny little grimace at him. "it was 'contradictions' a moment ago and now it is 'surprises.' which reminds me, you haven't told me why i am a 'collection.'" "i think you know well enough," he retorted. "the first time i saw you--down at the nick-wire ford with tig, you remember--i tried to recall which madonna it is that has your mouth and eyes." "well, did you succeed in placing the lady?" "no. somehow, i haven't cared to since i've come to know you. you're different--always different, and then--oh, well, comparisons are such hopelessly inadequate things, anyway," he finished lamely. "you are not getting on very well with the 'contradictions,'" she demurred. "oh, i can catalogue them if you push me to it. one minute you are the madonna lady that i can't recall, calm, reposeful, truthful, and all that, you know--so truthful that those childlike eyes of yours would make a stuttering imbecile of the man who should come to you with a lie in his mouth." "and the next minute?" she prompted. "the next minute you are a witch, laughing at the man's little weaknesses, putting your finger on them as accurately as if you could read his soul, holding them up to your ridicule and--what's much worse--to his own. at such times your insight, or whatever you choose to call it, is enough to give a man a fit of 'seeing things.'" her laugh was like a school-girl's, light-hearted, ringing, deliciously unrestrained. "what a picture!" she commented. and then: "i can draw a better one of you, monsieur victor de brouillard." "do it," he dared. "it'll hurt your vanity." "i haven't any." "oh, but you have! don't you know that it is only the very vainest people who say that?" "never mind; go on and draw your picture." "even if it should give you another attack of the 'seeing things'?" "yes; i'll chance even that." "very well, then: once upon a time--it was a good while ago, i'm afraid--you were a very upright young man, and your uprightness made you just a little bit austere--for yourself, if not for others. at that time you were busy whittling out heroic little ideals and making idols of them; and i am quite sure you were spelling duty with a capital 'd' and that you would have been properly horrified if a sister of yours had permitted an unchaperoned acquaintance like--well, like ours." "go on," he said, neither affirming nor denying. "also, at that time you thought that a man's work in the world was the biggest thing that ever existed, the largest possible order that could be given, and the work and everything about it had to be transparently honest and openly aboveboard. you would cheerfully have died for a principle in those days, and you would have allowed the enemy to cut you up into cunning little inch cubes before you would have admitted that any pigeon was ever made to be plucked." he was smiling mirthlessly, with the black mustaches taking the sardonic upcurve. "then what happened?" "one of two things, or maybe both of them. you were pushed out into the life race with some sort of a handicap. i don't know what it was--or is. is that true?" "yes." "then i'll hazard the other guess. you discovered that there were women in the world and that there was something in you, or about you, that was sufficiently attractive to make them sit up and be nice to you. for some reason--perhaps it was the handicap--you thought you'd be safer in the unwomaned wilderness and so you came out here to the 'wild and woolly.' but even here you're not safe. there is a passable trail over war arrow pass and at a pinch an automobile can cross the buckskin." when she stopped he nodded gravely. "it is all true enough. you haven't added anything more than a graceful little touch here and there. who has been telling you all these things about me?" she clapped her hands in delighted self-applause. "you don't deny them?" "i wouldn't be so impolite." in the turning of a leaf her mood changed and the wide-open, fearless eyes were challenging him soberly. "you _can't_ deny them." he tried to break away from the level-eyed, accusing gaze--tried and found it impossible. "i asked you who has been gossiping about me; not grizzy?" "no, not murray grislow; it was the man you think you know best in all the world--who is also the one you probably know the least--yourself." "good heavens! am i really such a transparent egoist as all that?" "all men are egoists," she answered calmly. "in some the ego is sound and clear-eyed and strong; in others it is weak--in the same way that passion is weak; it will sacrifice all it has or hopes to have in some sudden fury of self-assertion." she sat up and put her hands to her hair, and he was free to look away, down upon the great ditch where the endless chain of concrete buckets linked itself to the overhead carrier like a string of mechanical insects, each with its pinch of material to add to the deep and wide-spread foundations of the dam. across the river a group of hidden sawmills sent their raucous song like the high-pitched shrilling of distant locusts to tremble upon the still air of the afternoon. in the middle distance the camp-town city, growing now by leaps and bounds, spread its roughly indicated streets over the valley level, the yellow shingled roofs of the new structures figuring as patches of vivid paint under the slanting rays of the sun. far away to the right the dark-green liftings of the quadjenàï hills cut across from mountain to river; at the foot of the ridge the tall chimney-stacks of the new cement plant were rising, and from the quarries beyond the plant the dull thunder of the blasts drifted up to the chigringo heights like a sign from the mysterious underworld of navajo legend. this was not brouillard's first visit to the cabin on the massingale claim by many. in the earliest stages of the valley activities smith, the buckskin cattleman, had been amy massingale's escort to the reclamation camp--"just a couple o' lookers," in smith's phrase--and the unconventional altitudes had done the rest. from that day forward the young woman had hospitably opened her door to brouillard and his assistants, and any member of the corps, from leshington the morose, who commonly came to sit in solemn silence on the porch step, to griffith, who had lost his youthful heart to miss massingale on his first visit, was welcome. of the five original members of the staff and the three later additions to it, in the persons of the paymaster, the cost-keeper, and young altwein, who had come in as grislow's field assistant, brouillard was the one who climbed oftenest up the mountain-side trail from the camp--a trail which was becoming by this time quite well defined. he knew he went oftener than any of the others, and yet he felt that he knew amy massingale less intimately and was far and away more hopelessly entangled than--well, than grislow, for example, whose visits to the mine cabin came next in the scale of frequency and whose ready wit and gentle cynicism were his passports in any company. for himself, brouillard had not been pointedly analytical as yet. from the moment when amy and smith had reined up at the door of his office shack and he had welcomed them both, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to fall under the spell of enchantment. he knew next to nothing of the young woman's life story; he had not cared to know. it had not occurred to him to wonder how the daughter of a man who drilled and shot the holes in his own mine should have the gifts and belongings--when she chose to display them--of a woman of a much wider world. it was enough for him that she was piquantly attractive in any character and that he found her marvellously stimulating and uplifting. on the days when the devil of moroseness and irritability possessed and maddened him he could climb to the cabin on high chigringo and find sanity. it was a keen joy to be with her, and up to the present this had sufficed. "egoism is merely another name for the expression of a vital need," he said, after the divagating pause, defining the word more for his own satisfaction than in self-defense. "you may put it in that way if you please," she returned gravely. "what is your need?" he stated it concisely. "money--a lot of it." "how singular!" she laughed. "i need money, too--a lot of it." "you?" "yes, i." "what would you do with it? buy corner lots in niqoyastcàdjeburg?" "no, indeed; i'd buy a farm in the blue-grass--two of them, maybe." "what an ambition for a girl! have you ever been in the blue-grass country?" she got out of the hammock and came to lean, with her hands behind her, against the opposite porch post. "that was meant to humiliate me, and i sha'n't forget it. you know well enough that i have never been east of the mississippi." "i didn't know it. you never tell me anything about yourself." again the mood shutter clicked and her smile was the calm mask of discerning wisdom. "persons with well-developed egos don't care to listen to folk-stories," she rejoined, evading the tentative invitation openly. "but tell me, what would you do with your pot of rainbow gold--if you should find it?" brouillard rose and straightened himself with his arms over his head like an athlete testing his muscles for the record-breaking event. "what would i do? a number of things. but first of all, i think, i'd buy the privilege of telling some woman that i love her." this time her laugh was frankly disparaging. "as if you could!" she said, with a lip curl that set his blood afire--"as if any woman worth while would care two pins for your wretched pot of gold!" "oh, i didn't mean it quite that way," he hastened to explain. "i said: 'buy the privilege.' if you knew the conditions you would understand me when i say that the money must come first." she was silent for so long a time that he looked at his watch and thought of going. but at the deciding instant she held him with a low-spoken question. "does it date back to the handicap? you needn't tell me if you don't want to." "it does. and there is no reason why i shouldn't tell you the simple fact. when my father died he left me a debt--a debt of honor; and it must be paid. until it is paid--but i am sure you understand." "quite fully," she responded quickly, and now there was no trace of levity in the sweetly serious tone. "is it much?--so much that you can't----" he nodded and sat down again on the porch step. "yes, it is big enough to go in a class by itself--in round numbers, a hundred thousand dollars." "horrors!" she gasped. "and you are carrying that millstone? must you carry it?" "if you knew the circumstances you would be the first to say that i must carry it, and go on carrying it to the end of the chapter." "but--but you'll _never_ be free!" "not on a government salary," he admitted. "as a matter of fact, it takes more than half of the salary to pay the premiums on--pshaw! i'm boring you shamelessly for the sake of proving up on my definition of the eternal ego. you ought not to have encouraged me. it's quite hopeless--the handicap business--unless some good angel should come along with a miracle or two. let's drop it." she was looking beyond him and her voice was quick with womanly sympathy when she said: "if you could drop it--but you can't. and it changes everything for you, distorts everything, colors your entire life. it's heart-breaking!" this was dangerous ground for him and he knew it. sympathy applied to a rankling wound may figure either as the healing oil or the maddening wine. it was the one thing he had hitherto avoided, resolutely, half-fearfully, as a good general going into battle marches around a kennel of sleeping dogs. but now the under-depths were stirring to a new awakening. in the ardor of young manhood he had taken up the vicarious burden dutifully, and at that time his renunciation of the things that other men strove for seemed the lightest of the many fetterings. but now love for a woman was threatening to make the renunciation too grievous to be borne. "how did you know?" he queried curiously. "it does change things; it has changed them fiercely in the past few weeks. we smile at the old fable of a man selling his soul for a ready-money consideration, but there are times when i'd sell anything i've got, save one, for a chance at the freedom that other men have--and don't value." "what is the one thing you wouldn't sell?" she questioned, and brouillard chose to discover a gently quickened interest in the clear-seeing eyes. "my love for the--for some woman. i'm saving that, you know. it is the only capital i'll have when the big debt is paid." "do you want me to be frivolous or serious?" she asked, looking down at him with the grimacing little smile that always reminded him of a caress. "a little while ago you said 'some woman,' and now you say it again, making it cautiously impersonal. that is nice of you--not to particularize; but i have been wondering whether she is or isn't worth the effort--and the reservation you make. because it is all in that, you know. you can do and be what you want to do and be if you only want to hard enough." he looked up quickly. "do you really believe that? what about a man's natural limitations?" "poof!" she said, blowing the word away as if it were a bit of thistle-down. "it is only the woman's limitations that count, not the man's. the only question is this: is the one only and incomparable she worth the effort? would you give a hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of being able to say to her: 'come, dear, let's go and get married'?" he was looking down, chiefly because he dared not look up, when he answered soberly: "she is worth it many times over; her price is above rubies. money, much or little, wouldn't be in it." "that is better--much better. now we may go on to the ways and means; they are all in the man, not in the things, 'not none whatsoever,' as tig would say. let me show you what i mean. three times within my recollection my father has been worth considerably more than you owe, and three time she has--well, it's gone. and now he is going to make good again when the railroad comes." brouillard got up, thrust his hands into the pockets of his working-coat, and faced about as if he had suddenly remembered that he was wasting the government's time. "i must be going back down the hill," he said. and then, without warning: "what if i should tell you that the railroad is not coming to the niquoia, amy?" to his utter amazement the blue eyes filled suddenly. but the owner of the eyes was winking the tears away and laughing before he could put the amazement into words. "you shouldn't hit out like that when one isn't looking; it's wicked," she protested. "besides, the railroad _is_ coming; it's got to come." "it is still undecided," he told her mechanically. "mr. ford is coming over with the engineers to have a conference on the ground with--with the cortwright people. i am expecting him any day." "the cortwright people want the road, don't they?" she asked. "yes, indeed; they are turning heaven and earth over to get it." "and the government?" "the department is holding entirely aloof, as it should. every one in the reclamation service knows that no good can possibly come of any effort to force the region ahead of its normal and natural development. and, besides, none of us here in the valley want to help blow the cortwright bubble any bigger than it has to be." "then you will advise against the building of the extension?" instead of answering her question he asked one of his own. "what does it mean to you--to you, personally, and apart from the money your father might make out of it, amy?" she hesitated a moment and then met the shrewd scrutiny of his gaze with open candor. "the money is only a means to an end--as yours will be. you know very well what i meant when i told you that three times we have been obliged to come back to the mountains to--to try again. i dreaded the coming of your camp; i dread a thousand times more the other changes that are coming--the temptations that a mushroom city will offer. this time father has promised me that when he can make his stake he will go back to kentucky and settle down; and he will keep his promise. more than that, stevie has promised me that he will go, too, if he can have a stock-farm and raise fine horses--his one healthy ambition. now you know it all." he reached up from the lower step where he was standing and took her hand. "yes; and i know more than that: i know that you are a mighty brave little girl and that your load is heavier than mine--worlds heavier. but you're going to win out; if not to-day or to-morrow, why, then, the day after. it's written in the book." she returned his hand-grip of encouragement impulsively and smiled down upon him through quick-springing tears. "you'll win out, too, victor, because it's in you to do it. i'm sure of it--i _know_ it. there is only one thing that scares me." "name it," he said. "i'm taking everything that comes to-day--from you." "you are a strong man; you have a reserve of strength that is greater than most men's full gift; you can cut and slash your way to the thing you really want, and nothing can stop you. but--you'll forgive me for being plain, won't you?--there is a little, just the least little, bit of desperation in the present point of view, and----" "say it," he commanded when she hesitated. "i hardly know how to say it. it's just a little shudder--inside, you know--as you might have when you see a railroad train rushing down the mountain and think what would happen if one single, inconsequent wheel should climb the rail. there were ideals in the beginning; you admitted it, didn't you? and they are not as distinct now as they used to be. you didn't say that, but i know.... stand them up again, victor; don't let them fall down in the dust or in the--in the mud. it's got to be clean money, you know; the money that is going to give you the chance to say: 'come, girl, let's go and get married.' you won't forget that, will you?" he relinquished the hand of encouragement because he dared not hold it any longer, and turned away to stare absently at the timbered tunnel mouth whence a faint clinking of hammer upon steel issued with monotonous regularity. "i wish you hadn't said that, amy--about the ideals." "why shouldn't i say it? i _had_ to say it." "i can't afford to play with too many fine distinctions. i have accepted the one great handicap. i may owe it to myself--and to some others--not to take on any more." "i don't know what you mean now," she said simply. "perhaps it is just as well that you don't. let's talk about something else; about the railroad. i told you that president ford is coming over to have a wrestle with the cortwright people, but i didn't tell you that he has already had his talk with mr. cortwright in person--in chicago. he hasn't decided; he won't decide until he has looked the ground over and had a chance to confer with me." she bridged all the gaps with swift intuition. "he means to give you the casting vote? he will build the extension if you advise it?" "it is something like that, i fancy; yes." "and you think--you feel----" "it is a matter of absolute indifference to me, officially. but in any event, ford would ask for nothing more than a friendly opinion." "then it will lie in your hand to make us rich or to keep us poor," she laughed. "be a good god-in-the-car, please, and your petitioners will ever pray." then, with an instant return to seriousness: "but you mustn't think of that--of course, you won't--with so many other and greater things to consider." "on the contrary, i shall think very pointedly of that; pointedly and regretfully--because your brother has made it practically impossible for me to help." "my brother?" with a little gasp. "yes. he offered to buy my vote with a block of 'little susan' stock. that wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't talked about it--told other people what he was going to do. but he did that, as well." he felt rather than saw that she had turned quickly to face the porch post, that she was hiding her face in the crooking of an arm. it melted him at once. "don't cry; i was a brute to say such a thing as that to you," he began, but she stopped him. "no," she denied bravely. "the truth may hurt--it _does_ hurt awfully; but it can't be brutal. and you are right. stevie _has_ made it impossible." an awkward little silence supervened and once more brouillard dragged his watch from its pocket. "i'm like the awkward country boy," he said with quizzical humor. "i really must go and i don't know how to break away." then he went back to the closed topic. "i guess the other thing was brutal, too--what i said about your brother's having made it impossible. other things being equal----" again she stopped him. "when mr. ford comes, you must forget what stevie said and what i have said. good-by." * * * * * an hour later, when the afternoon shadow of jack's mountain was lying all across the shut-in valley and pointing like the angle of a huge gnomon to the quadjenàï hills, brouillard was closeted in his log-built office quarters with a big, fair-faced man, whose rough tweeds and unbrushed, soft hat proclaimed him fresh from the dust-dry reaches of the quesado trail. "it is your own opinion that i want, victor," the fair-faced man was saying, "not the government engineer's. can we make the road pay if we bring it here? that is a question which you can answer better than any other living man. you are here on the ground and you've been here from the first." "you've had it out with cortwright?" brouillard asked. and then: "where is he now? in chicago?" "no. he is on his way to the niquoia, coming over in his car from el gato. says he made it that way once before and is willing to bet that it is easier than climbing war arrow. but never mind j. wesley. you are the man i came to see." "i can give you the facts," was the quiet rejoinder. "while the cortwright boom lasts there will be plenty of incoming business--and some outgoing. when the bubble bursts--as it will have to when the dam is completed, if it doesn't before--you'll quit until the buckskin fills up with settlers who can give you crops to move. that is the situation in a nutshell, all but one little item. there is a mine up on chigringo--massingale's--with a good few thousand tons of pay ore on the dump. where there is one mine there may be more, later on; and i don't suppose that even such crazy boomers as the cortwright crowd will care to put in a gold reduction plant. so you would have the ore to haul to the red butte smelters." a smile wrinkled at the corners of the big man's eyes. "you are dodging the issue, victor, and you know it," he objected. "what i want is your personal notion. if you were the executive committee of the pacific southwestern, would you, or would you not, build the extension? that's the point i'm trying to make." brouillard got up and went to the window. the gnomon shadow of jack's mountain had spread over the entire valley, and its southern limb had crept up chigringo until its sharply defined line was resting upon the massingale cabin. when he turned back to the man at the desk he was frowning thoughtfully, and his eyes were the eyes of one who sees only the clearly etched lines of a picture which obscures all outward and visual objects ... the picture he saw was of a sweet-faced young woman, laughing through her tears and saying: "besides, the railroad _is_ coming; it's _got_ to come." "if you put it that way," he said to the man who was waiting, "if you insist on pulling my private opinion out by the roots, you may have it. _i'd_ build the extension." vi mirapolis during the strenuous weeks when camp niquoia's straggling street was acquiring plank sidewalks and getting itself transformed into chigringo avenue, with a double row of false-fronted "emporiums" to supplant the shack shelters, monsieur poudrecaulx bongras, late of the san francisco tenderloin, opened the camp's first counter-grill. finding monsieur's name impossible in both halves of it, the camp grinned and rechristened him "poodles." later, discovering his dual gift of past mastership in potato frying and coffee making, the camp gave him vogue. out of the vogue sprang in swift succession a café with side-tables, a restaurant with private dining-rooms, and presently a commodious hotel, where the food was excellent, the appointments luxurious, and where jack--clothed and in his right mind and with money in his hand--was as good as his master. it was in one of bongras's private dining-rooms that mr. j. wesley cortwright was entertaining brouillard, with miss genevieve to make a harmonizing third at the circular table up to the removal of the cloth and the serving of the cigars and a second cold bottle. the little dinner had been a gustatory triumph; miss genevieve had added the charm of lightness at moments when her father threatened to let the money clink become painfully audible; and the cigars were gold-banded. nevertheless, when miss cortwright had gone up-stairs, and the waiter would have refilled his glass, brouillard shook his head. if the millionaire saw the refusal he was too wise to remark it. altogether, brouillard was finding his first impressions of mr. cortwright readjusting themselves with somewhat confusing rapidity. it was not that there was any change in the man. charactering the genial host like a bachelor of hospitality, he was still the frank, outspoken money-maker, hot upon the trail of the nimble dollar. yet there was a change of some kind. brouillard had marked it on the day, a fortnight earlier, when (after assuring himself morosely that he would not) he had gone down to the lower canyon portal to see the cortwright touring-car finish its second race across the desert from el gato. "of course, i was quite prepared to have you stand off and throw stones at our little cob house of a venture, brouillard," the host allowed at the lighting of the gold-banded cigars. "you're the government engineer and the builder of the big dam; it's only natural that your horizons should be filled with government-report pictures and half-tones of what's going to be when you get your dam done. but you can't build your dam in one day, or in two, and the interval is ours. i tell you, we're going to make mirapolis a buzz-hummer while the daylight lasts. don't you forget that." "'mirapolis'?" queried brouillard. "is that the new name?" cortwright laughed and nodded. "it's gene's name--'miracle city.' fits like the glove on a pretty girl's arm, doesn't it?" "it does. but the miracle is that there should be any money daring enough to invest itself in the niquoia." "there you go again, with your ingrained engineering ideas that to be profitable a scheme must necessarily have rock-bottom foundations and a time-defying superstructure," chuckled the host. "why, bless your workaday heart, brouillard, nothing is permanent in this shuffling, growing, progressive world of ours--absolutely nothing. some of the biggest and costliest buildings in new york and chicago are built on ground leases. our ground lease will merely be a little shorter in the factor of time." "so much shorter that the parallel won't hold," argued brouillard. "the parallel does hold; that is precisely the point. every ground-lease investment is a gamble. the investor simply bets that he can make the turn within the time limit." "yes; but a long term of years----" "there you are," cut in the financier. "now you've got it down to the hard-pan basis: long time, small profits and a slow return; short time, big profits and a quick return. you've eaten here before; what do you pay bongras for a reasonably good dinner?" brouillard laughed. "oh, poodles. he cinches us, all right; four or five times as much as it's worth--or would cost anywhere else." "that's it. he knows he has to make good on all these little luxuries he gives you--cash in every day, as you might say, and come out whole before you stop the creek and drown him. let me tell you something, brouillard; san francisco brags about being the cheapest city in the country; they'll tell you over there that you can buy more for your money than you can anywhere else on earth. well, mirapolis is going to take the trophy at the other end of the speedway. when we get in motion we're going to have alaska faded to a frazzle on prices--and you'll see everybody paying them joyfully." "and in the end somebody, or the final series of somebodies, will be left to hold the bag," finished brouillard. "that's a future. what is it the good book says? 'let us eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die.' that's philosophy, and it's good business, too. not that i'm admitting your pessimistic conclusions for a single minute; don't mistake me on that point. there needn't be any bag holders, brouillard. let me put it in a nutshell: we're building a cement plant, and we shall sell you the output--at a good, round price, i promise you, but still at a lower figure than you're paying for the imported article now, or than you will pay even after the railroad gets in. when our government orders are filled we can afford to wreck the plant for what it will bring as junk. we'll be out of it whole, with a nice little profit." "that is only one instance," objected the guest. "well, bongras, here, is one more," laughed the host. "he gets a piece of his investment back every time anybody looks over his _menu_ card. and our power plant is another. you made your little kick on that to washington--you thought the government ought to control its own power. that was all right, from your point of view, but we beat you to it. now the reclamation service gets all the power it needs at a nominal price, and we're going to sell enough more to make us all feel happy." "sell it? to whom?" mr. cortwright leaned back in his chair and the sandy-gray eyes seemed to be searching the inner recesses of the querying soul. "that's inside information, but i don't mind taking you in on it," he said between leisurely puffs at his cigar. "we've just concluded a few contracts: one with massingale--he's going to put in power drills, electric ore-cars, and a modern equipment generally and shove the development of the 'little susan'; one with a new mining syndicate which will begin operations at once on half a dozen prospects on jack's mountain; and one with a lumber combination that has just taken over the sawmills, and will install others, with a planing-mill and sash factory." brouillard nodded. the gray eyes were slowly hypnotizing him. "but that isn't all," continued the promoter. "we are about to reincorporate the power plant as the niquoia electric power, lighting, and traction company. within a fortnight we'll be lighting mirapolis, and within a month after the railroad gets in we'll be operating trolley-cars." the enthusiast paused to let the information sink in, also to note the effect upon the subject. the noting was apparently satisfactory, since he went on with the steady assurance of one who sees his way clearly. "that brings us down to business, brouillard. i don't mind admitting that i had an object in asking you to dine with me this evening. it's this: we feel that in the reorganization of the power company the government, which will always be the largest consumer, should be represented in some effective way; that its interests should be carefully safeguarded. it is not so easy as it might seem. we can't exactly make the government a stockholder." "no," said brouillard mechanically. the under-depths were stirring again, heaving as if from a mighty ground-swell that threatened a tidal wave of overturnings. "we discussed that phase of it in the directors' meeting this morning," continued the hypnotist smoothly, "and i made a suggestion which, as president of the company, i was immediately authorized to carry out. what we need, and what the government needs, is a man right here on the ground who will be absolutely loyal to the government's interests and who can be, at the same time, broad enough and honorable enough to be fair to us." brouillard roused himself by a palpable effort. "you have found your man, mr. cortwright?" a genial smile twinkled in the little gray eyes. "i didn't have very far to go. you see, i knew your father and i'm not afraid to trust his son. we are going to make you the government director, with full power to investigate and to act. and we're not going to be mean about it, either. the capital stock of the company is ten millions, with shares of a par value of one hundred dollars each, full paid and non-assessable. don't gasp; we'll cut a nice little melon on that capitalization every thirty days, or my name isn't cortwright." "but i have no money to invest," was the only form the younger man's protest took. "we don't need your money," cut in the financier with curt good nature. "what we do need is a consulting engineer, a man who, while he is one of us and identified with us, will see to it that we're not tempted to gouge our good uncle samuel. it will be no sinecure, i warn you. we're all pretty keen after the dollar, and you'll have to hold us down good and hard. of course, a director and a consulting officer must be a stockholder, but we'll take care of that." brouillard smoked in silence for a full minute before he said: "you know as well as i do, mr. cortwright, that it is an unwritten law of the service that a civilian employee of the government shall not engage in any other business." "no, i don't," was the blunt reply. "that rule may be good enough to apply to senators and representatives--and it ought to; outside jobs for them might influence legislation. but in your case it would not only be unjust to apply it; it would be absurd and contradictory. supposing your father had left you a hundred thousand dollars to invest instead of a debt of that amount--you see, i know what a load your keen sense of honor is making you carry--suppose you had this money to invest, would your position in the reclamation service compel you to lock it up in a safety vault?" "certainly not. but----" "very good. your objection to taking part in our project would be that a man can't be strictly impartial when he has a stake in the game; some men couldn't, mr. brouillard, but you can; you know you can, and i know it. otherwise you wouldn't be putting half of your salary and more into life-insurance premiums to secure a debt that isn't even constructively yours." "yes; but if the department should learn that i am a stockholder in a company from which it buys its power----" "there wouldn't be a word said--not one single word. they know you in washington, brouillard, better, perhaps, than you think they do. they know you would exact a square deal for the department even if it cost you personal money. but this is all academic. the practical facts are that you'll come in as consulting engineer and that you'll hold us strictly up to the mark on the government power contract. it's your duty and part of your job as chief of construction. and we'll leave the money consideration entirely out of it if you like. you'll get a stock-certificate, which you may keep or tear up and throw into the waste-basket, just as you please. if you keep it and want to realize on it at any time before you begin to put the finishing forms on the dam, i'll do this: i'll agree to market it for you at par. now let's quit and go and find gene. she'll think we've tippled ourselves under the table." "one moment," said brouillard. "you have a way of taking a man off his feet, mr. cortwright; a rather pleasant way i'm bound to admit. but in this thing which you are proposing there are issues involved which----" "you want time to think it over? take it, man; take all the time you need. there's no special hurry." brouillard felt that in accepting the condition he was potentially committing himself. it was a measure of the distance he had already travelled that he interposed a purely personal obstacle. "i couldn't serve as your engineer, mr. cortwright, not even in a consulting capacity. call it prejudice or anything you please, but i simply couldn't do business in an associate relation with your man hosford." cortwright had risen, and he took his guest confidentially by the buttonhole. "do you know, brouillard, hosford gets on my nerves, too? don't let that influence you. we'll let hosford go. we needed him at first to sort of knock things into shape; it takes a man of his calibre in the early stages of a project like ours, you know. but he has outlived his usefulness and we'll drop him. let's go up-stairs." it was quite late in the evening when brouillard, a little light-headed from an after-dinner hour of purely social wit-matching with miss genevieve, passed out through the café of the metropole on his way to his quarters. there were a few late diners at the tables, and bongras, smug and complacent in evening regalia, was waddling about among them like a glorified head waiter, his stiffly roached hair and napoleonic mustaches striving for a dignity and fierceness which was cruelly negatived by a round, full-fed face and an obese little body. "ze dinnare--she was h-all right, m'sieu' brouillard?" he inquired, holding the engineer for a moment at the street door. "as right as the price you're going to charge mr. cortwright for it," joked brouillard. "_sacré!_" swore the amiable one, spreading his hands, "if you could h-only know 'ow eet is cost to bring dose dinnare on dis place! two dollare de 'undred pounds dat mule-freightare is charge me for bringing dose chip-pest wine from quesado! sommtime ve get de railroad, _n'est-ce pas_, m'sieu' brouillard? den ve make dose dinnare moz risson-able." "yes, you will!" brouillard scoffed jocosely. "you'll be adding something then for the uniqueness--for the benefit of the tourists. it'll be a great ad, 'the hotel metropole, the delmonico's of the lake bottom. sit in and dine with us before the heavens open and the floods come.'" "i'll been wanting to h-ask you," whispered the frenchman with a quick-flung glance for the diners at the nearest of the tables, "doze flood--when she is coming, m'sieu' brouillard?" "when we get the dam completed." "you'll bet money h-on dat?--h-all de money you got?" "it's a sure thing, if that's what you're driving at. you can bet on it if you want to." "i make my bet on de price of de dinnare," smiled bongras. "_mais_, i like to know for sure." "why should you doubt it?" "_moi_, i don't doubt nottings; i make de grass to be cut w'ile de sun is shine. but i'll been hearing somebody say dat maybe-so dis town she grow so fas' and so beeg dat de gover'ment is not going drown her." "who said that?" "i don't know; it is _bruit_--what you call rumaire. you hear it h-on de avenue, in de café, h-anyw'eres you go." brouillard laughed again, this time with his hand on the door-latch. "don't lower your prices on the strength of any such rumor as that, poodles. the dam will be built, and the niquoia will be turned into a lake, with the hotel metropole comfortably anchored in the deepest part of it--that is, if it doesn't get gay enough to float." "dat's juz what i'll been thinking," smiled the little man, and he sped the parting guest with a bow that would have graced the antechamber of a _louis le grand_. out in the crisp night air, with the stars shining clear in the velvet sky and the vast bulks of the ramparting mountains to give solidity and definiteness to the scheme of things, brouillard was a little better able to get his feet upon the stable earth. but the major impulse was still levitant, almost exultant. when all was said, it was mr. cortwright's rose-colored view of the immediate future that persisted. "mirapolis!" it was certainly a name to conjure with; an inspiration on the part of the young woman who had chosen it. brouillard saw the projected streets pointing away into the four quarters of the night. it asked for little effort of the imagination to picture them as the streets of a city--lighted, paved, and busy with traffic. would the miracle be wrought? and if it should be, was there any possibility that in time the building of the great dam and the reclamation of the buckskin desert would become secondary in importance to the preservation of mirapolis? it seemed highly incredible; before the little dinner and the social evening brouillard would have said it was blankly impossible. but it is only fools and dead men who cannot admit a changing angle in the point of view. at first brouillard laid it to the champagne, forgetting that he had permitted but a single refilling of his glass. not then, nor for many days, did he suspect that it was his first deep draught of a far headier wine that sent the blood laughing through his veins as he strode down chigringo avenue to his darkened office quarters--the wine of the vintner whose name is graft. vii the speedway it was in the days after he had found on his desk a long envelope enclosing a certificate for a thousand shares of stock in the niquoia electric power, lighting, and traction company that brouillard began to lose his nickname of "hell's-fire" among his workmen, with the promise of attaining, in due time, to the more affectionate title of "the little big boss." at the envelope-opening moment, however, he was threatened with an attack of heart failure. that mr. cortwright and his fellow promoters should make a present of one hundred thousand dollars of the capital stock of the reorganized company to a mere government watch-dog who could presumably neither help nor hinder in the money-making plans of the close corporation, was scarcely believable. but a hastily sought interview with the company's president cleared the air of all the incredibilities. "why, my dear brouillard! what in sam hill do you take us for?" was the genial retort when the young engineer had made his deprecatory protest. "did you think we were going to cut the melon and hand you out a piece of the rind? not so, my dear boy; we are not built on any such narrow-gauge lines. but seriously, we're getting you at a bargain-counter price. one of the things we're up against is the building of another dam higher in the canyon for an auxiliary plant. in taking you in, we've retained the best dam builder in the country to tell us where and how to build it." "that won't go, mr. cortwright," laughed brouillard, finding the great man's humor pleasantly infectious. "you know you can hire engineers by the dozen at the usual rates." "all right, blot that out; say that i wanted to do the right thing by the son of good old judge antoine; just imagine, for the sake of argument, that i wanted to pose as the long-lost uncle of the fairy-stories to a fine young fellow who hasn't been able to draw a full breath since his father died. you can do it now, victor, my boy. any old time the trusteeship debt your father didn't really owe gets too heavy, you can unload on me and wipe it out. isn't it worth something to realize that?" "i guess it will be, if i am ever able to get down to the solid fact of realizing it. but i can't earn a hundred thousand dollars of the company's stock, mr. cortwright." "of course you can. that's what we are willing to pay for a good, reliable government brake. it's going to be your business to see to it that the reclamation service gets exactly what its contract calls for, kilowatt for kilowatt." "i'd do that, anyhow, as chief of construction on the dam." "you mean you would try to do it. as an officer of the power company, you can do it; as an official kicker on the outside, you couldn't feaze us a particle. what? you'd put us out of business? not much, you wouldn't; we'd play politics with you and get a man for your job who wouldn't kick." "well," said the inheritor of sudden wealth, still matching the promoter's mood, "you won't get me fired now, that's one comfort. when will you want my expert opinion on your auxiliary dam?" "on _our_ dam, you mean. oh, any time soon; say to-morrow or friday--or saturday if that hurries you too much. we sha'n't want to go to work on it before monday." being himself an exponent of the modern theory that the way to do things is to do them now, brouillard accepted the hurry order without comment. celerity, swiftness of accomplishment that was almost magical, had become the mirapolitan order of the day. plans conceived over-night leaped to their expositions in things done as if the determination to do them had been all that was necessary to their realization. "you shall have the report to-morrow," said the newly created consulting engineer, "but you can't go to work monday. the labor market is empty, and i'm taking it for granted that you're not going to stampede my shovellers and concrete men." "oh, no," conceded the city builder, "we sha'n't do that. you'll admit--in your capacity of government watch-dog--that we have played fair in that game. we have imported every workman we've needed, and we shall import more. that's one thing none of us can afford to do--bull the labor market. and it won't be necessary; we have a train load of italians and bulgarians on the way to quesado to-day, and they ought to be here by monday." "you are a wonder, mr. cortwright," was brouillard's tribute to the worker of modern miracles, and he went his way to ride to the upper end of the valley for the exploring purpose. on the monday, as president cortwright had so confidently predicted, the train load of laborers had marched in over the war arrow trail and the work on the auxiliary power dam was begun. on the tuesday a small army of linemen arrived to set the poles and to string the wires for the lighting of the town. on the wednesday there were fresh accessions to the army of builders, and the freighters on the quesado trail reported a steady stream of artisans pouring in to rush the city making. on the thursday the grading and paving of chigringo avenue was begun, and, true to his promise, mr. cortwright was leaving a right of way in the street for the future trolley tracks. and it was during this eventful week that the distant thunder of the dynamite brought the welcome tidings of the pushing of the railroad grade over the mountain barrier. also--but this was an item of minor importance--it was on the saturday of this week that the second tier of forms was erected on the great dam and the stripped first section of the massive gray foot-wall of concrete raised itself in mute but eloquent protest against the feverish activities of the miracle-workers. if the protest were a threat, it was far removed. many things might happen before the gray wall should rise high enough to cast its shadow, and the shadow of the coming end, over the miraculous city of the plain. it was brouillard himself who put this thought into words on the sunday when he and grislow were looking over the work of form raising and finding it good. "catching you, too, is it, victor?" queried the hydrographer, dropping easily into his attitude of affable cynicism. "i thought it would. but tell me, what are some of the things that may happen?" "it's easy to predict two of them: some people will make a pot of money and some will lose out." grislow nodded. "of course you don't take any stock in the rumor that the government will call a halt?" "you wouldn't suppose it could be possible." "no. yet the rumor persists. hosford hinted to me the other day that there might be a congressional investigation a little further along to determine whether the true _pro bono publico_ lay in the reclamation of a piece of yellow desert or in the preservation of an exceedingly promising and rapidly growing young city." "hosford is almost as good a boomer as mr. cortwright. everybody knows that." "yes. i guess mirapolis will have to grow a good bit more before congress can be made to take notice," was the hydrographer's dictum. "isn't that your notion?" brouillard was shaking his head slowly. "i don't pretend to have opinions any more, grizzy. i'm living from day to day. if the tail should get big enough to wag the dog----" they were in the middle of the high staging upon which the puddlers worked while filling the forms and grislow stopped short. "what's come over you, lately, victor? i won't say you're half-hearted, but you're certainly not the same driver you were a few weeks ago, before the men quit calling you 'hell's-fire.'" brouillard smiled grimly. "it's going to be a long job, grizzy. perhaps i saw that i couldn't hope to keep keyed up to concert pitch all the way through. call it that, anyway. i've promised to motor miss cortwright to the upper dam this afternoon, and it's time to go and do it." it was not until they were climbing down from the staging at the jack's mountain approach that grislow acquired the ultimate courage of his convictions. "going motoring, you said--with miss genevieve. that's another change. i'm beginning to believe in your seven-year hypothesis. you are no longer a woman-hater." "i never was one. there isn't any such thing." "you used to make believe there was and you posed that way last summer. think i don't remember how you were always ranting about the dignity of a man's work and quoting kipling at me? now you've taken to mixing and mingling like a social reformer." "well, what of it?" half-absently. "oh, nothing; only it's interesting from a purely academic point of view. i've been wondering how far you are responsible; how much you really do, yourself, and how much is done for you." brouillard's laugh was skeptical. "that's another leaf out of your psychological book, i suppose. it's rot." "is it so? but the fact remains." "what fact?" "the fact that your subconscious self has got hold of the pilot-wheel; that your reasoning self is asleep, or taking a vacation, or something of that sort." "oh, bally! there are times when you make me feel as if i had eaten too much dinner, grizzy! this is one of them. put it in words; get it out of your system." "it needs only three words: you are hypnotized." "that is what you say; it is up to you to prove it," scoffed brouillard. "i could easily prove it to the part of you that is off on a vacation. a month ago this city-building fake looked as crazy to you as it still does to those of us who haven't been invited to sit down and take a hand in mr. cortwright's little game. you hooted at it, preached a little about the gross immorality of it, swore a good bit about the effect it was going to have on our working force. it was a crazy object-lesson in modern greed, and all that." "well?" "now you seem to have gone over to the other side. you hobnob with cortwright and do office work for him. you know his fake is a fake; and yet i overheard you boosting it the other night in poodles's dining-room to a tableful of money maniacs as if cortwright were giving you a rake-off." brouillard stiffened himself with a jerk as he paced beside his accuser, but he kept his temper. "you're an old friend, grizzy, and a mighty good one--as i have had occasion to prove. it is your privilege to ease your mind. is that all?" "no. you are letting genevieve cortwright make a fool of you. if you were only half sane you'd see that she is a confirmed trophy hunter. why, she even gets down to young griffith--and uses him to dig out information about you. she----" "hold on, murray; there's a limit, and you'll bear with me if i say that you are working up to it now." brouillard's jaw was set and the lines between his eyes were deepening. "i don't know what you are driving at, but you'd better call it off. i can take care of myself." "if i thought you could--if i only thought you could," said grislow musingly. "but the indications all lean the other way. it would be all right if you wanted to marry her and she wanted you to; but you don't--and she doesn't. and, besides, there's amy; you owe her something, don't you?--or don't you? you needn't grit your teeth that way. you are only getting a part of what is coming to you. 'faithful are the wounds of a friend,' you know." "yes. and when the psalmist had admitted that, he immediately asked the lord not to let their precious balms break his head. you're all right, grizzy, but i'll pull through." then, with a determined wrenching aside of the subject: "are you going up on chigringo this afternoon?" "i thought i would--yes. what shall i tell miss massingale when she asks about you?" "you will probably tell her the first idiotic thing that comes into the back part of your head. and if you tell her anything pifflous about me i'll lay for you some dark night with a pick handle." grislow laughed reminiscently. "she won't ask," he said. "why not?" "because the last time she did it i told her your scalp was dangling at miss genevieve's belt." they had reached the door of the log-built quarters and brouillard spun the jester around with a shoulder grip that was only half playful. "if i believed you said any such thing as that i'd murder you!" he exploded. "perhaps you'll go and tell her that--you red-headed blastoderm!" "sure," said the blastoderm, and they went apart, each to his dunnage kit. viii table stakes there were a dozen business blocks under construction in mirapolis, with a proportional number of dwellings and suburban villas at various stages in the race toward completion, when it began to dawn upon the collective consciousness of a daily increasing citizenry that something was missing. garner, the real-estate plunger from kansas city, first gave the missing quantity its name. the distant thunder of the blasts heralding the approach of the railroad had ceased between two days. there was no panic; there was only the psychoplasmic moment for one. thus far there had been no waning of the fever of enthusiasm, no slackening of the furious pace in the race for growth, and, in a way, no lack of business. with money plentiful and credit unimpaired, with an army of workmen to spend its weekly wage, and a still larger army of government employees to pour a monthly flood into the strictly limited pool of circulation, traffic throve, and in token thereof the saloons and dance-halls never closed. up to the period of the silenced dynamite thunderings new industries were projected daily, and investors, tolled in over the high mountain trails or across the buckskin in dust-encrusted automobiles by methods best known to a gray-mustached adept in the art of promotion, thronged the lobby of the hotel metropole and bought and sold mirapolis "corners" or "insides" on a steadily ascending scale of prices. not yet had the time arrived for selling before sunset that which had been bought since sunrise. on the contrary, a strange mania for holding on, for permanency, seemed to have become epidemic. many of the working-men were securing homes on the instalment plan. a good few of the villas could boast parquetry floors and tiled bath-rooms. one coterie of chicagoans refused an advance of fifty per cent on a quarter square of business earth and the next day decided to build a six-storied office-building, with a ground-floor corner for the niquoia national bank, commodious suites for the city offices of the power company, the cement company, the lumber syndicate, and the water company, and an entire floor to be set apart for the government engineers and accountants. and it was quite in harmony with the spirit of the moment that the building should be planned with modern conveniences and that the chosen building material should be nothing less permanent than monolithic concrete. in harmony with the same spirit was the enterprise which cut great gashes across the shoulder of jack's mountain in the search for precious metal. here the newly incorporated buckskin gold mining and milling company had discarded the old and slow method of prospecting with pick and shovel, and power-driven machines ploughed deep furrows to bed-rock across and back until the face of the mountain was zigzagged and scarred like a veteran of many battles. in keeping, again, was the energy with which mr. cortwright and his municipal colleagues laid water-mains, strung electric wires, drove the paving contractors, and pushed the trolley-line to the stage at which it lacked only the rails and the cars awaiting shipment by the railroad. under other conditions it is conceivable that an impatient committee of construction would have had the rails freighted in across the desert, would have had the cars taken to pieces and shipped by mule-train express from quesado. but with the railroad grade already in sight on the bare shoulders of the hophra hills and the thunder-blasts playing the presto march of promise the committee could afford to wait. this was the situation on the day when garner, sharp-eared listener at the keyhole of opportunity, missing the dynamite rumblings, sent a cipher wire of inquiry to the east, got a "rush" reply, and began warily to unload his mirapolitan holdings. being a man of business, he ducked to cover first and talked afterward; but by the time his hint had grown to rumor size mr. cortwright had sent for brouillard. "pull up a chair and have a cigar," said the great man when brouillard had penetrated to the nerve-centre of the mirapolitan activities in the metropole suite and the two stenographers had been curtly dismissed. "have you heard the talk of the street? there is a rumor that the railroad grading has been stopped." brouillard, busy with the work of setting the third series of forms on his great wall, had heard nothing. "i've noticed that they haven't been blasting for two or three days. but that may mean nothing more than a delayed shipment of dynamite," was his rejoinder. "it looks bad--devilish bad." the promoter was planted heavily in his pivot-chair, and the sandy-gray eyes dwindled to pin-points. "three days ago the blasting stopped, and garner--you know him, the little kansas city shark across the street--got busy with the wire. the next thing we knew he was unloading, quietly and without making any fuss about it, but at prices that would have set us afire if he'd had enough stuff in his pack to amount to anything." brouillard tried to remember that he was the reclamation service construction chief, that the pricking of the mirapolitan bubble early or late concerned him not at all,--tried it and failed. "i am afraid you are right," he said thoughtfully. "we've had a good many applications from men hunting work in the past two days, more than would be accounted for by the usual drift from the railroad camps." "you saw president ford after i did; what did he say when he was over here?" "he said very little to me," replied brouillard guardedly. "from that little i gathered that the members of his executive committee were not unanimously in favor of building the extension." "well, we are up against it, that's all. read that," and the promoter handed a telegram across the desk. the wire was from chicago, was signed "ackerman," and was still damp from the receiving operator's copying-press. it read: "work on p. s-w.'s buckskin extension has been suspended for the present. reason assigned, shrinkage in securities and uncertainty of business outlook in niquoia." brouillard's first emotion was that of the engineer and the economist. "what a bunch of blanked fools!" he broke out. "they've spent a clean million as it stands, and they are figuring to leave it tied up and idle!" mr. cortwright's frown figured as a fleshly mask of irritability. "i'm not losing any sleep over the p. s-w. treasury. it's our own basket of eggs here that i'm worrying about. let it once get out that the railroad people don't believe in the future of mirapolis and we're done." brouillard's retort was the expression of an upflash of sanity. "mirapolis has no future; it has only an exceedingly precarious present." for a moment the sandy-gray eyes became inscrutable. then the mask of irritation slid aside, revealing the face which mr. j. wesley cortwright ordinarily presented to his world--the face of imperturbable good nature. "you're right, brouillard; mirapolis is only a good joke, after all. sometimes i get bamfoozled into the idea that it isn't--that it's the real thing. that's bad for the nerves. but about this railroad fizzle; i don't relish the notion of having our little joke sprung on us before we're ready to laugh, do you? what do you think?" brouillard shook himself as one who casts a burden. "it is not my turn to think, mr. cortwright." "oh, yes, it is; very pointedly. you're one of us, to a certain extent; and if you were not you would still be interested. a smash just now would hamper the reclamation service like the mischief; the entire works shut down; no cement, no lumber, no power; everything tied up in the courts until the last creditor quits taking appeals. oh, no, brouillard; you don't want to see the end of the world come before it's due." it was the consulting engineer of the power company rather than the reclamation service chief who rose and went to the window to look down upon the morning briskness of chigringo avenue. and it was the man who saw one hundred thousand dollars, the price of freedom, slipping away from him who turned after a minute or two of the absent street gazing and said: "what do you want me to do, mr. cortwright? i did put my shoulder to the wheel when ford was here. i told him if i were in his place i'd take the long chance and build the extension." "did you?--and before you had a stake in the game? that was a white man's boost, right! have another cigar. they're 'poodles's pride,' and they're not half bad when you get used to the near-havana filler. think you could manage to get ford on the wire and encourage him a little more?" "it isn't ford; it is the new york bankers. you can read that between the lines in your man ackerman's telegram." the stocky gentleman in the pivot-chair thrust out his jaw and tilted his freshly lighted cigar to the aggressive angle. "say, brouillard, we've got to throw a fresh piece of bait into the cage, something that will make the railroad crowd sit up and take notice. by george, if those gold hunters up on jack's mountain would only stumble across something big enough to advertise----" brouillard started as if the wishful musing had been a blow. like a hot wave from a furnace mouth it swept over him--the sudden realization that the means, the one all-powerful, earth-moving lever the promoter was so anxiously seeking, lay in his hands. "the buckskin people, yes," he said, making talk as the rifleman digs a pit to hold his own on the firing-line. "if they should happen to uncover a gold reef just now it would simplify matters immensely for mirapolis, wouldn't it? the railroad would come on, then, without a shadow of doubt. all the bankers in new york couldn't hold it back." now came mr. cortwright's turn to get up and walk the floor, and he took it, tramping solidly back and forth in the clear space behind the table-topped desk. it was not until he had extended the meditative stump-and-go to one of the windows that he stopped short and came out of the inventive trance with a jerk. "come here," he called curtly, with a quick finger crook for the engineer, and when brouillard joined him: "can you size up that little caucus over yonder?" the "caucus" was a knot of excited men blocking the sidewalk in front of garner's real-estate office on the opposite side of the street. the purpose of the excited ones was not difficult to divine. they were all trying to crowd into the kansas city man's place of business at once. "it looks like a run on a bank," said brouillard. "it is," was the crisp reply. "garner has beaten everybody else to the home plate, but he couldn't keep his mouth shut. he's been talking, and every man in that mob is a potential panic breeder. that thing has got to be nipped in the bud, right now!" "yes," brouillard agreed. he was still wrestling with his own besetment--the prompting which involved a deliberate plunge where up to the present crisis he had been merely wading in the shallows. a little thing stung him alive to the imperative call of the moment--the sight of amy massingale walking down the street with tig smith, the triangle-circle foreman. it was of the death of her hopes that he was thinking when he said coolly: "you have sized it up precisely, mr. cortwright; that is a panic in the making, and the bubble won't stand for very much pricking. give me a free hand with your check-book for a few minutes and i'll try to stop it." it spoke volumes for the millionaire promoter's quick discernment and decision that he asked no questions. "do it," he snapped. "i'll cover you for whatever it takes. don't wait; that crowd is getting bigger every minute." brouillard ran down-stairs and across the street. it was no part of his intention to stop and speak to amy massingale and the ranchman, but he did it, and even walked a little way with them before he turned back to elbow his way through the sidewalk throng and into garner's dingy little office. "you are selling mirapolis holdings short to-day, garner?" he asked when he had pushed through the crowd to the speculator's desk. and when garner laughed and said there were no takers he placed his order promptly. "you may bid in for me, at yesterday's prices, anything within the city limits--not options, you understand, but the real thing. bring your papers over to my office after banking hours and we'll close for whatever you've been able to pick up." he said it quietly, but there could be no privacy at such a time and in such a place. "what's that, mr. brouillard?" demanded one in the counter jam. "you're giving garner a blank card to buy for your account? say, that's plenty good enough for me. garner, cancel my order to sell, will you? when the chief engineer of the government water-works believes in mirapolis futures and bets his money on 'em, i'm not selling." the excitement was already dying down and the crowd was melting away from garner's sidewalk when brouillard rejoined mr. cortwright in the second-floor room across the street. "well, it's done," he announced shortly, adding: "it's only a stop-gap. to make the bluff good, you've got to have the railroad." "that's the talk," said the promoter, relighting the cigar which the few minutes of crucial suspense had extinguished. and then, without warning: "you're carrying something up your sleeve, brouillard. what is it?" "it is the one thing you need, mr. cortwright. if i could get my own consent to use it i could bring the railroad here in spite of those new yorkers who seem to have an attack of cold feet." mr. j. wesley cortwright's hesitation was so brief as to be almost imperceptible. "i suppose that is your way of saying that your share in the table stakes isn't big enough. all right; the game can't stop in the middle of a bet. how much is it going to cost us to stay in?" "the cost isn't precisely in the kind of figures that you understand best, mr. cortwright. and as to my share in the profits ... well, we needn't mince matters; you may remember that you were at some considerable pains to ascertain my price before you made the original bid--and the bid was accepted. you've just been given a proof that i'm trying to earn my money. no other man in mirapolis could have served your turn over there at garner's as i did a few minutes ago. you know that." "good lord, man, i'm not kicking! but we are all in the same boat. if the railroad work doesn't start up again within the next few days we are all due to go to pot. if you've got the odd ace up your sleeve and don't play it, you stand to lose out with the rest of us." the door was open into the anteroom where the stenographers' desks were, and brouillard was staring gloomily into the farther vacancies. "i wonder if you know how little i care?" he said half musingly. then, with sudden vehemence: "it is altogether a question of motive with me, mr. cortwright; of a motive which you couldn't understand in a thousand years. if that motive prevails, you get your railroad and a little longer lease of life. if it doesn't, mirapolis will go to the devil some few weeks or months ahead of its schedule--and i'll take my punishment with the remainder of the fools--and the knaves." he was on his feet and moving toward the door of exit when the promoter got his breath. "here, hold on, brouillard--for heaven's sake, don't go off and leave it up in the air that way!" he protested. but the corridor door had opened and closed and brouillard was gone. two hours later mirapolis the frenetic had a new thrill, a shock so electrifying that the rumor of the railroad's halting decision sank into insignificance and was forgotten. the suddenly evoked excitement focussed in a crowd besieging the window of the principal jewelry shop--focussed more definitely upon a square of white paper in the window in the centre of which was displayed a little heap of virgin gold in small nuggets and coarse grains. while the crowds in the street were still struggling and fighting to get near enough to read the labelling placard, the _daily spot-light_ came out with an extra which was all head-lines, the telegraph-wires to the east were buzzing, and the town had gone mad. the gold specimen--so said the placard and the news extra--had been washed from one of the bars in the niquoia. by three o'clock the madness had culminated in the complete stoppage of all work among the town builders and on the great dam as well, and gold-crazed mobs were frantically digging and panning on every bar in the river from the valley outlet to the power dam five miles away. ix bedlam it was between two and three o'clock in the afternoon of the day in which mirapolis went placer mad when word came to the reclamation-service headquarters that the power was cut off and that there were no longer men enough at the mixers and on the forms to keep the work going if the power should come on again. handley, the new fourth assistant, brought the news, dropping heavily into a chair and shoving his hat to the back of his head to mop his seamed and sun-browned face. "why the devil didn't you fellows turn out?" he demanded savagely of leshington, anson, and grislow, who were lounging in the office and very pointedly waiting for the lightning to strike. "gassman and i have done everything but commit cold-blooded murder to hold the men on the job. where's the boss?" nobody knew, and grislow, at least, was visibly disturbed at the question. it was anson who seemed to have the latest information about brouillard. "he came in about eleven o'clock, rummaged for a minute or two in that drawer you've got your foot on, grizzy, and then went out again. anybody seen him since?" there was a silence to answer the query, and the hydrographer righted his chair abruptly and closed the opened drawer he had been utilizing for a foot-rest. he had a long memory for trifles, and at the mention of the drawer a disquieting picture had flashed itself upon the mental screen. there were two figures in the picture, brouillard and himself, and brouillard was tossing the little buckskin sack of gold nuggets into the drawer, where it had lain undisturbed ever since--until now. moreover, grislow's news of brouillard, if he had seen fit to publish it, was later than anson's. at one o'clock, or thereabout, the chief had come into the mapping room for a glance at the letters on his desk. one of the letters--a note in a square envelope--he had thrust into his pocket before going out. "it looks as if the chief had gone with the crowd," said leshington when the silence had grown almost portentous, "though that wouldn't be like him. has anybody found out yet who touched off the gold-mounted sky-rocket?" grislow came out of his brown study with a start. "levy won't tell who gave him those nuggets to put in his window. i tried him. all he will say is that the man who left the sample is perfectly reliable and that he dictated the exact wording of the placard that did the business." "i saw harlan, of the _spot-light_, half an hour ago," cut in anson. "he's plumb raving crazy, like everybody else, but there is something faintly resembling method in his madness. he figures it that we government people are out of a job permanently; that with the discovery of these placers--or, rather, with the practically certain rediscovery of them by the mob--mirapolis will jump to the front rank as a gold camp, and the reclamation service will have to call a halt on the buckskin project." leshington's long, plain-song face grew wooden. "you say 'practically certain.' the question is: will they be rediscovered? bet any of you a box of poodles's flor de near havanas that it's some new kind of a flip-flap invented by j. wesley and his boomers. what do you say?" "good lord!" growled handley. "they didn't need any new stunts. they had the world by the ear, as it was." "that's all right," returned leshington; "maybe they didn't. i heard a thing or two over at bongras's last night that set me guessing. there was a piece of gossip coming up the pike about the railroad pulling out of the game, or, rather, that it had already pulled out." once more silence fell upon the group in the mapping room, and this time it was grislow who broke it. "i suppose harlan is getting ready to exploit the new sensation right?" he suggested, and anson nodded. "you can trust harlan for that. he's got the valley wire subsidized, and he is waiting for the first man to come in with the news of the sure thing and the location of it. when he gets the facts he'll touch off the fireworks, and the world will be invited to take a running jump for the new tonopah." then, with sudden anxiety: "i wish to goodness brouillard would turn up and get busy on his job. it's something hideous to be stranded this way in the thick of a storm!" "it's time somebody was getting busy," snarled handley. "there are a hundred tons of fresh concrete lying in the forms, just as they were dumped--with no puddlers--to say nothing of half as much more freezing to solid rock right now in the mixers and on the telphers." grislow got up and reached for his coat and hat. "i'm going out to hunt for the boss," he said, "and you fellows had better do the same. if this is one of cortwright's flip-flaps, and brouillard happened to be in the way, i wouldn't put it beyond j. wesley to work some kind of a disappearing racket on the human obstacle." the suggestion was carried out immediately by the three to whom it was made, but for a reason of his own the hydrographer contrived to be the last to leave the mapping room. when he found himself alone he returned hastily to the desk and pulled out the drawer of portents, rummaging in it until he was fully convinced that the little buckskin bag of nuggets was gone. then, instead of following the others, he took a field-glass from its case on the wall and went to the south window to focus it upon the massingale cabin, standing out clear-cut and distinct in the afternoon sunlight on its high, shelf-like bench. the powerful glass brought out two figures on the cabin porch, a woman and a man. the woman was standing and the man was sitting on the step. grislow lowered the glass and slid the telescoping sun tubes home with a snap. "good god!" he mused, "it's unbelievable! he deliberately turns this thing loose on us down here and then takes an afternoon off to go and make love to a girl! he's crazy; it's the seven-year devil he talks about. and nobody can help him; nobody--unless amy can. lord, lord!" x epochal at the other extremity of the trajectory of grislow's telltale field-glass brouillard was sunning himself luxuriously on the porch step at the massingale house and making up for lost time--counting all time lost when it spelled absence from the woman he loved. but miss massingale was in a charmingly frivolous frame of mind. "that is the fourth different excuse you have invented for cutting me out of your visiting list, not counting the repetitions," she gibed, when he had finally fallen back upon the time demands of his work to account for his late neglect of her. "if i wanted to be hateful i might insist that you haven't given the true reason yet." "perhaps i will give it before i go," he parried. "but just now i'd much rather talk about something else. tell me about yourself. what have you been doing all these days when i haven't been able to keep tab on you?" "flirting--flirting desperately with tig, with lord falkland, with mr. anson, and mr. grislow, and that nice boy of yours, herbert griffith, and with--no, _not_ with mr. leshington; he scares me--makes a face like a wooden image and says: 'little girl, you need a mother--or a husband; i haven't made up my mind which.' when he _does_ make up his mind i'm going to shriek and run away." "who is lord falkland?" demanded brouillard, ignoring the rank and file. "o-o-h! haven't you met him? he is tig's boss. he isn't a real lord; he is only a 'younger son.' but we call him lord falkland because he has no sense of humor and is always trying to explain. 'beg pawdon, my _deah_ miss massingale, but i'm _not_ lord falkland, don't y' know. the--er--title goes with the--er--entail. i'm only the honorable pawcy grammont penbawthy trevawnnion.'" her mimicry of the englishman was delicious, and brouillard laughed like a man without a care in the world. "where does the honorable all-the-rest keep himself?" he wished to know. "he stays out at the ranch in the buckskin with tig and the range-riders most of the time, i think. it's his ranch, you know, and he is immensely proud of it. he never tires of telling me about the cattle on a thousand hills, or the thousand cattle on one hill, i forget which it is." "and you flirt with this--this alphabetical monstrosity!" he protested reproachfully. "honestly, victor, i don't; that was only an amiable little figure of speech. you simply _can't_ flirt with a somebody who is almost as brilliant as a lump of cornish tin ore and, oh, ever so many times as dense." "exit lord falkland, who isn't lord falkland," said brouillard. "now tell me about the 'little susan'; is the blue-grass farm looming up comfortably on the eastern edge of things?" in a twinkling her frivolous mood vanished. "oh, we are prosperous, desperately prosperous. we have power drills, and electric ore-cars, and a crib, and a chute, and a hoist, and an aerial tramway down to the place where the railroad yard is going to be--all the improvements you can see and a lot more that you can't see. and our pay-roll--it fairly frightens me when i make it up on the saturdays." "i see," he nodded. "all going out and nothing coming in. but the money is all here, safely stacked up in the ore bins. you'll get it all out when the railroad comes." "that is another thing--a thing i haven't dared tell father and stevie. when i was in mirapolis this morning i heard that the railroad wasn't coming, after all; or, rather, tig had heard it and he told me. we were digging for facts when you met us on chigringo avenue--trying to find out if the rumor were true." "did you find out?" he asked. "not positively. that is why i left the note at your office begging you to come up if you could spare the time. i felt sure you would know." "it means a great deal to you, doesn't it?" he said evasively. "it means everything--a thousand times more now than it did before." his quick glance up into the suddenly sobered eyes of the girl standing on the step above him was a voiceless query and she answered it. "we had no working capital, as i think you must have known. once a month father or stevie would make up a few pack-saddle loads of the richest ore and freight them over the mountains to red butte. that was how we got along. but when you sent me word by tig that the railroad company had decided to build the extension, there was--there was--a chance----" "yes," he encouraged. "a chance that the day of little things was past and the day of big things was come. mr. cortwright and some of his associates had been trying to buy an interest in the 'little susan.' father let them in on some sort of a stock arrangement that i don't understand and then made himself personally responsible for a dreadful lot of borrowed money." "borrowed of mr. cortwright?" queried brouillard. "no; of the bank. neither stevie nor i knew about it until after it was done, and even then father wouldn't explain. he has been like a man out of his mind since mr. cortwright got hold of him--everything is rose-colored; we are going to be immensely rich the minute the railroad builds its track to the mine dump. the ore is growing richer every day--which is true--and the railroad will let us into the smelters with train loads of it. he is crazy to build more cribs and put on night shifts of miners. but you see how it all depends upon the railroad." "not so much upon the railroad now as upon some other things," said brouillard enigmatically. "you say your father has borrowed of the bank--is mr. cortwright mixed up in the loan in any way?" "yes; he arranged it in some way for father--i don't know just how. all i know is that father is responsible, and that if the railroad doesn't come he will lose everything." brouillard gave a low whistle. "i don't wonder that the quitting rumor made you nervous." "it was, and is, positively terrifying. father has taken one of the new houses in town and we are to move down next week in spite of all i can do or say. that means more expense and more temptations. i can't tell you how i hate and dread mirapolis. it isn't like any other place i have ever known; it is cynical, vicious, wicked!" "it is," he agreed soberly. "it couldn't well be otherwise. you tell a dozen men they've got a certain definite time to live, and the chances are that two or three of them will begin to prepare to get ready to be sorry for their sins. the other nine or ten will speed up and burn the candle right down into the socket. we shall see worse things in mirapolis before we see better. but i think i can lift one of your burdens. what you heard in town this morning is a fact: the railroad people have stopped work on the buckskin extension. don't faint--they are going to begin again right away." "oh!" she gasped. "are you sure? how _can_ you be sure?" "i've given the order," he said gravely. "an order they can't disregard. let's go back a bit and i'll explain. do you remember my telling you that your brother had tried to bribe me to use my influence with mr. ford?" "as if i should ever be able to forget it!" she protested. "well, that wasn't all that he did--he threatened me--took me to one of the bars in the niquoia, and let me prove for myself that it was tolerably rich placer ground. the threat was a curious one. if i'd say the right thing to president ford, well and good; if not, your brother would disarrange things for the government by giving away the secret of the gold placers. it was ingenious, and effective. to turn the valley into a placer camp would be to disorganize our working force, temporarily at least, and in the end it might even stop or definitely postpone the building of the dam." she was listening eagerly, but there was a nameless fear in the steadfast eyes--a shadow which he either missed or disregarded. "naturally, i saw, or thought i saw, a good reason why he should hesitate to carry out his threat," brouillard went on. "the placer find, with whatever profit might be got out of it, was his only so long as he kept the secret. but he covered that point at once; he said that the 'little susan'--with the railroad--was worth more to him and to your father than a chance at the placer-diggings. the ore dump with its known values was a sure thing, while the sluice mining was always a gamble." "and you--you believed all this?" she asked faintly. "i was compelled to believe it. he let me pan out the proof for myself; a heaping spoonful of nuggets and grain gold in a few panfuls of the sand. it pretty nearly turned my head, amy; would have turned it, i'm afraid, if steve hadn't explained that the bar, as a whole, wouldn't run as rich as the sample." "it is dreadful--dreadful!" she murmured. "you believed him, and for that reason you used your influence with mr. ford?" "no." "but you did advise mr. ford to build the extension?" "yes." "believing that it was for the best interests of the railroad to come here?" "no; doubting it very much, indeed." "then why did you do it? i _must_ know; it is my right to know." he got up and took her in his arms, and she suffered him. "a few days ago, little girl, i couldn't have told you. but now i can. i am a free man--or i can be whenever i choose to say the word. you ask me why i pulled for the railroad; i did it for love's sake." she was pushing him away, and the great horror in her eyes was unmistakable now. "oh!" she panted, "is love a thing to be cheapened like that--to be sinned for?" "why, amy, girl! what do you mean? i don't understand----" "that is it, victor; _you don't understand_. you deliberately sacrificed your convictions; you have admitted it. and you did it in the sacred name of love! and your freedom--how have you made a hundred thousand dollars in these few weeks? oh, victor, is it clean money?" he was abashed, confounded; and at the bottom of the tangle of conflicting emotions there was a dull glow of resentment. "the 'sacrifice,' as you call it, was made for you," he said, ignoring her question about the money. "i merely told mr. ford what i should do if the decision lay wholly with me. that is what he asked for--my personal opinion. and he got it." "yes; but when you gave it ... did you say: 'mr. ford, there is a girl up at the "little susan" mine on chigringo mountain who needs your railroad to help her out of her troubles. because i love the girl'----" "of course i didn't say any such suicidal thing as that! but it is too late to raise the question of culpability in the matter of giving ford what he asked for. i did it, as i say--for love of you, amy; and now i have done a much more serious thing--for the same good reason." "tell me," she said, with a quick catching of her breath. "your brother put a weapon in my hands, and i have used it. there was one sure way to make the railroad people get busy again. they couldn't sit still if all the world were trying to get to a new gold camp, to which they already have a line graded and nearly ready for the steel." "and you have----?" he nodded. "i had levy put the spoonful of nuggets in his window, with a placard stating that it was taken out of a bar in the niquoia. when i left the office to come up here the whole town was blocking the street in front of levy's." she had retreated to take her former position, leaning against the porch post, with her hands behind her, and she had grown suddenly calm. "you did this deliberately, victor, weighing all the consequences? mirapolis is already a city of frenzied knaves and dupes; did you realize that you were taking the chance of turning it into a wicked pandemonium? oh, i can't believe you did!" "don't look at me that way, amy," he pleaded. then he went on, with curious little pauses between the words: "perhaps i didn't think--didn't care; you wanted something--and i wanted to give it to you. that was all--as god hears me, it was all. there was another thing that might have weighed, but i didn't let it weigh; i stood to lose the money that will set me free--i could have lost it without wincing--i told cortwright so. you believe that, amy? it will break my heart if you don't believe it." she shook her head sadly. "you have thrown down another of the ideals, and this time it was mine. you don't understand, and i can't make you understand--that is the keen misery of it. if this ruthless thing you tried to do had succeeded, i should be the most wretched woman in the world." "if it had succeeded? it has succeeded. didn't i say just now that the town was crazy with excitement when i left to come up here?" the girl was shaking her head again. "god sometimes saves us in spite of ourselves," she said gravely. "the excitement will die out. there are no placers in the niquoia. the bars have been prospected again and again." "they have been?----" brouillard turned on his heel and choked back the sudden malediction that rose to his lips. she had called mirapolis a city of knaves and dupes; surely, he himself was the simplest of the dupes. "i see--after so long a time," he went on. "your brother merely 'salted' a few shovelfuls of sand for my especial benefit. great heavens, but i was an easy mark!" "don't!" she cried, and the tears in her voice cut him to the heart--"don't make it harder for me than it has to be. i have told you only what i've heard my father say, time and again: that there is no gold in the niquoia river. and you mustn't ask me to despise my brother. he fights his way to his ends without caring much for the consequences to others; but tell me--haven't you been doing the same thing?" "i have," he confessed stubbornly. "my love isn't measured by a fear of consequences--to myself or others." "that is the hopeless part of it," she returned drearily. "yet you condone in your brother what you condemn in me," he complained. "my brother is my brother; and you are--let me tell you something, victor: god helping me, i shall be no man's evil genius, and yours least of all. you broke down the barriers a few minutes ago and you know what is in my heart. but i can take it out of my heart if the man who put it there is not true to himself." brouillard was silent for a little space, and when he spoke again it was as one awaking from a troubled dream. "i know what you would do and say; you would take me by the hand and tell me to come up higher.... there was a time, amy, when you wouldn't have had to say it twice--a time when the best there was in me would have leaped to climb to any height you pointed to. the time is past, and i can't recall it, try as i may; there is a change; it goes back to that day when i first saw you--down at the lower ford in the desert's edge. i loved you then, though i wouldn't admit it even to myself. but that wasn't the change; it was something different. do you believe in freiborg's theory of the multiple personality? i saw his book in your hammock one day when i was up here." "no," she said quite definitely. "i am i, and i am always i. for the purposes of the comedy we call life, we play many parts, perhaps; but back of the part-playing there is always the same soul person, i think--and believe." "i know; that is common sense and sanity. and yet freiborg's speculations are most plausible. he merely carries the idea of the dual personality--the doctor jekyll and mr. hyde notion--a step farther along. you may remember how he compares the human being to a ship changing commanders at every port. one captain makes her a merchantman; another makes her a tramp; a third turns her into a slaver or a pirate; under a fourth she becomes a derelict." "that is a terribly dangerous theory, if you take it seriously," was her comment. "i don't want to take it seriously. but facts are stubborn things. i am not the same man i was a few years or even a few months ago. i have lost something; i have not the same promptings; things that i used to loathe no longer shock me. new and unsuspected pitfalls open for me every day. for example, i am not naturally hot-headed--or rather, i should say, i am quick-tempered but have always been able to control myself. yet in the past few months i have learned what it means to fly into a rage that fairly makes me see red. and there is no cause. nothing different has broken into my life save the best of all things--a great love. and you tell me that the love is unworthy." "no, i didn't say that; i only meant that you had misconceived it. love is the truest, finest thing we know. it can never be the tool of evil, much less the hand that guides the tool. given a free field, it always makes for the wider horizons, the higher planes of thought and action; it may even breathe new life into the benumbed conscience. i don't say that it can't be dragged down and trampled in the dust and the mire; it can be, and then there is nothing more pitiful in a world of misconceptions." again a silence came and sat between them; and, as before, it was the man who broke it. "you lead me to a conclusion that i refuse to accept, amy; that i am dominated by some influence which is stronger than love." "you are," she said simply. "what is it?" "environment." "that is the most humiliating thing you have said to-day. is a man a mere bit of driftwood, to be tossed about in the froth of any wave that happens to come along, as freiborg says he is?" "not always; perhaps not often. and never, i think, in the best part of him--the soul ego. yet there is a mighty power in the wave, in the mere drift. however much others may be deluded, i am sure you can see mirapolis in its true light. it is frankly, baldly, the money-making scheme of a few unscrupulous men. it has no future--it can have none. and because it is what it is, the very air you breathe down there is poisoned. the taint is in the blood. mr. cortwright and his fellow bandits call it the 'miracle city,' but the poor wretches on lower chigringo avenue laugh and call it gomorrah." "just at the present moment it is a city of fools--and i, the king of the fools, have made it so," said brouillard gloomily. from his seat on the porch step he was frowning down upon the outspread scene in the valley, where the triangular shadow of jack's mountain was creeping slowly across to the foot of chigringo. something in the measured eye-sweep brought him to his feet with a hasty exclamation: "good lord! the machinery has stopped! they've knocked off work on the dam!" "why not?" she said. "did you imagine that your workmen were any less human than other people?" "no, of course not; that is, i--but i haven't any time to go into that now. is your telephone line up here in operation?" "no, not yet." "then i must burn the wind getting down there. by jove! if those unspeakable idiots have gone off and left the concrete to freeze wherever it happens to be----" "one moment," she pleaded, while he was reaching for his hat. "this new madness will have spent itself by nightfall--it must. and yet i have the queerest shivery feeling, as if something dreadful were going to happen. can't you contrive to get word to me, some way--after it is all over? i wish you could." "i'll do it," he promised. "i'll come up after supper." "no, don't do that. you will be needed at the dam. there will be trouble, with a town full of disappointed gold-hunters, and liquor to be had. wait a minute." she ran into the house and came out with two little paper-covered cylinders with fuses projecting. "take these, they are bengal lights--some of the fireworks that tig bought in red butte for the fourth. light the blue one when you are ready to send me my message of cheer. i shall be watching for it." "and the other?" he asked. "it is a red light, the signal of war and tumults and danger. if you light it, i shall know----" he nodded, dropped the paper cylinders into his pocket, and a moment later was racing down the trail to take his place at the helm of the abandoned ship of the industries. there was need for a commander; for a cool head to bring order out of chaos, and for the rare faculty which is able to accomplish herculean tasks with whatever means lie at hand. brouillard descended upon his disheartened subordinates like a whirlwind of invincible energy, electrifying everybody into instant action. gassman was told off to bring the indians, who alone were loyally indifferent to the gold craze, down from the crushers. anson was despatched to impress the waiters and bell-boys from the metropole; leshington was sent to the shops and the bank to turn out the clerks; grislow and handley were ordered to take charge of the makeshift concrete handlers as fast as they materialized, squadding them and driving the work of wreck clearing for every man and minute they could command, with gassman and bender to act as foremen. for himself, brouillard reserved the most hazardous of the recruiting expedients. the lower avenue had already become a double rank of dives, saloons, and gambling dens; here, if anywhere in the craze-depopulated town, men might be found, and for once in their lives they should be shown how other men earned money. "shove it for every minute of daylight there is left," he ordered, snapping out his commands to his staff while he was filling the magazine of his winchester. "puddle what material there is in the forms, dump the telpher buckets where they stand, and clean out the mixers; that's the size of the job, and it's got to be done. jump to it, grizzy, you and handley, and we'll try to fill your gangs the best way we can. leshington, don't you take any refusal from the shopkeepers and the bank people; if they kick, you tell them that not another dollar of government money will be spent in this town--we'll run a free commissary first. anson, you make bongras turn out every man in his feeding place; he'll do it. griffith, you chase mr. cortwright, and don't quit till you find him. tell him from me that we've got to have every man he can give us, at whatever cost." "you'll be up on the stagings yourself, won't you?" asked grislow, struggling into his working-coat. "after a bit. i'm going down to the lower avenue to turn out the crooks and diamond wearers. it's time they were learning how to earn an honest dollar." "you'll get yourself killed up," grumbled leshington. "work is the one thing you won't get out of that crowd." "watch me," rasped the chief, and he was gone as soon as he had said it. strange things and strenuous happened in the lower end of the niquoia valley during the few hours of daylight that remained. first, climbing nervously to the puddlers' staging on the great dam, and led by near-napoleon poodles himself, came the metropole quota of waiters, scullions, cooks, and porters, willing but skilless. after them, and herded by leshington, came a dapper crew of office men and clerks to snatch up the puddling spades and to soil their clothes and blister their hands in emptying the concrete buckets. mr. cortwright's contribution came as a dropping fire; a handful of tree-cutters from the sawmills, a few men picked up here and there in the deserted town, an automobile load of power-company employees shot down from the generating plant at racing speed. last, but by no means least in numbers, came the human derelicts from the lower avenue; men in frock-coats; men in cow-boy jeans taking it as a huge joke; men with foreign faces and lowering brows and with strange oaths in their mouths; and behind the motley throng and marshalling it to a quickstep, brouillard and tig smith. it was hot work and heavy for the strangely assorted crew, and brouillard drove it to the limit, bribing, cajoling, or threatening, patrolling the long line of staging to encourage the awkward puddlers, or side-stepping swiftly to the mixers to bring back a detachment of skulkers at the rifle's muzzle. and by nightfall the thing was done, with the loss reduced to a minimum and the makeshift laborers dropping out in squads and groups, some laughing, some swearing, and all too weary and toil-worn to be dangerous. "give us a job if we come back to-morrow, mr. brouillard?" called out the king of the gamblers in passing; and the cry was taken up by others in grim jest. "thus endeth the first lesson," said grislow, when the engineering corps was reassembling at the headquarters preparatory to a descent upon the supper-table. but brouillard was dumb and haggard, and when he had hung rifle and cartridge-belt on their pegs behind his desk, he went out, leaving unbroken the silence which had greeted his entrance. "the boss is taking it pretty hard," said young griffith to no one in particular, and it was leshington who took him up savagely and invited him to hold his tongue. "the least said is the soonest mended--at a funeral," was the form the first assistant's rebuke took. "you take my advice and don't mess or meddle with the chief until he's had time to work this thing out of his system." brouillard was working it out in his own way, tramping the streets, hanging on the outskirts of arguing groups of newsmongers, or listening to the bonanza talk of the loungers in the metropole lobby. soon after dark the gold-seekers began to drop in, by twos and threes and in squads, all with the same story of disappointment. by nine o'clock the town was full of them, and since the liquor was flowing freely across many bars, the mutterings of disappointment soon swelled to a thunder roar of drunken rage, with the unknown exhibitor of the specimen nuggets for its object. from threats of vengeance upon the man who had hoaxed an entire town to a frenzied search for the man was but a step, and when brouillard finally left the metropole and crossed over to his office quarters, the mob was hunting riotously for the jeweller levy and promising to hang him--when found--to the nearest wire pole if he should not confess the name and standing of his gold-bug. the shouts of the mob were ringing in brouillard's ears when he strode dejectedly into the deserted map room, and the cries were rising with a new note and in fresher frenzies a little later when grislow came in. the hydrographer's blue eyes were hard and his voice had a tang of bitterness in it when he said: "well, you've done it. three men have just come in with a double handful of nuggets, and mirapolis makes its bow to the world at large as the newest and richest of the gold camps." brouillard had been humped over his desk, and he sprang up with a cry like that of a wounded animal. "it can't be; grizzy, i tell you it can't be! steve massingale planted that gold that i washed out--played me for a fool to get me to work for the railroad. i didn't know it until--until----" "until amy massingale told you about it this afternoon," cut in the map-maker shrewdly. "that's all right. the bar steve took you to was barren enough; they tell me that every cubic foot of it has been washed over in dish pans and skillets in the past few hours. but you know the big bend opposite the quadjenàï hills; the river has built that bend out of its own washings, and the bulletin over at the _spot-light_ office says that the entire peninsula is one huge bank of gold-bearing gravel." at the word brouillard staggered as from the impact of a bullet. then he crossed the room slowly, groping his way toward the peg where the coat he had worn in the afternoon was hanging. grislow saw him take something out of the pocket of the coat, and the next moment the door opened and closed and the hydrographer was left alone. having been planned before there was a city to be considered, the government buildings enclosed three sides of a small open square, facing toward the great dam. in the middle of this open space brouillard stopped, kicked up a little mound of earth, and stood the two paper cylinders on it, side by side. the tempered glow from the city electrics made a soft twilight in the little plaza; he could see the wrapper colors of the two signal-fires quite well. a sharp attack of indecision had prompted him to place both of them on the tiny mound. with the match in his hand, he was still undecided. amy massingale's words came back to him as he hesitated: "light the blue one when you are ready to send me my message of cheer...." on the lips of another woman the words might have taken a materialistic meaning; the miraculous gold discovery would bring the railroad, and the railroad would rescue the massingale mine and restore the massingale fortunes. he looked up at the dark bulk of chigringo, unrelieved even by the tiny fleck of lamplight which he had so often called his guiding star. "take me out of your mind and heart and say which you will have, little girl," he whispered, sending the words out into the void of night. but only the din and clamor of a city gone wild with enthusiasm came to answer him. somewhere on the avenue a band was playing; men were shouting themselves hoarse in excitement, and above the shouting came the staccato crackling of pistols and guns fired in air. he struck the match and stooped over the blue cylinder. "this is your message of cheer, whether you take it that way or not," he went on, whispering again to the silent void. but when the fuse of the blue light was fairly fizzing, he suddenly pinched it out and held the match to the other. * * * * * up on the high bench of the great mountain amy massingale was pacing to and fro on the puncheon-floored porch of the home cabin. her father had gone to bed, and somewhere down among the electric lights starring the valley her brother was mingling with the excited mobs whose shoutings and gun-firings floated up, distance-softened, on the still, thin air of the summer night. though there was no pause in the monotonous pacing back and forth, the girl's gaze never wandered far from a dark area in the western edge of the town--the semicircle cut into the dotting lights and marking the site of the government reservation. it was when a tiny stream of sparks shot up in the centre of the dark area that she stopped and held her breath. then, when a blinding flare followed to prick out the headquarters, the commissary, and the mess house, she sank in a despairing little heap on the floor, with her face hidden in her hands and the quick sobs shaking her like an ague chill. it was brouillard's signal, but it was not the signal of peace; it was the blood-red token of revolution and strife and turmoil. xi the feast of hurrahs mirapolis the marvellous was a hustling, roaring, wide-open mining-camp of twenty thousand souls by the time the railroad, straining every nerve and crowding three shifts into the twenty-four-hour day, pushed its rails along the foot-hill bench of chigringo, tossed up its temporary station buildings, and signalled its opening for business by running a mammoth excursion from the cities of the immediate east. busy as it was, the city took time to celebrate fittingly the event which linked it to the outer world. by proclamation mayor cortwright declared a holiday. there were lavish displays of bunting, an impromptu trades parade, speeches from the plaza band-stand, free lunches and free liquor--a day of boisterous, hilarious triumphings, with, incidentally, much buying and selling and many transfers of the precious "front foot" or choice "corner." yielding to pressure, which was no less imperative from below than from above, brouillard had consented to suspend work on the great dam during the day of triumphs, and the reclamation-service force, smaller now than at any time since the beginning of the undertaking, went to swell the crowds in chigringo avenue. of the engineering staff grislow alone held aloof. early in the morning he trudged away with rod and trout-basket for the upper waters of the niquoia and was seen no more. but the other members of the staff, following the example set by the chief, took part in the hilarities, serving on committees, conducting crowds of sightseers through the government reservation and up to the mixers and stagings, and otherwise identifying themselves so closely with the civic celebration as to give the impression, often commented upon by the visitors, that the building of the great dam figured only as another expression of the mirapolitan activities. for himself, brouillard vaguely envied grislow the solitudes of the upper niquoia. but mr. cortwright had been inexorable. it was right and fitting that the chief executive of the reclamation service should have a part in the rejoicings, and brouillard found himself discomfortingly emphasized as chairman of the civic reception committee. expostulation was useless. mr. cortwright insisted genially, and miss genevieve added her word. and there had been only grislow to smile cynically when the printed programmes appeared with the chief of the buckskin reclamation project down for an address on "modern city building." it was after his part of the speechmaking, and while the plaza crowds were still bellowing their approval of the modest forensic effort, that he went to sit beside miss cortwright in the temporary grand-stand, mopping his face and otherwise exhibiting the after effects of the unfamiliar strain. "i didn't know you could be so convincing," was miss genevieve's comment. "it was splendid! nobody will ever believe that you are going to go on building your dam and threatening to drown us, after this." "what did i say?" queried brouillard, having, at the moment, only the haziest possible idea of what he had said. "as if you didn't know!" she laughed. "you congratulated everybody: us mirapolitans upon our near-city, the miners on their gold output, the manufacturers on their display in the parade, the railroad on its energy and progressive spirit, and the visitors on their perspicuity and good sense in coming to see the latest of the seven wonders of the modern world. and the funny thing about it is that you didn't say a single word about the niquoia dam." "didn't i? that shows how completely your father has converted me, how helplessly i am carried along on the torrent of events." "but you are not," she said accusingly. "deep down in your inner consciousness you don't believe a little bit in mirapolis. you are only playing the game with the rest of us, mr. brouillard. sometimes i am puzzled to know why." brouillard's smile was rather grim. "your father would probably tell you that i have a stake in the game--as everybody else has." "not mr. grislow?" she said, laying her finger inerrantly upon the single exception. "no, not grizzy; i forgot him." "doesn't he want to make money?" she asked, with exactly the proper shade of disinterest. "no; yes, i guess he does, too. but he is--er--well, i suppose you might call him a man of one idea." "meaning that he is too uncompromisingly honest to be one of us? i think you are right." gorman, mr. cortwright's ablest trumpeter in the real-estate booming, was holding the plaza crowd spellbound with his enthusiastic periods, rising upon his toes and lifting his hands in angel gestures to high heaven in confirmation of his prophetic outlining of the mirapolitan future. in the middle distance, and backgrounding the buildings on the opposite side of the plaza, rose the false work of the great dam--a standing forest of sawed timbers, whose afternoon shadows were already pointing like a many-fingered fate toward the city of the plain. but, though the face of the speaker was toward the shadowing forest, his words ignored it. "the snow-capped timanyonis," "the mighty chigringo," and "the golden-veined slopes of jack's mountain" all came in for eulogistic mention; but the massive wall of concrete, with its bristling parapet of timbers, had no part in the orator's flamboyant descriptive. brouillard broke the spell of the grandiloquent rantings, and came back to what miss genevieve was saying. "yes, murray is stubbornly honest," he agreed; adding: "he is too good for this world, or rather for this little cross-section of pandemonium named mirapolis." "which, inasmuch as we are making mirapolis what it is, is more than can be said for most of us," laughed miss cortwright. then, with a purposeful changing of the subject: "where is miss massingale? as the original 'daughter of the niquoia' she ought to have a place on the band-stand." "she was with tig smith and lord falkland when the parade formed," rejoined the engineer. "i saw them on the balcony of the metropole." "since you are the chairman of the reception committee, i think you ought to go and find her," said miss genevieve pointedly, so pointedly that brouillard rose laughing and said: "thank you for telling me; whom shall i send to take my place here?" "oh, anybody--lord falkland will do. by the way, did you know that he _is_ lord falkland now? his elder brother died a few weeks ago." "no, i hadn't heard it. i should think he would want to go home." "he does. but he, too, has contracted mirapolitis. he has been investing any number of pounds sterling. if you find him send him to me. i want to see how the real, simon-pure american brand of oratory affects a british title." brouillard went, not altogether unwillingly. loving amy massingale with a passion which, however blind it might be on the side of the higher moralities, was still keen-sighted enough to assure him that every plunge he made in the mirapolitan whirlpool was sweeping him farther away from her; he found himself drifting irresistibly into the inner circle of attraction of which genevieve cortwright was the centre. whether miss cortwright's influence was for good or for evil, in his own case, or was entirely disinterested, he could never quite determine. there were times, like this present instant of blatant rejoicings, when she was brightly cynical, flinging a mocking jest at all things mirapolitan. but at other times he had a haunting conviction that she was at heart her father's open-eyed ally and abettor, taking up as she might the burden of filial loyalty thrown down by her brother van bruce, who, in his short summer of mirapolitan citizenship, had been illustrating all the various methods by which a spoiled son of fortune may go to the dogs. brouillard faced the impossible brother and the almost equally impossible father when he thought of genevieve cortwright. but latterly the barriers on that side had been crumbling more and more. once, and once only, had he mentioned the trusteeship debt to genevieve, and on that occasion she had laughed lightly at what she had called his strained sense of honor. the laugh had come at a critical moment. it was in the height of the madness following the discovery of the placers, in an hour when brouillard would have given his right hand to undo the love-prompted disloyalty to his service, that cortwright, whose finger was on everybody's pulse, had offered to buy in the thousand shares of power company's stock at par. brouillard had seen freedom in a stroke of the millionaire's pen; but it was a distinct downward step that by this time he was coming to look upon the payment of his father's honor debt as a hard necessity. he meant to pay it, but there was room for the grim determination that the payment should forever sever him from the handicapped past. he had transferred the stock, minus a single share to cover his official standing on the power company's board, to cortwright and had received the millionaire's check in payment. it was in the evening of the same eventful day, he remembered, that genevieve cortwright had laughed, and the letter, which was already written to the treasurer of a certain indianapolis trust company, was not mailed. instead of mailing it he had opened an account at the niquoia national, and the ninety-nine thousand nine hundred dollars had since grown by speculative accretions to the rounded first eighth of a million which all financiers agree in calling the stepping-stone to fortune. he had regarded this money--was still regarding it--as a loan; his lever with which to pry out something which he could really call his own. but more and more possession and use were dulling the keen edge of accountability and there were moments of insight when the grim irony of taking the price of honor to pay an honor debt forced itself upon him. at such moments he plunged more recklessly, in one of them taking stock in a gold-dredge company which was to wash nuggets by the wholesale out of the quadjenàï bend, in another buying yet other options in the newest suburb of mirapolis. what was to come of all this he would not suffer himself to inquire; but two results were thrusting themselves into the foreground. every added step in the way he had chosen was taking him farther from the ideals of an ennobling love and nearer to a possibility which precluded all ideals. notwithstanding grislow's characterization of her as a trophy hunter, genevieve cortwright was, after all, a woman, and as a woman she was to be won. with the naïve conceit of a man who has broken into the heart of one woman, brouillard admitted no insurmountable obstacles other than those which the hard condition of being himself madly in love with another woman might interpose; and there were times when, to the least worthy part of him, the possibility was alluring. miss cortwright's distinctive beauty, her keen and ready wit, the assurance that she would never press the ideals beyond the purely conventional limits; in the course of time these might happily smother the masterful passion which had thus far been only a blind force driving him to do evil that good might ensue. some such duel of motives was fighting itself to an indecisive conclusion in the young engineer's thoughts when he plunged into the sidewalk throngs in search of the englishman, and it was not until after he had found falkland and had delivered miss genevieve's summons that the duel paused and immediate and more disquieting impressions began to record themselves. with the waning of the day of celebrations the temper of the street throngs was changing. it is only the people of the latinized cities who can take the carnival spirit lightly; in other blood liberty grows to license and the thin veneer of civilized restraints quickly disappears. from early dawn the saloons and dives had been adding fuel to the flames, and light-heartedness and good-natured horse-play were giving way to sardonic humor and brutality. in the short faring through the crowded street from the plaza to the metropole corner brouillard saw and heard things to make his blood boil. women, those who were not a part of the unrestrained mob, were disappearing from the streets, and it was well for them if they could find shelter near at hand. twice before he reached bongras's café entrance the engineer shouldered his way to the rescue of some badgered nucleus of excursionists, and in each instance there were frightened women to be hurriedly spirited away to the nearest place of seclusion and safety. it was in front of bongras's that brouillard came upon the reverend hugh castner, the hot-hearted young zealot who had been flung into mirapolis on the crest of the tidal wave of mining excitement. though hosford--who had not been effaced, as mr. cortwright had promised he should be--and the men of his clique called the young missionary a meddlesome visionary, he stood in the stature of a man, and lower chigringo avenue loved him and swore by him; and sent for him now and then when some poor soul, hastily summoned, was to be eased off into eternity. when brouillard caught sight of him castner was looking out over the seething street caldron from his commanding height of six feet of athletic man stature, his strong face a mask of bitter humiliation and concern. "brouillard, this is simply hideous!" he exclaimed. "if this devils' carnival goes on until nightfall we shall have a revival of the old roman saturnalia at its worst!" then, with a swift blow at the heart of the matter: "you're the man i've been wanting to see; you are pretty close in with the cortwright junta--is it true that free whiskey has been dealt out to the crowd over the bar in the niquoia building?" brouillard said that he did not know, which was true, and that he could not believe it possible, which was not true. "the cortwright people are as anxious to have the celebration pass off peaceably as even you can be," he assured the young missionary, trying to buttress the thing which was not true. "when riot comes in at the door, business flies out at the window; and, after all, this feast of hurrahs is merely another bid for business." but castner was shaking his head. "i can't answer for mr. cortwright personally. he and handley and schermerhorn and a few of the others seem to stand for respectability of a sort. but, mr. brouillard, i want to tell you this: somebody in authority is grafting upon the vice of this community, not only to-day but all the time." "the community is certainly vicious enough to warrant any charge you can make," admitted brouillard. then he changed the topic abruptly. "have you seen miss massingale since noon?" "yes; i saw her with smith, the cattleman, at the other end of the avenue about an hour ago." "heavens!" gritted the engineer. "didn't smith know better than to take her down there at such a time as this?" the young missionary was frowning thoughtfully. "i think it was the other way about. her brother has been drinking again, and i took it for granted that she and smith were looking for him." brouillard buttoned his coat and pulled his soft hat over his eyes. "i'm going to look for her," he said. "will you come along?" castner nodded, and together they put their shoulders to the crowd. the slow progress northward was nearly a battle. the excursion trains returning to red butte and brewster were scheduled to leave early, and the stream of blatant, uproarious humanity was setting strongly toward the temporary railroad station. again and again the engineer and his companion had to intervene by word and blow to protect the helpless in the half-drunken, gibe-flinging crush, and in these sallies castner bore his part like a man, expostulating first and hitting out afterward in a fashion that left no doubt in the mind of his antagonist of the moment. so, struggling, they came finally to the open square of the plaza. here the speechmaking was concluded and the crowd was thinning a little. there was a clamorous demonstration of some sort going on around the band-stand, but they left it behind and pushed on into the less noisy but more dangerous region of the lower avenue. in one of the saloons, as they passed, a sudden crackling of pistol-shots began, and a mob of terrorized reclamation-service workmen poured into the street, sweeping all obstacles before it in a mad rush for safety. "it was little less than a crime to turn your laborers loose on the town on such an occasion as this," said castner, dealing out his words as frankly and openly as he did his blows. brouillard shrugged. "if i hadn't given them the day they would have taken it without leave. you'll have to pass the responsibility on to some one higher up." the militant one accepted the challenge promptly. "it lies ultimately at the door of those whose insatiate greed has built this new gomorrah in the shadow of your dam." he wheeled suddenly and flung a long arm toward the half-finished structure filling the gap between the western shoulders of chigringo and jack's mountain. "there stands the proof of god's wisdom in hiding the future from mankind, mr. brouillard. because a little section of humanity here behind that great wall knows the end of its hopes, and the manner and time of that end, it becomes demon-ridden, irreclaimable!" at another time the engineer might have felt the force of the tersely eloquent summing up of the accusation against the mirapolitan attitude. but now he was looking anxiously for amy massingale or her escort, or both of them. "surely smith wouldn't let her stay down here a minute longer than it took to get her away," he said impatiently as a pair of drunken cornishmen reeled out of haley's place and usurped the sidewalk. "where was it you saw them, castner?" "they were in front of 'pegleg john's', in the next block. miss massingale was waiting for smith, who was just coming out of pegleg's den shaking his head. i put two and two together and guessed they were looking for stephen." "if they went there miss amy had her reasons. let's try it," said brouillard, and he was half-way across the street when castner overtook him. there was a dance-hall next door to pegleg john's barrel-house and gambling rooms, and, though the daylight was still strong enough to make the electrics garishly unnecessary, the orgy was in full swing, the raucous clanging of a piano and the shuffle and stamp of many feet drowning the monotonous cries of the sidewalk "barker," who was inviting all and sundry to enter and join the dancers. castner would have stopped to question the "barker"--was, in fact, trying to make himself heard--when the sharp crash of a pistol-shot dominated the clamor of the piano and the stamping feet. brouillard made a quick dash for the open door of the neighboring barrel-house, and castner was so good a second that they burst in as one man. the dingy interior of pegleg john's, which was merely a barrel-lined vestibule leading to the gambling rooms beyond, staged a tragedy. a handsome young giant, out of whose face sudden agony had driven the brooding passion of intoxication, lay, loose-flung, on the sawdust-covered floor, with amy massingale kneeling in stricken, tearless misery beside him. almost within arm's-reach van bruce cortwright, the slayer, was wrestling stubbornly with tig smith and the fat-armed barkeeper, who were trying to disarm him, his heavy face a mask of irresponsible rage and his lips bubbling imprecations. "turn me loose," he gritted. "i'll fix him so he won't give the governor's snap away! he'll pipe the story of the coronida grant off to the papers?--not if i kill him till he's too dead to bury, i guess." castner ignored the wrestling three and dropped quickly on his knees beside stephen massingale, bracing the misery-stricken girl with the needed word of hope and directing her in low tones how to help him search for the wound. but brouillard hurled himself with an oath upon young cortwright, and it was he, and neither the cattleman nor the fat-armed barkeeper, who wrenched the weapon out of cortwright's grasp and with it menaced the babbling murderer into silence. xii quicksands a short week after the reclamation service headquarters had been moved from the log-built offices on the government reservation to the commodious and airy suite on the sixth floor of the niquoia building brouillard received the summons which he had been expecting ever since the night of rioting and lawlessness which had marked the close of the railroad celebration. "mr. cortwright would like to see you in his rooms at the metropole," was the message the office boy brought, and brouillard closed his desk with a snap and followed the boy to bongras's. the shrewd-eyed tyrant of mirapolis was in his shirt-sleeves, busily dictating to two stenographers alternately, when the engineer entered the third room of the series; but the work was suspended and the stenographers were sent away as soon as brouillard was announced. "well," was the millionaire's greeting, "you waited to be sent for, didn't you?" "why not?" said brouillard shortly. "i have my work to do and you have yours." "and the two jobs are at opposite ends of the string, you'd say. never mind; we can't afford to throw each other down, and just now you can tell me a few things that i want to know. how is young massingale getting along?" "as well as could be expected. carruthers--the doctor--says he is out of danger." "h'm. it has been handed in to me two or three times lately that the old man is out gunning for van bruce or for me. any truth in that?" "i think not. massingale is a kentuckian, and i fancy he is quite capable of potting either one or both of you for the attack on his son. but so far he has done nothing--has hardly left steve's bedside." mr. j. wesley cortwright flung himself back in his luxurious swing chair and clasped his pudgy hands over the top of his head where the reddish-gray hair was thinning reluctantly. "i've been putting it off to see which way the cat was going to jump," he admitted. "if young massingale is out of danger, it is time to get action. what was the quarrel about, between him and van bruce?" "why do you ask me?" queried brouillard. "because you are pretty thick with the massingales, and you probably know," was the blunt accounting for the question. "it occurs to me that your son would be a better source of information," said brouillard, still evading. "van bruce has told me all he remembers--which isn't much, owing to his own beastly condition at the time. he says young massingale was threatening something--something in connection with the coronida grant--and that he got the insane idea into his head that the only way to stop the threat was by killing massingale." the sandy-gray eyes of the millionaire promoter were shifting while he spoke, but brouillard fixed and held them before he said: "why should massingale threaten your son, mr. cortwright?" "i don't know," denied the promoter, and he said it without flinching a hair's-breadth. "then i can tell you," was the equally steady rejoinder. "some time ago you lent david massingale, through the bank, a pretty large sum of money for development expenses on the 'little susan,' taking a mortgage on everything in sight to cover the loan." "i did." "massingale's obligation was in short-time, bankable paper, which he expected to take up when the railroad should come in and give him a market for the ore which he has already taken out of the mine." "yes." "but when the railroad was an assured fact he learned that the red butte smelters wouldn't take his ore, giving some technical reason which he knew to be a mere excuse." mr. cortwright nodded. "so far you might be reading it out of a book." "in consequence of these successive happenings, david massingale finds himself in a fair way to become a broken man by the simplest of commercial processes. the bank holds his notes, which will presently have to be paid. if he can't pay, the bank comes back on you as his indorser, and you fall back on your mortgage and take the mine. isn't that about the size of it?" "it is exactly the size of it." brouillard laughed quietly. "and yet you said a moment ago that you didn't know why young massingale should threaten your son." "and i don't know yet," blustered the magnate. "is it my fault that massingale can't pay his debts?" the engineer had stopped laughing when he said definitely and decidedly: "it is." it was the promoter's turn to laugh. "what sort of a bug have you got in your cosmos this morning, brouillard? why, man, you're crazy!" brouillard rose and relighted his cigar. "if that is your last word, mr. cortwright, i may as well go back to my office. you don't need me." "oh, hold on; don't go off in a huff. you're too thin-skinned for any common kind of use. i was only trying you to see how far you'd carry it. let it stand. assume, for the sake of argument, that i _do_ want the 'little susan' and that i've got a good friend or two in the red butte smelters who will help me get it. now, then, does that stand the band-wagon upon its wheels again?" brouillard's black eyes were snapping, but his voice was quite steady when he said: "thank you; now we shall go on better. you want the 'little susan,' and massingale naturally thinks you're taking an unfair advantage of him to get it. quite as naturally he is going to make reprisals if he can. that brings us down to the mention of the coronida grant and stephen massingale's threat--which your son can't remember." "right-o," said mr. cortwright, still with predetermined geniality. "what was the threat?" "i don't know, but the guessing list is open to everybody. there was once a grant of many square miles of mountain and desert somewhere in this region made to one don estacio de montarriba coronida. like those of most of the great spanish land grants, the boundaries of this one were loosely described and----" mr. cortwright held up a fat hand. "i know what you're going to say. but we went into all that at washington before we ever invested a single dollar in this valley. as you may or may not know, the reclamation service bureau tried to choke us off. but when it came down to brass tacks, they lacked a witness. we may be in the bed of your proposed lake, but we're safely on coronida land." "so you say," said brouillard quietly, "and on the strength of that you have been guaranteeing titles." "oh, no," protested the millionaire. "we have merely referred purchasers to the record. there is a clause in every deed." "but you have caused it to be believed that your title was good, that the government's claim to the land will not hold." "it won't hold if we're on coronida land." "ah! just there is where massingale comes in, i imagine. he has spent twenty years or more in this region, and he knows every landmark in it. what if he should be able to put a lighted match to your pile of kindling, mr. cortwright?" the promoter pulled himself erect with a grip on either arm of the chair. "brouillard, do you know what you are talking about?" he demanded. "no; it is only a guess. but as matters stand--with your son indictable for an attempted murder ... if i were you, mr. cortwright, i believe i'd give david massingale a chance to pay those notes at the bank." "and let him blackmail me? not in a month of sundays, brouillard! let him sell his ore and pay the notes if he can. if he can't, i'll take the mine." "all right," said the visitor placably. "you asked, and i've answered. now let's come to something more vital to both of us. there is a pretty persistent rumor on the street that you and your associates succeeded in getting a resolution through both houses of congress at the last session, appointing a committee to investigate this coronida claim right here on the ground. nobody seems to have any definite details, and it possibly hasn't occurred to any one that congress hasn't been in session since mirapolis was born. but that doesn't matter. the committee is coming: you have engaged rooms for it here in bongras's. you are expecting the private-car special next week." "well?" said the magnate. "you're a pretty good kindergartner. but what of it?" "oh, nothing. only i think you might have taken me in on the little side play. what if i had gone about town contradicting the rumor?" "why should you? it's true. the congressional party will be here next week, and nobody has made any secret of it." "still, i might have been taken in," persisted brouillard suavely. "you'll surely want to give me my instructions a little beforehand, won't you? just think how easily things might get tangled. suppose i should say to somebody--to garner, for example--that the town was hugely mistaken; that no congressional committee had ever been appointed; that these gentlemen who are about to visit us are mere complaisant friends of yours, coming as your guests, on a junketing trip at your expense. wouldn't that be rather awkward?" the mayor of mirapolis brought his hands together, fist in palm, and for a flitting instant the young engineer saw in the face of the father the same expression that he had seen in the face of the son when van bruce cortwright was struggling for a second chance to kill a man. "damn you!" said the magnate savagely; "you always know too much! you're bargaining with me!" "well, you have bargained with me, first, last, and all the time," was the cool retort. "on each occasion i have had my price, and you have paid it. now you are going to pay it again. shall i go over to the _spot-light_ office and tell harlan what i know?" "you can't bluff me that way, brouillard, and you ought to sense it by this time. do you suppose i don't know how you are fixed?--that you've got money--money that you used to say you owed somebody else--tied up in mirapolis investments?" brouillard rose and buttoned his coat. "there is one weak link in your chain, mr. cortwright," he said evenly; "you don't know men. put on your coat and come over to harlan's office with me. it will take just about two minutes to satisfy you that i'm not bluffing." for a moment it appeared that the offer was to be accepted. but when he had one arm in a coat sleeve, brouillard's antagonist in the game of hardihood changed his tactics. "forget it," he growled morosely. "what do you want this time?" "i want you to send a wire to red butte telling the smelter people that you will be glad to have them handle the 'little susan' ore." "and if i do?" "if you do, two things otherwise due to happen adversely will go over to your side of the market. i'll agree to keep out of the way of the sham washington delegation, and i think i can promise that harlan won't make a scare-head of the facts concerning the coronida land titles." mr. cortwright thrust the other arm into the remaining coat sleeve and scowled. but the rebound to the norm of brusque good-nature came almost immediately. "you are improving wonderfully, brouillard, and that's no joke. i have a large respect for a man who can outbid me in my own corner. you ought to be in business--and you will be, some time. i'll send the wire, but i warn you in advance that i can't make the smelter people take massingale's ore if they don't want to. all i can do is to give the old man a free field." "that is all he will ask--all i'll ask, except one small personal favor: don't rub your masquerading washington delegation into me too hard. a fine quality of non-interference is about all you are buying from me, and----" the interruption came in the form of a tap at the door opening into the hotel corridor, and brouillard, at a sign from the master of the precincts, turned the knob. it was miss genevieve who entered, bringing the sweet breeziness and audacity of youth and beauty and health with her. "how fortunate!" she exclaimed, with the charming smile that accorded so perfectly with her fresh, early-morning radiance. and while the hand of greeting still lay in brouillard's: "i have just been up to your office, and they told me they hadn't the smallest idea where you could be found. are you going to be _very_ busy this afternoon?" brouillard gave the required denial, and she explained her quest of him. there was to be an auto party to the newly opened casino at the upper power dam. would he go, if he might have the post of honor behind the pilot-wheel of the new sixty-horse, seven-passenger flyer? _please!_ mr. cortwright leaned heavily upon his desk while the asking and answering went on, and the shrewd, gray eyes were busy. when his daughter went out and brouillard was about to follow her, the genial web spinner stopped him. "tell me one thing, brouillard: what is your stake in the massingale game? are you a silent partner in the 'little susan'?" "no." "then why are you so anxious to make old david a rich man at my expense? are you going to marry the girl?" the engineer did not resent the question as he would have resented it a few weeks earlier. instead he smiled and said: "a little while ago, mr. cortwright, i told you that you didn't know men; now i'll add that you don't know women." "i know gene," said the web spinner cryptically, and this was the word that brouillard took with him when he went back to his offices in the niquoia building. xiii flood tide public opinion, skilfully formed upon models fashioned in mayor cortwright's municipal laboratory, dealt handsomely with the little group of widely heralded visitors--the "congressional committee"--penetrating to the wonder city, not by special train, to be sure, but still with creditable circumstance in president ford's private car "nadia," attached to the regular express from brewster. for example, when it was whispered about, some days before the auspicious arrival, that the visiting lawmakers wished for no public demonstration of welcome, it was resolved, both in the city council and in the commercial club, that the wish should be rigidly respected. later, when there filtered out from the same secret source of information a hint to the effect that the committee of investigation, for the better forming of an unbiassed opinion, desired to be regarded merely as a body of representative citizens and the guests of mayor cortwright, and not as national legislators, this desire, too, was respected; and even harlan, itching to his finger-tips for something definite to print in the _spot-light_, denied himself the bare, journalistic, bread-and-butter necessity of interviewing the lawmakers. safeguarded, then, by the loyal incuriosity of an entire city, the visitors went about freely, were fêted, dined, banqueted, and entertained as distinguished citizens of the greater america; were personally conducted over the government work, and were autoed to the quadjenàï placers, to the upper valley, and to the canal diggers' camps in the buckskin, all without prejudice to the official incognito which it was understood they wished to preserve. hence, after the farewell banquet at the commercial club, at which even the toasts had ignored the official mission of mayor cortwright's guests, when the "nadia," reprovisioned and tastefully draped with the national colors, was coupled to the outgoing train in the chigringo yards, tingling curiosity still restrained itself, said nothing and did nothing until the train had stormed out on the beginning of its steep climb to war arrow pass. then the barriers went down. in less than half an hour after the departure of the visitors, the _spot-light_ office was besieged by eager tip hunters, and the metropole café and lobby were thronged and buzzing like the compartments of an anxious beehive. harlan stood the pressure at the newspaper office as long as he could. then he slipped out the back way and prevailed upon bongras to smuggle him up to mr. cortwright's rooms. here there was another anxious deputation in waiting, but harlan's card was honored at once. "news!" gasped the editor, when he had broken into the privacies. "they're about to mob us over at the office, and the town will go crazy if it can't be given at least a hint of what the committee's report is likely to be. i tell you, mr. cortwright, it's panic, or the biggest boom we ever dreamed of!" "sit down, harlan," said the great man calmly, pushing the open box of cigars across the desk to the editor; "sit down and get a fresh grip on your nerves. there will be no panic; of that you can be absolutely certain. but, on the other hand, we mustn't kick the fat into the fire when everything is going our way. naturally, i am under bonds to keep my mouth shut until after the committee has made its report. i can't even give you the hint you want. but i will say this--and you can put it in an interview if you like: i'm not refusing anything in the shape of mirapolis realty at ruling prices. that's all i can say at present." harlan was hustled out, as he had been hustled in, half dazed and wholly in despair. there was a light in brouillard's office on the sixth floor of the niquoia building, and thither he went, hoping against hope, for latterly the chief of the reclamation service had been more than usually reticent. "what do you know, brouillard?" was the form his demand took when, finding that the elevator had stopped, he had dragged himself up the five flights of stairs. "i'm up against it good and hard if i can't print something in to-morrow's paper." "go to cortwright," suggested the engineer. "he's your man." "just come from him, and i couldn't get a thing there except his admission that he is buying instead of selling." "well, what more do you want? haven't you any imagination?" "plenty of it, and, by gad, i'm going to use it unless you put it to sleep! tell me a few correlative things, brouillard, and i'll make a noise like going away. is it true that you've had orders from washington within the past few days to cut your force on the dam one half?" the engineer was playing with the paper-knife, absently marking little circles and ellipses on his desk blotter, and the ash on his cigar grew a full quarter of an inch before he replied: "not for publication, harlan, i'm sorry to say." "but you have the order?" "yes." "do you know the reason why it was given?" "i do." "is it a good reason?" "it is a very excellent reason, indeed." "does the order cover more than the work on the dam?" "yes; it extends to the canal diggers in the buckskin." "good. then i'll ask only one more question, and if you answer it at all i know you'll tell me the truth: are you, individually, buying or selling on the real estate exchange? take your time, brouillard, but, for god's sake, don't turn me down." brouillard did take time, plenty of it. over and over the point of the paper-knife traced the creased circles and ellipses, and the ash on the slowly burning cigar grew longer. harlan was a student of men, but his present excitement was against him. otherwise he could not have stared so long and so intently at brouillard's face without reading therein the record of the soul struggle his final question had evoked. and if he had read, he would have interpreted differently the quick flinging down of the paper-cutter, and the sudden hardening of the jaw muscles when brouillard spoke. "i'm buying, harlan; when i sell it is only to buy again." the newspaper man rose and held out his hand. "you're a man and a brother, brouillard, and i'm your friend for life. with only a fraction of your chance at inside information, i've stayed on the up-hill side, straight through, myself. and i'll tell you why. i've banked on you. i've said to myself that it was safe for me to wade around in the edges if you could plunge out in the sure-enough swimming-hole. i'm going to stay until you give me the high sign to crawl out on the bank. is that asking too much?" "no. if the time ever comes when i have anything to say, i'll say it to you. but don't lose sight of the 'if,' and don't lean too hard on me. i'm a mighty uncertain quantity these days, harlan, and that's the truest thing i've told you since you butted in. good-night." mirapolis awoke to a full sense of its opportunities on the morning following the departure of its distinguished guests. though the _spot-light_ was unable to say anything conclusively definite, harlan had made the most of what he had; and, trickling in from a dozen independent sources, as it seemed, came jubilant confirmation of the _spot-light's_ optimistic editorials. in such a crisis all men are liars. now that the visiting delegation was gone, there were scores of witnesses willing to testify that the honorable tom, dick, or harry had dropped the life-giving word; and though each fictionist knew that his own story was a fabrication, it was only human to believe that of the man with whom he exchanged the whispered confidence. to the lies and the exaggerations was presently added a most convincing truth. by ten o'clock it was the talk of the lobbies, the club, and the exchanges that the reclamation service was already abandoning the work on the great dam. one half of the workmen were to be discharged at once, and doubtless the other half would follow as soon as the orders could come from washington. appealed to by a mob of anxious inquirers, brouillard did not deny the fact of the discharges, and thereupon the city went mad in a furor of speculative excitement in comparison with which the orgy of the gold discoverers paled into insignificance. "curb" exchanges sprang into being in the metropole lobby, in the court of the niquoia building, and at a dozen street corners on the avenue. word went to the placers, and by noon the miners had left their sluice-boxes and were pouring into town to buy options at prices that would have staggered the wildest plunger otherwhere, or at any other time. brouillard closed his desk at one o'clock and went to fight his way through the street pandemonium to bongras's. at a table in the rear room he found david massingale, his long, white beard tucked into the closely buttoned miner's coat to be out of the way of the flying knife and fork, while he gave a lifelike imitation of a man begrudging every second of time wasted in stopping the hunger gap. brouillard took the opposite chair and was grimly amused at the length of time that elapsed before massingale realized his presence. "pity a man has to stop to eat on a day like this, isn't it, mr. massingale?" he laughed; and then: "i wouldn't hurry. there's another day coming; or if there isn't, we'll all be in the same boat. how is steve?" massingale nodded. "the boy's comin' along all right now; he allows to be out in another week 'r two." then the inevitable question: "they're sayin' on the street that you're lettin' out half o' your men--that so?" brouillard laughed again. "i've heard it so often that i've come to believe it myself," he admitted, adding: "yes, it's true." after which he asked a question of his own: "have you been doing something in real estate this morning, mr. massingale?" "all i could," mumbled the old man between mouthfuls. "but i cayn't do much. if it ain't one thing, it's another. 'bout as soon as i got that tangle with the red butte smelter straightened out, the railroad hit me." "how was that?" queried brouillard, with quickening interest coming alive at a bound. "same old song, no cars; try and get 'em to-morruh, and to-morruh it'll be next day, and next day it'll be the day after. looks like they don't _want_ to haul any freight _out_ o' here." "i see," said brouillard, and truly he saw much more than david massingale did. then: "no shipments means no money for you, and more delay; and delay happens to be the one thing you can't stand. when do those notes of yours fall due?" "huh?" said massingale. he was a close-mouthed man, by breeding and by habit, and he was quite sure he had never mentioned the "little susan" entanglement to the young engineer. brouillard became more explicit. "the notes covering your indebtedness to the bank for the money you've been putting into development work and improvements--i asked when they would become due." the old man's heavy white eyebrows bent themselves in a perplexed frown. "amy hadn't ort to talk so much," he objected. "business is business." brouillard's smile was a tacit denial of the implication. "you forget that there were several other parties to the transaction and that any man's business is every man's in this crazy town," he suggested. "but you haven't answered my question about the due date. i didn't ask it out of idle curiosity, i assure you." massingale was troubled, and his fine old face showed it plainly. "i ain't much of a man to holler when i've set the woods afire myself," he answered slowly. "but i don't know why i shouldn't yip a little to you if i feel like it. to-day is the last day on them notes, and i'd about made up my mind that i was goin' up the spout on a sure thing for the fourth time since i hit the mount'ins, when this here new excitement broke out." "go on," said brouillard. "i saw a chance--about a one-to-a-hundred shot. i'd been to see hardwick at the bank, and he gave me the ultimaytum good and cold; if i couldn't lift the paper, the bank'd have to go back on my indorser, john wes. i had a little over five thousand left out o' the borray, and i took it and broke for the real estate exchange. been there for three solid hours, turnin' my little stake over like a flapjack on a hot griddle; but it ain't any use, i cayn't turn it fast enough, 'r often enough, betwixt now and three o'clock." one of bongras's rear-room luxuries was a portable telephone for every group of tables. brouillard made a sign to the waiter, and the desk set was brought to him. if david massingale recognized the number asked for, he paid no attention; and, since a man may spend his life digging holes in the ground and still retain the instincts of a gentleman--if he happens to have been born with them--he was equally oblivious to the disjointed half of the telephone conversation he might have listened to. "hello! is that boyer--niquoia national?... this is brouillard. can you give me my present figure?... not more than that?... oh, yes; you say the hillman check is in; i had overlooked it. all right, thank you." when the waiter had removed the desk set, the engineer leaned toward his table companion: "mr. massingale, i'm going to ask you to tell me frankly what kind of a deal it was you made with cortwright and the bank people." "it was the biggest tom-fool razzle that any livin' live man out of a lunatic 'sylum ever went into," confessed the prisoner of fate. "i was to stock the 'susan' for half a million--oh, she's worth it, every dollar of it; you might say the ore's in sight for it right now"--this in deference to brouillard's brow-lifting of surprise. "they was to put in a hundred thousand cash, and i was to put in the mine and the ore on the dump, just as she stood." the engineer nodded and massingale went on. "i was to have two thirds of the stock and they was to have one third. the hundred thousand for development we'd get at the bank, on my notes, because i was president and the biggest stockholder, with john wes. as indorser. then, to protect the bank accordin' to law, they said, we'd put the whole bunch o' stock--mine and their'n--into escrow in the hands of judge williams. when the notes was paid, the judge'd hand the stock back to us." "just a moment," interrupted brouillard. "did you sign those notes personally, or as president of the new company?" "that's where they laid for me," said the old man shamefacedly. "we made the money turn before we _was_ a company--while we was waitin' for the charter." "of course," commented brouillard. "and they rushed you into it on the plea of saving time. but you say the stock was to be released when the notes were paid--what was to happen if they were not paid?" "right there is where john wes.'s ten-dollar-a-bottle sody-pop stuff we was soppin' up must 'a' foolished me plumb silly; i don't just rightly recollect _what_ the judge was to do with the stock if i fell down. i know it was talked all 'round robin hood's barn, up one side and down the other, and they made it look like i couldn't slip up if i tried to. and they made the borray at the bank look fair enough, too." "well, why wasn't it fair?" brouillard wanted to know. "why, sufferin' moses! don't you see? it hadn't ort to 've been needed. _they_ was to put in a hundred thousand, and they wasn't doin' it. it figgered out this-a-way in the talk: they said, what's the use o' takin' the money out o' one pocket and puttin' it into the other? let the bank carry the development loan and let the mine pay it. then we could even up when it come to the dividends." "so it amounts to this: you have given them a clean third of the 'susan' for the mere privilege of borrowing one hundred thousand dollars on your own paper. and if you don't pay, you lose the remaining two thirds as well." "that's about the way it stacks up to a sober man. looks like i needed a janitor to look after my upper story, don't it? and i reckon mebby i do." "one thing more," pressed the relentless querist. "did you really handle the hundred-thousand-dollar development fund yourself, mr. massingale?" "well, no; not exactly. ten thousand dollars of what they called a 'contingent fund' was put in my name; but the treasurer handled most of it--nachurly, we bein' a stock company." "who is your treasurer?" "feller with just one share o' stock--parker jackson." "humph! cortwright's private secretary. and he has spent ninety thousand dollars on the 'little susan' in sixty days? not much! what has your pay-roll been?" "'bout five hundred a week." "that is to say between three and four thousand dollars for the two months--call it five thousand. now, let's see--" brouillard took out his pencil and began to make figures on the back of the _menu_ card. he knew the equipment of the "little susan," and his specialty was the making of estimates. hence he was able to say, after a minute or two of figuring: "thirty thousand dollars will amply cover your new equipment: power drills, electric transfers, and the cheap telpherage plant. have you ever seen any vouchers for the money spent?" "no. had i ort to?" "well, rather--as president of the company." massingale tucked the long white beard still farther into the buttoned coat. "i been tellin' you i need a mule-driver to knock a little sense into me," he offered. "it's a bad business any way you attack it," said brouillard after a reflective pause. "what you have really got for yourself out of the deal is the ten-thousand-dollar deposit to your personal account, and nothing more; and they'll probably try to make you a debtor for that. taking that amount and a fair estimate of the company's expenditures to date--say thirty-five thousand in round numbers, which is fairly chargeable to the company's assets as a whole--they still owe you about fifty-five thousand of the original hundred thousand they were to put in. if there were time--but you say this is the last day?" "the last half o' the last day," massingale amended. "i was going to say, if there were time, this thing wouldn't stand the light of day for a minute, mr. massingale. they wouldn't go within a hundred miles of a court of law with it. can't you get an extension on the notes?--but of course you can't; that is just the one thing cortwright doesn't want you to have--more time." "no; you bet he don't." "that being the case, there is no help for it; you'll have to take your medicine and pay the notes. do that, take an iron-clad receipt from the bank--i'll write it out for you--and get the stock released. after that, we'll give them a whirl for the thirty-three and a third per cent they have practically stolen from you." the old man's face, remindful now of his daughter's, was a picture of dismayed incertitude. "i reckon you're forgettin' that i hain't got money enough to lift one edge o' them notes," he said gently. brouillard had found a piece of blank paper in his pocket and was rapidly writing the "iron-clad" receipt. "no, i hadn't forgotten. i have something over a hundred thousand dollars lying idle in the bank. you'll take it and pay the notes." it was a bolt out of a clear sky for the old man tottering on the brink of his fourth pit of disaster, and he evinced his emotion--and the tense strain of keyed-up nerves--by dropping his lifted coffee-cup with a crash into his plate. the little accident was helpful in its way,--it made a diversion,--and by the time the wreck was repaired speech was possible. "are you--are you _plumb_ sure you can spare it?" asked the debtor huskily. and then: "i cayn't seem to sort o' surround it--all in a bunch, that way. i knowed j. wesley had me down; knowed it in less 'n a week after he sprung his trap. he wanted the 'little sue,' wanted it worse 'n a little yaller dog ever wanted his supper. do you know why? i can tell you. after you get your dam done, and every dollar of the make-believe money this cussed town's built on has gone to the bottom o' the dead sea, the 'susan' will still be joggin' along, forty dollars to the ton. it's the only piece o' real money in this whole blamed free-for-all, and j. wes. knows it." brouillard looked at his watch. "when you're through we'll go around to the bank and fix it up. there's no hurry. i've got to ride down to the buckskin camps, but i don't care to start much before two." massingale nodded, but his appetite was gone, and speech with it, the one grateful outburst having apparently drained the well. but after they had made their way through the excited sidewalk exchanges to the bank, and brouillard had written his check, the old man suddenly found his voice again. "you say you're goin' down to the buckskin right away? how 'm i goin' to secure you for this?" "we can talk about that later on, after i come back. the thing to do now is to get those notes cancelled and that stock released before bank-closing time." still david massingale, with the miraculously sent bit of rescue paper in his hand, hesitated. "there's one other thing--and i've got to spit it out before it's everlastedly too late. see here, victor brouillard--amy likes you--thinks a heap of you; a plumb blind man could see that. but say, that little girl o' mine has just natchurly _got_ to have a free hand when it comes to pairin' up, and she won't never have if she finds out about this. you ain't allowin' to use it on her, victor?" brouillard laughed. "i'll make a hedging bet and break even with you, mr. massingale," he said. "that check is drawn to my order, and i have indorsed it. let me have it again and i'll get the cash for you. in that way only the two of us need know anything about the transaction; and if i promise to keep the secret from miss amy, you must promise to keep it from mr. j. wesley cortwright. will you saw it off with me that way?--until you've made the turn on the ore sales?" david massingale shook hands on it with more gratitude, colored this time with a hearty imprecation. "dad burn you, victor brouillard, you're a man--ever' single mill-run of you!" he burst out. but brouillard shook his head gravely. "no, mr. massingale, i'm the little yellow dog you mentioned a while back," he asserted, and then he went to get the money. the check cashed and the transfer of the money made, brouillard did not wait to see massingale astonish the niquoia national cashier. nor did he remark the curious change that came into the old man's face at the pocketing of the thick sheaf of bank-notes. but he added a word of comment and another of advice before leaving the bank. "the day fits us like a glove," was the comment. "with all the money that is changing hands in the street, hardwick won't wonder at your sudden raise or at my check." then he put in the word of warning: "i suppose you'll be dabbling a little in mirapolis options after you get this note business out of the way? it's all right--i'd probably do it myself if i didn't have to leave town. but just one word in your ear, mr. massingale: buy and _sell--don't hold_. that's all. good-by, and good luck to you." left alone in the small retiring room of the bank where the business had been transacted, david massingale took the sheaf of bank-notes from his pocket with trembling hands, fondling it as a miser might. the bills were in large denominations, and they were new and stiff. he thumbed the end of the thick packet as one runs the leaves of a book, and the flying succession of big figures seemed to dazzle him. there was an outer door to the customers' room giving upon the side street; it was the one through which brouillard had passed. twice the old man made as if he would turn toward the door of egress, and the light in his gray-blue eyes was the rekindling flame of a passion long denied. but in the end he thrust the tempting sheaf back into the inner pocket and went resolutely to the cashier's counter window. expecting to have to do with hardwick, the brusque and business-like cashier, massingale was jarred a little aside from his own predetermined attitude by finding schermerhorn, the president, sitting at the cashier's desk. but from the banker's first word the change seemed to be altogether for the better. "how are you, mr. massingale? glad to see you. how is the boy getting along? first rate, i hope?" massingale was looking from side to side, like a gray old hawk disappointed in its swoop. it would have been some satisfaction to buffet the exacting hardwick with the fistful of money. but with schermerhorn the note lifting would figure as a mere bit of routine. "i've come to take up them notes o' mine with john wes.'s name on 'em," massingale began, pulling out the thick sheaf of redemption money. "oh, yes; let me see; are they due to-day?" said the president, running over the note portfolio. massingale nodded. "h'm, yes, here they are. brought the cash, did you? the 'little susan' has begun to pan out, has it? i didn't know you had commenced shipping ore yet." "we haven't." david massingale made the admission and regretted it in one and the same breath. "you've borrowed to meet these notes?" queried the president, looking up quickly. "that won't do, mr. massingale; that won't do at all. we can't afford to lose an old customer that way. what's the matter with our money? doesn't it look good to you any more?" massingale stammered out something about cashier hardwick's peremptory demand of a few hours earlier, but he was not permitted to finish. "of course, that is all right from hardwick's point of view. he was merely looking out for the maturing paper. how much more time will you need to enable you to get returns from your shipments? sixty days? all right, you needn't make out new notes; i'll indorse the extension on the back of these, and i'll undertake to get cortwright's approval myself. no; not a word, mr. massingale. as long as you're borrowing, you must be loyal and borrow of us. good afternoon. come again when we can help you out." david massingale turned away, dazed and confused beyond the power of speech. when the mists of astoundment cleared he found himself in the street with the thick wad of bank-notes still in his pocket. suddenly, out of the limbo into which two years of laborious discipline and self-denial had pushed it stalked the demon of the ruling passion, mighty, overpowering, unconquerable. the familiar street sights danced before massingale's eyes, and there was a drumming in his ears like the fall of many waters. but above the clamor rose the insistent voice of the tempter, and the voice was at once a command and an entreaty, a gnawing hunger and a parching thirst. "by gash! i'd like to try that old system o' mine jest one more time!" he muttered. "all it takes is money enough to foller it up and _stay_. and i've _got_ the money. besides, didn't brouillard say i was to get an extension if i could?" he grabbed at his coat to be sure that the packet was still there, took two steps toward the bank, stopped, turned as if in the grasp of an invisible but irresistible captor, and moved away, like a man walking in his sleep, toward the lower avenue. it was the doorway of haley's place, the monte carlo of the niquoia, that finally halted him. here the struggle was so fierce that the bartender, who knew him, named it sickness and led the stricken one to a card-table in the public bar-room and fetched him a drink. a single swallow of whiskey turned the scale. massingale rose, tossed a coin to the bar, and passed quickly to the rear, where a pair of baize doors opened silently and engulfed him. xiv the abyss it was at early candle-lighting in the evening of the day of renewed and unbridled speculation in mirapolis "front feet" that brouillard, riding the piebald range pony on which he had been making an inspection round of the nearer buckskin ditchers' camps, topped the hill in the new, high-pitched road over the chigringo shoulder and looked down upon the valley electrics. the immediate return to mirapolis was no part of the plan he had struck out when he had closed his office in the niquoia building at one o'clock and had gone over to bongras's to fall into the chance encounter with david massingale. he had intended making a complete round of all the ditch camps, a ride which would have taken at least three days, and after parting from massingale at the bank he had left town at once, taking the new road which began on the bench of the railroad yard. but almost immediately a singular thing had happened. before he had gone a mile a strange reluctance had begun to beset him. at first it was merely a haunting feeling of loss, as if he had left something behind, forgetting when he should have remembered; a thing of sufficient importance to make him turn and ride back if he could only recall what it was. farther along the feeling became a vague premonition of impending disaster, growing with every added mile of the buckskin gallopings until, at overton's camp, a few miles short of the triangle-circle ranch headquarters, he had yielded and had set out for the return. if the curious premonition had been a drag on the outward journey it became a spur to quicken the eastward faring. even the piebald pony seemed to share the urgency, needing only a loose rein and an encouraging word. across the yellow sands of the desert, through the lower ford of the niquoia, and up the outlet gorge the willing little horse tossed the miles to the rear, and at the hill-topping moment, when the electric lights spread themselves in the valley foreground like stars set to illuminate the chess-board squares of the wonder city, a record gallop had been made from overton's. brouillard let the pony set its own pace on the down-hill lap to the finish, and it was fast enough to have jolted fresh road weariness into a less seasoned rider than the young engineer. most curiously, the premonition with its nagging urgency seemed to vanish completely as soon as the city's streets were under hoof. brouillard left the horse at the reservation stables, freshened himself at his rooms in the niquoia building, and went to the metropole to eat his dinner, all without any recurrence of the singular symptoms. further, when he found himself at a table with murray grislow as his _vis-à-vis_, and had invented a plausible excuse for his sudden return, he was able to enjoy his dinner with a healthy wayfarer's appetite and to talk over the events of the exciting day with the hydrographer with few or none of the abstracted mental digressions. afterward, however, the symptoms returned, manifesting themselves this time in the form of a vague and undefined restlessness. the buzzing throngs in the metropole café and lobby annoyed him, and even grislow's quiet sarcasm as applied to the day's bubble-blowing failed to clear the air. at the club there was the same atmosphere of unrest; an exacerbating overcharge of the suppressed activities impatiently waiting for another day of excitement and opportunity. corner lots and the astounding prices they had commanded filled the air in the lounge, the billiard room, and the buffet, and after a few minutes brouillard turned his back on the hubbub and sought the quiet of the darkened building on the opposite side of the street. he was alone in his office on the sixth floor and was trying, half absently, to submerge himself in a sea of desk-work when the disturbing over-thought suddenly climaxed in an occurrence bordering on the supernatural. as distinctly as if she were present and at his elbow, he heard, or seemed to hear, amy massingale say: "victor, you said you would come if i needed you: i need you now." without a moment's hesitation he got up and made ready to go out. skeptical to the derisive degree of other men's superstitions, it did not occur to him to doubt the reality of the mysterious summons, or to question in any way his own broad admission of the supernatural in the prompt obedience. the massingale town house was one of a row of stuccoed villas fronting on the main residence street, which beyond the city limits became the highroad to the quadjenàï bend and the upper valley. brouillard took a cab at the metropole, dismissed it at the villa gate, and walked briskly up the path to the house, which was dark save for one lighted room on the second floor--the room in which stephen massingale was recovering from the effects of van bruce cortwright's pistol-shot. amy massingale was on the porch--waiting for him, as he fully believed until her greeting sufficiently proved her surprise at seeing him. "you, victor?" she said, coming quickly to meet him. "murray grislow said you had gone down to the buckskin camps and wouldn't be back for two or three days!" "grizzy told the truth--as it stood a few hours ago," he admitted. "but i changed my mind and came back. how is steve this evening?" "he is quite comfortable, more comfortable than he has been at all since the wound began to heal. i have been reading him to sleep, and when the night nurse came i ran down to get a breath of fresh air in the open." "no, you didn't come down for that reason," brouillard amended gravely. "you came to meet me." "did i?" she asked. "what makes you think that?" "i don't think; i _know_. you called me, and i heard you and came at once." "how absurd!" she protested. "i knew, or thought i knew, that you were miles away, over in the buckskin; and how could i call you?" brouillard pulled out his watch and scanned its face by the light of the roadway electric. "it is exactly twenty minutes since i left my office. what were you doing twenty minutes ago?" "as if i could tell! i don't believe i have looked at a clock or a watch all evening. after stevie had his supper i read to him--one of the creepy kipling stories that he is so fond of. you would say that 'bimi' would be just about the last thing in the world to put anybody to sleep, wouldn't you? but stevie dropped off, and i think i must have lost myself for a minute or two, because the next thing i knew the nurse was in the room." "i know what happened," said brouillard, speaking as soberly as if he were stating a mathematical certainty. "you left that room up-stairs and came to me. i didn't see you, but i heard you as plainly as i can hear you now. you spoke to me and called me by name." "what did i say? can you remember the words?" "indeed i can. the room was perfectly still, and i was working at my desk. suddenly, and without any warning, i heard your voice saying: 'victor, you said you would come if i needed you: i need you now.'" she shook her head, laughing lightly. "you have been overwrought about something, or maybe you are just plain tired. i didn't say or even think anything like that; or if i did, it must have been the other i, or one of the others, that herr freiborg writes about--and i don't believe in. this i that you are talking to doesn't remember anything about it." "you are standing me off," he declared. "you are in trouble of some sort, and you are trying to hide it from me." "no, not exactly trouble; only a little worry." "all right, call it worry if you like and share it with me. what is it?" "i think you know without being told--or you will know when i say that to-day was the day when the big debt to the bank became due. i am afraid we have finally lost the 'little susan.' that is one of the worries and the other i've been trying to call silly. i don't know what has become of father--as if he weren't old enough to go and come without telling me every move he makes!" "your father isn't at home?" gasped brouillard. "no; he hasn't been here since nine o'clock this morning. murray grislow saw him going into the metropole about one o'clock, but nobody that i have been able to reach by 'phone seems to have seen him after that." "i can bring the record down to two o'clock," was the quick reply. "he ate with me at bongras's, and afterward i walked with him as far as the bank. and i can cure part of the first worry--all of it, in fact; he had the money to take up the cortwright notes, and when i left him he was on his way to hardwick's window to do it." "_he had the money?_ where did he get it?" brouillard put his back against a porch post, a change of position which kept the light of the street electric from shining squarely upon his face. "it has been another of the get-rich-quick days in mirapolis," he said evasively. "somebody told me that the corner opposite poodles's was bought and sold three times within a single hour and that each time the price was doubled." "and you are trying to tell me that father made a hundred thousand dollars just in those few hours by buying and selling mirapolis lots? you don't know him, victor. he is totally lacking the trading gift. he has often said that he couldn't stand on a street corner and sell twenty-dollar gold pieces at nineteen dollars apiece--nobody would buy of him." "nevertheless, i am telling you that he had the money to take up those notes," brouillard insisted. "i saw it in his hands." she left him abruptly and began to pace back and forth on the porch, with her hands behind her, an imitative trait unconsciously copying her father in his moments of stress. when she stopped she stood fairly in the beam of the street light. the violet eyes were misty, and in the low voice there was a note of deeper trouble. "you say you saw the money in father's hands; tell me, victor, did you see him pay it into the bank?" "why, no; not the final detail. but, as i say, when i left him he was on his way to hardwick's window." again she turned away, but this time it was to dart into the house. a minute later she had rejoined him, and the minute had sufficed for the donning of a coat and the pinning on of the quaint cow-boy riding-hat. "i must go and find him," she said with quiet resolution. "will you go with me, victor? perhaps that is why i--the subconscious i--called you a little while ago. let's not wait for the quadjenàï car. i'd rather walk, and we'll save time." they set out together, walking rapidly townward, and there was no word to go with the brisk footing. brouillard respected his companion's silence. that the thing unspeakable, or at least unspoken, was something more than a woman's undefined fears was obvious; but until she should see fit to tell him what it was, he would not question her. from the moment of outsetting the young woman's purpose seemed clearly defined. by the shortest way she indicated the course to the avenue, and at the metropole corner she turned unhesitatingly to the northward--toward the region of degradation. as was to be expected after the day of frantic speculation and quick money changing, the lower avenue was ablaze with light, the sidewalks were passes of peril, and the saloons and dives were reaping a rich harvest. luckily, brouillard was well known, and his position as chief of the great army of government workmen purchased something like immunity for himself and his companion. but more than once he was on the point of begging the young woman to turn back for her own sake. the quest ended unerringly at the door of haley's place, and when david massingale's daughter made as if she would go in, brouillard protested quickly. "no, amy," he said firmly. "you mustn't go in there. let me take you around to the metropole, and then i'll come back alone." "i have been in worse places," she returned in low tones. and then, with her voice breaking tremulously: "be my good friend just a little longer, victor!" he took her arm and walked her into the garishly lighted bar-room, bracing himself militantly for what might happen. but nothing happened. dissipation of the western variety seldom sinks below the level of a certain rude gallantry, quick to recognize the good and pure in womankind. instantly a hush fell upon the place. the quartets at the card-tables held their hands, and a group of men drinking at the bar put down their glasses. one, a tri'-circ' cow-boy with his back turned, let slip an oath, and in a single swift motion his nearest comrade garroted him with a hairy arm, strangling him to silence. [illustration: "it's all gone, little girl; it's all gone!"] as if guided by the same unerring instinct which had made her choose haley's out of a dozen similar hells, amy massingale led brouillard swiftly to the green baize doors at the rear of the bar-room. at her touch the swinging doors gave inward, and her goal was reached. three faro games, each with its inlaid table, its impassive dealer, its armed "lookout," and its ring of silent players, lay beyond the baize doors. at the nearest of the tables there was a stir, and the dealer stopped running the cards. somebody said, "let him get out," and then an old man, bearded, white-haired, wild-eyed, and haggard almost beyond recognition, pushed his chair away from the table and stumbled to his feet, his hands clutching the air like those of a swimmer sinking for the last time. with a low cry the girl darted across the intervening space to clasp the staggering old man in her arms and draw him away. brouillard stood aside as they came slowly toward the doors which he was holding open for them. he saw the distorted face-mask of a soul in torment and heard the mumbling repetition of the despairing words, "it's all gone, little girl; it's all gone!" and then he removed himself quickly beyond the range of the staring, unseeing eyes. for in the lightning flash of revealment he realized that once again the good he would have done had turned to hideous evil in the doing, and that this time the sword thrust of the blind-passion impulse had gone straight to the heart of love itself. xv the setting of the ebb contrary to the most sanguine expectations of the speculators--contrary, perhaps, even to those of mr. j. wesley cortwright--the upward surge in mirapolis values, following the visit of the "distinguished citizens," proved to be more than a tidal wave: it was a series of them. the time was fully ripe for the breaking down of the final barriers of prudence and common-place sanity. day after day the "curb" markets were reopened, with prices mounting skyward; and when the news of how fortunes could be made in a day in the miracle city of the niquoia got abroad in the press despatches there was a fresh influx of mad money hunters from the east, and the merry game of buying and selling that which, inferentially at least, had no legal existence, went on with ever-increasing activity and an utterly reckless disregard of values considered as a basis for future returns on the investment. now, if never before, the croaker was wrathfully shouted down and silenced. no one admitted, or seemed to admit, the possible impermanence of the city. so far from it, the boast was made openly that mirapolis had fairly out-stripped the reclamation service in the race for supremacy, and that among the first acts passed by congress on its reassembling would be one definitely annulling the buckskin desert project, or, at any rate, so much of it as might be threatening the existence of the great gold camp in the niquoia valley. to the observer, anxious or casual, there appeared to be reasonable grounds for the optimistic assertion. it was an indubitable fact that brouillard's force had been cut down, first to one half, and later to barely enough men to keep the crushers and mixers moving and to add fresh layers of concrete to the huge wall of sufficient quantities to prevent the material--in technical phrase--from "dying." true, in the new furor of buying and selling and booming it was not remarked that the discharged government employees uniformly disappeared from the city and the valley as soon as they were stricken from the time rolls. true, also, was the fact that brouillard said nothing for publication, and little otherwise, regarding the successive reductions in his working force. but in such periods of insanity it is only the favorable indications which are marked and emphasized. the work on the great dam was languishing visibly, as every one could see. the navajos had been sent home to their reservation, the tepees were gone, and two thirds of the camp shacks were empty. past these material facts, plainly to be seen and weighed and measured by any who would take the time to consider them, there was a strictly human argument which was even more significant. it was known to everybody in the frenzied marketplace that brouillard himself was, according to his means, one of the most reckless of the plungers, buying, borrowing, and buying again as if the future held no threat of a possible _débâcle_. it was an object-lesson for the timid. those who did not themselves know certainly argued that there must be a few who did know, and among these few the chief of the reclamation service must be in the very foremost rank. "you just keep your eye on brouillard and steer your own boat accordingly," was the way editor harlan put it to one of the timid ones. "he knows it all, backward and forward, and from the middle both ways; you can bet your final dollar on that. and you mustn't expect him to talk. in his position he can't talk; one of the things he is drawing his salary for is to keep his mouth shut. besides, what a man may say doesn't necessarily count for much. it is what he does." thus harlan, speaking, as it were, in his capacity of a public dispenser of the facts. but for himself he was admitting a growing curiosity about the disappearing workmen, and this curiosity broke ground one evening when he chanced to meet brouillard at the club. "somebody was telling me that you let out another batch of your buckskin ditch diggers to-day, brouillard," he began. and then, without any bush beating, the critical question was fired point-blank: "what becomes of all these fellows you are dropping? they don't stay in town or go to the mines--not one of them." "don't they?" said brouillard with discouraging brevity. "you know mighty well they don't. and they don't even drift out like other people; they go in bunches." "anything else remarkable up your sleeve?" was the careless query. "yes; conlan, the railroad ticket agent, started to tell me yesterday that they were going out on government transportation--that they didn't buy tickets like ordinary folks; started to tell me, i say, because he immediately took it back and fell all over himself trying to renege." "you are a born gossip, harlan, but i suppose you can't help it. did no one ever tell you that a part of the government contract with these laborers includes transportation back to civilization when they are discharged?" "no, not by a jugful!" retorted the newspaper man. "and you're not telling me so now. for some purpose of your own you are asking me to believe it without being told. i refuse. this is the closed season, and the fish are not biting." brouillard laughed easily. "you are trying mighty hard to make a mountain out of a mole-hill. you say the men clear out when they are discharged--isn't that about what you'd do if you were out of a job?" "not with such unfailing unanimity if there were several hundred of me. mirapolis isn't such an infernally good place to go away from--not yet." brouillard's smile matched the easy-going laugh which had been its forerunner. "you are a most persistent gadfly, harlan. if i tell you one small, trifling, and safely uninflammable fact, can i trust you not to turn it into a house afire in the columns of the _spot-light_?" "you know well enough you can!" was the eager protest. "when have i ever bleated when i should have kept still?" "well, then, the fact is this: the men leaving the niquoia are not discharged from the service. they are merely transferred to the escalante project, which the department is trying to push through to completion before the northern winter sets in and freezes the concrete in the mixers." "ah!" said harlan with a quick indrawing of his breath. "that brings on more talk--about a thousand miles of it, doesn't it?" "for example?" suggested the engineer. "to put it baldly, is the government really quitting on the niquoia project, or is it merely transferring its force from a job that can wait to one that can't wait?" brouillard smiled again. "you see," he said; "it is second nature for you pencil-pushers to try to make two facts grow where only one grew before. honestly, now, harlan, what do you think about it yourself? you don't need any kindergartner of a construction man to help you solve a little problem like that, do you?" "i'm doing a little sum in simple equations," was the thoughtful answer--"putting this bit of information which you have just given me against what i have been believing to be a pretty straight tip from washington." "what is your tip?" "it's this: that congress does really propose to interfere in behalf of mirapolis." "how can any one predict that when congress is not in session?" "the tip asserts that the string-pulling is all done. it will be a quiet bit of special legislation smuggled through, i suppose, like the bills for private relief. all it will need will be the recommendation and backing of a handful of western members and senators. nobody else is very vitally interested, outside of your own department, and there are always plenty of clubs at hand for killing off department opposition--threats of cutting down the appropriations and so on. properly engineered, the mirapolis bill will go through like a greased pig under a gate. you know it will." "you say nobody else is vitally interested--that's a mistake big enough to be called a crime," said brouillard with emphasis. "the reclamation of the buckskin desert is a matter of moment to the entire nation. its failure would be a public disaster." harlan laughed derisively. "you are talking through your hat now--the salaried government engineer's hat. let your topographers go out and find some other stream to dam up. let them hunt up some other desert to reclaim. the supply of arid lands isn't exhausted yet by a good bit." brouillard appeared to be silenced even if he were not fully convinced. after a time, however, he dropped in another query. "how straight is your tip, harlan?" "so straight that i'd print it in to-morrow's _spot-light_ if i wasn't afraid of queering the deal by being too previous. the necessary backing has been secured, and the bill is already prepared. if you don't believe it, ask your own big bosses in washington." "you are certain that your information didn't originate right here in mirapolis--in mr. cortwright's office, to locate it more exactly?" "it didn't; it came from a purely personal source and direct from washington." "and the source couldn't possibly have become contaminated by the cortwright germs?" harlan's smile was the face-wrinkling of seasoned wisdom. "you are pushing me too hard," he protested. "i know that there are wheels within wheels. you'd say it would be a foxy move to have the local newspaper in mirapolis get such a tip from a strictly unprejudiced source. i'll have to admit that myself." brouillard looked at his watch and reached for his hat. "it's all right, harlan," he said at the leave-taking. "believe as much as you like, but take my advice in just one small matter. don't buy mirapolis dirt to hold; buy it to sell--and sell the minute you see your profit. i told you i'd give you a pointer if i didn't forget; you've got it." for the better part of a fortnight the tidal waves of prosperity, as evinced by increasing speculative values, kept on rolling in, each one apparently a little higher than its immediate predecessor. then the flood began to subside, though so slowly that at first it was only by a careful comparison of the daily transfers that the recession could be measured. causes and consequences extraneous to the city itself contributed to the almost imperceptible reactionary tendency. for one, the buckskin mining and milling company reluctantly abandoned its pastime of ploughing barren furrows on jack's mountain, and a little later went into liquidation, as the phrase ran, though the eastern bondholders probably called it bankruptcy. about the same time the great cement plant, deprived of the government market by the slackening of the work on the dam, reduced its output to less than one fourth of its full capacity. most portentous of all, perhaps, was the rumor that the placers at quadjenàï were beginning to show signs of exhaustion. it was even whispered about that the two huge gold dredges recently installed were not paying the expenses of operating them. quite naturally, the pulse of the wonder city beat sensitive to all these depressive rumors and incidents, responding slowly at first but a little later in accelerated throbbings which could no longer be ignored by the most optimistic bidder at the "curb" exchanges. still there was no panic. as the activities in local sales fell off and the mirapolitans themselves were no longer crowding the curbs or standing in line at the real estate offices for their turn at the listings, the prudent ones, with mr. cortwright and his chosen associates far in advance of the field, were placing mirapolis holdings temptingly on view in distant markets; placing them and selling them with a blazonry of advertising worthy of the envy of those who have called themselves the suburb builders of greater new york. it was after this invasion of the distant market was fully in train that cortwright once more sent for brouillard, receiving the engineer this time in the newest offices of the power company, on the many-times-bought-and-sold corner opposite bongras's. "hello, brouillard!" said the magnate jocosely, indicating a chair and the never-absent open box of cigars in the same gesture. "you're getting to be as much of a stranger as a man might wish his worst enemy to be. gene says you are neglecting her shamefully, but she seems to be making a pretty good jack-at-a-pinch of the english lord." "you sent for me?" brouillard broke in tersely. more and more he was coming to acknowledge a dull rage when he heard the call of his master. "yes. what about the dam? is your work going to start up again? or is it going off for good?" brouillard bit his lip to keep back the exclamation of astoundment that the blunt inquiry threatened to evoke. to assume that mr. cortwright did not know all there was to be known was to credit the incredible. "i told you a good while ago that i was only the government's hired man," he replied. "you doubtless have much better information than any i can give you." "you can tell me what your orders are--that's what i want to know." the young chief of construction frowned first, then he laughed. "what has given you the impression that you own me, mr. cortwright? i have often wondered." "well, i might say that i have made you what you are, and----" "that's true; the truest thing you ever said," snapped brouillard. "and, i was going to add, i can unmake you just as easily. but i don't want to be savage with you. all i'm asking is a little information first, and a little judicious help afterward. what are your orders from the department?" brouillard got up and stood over the stocky man in the office chair, with the black eyes blazing. "mr. cortwright, i said a moment ago that you have made me what i am, and you have. i am infinitely a worse man than you are, because i know better and you don't. it is no excuse for me that i have had a motive which i haven't explained to you, because, as i once told you, you couldn't understand it in a thousand years. the evil has been done and the consequences, to you, to me, and to every one in this cursed valley are certain. facing them as i am obliged to face them, i am telling you--but what's the use? you can't make a tool of me any longer--that's all. you must cook your meat over your own fire. i'm out of it." "i can smash you," said the man in the chair, quite without heat. "no, you can't even do that," was the equally cool retort. "no man's fate is in another man's hands. if you choose to set in motion the machinery which will grind me to a small-sized villain of the county-jail variety, it is i myself who will furnish every foot-pound of the power that is applied." he was moving toward the door, but cortwright stopped him. "one more word before you go, brouillard. it is to be war between us from this on?" "i don't say that: it would be awkward for miss genevieve. let it be armed neutrality if you like. don't interfere with me and i won't interfere with you." "ah!" said the millionaire. "now you have brought it around to the point i was trying to reach. you don't want to have anything more to do with me, but you are not quite ready to cash in and pull out of the game. how much money have you got?" the cool impudence of the question brought a dull flush to the younger man's face, but he would give the enemy no advantage in the matter of superior self-control. "that is scarcely a fair question--even between armed neutrals," he objected. "why do you want to know?" "i'm asking because you have just proposed the non-interference policy, and i'd like to know how fairly you mean to live up to it. a little while back you interfered in a small business matter of mine very pointedly. what became of the one hundred thousand dollars you gave old david massingale?" "how do you know i gave him a hundred thousand dollars?" "that's dead easy," laughed the man in the pivot chair, once more the genial buccaneer. "you drew a check for that amount and cashed it, and a few minutes later massingale, whose account had been drawn down to nothing, bobs up at schermerhorn's window with exactly the same amount in loose cash. what did he do with it--gamble it?" "that is his own affair," brouillard countered briefly. "well, the future--next month's future--is my affair. if you've got money enough to interfere again--don't. you'll lose it, the same as you did before. and perhaps i sha'n't take the second interference as good-naturedly as i did the first." "is that all you have to say?" brouillard asked impatiently. "not quite. i don't believe you were altogether in earnest a minute ago when you expressed your desire to call it all off. you don't want the mirapolis well to go dry right now, not one bit more than i do." "i have been trying pretty hard to make you understand that it is a matter of utter indifference to me." "but you haven't succeeded very well; it isn't at all a matter of indifference to you," the magnate insisted persuasively. "as things are shaping themselves up at the present speaking, you stand to lose, not only the hundred thousand you squandered on old david, but all you've made besides. i keep in touch--it's my business to keep in touch. you've been buying bargains and you are holding them--for the simple reason that with the present slowing-down tendency in the saddle you can't sell and make any money." "well?" "i've got a proposition to make that ought to look good to you. what we need just now in this town is a little more activity--something doing. you can relieve the situation if you feel like it." "how?" "if i tell you, you mustn't go and use it against me. that would be a low-down welcher's trick. but you won't. see here, your bureau at washington is pretty well scared up over the prospect here. it is known in the capital that when congress convenes there is going to be a dead-open-and-shut fight to kill this buckskin reclamation project. very well; the way for you fellows to win out is to hurry--finish your dam and finish it quick, before congress or anybody else can get action." for a single instant brouillard was puzzled. then he began to understand. "go on," he said. "what i was going to suggest is this: you prod your people at washington with a hot wire; tell 'em now's the time to strike and strike hard. they'll see the point, and if you ask for an increase of a thousand men you'll get it. make it two thousand, just for the dramatic effect. we'll work right along with you and make things hum again. we'll start up the cement plant, and i don't know but what we might give the buckskin m. & m. folks a small hypodermic that would keep 'em alive while we are taking a few snapshot pictures of mirapolis on the jump again." "let me get it straight," said brouillard, putting his back against the door. "you fully believe you've got us down; that eventually, and before the water is turned on, congress will pass a bill killing the niquoia project. but in the meantime, to make things lively, you'd like to have the reclamation service go ahead and spend another million or so in wages that can be turned loose in mirapolis. is that it?" "you've surrounded it very neatly," laughed the promoter. "once, some little time ago, i might have felt the necessity of convincing your scruples, but you've cut away all that foolishness. it's a little tough on our good old uncle samuel, i'll admit, but it'll be only a pin-prick or so in comparison to the money that is thrown away every time congress passes an appropriation bill. and, putting it upon the dead practical basis, brouillard, it's your one and only salvation--personally, i mean. you've _got_ to unload or go broke, and you can't unload on a falling market. you think about it and then get quick action with the wire. there is no time to lose." brouillard was looking past cortwright and out through the plate-glass window which commanded a view of the great dam and its network of forms and stagings. "it is a gambler's bet and a rather desperate one," he said slowly. "you stand to win all or to lose all in making it, mr. cortwright. the town is balancing on the knife-edge of a panic at this moment. would it go up, or down, with a sudden resumption of work on the dam?" "the careless thinker would say that it would yell 'fire!' and go up into the air so far that it could never climb down," was the prompt reply. "but we'll have the medicine dropper handy. in the first place, everybody can afford to stay and boost while uncle sam is spending his million or so right here in the middle of things. nobody will want to pull out and leave that cow unmilked. in the second place, we've got a mighty good antidote to use in any sure-enough case of hydrophobia your quick dam building may start." "you could let it leak out that, in spite of all the hurrah and rush on the dam, congress is really going to interfere before we are ready to turn the water on," said brouillard musingly and as if it were only his thought slipping into unconscious speech. "precisely. we could make that prop hold if you were actually putting the top course on your wall and making preparations to drop the stop-gate in your spillway." "i see," was the rejoinder, and it was made in the same half-absent monotone. "but while we are still on the knife-blade edge ... a little push.... mr. cortwright, if there were one solitary righteous man left in mirapolis----" "there isn't," chuckled the promoter, turning back to his desk while the engineer was groping for the door-knob--"at least, nobody with that particular brand of righteousness backed by the needful inside information. you go ahead and do your part and we'll do the rest." xvi the man on the bank brouillard, walking out of mr. cortwright's new offices with his thoughts afar, wondered if it were by pure coincidence that he found castner apparently waiting for him on the sidewalk. "once more you are just the man i have been wanting to see," the young missionary began, promptly making use of the chance meeting. "may i break in with a bit of bad news?" "there is no such thing as good news in this god-forsaken valley, castner. what's your grief?" "there is trouble threatening for the cortwrights. stephen massingale is out and about again, and i was told this morning that he was filling himself up with bad whiskey and looking for the man who shot him." brouillard nodded unsympathetically. "you will find that there is always likely to be a second chapter in a book of that sort--if the first one isn't conclusive." "but there mustn't be this time," castner insisted warmly. "we must stop it; it is our business to stop it." "your business, maybe; it falls right in your line, doesn't it?" "no more in mine than in yours," was the quick retort. "am i my brother's keeper?" said the engineer pointlessly, catching step with the long-legged stride of the athletic young shepherd of souls. "not if you claim kinship with cain, who was the originator of that very badly outworn query," came the answer shot-like. then: "what has come over you lately, brouillard? you are a friend of the massingales; i've had good proof of that. why don't you care?" "great heavens, castner, i do care! but if you had a cut finger you wouldn't go to a man in hell to get it tied up, would you?" "you mean that i have brought my cut finger to you?" "yes, i meant that, and the rest of it, too. i'm no fit company for a decent man to-day, castner. you'd better edge off and leave me alone." castner did not take the blunt intimation. for the little distance intervening between the power company's new offices and the niquoia building he tramped beside the young engineer in silence. but at the entrance to the niquoia he would have gone his way if brouillard had not said abruptly: "i gave you fair warning; i'm not looking for a chance to play the good samaritan to anybody--not even to stephen massingale, much less van bruce cortwright. the reason is because i have a pretty decent back-load of my own to carry. come up to my rooms if you can spare a few minutes. i want to talk to a man who hasn't parted with his soul for a money equivalent--if there is such a man left in this bottomless pit of a town." castner accepted the implied challenge soberly, and together they ascended to brouillard's offices. once behind the closed door, brouillard struck out viciously. "you fellows claim to hold the keys of the conscience shop; suppose you open up and dole out a little of the precious commodity to me, castner. is it ever justifiable to do evil that good may come?" "no." there was no hesitation in the denial. brouillard's laugh was harshly derisive. "i thought you'd say that. no qualifications asked for, no judicial weighing of the pros and cons--the evil of the evil, or the goodness of the good--just a plain, bigoted 'no.'" castner ran a hand through his thick shock of dark hair and looked away from the scoffer. "extenuating circumstances--is that what you mean? there are no such things in the court of conscience--the enlightened conscience. right is right and wrong is wrong. there is no middle ground of accommodation between the two. you know that as well as i do, brouillard." "well, then, how about the choice between two evils? you'll admit that there are times----" castner was shaking his head. "that is a lying proverb. no man is ever compelled to make that choice. he only thinks he is." "that is all you know about it!" was the bitter retort. "what can you, or any man who sets himself apart as you do, know about the troubles and besetments of ordinary people? you sit on the bank of the river and see the water go by; what do you know about the agonies of the fellow who is fighting for breath and life out in the middle of the stream?" "that is a fallacy, too," was the calm reply. "i am a man as other men, brouillard. my coat makes no difference, as you have allowed at other times when we have been thrown together. moreover, nobody sits on the bank in these days. what are your two evils?" brouillard tilted back in his chair and pointedly ignored the direct question. "theories," he said half contemptuously. "and they never fit. see here, castner; suppose it was clearly your duty, as a man and a christian and to subserve some good end, to plant a thousand pounds of dynamite in the basement of this building and fire it. would you do it?" "the case isn't supposable." "there you are!" brouillard broke out impatiently. "i told you you were sitting on the bank. the case is not only supposable; it exists as an actual fact. and the building the man ought to blow to high heaven contains not only a number of measurably innocent people but one in particular for whose life and happiness the man would barter his immortal soul--if he has one." the young missionary left his chair and began to walk back and forth on his side of the office desk. "you want counsel and you are not willing to buy it with the coin of confidence," he said at length, adding: "it is just as well, perhaps. i doubt very much if i am the person to give it to you." "why do you doubt it? isn't it a part of your job?" "not always. i am not your conscience keeper, brouillard. don't misunderstand me. i may have lived a year or so longer than you have, but you have lived more--a great deal more. that fact might be set aside, but there is another: in the life of every man there is some one person who knows, who understands, whose word for that man is the one only fitting word of inspiration. that is what i mean when i say that i am not your conscience keeper. do i make it clear?" "granting your premises--yes. go on." "i will. we'll paste that leaf down and turn another. though i can't counsel you, i can still be your faithful accuser. you have committed a great sin, brouillard, and you are still committing it. if you haven't been the leader in the mad scramble for riches here in this abandoned city, you have been only a step behind the leaders. and you were the one man who should have been like cæsar's wife, the one whose example counted for most." brouillard got up and thrust out his hand across the desk. "you are a man, castner--and that is better than being a priest," he asserted soberly. "i'll take back all the spiteful things i've been saying. i'm down under the hoofs of the horses, and it's only human nature to want to pull somebody else down. you are one of the few men in mirapolis whose presence has been a blessing instead of a curse--who hasn't had a purely selfish greed to satisfy." again castner shook his head. "there hasn't been much that i could do. brouillard, it is simply dreadful--the hard, reckless, half-demoniac spirit of this place! there is nothing to appeal to; there is no room or time for anything but the mad money chase or the still madder dissipation in which the poor wretches seek to forget. i can only try here and there to drag some poor soul out of the fire at the last moment, and it makes me sick--sick at heart!" "you mustn't look at it that way," said brouillard, suddenly turning comforter. "you have been doing good work and a lot of it--more than any three ordinary men could stand up under. i haven't got beyond seeing and appreciating, castner; truly i have not. and i'll say this: if i had only half your courage... but it's no use, i'm in too deep. i can't see any farther ahead than a man born blind. there is one end for which i have been striving from the very first, and it is still unattained. i'm past help now. i have reached a point at which i'd pull the whole world down in ruins to see that end accomplished." the young missionary took another turn up and down the room and then came back to the desk for his hat. at the leave-taking he said the only helpful word he could think of. "go to your confessor, brouillard--your real confessor--and go all the more readily if that one happens to be a good woman--whom you love and trust. they often see more clearly than we do--the good women. try it; and let me help where a man can help." for a long hour after castner went away brouillard sat at his desk, fighting as those fight who see the cause lost, and who know they only make the ruin more complete by struggling on. cortwright's guess had found its mark. he was loaded to break with "front feet" and options and "corners." in the latest speculative period he had bought and mortgaged and bought again, plunging recklessly with the sole object of wringing another hundred thousand out of the drying sponge against the time when david massingale should need it. there seemed to be no other hope. it had become plainly evident after a little time that cortwright's extorted promise to lift the smelting embargo from the "little susan" ore had been kept only in the letter; that he had removed one obstacle only to interpose another. the new obstacle was in the transportation field. protests and beseechings, letters to traffic officials, and telegrams to railroad headquarters were of no avail. in spite of all that had been done, there was never an ore-car to come over the range at war arrow, and the side-track to the mine was as yet uncompleted. brouillard had seen little of massingale, but that little had shown him that the old miner was in despair. it was this hopeless situation which had made brouillard bend his back to a second lifting of the "little susan's" enormous burden. at first the undertaking seemed easily possible. but with the drying of the speculative sponge it became increasingly difficult. more and more he had been compelled to buy and hold, until now the bare attempt to unload would have started the panic which was only waiting for some hedging seller to fire the train. sitting in the silence of the sixth-floor office he saw that cortwright had shown him the one way out. beyond doubt, the resumption in full force of the work on the dam would galvanize new life into mirapolis, temporarily, at least. after that, a cautious selling campaign, conducted under cover through the brokers, might save the day for david massingale. but the cost--the heaping dishonor, the disloyalty of putting his service into the breach and wrecking and ruining to gain the one personal end.... the sweat stood out in great drops on his forehead when he finally drew a pad of telegraph blanks under his hand and began to write a message. painstakingly he composed it, referring often to the notes in his field-book, and printing the words neatly in his accurate, clearly defined handwriting. when it was finished he translated it laboriously into the department code. but after the copy was made and signed he did not ring at once for a messenger. instead, he put the two, the original and the cipher, under a paper-weight and sat glooming at them, as if they had been his own death-warrant--was still so sitting when a light tap at the door was followed by a soft swishing of silken skirts, a faint odor of crushed violets, and genevieve cortwright stood beside him. xvii the circean cup while one might count ten the silence of the upper room remained unbroken, and neither the man nor the woman spoke. it was not the first time by many that genevieve cortwright had come to stand beside the engineer's desk, holding him with smiling eyes and a charming audacity while she laid her commands upon him for the afternoon's motoring or the evening's bridge party or what other social diversion she might have in view. but now there was a difference. brouillard felt it instinctively--and in the momentary silence saw it in a certain hard brilliance of the beautiful eyes, in the curving of the ripe lips, half scornful, half pathetic, though the pathos may have been only a touch of self-pity born of the knowledge that the world of the luxury-lapped has so little to offer once the cold finger of satiety has been laid upon the throbbing pulse of fruition. "you have been quarrelling with father again," she said, with an abruptness that was altogether foreign to her habitual attitude toward him. "i have come to try to make peace. won't you ask me to sit down?" he recalled himself with a start from his abstracted study of the faultless contour of cheek and chin and rounded throat and placed a chair for her, apologizing for the momentary aberration and slipping easily from apology into explanation. "it was good of you to try to bring the wine and oil," he said. "but it was scarcely a quarrel; the king doesn't quarrel with his subjects." "now you are making impossible all the things i came to say," she protested, with a note of earnestness in her voice that he had rarely heard. "tell me what it was about." "i am afraid it wouldn't interest you in the least," he returned evasively. "i suppose you are punishing me now for the 'giddy butterfly' pose which you once said was mine. isn't there a possibility, just the least little shadow of a possibility, that i don't deserve to be punished?" he had sat down facing her and his thought was quite alien to the words when he tried again. "you wouldn't understand. it was merely a disagreement in a matter of--a matter of business." "perhaps i can understand more than you give me credit for," she countered, with an upflash of the captivating eyes. "perhaps i can be hurt where you have been thinking that the armor of frivolity, or ignorance, or indifference is the thickest." "no, you wouldn't be hurt," he denied, in sober finality. "how can you tell? can you read minds and hearts as you do your maps and drawings? must i be set down as hopelessly and irreclaimably frivolous just because i have chosen to laugh when possibly another woman might have cried?" "oh, no," he denied again. then he tried to meet her fairly on the new ground. "you mustn't accuse yourself. you are of your own world and you can't very well help being of it. besides, it is a pleasant world." "but an exceedingly shallow one, you would say. but why not, mr. brouillard? what do we get out of life more than the day's dole of--well, of whatever we care most for? i suppose one ought to be properly shocked at the big electric sign monsieur bongras has put up over the entrance to his café; 'let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die.' he meant it as a cynical gibe at the expense of mirapolis, of course; but do you know it appeals to me--it makes me think." "i'm listening," said brouillard. "convert me if you can." "oh, i don't know how to say it, or perhaps even how to think it. but when i see monsieur bongras's cynical little fling i wonder if it isn't the real philosophy, after all. why should we be always looking forward and striving and trying foolishly to climb to some high plane where the air is sure to be so rare that we couldn't possibly breathe it?" brouillard's smile was a mere eye-lifting of grave reminiscence when he said: "some of us have quit looking forward--quit trying to climb--and that without even the poor hope of reaping the reward that poodles's quotation offers." miss cortwright left her chair and began to make an aimless circuit of the room, passing the blue-prints on the walls in slow review, and coming finally to the window looking out over the city and across to the gray, timber-crowned wall of the mighty structure spanning the gap between the niquoia's two sentinel mountains. "you haven't told me yet what your disagreement with father was about," she reminded him at length; and before he could speak: "you needn't, because i know. you have been getting in his way--financially, and he has been getting in your way--ethically. you are both in the wrong." "yes?" said brouillard, neither agreeing nor denying. "yes. father thinks too much of making money--a great deal too much; and you----" "well?" he prompted, when the pause threatened to become a break. "i am waiting to hear my indictment." "you puzzle me," she acknowledged frankly. "at first i thought you were going to be a thirsty money hunter like all the others. and--and i couldn't quite understand why you should be. now i know, or partly know. you had an object that was different from that of the others. you wanted to buy some one thing--not everything, as most people do. but there is something missing, and that is what puzzles me. i don't know what it is that you want to buy." "there have been two things," he broke in. "one of them you know, because i spoke of it to you long ago. the other----" "the other is connected in some way with the massingales; so much i have been able to gather from what father said." "since you know part, you may know all," he went on. "david massingale owes your father--technically, at least--one hundred thousand dollars, which he can't pay; which your father isn't going to let him pay, if he can help it. and if massingale doesn't pay he will lose his mine." "you interested yourself? would you mind telling me just why?" she asked. "that is one of the things you couldn't understand." she turned a calmly smiling face toward him. "oh, you are mistaken, greatly mistaken. i can understand it very well, indeed. you are in love with david massingale's daughter." once more he neither denied nor affirmed, and she had turned to face the window again when she went on in the same unmoved tone: "it was fine. i can appreciate such devotion even if i can't fully sympathize with it. everybody should be in love like that--once. every woman demands that kind of love--once. but afterward, you know--if one should be content to take the good the gods provide...." when she began again at the end of the eloquent little pause there was a new note in her voice, a note soothingly suggestive of swaying poppies in sunlit fields, of ease and peace and the ideal heights receding, of rose-strewn paths pleasant to the feet of the weary wayfarer. "why shouldn't we take to-day, the only day we can be sure of having, and use and enjoy it while it is ours? money?--there is money enough in the world, god knows; enough and to spare for anything that is worth the buying. i have money, if that is all--money of my own. and, if i should ask him, father would give me the 'little susan' outright, to do with it as i pleased." brouillard was leaning back in his chair studying her faultless profile as she talked, and the full meaning of what she was saying did not come to him at once. but when it did he sprang up and went to stand beside her. and all the honesty and manhood the evil days had spared went into what he said to her. "i was a coward a moment ago, miss genevieve, when you spoke of the motive which had prompted me to help david massingale. but you knew and you said the words for me. when you love as i do you will understand that there is an ecstasy in the very madness of it that is more precious than all the joys of a gold-mounted paradise without it. i must go on as i have begun." "you will marry her?" she asked softly. "there has never been any hope of that, i think; not from the very beginning. while i remained an honest man there was the insurmountable obstacle i once told you of--the honor debt my father left me. and when i became a thief and a grafter for love's sake i put myself out of the running, definitely and hopelessly." "has she told you so?" "not in so many words; there was no need. there can be no fellowship between light and darkness." miss cortwright's beautiful eyes mirrored well-bred incredulity, and there was the faintest possible suggestion of lenient scorn in her smile. "what a pedestal you have built for her!" she said. "has it never occurred to you that she may be just a woman--like other women? tell me, mr. brouillard, have you asked her to marry you?" "you know very well that i haven't." "then, if you value your peace of mind, don't. she would probably say 'yes' and you would be miserable forever after. ideals are exceedingly fragile things, you know. they are made to be looked up to, not handled." "possibly they are," he said, as one who would rather concede than dispute. the reaction was setting in, bringing a discomforting conviction that he had opened the door of an inner sanctuary to unsympathetic eyes. followed a little pause, which was threatening to become awkward when miss cortwright broke it and went back to the beginning of things. "i came to tender my good offices in the--the disagreement, as you call it, between you and father. can't you be complaisant for once, in a way, mr. brouillard?" brouillard's laugh came because it was summoned, but there was no mirth in it. "i have never been anything else but complaisant in the little set-tos with your father, miss genevieve. he has always carried too many guns for me. you may tell him that i am acting upon his suggestion, if you please--that the telegram to washington is written. he will understand." "and about this massingale affair--you will not interfere again?" brouillard's jaw muscles began to set in the fighting lines. "does he make that a command?" he asked. "oh, i fancy not; at least, i didn't hear him say anything like that. i am merely speaking as your friend. you will not be allowed to do as you wish to do. i know my father better than you do, mr. brouillard." "what he has done, and what he proposes to do, in massingale's affair, is little short of highway robbery, miss genevieve." "from your point of view, you mean. he will call it 'business' and cite you a thousand precedents in every-day life. but let it go. i've talked so much about business that i'm tired. let me see, what was the other thing i came up here for?--oh, yes, i remember now. we are making up a party to motor down to the tri'-circ' ranch for a cow-boy supper with lord falkland. there is a place in our car for you, and i know sophie schermerhorn would be delighted if you should call her up and tell her you are going." she had turned toward the door and he went to open it for her. "i am afraid i shall have to offer my regrets to you, and to miss schermerhorn as well, if she needs them," he said, with the proper outward show of disappointment. "is it business?" she laughed. "yes, it is business." "good-by, then. i'm sorry you have to work so hard. if miss massingale were only rich--but i forgot, the ideals would still be in the way. no, don't come to the elevator. i can at least do that much for myself, if i am a 'giddy butterfly.'" after she had gone brouillard went back to the window and stood with his hands behind him looking out at the great dam with its stagings and runways almost deserted. but when the westering sun was beginning to emphasize the staging timbers whose shadow fingers would presently be reaching out toward the city he went around to his chair and sat down to take the washington telegram from beneath its paper-weight. nothing vital, nothing in any manner changeful of the hard conditions, had happened since he had signed his name to the cipher at the end of the former struggle. notwithstanding, the struggle was instantly renewed, and once more he found himself battling hopelessly with the undertow in the tide-way of indecision. xviii love's crucible for half an hour after the motor-cars of the falkland supper party had rolled away from the side entrance of the hotel metropole, brouillard sat at his desk in the empty office with the momentous telegram before him, searching blindly for some alternative to the final act of treachery which would be consummated in the sending of the wire. since, by reason of cortwright's tamperings with the smelter people and the railroad, the "little susan" had become a locked treasure vault, the engineer, acting upon his own initiative, had tried the law. as soon as he had ascertained that david massingale had been given sixty days longer to live, solely because the buccaneers chose to take his mine rather than his money, brouillard had submitted the facts in the case to a trusted lawyer friend in the east. this hope had pulled in two like a frayed cord. massingale must pay the bank or lose all. until he had obtained possession of the promissory notes there would be no crevice in which to drive any legal wedge. and even then, unless some pressure could be brought to bear upon the grafters to make them disgorge, there was no chance of massingale's recovering more than his allotted two thirds of the stock; in other words, he would still stand committed to the agreement by which he had bound himself to make the grafters a present, in fee simple, of one third of his mine. brouillard had written one more letter to the lawyer. in it he had asked how david massingale could be unassailably reinstated in his rights as the sole owner of the "little susan." the answer had come promptly and it was explicit. "only by the repayment of such sums as had been actually expended in the reorganization and on the betterments--for the modernizing machinery and improvements--and the voluntary surrender, by the other parties to the agreement, of the stock in dispute," the lawyer had written; and brouillard had smiled at the thought of cortwright voluntarily surrendering anything which was once well within the grasp of his pudgy hands. failing to start the legal wedge, brouillard had dipped--also without consulting massingale--into the matter of land titles. the "little susan" was legally patented under the land laws, and massingale's title, if the mine were located upon government land, was without a flaw. but on a former reclamation project brouillard had been brought in contact with some of the curious title litigation growing out of the old spanish grants; and in at least one instance he had seen a government patent invalidated thereby. as a man in reasonably close touch with his superiors in washington, the chief of construction knew that there was a spanish-grant involvement which had at one time threatened to at least delay the niquoia project. how it had been settled finally he did not know; but after the legal failure he had written to a man--a college classmate of his own--in the bureau of land statistics, asking for data which would enable him to locate exactly the niquoia-touching boundaries of the great coronida grant. to this letter no reply had as yet been received. brouillard had cause to know with what slowness a simple matter of information can ooze out of a department bureau. the letter--which, after all, might contain nothing helpful--lingered on the way, and the crisis, the turning-point beyond which there could be no redemption in a revival of the speculative craze, had arrived. brouillard took up the draught of the washington telegram and read it over. he was cooler now, and he saw that it was only as it came from the hand of a traitor, who could and would deliberately wreck the train of events it might set in motion, that it became a betrayal. writing as the commanding officer in the field, he had restated the facts--facts doubtless well known in the department--the probability that congress would intervene and the hold the opposition was gaining by the suspension of the work on the dam. if the work could be pushed energetically and at once, there was a possibility that the opposition would become discouraged and voluntarily withdraw. would the department place the men and the means instantly at his disposal? "if i were the honest man i am supposed to be, that is precisely the message i ought to send," he mused reflectively. "it is only as the crooked devil in possession of me will drive me to nullify the effort and make it of no effect that it becomes a crime; that and the fact that i can never be sure that the cortwright gang hasn't the inside track and will not win out in spite of all efforts. that is the touchstone of the whole degrading business. i'm afraid cortwright has the inside track. if i could only get a little clear-sighted daylight on the damnable tangle!" obeying a sudden impulse, he thrust the two copies of the telegram under the paper-weight again, sprang up, put on his hat, and left the building. a few minutes later he was on the porch of the stuccoed villa in the quadjenàï road and was saying gravely to the young woman who had been reading in the hammock: "you are staying too closely at home. get your coat and hat and walk with me up to the 'little susan.' it will do you good." the afternoon was waning and the sun, dipping to the horizon, hung like a huge golden ball over the yellow immensities of the distant buckskin as they topped the final ascent in the steep trail and went to sit on the steps of the deserted home cabin at the mine. for a time neither spoke, and the stillness of the air contributed something to the high-mountain silence, which was almost oppressive. work had been stopped in the mine at the end of the previous week, massingale declaring, morosely, that until he knew whose ore he was digging he would dig no more. presumably there was a watchman, but if so he was invisible to the two on the cabin step, and the high view-point was theirs alone. "how did you know that i have been wanting to come up here once more before everything is changed?" said the girl at length, patting the roughly hewn log step as if it were a sentient thing to feel the caress. "i didn't know it," brouillard denied. "i only knew that i wanted to get out of gomorrah for a little while, to come up here with you and get the reek of the pit out of my nostrils." "i know," she rejoined, with the quick comprehension which never failed him. "it is good to be out of it, to be up here where we can look down upon it and see it in its true perspective--as a mere little impertinent blot on the landscape. it's only that, after all, victor. see how the great dam--your work--overshadows it." "that is one of the things i hoped i might be able to see if i came here with you," he returned slowly. "but i can't get your point of view, amy. i shall never be able to get it again." "you did have it once," she asserted. "or rather, you had a better one of your own. has gomorrah changed it?" "no, not gomorrah. i could shut the waste-gates and drown the place to-morrow for all that mirapolis, or anything in it, means to me. but something has changed the point of view for me past mending, since that first day when we sat here together and looked down upon the beginnings of the reclamation construction camp--before gomorrah was ever thought of." "i know," she said again. "but that dreadful city is responsible. it has robbed us all, victor; but you more than any, i'm afraid." "no," he objected. "mirapolis has been only a means to an end. the thing that has changed my point of view--my entire life--is love, as i have told you once before." "oh, no," she protested gently, rising to take her old place, with her back to the porch post and her hands behind her. and then, still more gently: "that is almost like sacrilege, victor, for love is sacred." "i can't help it. love has made a great scoundrel of me, amy; a criminal, if man's laws were as closely meshed as god's." "i can't believe that," she dissented loyally. "it is true. i have betrayed my trust. cortwright will make good in all of his despicable schemes. congress will intervene and the niquoia project will be abandoned." "no," she insisted. "take a good, deep breath of this pure, clean, high-mountain air and think again. mirapolis is dying, even now, though nobody dares admit it. but it is. tig smith hears everything, and he told father last night that the rumor about the quadjenàï placers is true. they are worked out, and already the men have begun to move up the river in search of new ground. tig said that in another week there wouldn't be a dozen sluice-boxes working." "i have known about the quadjenàï failure for the past two weeks," brouillard put in. "for at least that length of time the two steam dredges have been handling absolutely barren gravel, and the men in charge of them have had orders to go on dredging and say nothing. mirapolis is no longer a gold camp; but, nevertheless, it will boom again--long enough to let mr. j. wesley cortwright and his fellow buccaneers loot it and get away." "how can you know that?" she asked curiously. "i know it because i am going to bring it to pass." "you?" "yes, i. it is the final act in the play. and my part in this act is the judas part--as it has been in the others." she was looking down at him with wide-open eyes. "if any one else had said that of you ... but i can't believe it! i know you, victor; i think i must have known you in the other world--the one before this--and there we climbed the heights, in the clear sunlight, together." "there was one thing you didn't learn about me--in that other world you speak of," he said, falling in with her allegory. "you didn't discover that i could become a wretched cheat and a traitor for love of you. perhaps it wasn't necessary--there." "tell me," she begged briefly; and, since he was staring fixedly at the scored slopes of jack's mountain, he did not see that she caught her lip between her teeth to stop its trembling. "part of it you know: how i did what i could to bring the railroad, and how your brother's teaspoonful of nuggets was made to work a devil's miracle to hurry things along when the railroad work was stopped. but that wasn't the worst. as you know, i had a debt to pay before i could say: 'come, little girl, let's go and get married.' so i became a stockholder in cortwright's power company, knowing perfectly well when i consented that the hundred thousand dollars' worth of stock he gave me was a bribe--the price of my silence and non-interference with his greedy schemes." "but you didn't mean to keep it; you knew you _couldn't_ keep it!" she broke in; and now he did not need to look to know that her lips were trembling piteously. "i did keep it. and when the time was fully ripe i sold it back to cortwright, or, rather, i suppose, sold it through him to some one of his wretched gulls. i meant to pay my father's debt with the money. i had the letter written and ready to mail. then the tempter whispered that there was no hurry, that i might at least keep the money long enough to make it earn something for myself. also, it struck me that this same devil was laughing at the spectacle of a man so completely lost to a decent sense of the fitness of things as to be planning to pay an honor debt with graft money. and so i kept it for a while." she dropped quickly on the step beside him and a sympathetic hand crept into his. "you kept it until the unhappy day when you gave it to my father, and he--and he threw it away." she was crying softly, but his attempt to comfort her was almost mechanical. "don't cry about the money. it had the devil's thumb-prints on it, and he merely claimed his own and got it." then he went on as one determined to leave nothing untold. "cortwright had bought me, and i served him as only a man in my position could serve him. i became a promoter, a 'booster,' with the others. there have been times when a word from me would have pricked the bubble. i haven't said the word; i am not saying it now. if i should say it i'd lose at a single stroke all that i have been fighting for. and i am not a good loser, amy." for once the keen, apprehending perception failed. "i don't understand," she said, speaking as if she were groping in thick darkness. "i mean i don't understand the motive that could----" he turned to her in dumb astonishment. "i thought i had been making it plain as i went along. there has been but the one motive--a mad passion to give, give, never counting the cost. love, as it has come to me, seems to have neither conscience nor any scruples. nothing is too precious to be dragged to the sacrifice. you wanted something--you needed it--therefore it must be purchased for you. and the curious part of the besetment is that i have known all along that i was killing your love for me. if it wasn't quite dead before, it will die now--now that i have told you how i am flinging the last vestiges of uprightness and honor to the winds." "but how?" she queried. "you haven't told me." "you said a few minutes ago that mirapolis is dying. that is true; and it is dying a little too soon to suit the purposes of the cortwright gang. it must be revived, and i am to revive it by persuading the department to rush the work on the dam. you would say that this would only hasten the death of the city. but the plot provides for all the contingencies. mirapolis needs the money that would be spent here in the rushing of the government work. that was the real life-blood of the boom at first, and it could be made to serve again. am i making it plain?" she nodded in speechless disheartenment, and he went on: "with the dam completed before congress could intervene, mirapolis would, of course, be quite dead and ready for its funeral. but if the cortwright people industriously insist that the spending of another million or two of government money is only another plum for the city and its merchants and industries, that, notwithstanding the renewed activities, the work will still stop short of completion and the city will be saved by legislative enactment, the innocent sheep may be made to bleed again and the wolves will escape." she shuddered and drew a little apart from him on the log step. "but your part in this horrible plot, victor?" she asked. "it is as simple as it is despicable. in the first place, i am to set the situation before the department in such a light as to make it clearly a matter of public policy to take advantage of the present mirapolitan crisis by pushing the work vigorously to a conclusion. after thus turning on the spigot of plenty, i am expected to crowd the pay-rolls and at the same time to hold back on the actual progress of the work. that is all--except that i am to keep my mouth shut." "but you can't, you _can't_!" she cried. then, in a passionate outburst: "if you should do such a thing as that, it wouldn't kill my love--i can't say that any more; but it would kill me--i shouldn't want to live!" he looked around at her curiously, as if he were holding her at arm's length. "shall i do what you would have me do, amy? or shall i do what is best for you?" the opposing queries were as impersonal as the arm's-length gaze. "perhaps i might be able to patch up the ideals and stand them on their feet again--and you would pay the penalty all your life in poverty and privation, in hopes wrecked and ruined, and i with my hands tied. that is one horn of the dilemma, and the other is ... let me tell you, amy, it is worse than your worst fears. they will strip your father of the last thing he has on earth and bring him out in debt to them. there is one chance, and only one, so far as i can see. let me go on as i have begun and i can pull him out." the tears had burned out of the steadfast eyes which were resting, with the shining soul looking out through them, upon the crimsoning snow peaks of the distant timanyonis. "how little you know the real love!" she said slowly. "it neither weighs nor measures, nor needs to; it writes its own law in the heart, and that law can make no compromise with evil. it has but one requirement--the best good of the beloved. if the way to that end lies through sacrifice--if it asks for the life itself--so let it be. if you knew this, victor, you would know that i would gladly lose all--the mine, my father's chance of his reward for the years of toil, even my brother's better chance for reformation--and count myself happy in having found a love that was too great to do evil that good might come." he got up stiffly and helped her to her feet and together they stood looking down upon the city of the plain, lying now under the curved, sunset shadow cast by the mighty, inbending sweep of the great dam. "i don't know," he said after a time. "once, as i told you a few weeks ago, the best there was in me would have leaped up to climb the heights with you. but i've gone far since the going began. i am not sure that i could find my way back if i should try. let's go down. i mustn't keep you out on the mountain after dark. i haven't happened to meet her, but i suppose there is a mrs. grundy, even in gomorrah." she acquiesced in silence and they made the descent of the steep trail and walked across in the growing dusk from the foot of chigringo to the stuccoed villa in the suburb, misers of speech, since there were no deeper depths to which the spoken word could plunge. but at the villa steps brouillard took the girl in his arms and kissed her. "put me out of your mind and heart if you can," he said tenderly, repeating the words which he had once sent across the distances to her in another moment of despair, and before she could answer he was gone. * * * * * monsieur poudrecaulx bongras, rotund, smiling, and roached and waxed to a broad burlesque of second-empire fierceness, looked in vain among his dinner guests that evening for the chief of the reclamation service, and brouillard's absence held a small disappointment for the frenchman. rumor, the rumor which was never quiet and which could never be traced conclusively to its source, was again busy with exciting hints of a new era of prosperity about to dawn, and bongras had hoped to drop his own little plummet of inquiry into the reclamation service chief. the chance did not materialize. the lights in a certain upper office in the niquoia building were still turned on long after m. poudrecaulx had given up the hope of the deep-sea sounding for that night. some time after the lobby crowd had melted, and before the lower avenue had begun to order small-hour suppers of bongras, the two high windows in the niquoia building went dark and a few minutes later the man who had spent half the night tramping the floor or sitting with his head in his hands at the desk in the upper room came out of the street archway and walked briskly to the telegraph office across the plaza. "how is the line to-night, sanford--pretty clear?" he asked of the night manager, killing time while the sleepy night receiving clerk was making his third attempt to count the words in the closely written, two-page government cipher. "nothing doing; a little a. p. stuff drizzling in now and then," said the manager; adding: "but that's like the poor--always with us." "all right; there is no particular rush about this matter of mine, just so it is sure to be in the secretary's hands at the opening of business in the morning. but be careful that it goes straight--you'd better have it checked back before it is put on the through wire from denver." "sure, mr. brouillard. what you say in this little old shack goes as it lays. we'll look out and not bull your message. good-night." xix the sunset gun notwithstanding the preliminary rumors which bongras and many others had sought so anxiously to verify, the mirapolitan awakening to a realization that once more the tide had turned to bring new billows of prosperity tumbling into the valley of the niquoia came with a sudden and triumphant shock. the first of the quickening waves fell upon the government reservation. between sunrise and nightfall, on a day when the cloud of depression had grown black with panic threatenings, the apathy which had lately characterized the work on the great dam disappeared as if by magic. the city found its bill-boards posted with loud calls for labor; the idle mixers were put in commission; the quarries and crushers began to thunder again; and the stagings once more shook and trembled under the feet of a busy army of puddlers. while the revival was as yet only in the embryonic period, fresh labor began to come in gangs and in car loads and presently by special trains. swarming colonies of greeks, italians, and bulgarians were dumped upon the city through the gate of the railroad station, and once more chigringo avenue at night became a cheerful midway answering to the speech of all nations. change, revivification, reanimation instantly became the new order of the day; and again mirapolis flung itself joyously into the fray, reaping where it had not sown and sowing only where the quickest crop could be gathered. for now the dullest of the reapers saw that the government work was really the mirapolitan breath of life. neither the quickening of the city's industries nor the restarting of the gold dredges in the quadjenàï canals, the reopening of the real estate exchange nor the buckskin company's sudden resumption of the profitless prospecting on jack's mountain served to obscure the principal fact--that without the money the reclamation service was disbursing the new prosperity structure would collapse like a house of cards. this new and never-mentioned conviction wrought an eager change in men and in methods. credit vanished and spot cash was tacitly acknowledged to be the only way to do business in a live community. fortunes changed hands swiftly, as before, but now there was little bargaining and, with hot haste for the foreword, little time for it. to the western motto of "go to it and get the money" was added: "and don't come back without it." it was said with a laugh, but behind the laugh there was a menace. among the individual transformations wrought by the new conditions, the young chief of the reclamation service afforded the most striking example. from the morning when he had summarily cancelled the lease for the offices in the niquoia building and had returned his headquarters to the old log buildings on the government reservation and thence had issued his first series of orders for the resumption of full-force work on the dam and canals, those who had known him best discovered that they had not known him at all. even to grislow and the men of his staff he was curt, crisply mandatory, almost brutal. for one and all there was rarely anything beyond the shot-like sentence: "drive it, men; drive it; that's what you're here for--_drive it_!" the time he took to eat his hurried meals at bongras's could be measured in minutes, and what hours he gave to sleep no man knew, since he was the last to leave the headquarters at night and the first on the work in the morning. twice, after the renewed activities on the great wall had become a well-ordered race against time, and the concrete was pouring into the high forms in steady streams from the ranked batteries of mixers, mr. cortwright had sent for brouillard, and on each occasion the messenger had gone back with the brief word: "too busy during working hours." and when a third messenger came to inquire what mr. brouillard's working hours were, the equally blunt answer returned was: "all the time." in the face of such discouragements mr. cortwright was constrained to pocket his dignity as mayor, as the potentate of the exchanges, and as the unquestionable master of the surly young industry captain who refused to come when he was called, and to go in person. choosing the evening hour when he had been assured that he was likely to find brouillard alone and at work, he crossed the boundaries of the sacred reservation and made his way to the door of the log-built mapping room. "i came around to see what is eating you these days," was the pudgy tyrant's greeting for the young man sitting under the shaded desk lamp. "why don't you drop in once in a while and give me the run of things?" "i gave your clerk the reason," said brouillard laconically. "i'm too busy." "the devil you are!" snapped the great man, finding the only arm chair in the room and dropping heavily into it. "since when?" "since the first time you sent for me--and before." mr. cortwright recovered his working geniality only with a palpable effort. "see here, brouillard, you know you never make any money by being short with me. let's drop it and get down to business. what i wanted to say is that you are overdoing it; you are putting on too much steam. you've brought the boom, all right, but at the pace you're setting it won't last long enough. are you catching on?" "i'm listening," was the non-committal reply. "well, enough's enough, and too much of a good thing scalds the hog before you're ready to dress it and cut it up. it's all right for you to run men in here by the train load and scatter 'em out over your scaffolding--the more the merrier, and it's good for the town--but you needn't sweat the last shovelful of hurry out of them the way you're doing. it won't do to get your job finished too soon." "before congress convenes, you mean?" suggested brouillard. "that's just what i mean. string it out. make it last." brouillard sat back in his pivot chair and began to play with the paper-knife. "and if i don't choose to 'string it out'--if i even confess that i am straining every nerve to do this thing that you don't want me to do--what then, mr. cortwright?" the quiet retort jolted the stocky man in the arm chair as if it had been a blow. but he recovered quickly. "i've been looking for that," he said with a nervous twinkling of the little gray eyes. "you've no business being out of business, brouillard. if you'd quit puddling sand and cement and little rocks together and strike your gait right in ten years you'd be the richest man this side of the mountains. i'll be open-handed with you: this time you've got us where we can't wiggle. we've _got_ to have more time. how much is it going to cost us?" brouillard shook his head slowly. "odd as it may seem to you, i'm out of your market this time, mr. cortwright--quite out of it." "oh, no, you're not. you've got property to sell--a good bit of it. we can turn it for you at a figure that will----" "no; you are mistaken," was the quick reply. "i have no property in mirapolis. i am merely a squatter on government land, like every one else in the niquoia valley." "for heaven's sake!" the promoter burst out. "what's got into you? don't you go around trying to stand that corpse on its feet; it's a dead one, i tell you! the coronida titles are all right!" "there are no coronida titles. you have known it all along, and i know it--now. i have it straight from the bureau of land statistics, in a letter from a man who knows. the nearest boundary of the old spanish grant is latigo peak, ten miles south of chigringo. the department knows this and is prepared to prove it. and in the very beginning you and your associates were warned that you could not acquire homestead or other rights in the niquoia." "let it go!" snapped the gray-eyed king of the pack. "we've got to get out alive and we're going to get out alive. what's your price?" "i have answered that question once, but i'll make it a little plainer if you wish. it is beyond your reach; if you should turn your money-coining soul into cash you couldn't pay it this time, mr. cortwright." "that's guff--boy-talk--play-ranting! you want something--is it that damned massingale business again? i don't own the railroad, but if you think i do, i'll sign anything you want to write to the traffic people. let massingale sell his ore and get the money for it. he'll go gamble it as he did yours." brouillard looked up under the shaded electric globe and his handsome face wrinkled in a sour smile. "you are ready to let go, are you?" he said. "you are too late. mr. ford returned from europe a week ago, and i have a wire saying that to-night's through freight from brewster is chiefly made up of empty ore-cars for the 'little susan.'" the sandy-gray eyes blinked at this, but mr. cortwright was of those who die hard. "what i said still holds good. massingale or his son, or both of them, will gamble the money. and if they don't, we've got 'em tied up in a hard knot on the stock proposition." "i was coming to that," said brouillard quietly. "for a long time you have been telling me what i should do and i have done it. now i'll take my turn. you must notify your associates that the 'little susan' deal is off. there will be a called meeting of the directors here in this room to-morrow evening at eight o'clock, and----" "who calls it?" interrupted the tyrant. "the president." "president nothing!" was the snorted comment. "an old, drunken gambler who hasn't got sense enough to go in when it rains! say, brouillard, i'll cut that pie so there'll be enough to go around the table. just leave massingale out of it and make up your mind that you're going to sit in with us. we've bought the mine and paid for it. i've got the stock put away where it's safe. massingale can't touch a share of it, or vote it, either." brouillard shook his head. "you are stubbornly hard to convince, mr. cortwright, but i'll try one more time. you will come here to-morrow evening, with your confederates in the deal, prepared to take the money you have actually spent in betterments and prepared to release the stock. if you fail to do so you will get nothing. is that explicit enough?" "you're crazy!" shouted the promoter. "you talk as if there wasn't any law in this country!" "there isn't--for such men as you; you and your kind put yourselves above the law. but that is neither here nor there. you don't want to go into court with this conspiracy which you have cooked up to beat david massingale out of his property. it's the last thing on earth you want to do. so you'd better do the other thing--while you can." mr. cortwright sat back in his chair, and once more brouillard saw in the sandy-gray eyes the look which had been in the son's eyes when the derelict fought for freedom to finish killing stephen massingale. "it's a pretty dangerous thing to try to hold a man up unless you've got the drop on him, brouillard," he said significantly. "i've got you covered from my pocket; i've had you covered that way ever since you began to buck and rear on me a couple of months ago. one little wire word to washington fixes you for good and all. if i say the word, you'll stay on your job just as long as it will take another man to get here to supersede you." brouillard laughed. "the pocket drop is never very safe, mr. cortwright. you are likely to lose too much time feeling for the proper range. then, too, you can never be sure that you won't miss. also, your assumption that i'm taking an unarmed man's chance is wrong. i can kill you before you can pull the trigger of the pocket gun you speak of--kill you so dead that you won't need anything but a coroner's jury and a coffin. how long would it take you to get action in the washington matter, do you think?" "i've told you; you'd have just about a week longer to live, at the furthest." "i can better that," was the cool reply. "i have asked you to do a certain thing to-morrow night. if you don't do it, the _spot-light_ will print, on the following morning, that letter i spoke of--the letter from my friend in the bureau of land statistics. when that letter is printed everybody in mirapolis will know that you and your accomplices are plain swindlers, amenable to the criminal law, and from that moment there will never be another real-estate transfer in the niquoia valley." the promoter rose slowly out of his chair and stood leaning heavily with his fat hands, palms downward, on the flat-topped desk. his cheeks were puffed out and the bitten mustaches bristled like the whiskers of a gray old leader of the timber-wolves. "brouillard," he grated huskily, "does this mean that you're breaking with us, once for all?" "it means more than that; it means that i have reached a point at which i am ashamed to admit that there was ever anything to break." "then listen: you've helped this thing along as much as, or more than, anybody else in this town; and there are men right here in mirapolis--plenty of 'em--who will kill you like a rat in a hole if you go back on them as you are threatening to. don't you know that?" the younger man was balancing the paper-cutter across his finger. "that is the least of my worries," he answered, speaking slowly. "i am all sorts of a moral coward, i suppose; i've proved that often enough in the past few months, god knows. but i'm not the other kind, mr. cortwright." "then i'll take a hand!" snarled the tyrant at bay. "i'll spend a million dollars, if i have to, blacklisting you from one end of this country to the other! i'll fix it so you'll never build anything bigger than a hog-pen again as long as you live! i'll publish your record wherever there is a newspaper to print it!" he pounded on the desk with his fist--"i'll do it--money can do it! more than that, you'll never get a smell of that chigringo mine--you nor dave massingale!" brouillard tossed the paper-knife into a half-opened drawer and squared himself at the blotting-pad. "that is your challenge, is it?" he said curtly. "so be it. start your machinery. you will doubtless get me, not because you have money, but because for a time i was weak enough and wicked enough to climb down and stand on your level. but if you don't hurry, mr. cortwright, i'll get you first. are you going? one thing more--and it's a kindness; get your son out of town before this massingale matter comes up for adjustment. it will be safer." "is that all you have to say?" "pretty nearly all, except to tell you that your time is growing short, and you and those who are in with you had better begin to set your houses in order. if you'll come over here at eight o'clock to-morrow night prepared to do the square thing by david massingale, i'll withhold the publication of that letter which will stamp you and your associates as criminals before the law; but that is the only concession i shall make." "you've got to make at least one more!" stormed the outgoing magnate. "you don't have to set any dates or anything of that kind for your damned drowning act!" "in justice to a good many people who are measurably innocent, i shall have to do that very thing," returned the engineer firmly. "the notice will appear in to-morrow's _spot-light_." it was the final straw in the stocky promoter's crushing wrath burden. his fat face turned purple, and for a second or two he clawed the air, gasping for breath. brouillard sat back in his chair, waiting for the volcanic upheaval. but it did not come. when he had regained a measure of self-control, mr. cortwright turned slowly and went out without a word, stumbling over the threshold and slamming the door heavily as he disappeared. for a time after the promoter's wordless departure brouillard sat at his desk writing steadily. when the last of the memorandum sheets was filled he found his hat and street coat and left the office. ten minutes later he had penetrated to the dusty den on the second floor of the _spot-light_ office where harlan was grinding copy for his paper. brouillard took a chair at the desk end and laid the sheets of pencilled government paper under the editor's eyes. harlan's lean, fine-lined face was a study in changing emotions as he read. but at the end there was an aggrieved look in his eyes, mirroring the poignant regret of a newsman who has found a priceless story which he dares not use. "it's ripping," he sighed, "the biggest piece of fireworks a poor devil of a newspaper man ever had a chance to touch off. but, of course, i can't print it." "why 'of course'?" "for the same reason that a sane man doesn't peek down the muzzle of a loaded gun when he is monkeying with the trigger. i want to live a little while longer." brouillard looked relieved. "i thought, perhaps, it was on account of your investments," he said. "not at the present writing," amended harlan with a grin. "i got a case of cold feet when we had that little let-up a while back, and when the market opened i cleaned up and sent the sure-enough little round dollars home to ohio." "and still you won't print this?" "i'd like to; you don't know how much i'd like to. but they'd hang me and sack the shop. i shouldn't blame 'em. if what you have said here ever gets into cold type, it's good-by mirapolis. why, brouillard, the whole united states would rise up and tell us to get off the map. you've made us look like thirty cents trying to block the wheels of a million dollars--and that is about the real size of it, i guess." "then it is your opinion that if this were printed it would do the business?" "there isn't the slightest doubt about it." "thank you, harlan, that is what i wanted to find out--if i had made it strong enough. it'll be printed. i'll put it on the wires to the associated press. i was merely giving you the first hack at it." "gee--gosh! hold on a minute!" exclaimed the newsman, jumping up and snapping his fingers. "if i weren't such a dod-gasted coward! let me run in a few 'it is alleged's', and i'll chance it." "no; it goes as it lies. there are no allegations. it is merely a string of cold facts, as you very well know. print it if you like, and i'll see to it that they don't hang you or loot the office. i have two hundred of the safest men on my force under arms to-night, and we'll take care of you. i'm in this thing for blood, harlan, and when i get through, this little obstruction in the way of progress that cortwright and his crowd planned, and that you and i and a lot of other fools and knaves helped to build, will be cooling itself under two hundred feet of water." "good lord!" said the editor, still unable to compass the barbaric suddenness of it. then he ran his eye over the scratch sheets again. "does this formal notice that the waste-gates will be closed three weeks from to-morrow go as it stands?" he inquired. "it does. i have the department's authority. you know as well as i do that unless a fixed day is set there will be no move made. we are all trespassers here, and we've been warned off. that's all there is to it. and if we can't get our little belongings up into the hills in three weeks it's our loss; we had no business bringing them here." the editor looked up with the light of a new discovery in his eyes. "you say 'we' and 'our.' that reminds me; garner told me no longer ago than this afternoon that you are on record for something like a hundred thousand dollars' worth of choice mirapolis front feet. how about that?" brouillard's smile was quite heart-whole. "i've kept my salary in a separate pocket, harlan. besides that--well, i came here with nothing and i shall go away with nothing. the rest of it was all stage money." "say--by hen!" ejaculated the owner of the _spot-light_. then, smiting the desk: "you ought to let me print that. i'd run it in red head-lines across the top of the front page. but, of course, you won't.... well, here goes for the fireworks and a chance of a soaped rope." and he pushed the bell button for the copy boy. late as it was when he left the _spot-light_ office, brouillard waited on the corner for a quadjenàï car, and, catching one, he was presently whisked out to the ornate villa in the eastern suburb. there was a light in the hall and another in a room to the rear, and it was amy who answered his touch of the bell-push. "no, i can't stay," he said, when she asked him in. "but i had to come, if it was only for a minute. the deed is done. i've had my next-to-the-last round-up with mr. j. wesley cortwright, and to-morrow's _spot-light_ will fire the sunset gun for mirapolis. is your father here?" "no. he and stevie are up at the mine. i am looking for them on every car." "when they come, tell your father it's time to hike. are you all packed?" she nodded. "everything is ready." "all right. three of my teams will be here by midnight, at the latest. the drivers and helpers will be good men and you can trust them. don't let anything interfere with your getting safely up to the mountain to-night. there'll be warm times in gomorrah from this on and i want a free hand--which i shouldn't have with you here." "oh, i'm glad, glad!--and i'm just as scared as i can be!" she gasped with true feminine inconsistency. "they will single you out first; what if i am sending you to your death, victor! oh, please don't go and break my heart the other way across by getting killed!" he drew a deep breath and laughed. "you don't know how good it sounds to hear you say that--and say it in that way. i sha'n't be reckless. but i'm going to bring j. wesley and his crowd to book--they've got to go, and they've got to turn the 'little susan' loose." "they will never do that," she said sadly. "i'll make them; you wait and see." she looked up with the violet eyes kindling. "i told you once that you could do anything you wanted to--if you only wanted to hard enough. i believed it then; i believe it now." "no," he denied with a smile that was half sorrowful, "i can't make two hills without a valley between them. i've chased down the back track like a little man,--for love's sake, amy,--and i've burned all the bridges behind me as i ran; namely, the sham deeds to the pieces of reservoir bottom i'd been buying. but when it is all over i shall be just where i was when we began--exactly one hundred thousand dollars short of being able to say: 'come, girl, let's go and get married.'" "but father owes you a hundred thousand dollars," she said quickly. "not in a hundred thousand years, o most inconsistent of women! didn't we agree that that money was poisoned? it was the purchase price of an immortal soul, and i wouldn't touch it with a pair of tongs. that is why your father couldn't use it; it belonged to the devil and the devil wanted it back." "father won't take that view of it," she protested. "then you'll have to help me to bully him, that's all. but i must go and relieve grizzy, who is doing guard duty at the mixers.... tell your father--no, that isn't what i meant to say, it's this--" and his arms went suddenly across the hundred-thousand-dollar chasm. * * * * * a little deeper in the night, when he was tramping back through the sleeping town and up to the mixers on the high bench of jack's mountain, brouillard knew well enough that he was walking over a thin-crusted crater of volcanic possibilities. but to a man in the seventh heaven of love acknowledged without shame, and equally without shame returned,--nay, with the first passionate kiss of the love still tingling on his lips,--volcanic possibilities, or even the volcanoes themselves, figure lightly, indeed. xx the terror in the yellowstone national park there is an apparently bottomless pit which can be instantly transformed into a spouting, roaring vesuvius of boiling water by the simple expedient of dropping a bar of soap into it. the _spot-light_ went to press at three o'clock. by the earliest graying of dawn, and long before the sun had shown itself above the eastern timanyonis, brouillard's bar of soap was melting and the mirapolitan under-depths were beginning to heave. like wild-fire, the news spread from lip to lip and street to street, and by sunrise the geyser was retching and vomiting, belching débris of cries and maledictions, and pouring excited and riotous crowds into chigringo avenue. most naturally, the _spot-light_ office was the first point of attack, and harlan suffered loss, though it was inconsiderable. at the battering down of the doors the angry mob found itself confronting the young reclamation service chief and four members of his staff, all armed. brouillard spoke briefly and to the point. "i am the man who wrote that article you've been reading, and mr. harlan printed it as a matter of news. if you have anything to say to me you know where to find me. now, move on and let mr. harlan's property alone or somebody will get hurt." nobody stayed to press the argument at the moment. an early-morning mob is proverbially incoherent and incohesive; and, besides, loaded winchesters in the hands of five determined men are apt to have an eloquence which is more or less convincing. but with the opening of business the geyser spouted again. the exchanges were mobbed by eager sellers, each frenzied struggler hoping against hope that he might find some one simple enough to buy. at ten o'clock the bank closed--"temporarily," the placard notice said. but there were plenty to believe that it would never open again. by noon the trading panic had exhausted itself a little, though the lobby and café of the metropole were crowded, and anxious groups quickly formed around any nucleus of rumor or gossip in the streets. between one and two o'clock, while brouillard, leshington, and anson were hastily eating a luncheon sent over to the mapping room from bongras's, harlan drifted in. "spill your news," commanded leshington gruffly. "what's doing, and who's doing it?" "nobody, and nothing much," said harlan, answering the two queries as one. "the town is falling apart like a bunch of sand and the get-away has set in. two full trains went east this forenoon, and two more are scheduled for this afternoon if the railroad people can get the cars here." "'good-by, little girl, good-by,'" hummed grislow, entering in time to hear the report of the flight. but leshington was shaking his big head moodily. "laugh about it if you can, but it's no joke," he growled. "when the froth is blown away and the bubbles quit rising, there are going to be some mighty bitter settlings left in the bottom of the stein." "you're right, leshington," said harlan, gravely. "what we're seeing now is only the shocked surprise of it--as when a man says 'ouch!' before he realizes that the dog which has bitten him has a well-developed case of rabies. we'll come to the hydrophobic stage later on." by nightfall of this first day the editor's ominous prophecy seemed about to reach its fulfilment. the avenue was crowded again and the din and clamor was the roar of a mob infuriated. brouillard and leshington had just returned from posting a company of the workmen guard at the mixers and crushers, when grislow, who had been scouting on the avenue, came in. "harmless enough, yet," he reported. "it's only some more of the get-away that harlan was describing. just the same, it's something awful. people are fairly climbing over one another on the road up the hill to the station--with no possible hope of getting a train before some time to-morrow. teamsters are charging twenty-five dollars a load for moving stuff that won't find cars for a week, and they're scarce at the price." leshington, who was not normally a profane man, opened his mouth and said things. "if the cortwright crowd had one man in it with a single idea beyond saving his own miserable stake!" he stormed. "what are the spellbinders doing, grizzy?" the hydrographer grinned. "cortwright and a chosen few left this afternoon, hotfoot, for washington, to get the government to interfere. that's the story they'd like to have the people believe. but the fact is, they ran away from judge lynch." "yes; i think i see 'em coming back--not!" snorted the first assistant. then to brouillard: "that puts it up to us from this out. is there anything we can do?" brouillard shook his head. "i don't want to stop the retreat. i've heard from president ford. the entire western division will hustle the business of emptying the town, and the quicker it is done the sooner it will be over." for a tumultuous week the flight from the doomed city went on, and the overtaxed single-track railroad wrought miracles of transportation. not until the second week did the idea of material salvage take root, but, once started, it grew like jonah's gourd. hundreds of wrecking crews were formed. plants were emptied, and the machinery was shipped as it stood. houses and business blocks were gutted of everything that could be carried off and crowded into freight-cars. and, most wonderful of all, cars were found and furnished almost as fast as they could be loaded. but the second week was not without incidents of another sort. twice brouillard had been shot at--once in the dark as he was entering the mapping room, and again in broad day when he was crossing the avenue to bongras's. the second attempt was made by the broker garner, whom excitement or loss, or both, had driven crazy. the young engineer did nothing in either case save to see to it that garner was sent to his friends in kansas city. but when, two nights later, an attempt was made to dynamite the great dam, he covered the bill-boards with warning posters. outsiders found within the reclamation service picket-lines after dark would be held as intentional criminals and dealt with accordingly. "it begins to look a little better," said anson on the day in the third week when the army of government laborers began to strip the final forms from the top of the great wall which now united the two mountain shoulders and completely overshadowed and dominated the dismantled town. "if the avenue would only take its hunch and go, the agony would be over." but brouillard was dubious. the avenue, more particularly the lower avenue, constituted the dregs. bongras, whom brouillard had promised to indemnify, stayed; some of the shopkeepers stayed for the chance of squeezing the final trading dollar out of the government employees; the saloon-keepers stayed to a man, and the dives were still running full blast--chiefly now on the wages of the government force. "it will be worse before it is better," was the young chiefs prediction, and the foreboding verified itself that night. looting of a more or less brazen sort had been going on from the first, and by nine o'clock of the night of prediction a loosely organized mob of drink-maddened terrorists was drifting from street to street, and there were violence and incendiarism to follow. though the property destruction mattered little, the anarchy it was breeding had to be controlled. brouillard and leshington got out their reserve force and did what they could to restore some semblance of order. it was little enough; and by ten o'clock the amateur policing of the city had reduced itself to a double guarding of the dam and the machinery, and a cordoning of the metropole, the reclamation service buildings, and the _spot-light_ office. for harlan, the dash of sporting blood in his veins asserting itself, still stayed on and continued to issue his paper. "i said i wanted to be in at the death, and for a few minutes to-night i thought i was going to be," he told brouillard, when the engineer had posted his guards and had climbed the stair to the editorial office. then he asked a question: "when is this little hell-on-earth going to be finally extinguished, victor?" instead of answering, brouillard put a question of his own: "did you know that cortwright and schermerhorn and judge williams came back this evening, harlan?" "i did," said the newspaper man. "they are registered at the metropole as large as life. and miss genevieve and lord falkland and cortwright's ugly duckling of a son came with them. what's up?" "that is what i'd like to know. there's a bunch of strangers at the metropole, too, a sheriff's posse, poodles thinks; at least, there is a deputy from red butte with the crowd." harlan tilted back in his chair and scanned the ceiling reflectively. "this thing is getting on my nerve, old man. i wish we could clean the slate and all go home." "it is going to be cleaned. notices will be posted to-morrow warning everybody that the waste-gates will be closed promptly on the date advertised." "when is it? things have been revolving too rapidly to let me remember such a trivial item as a date." "it is the day after to-morrow, at noon." the owner of the _spot-light_ nodded. "let her go, gallagher. i've got everything on skids, even the presses. _au revoir_--or perhaps one should say, _au reservoir_." fresh shoutings and a crackling of pistols arose in the direction of the plaza, and brouillard got up and went to a window. the red glow of other house burnings loomed against the sombre background of jack's mountain. "senseless savages!" he muttered, and then went back to the editor. "i don't like this cortwright reappearance, harlan. i wish i knew what it means." "let's see," said the newsman thoughtfully; "what is there worth taking that they didn't take in the _sauve qui peut_? by jove--say! did old david massingale get out of j. wesley's clutches before the lightning struck?" "i wish i could say 'yes', and be sure of it," was the sober reply. "you knew about the thieving stock deal, or what you didn't know i told you. well, i had massingale, as president, call a meeting of directors--which never met. afterward, acting under legal advice, he went on working the mine, and he's been working it ever since, shipping a good bit of ore now and then, when he could squeeze it in between the get-away trains. of course, there is bound to be a future of some sort; but that is the present condition of affairs." "how about those notes in the bank? wasn't massingale personally involved in some way?" brouillard bounded out of his chair as if the question had been a point-blank pistol-shot. "great heavens!" he exclaimed. "to-day's the day! in the hustle i had forgotten it, and i'll bet old david has--if he hasn't simply ignored it. that accounts for the reunion at the metropole!" "don't worry," said harlan easily. "the bank has gone, vanished, shut up shop. at the end of the ends, i suppose, they can make david pay; but they can't very well cinch him for not meeting his notes on the dot." "massingale doesn't really owe them anything that he can't pay," brouillard asserted. "by wiring and writing and digging up figures, we found that the capitalizing stockholders, otherwise j. wesley cortwright, and possibly schermerhorn, have actually invested fifty-two thousand dollars, or, rather, that amount of massingale's loan has been expended in equipment and pay-rolls. three weeks ago the old man got the smelter superintendent over here from red butte, and arranged for an advance of fifty-two thousand dollars on the ore in stock, the money to be paid when the first train of ore-cars should be on the way in. it was paid promptly in new york exchange, and massingale indorsed the draft over to me to be used in the directors' meeting, which was never held." "well?" said the editor. brouillard took a pacing turn up the long, narrow room, and when he came back he said: "i guess i'm only half reformed, after all, harlan. i'd give a year or so out of my natural life if i had a grip on cortwright that would enable me to go across to bongras's and choke a little justice out of him." "go over and flash massingale's fifty-two thousand dollars at 'em. they'll turn loose. i'll bet a yellow cur worth fifteen cents that they're wishing there was a train out of this little section of sheol right now. hear that!" the crash of an explosion rattled the windows, and the red loom on the jack's mountain side of the town leaped up and became a momentary glare. the fell spirit of destruction, of objectless wreck and ruin, was abroad, and brouillard turned to the stairway door. "i'll have to be making the rounds again," he said. "the greeks and italians are too excitable to stand much of this. take care of yourself; i'll leave grif and a dozen of the trusties to look after the shop." when he reached the sidewalk the upper avenue was practically deserted. but in the eastern residence district, and well around to the north, new storm-centres were marked by the increasing number of fires. brouillard stopped and faced toward the distant and invisible timanyonis. a chill autumn breeze was sweeping down from the heights and the blockading wall of the great dam turned it into eddies and dust-pillared whirls dancing in the empty street. young griffith sauntered up with his winchester in the hollow of his arm. "anything new?" he asked. "no," said brouillard. "i was just thinking that a little wind would go a long way to-night, with these crazy house-burners loose on the town." then he turned and walked rapidly to the government headquarters, passed the sentry at the door of the mapping room; and out of the fire-proof vault where the drawings and blue-print duplicates were kept took a small tin despatch-box. he had opened the box and had transferred a slip of paper from it to the leather-covered pocket field book which served him for a wallet, when there was a stir at the door and castner hurried in, looking less the clergyman than the hard-working peace-officer. "more bedlam," he announced. "i want gassman or handley and twenty or thirty good men. the mob has gone from wrecking and burning to murdering. 'pegleg' john was beaten to death in front of his saloon a few minutes ago. it is working this way. there were three fires in the plaza as i came through." "see grislow at the commissary and tell him i sent you," said the chief. "i'd go with you, but i'm due at the metropole." "good. then miss amy got word to you? i was just about to deliver her message." "miss massingale? where is she, and what was the message?" demanded brouillard. "then you haven't heard? the 'little susan' is in the hands of a sheriff's posse, and david massingale is under arrest on some trumped-up charge--selling ore for his individual account, or something of that sort. miss amy didn't go into particulars, but she told me that she had heard the sheriff say it was a penitentiary offence." "but where is she now?" stormed brouillard. "over at the hotel. i supposed you knew; you said you were going there." brouillard snatched up the despatch-box and flung it into the fire-proof. while he was locking the door castner went in search of grislow, and when brouillard faced about, another man stood in the missionary's place by the mapping table. it was mr. j. wesley cortwright. the gray-faced promoter had lost something of his old-time jaunty assurance, and he was evidently well shaken and unnerved by the sights and sounds of the night of terror. the sandy-gray eyes advertised it as well as the fat hands, which would not keep still. "i didn't think i'd have to ask a favor of you again, brouillard, but needs must when the devil drives," he began, with an attempted assumption of the former manner. "we didn't know--the newspapers didn't tell us anything about this frightful state of affairs, and----" brouillard had suddenly lost his desire to hurry. "sit down, mr. cortwright," he said. "i was just coming over to see you--to congratulate you and mr. schermerhorn on your return to mirapolis. we have certainly missed the mayor, not to mention the president of the common council." "of course--yes," was the hurried rejoinder. "but that's all over. you said you'd get us, and you did. i don't bear malice. if you had given me one more day i'd have got you; the stuff that would have broken your neck with the washington people was all written and ready to put on the wires. but that's past and gone, and the next thing is something else. there is a lot of money and securities locked up in the niquoia bank vault. we've come to clean up, and we brought a few peace officers along from red butte for a guard. the miserable scoundrels are scared stiff; they won't stir out of the hotel. bongras tells me you've got your force organized and armed--can't you lend us fifty or a hundred huskies to keep the mob off while we open that bank vault?" brouillard's black eyes snapped, and the blood danced in his veins. the opportunity for which he would have bartered ormus treasure had come to him--was begging him to use it. "i certainly can," he admitted, answering the eager question and emphasizing the potentiality. "but will you? that's the point. we'll make it worth your while. for god's sake, don't say no, brouillard! there's pretty well up to a million in that vault, counting odds and ends and left-overs. schermerhorn oughtn't to have left it. i thought he had sense enough to stay and see it taken care of. but now----" "but now the mob is very likely to wreck the building and dynamite the vault, you were going to say. i think it is more than likely, mr. cortwright, and i wonder that it hasn't been done before this. it would have been done if the rioters had had any idea that you'd left anything worth taking. and it would probably wreck you and mr. schermerhorn if it should get hold of you; you've both been burned in effigy half a dozen times since you ran away." "oh, good lord!" shuddered the magnate. "make it two hundred of your men, and let's hurry. you won't turn us down on this, brouillard?" "no. it is no part of our duty to go and keep the mob off while you save your stealings, but we'll do it. and from the noise they are making down that way, i think you are wise in suggesting haste. but first there is a question of common justice to be settled. an hour ago, or such a matter, you sent a part of your sheriff's posse up to seize the 'little susan' and to arrest david massingale----" "it's--it's a lie!" stammered cortwright. "somebody has been trying to backcap me to you!" brouillard looked up, frowning. "you are a good bit older man than i am, mr. cortwright, and i sha'n't punch your head. but you'll know why i ought to when i tell you that my informant is miss amy massingale. what have you done with old david?" the man who had lost his knack of bluffing came down and stayed down. "he--he's over at the hotel," he stammered. "under guard?" "well--y-yes." brouillard pointed to the telephone on the wall. "go and call up your crowd and get it here. tell judge williams to bring the stock he is holding, and schermerhorn to bring the massingale notes, and your man jackson to bring the stock-book. we'll have that directors' meeting that was called, and wasn't held, three weeks ago." "oh, good heavens!" protested the millionaire, "put it off--for god's sake, put it off! it will be wasting time that may be worth a thousand dollars a minute!" "you are wasting some of the thousand-dollar minutes right now," was the cool reply, and the engineer turned to his desk and squared himself as if he were going to work on a bunch of foremen's reports. it was a crude little expedient, but it sufficed. cortwright tramped to the 'phone and cursed and swore at it until he had his man at the other end of the wire. the man was the lawyer, as it appeared, and cortwright abused him spitefully. "you've balled it--balled it beautifully!" he shouted. "come over here to brouillard's office and bring schermerhorn and the stock and the notes and jackson and the secretary's books and massingale and your infernal self! get a move, and get it quick! we stand to lose the whole loaf because you had to butt in and sweep up the crumbs first!" when the procession arrived, as it did in an incredibly short time, brouillard laid down the law. "we don't need these," he said curtly, indicating the two deputies who came to bring david massingale. and when they were gone: "now, gentlemen, get to work and do business, and the less time you waste the better chance there will be for your bank salvage. three requirements i make: you will turn over the stock, putting mr. massingale in possession of his mine, without encumbrance; you will cancel and surrender his notes to the bank; and you will give him a document, signed by all of you, acknowledging the payment in full of all claims, past or pending. while you are straightening things out, i'll ring up the yards and rally your guard." cortwright turned on the lawyer. "you hear what brouillard says; fix it, and do it suddenly." it was done almost before brouillard had made leshington, in charge at the yards, understand what was wanted. "now a note to your man at the mine to make him let go without putting us to the trouble of throwing him over the dump," said the engineer, when he had looked over the stock transfers, examined the cancelled notes, and read and witnessed the signatures on the receipt in full. cortwright nodded to the lawyer, and when williams began to write again the king of the promoters turned upon brouillard with a savage sneer. "once more you've had your price," he snarled bitterly. "you and the old man have bilked us out of what we spent on the mine. but we'll call it an even break if you'll hurry that gang of huskies." "we'll call it an even break when it is one," retorted brouillard; and after he had gathered up the papers he took the new york check from his pocketbook, indorsed it, and handed it to cortwright. "that is what was spent out of the hundred thousand dollars you had mr. massingale charged with, as nearly as we can ascertain. take it and take care of it; it's real money." he had turned again to the telephone to hurry leshington, had rung the call, and was chuckling grimly over the collapse of the four men at the end of the mapping table as they fingered the slip of money paper. suddenly it was borne in upon him that there was trouble of some sort at the door--there were curses, a blow, a mad rush; then.... it was stephen massingale who had fought his way past the door-guarding sentry and stood blinking at the group at the far end of the mapping board. "you're the houn' dog i'm lookin' for!" he raged, singling out cortwright when the dazzle of the electrics permitted him to see. "you'll rob an old man first, and then call him a thief and set the sheriff on him, will you----?" massingale's pistol was dropping to the firing level when brouillard flung away the telephone ear-piece and got between. afterward there was a crash like a collision of worlds, a whirling, dancing medley of colored lights fading to gray and then to darkness, and the engineer went down with the avenger of wrongs tightly locked in his arms. * * * * * after the period of darkness had passed and brouillard opened his eyes again upon the world of things as they are, he had a confused idea that he had overslept shamefully and that the indulgence had given him a bad headache. the next thought was that the headache was responsible for a set of singular hallucinations. his blanket bunk in the sleeping shack seemed to have transformed itself into a white bed with pillows and snowy sheets, and the bed was drawn up beside an open window through which he could look out, or seem to look out, upon a vast sea dimpling in the breeze and reflecting the sunshine so brightly that it made his headache a darting agony. when he turned his face to escape the blinding glare of the sun on the sea the hallucinations became soothingly comforting, not to say ecstatic. some one was sitting on the edge of the bed; a cool hand was laid on his forehead; and when he could again see straight he found himself looking up into a pair of violet eyes in which the tears were trembling. [illustration: brouillard got between.] "you are amy--and this is that other world you used to talk about, isn't it?" he asked feebly. the cool hand slipped from his forehead to his lips, as if to warn him that he must not talk, and he went through the motions of kissing it. when it was withdrawn he broke the silent prohibition promptly. "the way to keep me from talking is to do it all yourself; what happened to me last night?" she shook her head sorrowfully. "the 'last night' you mean was three weeks ago. stevie was trying to shoot mr. cortwright in your office and you got between them. do you remember that?" "perfectly," he said. "but it still seems as if it were only last night. where am i now?--not that it makes any difference, so long as i'm with you." "you are at home--our home; at the 'little susan.' mr. leshington had the men carry you up here, and mr. ford ran a special train all the way from denver with the doctors. stevie's bullet struck you in the head, and--and we all thought you were going to die." "i'm not," he asserted, in feebly desperate determination. "i'm going to live and get to work and earn a hundred thousand dollars, so i can say: 'come, little girl----'" again the restraining hand was laid upon his lips, and again he went through the motions of kissing it. "you _mustn't_ talk!" she insisted. "you said you'd let me." and when he made the sign of acquiescence, she went on: "at first the doctors wouldn't give us any hope at all; they said you might live, but you'd--you'd never--never remember--never have your reason again. but yesterday----" "please!" he pleaded. "that's more than enough about me. i want to know what happened." "that night, you mean? all the things that you had planned for. father got the mine back, and mr. leshington and the others got the riot quelled after about half of the city was burned." "but cortwright and schermerhorn--i promised them----" "mr. leshington carried out your promise and helped them get the money out of the bank vault before the mob sacked the niquoia building and dynamited it. but at the hotel they were arrested on the order of the bank examiner, and everything was taken away from them. we haven't heard yet what is going to be done with them." "and gomorrah?" he asked. she slipped an arm under his shoulders and raised him so he could look out upon the mountain-girt sea dimpling under the morning breeze. "there is where it was," she said soberly, "where it was, and is not, and never will be again, thank god! mr. leshington waited until everybody had escaped, and then he shut the waste-way gates." brouillard sank back upon the pillows of comfort and closed his eyes. "then it's all up to me and the hundred thousand," he whispered. "and i'll get it ... honestly, this time." the violet eyes were smiling when he looked into them again. "is she--the one incomparable she--worth it, victor?" "her price is above rubies, as i told you once a long time ago." "you wouldn't let pride--a false pride--stand in the way of her happiness?" "i haven't any; her love has made me very humble and--and good, amy, dear. don't laugh: it's the only word; i'm just hungering and thirsting after righteousness enough to be half-way worthy of her." "then i'll tell you something else that has happened. father and stevie have reorganized the 'little susan' mining company, dividing the stock into four equal parts--one for each of us. you must take your share, victor. it will break father's heart if you don't. he says you got it back for him after it was hopelessly lost, and that is true." he had closed his eyes again, and what he said seemed totally irrelevant. "'and after the man had climbed the fourth mountain through all its seven stages, he saw a bright light, and it blinded him so that he stumbled and fell, and a great darkness rose up to make the light seem far beyond his reach. then the light came near, and he saw that it was love, and that the darkness was in his own soul.' ... kiss me, amy, girl, and then go and tell your father that he is a simple-hearted old spendthrift, and i love him. and if you could wire castner, and tell him to bring a license along----" "o boy--foolish boy!" she said. "wait: when you are well and strong again...." but she did not make him wait for the first of the askings; and after a healing silence had fallen to show the needlessness of speech between those who have come through darkness into light, he fell asleep again, perhaps to dream that the quieting hand upon his forehead was the touch of love, angel of the bright and shining way, summoning him to rise up and go forward as a soul set free to meet the dawning day of fruition. the end * * * * * books by francis lynde published by charles scribner's sons the city of numbered days. illus. mo _net_ $ . the honorable senator sage-brush. mo _net_ $ . scientific sprague. illus. mo _net_ $ . the price. mo _net_ $ . the taming of red butte western. illus. mo _net_ $ . the king of arcadia. illus. mo _net_ $ . a romance in transit. mo _net_ . transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. books by katharine holland brown published by charles scribner's sons the hallowell partnership. mo net, $ . the messenger. mo net, . philippa at halcyon. illustrated. mo $ . the hallowell partnership [illustration: marian could only lie by the fire and tease empress and fret the endless hours away.] the hallowell partnership by katharine holland brown author of "philippa at halcyon," etc. _illustrated_ new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published october, to the house of the brown thrush the author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of _the youth's companion_, in permitting this publication of "the hallowell partnership." illustrations marian could only lie by the fire and tease empress and fret the endless hours away _frontispiece_ facing page on the edge of the opposite bank stood the quaintest, prettiest group that her eyes had ever beheld "well, captain lathrop!" commodore mccloskey's voice rang merciless and clear marian was on her knees by his chair, clasping his cold hands in her own the hallowell partnership chapter i when slow-coach got his fighting chance "rod!" no answer. "rod, what did that messenger boy bring? a special-delivery letter? is it anything interesting?" marian hallowell pushed empress from her knee and turned on her pillows to look at roderick, her brother, who sat absorbed and silent at his desk. roderick did not move. only empress cocked a topaz eye, and rubbed her orange-tawny head against marian's chair. "rod, why don't you answer me?" marian's thin hands twitched. a sharp, fretted line deepened across her pretty, girlish forehead. it was not a pleasant line to see. and through her long, slow convalescence it had grown deeper every day. "_roderick hallowell!_" roderick jumped. he turned his sober, kind face to her, then bent eagerly to the closely written letter in his hand. "just a minute, sis." "oh, very well, slow-coach!" marian lay back, with a resigned sniff. she pulled empress up by her silver collar, and lay petting the big, satiny persian, who purred like a happy windmill against her cheek. her tired eyes wandered restlessly about the dim, high-ceiled old room. of all the dreary lodgings on beacon hill, surely roderick had picked out the most forlorn! still, the old place was quiet and comfortable. and, as roderick had remarked, his rooms were amazingly inexpensive. that had been an important point; especially since marian's long, costly illness at college. that siege had been hard on rod in many ways, she thought, with a mild twinge of self-reproach. in a way, those long weeks of suffering had come through her own fault. the college physician had warned her more than once that she was working and playing beyond her strength. yet she felt extremely ill-used. "it wasn't nearly so bad, while i stayed in the infirmary at college." she sighed as she thought of her bright, airy room, the coming and going of the girls with their gay petting and sympathy, the roses and magazines and dainties. "but here, in this tiresome, lonely place! how can i expect to get well!" here she lay, shut up in rod's rooms, alone day after day, save for the vague, pottering kindnesses of rod's vague old landlady. at night her brother would come home from his long day's work as cub draughtsman in the city engineer's office, too tired to talk. and marian, forbidden by overstrained eyes to read, could only lie by the fire, and tease empress, and fret the endless hours away. at last, with a deep breath, rod laid down the letter. he pulled his chair beside her lounge. "tired, sis?" "not very. what was your letter, rod?" "i'll tell you pretty soon. anything doing to-day?" "isabel and dorothy came in from wellesley this morning, and brought me those lovely violets, and told me all about the barn swallows' masque dance last night. and the doctor came this afternoon." "h'm. what did he say?" marian gloomed. "just what he always says. 'no more study this year. out-door life. bread and milk and sleep.' tiresome!" roderick nodded. "hard lines, sister. and yet--" he dropped his sentence, and sat staring at the fire. "rod! are you never going to tell me what is in that letter?" "that letter? oh, yes. sure it won't tire you to talk business?" "of course not." "well, then--i have an offer of a new position. a splendid big one at that." "a new position? truly?" marian sat up, with brightening eyes. "yes. but i'm not sure i can swing it." rod's face clouded. "it demands a mighty competent engineer." "well! aren't you a competent engineer?" marian gave his ear a mild tweak. "you're always underrating yourself, you old goose. tell me about this. quick." rod's thoughtful face grew grave. "it's such a gorgeous chance that i can't half believe in it," he said, at length. "through professor young, i'm offered an engineer's billet with the breckenridge engineering and construction company. the breckenridge company is the largest and the best-known firm of engineers in the united states. breckenridge himself is a wonder. i'd rather work under him than under any man i ever heard of. the work is a huge drainage contract in western illinois. one hundred dollars a month and all my expenses. it's a two-year job." "a two-year position, out west!" marian's eyes shone. "the out-west part is dreadful, of course. but think of a hundred-dollar salary, after the sixty dollars that you have been drudging to earn ever since you left tech! read professor young's letter aloud; do." roderick squirmed. "oh, you don't want to hear it. it's nothing much." "yes i do, too. read it, i say. or--give it to me. there!" there was a short, lively scuffle. however, marian had captured the letter with the first deft snatch; and roderick could hardly take it from her shaky, triumphant hands by main force. he gave way, grumbling. "professor young always says a lot of things he doesn't mean. he does it to brace a fellow up, that's all." "very likely." marian's eyes skimmed down the first page. "'--and as the company has asked me to recommend an engineer of whose work i can speak from first-hand knowledge, i have taken pleasure in referring them to you. to be sure, you have had no experience in drainage work. but from what i recall of your record at tech, your fundamental training leaves nothing to be desired. when it comes to handling the mass of rough-and-ready labor that the contract employs, i am confident that your father's son will show the needed judgment and authority. it is a splendid undertaking, this reclamation of waste land. it is heavy, responsible work, but it is a man's work, straight through; and there is enough of chance in it to make it a man's game, as well. if you can make good at this difficult opportunity, you will prove that you can make good at any piece of drainage engineering that comes your way. this is your fighting chance at success. and i expect to see you equal to its heaviest demands. good luck to you!' "that sounds just like professor young. and he means it. every word." marian folded the letter carefully and gave it back to her brother. "honestly, rod, it does sound too good to be true. and think, what a frabjous time you can have during your vacations! you can run over to the ozarks for your week-ends, and visit the moores on their big fruit ranch, and go mountain-climbing--" roderick chortled. "the ozarks would be a trifling week-end jaunt of three hundred miles, old lady. didn't they teach you geography at wellesley? as to mountains, that country is mostly pee-rary and swamp. that's why this contract will be a two-year job, and a stiff job at that." "what does district drainage work mean, anyway?" "in district drainage, a lot of farmers and land-owners unite to form what is called, in law, a drainage district. a sort of mutual benefit association, you might call it. then they tax themselves, and hire engineers and contractors to dig a huge system of ditches, and to build levees and dikes, to guard their fields against high water. you see, an illinois farmer may own a thousand acres of the richest alluvial land. but if half that land is swamp, and the other half lies so low that the creeks near by may overflow and ruin his crops any day, then his thousand mellow acres aren't much more use than ten acres of hard-scrabble here in new england. to be sure, he can cut his own ditches, and build his own levee, without consulting his neighbors. but the best way is for the whole country-side to unite and do the work on a royal scale." "how do they go about digging those ditches? where can they find laboring men to do the work, away out in the country?" "why, you can't dig a forty-foot district canal by hand, sis! that would be a thousand-year job. first, the district calls in an experienced engineer to look over the ground and make plans and estimates. next, it employs a drainage contractor; say, the breckenridge firm. this firm puts in three or four huge steam dredge-boats, a squad of dump-carts and scrapers, an army of laborers, and a staff of engineers--including your eminent c. e. brother--to oversee the work. the dredges begin by digging a series of canals; one enormous one, called the main ditch, which runs the length of the district and empties into some large body of water; in this case, the illinois river. radiating from this big ditch, they cut a whole family of little ditches, called laterals. the main ditch is to carry off the bulk of water in case of freshets; while the laterals drain the individual farms." "it sounds like slow, costly work." "it is. and you've heard only half of it, so far. then, following the dredges, come the laborers, with their teams and shovels and dump-carts. along the banks of the ditch they build low brush-and-stone-work walls and fill them in with earth. these walls make a levee. so, even if the floods come, and your ditch runs bank-full, the levee will hold back the water and save the crops from ruin. do you see?" "ye-es. but it sounds rather tangled, rod." "it isn't tangled at all. look." rod's pencil raced across the envelope. "here's a rough outline of this very contract. this squirmy line is willow creek. it is a broad, deep stream, and it runs for thirty crooked miles through the district, with swampy shores all the way. a dozen smaller creeks feed into it. they're swampy, too. so you can see how much good rich farm-land is being kept idle. "this straight line is the main ditch, as planned. it will cut straight through the creek course, as the crow flies. do you see, that means we'll make a new channel for the whole stream? a straight, deep channel, too, not more than ten miles long, instead of the thirty twisted, wasteful miles of the old channel. the short lines at right angles to the main ditch represent the little ditches, or laterals. they'll carry off surplus water from the farm-lands: even from those that lie back from the creek, well out of harm's way." [illustration] "what will your work be, rod?" "i'll probably be given a night shift to boss. that is--if i take the job at all. the laborers are divided into two shifts, eleven hours each. the dredges have big search-lights, and puff along by night, regardless." "how will you live?" "we engineers will be allotted a house-boat to ourselves, and we'll mess together. the laborers live on a big boat called the quarter-boat. the firm furnishes food and bunks, tools, stationery, everything, even to overalls and quinine." "quinine?" "yes. those illinois swamps are chock-full of chills and fever." "cheerful prospect! what if you get sick, rod?" "pooh. i never had a sick day in all my life. however, the farm-houses, up on higher ground, are out of the malaria belt. if i get so miss nancy-fied that i can't stay in the swamp, i can sleep at a farm-house. they say there are lots of pleasant people living down through that section. it is a beautiful country, too. i--i'd like it immensely, i imagine." "of course you will. but what makes you speak so queerly, rod? you're certainly going to accept this splendid chance!" rod's dark, sober face settled into unflinching lines. "we'll settle that later. what about you, sis? if i go west, where will you go? how will you manage without me?" "oh, i'll go up to ipswich for the summer. just as i always do." rod considered. "that won't answer, marian. now that the comstocks have moved away, there is nobody there to look after you. and you'd be lonely, too." "well, then, i can go to dublin. cousin evelyn will give me a corner in her cottage." "but cousin evelyn sails for norway in june." "dear me, i forgot! then i'll visit some of the girls. isabel was teasing me this morning to come to their place at beverly farms for august. though--i don't know----" rod's serious young eyes met hers. a slow red mounted to his thatched black hair. "i don't believe that would work, sis. i hate to spoil your fun. but--we can't afford that sort of thing, dear." "i suppose not. to spend a month with isabel and her mother, in that tudor palace of theirs, full of man-servants, and maid-servants, and regiments of guests, and flocks and herds of automobiles, would cost me more, in new clothes alone, than the whole summer at ipswich. but, rod, where can i stay? i'd go cheerfully and camp on my relatives, only we haven't a relative in the world, except cousin evelyn. besides, i--i don't see how i can ever stand it, anyway!" her fretted voice broke, quivering. mindful of rod's boyish hatred of sentiment, she gulped back the sob in her throat; but her weak hand clutched his sleeve. "there are only the two of us, rod, and we've never been separated in all our lives. not even for a single week. i--i can't let you go away out there and leave me behind." now, on nine occasions out of ten, slow-coach was rod's fitting title. this was the tenth time. he stooped over marian, his black eyes flashing. his big hand caught her trembling fingers tight. "that will just do, sis. stop your forebodings, you precious old 'fraid-cat. i'm going to pack you up and take you right straight along." "why, roderick thayer hallowell!" marian gasped. she stared up at her brother, wide-eyed. "why, i couldn't possibly go with you. it's absurd. i daren't even think of it." "why not?" "well, it's such a queer, wild place. and it is so horribly far away. and i'm not strong enough for roughing it." "nonsense. illinois isn't a frontier. it's only two days' travel from boston. as for roughing it, think of the vermont farm-houses where we've stayed on fishing trips. remember the smothery feather-beds, and the ice-cold pickled beets and pie for breakfast? darkest illinois can't be worse than that." "n-no, i should hope not. but it will be so tedious and dull!" "didn't the doctor order you to spend a dull summer? didn't he prescribe bread and milk and sleep?" "rod, i won't go. i can't. i'd be perfectly miserable. there, now!" roderick gave her a long, grave look. "then i may as well write and decline the breckenridge offer, sis. for i'll take you with me, or else stay here with you. that's all." "rod, you're so contrary!" marian's lips quivered. "you must go west. i won't have you stay here and drudge forever at office work. you must not throw away this splendid chance. it isn't possible!" "it isn't possible for me to do anything else, sis." roderick's stolid face settled into granite lines. marian started at the new ring of authority in his voice. "haven't you just said that you couldn't stand it to be left behind? well, i--i'm in the same boat. i can't go off and leave you, sis. i won't run the chances of your being sick, or lonely, while i'm a thousand miles away. so you'll have to decide for us both. either you go with me, or else i stay here and drudge forever, as you call it. for i'd rather drudge forever than face that separation. that's all. run along to bed now, that's a good girl. you'll need plenty of sleep if you are to start for illinois with me next week. good-night." "well, but rod----" "run along, i say. take empress with you. i want to answer this letter, and she keeps purring like a buzz-saw, and sharpening her claws on my shoes, till i can't think straight." "but, rod, you don't understand!" marian caught his arm. her eyes brimmed with angry tears. "i don't _want_ to go west. i'll hate it. i know i shall. i want to stay here, where i can be with my friends, where i can have a little fun. it's not fair to make me go with you!" "oh, i understand, all right." roderick's eyes darkened. "you will not like the west. you'll not be contented. i know that. but, remember, i'm taking this job for both of us, sis. we're partners, you know. i wish you could realize that." his voice grew a little wistful. "if you'd be willing to play up----" "oh, i'll play up, of course." marian put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a pettish kiss. "and i'll go west with you. though i'd rather go to moscow or the sahara. come, empress! good-night, rod." the door closed behind her quick, impatient step. roderick sat down at his desk and opened his portfolio. he did not begin to write at once. instead, he sat staring at the letter in his hand. he was a slow, plodding boy; he was not given to dreaming; but to-night, as he sat there, his sober young face lighted with eager fire. certain phrases of that magical letter seemed to float and gleam before his eyes. --"'a splendid undertaking ... heavy, responsible work, but a man's work, and a man's game.... this is your fighting chance. if you can make good.... and i expect to see you equal to its heaviest demands.'" rod's deep eyes kindled slowly. "i'll make good, all right," he muttered. his strong hand clinched on the folded sheet. "it's my fighting chance. and if i can't win out, with such an opportunity as this one--then i'll take my name off the _engineering record_ roster and buy me a pick and a shovel!" chapter ii travellers three "ready, marian? the limited starts in thirty minutes. we haven't a minute to spare." "y-yes." marian caught up her handbag and hurried into the cab. "only my trunk keys--i'm not sure----" "your trunk keys! you haven't lost them, of all things!" "no. here they are, safe in my bag. but empress has been so frenzied i haven't known which way to turn." poor insulted empress, squirming madly in a wicker basket, glared at rod, and lifted a wild, despairing yowl. "you don't propose to leave mount vernon street for the wilds of illinois without a struggle, do you, empress?" chuckled rod. "never you mind. you'll forget your blue silk cushion and your minced steak and cream, and you'll be chasing plebeian chipmunks in a week. look at the river, marian. you won't see it again in a long while." marian followed his glance. it was a silver hoar-frost morning. the sky shone a cloudless blue, the cold, delicious air sparkled, diamond-clear. straight down mount vernon street the exquisite little panel of the frozen charles gleamed like a vista of fairyland. marian stared at it a little wistfully. "it will all be very different out west, i suppose. i wonder if any western river can be half as lovely," she pondered. roderick did not answer. a sudden worried question stirred in his thought. yes, the west would be "different." very different. "maybe i've done the worst possible thing in dragging marian along," he thought. "but it's too late to turn back now. i can only hope that she can stand the change, and that she'll try to be patient and contented." marian, on her part, was in high spirits. she had been shut up for so long that to find herself free, and starting on this trip to a new country, delighted her beyond bounds. at south station, a crowd of her wellesley chums stormed down upon her, in what rod described later as a mass-play, laden with roses and chocolates and gay, loving farewells. marian tore herself from their hands, half-laughing, half-crying with happy excitement. "oh, rod, i know we're going to have the grandest trip, and the most beautiful good fortunes that ever were!" she cried, as he put her carefully aboard the train. "but you aren't one bit enthusiastic. you stodgy tortoise, why can't you be pleased, too?" "i'm only too glad if you like the prospect, sis," he answered soberly. marian's spirits soared even higher as the hours passed. roderick grew as rapt as she when the train whirled through the winter glory of the berkshires. every slope rose folded in dazzling snow. every tree, through mile on mile of forest, blazed in rainbow coats of icy mail. the wide rolling new york country was scarcely less beautiful. at buffalo, the next morning, a special pleasure awaited them. a party of friends met them with a huge touring car, and carried them on a flying trip to the ice-bridge at niagara falls. to marian, every minute spelled enchantment. she forgot her dizzy head and her aching bones, and fairly exulted in the wild splendor of the blue ice-walled cataract. roderick, on his part, was so absorbed by the marvellous engineering system of the great power-plant that for once he had no eyes nor thought for his sister, nor for any other matter. their wonderful day closed with an elaborate dinner-party, given in their honor. neither marian nor rod had ever been guests at so grand an affair. as they dashed to their train in their host's beautiful limousine, marian looked up from her bouquet of violets and orchids with laughing eyes. "if this is the west, rod, i really think it will suit me very well!" rod's mouth twisted into a rueful grin. "glad you enjoy it, sis. gloat over your luxury while you may. you'll find yourself swept out of the limousine zone all too soon. by this time next week you'll be thankful for a spring wagon." by the next morning, marian's spirits began to flag. all day they travelled in fog and rain, down through a flat, dun country. not a gleam of snow lightened those desolate, muddy plains. there seemed no end to that sodden prairie, that gray mist-blotted sky. marian grew more lonely and unhappy with every hour. she struggled to be good-humored for roderick's sake. but she grew terribly tired; and it was a very white-faced girl who clung to roderick's arm as their train rolled into the great, clanging terminal at saint louis. roderick hurried her to a hotel. it seemed to her that she had scarcely dropped asleep before rod's voice sounded at the door. "sorry, sis, but we'll have to start right away. it's nearly eight o'clock." "oh, rod, i'm so tired! please let's take a later train." "there isn't any later train, dear. there isn't any train at all. we're going up-river on a little steamer that is towing a barge-load of coal to our camp. that's the only way to reach the place. there is no railroad anywhere near. there won't be another steamer going up for days. it's a shame to haul you out, but it can't be helped." an hour later, they picked their way down the wet, slippery stones of the levee to where the _lucy lee_, a tiny flat-bottomed "stern-wheeler," puffed and snorted, awaiting them. as they crossed the gang-plank, the pilot rang the big warning bell. immediately their little craft nosed its way shivering along the ranks of moored packets, and rocked out into mid-channel. marian peered back, but she could see nothing of the city. a thick icy fog hung everywhere, shrouding even the tall warehouses at the river's edge, and drifting in great, gray clouds over the bridges. "the river is still thick with floating ice," said the captain, at her elbow. "the _lucy_ is the first steam-boat to dare her luck, trying to go up-stream, since the up-river ice gorge let go. but we'll make it all right. it's a pretty chancy trip, yet it's not as dangerous as you'd think." marian twinkled. "it looks chancy enough to me," she confessed. she looked out at the broad, turbid stream. here and there a black patch marked a drifting ice cake, covered with brush, swept down from some flooded woodland. through the mist she caught glimpses of high, muddy banks, a group of sooty factories, a gray, murky sky. "i don't see much charm to the mississippi, rod. is this all there is to it? just yellow, tumbling water, and mud, and fog?" "it isn't a beautiful stream, that's a fact," admitted rod. yet his eyes sparkled. he was growing more flushed and alert with every turn of the wheels that brought him nearer to his coveted work, his man's game. "this is too raw and cold for you, marian. come into the cabin, and i'll fix you all snug by the fire." "the cabin is so stuffy and horrid," fretted marian. yet she added, "but it's the cunningest place i ever dreamed of. it's like a miniature museum." "a museum? a junk-shop, i'd call it," rod chuckled, as he settled her into the big red-cushioned rocker, before the roaring cannon stove. the tight little room was crowded with solemn black-walnut cabinets, full of shells and arrowheads, and hung thick with quaint, high-colored old pictures. languishing ladies in chignons and crinoline gazed upon lordly gentlemen in tall stocks and gorgeous waistcoats; "summer prospects," in vivid chromos fronted "snow scenes," made realistic with much powdered isinglass. crowning all, rose a tall, cupid-wreathed gilt mirror, surmounted by a stern stuffed eagle, who glared down fiercely from two yellow glass eyes. his mighty wings spread above the mirror, a bit moth-eaten, but still terrifying. "look, empress. don't you want to catch that nice birdie?" poor bewildered empress glared at the big bird, and sidled, back erect, wrathfully sissing, under a chair. travel had no charms for empress. "will you look at that old yellowed pilot's map and certificate in the acorn frame? ' !'" chuckled rod. "and the red-and-blue worsted motto hung above it: 'home, sweet home!' i'll wager grandma noah did that worsted-work." "not grandma noah, but grandma mccloskey," laughed the captain. "she was the nicest old lady you ever laid eyes on. she used to live on the boat and cook for us, till the rheumatism forced her to live ashore. her husband is old commodore mccloskey; so everybody calls him. he has been a pilot on the mississippi ever since the day he got that certificate, yonder. he's a character, mind that. he shot that eagle in ' , and he has carried it around with him ever since, to every steamer that he has piloted. you must go up to the pilot-house after a bit and make him a visit. he's worth knowing." "i think i'd like to go up to the pilot-house right away, rod. it is so close and hot down here." obediently rod gathered up her rugs and cushions. carefully he and the captain helped her up the swaying corkscrew stairs, across the dizzy, rain-swept hurricane deck, then up the still narrower, more twisty flight that ended at the door of the high glass-walled box, perched like a bird-cage, away forward. inside that box stood a large wooden wheel, and a small, twinkling, white-bearded old gentleman, who looked for all the world like a santa claus masquerading in yellow oilskins. "ask him real pretty," cautioned the captain. "he thinks he runs this boat, and everybody aboard her. he does, too, for a fact." with much ceremony roderick rapped at the glass door, and asked permission for his sister to enter. with grand aplomb the little old gentleman rose from his wheel and ushered her up the steps. "'tis for fifty-four years that i and me pilot-house have been honored by the ladies' visits," quoth he, with a stately bow. "ye'll sit here, behind the wheel, and watch me swing herself up the river? sure, 'tis a ticklish voyage, wid the river so full of floatin' ice. i shall be glad of yer gracious presence, ma'am. it will bring me good luck in me steerin'." marian's eyes danced. she fitted herself neatly into the cushioned bench against the wall. the pilot-house was a bird-cage, indeed, hardly eight feet square. the great wheel, swinging in its high frame, took up a third of the space; a huge cast-iron stove filled one corner. for the rest, marian felt as if she had stepped inside one of the curio-cabinets in the cabin below; for every inch of wall space in the bird-cage was festooned with mementoes of every sort. a string of beautiful wampum, all polished elks' teeth and uncut green turquoise; shell baskets, and strings of buckeyes; a four-foot diamond-back rattlesnake's skin, beautiful and uncanny, the bunch of five rattles tied to the tail. close beside the glittering skin hung even an odder treasure-trove: a small white kid glove, quaintly embroidered in faded pink-and-blue forget-me-nots. "great-aunt emily had some embroidered gloves like that in her trousseau," thought marian. "i do wonder----" "ye're lookin' at me keepsakes?" the pilot sighted up-stream, then turned, beaming. "maybe it will pass the time like for me to tell ye of them. there is not one but stands for an adventure. that wampum was given to me by chief ogalalla; a famous sioux warrior, he was. 'twas back in sixty-wan, and the string was the worth of two ponies in thim days. three of me mates an' meself was prospectin' down in western nebraska. there came a great blizzard, and chief ogalalla and three of his men rode up to our camp, and we took them in for the night." "and he gave you the wampum in payment?" "payment? never! a man never paid for food nor shelter on the plains. no more than for the air he breathed. 'twas gratitude. for chief ogalalla had a ragin' toothache, and i cured it for him. made him a poultice of red pepper." "mercy! i should think that would hurt worse than any toothache!" "maybe it did, ma'am. but at least it disthracted his attention from the tooth itself. that rattlesnake, i kilt in a swamp near vicksburg. me and me wife was young then, and we'd borrowed a skiff, an' rowed out to hunt pond-lilies. mary would go in the bog, walkin' on the big tufts of rushes. her little feet were that light she didn't sink at all. but the first thing i heard she gave a little squeal, an' there she stood, perched on a tuft, and not three feet away, curled up on a log, was that great shinin' serpent. just rockin' himself easy, he was, makin' ready to strike. an' strike he would. only"--the small twinkling face grew grim--"only i struck first." marian shivered. "and the little white glove?" the old pilot beamed. "sure, i hoped ye'd notice that, miss. that glove points to the proud day f'r me! it was the summer of ' . i was pilotin' the _annie kilburn_, a grand large packet, down to saint louis. we had a wonderful party aboard her. 'twas just the beginnin' of war times, an' 'twould be like readin' a history book aloud to tell ye their names. did ever ye hear of the little giant?" "of stephen a. douglas, the famous orator? why, yes, to be sure. was he aboard?" "yes. a fine, pleasant-spoke gentleman he was, too. but 'tis not the little giant that this story is about. 'twas his wife. ye've heard of her, sure? ah, but i wish you could have seen her when she came trippin' up the steps of me pilot-house and passed the time of day with me, so sweet and friendly. afterward they told me what a great lady she was. though i could see that for meself, she was that gentle, and her voice so quiet and low, and her look so sweet and kind. i was showin' her about, an' feelin' terrible proud, an' fussy, an' excited. i was a young felly then, and it took no more than her word an' her smile to turn me foolish head. an' i was showin' her how to handle the wheel, and by some mischance, didn't i catch me blunderin' hand in the frame, an' give it a wrench that near broke every bone! i couldn't leave the wheel till the first mate should come to take me place. and madame douglas was that distressed, you'd think it was her own hand that she was grievin' over. she would tear her lace handkerchief into strips, and bind up the cut, and then what does she do but take her white glove, an' twist it round the fingers, so's to keep them from the air, till i could find time to bandage them. i said not a word. but the minute her silks an' laces went trailin' down the hurricane ladder, i jerked off that glove an' folded it in my wallet. an' there it stayed till i could have that frame made for it. and in that frame i've carried it ever since, all these long years. "those were the grand days, sure," he added, wistfully. "before the war, we pilots were the lords of the river. i had me a pair of varnished boots, an' tight striped trousers, an' a grand shiny stove-pipe hat, an' i wouldn't have called the king me uncle. it's sad times for the river, nowadays." he looked away up the broad, tumbling yellow stream. "look at her, will ye! no river at all, she is, wid her roily yellow water, an' her poor miry banks, an' her bluffs, all washed away to shiftin' sand. but wasn't she the grand stream entirely, before the war!" marian looked at the framed river-chart above the wheel. she tried to read its puzzle of tangled lines. the old man sniffed. "don't waste yer time wid that gimcrack, miss. steer by it? never!" he shrugged his shoulders loftily. "it hangs there by government request, so i tolerate it to please the department. i know this river by heart, every inch. i could steer this boat from natchez to saint paul wid me eyes shut, the blackest night that ever blew!" marian dimpled at his majestic tone. "will you show me how to steer? i've always been curious as to how it is done." "certain i will." keenly interested, marian gripped the handholds, and turned the heavy wheel back and forth as he directed. suddenly her grasp loosened. down the stream, straight toward the boat, drifted a rolling black mass. "mercy, what is that? it looks like a whole forest of logs. it's rolling right toward us!" "ye're right. 'tis a raft that's broke adrift. but we have time to dodge, be sure. watch now." his right hand grasped the wheel. his left seized the bell-cord. three sharp toots signalled the engine-room for full head of steam. instantly the _lucy_ jarred under marian's feet with the sudden heavy force of doubled power. slowly the steam-boat swung out of her course, in a long westward curve. past her, the nearest logs not fifty feet away, the great, grinding mass of tree-trunks rolled and tumbled by, sweeping on toward the gulf. "'tis handy that we met those gintlemen by daylight," remarked the pilot, cheerfully. "for one log alone would foul our paddle-wheels and give us a bad shaking up. and should all that donnybrook fair come stormin' into us by night, we'd go to the bottom before ye could say jack robinson." marian's eyes narrowed. she stared at the dusk stormy yellow river, the blank inhospitable shores. she was not by any means a coward. but she could not resist asking one question. "do we go on up-river after nightfall? or do we stop at some landing?" "there's no landing between here and grafton, at the mouth of the illinois river. we'll have to tie up along shore, i'm thinkin'." the old man spoke grudgingly. "if i was runnin' her meself, 'tis little we'd stop for the night. but the captain thinks different. he's young and notional. tie up over night we must, says he. but 'tis all nonsense. chicken-hearted, i'd call it, that's all." marian laughed to herself. inwardly she was grateful for the captain's chicken-heartedness. a loud gong sounded from below. the pilot nodded. "yon's your supper-bell, miss. i thank ye kindly for the pleasure of yer company. i shall be honored if ye choose to come again. and soon." marian made her way down to the cabin through the stormy dusk. the little room was warm and brightly lighted; the captain's negro boy was just placing huge smoking-hot platters of perfectly cooked fish and steak upon the clean oil-cloth table. they gathered around it, an odd company. marian and roderick, the captain, the _lucy's_ engineer, a pleasant, boyish fellow, painfully embarrassed and redolent of hot oil and machinery; and two young dredge-runners, on their way, like rod, to the breckenridge contract. save the captain and rod, they gobbled bashfully, and fled at the earliest possible moment. rod and the captain were talking of the contract and of its prospects. marian trifled with her massive hot biscuit, and listened indifferently. "i hope your coming on the work may change its luck, mr. hallowell," observed the captain. "for that contract has struggled with mighty serious difficulties, so far. breckenridge himself is a superb engineer; but of course he cannot stay on the ground. he has a dozen equally important contracts to oversee. his engineers are all well enough, but somehow they don't seem to make things go. carlisle is the chief. he is a good engineer and a good fellow, but he is so nearly dead with malaria that he can't do two hours' work in a week. burford, his aid, is a young southerner, a fine chap, but--well, a bit hot-headed. you know our northern labor won't stand for much of that. then there is marvin, who is third in charge. but as for marvin"--he stopped, with a queer short laugh--"as for marvin, the least said the soonest mended. he's a cub engineer, they call him; a grizzly cub at that. he may come out all right, with time. you can see for yourself that you haven't any soft job. with a force of two hundred laborers, marooned in a swamp seven miles from nowhere, not even a railroad in the county; with half the land-owners protesting against their assessments, and refusing to pay up; with your head engineer sick, and your coal shipments held up by high water--no, you won't find your place an easy one, mind that." "i'm not doing any worrying." rod's jaw set. his dark face glowed. marian looked at him, a little jealously. his whole heart and thought were swinging away to this work, now opening before him. this was his man's share in labor, and he was eager to cope with its sternest demands. "well, it's a good thing you have the pluck to face it. you will need all the pluck you've got, and then some." the captain paced restlessly up and down the narrow room. "wonder why we don't slow down. we must be running a full twelve miles an hour. altogether too fast, when we're towing a barge. and it is pitch dark." he stooped to the engine-room speaking-tube. "hi, smith! why are you carrying so much steam? i want to put her inshore." a muffled voice rose from the engine-room. "all right, sir. but mccloskey, he just rung for full speed ahead." "he did? that's mccloskey, all over. the old rascal! he has set his heart on making grafton landing to-night, instead of tying up alongshore. hear that? he's making that old wheel jump. to be sure, he knows the river channel like a book. but, even with double search-lights, no man living can see ice-cakes and brush far enough ahead to dodge them." "let's take a look on deck," suggested rod. once outside the warm, cheerful cabin, the night wind swept down on them, a driving, freezing blast. the little steamer fairly raced through the water. her deck boards quivered; the boom of the heavy engine throbbed under their feet. "thickest night i've seen in a year," growled the captain. "i say, mccloskey! slow down, and let's put her inshore. this is too dangerous to suit me." no reply. the boat fled pitching on. "_mccloskey!_" at last there came a faint hail. "yes, captain! what's yer pleasure, sir?" "the old rascal! he's trying to show off. he's put his deaf ear to the tube, i'll be bound. best go inside, miss hallowell, this wind is full of sleet. mccloskey! head her inshore, i say." on rushed the _lucy_. her course did not change a hair's breadth. "no wonder they call him commodore mccloskey!" rod whispered wickedly. "even the captain has to yield to him." "mccloskey!" the captain's voice was gruff with anger. "_head her inshore!_ unless you're trying to kill the boat----" crash! the captain's sentence was never finished. chapter iii enter mr. finnegan with that crash the floor shot from under their feet. stumbling and clutching, the three, marian, rod, and the captain, pitched across the deck and landed in a heap against the rail. the lighted cabin seemed to rear straight up from the deck and lunge toward them. there was an uproar of shouts, a hideous pounding of machinery. marian shut her eyes. then, with a second deafening crash, the steamer righted herself; and, thrown like three helpless ninepins, marian, rod, and the captain reeled back from the rail and found themselves, bumped and dizzy, tangled in a heap of freight and canvas. rod was the first on his feet. he snatched marian up, with a groan. "sister! are you hurt? tell me, quick." "nonsense, no." marian struggled up, bruised and trembling. "i whacked my head on the rail, that's all. what has happened?" "we've struck another bunch of runaway logs. they've fouled our wheel," shouted the captain. "put this life-preserver on your sister. swing out the yawl, boys!" for the deck crew was already scrambling up the stairs. "here, where's smith?" "he's below, sir, stayin' by the boiler. the logs struck us for'ard the gangway. she's got a hole stove in her that you could drive an ice-wagon through," answered a fireman. "smith says, head her inshore. maybe you can beach her before she goes clean under." the captain groaned. "her first trip for the year! the smartest little boat on the river! mccloskey!" he shouted angrily up the tube. "head her inshore, before she's swamped. you hear that, i reckon?" "ay, ay, sir." it was a very meek voice down the tube. very slowly the _lucy_ swung about. creaking and groaning, she headed through the darkness for the darker line of willows that masked the illinois shore. for a minute, roderick and marian stood together under the swaying lantern, too dazed by excitement to move. on marian's forehead a cheerful blue bump had begun to rise; while rod's cheek-bone displayed an ugly bruise. suddenly marian spoke. "rod! where is empress! she will be frightened to death. we must take her into the yawl with us." the young fireman turned. "that grand big cat of yours, ma'am? you'll never coax a cat into an open boat. they'll die first. but have no fear. we are not a hundred yards from shore, and in shallow water at that. 'tis a pity the _lucy_ is hurt, but it's fortunate for us that she can limp ashore." marian felt a little foolish. she pulled off the cork jacket which rod had tied over her shoulders. "we aren't shipwrecked after all, rod. we're worse frightened than hurt." "i'm not so sure of that. keep that life-preserver on, sis." the _lucy_ was blundering pluckily toward shore. but the deck jarred with the thud and rattle of thrashing machinery, and at every forward plunge the boat pitched until it seemed as if the next fling would surely capsize her. rod peered into the darkness. "we'll make the shore, i do believe. shall i leave you long enough to get our bags and empress?" "oh, i'll go too. you'll need me to pacify empress. she will be panic-stricken." poor empress was panic-stricken, indeed. the little cabin was a chaos. the shock of the collision had overturned every piece of furniture. even the wall cabinets were upset, and their shells and arrowheads were scattered far and wide. the beautiful old-time crystal chandeliers were in splinters. worst, the big gilt mirror lay on the floor, smashed to atoms. only one object in all that cabin held its place: the stuffed eagle. and high on the eagle's outspread wing, crouched like a panther, snarling and spitting, her every silky hair furiously on end, clung poor, terrified empress. rod exploded. "you made friends with the nice bird, after all, didn't you, empress! come on down, kitty. let me put a life-preserver on you too." no life-preservers for empress! marian coaxed and called in vain. she merely dug her claws into the eagle's back and growled indignant refusal. "let's go back on deck, sis. she'll calm down presently." the _lucy_ was now working inshore with increasing speed. but, as they stepped on deck, the boat careened suddenly, then stopped, with a sickening jolt. "never mind, miss," the young fireman quickly assured her. "she has struck a sand-bar, and there she'll stick, i fear. but we are safe enough, for the water is barely six feet deep. we'll have to anchor here for the night, but don't be nervous. she can't sink very far in six feet of water." "i suppose not." yet marian's teeth chattered. inwardly she sympathized with empress. what a comfort it would be to climb the stuffed eagle and perch there, well out of reach of even six feet of black icy water! the captain was still more reassuring. "well, we're lucky that we've brought her this near shore." he wiped his forehead with a rather unsteady hand. "ten minutes ago my heart was in my mouth. i thought sure she'd sink in mid-stream. you're perfectly safe now, miss hallowell. better go to your state-room and get some sleep." "yes, the _lucy_ will rest still as a church now," said the young fireman, with a heartening chuckle. "she's hard aground. though that's no thanks to our pilot. i say, mccloskey! where were you trying to steer us? into a lumber-yard?" down the hurricane deck came mr. mccloskey, white beard waving, eyes twinkling, jaunty and serene as a may morning. "this little incident is no fault of me steerin'," said he, with delightful unconcern. "'twas the carelessness of thim raftsmen, letting their logs get away, no less. sure, captain dear, i'd sue them for damages." "i'll be more likely to sue you for running full speed after dark, against orders," muttered the captain. then he laughed. "i ought to put you in irons. but the man doesn't live that can hold a grudge against you, mccloskey. take hold now, boys. bank your fires, then we'll patch her up as best we can for the night." marian went to her state-room, but not to sleep. there was little sleep that night for anybody. in spite of protecting sand-bar and anchor, the boat careened wretchedly. strange groans and shrieks rose from the engine-room; hurrying footsteps came and went through the narrow gangway. and the rush of the swift current, the bump of ice-cakes, and the sweep of floating brush past her window kept her aroused and trembling. it seemed years before the tiny window grew gray with dawn. the captain's voice reached her ears. "no, the _lucy_ isn't damaged as badly as we thought. but it will take us two days of bulkheading before we dare go on. you'd best take your sister up to the camp in my launch. it is at your service." "that's good news!" sighed marian. "anything to escape from this sinking ship. i don't like playing casabianca one bit." she swallowed the hot coffee and corn bread which the captain's boy brought to her door, and hurried on deck. their embarking was highly exciting; for poor empress, having been coaxed with difficulty from the eagle's roost, where she had spent the night, promptly lost her head at sight of the water and fled shrieking to the pilot-house. rod, the pilot, the engineer, and the young fireman together hunted her from her fastness, and, after a wild chase, returned scratched but victorious, with empress raging in a gunny-sack. "best keep her there till you're ashore, miss," laughed the young fireman. and marian took the precaution to tie the mouth of the sack with double knots. up-stream puffed the launch, past grafton landing into the narrower but clearer current of the illinois river. now the black mud banks rose into bluffs and wooded hills. here and there a marshy backwater showed a faint tinge of early green. but there was not a village in sight; not even a solitary farm-house. hour after hour they steamed slowly up the dull river, beneath the gray mist-hooded sky. marian looked resentfully at her brother. he had unrolled a portfolio of blue-prints, and sat over them, as absorbed and as indifferent to the cold and discomfort as if he were sitting at his own desk at home. "he's so rapt over his miserable old contract that he is not giving me one thought," marian sulked to herself. "i just wish that i had put my foot down, and had refused, flatly, to come with him. if i had dreamed the west would be like this!" presently the launch whistled. an answering whistle came from up-stream. rod dropped his blue-prints with a shout. "look, marian. there is the contract camp, the whole plant! see, straight ahead!" marian stared. there was not a house to be seen; but high on the right bank stood an army of tents; and below, moored close to shore, lay a whole village of boats, strung in long double file. midway stood a gigantic steam-dredge. its vivid red-painted machinery reared high on its black, oil-soaked platform, its strange sprawling crane spread its iron wings, like the pinions of some vast ungainly bird of prey. around it were ranked several flat-boats, a trim steam-launch, a whole regiment of house-boats. rod's eyes sparkled. he drew a sharp breath. "this is my job, all right. isn't it sumptuous, marian! will you look at that dredge! isn't she magnificent? so is the whole outfit, barges and all. that's worth walking from boston to see!" "is it?" marian choked back the vicious little retort. "well, i'd be willing to walk back to boston--to get away!" "ahoy the launch! this is mr. hallowell?" a tall, haggard man in oilskins and hip boots came striding across the dredge. "glad to see you, sir. we hoped that you would arrive to-day. i am carlisle, the engineer in charge." he leaned over the rail to give rod's hand a friendly grip. he spoke with a dry, formal manner, yet his lean yellow face was full of kindly interest. "and this is your sister, miss hallowell? you have come to a rather forlorn summer resort, miss hallowell, but we will do our best to make it endurable for you." roderick, red with pleasure, stood up to greet his new chief. behind mr. carlisle towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built young man, in very muddy khaki and leggings, his blond wind-burnt face shining with a hospitable grin. "this is our mr. burford, mr. hallowell. at present, you and he will superintend the night shifts." mr. burford gave roderick a hearty handshake, and beamed upon marian. "mr. burford will be particularly glad to welcome you, miss hallowell, on mrs. burford's account. she has been living here on the work for several months, the only lady who has graced our camp until to-day. i know that she will be eager for your companionship." mr. burford grew fairly radiant. "sally lou will be wild when she learns that you are really here," he declared eagerly, in his deep southern drawl. "she has talked of your coming every minute since the news came that we might hope to have you with us. you will find us a mighty primitive set, but you and sally lou can have plenty of fun together, i know. i'd like to bring her and the kiddies to see you as soon as you feel equal to receiving us." "thank you very much." marian tried her best to be gracious and friendly. but she was so tired that young burford's broad smiling face seemed to blur and waver through a thickening mist. "i'm sure i shall be charmed----" "hi, there!" an angry shout broke upon her words. "mr. carlisle, will you look here! that foreman of yours has gone off with my skiff again. if i'm obliged to share my boat with your impudent riffraff----" "mr. marvin, will you kindly come here a moment?" the chief's voice did not lose its even tone; but his heavy brows narrowed. "i wish you to meet mr. hallowell, who is your and mr. burford's new associate. miss hallowell, may i present mr. marvin?" marian bowed and looked curiously at the tall, dark-featured young man who shuffled forward. she remembered the captain's terse description--"a cub engineer, and a grizzly cub at that." mr. marvin certainly acted the part. he barely nodded to her and to roderick, then clamored on with his grievance. "you know i've told the men time and again to leave my boat alone. but your foreman borrows my launch whenever he takes the notion, and leaves her half-swamped, or high and dry, as he chooses. if you won't jack him up for it, i will. i'll not tolerate----" "i'll take that matter up later, mr. marvin." marvin's sullen face reddened at the tone in his chief's voice. "mr. hallowell, i have found lodgings for your sister three miles up the canal, at the gates farm. mr. burford will take you to gates's landing, thence you will drive to the farm-house. your own quarters will be on the engineers' house-boat, and we shall hope to see you here for dinner to-night. good-by, miss hallowell. i hope that mrs. gates will do everything to make you comfortable." the launch puffed away up the narrow muddy canal. it was a straight, deep stream of brown water, barely forty feet wide. its banks were a high-piled mass of mire and clay, for the levee-builders had not yet begun work. beyond rose clumps of leafless trees. then, far as eye could see, muddy fields and gray swampy meadows. rod gazed, radiant. "isn't it splendid, marian! the finest equipment i ever dreamed of. look at those barges!" "those horrid flat-boats heaped with coal?" "yes. think of the yardage record we're making. five thousand yards a day!" marian rubbed her aching eyes. "i don't know a yardage record from a bushel basket," she sighed. "what is that queer box-shaped red boat, set on a floating platform?" "that is the engineers' house-boat, where your brother is to live. mayn't we take you aboard to see?" urged burford. marian stepped on the narrow platform and peered into the cubby-hole state-rooms and the clean, scoured mess-room. she was too tired to be really interested. "and that funny, grass-green cabin, set on wooden stilts, up that little hill--that play-house?" burford laughed. "that's my play-house. sally lou insists on living right here, so that she and the babies and mammy easter can keep a watchful eye on me. you and sally lou will be regular chums, i know. she is not more than a year or so older than you are, and it has been pretty rough on her to leave her home and come down here. but she says she doesn't care; that she'd rather rough it down here with me than mope around home, back in norfolk, without me. it surely is a splendid scheme for me to have her here." he laughed again, with shy, boyish pride. "sally lou is a pretty plucky sort. and, if i may say it, so are you." marian managed to smile her thanks. inwardly she was hoping that the marvellous sally lou would stay away and leave her in peace. she was trembling with fatigue. through the rest of the trip she hardly spoke. at gates's landing they were met by a solemn, bashful youth and a buckboard drawn by two raw, excited horses. they whirled and bumped through a rutted woods road and stopped at last before a low white farm-house. marian realized dimly that rod was carrying her upstairs and into a small tidy room. she was so utterly tired that she dropped on the bed and slept straight through the day. she did not waken until her landlady's tap called her to supper. mr. and mrs. gates, two quiet, elderly people, greeted her kindly, and set a homeric feast before her: shortbread and honey, broiled squirrels and pigeon stew, persimmon jam and hot mince pie. she ate dutifully, then crept back to her little room, with its mournful hair wreaths and its yellowed engravings of "night and morning" and "the death-bed of washington," and fell asleep again. the three days that followed were like a queer, tired dream. it rained night and day. the roads were mired hub deep. roderick could not drive over to see her, but he telephoned to her daily. but his hasty messages were little satisfaction. the heavy rains had overflowed the big ditch, he told her. that meant extra work for everybody on the plant. carlisle was wretchedly sick, so rod and burford were sharing their chief's watch in addition to their own duties. worst, marvin had quarrelled with the head runner of the big dredge, and "we're having to spend half our time in coddling them both for fear they'll walk off and leave us," as rod put it. in short, roderick had neither time nor thought for his sister. marian realized that her brother was not inconsiderate. he was absorbed in his work and in its risks. yet she keenly resented her loneliness. "it isn't rod's fault. but if i had dreamed that the west would be like this!" but on the fourth day, while she sat at her window looking out at the endless rain, there came a surprising diversion. "a gentleman to see you, miss hallowell. will you come downstairs?" "why, commodore mccloskey!" marian hurried down, delighted. "how good of you to come!" commodore mccloskey, dripping from his sou'wester to his mired boots, beamed like a drenched but cheery santa claus. "i've taken the liberty to bring a friend to call," he chuckled. "he's young an' green, an' 'tis few manners he owns, but he's good stock, an'--here, ye rascal! shame on ye, startin' a fight the minute ye enter the house!" marian gasped. past her, with a wild miauw, shot a yellow streak. that streak was empress. straight after the streak flew a fat, brown, curly object, yapping at the top of its powerful lungs. up the window-curtain scrambled empress. with a frantic leap she landed on the frame of grandpa gates's large crayon portrait. beneath the portrait her curly pursuer yelped and whined. "why, he's a collie puppy. oh, what a beauty! what is his name?" "beauty he is. and his name is finnegan, after the poem, 'off again, on again, gone again, finnegan.' do ye remember? 'tis him to the life. he is a prisint to ye from missis mccloskey and meself. an' our compliments an' good wishes go wid him!" "how more than kind of you!" marian, delighted, stooped to pat her new treasure. finnegan promptly leaped on her and spattered her fresh dress with eager, muddy paws. he then caught the table-cover in his teeth. with one frisky bounce he brought a shower of books and magazines to the floor. mr. mccloskey clutched for his collar. the puppy gayly eluded him and made a dash for the pantry. marian caught him just as he was diving headlong into the open flour-barrel. "i do thank you so much! he'll be such a pleasure; and such a protection," gasped marian, snatching mrs. gates's knitting work from the puppy's inquiring paws. "'tis hardly a protector i'd call him," mr. mccloskey returned. "but he'll sure keep your mind employed some. good-day to ye, ma'am. and good luck with finnegan." poor empress! in her delight with this new plaything, marian quite forgot her elder companion. moreover, as mr. mccloskey had said, finnegan could and did keep her mind employed, and her hands as well. "that pup is energetic enough, but he don't appear to have much judgment," said mrs. gates, mildly. in two hours finnegan had carried off the family supply of rubbers and hid them in the corn-crib; he had torn up one of rod's blue-prints; he had terrorized the hen-yard; he had chased empress from turret to foundation-stone. at length empress had turned on him and cuffed him till he yelped and fled to the kitchen, where he upset a pan of bread sponge. "suppose you take him for a walk, down to the big ditch. maybe the fresh air will calm him down." marian made a leash of clothes-line and marched finnegan down the sodden woods toward the ditch. she was so busy laughing at his droll performances that she quite forgot the dull fields, the wet, gray prospect. crimson-cheeked and breathless, she finally dragged him from the third alluring rabbit-hole, despite his pleading whines, and started back up the canal. as she pushed through a hedge of willows a sweet, high, laughing voice accosted her. "good-morning, my haughty lady! won't you stop and talk with us a while?" startled, marian turned toward the call. across the ditch, high on the opposite bank, stood the quaintest, prettiest group that her eyes had ever beheld. a tall, fair-haired girl of her own age, dressed in a bewitching short-waisted gown of scarlet and a frilly scarlet bonnet, stood in the leafless willows, a tiny white-clad child in her arms. behind her a stout beaming negress in bandanna turban and gay plaid calico was lifting another baby high on her ample shoulder. marian stared, astonished. the whole group might well have stepped straight out of some captivating old engraving of the days before the war. "haven't you time to pass the time o' day?" the sweet, mischievous voice entreated. "you are miss hallowell, i know. i'm sarah louisiana burford, and i am just perishin' to meet you. there is a board bridge just a rod or so up the canal. we'll meet you there. do please come, and bring your delightful dog. march right along now!" and marian, laughing with amusement and delight, marched obediently along. chapter iv the martin-box neighbors marian picked her way up the shore to the board bridge, with finnegan prancing behind her. she felt a little abashed as she remembered her rather tart indifference to young burford's cordial invitation of the week before. but all her embarrassment melted away as she crossed the little bridge and met sally lou's welcoming face, her warm clasping hands. "you don't know how hungry i have been to see you," vowed sally lou, her brown eyes kindling under the scarlet bonnet. "we've been counting the hours till we should dare to go to call on miss northerner, haven't we, kiddies? this is my son, edward fairfax burford, junior, miss hallowell. three years old, three feet square, and weighs forty-one pounds. isn't he rather gorgeous--if he does belong to me! and this is thomas tucker burford. eighteen months old, twenty-six pounds, and the disposition of an angel, as long as he gets his own way. and this is mammy easter, who came all the way from norfolk with me, to take care of the babies, so that i could live here on the contract with ned. wasn't she brave to come out to this cold, lonesome country all for me? and this martin-box is my house, and it is anxious to meet you, too, so come right in!" [illustration: on the edge of the opposite bank stood the quaintest, prettiest group that her eyes had ever beheld.] marian climbed the high, narrow outside steps that led to the tiny play-house on stilts, and entered the low, red doorway, feeling as if she had climbed jack's bean-stalk into fairyland. inside, the martin-box was even more fascinating. it boasted just three rooms. the largest room, gay with mother goose wall-paper and rosy chintz, was obviously the realm of edward, junior, and thomas tucker. the next room, with its cunning miniature fireplace, its shelves of books, its pictures and photographs, and its broad high-piled desk, was their parents' abode; while the third room boasted fascinating white-painted cupboards and sink, a tiny alcohol stove, and a wee table daintily set. "aren't you shocked at folks that eat in their kitchen?" drawled sally lou, observing marian with dancing eyes. "but all our baking and heavy cooking is done for us, over on the quarter-boat. i brought the stove to heat the babies' milk; and, too, i like to fuss up goodies for ned when he is tired or worried. poor boys! they're having such an exasperating time with the contract this week! everything seems possessed to go awry. we'll have to see to it that they get a lot of coddling so's to keep them cheered up, won't we?" "why, i--i suppose so. but how did you dare to bring your little children down here? they say that this is the most malarial district in the state." "i know. but they can't catch malaria until may, when the mosquitoes come. then i shall send them to a farm, back in the higher land. mammy will take care of them; and i'll stay down here with ned during the day and go to the babies at night. they're pretty sturdy little tads. they are not likely to catch anything unless their mother is careless with them. and she isn't careless, really. is she, tom tucker?" she snatched up her youngest son, with a hug that made his fat ribs creak. "come, now! let's brew some stylish afternoon tea for the lady. get down the caravan tea that father sent us, mammy, and the preserved ginger, and my georgian spoons. and fix some chicken bones on the stoop for miss northerner's puppy. this is going to be a banquet, and a right frabjous one, too!" it was a banquet, and a frabjous one, marian agreed. sally lou's tea and mammy's nut-cakes were delicious beyond words. the bright little house, the dainty service, sally lou's charming gay talk, the babies, clinging wide-eyed and adorable to her knee, all warmed and heartened marian's listless soul. she was ravished with everything. she looked in wonder and delight at the high sleeping-porch, with its double mosquito bars and its duck screening and its cosey hammock-beds. ("ned sleeps so much better here, where it is quiet, than on that noisy boat," sally lou explained.) she gazed with deep respect at the tiny pantry, built of soap-boxes, lined with snowy oil-cloth. she marvelled at the exquisite old silver, the fine embroidered table-linen, the delicate china. and she caught her breath when her eyes lighted upon the beautiful painting in oils that hung above young burford's desk. it was a magical bit of color: a dreamy italian garden, walled in ancient carved and mellowed stone, its slopes and borders a glory of roses, flaunting in splendid bloom; and past its flowery gates, a glimpse of blue, calm sea. she could hardly turn her eyes away from the lovely vista. it was as restful as an april breeze. and across the lower corner she read the clear tracing of the signature, a world-famous name. sally lou followed her glance. "you surely think i'm a goose, don't you, to bring my gold teaspoons, and my wedding linen, and my finest tea-set down to a wilderness like this? well, perhaps i am. and yet the very best treasures that we own are none too good for our home, you know. and this _is_ home. any place is home when ned and the babies and i are together. besides, the very fact that this place is so queer and ugly and dismal is the best of reasons why we need all our prettiest things, and need to use them every day, don't you see? so i picked out my sacredest treasures to bring along. and that painting--yes, it was running a risk to bring so valuable a canvas down here. but doesn't it just rest your heart to look at it? that is why i wanted it with us every minute. you can look at that blue sleepy sky, and those roses climbing the garden wall, and the sea below, and forget all about the noisy, grimy boats, and the mud, and sleet, and malaria, and the cross laborers, and the broken machinery, and everything else; and just look, and look, and dream. that is why i carted it along. especially on ned's account, don't you see?" "y-yes." at last marian took her wistful eyes from the picture. "i wish that i had thought to bring some good photographs to hang in rod's state-room. i never thought. but there is no room to pin up even a picture post-card in his cubby-hole on the boat. i must go on now. i have had a beautiful time." "there goes your brother this minute! in that little red launch, see? he is going up the ditch. ring the dinner-bell, mammy, that will stop him. he can take you and your dog up to gates's landing and save you half an hour's muddy walk." mammy's dinner-bell pealed loud alarm. roderick heard and swung the boat right-about. his sober, anxious face lighted as marian and sally lou gayly hailed him. "i'm glad that you've met mrs. burford," he said, as he helped marian aboard and hoisted finnegan astern with some difficulty and many yelps; for finnegan left his chicken-bones only under forcible urging. "she is just about the best ever, and i hope you two will be regular chums." "i love her this minute," declared marian, with enthusiasm. "where are you bound, rod? mayn't finnegan and i tag along?" rod's face grew worried. "i'm bound upon a mighty ticklish cruise, sis. it is a ridiculous cruise, too. do you remember what i told you last week about the law that governs the taxing of the land-owners for the making of these ditches?" "yes. you said that when the majority of the land-owners had agreed on doing the drainage work, then the law made every owner pay his tax, in proportion to the acreage of his land which would be drained by the ditches, whether he himself wanted the drainage done or not. and you said that some of the farmers did not want the ditches dug, and that they were holding back their payments and making trouble for the contractors; while others were making still more trouble by blocking the right of way and refusing to let the dredges cut through their land. but how can they hold you back, rod? the law says that all the district people must share in the drainage expenses, whether they like to or not, because the majority of their neighbors have agreed upon it." "the law says exactly that. yes. but there are a lot of kinks to drainage law, and the farmers know it. burford says that two or three of them have been making things lively for the company from the start. but just now we have only one troublesome customer to deal with. and she is a woman, that is the worst of it. she is a well-to-do, eccentric old lady, who owns a splendid farm, just beyond the gateses. she paid her drainage assessment willingly enough. but now she says that, last fall, the boys who made the survey tramped through her watermelon-field and broke some vines and sneaked off with three melons. at least, so she indignantly states. maybe it is so; although the boys swear it was a pumpkin-field, and that they didn't steal so much as a jack-o'-lantern. furthermore, she has put up barb wire and trespass notices straight across the contract right of way; and she has sent us notice that she is guarding that right of way with a gun, and that the first engineer who pokes his nose across her boundary line is due to receive a full charge of buckshot. sort of a shot-gun quarantine, see? now we must start dredging the lateral that crosses her land next monday, at the latest. it must be done at the present stage of high water, else we'll have to delay dredging it until fall. carlisle planned to call on her to-day, and to mollify her if possible, but he's too sick. so i must elbow in myself, and see what my shirt-sleeve diplomacy can do. i'm glad that i can take you along. perhaps you can help to thaw her out." "of all the weird calls to make! what is the old lady like, rod?" "burford says that she is a droll character. she has managed her own farm for forty years, and has made a fine success of it. her name is mrs. chrisenberry. she is not educated, but she is very capable, and very kind-hearted when you once get on the right side of her. yonder is her landing. don't look so scared, sis. she won't eat you." marian's fear dissolved in giggles as they teetered up the narrow board walk to the low brick farm-house. they could not find a door-bell; they rapped and pounded until their knuckles ached. finnegan yapped helpfully and chewed the husk door-mat. at last, a forbidding voice sounded from the rear of the house. "you needn't bang my door down. come round to the dryin' yard, unless you're agents. if you're agents, you needn't come at all. i'm busy." meekly rod and marian followed this hospitable summons. across the muddy drying yard stretched rows of clothes-line, fluttering white. beside a heaped basket of wet, snowy linen stood a very short, very stout little old lady, her thick woollen skirts tucked up under a spotless white apron, her small nut-cracker face glowering from under a sun-bonnet almost as large as herself. she took three clothes-pins from her mouth and scowled at rod. "well!" said she. "name your business. but i don't want no graphophones, nor patent chick-feed, nor golden-oak dinin'-room sets, nor gems of poesy with gilt edges. mind that." marian choked. rod knew that choke. tears of strangling laughter stood in his eyes as he humbly stuttered his errand. "w-we engineers of the breckenridge company wish to offer our sincere apologies for any annoyance that our surveyors may have caused you. we are anxious to make any reparation that we can. and--er--we find ourselves obliged, on account of the high water, to cut our east laterals at once. we will be very grateful to you if you will be so kind as to overlook our trespasses of last season, and will permit us to go on with our work. i speak for the company as well as for myself." the old lady stared at him, with unwinking, beady eyes. there was a painful pause. "well, i don't know. you're a powerful slick, soft-spoken young man. i'll say that much for you." marian gulped, and stooped hurriedly to pat finnegan. "and i don't know as i have any lastin' gredge against your company. them melons was frost-bit, anyway. but if you do start your machinery on that lateral, mind i don't want no more tamperin' with my garden stuff. and i don't want your men a-cavortin' around, runnin' races on my land, nor larkin' evenings, nor comin' to the house for drinks of water. one of them surveyors, last fall, he come to the door for a drink, an' i was fryin' crullers, an' he asked for one, bold as brass. says i, 'help yourself.' well, he did that. there was a blue platter brim full, and if he didn't set down an' eat every single cruller, down to the last crumb! an' then he had the impudence to tell me to my face that they was tolerable good crullers, but that he'd wager the next platterful would taste better than the first, an' he'd like to try and find out for sure!" "i don't blame him. i'd like to try that experiment myself," said rod serenely. the old lady glared. then the ghost of a twinkle flickered under the vasty sun-bonnet. "well, as i say, i ain't made up my mind yet. but i'll let you know to-night, maybe. now you'd better be goin'. looks like more rain." "can't we help you with the clothes first?" asked marian. the old lady shook out a huge, wet table-cloth and stood on tip-toe to pin it carefully on the line. "you might, yes. take these pillow-cases. but don't you drop them in the mud. my clothes-line broke down last week, and didn't i spend a day of it, doin' my whole week's wash over again!" the strong breeze caught the big cloth and whipped it like a banner. finnegan, who had been waiting politely in the background, beheld this signal with joy. with a gay yelp he bolted past marian and seized a corner of the table-cloth in his teeth. "scat!" cried mrs. chrisenberry, startled. "where did that pup come from? shoo!" finnegan, unheeding, took a tighter grip, and swung his fat heavy body from the ground. there was a sickening sound of tearing linen. marian stood transfixed. rod, his arms full of wet pillow-slips, dashed to the rescue. but he was not in time. "scat, i say!" mrs. chrisenberry flapped her apron. amiable creature, she wanted to play with him! enchanted, the puppy let go the table-cloth and dashed at her, under full steam. his sturdy paws struck mrs. chrisenberry with the force of a young battering-ram. with an astonished shriek she swayed back, clutching at the table-cloth to steady herself. but the table-cloth and clothes-pins could not hold a moment against the onslaught of the heavy puppy. by good fortune, the basketful of clothes stood directly behind mrs. chrisenberry. as the faithless table-cloth slid from the rope, back she pitched, with a terrified squeal, to land, safely if forcibly, in its snowy depths. marian, quite past speech, sank on the porch steps. rod stood gaping with horror. mrs. chrisenberry rose up with appalling calm. "you! you come here. you--varmint!" finnegan did not hesitate. trustfully he gambolled up; gayly he seized her apron hem in his white milk teeth and bit out a feather-stitched scallop. mrs. chrisenberry stooped. her broad palm landed heavily on finnegan's curly ear. alas for discipline! finnegan dodged back and eyed her, amazed. one grieved yelp rent the air. then, instantly repenting, he leaped upon her and smothered her with muddy kisses. this was merely the lady's way of playing with him. how could he resent it! then rod came to his wits. he seized mr. finnegan by the collar and cuffed him into bewildered silence. he caught up the wrecked table-cloth and the miry pillow-slips, he poured out regrets and apologies and promises in an all but tearful stream. mrs. chrisenberry did not say one word. her small nut-cracker face set, ominous. "you needn't waste no more soft sawder," said she, at length. "i 'low these are just the rampagin' doings i could look for every day if i once gave you folks permission to bring your dredge on my land. so i may's well make up my mind right now. tell your boss that those trespass signs an' that barb wire are still up, and that they'll most likely stay up till doomsday. good-mornin'." "well! i don't give much for my shirt-sleeve diplomacy," groaned rod, as they teetered away, down the board walk. "i'm sorry, rod." then marian choked again. weak with laughter, she clung to the gate-post. "it was j-just like a moving picture! and when she vanished into the basket--oh, dear--oh, dear!" "you better believe it was exactly like a moving picture," muttered rod. "it all went so fast i couldn't get there in time to do one thing. it went like a cinematograph--zip! and off flew all our chances for all time. finnegan, you scoundrel! do you realize that your playful little game will cost the company a lawsuit and a small fortune besides?" finnegan barked and took a friendly nip of rod's ankle. finnegan's young conscience was crystal-clear. "let's take the launch down to burford's and tell them our misfortunes," said rod. "i need sympathy." the burfords heard their mournful tale with shouts of unpitying joy. "yes, i know, it's hard luck. especially with marvin in the sulks and carlisle sick," said ned burford, wiping his eyes. "but the next time you start diplomatic negotiations, you had better leave that dog at home. i'm going over to the house-boat to tell mr. carlisle. poor sick fellow, this story will amuse him if anything can." he jumped into the launch. a minute later rod brought it alongside the house-boat and burford disappeared within. "mr. carlisle, sir!" they heard his laughing voice at the chief's state-room door. "may i come in? will i disturb you if i tell you a good joke on hallowell?" there was a pause. then came a rush of feet. burford dashed from the cabin and confronted rod and marian. his face was very white. "hallowell! come aboard, quick!" he said, in a shaking voice. "mr. carlisle is terribly ill. he's lying there looking like death; he couldn't even speak to me. hurry!" chapter v goose-grease and diplomacy roderick leaped aboard. marian followed, trembling with fear. mr. carlisle lay in his seaman's hammock beside the window. his gaunt hands were like ice. his lean face was ashen gray. but he nodded weakly and put out a shaking, courteous hand. "too bad to alarm you thus," he gasped. "i--i was afraid of this. malaria plays ugly tricks with a man's heart now and then. you'd better ship me to the hospital at saint louis. they can patch me up in a week probably. only, the sooner you can get me there, the better." "you call the foreman and tell him to get up steam on the big launch, hallowell." burford, very pale, took command of the situation. "miss hallowell, will you go and bring sally lou? i want her right away. she's all kinds of good in an emergency." marian fled, her own heart pounding in her throat. but sally lou, after the first scared questions, rose to the occasion, steady and serene. "light the stove and make our soapstones and sand-bags piping-hot, mammy. heat some bouillon and put it into the thermos bottle. ned, you and the foreman must take him down to grafton landing on the launch. the _lucy lee_ is due to reach grafton late this afternoon. i'll catch the _lucy's_ captain on the long-distance telephone at the landing above grafton, and tell him to wait at grafton landing till you get there with mr. carlisle. then you can put him aboard the _lucy_. she will make saint louis in half the time that you could make it with the launch. besides, the _lucy_ will mean far easier travelling for mr. carlisle." "i never thought of the _lucy_! i'd meant to wait with him at the landing and take the midnight train. but the steam-boat will be a far easier trip. sally lou, you certainly are a peach!" young burford looked at his wife with solemn admiration. "go and telephone, quick. we'll have carlisle ready to start in an hour." in less than an hour the launch was made ready, with cot and pillows and curtains, as like an ambulance as a launch could well be. with clumsy anxious pains roderick and burford lifted their chief aboard. marian hung behind, eager to help, yet too frightened and nervous to be of service. but sally lou, her yellow hair flying under her ruffly red bonnet, her baby laughing and crowing on her shoulder, popped her flushed face gayly under the awning to bid mr. carlisle good-by. "if it wasn't for these babies i'd go straight along and take care of you myself, mr. carlisle," she cried. "but the hospital will take better care of you than i could, i reckon. and the week's vacation will do you no end of good. besides it will set these two lazybones to work." she gave her husband a gentle shake. "ned and mr. hallowell will have to depend on themselves, instead of leaving all the responsibility to you. it will be the making of them. you'll see!" "perhaps that is true." carlisle's gray lips smiled. he was white with suffering, but he spoke with his unvarying kind formality. "i am leaving you gentlemen with a pretty heavy load. but--i am not apprehensive. i know that you boys will stand up to the contract, and that you will carry it on with success. good-by, and good luck to you!" the launch shot away down-stream. sally lou looked after it. marian saw her sparkling eyes grow very grave. "mr. carlisle is mighty brave, isn't he? but he will not come back to work in a week's time. no, nor in a month's time either if i know anything about it. but there's no use a-glooming, is there, thomas tucker! you two come up to my house and we'll have supper together and watch for ned; for if he meets the _lucy_ at grafton he can bring the launch back by ten to-night." sally lou was a good prophet. it was barely nine when ned's launch whistled at the landing. ned climbed the steps, looking tired and excited. "yes, we overhauled the _lucy_, all right. mr. carlisle seemed much more comfortable when we put him aboard. he joked me about being so frightened and said he'd come back in a day or so as good as new. but--i don't know how we'll manage here. with carlisle laid up, and marvin gone off in the sulks, for nobody knows how long--well, for the next few days this contract is up to us, hallowell. that is all there is to that. and we've got to make good. we've got to put it through." "you certainly must make good. and it is up to us girls to help things along," said sally lou, briskly. "isn't it, marian? yes, i'm going to call you marian right away. it's such a saving of time compared to 'miss hallowell.' and the very first thing to-morrow morning we will drive over to mrs. chrisenberry's, and coax her into letting you boys start that lateral through her land." three startled faces turned to her. three astounded voices rose. "coax her, indeed! on my word! when she drove rod and me off the place this very morning!" "think you dare ask her to take down her barb-wire barricade and lay away her shot-gun? 'not till doomsday!'" "sally lou, are you daft? you've never laid eyes on mrs. chrisenberry. you don't know what you're tackling. we'll not put that lateral through till we've dragged the whole question through the courts. don't waste your time in dreaming, child." "i'm not going to dream. i'm going to act. you'll go with me, won't you, marian? we'll take the babies and the buckboard. but, if you don't mind, we'll leave mr. finnegan at home. finnegan's diplomacy is all right, only that it's a trifle demonstrative. yes, you boys are welcome to shake your heads and look owlish. but wait and see!" "she'll never try to face that ferocious old lady," said rod, on the way home. "of course not. she's just making believe," rejoined marian. little did they know sally lou! marian had just finished her breakfast the next morning when the yellow buckboard, drawn by a solemn, scraggy horse, drove up to mrs. gates's door. on the front seat, rosy as her scarlet gown and cloak, sat sally lou. from the back seat beamed mammy easter, in her gayest bandanna, with edward burford, junior, dimpled and irresistible, beside her, and thomas tucker bouncing and crowing in her arms. "climb right in, miss northerner! good-by, poor finnegan! this time we're going to try the persuasive powers of two babies as compared to those of one collie. here we go!" "are we really going to mrs. chrisenberry's? are you actually planning to ask her for the right of way?" queried marian. sally lou chuckled. her round face was guileless and bland. "certainly not. i am going to mrs. chrisenberry's to buy some goose-grease." "to buy some _goose-grease_! horrors! what is goose-grease, pray?" "goose-grease is goose-grease. didn't you ever have the croup when you were young, miss northerner? and didn't they roll you in warm blankets, and then bandage your poor little throat with goose-grease and camphor and red pepper?" "an' a baked onion for your supper," added mammy easter. "an' a big saucer of butterscotch, sizzlin'-hot. dey ain't no croup what kin stand before dat!" "mercy, i should hope not. i never heard of anything so dreadful. you aren't going to give goose-grease to your own babies, i hope?" sally lou surveyed her uproarious sons, and allowed herself a brief giggle. "they've never had a sign of croup so far, i'm thankful to say. but one ought to be prepared. and mrs. chrisenberry has the finest poultry-yard in the country-side. we'll enjoy seeing that, too. don't look so dubersome. wait and see!" mrs. chrisenberry was working in her vegetable garden as they drove up. her queer little face was bound in a huge many-colored "nuby," her short skirts were kilted over high rubber boots. she leaned on her spade and gave the girls a nod that, as marian told rod later, was like a twelve-pound shot squarely across the enemy's bows. sally lou merely beamed upon her. "wet weather for putting in your garden, isn't it?" she cried, gayly. "i'm mrs. burford, mrs. chrisenberry. my husband is an engineer on the breckenridge contract." "h'm!" mrs. chrisenberry glared. sally lou chattered gayly on. "i'm staying down at the canal with these two youngsters, and i want to buy some of your fine goose-grease. they've never had croup in all their born days, but it's such a cold, wet spring that it is well to be prepared for anything." "goose-grease!" mrs. chrisenberry looked at her keenly. "for those babies? highty-tighty! goose-grease is well enough, but hot mutton taller is better yet. i've raised two just as fine boys as them, so i know. mutton taller an' camphire, that's sovereign." she put down her spade and picked her way to the buckboard. edward junior hailed her with a shriek of welcome. thomas tucker floundered wildly in mammy's grasp and clutched mrs. chrisenberry around the neck with a strangling squeeze. marian gasped. for mrs. chrisenberry, grim, stern little nut-cracker lady, had lifted thomas to her stooped little shoulder and was gathering edward junior into a lean strong little arm. both babies crowed with satisfaction. thomas jerked off the tasselled nuby and showered rose-leaf kisses from mrs. chrisenberry's tight knob of gray hair to the tip of her dour little chin. edward pounded her gleefully with fists and feet. "they'll strangle her," marian whispered, aghast. "pooh, she doesn't mind," sally lou whispered back. "you mustn't let them pull you to pieces, mrs. chrisenberry. they're as strong as little bear cubs." "guess i know that." mrs. chrisenberry shook edward's fat grip loose from her tatting collar. "they're the living images of my own boys, thirty years ago. i hope your children bring you as good luck as mine have brought me. they've grown up as fine men as you'd find in a day's journey. let me take 'em to see the hen yard. they'll like to play with the little chickens, i know." edward and thomas tucker were charmed with the hen yard. they fell upon a brood of tiny yellow balls with cries of ecstasy. only the irate pecks and squawks of the outraged hen mother prevented them from hugging the fuzzy peepers to a loving death. "they're a pretty lively team," remarked mrs. chrisenberry. "let's take 'em into the house, and i'll give them some cookies and milk. i don't know much about new-fangled ways of feeding children, but i do know that my cookies never hurt anybody yet." she led them through her shining kitchen into a big, bright sitting-room. again marian halted to stare. this was not the customary chill and dreary farm-house "parlor." instead, she saw a wide, fire-lit living-room, filled with flowering plants, home-like with its books and pictures; and at the arched bay-window a beautiful upright piano. mrs. chrisenberry followed her glance. "land, i don't ever touch it," she said, with a dry little nut-cracker chuckle. "my oldest boy he gave it to me, for he knows i'm that hungry for music, and whenever my daughter-in-law comes to visit she plays for me by the hour, and it's something grand. and now and then a neighbor will pick out a tune for me. my, don't i wish i could keep it goin' all the time! you girls don't play, i suppose?" sally lou's eyes met marian's with a quick question. marian's cheeks grew hot. "i--i play a little. but i'm sure that mrs. burford----" "mrs. burford will play some other time," interrupted sally lou, hastily. "go on, that's a good girl!" now, it bored marian dismally to play for strangers. she refused so habitually that few of her friends knew what a delightful pianist she really was. but dimly she realized that sally lou's eyes were flashing with anxious command. she opened the piano. she ran through the airs from the "tales from hoffmann," then played a romping folk-dance, and, at last, the lovely magic of the "spring song." mrs. chrisenberry hardly breathed. she sat rigidly in her chair, her knotted little hands shut tight, her beady eyes unwinking. "my, but that goes to the place," she sighed, as the last airy harmony died away. "now i'll bring your cookies and milk, you lambs, and then you'd better be starting home. it looks like rain." marian and sally lou fell behind in the procession to the carriage. edward junior toddled down the board walk, clinging to his hostess's skirt. thomas tucker laughed and gurgled in her arms. mrs. chrisenberry put thomas on mammy's lap, then picked up edward, who, loath to depart, squeezed her neck with warm, crumby little hands and snuggled his fat cheek to her own. mrs. chrisenberry looked down at him. her grim little nut-cracker face quivered oddly. a dim pink warmed her brown, withered cheek. "it's nice while they're little, isn't it?" she said, with a queer, wistful smile. "though i dassent complain. my boys are the best sons anybody ever had, and they treat me like a queen. here, son, stop pulling my ears so hard; it hurts. now, i'll send you a whole bowlful of mutton taller to-morrow; and a jar of goose-grease the very next rendering i make. didn't you say you're living on the drainage job? well"--the dim pink grew bright in her cheek--"well, you tell your man that he kin go right ahead and cut his ditch through my land. i'll not stand in the way no longer. though tell him that i'll expect him to see that his men don't tramp through my garden nor steal my watermelons. mind that." "i know i can promise that, always." sally lou's eyes were brown stars. "and thank you more than tongue can tell, mrs. chrisenberry. you don't know what this will mean to my husband, and i never can tell you how much we shall appreciate your kindness. packed in all right, mammy? come, edward, son. good-by!" they drove away in the silence of utter, astonished joy. "your goose-grease worked that miracle, sally lou!" "nonsense! it was your music that carried the day. but oh, i was so afraid you were going to say no!" again marian's cheeks flushed hot, with queer, vexed shame. "well, i did all but refuse. i do hate to play for anybody, especially for strangers." "why?" sally lou looked hopelessly puzzled. "but when it gives them so much pleasure! and besides, if you want a selfish reason, think how you have helped the boys. there they come now." with a joyful call sally lou waved her scarf to the two figures plodding up the canal road. then as the flimsy silk could not do justice to her feelings, she caught up little thomas tucker and flourished him, a somewhat ponderous banner. the boys hurried to meet them. they listened to the girls' excited tale, at first unbelieving, then with faces of amazement and relief. "well, you two girls deserve a diamond medal," declared burford, heartily. his flushed, perturbed face brightened. "you don't know what a load you have taken off our shoulders." he looked at roderick. "this is a real sterling-silver lining to our cloud, isn't it, hallowell? so big that it fairly bulges out around the edges." "a silver lining to what cloud, ned?" demanded sally lou, promptly curious. "has something gone wrong with the work? another break in the machinery? or trouble among the laborers, or what?" the two boys looked at each other. marian studied their faces. burford was flushed and excited. rod's stolid, dark face was frowning and intent. "own up!" commanded sally lou, sternly. "don't you dare try to keep your dark and dreadful secrets from us!" the boys laughed. but a quick warning glance flashed from one to the other. then burford spoke. "don't conjure up so many bogies, sally lou. we--we've had bad news from mr. carlisle. his doctor told me, over the long-distance, that he would not be able to leave the hospital for a fortnight. and he must not come back on the work for two months at the best." sally lou sobered. "that is bad news. poor mr. carlisle! but is that all that you have to tell me, ned?" burford jumped. he reddened a little. "y-yes, i reckon that's all. you girls will have to excuse us now. hallowell and i are going back to our boat-house to fix up our march reports." "anything we two can help about?" "you two have put in a mighty good day's work in securing that right of way. though if you're hunting for a job you might verify the yardage report i left on your desk. run along now, we're going to be busy." "such is gratitude," remarked sally lou, with ironic philosophy, as she drove away. "'run along, we're busy.' just like a boy!" roderick and ned looked after the buckboard, a little shame-faced at sally lou's parting shot. "just the same, it does no good to tell them all our ill-luck," said burford. "and marvin's threatening to quit is even worse luck than carlisle's illness. for his quarrel with the foreman has started half a dozen quarrels among the workmen. queer, isn't it? a grouch like that will spread like wild-fire through a whole camp." "marvin is waiting on the house-boat for us this minute." ned peered through a telescope of his hands. "now we'll listen to a tale of woe!" marvin did not wait till they could reach the boat. his angry voice rang out across the canal. "well, _mister_ hallowell! i just got the note that you so kindly sent me. so you and mr. burford here think that i ought to stand by the job, hey, 'and not let my private quarrels influence me into deserting the contract?' thank you, _mister_ hallowell, for your kind advice. but i rather guess i can get along without any orders from either of you two swells. no, nor criticisms, either." "we're not giving orders, and you know that, marvin." rod spoke sharply. "but you're never going to throw down your billet just because of a two-cent fuss with the foreman. think what a hole you'd leave the company in! carlisle sick, high water holding back our freight, coal shipments stalled, everything tied up----" "and you're directly responsible to the company for that berm construction," broke in burford hotly. "you know well enough that we can't watch that work and oversee the ditch-cutting at one and the same time. you're not going to sneak out and play quitter----" "i'm going to play quitter, as you call it, whenever i choose. that happens to be right now. you two silk-stockings can like it, or lump it. mulcahy!" he yelled to the camp commissary man, who was just starting down the canal in his launch on his way to grafton for supplies. "wait, i'm going with you. here, take this." he bolted into his cabin, then dashed back, carrying a heavy suit-case. he heaved it into the launch, then sprang in beside the open-mouthed steward. "now, i'm off!" he blazed the words at the two boys staring from the bank. "you can run this contract to suit yourselves, gentlemen. i'll send my resignation direct to the company. i don't have to take orders from you two swells another hour. good-morning, gentlemen!" the steward grinned sheepishly at sight of his superior officer behaving himself like a spunky small boy. with a rueful nod toward roderick he headed the launch down the canal. burford expressed himself with some vim. "well, he's gone. good riddance, i call it. the surly hound!" "i don't know about that," muttered rod. "it was my fault, maybe, writing him that letter. i was too high and mighty, i suppose." "you needn't blame yourself," returned burford bluntly. "we've put up with his insolence and his scamped work and his everlasting wrangling long enough. mr. carlisle won't blame us; neither will the company." "we ought to wire company head-quarters at chicago, and report just how things stand; then they'll send us a supervising engineer to take mr. carlisle's place. and a new scrub, too, instead of marvin." "you're right, hallowell. you wire them straight off, will you? i'm going up to the first lateral to watch the afternoon shift." early that evening roderick received the answering wire from head-quarters. he read it carefully. his sober young face settled into grim lines. an hour later burford turned up, tired, but in high spirits, for his dredge had made a flying start on the lateral. roderick handed him the despatch. the two boys stared at each other. a deep flush burned to burford's temples. rod's hard jaw set. the message was curt and to the point. "the breckenridge engineering company. office of the vice-president. roderick hallowell, esq. _c/o contract camp, grafton, illinois._ _sir:_ your report received. consider yourself and burford as jointly in command till further orders. i shall reach camp on route inspection by th inst. kindly report conditions daily by wire. breckenridge." "so we're made jointly responsible. put in charge by breckenridge. by breck the great, his very self. h'm-m." burford looked out at the crowded boats, the muddy, half-built levee, stretching far as eye could see; the night shift of laborers, eighty strong, shuffling aboard the quarter-boat for their hot supper; the massed, powerful machinery, stretching its black funnels and cranes against the red evening sky. "so we're the two grand panjandrums on this job. responsible for excavation that means prosperity or ruin for half the farmers in the district, according as we do or don't finish those laterals before the june rise; responsible for a pay-roll that runs over four hundred dollars a day; responsible for a time-lock contract that will cost our company five hundred dollars forfeit money a day for every day that we run over our time limit. well, hallowell?" "it strikes me," said rod, very briefly, "that it's up to us." "yes, it is up to us. but if we don't make good----" "don't let that worry you." rod's jaw set, steel. "don't give that a thought. we'll make good." chapter vi the contract's receiving day "hello, sis!" it was roderick's voice over the telephone. "how are you feeling this fine, muggy morning?" "pretty well, i suppose. how are you, rod? where are you telephoning from?" "from burford's shack. we're in a pinch down here, marian. we need you to help out. can't you ask mr. gates to hitch up and bring you down to camp right away? or if you'll walk down to gates's landing i'll send mulcahy with the launch, to bring you the rest of the way. and put on your very best toggery, sis. war paint and feathers and all that. that pretty lavender silk rig will do. but don't forget the gimcracks. put on all the jewelry you own." "why, roderick hallowell! what can you mean? dress up in my best, and come down to camp at nine in the morning, and on sunday morning at that?" "i mean just what i say." then roderick chuckled irresistibly. "poor sis, i don't wonder you're puzzled. but sunday is the contract's day at home, and we want you to stand in line and receive; or pour tea, whichever you prefer to do. do you see?" "no, i don't see. all i do see is that you're talking nonsense. and i don't intend to come down to the camp. it is such a hot, horrid morning, i don't propose to stir. i want you to come up and spend the day here instead. mrs. gates wants you, too, she says, for dinner and for supper as well. and yesterday the rural-delivery man brought a whole armful of new magazines. we'll sit on the porch, and you can read and i'll write letters, and we'll have a lovely, quiet day together." there was a pause. when roderick spoke again, his voice was rather quenched. "sorry, sis, but it isn't possible for me to come, even for dinner. i'll be hard at it here, every minute of the day." "you mean that you must work on the contract all day sunday? when you have worked fourteen hours a day, ever since you came west?" marian's voice was very tart. "can't you stop long enough to go to church with me, even? there's a beautiful little church four miles away. it's just a pleasant drive. surely you can give up two hours of the morning, if you can spare no more time!" "it isn't a question of what i'm willing to do. and i am not planning to work on sunday. as you know, sis, we bank our fires saturday night and give the laborers a day off. nearly all the men left for town last night to stay till monday. but listen. burford tells me that, on every clear sunday, we can expect a visit from most of the land-owners for miles around. and not just from the land-owners themselves: their sisters, and their cousins, and their aunts; and the children, and the neighbors, and the family cat. they want to see for themselves just how the work is going on. when you stop to think, it's their own work. their money is paying for every shovelful of dirt we move, and every inch of levee-work. and they're paying every copper of our salaries, too. they have a right to see how their own investment is being used, sis." "so you have to treat these country people as honored guests! cart them up and down the canal, and show them the excavations, and let them pry into your reports, and ask you silly questions! of all the tiresome, preposterous things!" "that's pretty much what we'll do. but there is nothing preposterous about it; it's their right. and we fellows want to do the decent thing. now, more than ever, we want to do everything properly because carlisle is sick and away. burford says that carlisle was more exacting about these visits of inspection than about anything else on the plant. he said that when a man builds a house to protect his family he has the right to oversee every inch of the construction, if he likes. on the same principle, these farmers who are digging canals and putting up levees to protect their lands should have the right to watch the work, step by step. burford says, too, that carlisle, with his everlasting patience and courtesy, was steadily winning over the whole district; even the men who had fought the first assessments tooth and nail. it is the least we boys can do to keep up the good feeling that carlisle has established." "well, i think it is all very absurd. why should i come down to the work? these people do not even know that i exist. and if you really need somebody to talk to their wives and be gracious and all that, why can't mrs. burford do it better than i? she is right on the ground, anyway." "yes, she's right on the ground. and so is thomas tucker's newest tooth. the poor little skeezicks howled half the night, burford says. he has stopped yelling just now, but he won't let his mother out of his sight for one minute. mrs. burford is pretty much worn to a frazzle. but i don't want to pester you, marian." there was a worried note in rod's voice now. "i wouldn't have you come for any consideration, if it were to make you ill or tired. so perhaps we'd better not think of it." marian shrugged her shoulders. an odd, teasing question stirred in her mind. "i rather think i can stand the day if you can. finnegan and i will be at the landing in half an hour. i, and my best beads and wampum, and my new spring hat. there, now!" not waiting for rod's delighted reply, she hurried away to dress. a whimsical impulse led her to put on her freshest and daintiest gown, a charming lilac silk, with a wide, tilting picture hat, heaped with white and purple lilacs. she was standing at the little pier, tugging at her long gloves, when the duty-launch, with rod himself at the wheel, shot round the bend. rod waved his hand; then, at sight of her amazing finery, he burst into a whoop of satisfaction. "will you look at that! marian hallowell, you're the best ever. i might have known you'd play up. though i was scared stiff, for fear you'd think that just every-day clothes would do. my, but you're stunning! you're looking stronger, too, sis. you're not nearly so wan and spooky as you were a week ago." "i'm feeling better, too." marian's color rose. even her sulky humor must melt under rod's beaming approval. "now give me my sailing orders, rod. how many callers will we have? what sort of people will they be? tart and grim, like mrs. chrisenberry, i suppose, or else kindly and bashful and 'woodsy,' like the gateses? will they stop by on their way home from church, or will they come promptly after dinner and spend the afternoon?" rod laughed. "no telling, sister. we may have ten callers, we may have a hundred. you'll find all kinds of people among them; precisely as you'll find all kinds of people on mount vernon street, boston, massachusetts. there'll be nice, neighborly folks who'll drive up the canal road in bond street motoring clothes and sixty-horse-power cars. there'll be other nice, neighborly folks who'll ride in through the woods on their plough horses, wearing slat sunbonnets and hickory shirts. and they'll be friendly, and critical, and enthusiastic, and dubersome, all in a heap. you'll need all your social experience, and all your tact, and all the diplomacy you can muster. see?" "yes, i'm beginning to see." marian's eyes were thoughtful. then she sprang up to wave her lilac parasol in greeting to the martin-box and sally lou. "isn't this the most mournful luck that ever was!" sally lou sat with thomas tucker, a forlorn little figure, planted firmly on her knee. "to think that my son must spend his first afternoon of the season in cutting a wicked double tooth! maybe it'll come through by dinner-time, though. then he'll go to sleep, and i can slip over and help you entertain our people--why, marian hallowell! oh, what a lovely, lovely gown! you wise child, how did you know that to wear it to-day was precisely the wisest thing that you could possibly do!" "i didn't know that. i just put it on. partly for fun, and--well, partly to provoke rod, i suppose." marian felt rather foolish. but she had no time for further confidences. up the muddy canal road came a roomy family carriage, drawn by a superbly matched black team. that carriage was packed solid to the dashboard. father, two tall boys, and a rosy little daughter crammed the front seat; mother, grandmother, and aunty were fitted neatly into the back; and a fringe of small fry swung from every direction. "morning." the father reined in and gave everybody a friendly nod and smile. "how are you, mr. burford? glad to meet you, mr. hallowell. no, thank you, we're on our way to sunday-school and church, so we haven't a minute to stop. but i have been wanting to know how you think lateral four will work out; the one that turns down past my farm. will that sand cut give you much trouble?" "it will make slower dredging, mr. moore. but we'll put it through as fast as we can." "um. i'm in no hurry to see it go through. the high water isn't due for a month, anyway. now, i don't know much about sand-cutting. but i've been told that your worst trouble in a sand streak is with the slides. after your dredge-dipper has dumped the stuff ashore, it won't stay put. it keeps tobogganing back into the channel and blocking your cut. so sometimes you have to hoist it out two or three times over." "that's exactly the case, mr. moore. usually our levee gangs follow along and tamp the sand down, or else spread it back from the berm where it has no chance to slide. but it is getting so near the time set for the completion of our upper lateral cut that we are obliged to keep our levee shift at work on the upper laterals and take our chances on the sand staying where we pile it." "just what i'd supposed. now, i shall need a lot of that sand, in a week or so, for some cement work. s'pose i send you a couple of teams and half a dozen hands to-morrow, to cart off the sand under your direction. would that help things along?" "help things along? i should say it would!" rod beamed. "it would be the most timely help we could ask." "but won't it put you to a lot of trouble, sir," asked burford, "to take the hands off their regular farm-work in that way?" "w-well, no. anyway they can haul sand for a day or so without making much difference. and it will be a heap handier for you boys to have the stuff carted off as fast as you throw it ashore." "it surely will. that's the best news we've heard in one while!" the boys stood smiling at each other, completely radiant. mr. moore nodded and turned his horses. "glad if it will be any accommodation. well, good day to you all. my good wishes to mr. carlisle. tell him i said he left a couple of mighty competent substitutes, but that his neighbors will be glad to see him coming back, just the same." the big carriage with its gay load rolled away. "so moore will send men and teams to help us on that sand cut!" burford, fairly chortling with satisfaction, started toward the martin-box. "if all our land-owners treated us with half the consideration that he always gives, our work would be a summer's dream. i'm going up to tell sally lou." he had hardly reached the martin-box before he turned with a shout. "there come our next visitors, hallowell. the commodore and mrs. mccloskey, in that fat little white launch. see?" commodore mccloskey it was, indeed. finnegan's wild yelp of delighted greeting would have told as much. marian promptly joined the hilarious race to the pier. the commodore, crisp and blinding-white in his starchy duck, stood at his launch wheel, majestic as if he stood on the bridge of an ocean liner. but mrs. mccloskey, a dainty, soft-eyed, little old lady, with cheeks like scotch roses, and silky curls white as dandelion down blowing from under her decorous gray bonnet, won marian's heart at the first glance. she was as quaint and gentle and charming as an old-time miniature. while the boys took the commodore up and down the laterals that he might see their progress since his last visit, mrs. mccloskey trailed her soft old black silk skirts to the martin-box door and begged for a glimpse of the baby. "he's crosser than a prickly little porcupine," protested sally lou, handing him over reluctantly. "oh, but he'll come to me just the minute! won't you, lamb?" and like a lamb thomas tucker forgot his sorrows and snuggled happily into her tender arms, while his relieved mother bustled about and helped marian to make a generous supply of lemonade; for half a dozen carriage loads of visitors were now coming up the road. "'tis amazin'. where do they all come from?" observed mrs. mccloskey. "yet there's nigh three hundred land-owners in this district. and the commodore, he passed the word yesterday that there's close on two hundred thousand acres of land that will be protected by this one drainage contract. think of that, miss marian. is it not grand to know that your brother is giving the power of his hands and his brains to such a big, helping work as all that?" "why, i suppose so." marian spoke absently. "and ye will be a help to him, too, i can see that." mrs. mccloskey put out a hesitating little hand in a quaint old silken mitt and patted marian's fluffy gown. "'tis not everybody makes as bould as meself to tell you in so many words of your pretty finery. but sure 'tis everybody that will appreciate it, an' be pleased an' honored with the compliment of it." marian looked utterly puzzled. "you think that i can be a help to rod? why, i don't know the least thing about his work. i really don't understand----" "well, aren't you a magic-maker, auntie mccloskey!" sally lou put down the lemon-squeezer and stared. "look at that precious baby! sound asleep in your lap! while i haven't been able to pacify him for one minute, though i walked and sang all night!" "'tis the cruel tooth has come through, i'm thinkin'." mrs. mccloskey laid the peaceful little porcupine tenderly into his crib. "now, i'll stay and watch him while you two go and meet your guests. i'll call you the minute he chirps." the two girls hurried to greet their callers, to offer them chairs on the shady side of the quarter-boat, to serve them with iced tea and lemonade. much to marian's surprise, she found herself chattering away vigorously and actually enjoying it all. as rod had said, the slow stream that came and went all day included all sorts and conditions of folk. there were the gracious old clergyman and his sweet, motherly wife, who stopped for a pleasant half-hour, then jogged on across the country to his "afternoon meeting," twelve miles out in the lowlands. there were the two brisk young plutocrats from the great kensington stock farm up-river, who flashed up in a stunning satiny-gray french car, for a brief exchange of courtesies. there were two of the district commissioners, quiet, keen-eyed gentlemen. one of these men, rod told his sister later, was doing valuable service to the community by his experiments in improving the yield of corn throughout the district. the other commissioner was a lawyer of national reputation. mrs. chrisenberry stopped by, too: a brusque little visitor, sitting very stiff and fine in her cushioned phaeton, her beady eyes darting questions through her shrewd spectacles. marian, feeling very real gratitude, devoted herself to mrs. chrisenberry. that lady, however, hardly spoke till just as she was starting to go. then she leaned forward in her carriage. she fixed marian with a gimlet eye. "it's agreeable to see that you think we district folks _is_ folks," she said, very tartly indeed. "i'd some mistrusted the other day, but i guess now that you know what's what. good-afternoon, all." "well, sally lou! will you tell me what she meant?" sally lou nodded wisely. "your pretty dress, i suspect. didn't you hear mrs. mccloskey praise it, too?" "oh!" and now marian's face was very thoughtful indeed. late in the afternoon came the one disagreeable episode of the day. the drainage district, upon which roderick and burford were employed, had become part of a huge league known as the central mississippi drainage association. this league had recently been organized. its object was the cutting of protective ditches on a gigantic scale, and its annual expenditures for this work would run well past the million mark. naturally there was strong competition between all the great engineering firms to win a favorable standing in the eyes of this new and powerful corporation. the breckenridge company, because of its superior record, was easily in the lead. none the less, as rod had remarked a day or so before, it was up to every member of the breckenridge company, from breck the great down to the meekest cub engineer, to keep that lead. burford jeered mildly at rod for taking his own small importance to the company so seriously. "just you wait and see," retorted roderick. "oh, i'll wait, all right," laughed burford. to-day, however, he was destined to see; and to see almost too clearly for his own peace of mind. a sumptuous limousine car whirled up the muddy road. its lordly door swung open; down stepped a large, autocratic gentleman, in raiment of startling splendor, followed by a quiet, courteous elderly man. "i am mr. ellingworth locke, of new york. i am the acting president of the central mississippi drainage association," announced the magnificent one. "you gentlemen, i take it, are the--ah--the junior engineers left in charge by mr. carlisle?" roderick and burford admitted their identity. "this is mr. crosby, our consulting engineer. now that this district has joined the association, it comes under our direct surveillance. mr. crosby and i desire to go over your laterals and get an idea of your work thus far." "we are honored." burford bowed low and welcomed his guests with somewhat flamboyant courtesy. he led the way to the duty-launch. roderick followed, bringing the cushions and the tarpaulin which the quick-witted sally lou hastily commanded him to carry aboard for the potentate's comfort. of all their guests, that long day, the acting president was the sole critic. at every rod of the big ditch, at every turn of the laterals, he found some petty fault. the consulting engineer, mr. crosby, followed him about in embarrassed silence. he was obviously annoyed by his employer's rudeness. however, for all mr. locke's strictures, it was evident that he could find no serious fault with the work. yet both boys were tingling with vexation and chagrin when the regal limousine rolled away at last. "what does ail his highness? did ever you see such a beautiful grouch?" rod mopped his forehead and stared belligerently after the car. "nothing ails him but a badly swelled head." burford's jaw set hard. "the fact of it is, that the worshipful mr. ellingworth locke hasn't two pins' worth of practical knowledge of dredging. he is a new york banker, and he has no understanding of conditions west of the hudson. his bank is to make the loans for the association's drainage, and he has bought a big tract of land in this district. that is why he was elected acting president. do you see?" "yes, that helps to explain things." "so he struts around and tries to pick flaws with the most trifling points of our construction, to keep us from guessing how little he really knows about the big underlying principles. gentle innocent, he tries to think he's an expert!" burford waved a disrespectful muddy paw after the flying car. "all that an acting president is good for, anyway, is to wear white spats and to put on side." "well, that engineer knows his job." "crosby? yes, he's an engineer all right. and a gentleman, too. just the same, i'm glad we kowtowed to mr. locke. his opinion is so influential that his approval may mean a tremendous advantage to the breckenridge company some day." "i'm hoping that breckenridge himself will come before long and give us a looking over." "i'm hoping for that myself. half an hour of breck will swing everything into shape. you want to know breckenridge if ever you get the chance, hallowell. he's the grandest ever. just to watch him tramp up and down a ditch, great big silent figure that he is, and hear him fire off those cool, close-mouthed questions of his at you, brings you bristling up like a fighting-cock. he's a regular inspiration, i call him." "i'm banking on the chance that i shall know him some day." rod's eyes lighted. he remembered the words of his old professor, "to work under breckenridge is not only an advantage to any engineer. it is an education in itself." it was nearly six o'clock when their last callers arrived. they were not an interesting carriage load: a gaunt, silent, middle-aged man; a sallow-cheeked young woman, in cheap, showy clothes, her rough hands glittering with gaudy rings; and a six-year-old girl--a pitiful little ghost of a girl--who looked like a frail little shadow against sally lou's lusty, rosy two-year-old son. her warped, tiny body in its forlorn lace-trimmed pink silk dress was braced in pillows in her mother's arms. her dim black eyes stared listlessly with the indifference of long suffering. marian was always shaken and repelled by the sight of pain. but by this time thomas tucker was awake and loudly demanding his mother; so marian must do her shrinking best, to make the new-comers feel themselves welcomed. "no, mamie she don't drink lemonade. no, she don't want no milk, neither. we'll just set here in the cool and rest a while till pappy gets through lookin' around." the young, tired mother sat down on the little pier. she settled the wan little creature carefully into her arms again. "no, there's nothing you can get for her; nothing at all." "doesn't she like to look at pictures? i have some new magazines," ventured marian. "she does like pictures once in a while. want to see what the lady's got for you, mamie?" mamie roused herself and looked silently at the books that marian piled before her. bent on pleasing the little wraith, marian cut out several lovely ladies, and on a sudden inspiration added rosy cheeks from rod's tray of colored pencils. those red and blue and purple pencils caught mamie's listless eye. she even bestirred herself to try and draw a portrait or so with her own shaky little fingers. "beats all," sighed her mother. a little pleased color rose in her cheeks. "i haven't seen her take such an interest for months. not even in her dollies. we buy her all the playthings we can think of. her pappy, he don't ever go to town without he up and brings her a whole grist of candy and toys and clutter. but we never once thought of the pencils for her. nor of paper dolls, either. my, i'm glad we stopped by. and her pappy, he'll be more pleased than words can tell. he's always so heart-set for mamie to have a little fun." "she must take these pencils home with her. rod has a whole boxful." marian tied up not only the pencils, but a generous roll of rod's heavy drawing-paper, expressly adapted to making paper dolls that would stand alone. the child clutched the bundle in her little lean hands without a word of thanks. but her white little face was eloquent. so was her father's face when he came to carry her away, and heard her mother's story of the new pleasure. "well, this day has meant hard work all right, even though it was a day of rest from my regular work," said roderick. he was swinging the launch up the canal to the gates's landing. "it's a queer way to spend sunday, isn't it, sis? but it seems to be the only way for me just at present. and you can be sure that we're obliged to you, old lady, for the way that you've held up your end." "i didn't mind the day, nor did i mind meeting all those people nearly as much as i'd imagined that i would," pondered marian. "especially the mccloskeys, the dear things! and that poor little crippled child, too. i wish i could do something more for her. y-yes, as you say, it was pretty hard work. i'm rather tired to-night. but the day was well worth while." but just how worth while that day had been, neither rod nor marian could know. chapter vii the coal and the commodore "ready for breakfast, miss hallowell?" mrs. gates's pleasant voice summoned her. "just a minute." marian loitered at the window, looking out at the transformed woods and fields. she could hardly believe her eyes. two weeks ago only stark, leafless branches and muddy gray earth had stretched before her. but in these fourteen days, the magic of early april had wrought wonders. the trees stood clothed in shining new leaves, thick and luxuriant as a new england june. the fields were sheets of living green. "it doesn't seem real," she sighed happily. "it isn't the same country that it was when i first came." "no more are you the same girl." mrs. gates nodded approvingly behind the tall steaming coffee-pot. "my, you were that peaky and piney! but nowadays you're getting some real red in your cheeks, and you eat more like a human being and less like a canary-bird." marian twinkled. "your brother is gettin' to be the peaky one, nowadays," went on mrs. gates, with her placid frankness. "seems to me i never saw a boy look as beat out as he does, ever since that big cave-in on the canal last week. i'm thankful for this good weather for him. maybe he can make up for the time they lost digging out the cave-in if it stays clear and the creeks don't rise any higher. he's a real worker, isn't he? seems like he'd slave the flesh off his bones before he'd let his job fall behind. but i don't like to see him look so gaunt and tired. it isn't natural in a boy like him." marian looked puzzled. "why, rod is always strong and well." "he's strong, yes. but even strong folks can tire out. flesh and blood aren't steel and wire. you'd better watch him pretty sharp, now that hot weather is coming. he needs it." marian pushed back her plate with a frown. her dainty breakfast had suddenly lost its savor. "watch over rod! i should think it was rod's place to watch over me, instead. and when i have been so ill, too!" she said to herself. yet a queer little thorn of anxiety pricked her. she called mr. finnegan and raced with him down through the wet green woods to the canal. roderick stood on the dredge platform, talking to the head dredge-runner. he hailed marian with a shout. "you're just in time to see me off, sis. i'm going to saint louis to hurry up our coal shipment." "the coal shipment? i thought a barge-load of coal was due here yesterday." "due, yes. but it hasn't turned up, and we're on our last car-load this minute. that's serious. we'll have to shut down if i can't hurry a supply to camp within thirty-six hours." marian followed him aboard the engineers' house-boat and watched him pack his suit-case. "why are you taking all those time-books, rod? surely you will not have time to make up your week's reports during that three-hour trip on the train?" "these aren't my weekly reports. these are tabulated operating expenses. president sturdevant, the head of our company, has just announced that he wants us to furnish data for every working day. he's a bit of a martinet, you know. he wants everything figured up into shape for immediate reference. he says he proposes to follow the cost of this job, excavation, fill, everything, within thirty-six hours of the time when the actual work is done. he doesn't realize that that means hours of expert book-keeping, and that we haven't a book-keeper in the camp. so burford and i have had to tackle it, in addition to our regular work. and it's no trifle." roderick rolled up a formidable mass of notes. there was a worried tone in his steady voice. "why doesn't the company send you a book-keeper?" "burford and i are planning to ask for one when the president and breckenridge come to camp on their tour of inspection." "could i do some of the work for you, rod?" "thank you, sis, but i'm afraid you'd find it a chinese puzzle. i get tangled up in it myself half the time. we must set down every solitary item of cost, no matter how trifling; not only wages and supplies, but breakdowns, time losses, even those of a few minutes; then calculate our average, day by day; then plot a curve for each week's work, showing the cost of the contract for that week, and set it against our yardage record for that week. then verify it, item by item, and send it in." "all tied up in beautiful red-tape bow-knots, i suppose," added marian, with a sniff. she poked gingerly into the mass of papers. "the idea of adding book-keeping to your twelve-hour shift as superintendent! and in this stuffy, noisy little box!" she looked impatiently around the close narrow state-room. the ceiling was not two feet above her head; the hot morning sunlight beat on the flat tin roof of the house-boat and dazzled through the windows. "how can you work here?--or sleep, either?" rod rubbed his hand uncertainly across his eyes. "i don't sleep much, for a fact. too hot. sometimes i drop off early, but the men always wake me at midnight when the last shift goes off duty." "but the laborers are all across on their own quarter-boat. they don't come aboard your house-boat?" "no, but the quarter-boat is only fifty feet away. the cook has their hot supper ready at twelve, and they lark over it, and laugh and shout and cut up high-jinks, like a pack of school-boys. i wouldn't mind, only i can't get to sleep again. i lie there and mull over the contract, you see. i can't help it." "why don't you come up to the gates farm-house and sleep there?" "i couldn't think of that. it's too far away. i must stay right here and keep my eye on the work, every minute. you have no idea what a dangerously narrow margin of time we have left; 'specially for those north laterals, you know, sis." his voice grew sharp and anxious. marian looked at him keenly. for the first time she saw the dull circles under his eyes, the drawn, tired lines around his steady mouth. then she glanced up the ditch. high on its green stilts, sally lou's perky little martin-box caught her eye. "i have it, rod! tell some of your laborers to build a cabin for you, like the burfords'! then i'll come down and keep house for you." roderick shrugged his shoulders. "i can't spare a solitary laborer from the contract, marian; not for a day. we're short-handed as it is. no, i'll stay where i am. i'm doing well enough. steam up, mulcahy? good-by, sis. back to-morrow!" marian watched the launch till it disappeared in the green mist of the willows. then she sat down to her brother's desk and began to sort the clutter of papers. but sorting them was not an easy matter. to her eyes they were only a bewildering tangle. marian knew that she possessed an inborn knack at figures, and it piqued her to find that she could not master roderick's accounts at the first glance. she worked on and on doggedly. the little state-room grew hot and close; the dull throb of the dredge machinery and the noisy voices from without disturbed her more and more. at last she sprang up and swept the whole mass into her hand-bag. then she ran up the hill to the martin-box. sally lou, very fresh and cool in pink dimity, sat in her screened nest, with the babies playing on the scrubbed floor. she nodded in amused sympathy at marian's portentous armful. "aren't those records a dismal task! yes, i've found a way to sift them, though it took me a long time to learn. start by adding up the time-book accounts; verify each laborer's hours, and see whether his pay checks correspond to his actual working time. roderick has fifty men on his shift, so that is no small task. then add up his memoranda of time made by the big dredge; and also the daily record of the two little dredges up at the laterals. then run over the steward's accounts and see whether they check with his bills----" marian stared at sally lou, astonished. "well, but sally lou! think how much time that will mean! why, i would have to spend all afternoon on the time-books alone." sally lou raised her yellow head and looked at marian very steadily. a tiny spark glinted in her brown eyes. "well, what if it does take all afternoon? have you anything better to do?" there was a minute of silence. then marian's cheeks turned rather pink. "i suppose not. but it is horridly tedious work, sally lou. on such a warm day, too." "it certainly is." sally lou's voice was quite dry. she caught up thomas tucker, who was trying laboriously to feed mr. finnegan with a large ball of darning cotton. "you'd find it even more tedious if you were obliged to work at it evenings, as your brother does. can't you stay to lunch, marian? we'll love to have you; won't we, babies?" "thank you, no. mrs. gates will expect me at home." marian walked back through the woods, her head held high. the glint in sally lou's eyes had been a bit of a challenge. again she felt her cheeks flush hot, with a queer puzzled vexation. "i'll show her that i can straighten rod's papers, no matter how muddled they are!" she said to herself, tartly. and all that warm spring afternoon she toiled with might and main. * * * * * roderick, meanwhile, was spending a hard, discouraging day. arriving at saint louis, he found the secretary of the coal-mining company at his office. eager and insistent, he poured out his urgent need of the promised barge-load of coal. the consignment was now a week overdue. the dredges had only a few hundred bushels at hand; in less than forty-eight hours the engines must shut down, unless he could get the fuel to camp. "you can't be any more disturbed by this crisis than i am, mr. hallowell," the secretary assured him. "owing to a strike at the mines we have been forced to cancel all deliveries. i can't let you have a single ton." roderick gasped. "but our dredges! we don't dare shut down. our contract has a chilled-steel time-lock, sir, with a heavy forfeit. we must not run over our date limits. we've got to have that coal!" "you may be able to pick up a few tons from small dealers," said the secretary, turning back to his desk. "you'll be buying black diamonds in good earnest, for the retail price has gone up thirty per cent since the news came of the mines strike. wish you good luck, mr. hallowell. sorry that is all that i can do for you." roderick lost no time. he bought a business directory and hailed a taxicab. for six hours he drove from one coal-dealer's office to another. at eight o'clock that night he reached his hotel, tired in every bone, but in royal high spirits. driblet by driblet, and paying a price that fairly staggered him, he had managed to buy over four hundred tons. "that will keep us going till the strike is settled," he told burford over the long-distance. "bully for you!" returned burford, jubilant. "but how will you bring it up to camp?" "oh, the railroad people have promised empties on to-morrow morning's early freight to grafton. then we can carry it to camp on our own barges. i shall come up on that freight myself. i shall not risk losing sight of that coal. mind that." at five the next morning roderick went down to the freight yards. his coal wagons were already arriving. but not one of the promised "empties" could he find. "there is a mistake somewhere," said the yard-master. "can't promise you a solitary car for three days, anyway. traffic is all behindhand. you'd better make a try at head-quarters." "i have no time to waste at head-quarters," retorted rod. he was white with anger and chagrin. this ill luck was a bolt from a clear sky. "i'll go down to the river front and hire a barge and a tow-boat. i'll get that coal up to camp to-morrow if i have to carry it in my suit-case." his hunt for a barge proved a stern chase, but finally he secured a large flat-boat at a reasonable rental. but after searching the river front for miles, he found only one tow-boat that could be chartered. the tow's captain, noting roderick's anxiety, and learning that he represented the great breckenridge company, promptly declared that he would not think of doing the two-days' towing for less than five hundred dollars. "five hundred dollars for two days' towing! and i have already paid three times the mine price for my coal!" roderick groaned inwardly. suddenly his eye caught two trim red stacks and a broad familiar bow not fifty yards away. it was the little packet, the _lucy lee_. she was just lowering her gang-plank, making ready to take on freight for her trip up-stream. "i'll hail the _lucy_. maybe the captain can tell me where to find another tow-boat. ahoy, the _lucy_! is your captain aboard? ask him to come on deck and talk to hallowell, of the breckenridge company, will you?" "the captain has not come down yet, sir. but our pilot, commodore mccloskey, is here. will you talk with him?" "will i talk to the commodore? i should hope so!" rod's strained face broke into a joyful grin. he could have shouted with satisfaction when commodore mccloskey, trim as a gimlet in starchy white duck, strolled down the gang-plank and gave him a friendly hand. "sure, i don't wonder ye're red-hot mad," he said, with twinkling sympathy. "five hundred dollars for two days' tow! 'tis no better than a pirate that tow-boat captain is, sure. but come with me. i have a friend at court that can give ye a hand, maybe. hi, boy! is captain lathrop, of the _queen_, round about?" "the _queen_? why, her captain is the very man who demanded the five hundred dollars!" blurted rod. at that moment the captain's head popped from the cabin door. he stared at roderick. he stared at commodore mccloskey. then he had the grace to duck wildly back, with a face sheepish beyond words to describe. "well, captain lathrop!" commodore mccloskey's voice rang merciless and clear. "tell me the truth. is it yourself that's turned highway robber? five hundred dollars for twenty hours' tow! sure, ye must be one of thim high fin-an-ciers we read about in the papers. why not make it five hundred dollars per ton? then ye could sell the _queen_ and buy yourself a cunarder for a tow-boat instead." captain lathrop squirmed. "how should i know he was a friend of yours, commodore? i'll take his coal all the way to camp, and gladly, for three hundred, seein' as it's a favor to you." "for three hundred, is it?" the commodore began a further flow of eloquence. but rod caught his arm. "three hundred will be all right. and i'm more obliged to you, commodore, than i can say. now i'm off. if ever i can do you a good turn, mind you give me the chance!" it was late the next night when roderick reached the camp landing with his precious black diamonds. he was desperately tired, muddy, and begrimed with smoke and coal-dust, hungry as a wolf, and hilarious with relief at his hard-earned success. marian, sally lou, and burford were all waiting for him at the little pier. sally lou dragged him up to the martin-box for a late supper. afterward marian, who was to spend the night with sally lou, walked back with him to his house-boat. [illustration: "well, captain lathrop!" commodore mccloskey's voice rang merciless and clear.] "yes, yes, i'm all right, sis. don't fidget over me so." roderick stepped into his state-room and dropped down into his desk chair. "whew! i'm thankful to get back. i could go to sleep standing up, if it wasn't for making up the records for president sturdevant. run away now, that's a good girl, and let me straighten my accounts. then i can go to bed." even as he spoke rod's glance swept his desk. instead of the heaped disorder of the day before, he saw now rows of neatly docketed papers. he gave a whistle of surprise. "who has been overhauling my desk? burford? why--why, did _you_ do this for me, sister? well, on my word, you are just the very best ever." his big fingers gripped marian's arm and gave her a grateful little shake. "you've squared up every single account, haven't you! and your figuring is always accurate. this means two hours' extra sleep for me. maybe you think i won't enjoy 'em!" "i might have been keeping your accounts for you all these weeks," returned marian. she was a little mortified by roderick's astonished gratitude. "it is not hard work for me. i really enjoyed doing it." "maybe you think i don't enjoy having you do it!" rod chuckled contentedly. "i've dreaded those accounts all day. now i shall sleep the sleep of the loafer who has let his sister do his work for him. good-night, old lady!" marian tucked herself comfortably into her corner of the martin-box, but not to sleep. try her best, she could not banish rod's tired face from her mind. neither could she forget the look of his little state-room. true, she had made it daintily fresh and neat. but the tiny box was hot and stuffy at best. what could she do to make rod's quarters more comfortable? at last she sat up with a whispered exclamation. "good! i'll try that plan. perhaps it won't do after all. but it cannot hurt to try. and if my scheme can make rod the least bit more comfortable, then the trying will be well worth while!" chapter viii the burgoo very early the next morning, marian set to work upon her brilliant plan for roderick's comfort. the coast was clear for action. both roderick and ned burford had gone up the canal to oversee the excavation at the north laterals. sally lou had packed mammy and the babies into the buckboard and had driven away to the nearest farm-house for eggs and butter. so marian had a clear field. and she made eager use of every moment. perhaps two hundred yards from the canal bank, set well up on a little knoll where it could catch every passing breeze, stood a broad wooden platform. high posts, built to hold lanterns, were set at the four corners and half-way down each side. "the young folks of the district built that platform for their picnic dances," burford had told marian. "but this year our dredges have torn up this whole section and have made the creek banks so miry and disagreeable that no picnic parties will come this way till the contract is finished and the turf has had time to grow again." marian measured the platform with a calculating eye. "it is built of matched boards, as tight and sound as if they had put it up yesterday. it will make a splendid floor for rod's house. but when it comes to building the house itself--that's the question." the contract supplies, she knew, were kept in a store-room built astern of roderick's house-boat. for a hot, tiresome hour she poked and pried through high-piled hogsheads and tiers of boxes, hoping that she might find a tent. but there was no such good fortune for her. she dragged out bale after bale of heavy new canvas. but every one of the scores of tents provided by the company was already pitched, to form the summer village occupied by the levee laborers. at last, quite vexed and impatient, she gave up her search. "although, if i had any knack at all, i could sew up a tent from these yards on yards of canvas," she reflected. she carried one bolt of cloth on deck and unrolled it. "this is splendid heavy canvas. it is just the solid, water-proof sort that the fishermen at the lake last summer used for walls and roof of their 'open-faced camp,' as they called it. now, i wonder. why can't i lash long strips of canvas to the four posts of the platform for walls; then fasten heavy wires from one post to another and lash a slanting canvas roof to that! i can canopy it with mosquito-bar--a double layer--for there are dozens of yards of netting here. it would be a ridiculously funny little coop, i know that. but it would be far cooler and quieter than the boat. i believe rod would like it. anyway, we'll see!" jacobs, the commissary man, came aboard a few minutes later with a basket of clean linen. he looked at marian, already punching eyelet-holes in the heavy duck, with friendly concern. "best let me give you a lift at that job, miss," he urged, when marian had told him her plans. "i have an hour off, and i shall be pleased to help, if you will permit me. i'm an old sailor and i have my needle and palm in my kit. that kind of fancy work is just pastime to me. indeed, i'd enjoy doing anything, if it's for mr. hallowell. we've never had a better boss, that's certain. you lace those strips of duck, then i'll hang them for you. we'll curtain off just a half of the platform. that will leave the other half for a fine open porch. we'll have this house built in two jiffies. then i'll put mr. hallowell's canvas cot and his desk and his chair into place, all ready; so when he comes home to-night he will find himself moved and settled." it took longer than two jiffies to lash up the canvas shack, to hang mosquito bar, and to move roderick's simple furniture. returning from their drive, sally lou and mammy easter hurried to help; and, thanks to many willing hands, the tiny new abode was finished by afternoon; even to the brackets for rod's lamp, which jacobs screwed into a corner post, and the rack for his towels. at six o'clock, roderick, fagged out and spattered with mud, came down the canal. he would have gone directly aboard his house-boat if marian had not called him ashore. "march up here and see my out-door sitting-room," she commanded, with laughing eyes. "oh, you and sally lou have made a play-house of that platform? that's all very nice. but wait till i can scrub up and swallow a mouthful of supper, sis. my skiff tipped over with me up the canal, and i'm soaking wet, and dead tired besides." "oh, no, rod. please come up right away. i can't wait, slow-coach. you really must see!" roderick was well used to marian's imperious whims. reluctantly he climbed the slippery bank. obediently he poked his head past the flap which marian held back for him. there he saw his own cot spread white and fresh under its cool screen; his tidy desk; and even a "shower-bath," which clever jacobs had contrived from a tiny force-pump and a small galvanized tank, borrowed from the company's store-room. for a long minute he stared about him without one word. then his tired face brightened to a glow of incredulous delight. "marian hallowell! did you rig up this whole contrivance, all for me? well!" he sank down on the cot with a sigh of infinite satisfaction. "you certainly are the best sister i ever had, old lady. first you take my book-keeping off my hands. next you build me a brand-new house, where i can sleep----whew! won't i sleep like a log to-night, in all this quiet and coolness! on my word, i don't believe i could stand up to my work, sis, if you didn't help me out as you do." marian grew radiant at his pleasure. "building it was no end of fun, rod. i never enjoyed anything more." "only i hope you haven't tired yourself out," said her brother, suddenly anxious. "you haven't the strength to work like this." "nonsense! you don't realize how much stronger i am, rod." "you surely do look a hundred per cent better than you did a month ago." roderick looked at her with keen satisfaction. "but you must not overtire yourself." "don't be so fussy, brother. it was just a trifle, anyway." "it won't mean a trifle to me. quiet and sleep will give me a chance to get my head above water and breathe. hello, neighbors!" for sally lou and ned were poking their unabashed heads through the fly. "come in and see my new mansion. guess i'll have to give a house-warming to celebrate. what do you say?" "there's a celebration already on the way," laughed burford. "commodore mccloskey has just called me up on the long-distance. he says that he and mrs. mccloskey will stop at the camp bright and early to-morrow morning to escort your sister and sally lou to the barry county burgoo. i accepted the invitation for both you girls, for a 'burgoo,' whatever it means, sounds like a jolly lark; especially since the commodore is to be your host. but i'll admit that i'm puzzled. what do you suppose a burgoo may be?" the four looked at each other. "it sounds rather like a barbecue," ventured sally lou. "hoots! it is far too early in the spring for a barbecue." "burgoo? _barbecue?_" marian spoke the mystic words over, bewildered. "what is a barbecue, pray? two such grim, ferocious words i never heard." "a barbecue is a country-side picnic, where the company unite to buy a huge piece of beef; sometimes a whole ox. then they roast it in a trench floored with hot stones. the usual time for a barbecue is in august. then they add roasting ears and new potatoes to the beef, and have a dinner fit for a king." "or for an ogre," returned marian. "it sounds like a feast for giants. yet a burgoo sounds even fiercer and more barbaric. i shall ask the commodore what it means, the minute he comes. wasn't he a dear to think of taking us?" bright and early, even as he had promised, mr. mccloskey's trig little launch puffed up to the camp landing. the commodore, arrayed as solomon in snowy linen, a red tie, and a large panama, waved greeting. beside him sat mrs. mccloskey, her sweet little old face beaming under her crisp frilled sunbonnet. the two girls stepped aboard, with finnegan prancing joyfully after. for to-day the burford babies were to stay at home with mammy, while finnegan was to attend the burgoo, a specially bidden guest. "and now, mr. mccloskey! tell us quick! what may a burgoo be?" "a burgoo?" commodore mccloskey reflected. "well, then, so ye don't know a burgoo by experience. wherever was ye brought up? a burgoo is a burgoo, sure. 'tis the only word in the english language that describes it. 'tis sack-races, an' pole-climbin', an' merry-go-rounds, an' pink limonade, an' a brass band, an' kettles full of b'iled chicken an' gravy, an' more mortial things to eat than the tongue of man can name. ye must see it to understand the real po'try of it. for the half of it could not be told to you." the commodore was quite right. the burgoo was all that he had claimed, and more. at least two hundred people, gay in their sunday best, had already gathered at the county picnic grounds, a beautiful open woodland several miles up the illinois river. vendors of candy and popcorn, toy balloons and pink lemonade, shouted their wares. a vast merry-go-round wheezed and sputtered; the promised brass band awoke the river echoes. and, swung in a mighty rank above a row of camp-fires cleverly built in a broad shallow trench, the burgoo kettles sizzled and steamed. "burgoo," the girls soon learned, is the local name for a delicious stew of chicken and bacon and vegetables, cooked slowly for hours, then served in wooden bowls with huge dill pickles and corn pone. sally lou, housekeeper born, wheedled the head cook, a courteous, grizzled old negro, into giving her the recipe. marian, chuckling inwardly, heard his painstaking reply. "yes'um. i kin tell you jest how to go about makin' burgoo. first you want sixteen, maybe twenty, pounds of bacon, cut tolerable fine. then four dozen chickens won't be too many. start your meats a-b'ilin'. then peel your taters--i used three bushel for this batch. then put in tomatoes. i reckon two dozen cans might do, though three would be better. then cabbage, an' beans, an' onions, if you like. two dozen head of cabbage is about right. an' two bushels of beans----" just then sally lou dropped her pencil in despair. "i'll be no more than a head of cabbage myself, if i keep on trying to reduce this recipe to the needs of two people," she groaned in desperation. "come along, marian, let's climb on the merry-go-round a while and see if it won't clear my addled brain." the merry-go-round proved delightfully thrilling, especially to mr. finnegan, who rode round and round in a gilded sea-shell, barking himself hoarse in dizzy ecstasy. just before noon the crowd, now astonishingly large, gathered at the little running track to watch the sports. first came the sack-races; then the pole-climbing; then the potato-race. finnegan, by this time delirious with excitement, had to be held down by main force to discourage his wild ambition to take an active part in each event. last on the programme came the greased-pig race. now, the greased-pig race dates back a hundred years and more, to the days when the kentucky pioneers met for their rare frolics of house-raising or corn-husking. it is a quaint old sport, very rough, very grimy and breathless, very ridiculously funny. a lively little pig is chosen and greased with melted tallow from head to tail. then he is set free on the running-track. half a minute later, the starting-gun booms the signal for his hunters to dash in pursuit. the winner must capture piggy with his bare hands and carry the squirming, slippery armful back to the judges' stand. if piggy escapes en route, the race must be run over again from the very start. the competitors are boys and young men. only the fleet-footed can hope for a chance at success. but even as the starter stood calling the race through his big red megaphone, a tall, elderly man shouldered up to their group and hailed mr. mccloskey. "good-day, commodore! you're here to see the greased-pig race? my faith, do you remember the race that we two ran, down in pike county in ' ?" the commodore beamed at his old neighbor. "'deed an' i do. and it was meself that captured that elegant pig, i remember." "you did that. but it was by accident entirely. for i had all but laid my hand on the pig when you snatched it from under my grasp. i've grudged ye that pig ever since." the little commodore's eyes snapped. he bristled from the crest of his white head to the toes of his polished boots. his voice took on an ominously silver tone. "by my word, i'm sorry to learn that that small pig has stood between us all these years, mister jennings. if it could give you satisfaction, i'd beg you to run that race over again with me. or, we might race each other in the contest that is just about to take place. what do ye say?" for a minute, the astounded mr. jennings found nothing whatever to say. "now, commodore!" protested gentle mrs. mccloskey, round-eyed with reproach. "you'd not think of runnin' a half mile this hot noon in the face of all your friends an' neighbors, an' all for one small pig! and you seventy last month, an' that suit of clothes bought new from saint louis not the fortnight ago!" "you don't understand, mary. i'd run the race if there was no pig at all under consideration, so it would give my friend mister jennings peace of mind," said the little commodore hotly. "what do ye say, sir? will you join me, an' prove once more which one of us is the rale winner?" very red and disconcerted, mr. jennings stood on one foot, then the other, in a torture of indecision. then he threw off his coat. "i've never taken a dare like that yet, mccloskey. and i don't begin now. come along." "commodore!" poor mrs. mccloskey's shocked voice pursued him. but the commodore would not hear. mr. jennings was already clambering the rail to the running-track. lightly as a boy, the commodore vaulted after him. shoulder to shoulder the two joined the group before the judges' stand. there ran a ripple of question through the crowd, then a storm of delighted cheers and laughter. mr. jennings wriggled in sheepish torment. the commodore, sparkling and debonair, bowed to the throng and hung his panama on a fence-post. then down the running-track fled a small, shiny black object, squealing in glad escape. instantly a shot crashed; then came a thundering shout: "ready--go!" with whoops and yells the group of runners raced away down the track. the commodore kept well in the lead. he ran as lightly and as easily as did the boys that forged alongside him. mr. jennings puffed and pounded farther in the rear at every turn. they made the first lap of the race. at the second turn the commodore, only third from the lead, waved his hand to mrs. mccloskey and the girls with a flourish of mischievous triumph. marian and sally lou, tearful and choking with delight, clasped hands and swayed together in helpless rapture. thus completely absorbed in the spectacle, they let go of mr. finnegan's leash. that was all that finnegan wanted. with one glad yelp he hurled himself through the fence and bounced like a ball, straight into the midst of the fray. far in advance fled a shiny black object. finnegan knew his duty. the commodore was hurrying to catch that object. it was finnegan's part to aid in that capture at all costs. yelping madly, he tore away down the track. "oh, it's finnegan! oh, the little villain! if i had only left him at home!" poor marian strove to call him back. but against the uproar of the crowd her voice could not make a sound. "oh, the naughty little sinner, he will catch that pig himself and spoil the race for everybody. look, sally lou! he has almost caught up with the pig this minute!" even as she spoke, finnegan, running at top speed, shot ahead of the fleeing pig. then, with a frenzied bark, he whirled and charged straight at the prize. this front attack was too much for any pig's self-control. not content with galloping murderously at his heels, his pursuers had set this ferocious brute to destroy him! with a squeal of mortal panic the little fellow turned right-about and bolted. shrieking, he dashed back, straight into the crowd of runners. "oh--oh! he's right under the commodore's hand! oh, if he wasn't so slippery--look, quick, marian!" "well, will you look at that now!" mrs. mccloskey's mild voice rose in a laugh of triumph. "sure, i never yet knew the commodore to fail if once he'd set his head to do a thing!" "if only he can keep fast hold of the pig till he reaches the judges' stand," whispered sally lou. all three gazed in pale suspense at the commodore, now striding gayly up the race-track, the pig squirming and squealing wildly in his arms. "i'm mistrustin' that myself," said mrs. mccloskey, nervously, "for the little animal is not so convenient to hold, bein' he's so glassy smooth. but trust the commodore. he'll not fail, now." the commodore did not fail. calm and majestic, as if he strode a quarter-deck, he paced down the track and halted before the judges' stand, his shrieking prize held high. as the umpire bent forward to give him the champion's blue ribbon, the crowd broke loose. no olympic victor ever received his laurel in the face of a more enthusiastic tumult. "i give up," puffed mr. jennings, fanning himself with his hat. "you caught that pig fair an' square, commodore. the honors are yours." "tut, tut, 'twas no great matter," declared the commodore modestly, as the girls heaped him with praises. "'twas just a moment's divarsion. and it took no skill whatever, though i will own that to carry the little felly back to the judges' stand demanded some effort on me part. you will observe that a pig furnishes but few handholds, particularly when he's that slippery and excited-like. yes, mary, perhaps we'd best be startin' home, as it's so near sundown." "well, but these girls must not go home empty-handed," urged mrs. mccloskey. "think of your poor boys, who could not take a day off for the burgoo! we must carry home a taste for them. go to yonder booth and buy a market-basket, commodore. then we'll pack in a few samples." marian and sally lou looked on in silent amaze while mrs. mccloskey packed the few samples, including a tall jar of the delicious burgoo, a dazzling array of cookies and preserves, and a fat black-currant pie. meanwhile the commodore was fitting his treasured pig neatly into a small crate, much to the dismay of the pig and the keen joy of a large group of on-lookers. at last basket and crate were made ready. tired out by their long, absurd, delightful day, the party settled themselves aboard the commodore's launch and started home. the trip downstream to camp was made in rapid time. it was just dusk when they reached their own landing. roderick and ned burford had heard the commodore's whistle and were waiting to help them ashore. "what sort of a day was it, sis?" "yes, tell us, quick, if you had any fun. we have put in a gruelling day of it here," added burford. "three break-downs on the little dredge and a threatened cave-in on the first lateral! go on and tell us something cheerful." marian and sally lou stole a glance backward. the commodore was just putting his boat into mid-stream. he was safely out of earshot. with almost tearful laughter the two girls poured out the story of the day. "you brought home the best of the day to us," said ned, as they spread the "samples" on a tiny deck table, picnic-fashion. "we fellows only laid off our levee shifts a few minutes ago. we're rushing that construction before the creeks rise any higher. so neither of us has eaten a mouthful since noon. this luncheon will taste like manna in the desert. s'pose mammy easter would make us a pot of coffee, sally lou? then we could ask no more." "i'll go to the cabin and coax her to do it. i want a peep at the babies, anyway." sally lou sprang up and started toward the gangway. at the cabin door she stopped short. her voice rang out, a frightened cry. "ned burford! come quick! what is that blazing light away up the ditch? is it--oh, it is one of the boats--it is the big dredge! and it is on fire!" ned burford leaped up. his startled voice echoed sally lou's cry. "hallowell! it's the big dredge, the giant garrison! wake up and pitch in. hurry!" days afterward marian would try to recall just what happened during those wild moments; but the whole scene would flicker before her memory, a dizzy blur. she remembered roderick's shout of alarm; the rush of the day-shift men from their tents; the clatter of the racing engine as rod pushed them into the launch, then sent the little boat flying away up the canal. then, directly ahead, she could see that dense black pillar of smoke rising straight up from the dredge deck, shot through with spurts of flame. burford's half-strangled voice came back to them as he groped his way across the deck. "it's a pile of burning waste, right here by the capstan. bring the chemical-extinguishers ... no time to wait for the hose.... wet your coats, boys, and let's pound her out.... whe-ew! i'm 'most strangled.... sally lou burford! _you clear out!_ you and marian, too. go away, i tell you. this is no place for you!" sally lou and marian stood doggedly in line passing the buckets of water which one of the laborers was dipping up from over the side. roderick, stolid as a rock, stood close by that choking column of smoke and flame and dashed on the water. burford rushed about, everywhere at once, half mad with excitement, yet giving orders with unswerving judgment. "can't you start the pumping engine, boys? swing out that emergency hose, quick. there you are! now turn that stream on those oil barrels yonder--and _keep_ it there. start the big force-pump and train a stream on the deck near the engines. the fire mustn't spread to the hoisting-gear. mind that. mulcahy, give me that chemical-tank. wet my handkerchief and tie it over my mouth, sally lou. no, give me your scarf. that's better. i'm going to wade right in. aha! see that?" the smoke column wavered, thinned. a shower of water, soot, and chemicals drenched everybody on deck. nobody noticed the downpour, for the smoke column was sinking with every moment. burford staggered back, half smothered. the extinguisher fell from his hand. but the force-pumps were working now at full blast. stream after stream of water poured on the fire, then flooded across the deck. two minutes more of frantic, gasping work and not a spark remained--nothing save the heap of quenched, still smoking waste. dazed, marian found herself once more on the house-boat deck. ashore the laborers were flocking back to their tents, laughing and shouting. for them it had been a frolic rather than a danger. but the four on the house-boat deck looked at each other without a word. they were too shaky with relief to move or to speak. sally lou, the steady-willed, dependable sally lou, clung trembling to marian, who in her turn leaned rather weakly against the rail. roderick, ashen white, confronted burford, who stood absently mopping his wet, smarting eyes with sally lou's singed and dripping crêpe scarf. suddenly burford broke the tension with a strangled whoop. "our--our daily reports to the company!" he gurgled. "president sturdevant wants every day's detail. let's put it all in. 'i have the honor to report that while your engineers were stoking with burgoo and black-currant pie, garrison dredge number three was observed to be on fire. your engineers, assisted by their partners, said engineers' wife and sister, all of whom displayed conspicuous bravery, attacked the fire. thanks to their heroic efforts, the conflagration was extinguished. i beg further to report that damages are confined to one pile of waste, one smooched pink silk scarf, and'"--he passed his hand over his smutty forehead--"'and one pair of eyebrows.'" "i'm going straight home to bed," vowed marian, as the laughter died away in exhausted chuckles. "this day has brought so many thrilling events that it will take me at least a week to calm myself down. do let us hope that nothing whatever will happen for a while. i'm longing for monotony--days, months, ages of monotony, at that!" and, even as she spoke, there was a shout from the pier. mulcahy came running toward them at top speed. "will you look at mulcahy, sprinting up from the ditch! i'll wager he has some more bad news for us. come, hallowell. hurry!" chapter ix the magic lead-pencil "bad news, is it?" puffed mulcahy. "indeed, sir, i'm sorry to be the one to bring it to you. lateral four has caved in again." "lateral four! the cut where we've spent more time and work, filling in, than we've spent anywhere else on the whole ditch!" "yes, lateral four. the ungrateful piece of fill she is! and when you have shored up the margins with brush, twice over!" "how far up is the cave-in, mulcahy?" "half a mile from the mouth. right where mr. ellingworth locke's land begins, sir." "right on president locke's land! will you hear that, hallowell? and he's the biggest grumbler in the whole district! and the most powerful grumbler, too. of all the hard luck!" "i do hear. and i'm going to get busy." rod pulled himself together with a grim little chuckle. "it's an all-night job, burford. or else we can add one more calamity to our head-quarters report. 'one bad cave-in, on lateral draining land owned by h. r. h., the acting president of the central mississippi association.' do you see us putting in that cheery news?" "no, i don't. not just yet." burford wiped the last soot-streak from his chin and jumped into the launch. "here we go!" "wait a jiffy, burford. you'd better stay by the dredge an hour or so. keep the men at work flooding her deck. we can't be certain-sure that the fire is completely out. there's always a risk." "that's a fact. you go up to the cave-in and set the levee crews to work. i'll follow in an hour." rod started his engine, but marian stopped him. "wait, rod. take me up to the lateral, too." "take you up to the cave-in, you mean? why on earth should you go? at this time of night----" "because i want to see just what you have to do. i'm getting very much interested in the work, truly. please, brother." "of all the notions!" rod looked completely puzzled. yet a warm little gratified smile brightened his tired face. again he felt the heart-warming satisfaction that he had felt on the day he had come home, fagged and blue, to find that marian had sorted all his accounts and cleared up his reports for him. it was wonderfully pleasant to find that his sister could show such real comradeship in his work. "of course you shall go with me if you wish, dear. hop in. careful!" "let me steer, rod." "think you can see all right?" "with this big search-light? i should hope so. lie down on the cushions and rest for two minutes. i'll run very carefully." "good enough." rod stretched his weary bones on the seat. at the end of the six-mile run he sat up, with a shamed grin. "lazy sinner i am, i dropped off the minute i struck those cushions. my, that snooze makes one thirsty for more! put the launch inshore, sis. hello there, boys! is that dredge a crew? why, how did you swing the dredge downstream so quickly?" "we had steam up, so we dropped down the lateral the minute we got word of the cave-in," answered the dredge foreman. "it was mister jim conover who happened by and saw the landslip, sir. he came a-gallopin' over with his horse all lather, and brought us the news, not fifteen minutes after it happened. then he called his own hired men and a crowd of neighbors, and they all set to to shore up the bank, above and below the break, with sand-bags and brush. they're workin' at it now, sir, lickety-cut." he pointed up the lateral to a dim glow of torch-light. "shovellin' away like beavers they are, sir. there won't be another slump in that margin, you can depend on that. they've saved you and the company two days' work and five hundred dollars clear in damages alone, i'm thinkin'." "five hundred damages? it would have been nearer a thousand if they hadn't stopped that slide on the double-quick." roderick sat staring at the hurrying figures in the dull glow of smoky light. he could hardly grasp this amazing stroke of fortune. "but how--why--i never heard of such a royal piece of kindness!" "it's all conover's doing. he said you folks had done mighty neighborly by him, and that he wanted to show his appreciation." "_conover!_ why, i never even heard the man's name till now!" "conover?" marian screwed up her forehead. a vague recollection flickered in her mind. "yes, sir, conover. he has a good-sized farm back here a piece. likely you've forgotten. there's him and his wife and his little girl. crippled she is, the poor child. mamie, they call her." "mamie conover--oh! the poor little soul who was so delighted with your red pencils, rod! that visitors' sunday, don't you remember?" "oh, to be sure. you're better at remembering than i am, sis. well, i'm going up to thank him, this minute. then we'll ship the dredge into trim and begin digging out the channel again. think it will take us all night?" "now that conover's gang has stopped the slide so good and square for us, we ought to be able to cut out and tamp down, too, by daybreak, sir. maybe sooner. here comes conover this minute." coated with mud, squashing heavily into the sodden crest of the bank with every step, conover tramped down the ditch. in that shambling figure, marian instantly recognized little mamie's father. vividly she remembered his deep, weary look at her, the infinite tenderness with which he had lifted the little frail body from her arms. in the white glare of the search-light, his gaunt face was radiant with friendly concern. "we've done what little we could, mr. hallowell," he said, in reply to rod's eager thanks. "little enough at that. but now if you'll put in a few hours' dredging to get out that slide, your ditch will be all right again. mr. locke there, whose land borders on this lateral, is a little--well, a little fussy, you know. that's why we fellows kinder butted in and set to work without waitin' to hear from you. land, it wasn't nothing to thank us for. just a little troke between neighbors. you here, miss hallowell? my buckboard is right up-shore. can't i drive you to mr. gates's? it's right on my way home--only a mile or so off my road, that is." "run along, sis. please. it's late and damp, and chilly besides. scoot, now." "but i don't want to go, rod. i want to stay and see the dredge make the cut over again. this is the most interesting performance i ever dreamed of." "i'd much rather have you go home, old lady. you can't see much in this half-light. and you can't help me. worse, you'll catch cold sure and certain." yet that odd little glow warmed rod's heart once more. it was a wonderful satisfaction to hear marian speak with such keen interest of his beloved work. "well, then--" reluctantly marian scrambled ashore. mr. conover wiped his muddy hands on the lap-robe and helped her into the buckboard, with awkward care. they drove swiftly away, up the wide country road, between the dark, level fields. neither spoke for some minutes. at last marian began, rather clumsily, to tell him of their exciting day. the man made no comment. still more clumsily, she tried to thank him for his generous and timely aid to roderick. suddenly mr. conover turned to her. in the faint starlight she saw that his dull face was working painfully. "so you want to thank me for this job, eh? why, if i'd done ten times as much, i wouldn't have begun to do what i want to do for you and your brother. i've been aimin' to come over and tell you, long ago. but seems like i never get around to it. don't you mind about them red pencils?" "those red and blue pencils of rod's, you mean? what of them?" "what of them? my, if you could see mamie with them, you wouldn't ask!" the color burned in his thin face. his eyes were shining now. "they're the one pleasure that ain't never failed her. if i could ever tell you what they've meant! i've sent to the city and bought her three or four dozen assorteds, so's to be sure she never gets short of all the colors. no matter how bad her back hurts, she'll set there in her pillows and mark away, happy's a kitten. seems like long's she's workin' with those pencils, she forgets everything, even the pain. and that's the best we can ever do for our baby." his voice broke on a terrible and piteous note. "the only thing we can do--help her forget." there was a long silence. "an' then you talk as if what i did to-night could count for anything--alongside of _that_!" marian's own lips were quivering. she did not dare to reply. yet as she put out her bedroom candle and stood looking out on the dark starlit woods, the narrow black ribbon of the canal, a whimsical wonder stirred in her thought. "i'll tell rod to-morrow that his red pencils must have the credit of it all. it's the story of the little dutch hero who stuffed his thumb into the crack in the dike and saved the city, right over again. only this time it's something even tinier than a thumb that has saved the day. it's just a little red lead-pencil. and, oh, how glad i am for roderick's sake! the dear, stodgy old slow-coach, i'm proud of every inch of his success. though maybe slow-coach isn't just the fitting name for rod nowadays. sometimes the slow coaches are the very ones that win the race--in the long run." chapter x honored guests marian's wish for quiet and monotonous days was promptly granted. only too promptly and too thoroughly, she owned ruefully. the next morning dawned bleak and gray, with a chill east wind and a driving rain. held prisoner in the house by the storm, marian amused herself through the long dreary day as best she could. at supper-time, feeling very lonely indeed, she called roderick up on the telephone; but their long-distance visit gave her little satisfaction. roderick had spent a hard day, hurrying from one lateral to another, crowding the levee work to the highest possible speed; for in this wide-spread rain the creeks to the north were rising an inch an hour, and every inch meant danger to his half-built embankments. marian sympathized eagerly and declared that she would come down to the canal the next day and help him with his reports. "not if it rains you won't," croaked roderick hoarsely. "don't let me catch you outside the house. you'll catch cold just as i have done, wading through this swamp. mind, now. don't you dare leave the farm-house unless it clears." marian promised. when the morning came, dark and drizzly, she found it hard to keep her word. the hours went on leaden feet. the downpour never slackened. it was impossible for her to go out-doors even as far as the driveway. in that flat, low country a two-days' rain means an inundation. meadows and fields were like flooded marshes. sheets of water spread through the orchards; the yard paths were so many brooks, the barn-yard was an infant lake. "it won't last very long," mrs. gates consoled her. "a year ago we'd have been heart-broken at the sight of such a rain. it would have meant ruin for all the crops. the surplus water would not have drained off in a fortnight. but since they began digging the ditches, we know that our crops will be safe, even if it rains for a week." "i'm glad to learn that rod's hard work counts for something," said marian impatiently. she flattened her downcast face against the pane. "in the meantime, i feel like a marooned pirate. if i can't get out of doors for some fresh air before long, i'll develop a pirate's disposition, too." at dusk she tried again to call roderick on the telephone, to demand sympathy for her imprisonment. but to her astonishment she could get no reply from central. "the wires are all down, i dare say," said mrs. gates cheerfully. "it'll be three or four days before the line-men can get around to repair damages. the roads are hub deep. no telling when they can haul their repair wagons through. you'll see." marian did see. the district roads had been all but impassable ever since her coming. now, thanks to this downpour, they would be bottomless pits of mire. "well! it's worse this morning, if anything," mrs. gates announced cheerfully, as marian appeared on the third gray morning. "'pears to me that you won't get out-doors again before the fourth of july." "but i must have some air. i can't stay cooped up forever," cried marian. "if you'd only lend me your rubber boots, mrs. gates; the ones you wear when you're gardening. then i could put on my mackintosh and my rubber bathing-cap and splash about beautifully. besides, i must go down to the canal. i must see how rod is getting on. think, it has been two days since i have heard one word from him. yet he is barely two miles away!" mrs. gates yielded at last to her coaxing. soon marian started out, wearing the borrowed boots and mr. gates's oil-skin coat. she stumbled and splashed away through the dripping woods, with finnegan romping gayly behind. rainy weather held no melancholy for finnegan. shut in the house, he had made those three days memorable for the household, especially for poor irate empress, who had taken refuge at last on the top rafter of the corn-bin. on the way to camp he flushed three rabbits, chased a fat gray squirrel into chattering fury, and dragged marian knee-deep into a bog, in his wild eagerness to dig out an imaginary woodchuck. "i wish i had a little of your vim, finnegan." marian sat down, soaked and breathless, on the step of sally lou's martin-box. from that eminence she surveyed the canal and its swarms of laborers. her eyes clouded. in spite of her growing interest in roderick's work, to look upon that work always puzzled her and disheartened her. the slow black water; the ugly mud-piled banks; the massive engines throbbing night and day through a haze of steam; the gigantic dredge machines, swinging their great steel arms back and forth, up and down, lifting tons of earth from the bottom of the ditch and placing it on the waiting barge with weird, unerring skill. most of all, the heavy tide of hurry and anxiety that seemed to rise higher every day. all these things vexed her and harassed her. when rod talked over his work with her with all his eager enthusiasm, she could share his triumph or lament his disappointment, as the case might be. but the work itself was so huge, so complicated, that she could never quite grasp it. she could never understand her brother's passionate interest. "although i don't despise the very sight of camp, as i did at first," she reflected. "it is rather queer that i don't, too. perhaps one can get used to anything. and i do want to learn more about rod's work, for he loves it so dearly, and i know he wants me to enjoy it too. though how anybody can enjoy such a life! to spend day after day, month on month, toiling like a slave in a steaming marsh like this!" a brisk finger tapped on the window-pane above her. "come in, miss northerner! poor dear, you're all but drowned. stand on the oil-cloth and drip till mammy can help you to take off those boots and put on my slippers." marian entered the dry, warm little house with a sigh of pleasure. presently she sat at the window with thomas tucker bouncing on her knee. thomas tucker had charms that could cheer the most pensive spirit. yet marian stared soberly past his bobbing yellow head at the swarming camp below. "don't look so droopy, miss northerner. perk up, do!" sally lou gave her ear a gentle nip. "you and i will have to manufacture cheerfulness in car-load lots this week, to counterbalance our partners' gloom." "why? have the boys met with more ill-luck on the contract?" "more ill-luck!" sally lou checked off point by point on her slim fingers. "day before yesterday--the morning after the fire--the district inspector was due here to pass judgment on the two upper laterals. as you know, the contract provides that the inspector must look over every yard of excavation and approve it before it can be considered as actually done. lo and behold, no inspector appeared. the boys were wild with anxiety to start their levee-work before the rain should wash the soft new banks down into the canal; for the company is responsible for every cave-in, and every slide of land means double labor in digging all that soil out of the ditch again. by noon the inspector had not been heard from, but two small cave-ins had occurred, and the company was losing money at the rate of thirty dollars an hour, because of the enforced idleness of the laborers and the shutting down of the machinery. finally roderick took his launch and started out in search of the inspector. at grafton he managed to get telephone connections with his office, and he was cheerfully assured that the inspector would appear on the scene 'as soon as the rain stops.'" "'as soon as the rain stops?' why, sally lou! then he hasn't come at all!" "precisely. back came poor rod, very cross and doleful indeed. then he and ned gave up work on the laterals and set the men to hacking away at the regular excavation. the laborers are sulky accordingly. yesterday they threatened a strike. i don't blame them. the bank-cutting is all very well in dry weather, but in this rain it is a miserable task." "well, rod can keep the men pacified. he's a splendid manager." "yes; and the men like him. but the work is terribly wearing on both the boys. and the third calamity arrived last night. the dipper-handle broke." "the dipper-handle? on the big dredge? sally lou, how dreadful!" "yes, it is dreadful. it means, of course, that twenty of the laborers will stop work and enjoy a vacation at the company's expense while the new handle is being made and put in. luckily the boys have one set of duplicate chains and timbers, and the company blacksmith is wonderfully capable. but it will cost the company a lump loss of a thousand dollars. imagine, marian, how those poor boys will groan when they make out their week's reports for president sturdevant. 'one fire. one delay and two cave-ins, due to non-appearance of district inspector. one strike. one smashed dipper-handle.' think what a dismal task the writing of that report will be!" "don't let me hear any more croaking, sally lou," came a wrathful voice from the door. "for we're facing the worst smash yet. what do you suppose this telegram says?" sally lou shook a small fist at the yellow slip in his hand. "don't you dare tell me that it's some new misfortune!" "two of 'em. that lordly, gloomy grouch, mr. ellingworth locke, acting president of the central mississippi association, is headed for this luckless camp. he's on his way up-river this identical minute. with him comes crosby. crosby, consulting engineer for the whole valley association. coming on a tour of inspection, _if_ you please. just think of the lovely job that they have come a thousand miles to inspect!" there was a stricken pause. "president locke! that--that potentate! ned, you don't mean it! and mr. crosby, whose word is law on every question of engineering!" "and they're coming to-day! to 'inspect' this soaking, miry, half-baked camp!" "and just this minute i've had some more news, burford." roderick bolted up the steps and entered the room. he tried to wrench his face into a reassuring grin; but beneath the grin he was the picture of angry dismay. "a big white launch is just coming up the canal, with two passengers aboard. if i'm not mistaken, they are our honored guests. come along, burford, and help me welcome them." burford, pop-eyed with amazement, meekly obeyed. wordless, the two girls watched the boys pelt away toward the landing. "well!" sally lou and marian looked at each other eloquently. "well! i could find it in my heart to wish that the boys were not obliged to unfold quite so many tales of misery! then the broken machinery and the quarrelling laborers! but we mustn't let ourselves fidget over it, marian. it will come out all right, somehow." roderick and burford pounded down to the shore. the white launch was just putting into the landing. at the bow sat mr. ellingworth locke, wrapped in a huge storm coat. evidently he was scolding the launch pilot with some energy. behind him stood crosby, his gray, keen eyes searching every inch of the ditch construction. "his jove-like majesty looks even grumpier than usual," whispered burford the irreverent. "come along, hallowell. it is our professional duty to welcome them with heart and soul." "mr. burford?" mr. locke stepped upon the landing and put out a plump gloved hand. "ah, mr. hallowell? how goes it? we hope that you have no ill news of the contract to give us." he led the way up the shore, with ponderous dignity. "the three contracts in central illinois, which we have just inspected, have shown deplorable results from the high water. i trust that you have no such misfortunes to report." "we haven't anything but misfortunes to report," muttered burford. aloud he said, "we have not been able to bring the work to the desired point, sir. we have had several accidents and delays. if you can face the discomforts of a boat trip in this rain, perhaps you will make a tour of inspection and see how matters stand." the honorable mr. locke hesitated. the canal looked very muddy and uninviting. the sky was black with rain clouds. "perhaps it would be as well for us to confer with you. then we could go back to saint louis immediately." "beg pardon, mr. locke." mr. crosby spoke for the first time. his gray face had no particular expression; but his voice held an oddly pleasant note. "you go back right away, if you like. but i'll look over this excavation with my own eyes. i want to discuss it with the executive committee day after to-morrow." "oh, of course, if you insist!" mr. locke turned impatiently to burford. "where is your boat, sir? let us start at once." that tour of inspection! silent, humiliated, miserable, roderick and burford plodded after the two olympians, up and down the narrow laterals, back and forth through the maze of seeping, half-cut channels. every question that they must answer told of some unlucky happening. every report was apologetic, unsatisfactory. "this ruinous high water isn't our fault. neither is carlisle's illness, nor the broken dipper-handle, nor the district inspector's delay. just the same i feel like a penny-in-the-slot machine for grinding out explanations," whispered roderick to burford. burford merely scowled in reply. thus far, mr. crosby had had nothing to say. he strode on ahead, his keen eyes judging, his shrewd mouth shut hard. president locke made up for his silence. he hectored the boys with fretful questions and complaints. he criticised the laborers, the equipment, the weather. "your company's losses, indeed! the breckenridge company will be fortunate, mr. burford, if, under the present management, this contract does not bring forfeitures as well as loss. as for the land-owners in this district, their dissatisfaction can be only too readily imagined." just then the president caught mr. crosby's eye. "do you not agree with me, mr. crosby? is not this a most disheartening outlook? on my word, sir, the company has no chance to complete those laterals before the great june freshets. that calamity will mean ruin for the farmers and for the contract alike. to finish this work would be difficult with a full quota of experienced men. and with only cub engineers--" he threw out both fat hands, with a gesture of despairing scorn. burford bit his lip and turned fiery red with mortification. roderick's stolid face did not flinch. but his heart sank leaden to his miry boots. what an infuriating humiliation for the company! his company, the pride of his boy heart! and breckenridge, breck his hero, would have to hear it all! "you think it's as bad as all that?" mr. crosby spoke with slow, bland unconcern. then he looked at the two boys. for one moment his lean gray face lighted with a curious, kindly sparkle. "h'm! strikes me that their company is mighty lucky to have cub engineers employed on this job." "'lucky?' why, sir? why?" "well, because they're the only kind that any company can depend upon to have nerve enough and grit enough to swing such a forlorn hope of a contract through." he tramped on, up the landing. burford threw back his shoulders. the blood flamed to his ears. roderick's heart suddenly leaped up to its normal altitude and began to pound. his lagging feet swung into a jaunty stride. he met burford's red, delighted face with a shamefaced grin. that vote of confidence had fairly set them afire. "at what time had we best start back to saint louis?" asked mr. locke. "by leaving camp at nine-thirty you will meet the north-bound limited at grafton, sir." "then, crosby, we will stay here until that hour. but where shall we dine?" "it will be a pleasure to mrs. burford and myself if you and mr. crosby will dine with us at our cabin," interposed burford eagerly. the stout potentate graciously accepted, and burford fled to break the news to sally lou. "mercy, sally lou, how can you manage it!" cried marian, as burford popped his head through the window, shouted his news, then hastily departed. "how on earth can you entertain such high mightinesses?" "well, i should hope that i could give them one meal at least." "but you haven't enough dishes. that is, you haven't cups that match----" "cups that match, indeed! h'm. they can be thankful to get any cups at all in this wilderness. i've promised mammy easter my pink beads if she'll make us some beaten biscuit, and i have sent mulcahy to mrs. gates's for three chickens, and i'll open two jars of my white peach preserve. i don't care if they're the grand mogul and the czar of all the russias, they can surely condescend to eat mammy's fried chicken." "yes, they'll be sure to like chicken," conceded marian. "they'd better like it. it's all they're going to get. chicken and potatoes and biscuit, preserves and coffee, that's all. yes, and lashin's and lavin's of cream gravy. it'll be fit for a king. even his highness, the acting president, won't dare complain!" if any complaints as to sally lou's hospitality were spoken, they were not audible to the human ear. as roderick said afterward, it was fortunate that nobody kept the beaten biscuit score; while one grieves to relate that in spite of sally lou's generous preparation, poor mammy easter was obliged to piece out an exceedingly skimpy meal from the fragments of the supper, instead of the feast that she had anticipated. even the pink beads proved a barely adequate consolation. the hour that followed, spent before the burfords' tiny hearth-fire, was the best of all. for a while, the men worked over the mass of blueprints that recorded the excavation made during the month past. here president locke, the magnificent figure-head, gave way, promptly and meekly, before crosby's wider experience. roderick and burford listened, all ears, to the elder man's shrewd illuminating comment, his quiet suggestion, his amused friendly sympathy. both groaned inwardly when the launch whistled from below, a warning that their guests must be off to meet the north-bound train. president locke bowed over sally lou's hand with majestic courtesy. "a most delightful hour you have given us, mrs. burford. we shall remember it always and with deep pleasure. but one thing is lacking in your hospitality. you have not given us the special pleasure of meeting your young sons." then sally lou, the poised stately young hostess, colored pink to her curly fair hair. "it is high time that my sons were sound asleep," said she. "but if you really wish to see them, and can overlook their informal attire, mammy easter shall bring them in." in came two small podgy polar bears, wide-eyed at the marvel of company, and up-at-nine-o'clock, dimpling, crimson-cheeked. roderick and burford stood gaping, to behold their august superiors now stooping from their heights to beguile small edward and shy thomas tucker with clumsy blandishments. "_where_ did you learn to handle a baby like that?" gasped sally lou, so astonished at mr. crosby's dexterous ease that she forgot all convention. "six of my own," returned the eminent engineer, capably shifting small, slippery thomas tucker on his gaunt shoulder. "all grown up, i regret to say. my baby girl is a junior at smith this year. try him. isn't he a stunner for a year old?" he plumped the baby into the arms of the lordly president, who was already jouncing edward junior on his knee and showing him his watch. "a whale," approved president locke, with impressive emphasis. he stood up, gaining his footing with some difficulty; for both the babies were now clambering over him delightedly, while finnegan yapped and nipped his ankles with cordial zest. "i wish we might spend another hour with these most interesting members of your household, mr. burford." his stern, arrogant face was beaming; he was no longer the exacting official, but the gracious, kindly gentleman. "since we must go, we will leave behind us our good wishes, as well as our thanks for your most charming hospitality. and we will take with us"--his eye sought mr. crosby's; there passed between the two men a quick, satisfied glance--"we shall take with us our hearty certainty that these good wishes for your husband's work, as well as for his household, will be abundantly fulfilled." * * * * * in the flickering torchlight of the landing roderick and ned watched their launch start away. then they looked at each other. "well! do you feel like tackling your job again, burford?" "feel like tackling it!" ned chuckled, softly. "when i know they're going to give their executive committee a gilt-edged report of our company and its work! when crosby himself said that we were the right men on the right job! feel like tackling it? give me a shovel and i'll tackle the panama canal." chapter xi a long pull and a strong pull "what is the latest bulletin, sally lou?" ned burford, hot, muddy, breathless, ran up the martin-box steps and put his head inside the door. sally lou sat at ned's desk, her brown eyes intent, her cheeks a little pale. a broad map lay spread before her. one hand steadied small thomas tucker, who clung against her knee. the other hand grasped the telephone receiver. "what's the news, i say? doesn't central answer? wires down again, do you s'pose?" "yes, central answered, and we reached the operator at bates creek an hour ago. she says that the smaller streams below carter's ford have not risen since daybreak, but that bates creek itself has risen three inches in the last four hours." "whew! three inches since morning! that sounds serious. what about jackson river?" "below millville the jackson has flooded its banks. above millville the men are patrolling the levees and stacking in sand bags and brush to reinforce the earthwork." "that means, another crest of water will reach us to-morrow, early. well, we are ready to face it, i'm thankful to say." ned settled back in his big chair with a sigh of relief. "that is, unless it should prove to be more than a three-foot rise. and there is practically no danger that it will go beyond that stage. our upper laterals are excavated to final depth. our levee is growing like magic, and hallowell is putting in splendid time on the lower laterals with the big dredge. so we needn't worry. as soon as he finishes all the lateral excavation, he will bring the dredges down to the main ditch and start in to deepen the channel to its final depth. when that second excavation is done, the channel will allow for a six-foot rise. that channel depth, of course, will put us far out of any danger of overflow. then when the june floods come, the creeks can rise four inches or forty inches if they like. we won't care." sally lou looked sharply at his grimy, cheerful face. her own did not reflect his contentment. she put down the receiver and bent frowning over the map. her pencil wandered over the maze of fine red lines that marked the excavation. "hallowell and i had nothing but bad luck on this contract until two weeks ago, when locke and crosby came on their inspection tour," ned went on serenely. "but since their visit, we've had two solid weeks of the best fortune any engineer could ask. it has been almost too good; it's positively uncanny. not a break in the machinery; only one cave-in, and that a trifle; not a solitary quarrel among the laborers--the shifts have moved like clock-work. it was crosby's doing, i suppose. his coming heartened us all up; all of us; even to the dredges themselves. though, on my word, sally lou, i'm almost afraid of such unchanging good luck. it's no' canny." sally lou turned to him suddenly. her fingers tapped the desk with nervous little clicks. "listen, ned. have you finished the upper laterals? are they safe, no matter how high the water may rise?" "n-no. they are excavated, but the bank is nothing but heaped mud, you know. still, it would stand anything short of a flood." "what about the lower laterals?" "same state of affairs there. only that the two lowest ditches aren't cut at all. why?" sally lou swung round in the desk chair and faced her husband. her eyes were very dark and anxious now. "one more question, ned. could the work stand a three-foot rise?" ned stared. "a three-foot rise? no, it could not. a three-foot rise would stop our levee-building. a rise of four feet or more would put us out of the game. we'd be washed out, smashed, ruined. but why do you ask such questions? what makes you imagine----" "i'm not imagining, ned. i had a telephone call not five minutes ago from the district inspector. yes, i know you think he's always shouting 'wolf!' but this time he may be right. he says that he has just come down from chicago on the central, and that the whole mid-section of the state is fairly submerged by these endless rains. worse, the storm warnings are up for further rains. and he believes that there will be a rise of three feet within two days. that is, unless the rains stop." ned started to his feet. "a rise of three feet! what is the man talking about? don't you believe one word, sally lou. that inspector is a regular hoot-owl. he'd rather gloom and forebode than breathe. but maybe i'd better go and tell hallowell. perhaps we can ginger up our excavation. yet the men and the machines are working up to their limit." he shuffled into his wet oilskins once more. "where is roderick, ned?" "he just came in off his watch. he's sound asleep in the hammock over at his shack. marian is over there too. she made mr. gates bring her down at five this morning, and she has worked like a turk every minute. she spent the morning with hallowell, up the laterals. she has learned to run his launch better that he can, so he lets her manage the boat for him. then she takes all his notes, and does all his telephoning, and passes along his orders to the commissary men, and seconds him at every turn. did you ever in all your life see anybody change as she has done? when i remember the listless, useless, fretful specimen that she was, those first weeks, then look at her now, i can hardly believe my eyes." sally lou listened a little impatiently. "yes, i know. ned, please go and tell roderick about the inspector's message. he surely ought to know." "all right, i'm going." ned put down his frolicking small sons reluctantly. sally lou laughed at his unwilling face. yet she looked after him anxiously as he sauntered away. then her eyes turned to the brimming canal. tree branches and bits of lumber, washed down from the upper land by the heavy storm, rolled and tumbled past. the sky was thick and gray, the wind blew straight from the east. "i hate to fidget and forebode. but i--i almost wish that i could make ned forebode a little. i'm afraid he ought to worry. and roderick ought to be a little anxious, too." suddenly the telephone bell rang. sally lou sprang to answer it. "yes, this is the contract camp. a chicago call? is it--is it head-quarters? oh, is this _mr. breckenridge_ who is speaking? shall i call mr. burford?" strong and clear across two hundred miles of storm the voice reached her, a hurrying command. "do not call your husband. no time. operator says the wind raging here may break connections at any minute. tell him that we have positive word that a tremendous rise is on the way. a cloudburst north of huntsville started this new crest two hours ago. moreover, a storm belt extends across the state, covering a district thirty miles wide directly north of you. tell our engineers to spare neither money nor effort in making ready. tell them, whatever else they must neglect, to save----" click! the receiver dropped from sally lou's shaking hand. not another sound came over the wire. she signalled frantically. "oh, if he had only told me! 'to save'--to save _what_? the machinery, the levee, the laterals--oh, central, please, please!" still no sound. at last central's voice, a thin little whisper. "chicago connections broken ... terrible storm ... sorry can't reach----" the thin little whisper dropped to silence. "mammy, take these babies. i'm going away." sally lou rolled thomas tucker off her lap and dashed away to roderick's shack. trembling, she poured out her ill news. "this means business." roderick, heavy-eyed and stupid, struggled into hip boots and slicker. "breckenridge isn't frightening us for nothing. we daren't lose a minute. come along, burford." "come along--where?" burford stood stunned before this bewildering menace. "what more can we do? aren't we rushing the whole plant to the danger notch of speed as it is?" "there is one thing we must do. decide what part of the work we can abandon. then put our whole force, men, machinery, and all, to work at the one point where it will do the most good." "what can we abandon? it's all equally important." "that is for you and me to decide. come along." "if breck had only finished his sentence! 'to save--' surely he meant for us to save the dredges?" again the boys looked at each other. "to save the dredges, maybe. but that doesn't sound like breckenridge. 'to save the land-owners from loss,' that's more like what he'd say." "if we could only reach him, for even half a minute----" "that is precisely what we can't do." roderick's big shoulders lifted. his heavy face settled into lines of steel. "we'll bring all three of the machines down stream, and put up our fight on the main ditch. if we can cut through to the river, before the rise gets here, we will save the crops for most of the land-owners, anyway. that will check any danger of the water backing up into the narrow laterals and overflowing them." burford frowned. "do you realize that by making that move we shall risk wrecking the dredges? we will have to tow them down in this rough, high water against this heavy wind. we may smash and sink all three. and they cost the company a cool twenty thousand apiece, remember." roderick's jaw set. "i realize just that. but it is up to us to decide. if we stop our excavation and huddle the machines back into the laterals, we will save our equipment from any risk. but the overflow will sweep the whole lower district and ruin every acre of corn. on the other hand, if we bring the dredges down here and start in full tilt to deepen the channel, we may wreck our machines--and we may not. but, whatever happens, we will be giving the land-owners a chance." burford held back, but only for a moment. then he put out his hand to roderick, with a slow grin. "i'm with you, hallowell. i'll take your lead, straight through. it's up to us, all right. we've got to shoulder the whole responsibility, the whole big, hideous risk. but we'll put it through. that's all." together the boys hurried away. left behind, the girls set to work upon their share of the plan with eager spirit. "you go with the boys and run the launch for them, marian. i'll turn the babies over to mammy and stay right here to watch the telephone and keep the time-books, although time-books could wait, in such a pinch as this. we'll all pull together. and we will pull out safely, never fear." sally lou was right. they all pulled together. machines, laborers, foremen and all swung splendidly into line. as ned said, the contract had never shown such team-work. everybody worked overtime. everybody faced the rain, the mud, the merciless hurry with high good-humor. the thrill of danger, the daring risk, the loyal zeal and spirit for the company, all spurred them on. side by side with roderick, marian worked through the day. she had long since forgotten her frail health. she had forgotten her hatred of the dun western country, her dislike of roderick's work, her weariness, her impatience. with heart and soul she stood by her brother. only the one wish ruled every act: her eager desire to help roderick, to stand by him through to the end of this tremendous strain. "we'll make it!" roderick grinned at her, tired but content, as he came into the shack for his late supper. "sally lou finally reached springfield on the telephone. the rain has stopped; so while the rise will come, sure as fate, yet it may not be as high as breckenridge feared. at any rate, we have made splendid time with the big dredge to-day. there is barely an eighth of a mile more cutting to be done. then we'll reach the river, and we'll be safe, no matter what freshets may happen along. burford says i'm to take six hours' sleep; then i'll go on watch again. twelve more hours of working time will see our land-owners secure." "ned burford is running up the shore this minute." marian peered through the tent flap. "mulcahy is coming with him. they're in a hurry. i wonder what has happened." "they'd better not bring me any bad news till i have eaten my supper," said roderick grimly. burford and mulcahy galloped up the knoll. headlong they plunged into the tent. burford was gray-white. mulcahy stared at roderick without a word. "what has happened? burford, what ails you?" burford sat down and mopped his sweating forehead. "the worst break-down yet, hallowell. the dipper-bail on the big dredge has snapped clear through." the three stared at each other in helpless despair. marian broke the silence. "the dipper-bail broken _again_? why, it's not two weeks since you put on the new handle!" "true for you, miss. not two weeks since it broke," said mulcahy wrathfully. "and its smash means a tie-up all along the line. not one stroke of ditch-work can be done till it's replaced. who ever saw a dipper break her bail twice on the same job? 'tis lightnin' strikin' twice in the same place. but 'tis no use cryin' over spilt milk. one of you gentlemen will have to go to saint louis and have a new bail welded at the steam forge. it will cost twenty-four hours' time, but it is the only way. i'll keep the boys hot at work on the levee construction meanwhile." "go to saint louis to-night! and neither of you two have had a night's sleep this week!" marian looked at burford. his sodden clothes hung on him. his round face was pinched and sunken with fatigue. she looked at her brother. he had slumped back in his chair, limp and haggard. he was so utterly tired that even the shock of ill news could not rouse him to meet its challenge. then she looked out at the weltering muddy canal, the dark stormy sky. "never mind, rod. we'll manage. you and ned make out the exact figures and dimensions for the new bail. then mulcahy can take me to grafton in the launch. there i'll catch the saint louis train. i'll go straight to the steam forge and urge them to make your bail at once. then i'll bring it back on the train to-morrow night." promptly both boys burst into loud, astonished exclamations. "go to saint louis alone! i guess i see myself letting you do such a preposterous thing. i'll start, at once." "stop that, hallowell. you can't possibly go. you're so sleepy that you haven't half sense. i'll go myself." "oh, you will. then what about your watch to-night? shall i take it and my own, too?" burford stopped, quenched. he reddened with perplexity. "we can't either of us be spared, that's the fact of it. but miss marian must not think of going." "certainly not. i would never allow it." "yes, rod, you will allow it." marian spoke quietly, but with determination. "the trip to saint louis is perfectly safe. once in the city, i'll take a carriage to the college club and stay there every minute, except the time that i must spend in giving orders for the bail. no, you two need not look so forbidding. i'm going. and i'm going this identical minute." later marian laughed to remember how swiftly she had overruled every protest. the boys were too tired and dazed to stand against her. it was hardly an hour before she found herself flying down the river, in charge of the faithful mulcahy, on her way to catch the south-bound train. "the steam-forge people will do everything in their power to serve you," roderick had said, as he scrawled the last memoranda for her use. "they know our firm, and they will rush the bail through and have it loaded on the eight-o'clock train. i'll see to it that mulcahy and two men are at the grafton dock to meet your train. but if anything should go wrong, sis, just you hunt up commodore mccloskey and ask him to help you; for the commodore is our guardian angel, i am convinced of that." the trip to the city was uneventful. she awoke early, after a good rest, and hurried down to the forge works, a huge smoky foundry near the river. the shop foreman met her with the utmost courtesy and promised that the bail should be made and delivered aboard the afternoon train. feeling very capable and assured, marian went back to the club and had spent two pleasant hours in its reading-room when she was called to the telephone. "miss hallowell?" it was the voice of the forge works foreman. "i--er--most unluckily we have mislaid the slip of paper which gave the dimensions of the bail. we cannot go on until we have those dimensions. do you remember the figures?" poor marian racked her brain. not one measurement could she call to mind. "i'll ask my brother over the long-distance," she told the foreman. but even as she spoke, she knew that there was no hope of reaching roderick. all the long-distance wires were down. "and not one human being in all saint louis who can tell me the size of that bail!" she groaned. "oh, why didn't i measure it with my own tape-measure--and then learn the figures by heart! yet--i do wonder! would commodore mccloskey know? he has been at the camp so often, and he knows everything about our machinery. let's see." presently commodore mccloskey's friendly voice rang over the wire. "well, sure 'tis good luck that ye caught me at the dock, miss marian. the _lucy_ is just startin' up-river. two minutes more and i'd have gone aboard. so ye've lost the bail dimensions? well, well, don't talk so panicky-like. i'll be with ye in two minutes, an' we'll go to the forge together. 'tis no grand memory i have, but i can give them a workin' idea." "oh, if you only will, commodore! but the _lucy_! how can you be spared?" "hoot, toot. the _lucy_ can wait while i go shoppin' with you. yes, she has a time schedule, i know well. but, in high wather, whoever expects a mississippi packet to be on time? or in low wather, either, for that matter. i'll come to ye at once." the commodore was as good as his word. soon he and marian reached the forge works. there his shrewd observation and his wise old memory suggested dimensions which proved later to be correct in every detail. moreover, he insisted upon staying with marian till the bail should be welded. then, under his sharp eyes, it was loaded safely on the grafton train. as he escorted marian elegantly into the passenger coach, she ventured, between her exclamations of gratitude, to reprove him very gently. "you have been too good to me, commodore. but when i think of the poor deserted _lucy_! and the captain--what will he say?" "he'll say a-plenty." the little commodore smiled serenely. "'tis an unchivalrous set the steam-boat owners are, nowadays. if he were half as obligin' as the old captains used to be in the good days before the war, he'd be happy to wait over twenty-four hours, if need be, to serve a lady. but nowadays 'tis only time, time that counts. sure, he's grieved to the heart if we make a triflin' loss, like six hours, say, in our schedule." "and i'm not thanking you for myself alone," marian went on, flushing. "it is for rod, too. you don't know how much it means to me to be able to help him, even in this one small way." then the little commodore bent close to her. his shrewd little eyes gleamed. "don't i know, sure? an' by that token i'm proud of this day, and twice proud of the chance that's led me to share it. for, sure, i've always said it--the time would certain come when you--_when you'd wake up_. mind my word, miss marian. don't ye forget! don't ye let go--and go to sleep again." the train jarred into motion. his knotted little hand gripped hers. then he was off and away. "the dear little, queer little commodore!" marian looked after him, her eyes a bit shadowy. "though what could he mean! 'now you've waked up.' i do wonder!" yet her wonder was half pretended. a hot flush burned in her cheek as she sat thinking of his words. "well, i'm glad, too, that i've 'waked up,' although i wish that something had happened to stir me earlier." the train crept on through the flooded country. it was past eight o'clock when they reached grafton. marian hurried from the coach and watched anxiously while two baggagemen hoisted the heavy bail from the car. "well, my share is done," she said to herself. "that precious bail is here, safe and sound. but where is mulcahy? and the launch? rod said that he would not fail to be here by train time." the train pulled out. from the dim-lit station the ticket agent called to her. "you're expecting your launch, miss hallowell? there has been no boat down to-day." "but my brother promised to send the launch," stammered marian. "surely they knew i was coming to-night!" then, in a flash of recollection, she heard roderick's voice: "and mulcahy will meet you on the eight-o'clock train." "rod meant the train that leaves saint louis at eight in the morning! not this afternoon train. how could i make such a blunder! he does not look for me to reach grafton till to-morrow." she looked at the huge, heavy bail. "if that bail could reach camp to-night, they could ship it up and start to cutting immediately. it would mean seven or eight hours more of working time. but how to take it there!" "there's a man yonder who owns a gasolene-launch," ventured the agent. "it's a crazy, battered tub, but maybe----" marian looked out at the night: the black, sullen river; the ranks of willows swaying in the heavy wind; the thunder that told of approaching storm. "call that man over, please. yes, i shall risk the trip up-river. that bail shall reach camp to-night." chapter xii partners and victories "what time is it, miss?" marian put down the gallon tin with which she had bailed steadily, and looked at her watch. "almost midnight." "only midnight!" the steersman gave a weary yawn and turned back to his wheel. inwardly marian echoed his discouraged word. it seemed to her that she had crouched for years in the stern of the crazy little motor-boat. rain and spray had drenched her to the skin. she ached in every half-frozen bone. yet she sat, wide awake and alert, watching her pilot keenly. he was a poor helmsman, she thought. however, an expert would have found trouble in taking an overloaded launch up-stream against that swollen current and in pitch darkness. worse, the weight of the heavy dredge-bail weighed the launch down almost to water level. every tiny wave splashed over the gunwale. marian bailed on mechanically. she had had hard work to bribe the owner to risk the trip up-stream. the men at grafton had warned her, moreover, that she was running a narrow chance of swamping the launch, and thus of losing her precious piece of machinery, to say nothing of the danger to her own life. but all marian's old timidity had fled, forgotten. nothing else mattered if just she might serve her brother in his supreme need. through these four dreary hours the old commodore's quaint, frank words had echoed in her mind. and the commodore had been right, she owned, with a quiver of shame. always, since their mud-pie days, rod had done his part by her in full measure, generously, lovingly. never, until these last days, had she even realized what doing her own part by roderick might mean. "although i have been slower than my blessed old slow-coach himself in realizing what my life ought to count for. well, as the commodore said, i have waked up at last. and mind this, marian hallowell! _you stay awake!_ never, never let me catch you dozing off again!" "there's the camp light yonder," the steersman spoke at last, with a sigh of satisfaction. marian peered ahead through the cold, blinding mist. away up-stream shone a feeble glimmer, then a second light; a third. "good! and--there are the dredge search-lights! only a minute more and we'll be there." only a minute it seemed till the launch wheezed up to the landing and swung with a thud against the posts. marian stumbled ashore. "mulcahy!" she called to the dark figure standing on the dredge deck. "send two men to unload the bail for us." "marian hallowell! where under the shining sun did you come from?" roderick leaped from the deck to the shore and confronted his sister. then, in his horrified surprise at her daring risk, he pounced upon her and administered a scolding of such vigor that it fairly made her gasp. "of all the outrageous, reckless----" "there, there, rod! look!" still breathing threatenings and slaughter, roderick turned. then he saw the huge new bail which the men were hoisting ashore. "so that's what it all means! that's why you came up on the early train! you brought that bail yourself, all the way. you risked your life in that groggy little boat! all on purpose to help us out! marian hallowell, i'd like to shake you hard. and for two cents i'd kiss you right here and now. you--you _peach_!" burford, awakened by the launch whistle, was hurrying down the bank. reaching the landing his eye fell on the precious new bail. utterly silent, he stared at it for a long rapt minute. then, rubbing his sleepy eyes, he turned to marian and rod with a grin that fairly lighted up the dock. "now," he said, with slow exultation, "now--we've got our chance to win." and win they did. true, the water had already risen close to the dreaded three-foot danger-mark. true, neither of the boys had had half a dozen hours of sleep in three days. as for the laborers, they were fagged and overworked to the limit of their endurance. but not one of these things counted. not a grumbling word was spoken. this was their company's one chance. not a man held back from seizing that chance and making good. not a man but felt himself one with the company, a living vital element of that splendid struggling whole. marian and sally lou stood on the shore watching the dredge as the great dipper crunched its way through the last submerged barrier. the canal rolled bank full. little waves swashed over the platform on which they stood. pools of seep-water already gathered behind the mud embankment, which was crumbling into miry avalanches with every sweep of rising water against it. not by any chance could the levee stand another hour. but even as the dredge cut that narrow passage, the heavy overflow boiled outward into the river beyond. minute by minute the rough surface of the canal was sinking before their watching eyes. now it had fallen from six inches above to high-water mark; now to three inches below; now to mid-stage--and safety. as the freed stream rolled out into the river, a great cheer rose from the laborers crowded alongshore. roderick and burford stayed aboard the dredge until it was warped alongside the dock and safely moored. then they crossed to land and joined the girls. neither of the boys spoke one word. they did not seem to hear the shouts and cheers behind them. there was no glow of success on their sober faces. perhaps their relief was so great that they were a little stunned before its wonder. victory was theirs; but victory won in the face of so great a danger that they could not yield and feel assured of their escape. "we cannot reach head-quarters on the telephone, of course. but, by hook or crook, one of you boys must get a despatch through to mr. breckenridge. think of being able to tell him that you have deepened the canal straight through to the river, so that the whole lower half of the district is safe from overflow! and that you have moved all these costly, treacherous machines down-stream without one serious accident, without so much as a broken bolt! it is too good to be true." "i'll take a launch and sprint down to grafton and wire our report from there," said burford. his tense face relaxed; he broke into a delighted chuckle. "think of it: this once i can actually enjoy sending in my report to head-quarters! i'd like to write it out instead of wiring it. i'd put red-ink curlycues and scroll-work dewdabs all over the page. think, hallowell, you solemn wooden indian! the crest of this flood is only two hours away. by noon the highest level will reach our canal. but it can't flood our district for us, for--for we got there first!" his rosy face one glow of contentment, he started toward the pier. but as he was about to step aboard the duty-launch, roderick hailed him sharply. "wait, burford. somebody is coming up the big ditch. a large gray launch, with a little dark-blue flag." "what!" burford sprang back. he shaded his eyes and looked down the canal. then, to rod's amazement, he sat down on a pile of two-by-fours and rocked to and fro. "whatever ails you, burford?" "whatever ails me, indeed!" burford choked it out. his ears were scarlet. his eyes were fairly popping from his head with delight. "oh, i reckon i won't bother to send that report to head-quarters, after all. i'll just let the whole thing slide." rod gaped at him. "have you lost your last wit, ned?" "not quite. i'm going to give my report to my superior officer by word of mouth. that big gray power-boat is one of our own company's launches. that small blue flag is the company ensign. and that big gray man standing 'midships is--breckenridge! breck the great, his very self." "breckenridge!" "breckenridge. all there, too--every splendid inch of him. talk about luck! our levee is saved. our dredges are all anchored, right yonder, trim as a gimlet. our schedule is put through up to the minute. and here, precisely on the psychological moment, comes our chief on his tour of inspection. can you beat that?" roderick merely stared down the canal. close behind the launch pilot, scanning the bank intently as they steamed by, towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built man, gray-headed, yet powerful and alert in every movement. he was well splashed with mud; his broad, heavily featured face was colorless with fatigue. yet as he stood there, with his big tense body, his tired, eager face, he seemed like some magnificent natural force imprisoned in human flesh. "isn't he sumptuous, though?" said burford, under his breath. "look at those shoulders! what a half-back he would make!" "half-back? why, he could make the all-american," rod whispered back. his eyes were glued to that tall approaching figure. his heart was pounding in his breast. so this was breckenridge the great, his hero! and, marvel of marvels, he looked the hero of all rod's farthest dreams. breckenridge stepped from the launch and shook hands heartily with the radiant and stammering burford. he looked at roderick with steady dark eyes. he hardly spoke in reply to burford's introduction. but the grip of his big, muscular hand was warmly cordial. he asked a few brief questions. then he listened, his heavy head bent, his heavy-lidded eyes half closed, to burford's eager account of their struggles and their triumphs. almost without speaking he clambered into the launch again and motioned the boys to follow. for four consecutive hours the three went up and down the rough miry channels. roderick steered the launch. burford answered breckenridge's occasional questions. breckenridge stood, field-glass in hand, sweeping first one bank, then another with tireless eyes. he made almost no comment on burford's explanations; but the slow occasional nod of his massive head was eloquent. finally they retraced the last lateral and brought the launch up to the main landing. "no, i'll not stop to dine with you, much as i should enjoy it. i must be getting on to the next contract. they're seeing heavy weather too." breckenridge stood up, stretching his big, cramped body. as he stood there, brushing the clay from his coat, he seemed to loom. "i have nothing much to say to you fellows," he went on in his quiet, casual voice, "only to remark that you must have worked like trojans. you have made a far larger yardage record than we had dared to expect. you've put brains into your work, too. can't say i'm surprised at your success, by the way. i was pretty certain from what crosby said that you two would swing this contract, all right. crosby and i had a talk in chicago a week or so ago. we were in tech together. naturally he's quite a pal of mine, though nowadays we're opponents in a business way. but his opinion weighs heavily with me. and now that i have gone over the ground for myself, i am inclined to think that crosby rather--well, that he underestimated your services to the company." again his big head bent with that queer slow nod. for a moment breck himself, the real man, alert, just, keenly understanding, flashed a glance from behind that heavy mask of splendid, impassive flesh. "later you will probably receive a more detailed explanation of my opinion on your work. good luck to you both, and good-by." he stepped into the launch. the powerful boat dashed away down the rough yellow canal. the boys stood and looked after him. burford was wildly exultant. but roderick was silent. a curious, deep satisfaction lighted his stolid, boyish face. every word that breckenridge had spoken was tingling in his blood. at last he had met his hero face to face, man to man. and his hero had proven all that heart could ask. "i wish i knew what he meant by saying that you'd hear further as to his opinion on your work," pondered marian. just two days later her wish was gratified. * * * * * it was a rainy, dreary day. rod had spent the morning up the laterals and had come home dripping. marian was trying to dry his soaked clothes before the smoky little oil-stove, but without much success. just before noon she heard a welcome whistle. she ran down the bank to meet the rural delivery-man in his little spider-launch. the roads were long since impassable; the mail and all the camp supplies must come by water. "stacks of letters, rod. a fat official one for the burfords and a still fatter, more official one for you. do read it and tell me your news." "all right, sis." rod pushed aside his blueprints and set to opening his mail. marian looked over her own letters. they were all of a sort: pleasant, affectionate notes from her friends at home. all, with one accord, besought her to hurry back to college for commencement. all earnestly pitied her for the tedious weeks that she was spending "in that rough, dreadful western country." marian's eyes twinkled as she read. at the bottom of the pile lay a note from her good friend isabel, begging her for the twentieth time to spend august with her in her beautiful home at beverly farms. marian read that letter twice. her dark brows narrowed. before her eyes gleamed isabel's home, the great beautiful house, set on a terraced emerald-green hill. behind it, dark, cool, mysterious, lay the pine woods; before it flashed and gleamed the sea. she could see its wide, stately rooms, its soft-hued, luxurious furnishings. she could feel the atmosphere of quiet contentment, of assured ease, which was to isabel and her mother the very air they breathed. then she looked around her. here she sat in a tiny canvas shack with a rough board floor. she looked at its mended chairs, its rag-tag rug, and stringy curtains; rod's wet clothes, dripping before the little oil-stove; rod's battered desk, heaped with papers and blue-prints, a mass of accumulated work. then she looked through the tent-flap. neither blue ocean nor deep, still forest met her eyes. only a narrow, muddy ditch; a row of wind-torn willows; a dark, swollen river, hurrying on beneath a dark, sinister sky. an exclamation from rod startled her. he stooped to her, his tired face burning. with unsteady fingers he put a letter into her hand. "read that, sis. no, i'll not read it aloud to you. look at it with your own eyes." the breckenridge engineering company. office of the superintendent. roderick t. hallowell, c. e., _c/o contract camp, grafton, illinois._ sir: i beg to state that certain changes in the engineering force of the company have brought about a change in the position occupied by yourself with our firm. beginning upon the first day of june, , you will be transferred to the post of assistant superintendent on a large drainage contract in northern iowa. while your position will be second to that of mr. mcpherson, our supervising engineer, yet you will be given entire charge of the assembling of the plant and its construction. your salary will be two thousand dollars. payment quarterly, as is our custom. some objections to this promotion have been raised by members of our company on the score of your limited experience. mr. breckenridge, however, considers from his observation of your methods that you will prove fully equal to this exacting and responsible position. i am, very respectfully, the breckenridge engineering company. _per_ r. w. austin, _sec'y_. silent, wide-eyed, marian read this amazing document. then, with a cry of surprise and delight, she turned to her brother. but before she could speak, a storm of eager feet dashed up the cabin steps. in burst sally lou and ned, headlong. ned, breathless with excitement, waved a long official envelope. but sally lou, close at his heels with thomas tucker crowing on her arm, poured out the wild tale. "oh, marian! oh, roderick! oh, it's too good and grand and glorious to be true! we're going home, home, straight back to virginia!" "yes, we're going home, we're fired," puffed ned, as sally lou paused for breath. he sank down on the bench with a sigh of ecstasy. "don't look so dazed, hallowell. there is more news coming. we're ordered off this contract. but we're not ordered out of the breckenridge engineering company. not quite yet. instead, i'm directed to report on the dismal swamp canal the first of the month. my position will be practically the same as the one that i'm now holding. but we can live at home. _at home_, i say! right in norfolk, right in the midst of all sally lou's own home-folks, right around the corner from my own father's house. won't we have a glorious year of it! and won't edward junior and thomas tucker be good and spoiled, though!" "we're so happy we can't even say it to each other!" sally lou sat down suddenly, hiding her april face in thomas tucker's small pinafore. "it took mammy easter to express our feelings for us. 'land, honey,' said she, 'i cert'n'y am thankful that we's goin' back to civilization. i want to climb on a real street-car again. i want to ride in an elevator. i don't care if i never sets foot in one of dem slippery little launches again, long's i live. but most of all i want to tote dese lambs out of this swamp and on to de dry land before dey grows up plumb web-footed.'" in the midst of the laugh that followed, a launch whistled from down the canal. "there's mulcahy now. hurry, ned. go down to grafton and send your telegram to head-quarters. good-by, folks! come over to the martin-box to-night and we'll hold one last celebration." sally lou tossed her baby to her shoulder. away she sped beside her husband. marian looked after the gay, hurrying figures. then, still bewildered, she turned to roderick. "well! what will happen next! ned and sally lou ordered to virginia; you promoted--it takes my breath away! but, rod!" her voice rose with a startled note. she looked up keenly at her brother's grave face. "you--you dear, cold-blooded old slow-coach! how can you look so pensive and perplexed? of all the splendid, splendid news! how could you keep still and not tell the burfords? how can you keep still now? if i wasn't so tired, i'd dance a jig right here on your desk!" "i ought to be dancing jigs myself," roderick answered. "i don't half deserve this magnificent chance, i know that. but i--i don't know what to say. i'm facing a dead wall." "rod, what do you mean? of course you will accept this promotion. you must. there can't be any question!" marian was on her knees by his chair now, clasping his cold hands in her own. her voice rang sharp with angry affection. "don't halt and fumble so, brother! don't you remember, three months ago, how you fretted and hesitated about taking the position that you are holding to-day? see how you have succeeded in it! yet look at you! to-day you are wavering and boggling and hanging back, just as you did then." "i'm hanging back, yes. but not for the same reason." roderick looked down at her with dark, troubled eyes. "that time, i hesitated to accept on your account. this time, i'm hesitating on my own." "why, roderick hallowell! you are not afraid of hard work, nor of taking chances, either. rod, tell me this minute. are you ill? what is it, dear?" "nonsense. i'm perfectly well. but i am tired out. i don't know how to tell you what i mean. so tired that i dread the mere thought of going on a new contract, and taking charge of a new crew, and breaking myself in to a new piece of work. yes, it does sound cowardly. but i cannot see my way clear. i don't believe i dare take it up." marian looked at him closely. "sleep on this, rod. a night's rest will give you a different light on the matter." "a night's rest won't make any difference in the facts, sis. the position is too complicated for a greenhorn like me. i believe i could assemble the plant, all right. and i think i could handle the laborers. but the endless outside detail is what i'm afraid of. that, and the responsibility, too. for instance, on a contract like this one in iowa, the engineers must act as paymasters, each for his division. that means, reckon the men's time daily; make out their checks; handle their wages for them; and so on. then there are my tabulated reports for the head office. then my supplies. you have seen with your own eyes how much time and work just the buying of coal and machinery can demand. then there would be a thousand smaller matters to look after. taking it all in all, i don't want to make a try at this offer, then fail. so the sensible thing to do is, meekly to ask the company for a less impressive post." "all that you would need for the extra work that you describe would be a competent book-keeper, rod." "exactly!" rod laughed shortly. "but a 'competent' book-keeper is the last employé that one can find for such hard, isolated work as this. what i need is not just a man to add columns for me. i need another brain, an extra pair of hands. i need the sort of first-aid that you have been giving me all these weeks, sis. that's the sort of help that you can't buy for love nor money. that's all." [illustration: marian was on her knees by his chair, clasping his cold hands in her own.] marian studied her brother's face. when she spoke, her voice was very gentle and low. "all right, rod. telegraph head-quarters that you will accept." "why?" "because--i am going to take that position as book-keeper. there, now!" roderick sat up with some vehemence. "marian hallowell, i think i see myself letting you do any more of my work. you're going back to college next week, for commencement. then you may come west again, if you're determined to stay somewhere near me. i'm mighty glad to have you within reach, i must admit that. but you are not to live down in the woods any longer. and not another stroke of my work shall you do." "why not? am i such a poor stenographer?" roderick laughed at her injured tone. pride and affection mingled in that laugh. "you have been invaluable, sis. you know that perfectly well. i'd never have pulled through this month without you. you have been of more real use than any three ordinary stenographers rolled together. for you have used your own brains and will and courage. you have not stood gracefully by and waited for orders. you have marched right on, and you have done a man's work straight through. but our long pull is over now. and you are well and strong again, i'm thankful to say. so back to the east you go, old lady. no more contract jobs for you." marian's eyes narrowed ominously. deliberately she seated herself on the arm of her brother's chair. gently but firmly she seized him by both ears. "now, roderick hallowell, listen to me. three months ago the company offered you this position. i wanted you to accept it. but, of all things, i did _not_ want to go west with you. i teased and coaxed and whined. much good my whining did me. for you just set that rock-o'-gibraltar chin of yours, and took me firmly by the collar and marched me along. "now, roderick hallowell, look at me!" chuckling and shamefaced, roderick struggled to turn his face away; but marian's fingers gripped mercilessly tight. "look at me, i say. answer. didn't you bully me into giving up to your wishes, by threatening to refuse this position unless i'd come west with you? didn't you drag me out here willy-nilly? very well. you have had your way. you have brought me here, and--_you can't send me back_. there now." "marian, this is not fair." roderick freed one ear and looked sternly at his sister. "you must finish your education. i have no right to keep you trailing around the country with me, wasting your time and cutting you off from your friends and denying you any home comfort. you shall not sacrifice yourself----" "sacrifice myself, indeed!" marian took a fresh grip. "all i ask is to stay with you until next february. then i'll go back and take up my college work at the exact point where i laid it down. i cannot graduate with my class, no matter how hard i try. my illness last winter took too much time. so i may as well join the class following, at mid-years'. in the mean time, we will have eight splendid months together. no, i have waked up, rod. you can't hush me off to my selfish doze again." "but, marian, i can't possibly permit----" "yes, you can. and you will. as to home comforts--isn't it home, wherever we two are together? as to being cut off from my friends--aren't you the best chum i ever had? how do you suppose i like being cut off from you, brother?" rod did not answer. at last he looked up. the sober gratitude in his eyes brought an answering radiance to marian's own. "i give up, sis. you shall stay with me for the summer, anyway. then we'll see. now run away, you blessed old partner!" his big hands shut on her shoulders with an eloquent grip. "i'm going to write to head-quarters and accept that position before i have time to turn coward again and change my mind." marian gave him a vigorous hug of satisfaction, and ran away. letter in hand, roderick went to his desk. carefully he set down his formal, courteous acceptance. he read the finished letter with critical care. something was lacking. yet he had taken all possible pains. what more could his reply need? suddenly his face brightened. he took up his pen. slowly and carefully he added a final paragraph: "in accepting this promotion, i wish to do so with the understanding that my sister, miss hallowell, who has acted as my assistant during the past month, shall continue to hold that position under the new contract. as her work is to be counted as a part of my own, i will request that my quarterly checks shall be made out, not to r. t. hallowell, but to 'hallowell & hallowell,' as the salary is to be drawn by us on a basis of equal partnership." * * * * * he put down the finished sheet. his boyish face lighted with a slow, triumphant glow. he looked out across the gray wet country, the fog-banked river. to his eyes the dull scene was illumined. for his steady vision could see past that gray dreariness, far up the broad high-road of work and success that he had now set foot upon. these three months of heavy toil had proven him. he had seized his fighting chance, and he had made good. and now all the royal chances of his profession were waiting at his call. "though i never could have put it through without marian," he said under his breath. "my splendid, plucky little old sis! no wonder i made good, with such a partner. and from now on she shall be my real partner, bless her heart. 'hallowell & hallowell,' now and forever!" the king of arcadia by francis lynde author of "a romance in transit," "the quickening," etc. illustrated charles scribner's sons new york copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published february, to my daughter dorothea, amanuensis of the loving heart and willing hands in its writing, this book is affectionately inscribed. [illustration: "you must help me," she pleaded; "i cannot see the way a single step ahead."] contents i the cryptogram ii the trippers iii the reverie of a bachelor iv arcady v "fire in the rock!" vi elbow canyon vii the polo players viii castle 'cadia ix the brink of hazard x hoskins's ghost xi gun play xii the rustlers xiii the law and the lady xiv the maxim xv _hospes et hostis_ xvi the return of the omen xvii the derrick fumbles xviii the indictment xix in the laboratory xx the geologist xxi mr. pelham's game-bag xxii a cry in the night xxiii deep unto deep illustrations "you must help me," she pleaded; "i cannot see the way a single step ahead." "señor ballar', i have biffo' to-day killed a man for that he spik to me like-a-that!" the muscles of his face were twitching, and he was breathing hard, like a spent runner. "there is my notion--and a striking example of mexican fair play." the king of arcadia i the cryptogram the strenuous rush of the day of suddenly changed plans was over, and with gardiner, the assistant professor of geology, to bid him god-speed, ballard had got as far as the track platform gates of the boston & albany station when lassley's telegram, like a detaining hand stretched forth out of the invisible, brought him to a stand. he read it, with a little frown of perplexity sobering his strong, enthusiastic face. "_s.s. carania_, new york. "_to_ breckenridge ballard, _boston_. "you love life and crave success. arcadia irrigation has killed its originator and two chiefs of construction. it will kill you. let it alone. "lassley." he signed the book, tipped the boy for his successful chase, and passed the telegram on to gardiner. "if you were called in as an expert, what would you make of that?" he asked. the assistant professor adjusted his eye-glasses, read the message, and returned it without suggestive comment. "my field being altogether prosaic, i should make nothing of it. there are no assassinations in geology. what does it mean?" ballard shook his head. "i haven't the remotest idea. i wired lassley this morning telling him that i had thrown up the cuban sugar mills construction to accept the chief engineer's billet on arcadia irrigation. i didn't suppose he had ever heard of arcadia before my naming of it to him." "i thought the lassleys were in europe," said gardiner. "they are sailing to-day in the _carania_, from new york. my wire was to wish them a safe voyage, and to give my prospective address. that explains the date-line of this telegram." "but it does not explain the warning. is it true that the colorado irrigation scheme has blotted out three of its field officers?" "oh, an imaginative person might put it that way, i suppose," said ballard, his tone asserting that none but an imaginative person would be so foolish. "braithwaite, of the geodetic survey, was the originator of the plan for constructing a storage reservoir in the upper boiling water basin, and for transforming arcadia park into an irrigated agricultural district. he interested mr. pelham and a few other denver capitalists, and they sent him out as chief engineer to stand the project on its feet. shortly after he had laid the foundations for the reservoir dam, he fell into the boiling water and was drowned." gardiner's humour was as dry as his professional specialty. "one," he said, checking off the unfortunate braithwaite on his fingers. "then billy sanderson took it--you remember billy, in my year? he made the preliminary survey for an inlet railroad over the mountains, and put a few more stones on braithwaite's dam. as they say out on the western edge of things, sanderson died with his boots on; got into trouble with somebody about a camp-following woman and was shot." "two," checked the assistant in geology. "who was the third?" "an elderly, dyspeptic scotchman named macpherson. he took up the work where sanderson dropped it; built the railroad over the mountain and through arcadia park to the headquarters at the dam, and lived to see the dam itself something more than half completed." "and what happened to mr. macpherson?" queried gardiner. "he was killed a few weeks ago. the derrick fell on him. the accident provoked a warm discussion in the technical periodicals. a wire guy cable parted--'rusted off,' the newspaper report said--and there was a howl from the wire-rope makers, who protested that a rope made of galvanised wire couldn't possibly 'rust off.'" "nevertheless, mr. macpherson was successfully killed," remarked the professor dryly. "that would seem to be the persisting fact in the discussion. does none of these things move you?" "certainly not," returned the younger man. "i shall neither fall into the river, nor stand under a derrick whose guy lines are unsafe." gardiner's smile was a mere eye wrinkle of good-natured cynicism. "you carefully omit poor sanderson's fate. one swims out of a torrent--if he can--and an active young fellow might possibly be able to dodge a falling derrick. but who can escape the toils of the woman 'whose hands are as bands, and whose feet----'" "oh, piff!" said the kentuckian; and then he laughed aloud. "there is, indeed, one woman in the world, my dear _herr_ professor, for whose sake i would joyfully stand up and be shot at; but she isn't in colorado, by a good many hundred miles." "no? nevertheless, breckenridge, my son, there lies your best chance of making the fourth in the list of sacrifices. you are a kentuckian; an ardent and chivalric southerner. if the fates really wish to interpose in contravention of the arcadian scheme, they will once more bait the deadfall with the eternal feminine--always presuming, of course, that there are any fates, and that they have ordinary intelligence." ballard shook his head as if he took the prophecy seriously. "i am in no danger on that score. bromley--he was sanderson's assistant, and afterward macpherson's, you know--wrote me that the scotchman's first general order was an edict banishing every woman from the construction camps." "now, if he had only banished the derricks at the same time," commented gardiner reflectively. then he added: "you may be sure the fates will find you an enchantress, breckenridge; the oracles have spoken. what would the most peerless arcadia be without its shepherdess? but we are jesting when lassley appears to be very much in earnest. could there be anything more than coincidence in these fatalities?" "how could there be?" demanded ballard. "two sheer accidents and one commonplace tragedy, which last was the fault--or the misfortune--of poor billy's temperament, it appears; though he was a sober enough fellow when he was here learning his trade. let me prophesy awhile: i shall live and i shall finish building the arcadian dam. now let us side-track lassley and his cryptogram and go back to what i was trying to impress on your mind when he butted in; which is that you are not to forget your promise to come out and loaf with me in august. you shall have all the luxuries a construction camp affords, and you can geologise to your heart's content in virgin soil." "that sounds whettingly enticing," said the potential guest. "and, besides, i am immensely interested in dams; and in wire cables that give way at inopportune moments. if i were you, breckenridge, i should make it a point to lay that broken guy cable aside. it might make interesting matter for an article in the _engineer_; say, 'on the effect of the atmosphere in high altitudes upon galvanised wire.'" ballard paid the tributary laugh. "i believe you'd have your joke if you were dying. however, i'll keep the broken cable for you, and the pool where braithwaite was drowned, and sanderson's inamorata--only i suppose macpherson obliterated her at the earliest possible.... say, by jove! that's my train he's calling. good-by, and don't forget your promise." after which, but for a base-runner's dash down the platform, ballard would have lost the reward of the strenuous day of changed plans at the final moment. ii the trippers it was on the monday afternoon that breckenridge ballard made the base-runner's dash through the station gates in the boston terminal, and stood in the rearmost vestibule of his outgoing train to watch for the passing of a certain familiar suburb where, at the home of the hospitable lassleys, he had first met miss craigmiles. on the wednesday evening following, he was gathering his belongings in the sleeper of a belated chicago train preparatory to another dash across platforms--this time in the echoing station at council bluffs--to catch the waiting "overland flyer" for the run to denver. president pelham's telegram, which had found him in boston on the eve of closing a contract with the sugar magnates to go and build refineries in cuba, was quite brief, but it bespoke haste: "we need a fighting man who can build railroads and dams and dig ditches in arcadia. salary satisfactory to you. wire quick if you can come." this was the wording of it; and at the evening hour of train-changing in council bluffs, ballard was sixteen hundred miles on his way, racing definitely to a conference with the president of arcadia irrigation in denver, with the warning telegram from lassley no more than a vague disturbing under-thought. what would lie beyond the conference he knew only in the large. as an industrial captain in touch with the moving world of great projects, he was familiar with the plan for the reclamation of the arcadian desert. a dam was in process of construction, the waters of a mountain torrent were to be impounded, a system of irrigating canals opened, and a connecting link of railway built. much of the work, he understood, was already done; and he was to take charge as chief of construction and carry it to its conclusion. so much president pelham's summons made clear. but what was the mystery hinted at in lassley's telegram? and did it have any connection with that phrase in president pelham's wire: "we need a fighting man"? these queries, not yet satisfactorily answered, were presenting themselves afresh when ballard followed the porter to the section reserved for him in the denver sleeper. the car was well filled; and when he could break away from the speculative entanglement long enough to look about him, he saw that the women passengers were numerous enough to make it more than probable that he would be asked, later on, to give up his lower berth to one of them. being masculinely selfish, and a seasoned traveller withal, he was steeling himself to say "no" to this request what time the train was rumbling over the great bridge spanning the missouri. the bridge passage was leisurely, and there was time for a determined strengthening of the selfish defenses. but at the omaha station there was a fresh influx of passengers for the denver car, and to ballard's dismay they appeared at the first hasty glance to be all women. "o good lord!" he ejaculated; and finding his pipe retreated precipitately in the direction of the smoking-compartment, vaguely hoping to dodge the inevitable. at the turn around the corner of the linen locker he glanced back. two or three figures in the group of late comers might have asked for recognition if he had looked fairly at them; but he had eyes for only one: a modish young woman in a veiled hat and a shapeless gray box travelling-coat, who was evidently trying to explain something to the pullman conductor. "jove!" he exclaimed; "if i weren't absolutely certain that elsa craigmiles is half-way across the atlantic with the lassleys--but she is; and if she were not, she wouldn't be here, doing the 'personally conducted' for that mob." and he went on to smoke. it was a very short time afterward that an apologetic pullman conductor found him, and the inevitable came to pass. "this is mr. ballard, i believe?" a nod, and an uphanding of tickets. "thank you. i don't like to discommode you, mr. ballard; but--er--you have an entire section, and----" "i know," said ballard crisply. "the lady got on the wrong train, or she bought the wrong kind of ticket, or she took chances on finding the good-natured fellow who would give up his berth and go hang himself on a clothes-hook in the vestibule. i have been there before, but i have not yet learned how to say 'no.' fix it up any way you please, only don't give me an upper over a flat-wheeled truck, if you can help it." an hour later the dining-car dinner was announced; and ballard, who had been poring over a set of the arcadian maps and profiles and a thick packet of documents mailed to intercept him at chicago, brought up the rear of the outgoing group from the denver car. in the vestibule of the diner he found the steward wrestling suavely with a late contingent of hungry ones, and explaining that the tables were all temporarily full. ballard had broad shoulders and the kentucky stature to match them. looking over the heads of the others, he marked, at the farther end of the car, a table for two, with one vacant place. "i beg your pardon--there is only one of me," he cut in; and the steward let him pass. when he had dodged the laden waiters and was taking the vacant seat he found himself confronting the young woman in the veiled hat and the gray box-coat, identified her, and discovered in a petrifying shock of astoundment that she was not miss elsa craigmiles's fancied double, but miss craigmiles herself. "why, mr. ballard--of all people!" she cried, with a brow-lifting of genuine or well-assumed surprise. and then in mock consternation: "don't tell me that _you_ are the good-natured gentleman i drove out of his section in the sleeping-car." "i sha'n't; because i don't know how many more there are of me," said ballard. then, astonishment demanding its due: "did i only dream that you were going to europe with the herbert lassleys, or----" she made a charming little face at him. "do you never change your plans suddenly, mr. ballard? never mind; you needn't confess: i know you do. well, so do i. at the last moment i begged off, and mrs. lassley fairly scolded. she even went so far as to accuse me of not knowing my own mind for two minutes at a time." ballard's smile was almost grim. "you have given me that impression now and then; when i wanted to be serious and you did not. did you come aboard with that party at omaha?" "did i not? it's my--that is, it's cousin janet van bryck's party; and we are going to do colorado this summer. think of that as an exchange for england and a yachting voyage to tromsoe!" this time ballard's smile was affectionately cynical. "i didn't suppose you ever forgot yourself so far as to admit that there was any america west of the alleghany mountains." miss elsa's laugh was one of her most effective weapons. ballard was made to feel that he had laid himself open at some vulnerable point, without knowing how or why. "dear me!" she protested. "how long does it take you to really get acquainted with people?" then with reproachful demureness: "the man has been waiting for five full minutes to take your dinner order." one of ballard's gifts was pertinacity; and after he had told the waiter what to bring, he returned to her question. "it is taking me long enough to get acquainted with you," he ventured. "it will be two years next tuesday since we first met at the herbert lassleys', and you have been delightfully good to me, and even chummy with me--when you felt like it. yet do you know you have never once gone back of your college days in speaking of yourself? i don't know to this blessed moment whether you ever had any girlhood; and that being the case----" "oh, spare me!" she begged, in well-counterfeited dismay. "one would think----" "one would not think anything of you that he ought not to think," he broke in gravely; adding: "we are a long way past the alleghanies now, and i am glad you are aware of an america somewhat broader than it is long. do i know any of your sight-seers, besides mrs. van bryck?" "i don't know; i'll list them for you," she offered. "there are major blacklock, united states engineers, retired, who always says, 'h'm--ha!' before he contradicts you; the major's nieces, madge and margery cantrell--the idea of splitting one name for two girls in the same family!--and the major's son, jerry, most hopeful when he is pitted against other young savages on the football field. all strangers, so far?" ballard nodded, and she went on. "then there are mrs. van bryck and dosia--i am sure you have met them; and hetty bigelow, their cousin, twice removed, whom you have never met, if cousin janet could help it; and hetty's brother, lucius, who is something or other in the forestry service. let me see; how many is that?" "eight," said ballard, "counting the negligible miss bigelow and her tree-nursing brother." "good. i merely wanted to make sure you were paying attention. last, but by no means least, there is mr. wingfield--_the_ mr. wingfield, who writes plays." without ever having been suffered to declare himself miss elsa's lover, ballard resented the saving of the playwright for the climax; also, he resented the respectful awe, real or assumed, with which his name was paraded. "let me remember," he said, with the frown reflective. "i believe it was jack forsyth the last time you confided in me. is it mr. wingfield now?" "would you listen!" she laughed; but he made quite sure there was a blush to go with the laugh. "do you expect me to tell you about it here and now?--with mr. wingfield sitting just three seats back of me, on the right?" ballard scowled, looked as directed, and took the measure of his latest rival. wingfield was at a table for four, with mrs. van bryck, her daughter, and a shock-headed young man, whom ballard took to be the football-playing blacklock. in defiance of the clean-shaven custom of the moment, or, perhaps, because he was willing to individualise himself, the playwright wore a beard closely trimmed and pointed in the french manner; this, the quick-grasping eyes, and a certain vulpine showing of white teeth when he laughed, made ballard liken him to an unnamed singer he had once heard in the part of _mephistopheles_. the overlooking glance necessarily included wingfield's table companions: mrs. van bryck's high-bred contours lost in adipose; dosia's cool and placid prettiness--the passionless charms of unrelieved milk-whiteness of skin and masses of flaxen hair and baby-blue eyes; the blacklock boy's square shoulders, heavy jaw, and rather fine eyes--which he kept resolutely in his plate for the better part of the time. at the next table ballard saw a young man with the brown of an out-door occupation richly colouring face and hands; an old one with the contradictory "h'm--ha!" written out large in every gesture; and two young women who looked as if they might be the sharers of the single christian name. miss bigelow, the remaining member of the party, had apparently been lost in the dinner seating. at all events, ballard did not identify her. "well?" said miss craigmiles, seeming to intimate that he had looked long enough. "i shall know mr. wingfield, if i ever see him again," remarked ballard. "whose guest is he? or are you all mrs. van bryck's guests?" "what an idea!" she scoffed. "cousin janet is going into the absolutely unknown. she doesn't reach even to the alleghanies; her america stops short at philadelphia. she is the chaperon; but our host isn't with us. we are to meet him in the wilds of colorado." "anybody i know?" queried ballard. "no. and--oh, yes, i forgot; professor gardiner is to join us later. i knew there must be one more somewhere. but he was an afterthought. i--cousin janet, i mean--got his acceptance by wire at omaha." "gardiner is not going to join you," said ballard, with the cool effrontery of a proved friend. "he is going to join me." "where? in cuba?" "oh, no; i am not going to cuba. i am going to live the simple life; building dams and digging ditches in arcadia." he was well used to her swiftly changing moods. what miss elsa's critics, who were chiefly of her own sex, spoke of disapprovingly as her flightiness, was to ballard one of her characterizing charms. yet he was quite unprepared for her grave and frankly reproachful question: "why aren't you going to cuba? didn't mr. lassley telegraph you not to go to arcadia?" "he did, indeed. but what do you know about it?--if i may venture to ask?" for the first time in their two years' acquaintance he saw her visibly embarrassed. and her explanation scarcely explained. "i--i was with the lassleys in new york, you know; i went to the steamer to see them off. mr. lassley showed me his telegram to you after he had written it." they had come to the little coffees, and the other members of miss craigmiles's party had risen and gone rearward to the sleeping-car. ballard, more mystified than he had been at the boston moment when lassley's wire had found him, was still too considerate to make his companion a reluctant source of further information. moreover, mr. lester wingfield was weighing upon him more insistently than the mysteries. in times past miss craigmiles had made him the target for certain little arrows of confidence: he gave her an opportunity to do it again. "tell me about mr. wingfield," he suggested. "is he truly jack forsyth's successor?" "how can you question it?" she retorted gayly. "some time--not here or now--i will tell you all about it." "'some time,'" he repeated. "is it always going to be 'some time'? you have been calling me your friend for a good while, but there has always been a closed door beyond which you have never let me penetrate. and it is not my fault, as you intimated a few minutes ago. why is it? is it because i'm only one of many? or is it your attitude toward all men?" she was knotting her veil and her eyes were downcast when she answered him. "a closed door? there is, indeed, my dear friend: two hands, one dead and one still living, closed it for us. it may be opened some time"--the phrase persisted, and she could not get away from it--"and then you will be sorry. let us go back to the sleeping-car. i want you to meet the others." then with a quick return to mockery: "only i suppose you will not care to meet mr. wingfield?" he tried to match her mood; he was always trying to keep up with her kaleidoscopic changes of front. "try me, and see," he laughed. "i guess i can stand it, if he can." and a few minutes later he had been presented to the other members of the sight-seeing party; had taken mrs. van bryck's warm fat hand of welcome and dosia's cool one, and was successfully getting himself contradicted at every other breath by the florid-faced old campaigner, who, having been a major of engineers, was contentiously critical of young civilians who had taken their b.s. degree otherwhere than at west point. iii the reverie of a bachelor it was shortly after midnight when the "overland flyer" made its unscheduled stop behind a freight train which was blocking the track at the blind siding at coyote. always a light sleeper, ballard was aroused by the jar and grind of the sudden brake-clipping; and after lying awake and listening for some time, he got up and dressed and went forward to see what had happened. the accident was a box-car derailment, caused by a broken truck, and the men of both train crews were at work trying to get the disabled car back upon the steel and the track-blocking train out of the "flyer's" way. inasmuch as such problems were acutely in his line, ballard thought of offering to help; but since there seemed to be no special need, he sat down on the edge of the ditch-cutting to look on. the night was picture fine; starlit, and with the silent wideness of the great upland plain to give it immensity. the wind, which for the first hundred miles of the westward flight had whistled shrilly in the car ventilators, was now lulled to a whispering zephyr, pungent with the subtle soil essence of the grass-land spring. ballard found a cigar and smoked it absently. his eyes followed the toilings of the train crews prying and heaving under the derailed car, with the yellow torch flares to pick them out; but his thoughts were far afield, with his dinner-table companion to beckon them. "companion" was the word which fitted her better than any other. ballard had found few men, and still fewer women, completely companionable. some one has said that comradeship is the true test of affinity; and the kentuckian remembered with a keen appreciation of the truth of this saying a summer fortnight spent at the herbert lassleys' cottage on the north shore, with miss craigmiles as one of his fellow-guests. margaret lassley had been kind to him on that occasion, holding the reins of chaperonage lightly. there had been sunny afternoons on the breezy headlands, and blood-quickening mornings in captain tinkham's schooner-rigged whale-boat, when the white horses were racing across the outer reef and the water was too rough to tempt the other members of the house-party. he had monopolised elsa craigmiles crudely during those two weeks, glorying in her beauty, in her bright mind, in her triumphant physical fitness. he remembered how sturdily their comradeship had grown during the uninterrupted fortnight. he had told her all there was to tell about himself, and in return she had alternately mocked him and pretended to confide in him; the confidences touching such sentimental passages as the devotion of the toms, the dicks, and the harrys of her college years. since he had sometimes wished to be sentimental on his own account, ballard had been a little impatient under these frivolous appeals for sympathy. but there is a certain tonic for growing love even in such bucketings of cold water as the loved one may administer in telling the tale of the predecessor. it is a cold heart, masculine, that will not find warmth in anything short of the ice of indifference; and whatever her faults, miss elsa was never indifferent. ballard recalled how he had groaned under the jesting confidences. also, he remembered that he had never dared to repel them, choosing rather to clasp the thorns than to relinquish the rose. from the sentimental journey past to the present stage of the same was but a step; but the present situation was rather perplexingly befogged. why had elsa craigmiles changed her mind so suddenly about spending the summer in europe? what could have induced her to substitute a summer in colorado, travelling under mrs. van bryck's wing? the answer to the queryings summed itself up, for the kentuckian, in a name--the name of a man and a playwright. he held mr. lester wingfield responsible for the changed plans, and was irritably resentful. in the after-dinner visit with the sight-seeing party in the pullman there had been straws to indicate the compass-point of the wind. elsa deferred to wingfield, as the other women did; only in her case ballard was sure it meant more. and the playwright, between his posings as a literary oracle, assumed a quiet air of proprietorship in miss craigmiles that was maddening. ballard recalled this, sitting upon the edge of the ditch-cutting in the heart of the fragrant night, and figuratively punched mr. wingfield's head. fate had been unkind to him, throwing him thus under the wheels of the opportune when the missing of a single train by either the sight-seers or himself would have spared him. taking that view of the matter, there was grim comfort in the thought that the mangling could not be greatly prolonged. the two orbits coinciding for the moment would shortly go apart again; doubtless upon the morning's arrival in denver. it was well. heretofore he had been asked to sympathise only in a subjective sense. with another lover corporeally present and answering to his name, the torture would become objective--and blankly unendurable. notwithstanding, he found himself looking forward with keen desire to one more meeting with the beloved tormentor--to a table exchange of thoughts and speech at the dining-car breakfast which he masterfully resolved not all the playmakers in a mumming world should forestall or interrupt. this determination was shaping itself in the kentuckian's brain when, after many futile backings and slack-takings, the ditched car was finally induced to climb the frogs and to drop successfully upon the rails. when the obstructing freight began to move, ballard flung away the stump of his cigar and climbed the steps of the first open vestibule on the "flyer," making his way to the rear between the sleeping emigrants in the day-coaches. being by this time hopelessly wakeful, he filled his pipe and sought the smoking-compartment of the sleeping-car. it was a measure of his abstraction that he did not remark the unfamiliarity of the place; all other reminders failing, he should have realised that the fat negro porter working his way perspiringly with brush and polish paste through a long line of shoes was not the man to whom he had given his suit-cases in the council bluffs terminal. but thinking pointedly of elsa craigmiles, and of the joy of sharing another meal with her in spite of the lester wingfields, he saw nothing, noted nothing; and the reverie, now frankly traversing the field of sentiment, ran on unbroken until he became vaguely aware that the train had stopped and started again, and that during the pause there had been sundry clankings and jerkings betokening the cutting off of a car. a hasty question fired at the fat porter cleared the atmosphere of doubt. "what station was that we just passed?" "short line junction, sah; whah we leaves the denver cyar--yes, sah." "what? isn't this the denver car?" "no, indeed, sah. dish yer cyar goes on th'oo to ogden; yes, sah." ballard leaned back again and chuckled in ironic self-derision. he was not without a saving sense of humour. what with midnight prowlings and sentimental reveries he had managed to sever himself most abruptly and effectually from his car, from his hand-baggage, from the prefigured breakfast, with miss elsa for his _vis-à-vis_; and, what was of vastly greater importance, from the chance of a day-long business conference with president pelham! "gardiner, old man, you are a true prophet; it isn't in me to think girl and to play the great game at one and the same moment," he said, flinging a word to the assistant professor of geology across the distance abysses; and the fat porter said: "sah?" "i was just asking what time i shall reach denver, going in by way of the main line and cheyenne," said ballard, with cheerful mendacity. "erbout six o'clock in the evenin', sah; yes, sah. huccome you to get lef', cap'n boss?" "i didn't get left; it was the denver sleeper that got left," laughed the kentuckian. after which he refilled his pipe, wrote a telegram to mr. pelham, and one to the pullman conductor about his hand-baggage, and resigned himself to the inevitable, hoping that the chapter of accidents had done its utmost. unhappily, it had not, as the day forthcoming amply proved. reaching cheyenne at late breakfast-time, ballard found that the denver train over the connecting line waited for the "overland" from the west; also, that on this day of all days, the "overland" was an hour behind her schedule. hence there was haste-making extraordinary at the end of the boston-denver flight. when the delayed cheyenne train clattered in over the switches, it was an hour past dark. president pelham was waiting with his automobile to whisk the new chief off to a hurried dinner-table conference at the brown palace; and what few explanations and instructions ballard got were sandwiched between the _consommé au gratin_ and the dessert. two items of information were grateful. the fitzpatrick brothers, favourably known to ballard, were the contractors on the work; and loudon bromley, who had been his friend and loyal understudy in the technical school, was still the assistant engineer, doing his best to push the construction in the absence of a superior. since the chief of any army stands or falls pretty largely by the grace of his subordinates, ballard was particularly thankful for bromley. he was little and he was young; he dressed like an exquisite, wore neat little patches of side-whiskers, shot straight, played the violin, and stuffed birds for relaxation. but in spite of these hindrances, or, perhaps, because of some of them, he could handle men like a born captain, and he was a friend whose faithfulness had been proved more than once. "i shall be only too glad to retain bromley," said ballard, when the president told him he might choose his own assistant. and, as time pressed, he asked if there were any other special instructions. "nothing specific," was the reply. "bromley has kept things moving, but they can be made to move faster, and we believe you are the man to set the pace, mr. ballard; that's all. and now, if you are ready, we have fifteen minutes in which to catch the alta vista train--plenty of time, but none to throw away. i have reserved your sleeper." it was not until after the returning automobile spin; after ballard had checked his baggage and had given his recovered suit-cases to the porter of the alta vista car; that he learned the significance of the fighting clause in the president's boston telegram. they were standing at the steps of the pullman for the final word; had drawn aside to make room for a large party of still later comers; when the president said, with the air of one who gathers up the unconsidered trifles: "by the way, mr. ballard, you may not find it all plain sailing up yonder. arcadia park has been for twenty years a vast cattle-ranch, owned, or rather usurped, by a singular old fellow who is known as the 'king of arcadia.' quite naturally, he opposes our plan of turning the park into a well-settled agricultural field, to the detriment of his free cattle range, and he is fighting us." "in the courts, you mean?" "in the courts and out of them. i might mention that it was one of his cow-men who killed sanderson; though that was purely a personal quarrel, i believe. the trouble began with his refusal to sell us a few acres of land and a worthless mining-claim which our reservoir may submerge, and we were obliged to resort to the courts. he is fighting for delay now, and in the meantime he encourages his cow-boys to maintain a sort of guerrilla warfare on the contractors: stealing tools, disabling machinery, and that sort of thing. this was macpherson's story, and i'm passing it on to you. you are forty miles from the nearest sheriff's office over there; but when you need help, you'll get it. of course, the company will back you--to the last dollar in the treasury, if necessary." ballard's rejoinder was placatory. "it seems a pity to open up the new country with a feud," he said, thinking of his native state and of what these little wars had done for some portions of it. "can't the old fellow be conciliated in some way?" "i don't know," replied the president doubtfully. "we want peaceable possession, of course, if we can get it; capital is always on the side of peace. in fact, we authorised macpherson to buy peace at any price in reason, and we'll give you the same authority. but macpherson always represented the old cattle king as being unapproachable on that side. on the other hand, we all know what macpherson was. he had a pretty rough tongue when he was at his best; and he was in bad health for a long time before the derrick fell on him. i dare say he didn't try diplomacy." "i'll make love to the cow-punching princesses," laughed ballard; "that is, if there are any." "there is one, i understand; but i believe she doesn't spend much of her time at home. the old man is a widower, and, apart from his senseless fight on the company, he appears to be--but i won't prejudice you in advance." "no, don't," said ballard. "i'll size things up for myself on the ground. i----" the interruption was the dash of a switch-engine up the yard with another car to be coupled to the waiting mountain line train. ballard saw the lettering on the medallion: " ". "somebody's private hotel?" he remarked. "yes. it's mr. brice's car, i guess. he was in town to-day." ballard was interested at once. "mr. richard brice?--the general manager of the d. & u. p.?" the president nodded. "that's great luck," said ballard, warmly. "we were classmates in the institute, and i haven't seen him since he came west. i think i'll ride in the naught-eight till bedtime." "glad you know him," said the president. "get in a good word for our railroad connection with his line at alta vista, while you're about it. there is your signal; good-by, and good luck to you. don't forget--'drive' is the word; for every man, minute, and dollar there is in it." ballard shook the presidential hand and swung up to the platform of the private car. a reluctant porter admitted him, and thus it came about that he did not see the interior of his own sleeper until long after the other passengers had gone to bed. "good load to-night, john?" he said to the porter, when, the private car visit being ended, the man was showing him to his made-down berth. "yes, sah; mighty good for de branch. but right smart of dem is ladies, and dey don't he'p de po' portah much." "well, i'll pay for one of them, anyway," said the kentuckian, good-naturedly doubling his tip. "be sure you rout me out bright and early; i want to get ahead of the crowd." and he wound his watch and went to bed, serenely unconscious that the hat upon the rail-hook next to his own belonged to mr. lester wingfield; that the hand-bags over which he had stumbled in the dimly lighted aisle were the _impedimenta_ of the ladies van bryck; or that the dainty little boots proclaiming the sex--and youth--of his fellow-traveller in the opposite number six were the foot-gear of miss elsa craigmiles. iv arcady arcadia park, as the government map-makers have traced it, is a high-lying, enclosed valley in the heart of the middle rockies, roughly circular in outline, with a curving westward sweep of the great range for one-half of its circumscribing rampart, and the bent bow of the elk mountains for the other. apart from storming the rampart heights, accessible only to the hardy prospector or to the forest ranger, there are three ways of approach to the shut-in valley: up the outlet gorge of the boiling water, across the elk mountains from the roaring fork, or over the high pass in the continental divide from alta vista. it was from the summit of the high pass that ballard had his first view of arcadia. from alta vista the irrigation company's narrow-gauge railway climbs through wooded gorges and around rock-ribbed snow balds, following the route of the old stage trail; and ballard's introductory picture of the valley was framed in the cab window of the locomotive sent over by bromley to transport him to the headquarters camp on the boiling water. in the wide prospect opened by the surmounting of the high pass there was little to suggest the human activities, and still less to foreshadow strife. ballard saw a broad-acred oasis in the mountain desert, billowed with undulating meadows, and having for its colour scheme the gray-green of the range grasses. winding among the billowy hills in the middle distance, a wavering double line of aspens marked the course of the boiling water. nearer at hand the bald slopes of the saguache pitched abruptly to the forested lower reaches; and the path of the railway, losing itself at the timber line, reappeared as a minute scratch scoring the edge of the gray-green oasis, to vanish, distance effaced, near a group of mound-shaped hills to the eastward. the start from alta vista with the engine "special" had been made at sunrise, long before any of ballard's fellow-travellers in the sleeping-car were stirring. but the day had proved unseasonably warm in the upper snow fields, and there had been time-killing delays. every gulch had carried its torrent of melted snow to threaten the safety of the unballasted track, and what with slow speed over the hazards and much shovelling of land-slips in the cuttings, the sun was dipping to the westward range when the lumbering little construction engine clattered down the last of the inclines and found the long level tangents in the park. on the first of the tangents the locomotive was stopped at a watering-tank. during the halt ballard climbed down from his cramped seat on the fireman's box and crossed the cab to the engine-man's gangway. hoskins, the engine-driver, leaning from his window, pointed out the projected course of the southern lateral canal in the great irrigation system. "it'll run mighty nigh due west here, about half-way between us and the stage trail," he explained; and ballard, looking in the direction indicated, said: "where is the stage trail? i haven't seen it since we left the snow balds." "it's over yonder in the edge of the timber," was the reply; and a moment later its precise location was defined by three double-seated buckboards, passenger-laden and drawn by four-in-hand teams of tittupping broncos, flicking in and out among the pines and pushing rapidly eastward. the distance was too great for recognition, but ballard could see that there were women in each of the vehicles. "hello!" he exclaimed. "those people must have crossed the range from alta vista to-day. what is the attraction over here?--a summer-resort hotel?" "not any in this valley," said the engineman. "they might be going on over to ashcroft, or maybe to aspen, on the other side o' the elk mountains. but if that's their notion, they're due to camp out somewhere, right soon. it's all o' forty mile to the neardest of the roaring fork towns." the engine tank was filled, and the fireman was flinging the dripping spout to its perpendicular. ballard took his seat again, and became once more immersed in his topographical studies of the new field; which was possibly why the somewhat singular spectacle of a party of tourists hastening on to meet night and the untaverned wilderness passed from his mind. the approach to the headquarters camp of the arcadia company skirted the right bank of the boiling water, in this portion of its course a river of the plain, eddying swiftly between the aspen-fringed banks. but a few miles farther on, where the gentle undulations of the rich grass-land gave place to bare, rock-capped hills, the stream broke at intervals into noisy rapids, with deep pools to mark the steps of its descent. ballard's seat on the fireman's box was on the wrong side for the topographical purpose, and he crossed the cab to stand at hoskins's elbow. as they were passing one of the stillest of the pools, the engineman said, with a sidewise jerk of his thumb: "that's the place where mr. braithwaite was drowned. came down here from camp to catch a mess o' trout for his supper and fell in--from the far bank." "couldn't he swim?" ballard asked. "they all say he could. anyhow, it looks as if he might 'a' got out o' that little mill-pond easy enough. but he didn't. they found his fishing tackle on the bank, and him down at the foot of the second rapid below--both arms broke and the top of his head caved in, like he'd been run through a rock crusher. they can say what they please; i ain't believin' the river done it." "what do you believe?" ballard was looking across to a collection of low buildings and corrals--evidently the headquarters of the old cattle king's ranch outfit--nestling in a sheltered cove beyond the stream, and his question was a half-conscious thought slipping into speech. "i believe this whole blame' job is a hoodoo," was the prompt rejoinder. and then, with the freedom born of long service in the unfettered areas where discipline means obedience but not servility, the man added: "i wouldn't be standin' in your shoes this minute for all the money the arcadia company could pay me, mr. ballard." ballard was young, fit, vigorous, and in abounding health. moreover, he was a typical product of an age which scoffs at superstition and is impatient of all things irreducible to the terms of algebraic formulas. but here and now, on the actual scene of the fatalities, the "two sheer accidents and a commonplace tragedy" were somewhat less easily dismissed than when he had thus contemptuously named them for gardiner in the boston railway station. notwithstanding, he was quite well able to shake off the little thrill of disquietude and to laugh at hoskins's vicarious anxiety. "i wasn't raised in the woods, hoskins, but there was plenty of tall timber near enough to save me from being scared by an owl," he asseverated. then, as a towering derrick head loomed gallows-like in the gathering dusk, with a white blotch of masonry to fill the ravine over which it stood sentinel: "is that our camp?" "that's elbow canyon," said the engineman; and he shut off steam and woke the hill echoes with the whistle. ballard made out something of the lay of the land at the headquarters while the engine was slowing through the temporary yard. there was the orderly disorder of a construction terminal: tracks littered with cars of material, a range of rough shed shelters for the stone-cutters, a dotting of sleeping-huts and adobes on a little mesa above, and a huge, weathered mess-tent, lighted within, and glowing orange-hued in the twilight. back of the camp the rounded hills grew suddenly precipitous, but through the river gap guarded by the sentinel derrick, there was a vista distantly backgrounded by the mass of the main range rising darkly under its evergreens, with the lights of a great house starring the deeper shadow. v "fire in the rock!" bromley was on hand to meet his new chief when ballard dropped from the step of the halted engine. a few years older, and browned to a tender mahogany by the sun of the altitudes and the winds of the desert, he was still the bromley of ballard's college memories: compact, alert, boyishly smiling, neat, and well-groomed. with anglo-saxon ancestry on both sides, the meeting could not be demonstrative. "same little old 'beau bromley,'" was ballard's greeting to go with the hearty hand-grip; and bromley's reply was in keeping. after which they climbed the slope to the mesa and the headquarters office in comradely silence, not because there was nothing to be said, but because the greater part of it would keep. having picked up the engine "special" with his field-glass as it came down the final zigzag in the descent from the pass, bromley had supper waiting in the adobe-walled shack which served as the engineers' quarters; and until the pipes were lighted after the meal there was little talk save of the golden past. but when the camp cook had cleared the table, ballard reluctantly closed the book of reminiscence and gave the business affair its due. "how are you coming on with the work, loudon?" he asked. "don't need a chief, do you?" "don't you believe it!" said the substitute, with such heartfelt emphasis that ballard smiled. "i'm telling you right now, breckenridge, i never was so glad to shift a responsibility since i was born. another month of it alone would have turned me gray." "and yet, in my hearing, people are always saying that you are nothing less than a genius when it comes to handling workingmen. isn't it so?" "oh, that part of it is all right. it's the hoodoo that is making an old man of me before my time." "the what?" bromley moved uneasily in his chair, and ballard could have sworn that he gave a quick glance into the dark corners of the room before he said: "i'm giving you the men's name for it. but with or without a name, it hangs over this job like the shadow of a devil-bat's wings. the men sit around and smoke and talk about it till bedtime, and the next day some fellow makes a bad hitch on a stone, or a team runs away, or a blast hangs fire in the quarry, and we have a dead man for supper. breckenridge, it is simply _hell_!" ballard shook his head incredulously. "you've let a few ill-natured coincidences rattle you," was his comment. "what is it? or, rather, what is at the bottom of it?" "i don't know; nobody knows. the 'coincidences,' as you call them, were here when i came; handed down from braithwaite's drowning, i suppose. then sanderson got tangled up with manuel's woman--as clear a case of superinduced insanity as ever existed--and in less than two months he and manuel jumped in with winchesters, and poor billy passed out. that got on everybody's nerves, of course; and then macpherson came. you know what he was--a hard-headed, sarcastic old scotchman, with the bitterest tongue that was ever hung in the middle and adjusted to wag both ways. he tried ridicule; and when that didn't stop the crazy happenings, he took to bullyragging. the day the derrick fell on him he was swearing horribly at the hoister engineer; and he died with an oath in his mouth." the kentuckian sat back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. "let me get one thing straight before you go on. mr. pelham told me of a scrap between the company and an old fellow up here who claims everything in sight. has this emotional insanity you are talking about anything to do with the old cattle king's objection to being syndicated out of existence?" "no; only incidentally in sanderson's affair--which, after all, was a purely personal quarrel between two men over a woman. and i wouldn't care to say that manuel was wholly to blame in that." "who is this manuel?" queried ballard. "oh, i thought you knew. he is the colonel's manager and ranch foreman. he is a mexican and an all-round scoundrel, with one lonesome good quality--absolute and unimpeachable loyalty to his master. the colonel turns the entire business of the cattle raising and selling over to him; doesn't go near the ranch once a month himself." "'the colonel,'" repeated ballard. "you call him 'the colonel,' and mr. pelham calls him the 'king of arcadia.' i assume that he has a name, like other men?" "sure!" said bromley. "hadn't you heard it? it's craigmiles." "what!" exclaimed ballard, holding the match with which he was about to relight his pipe until the flame crept up and scorched his fingers. "that's it--craigmiles; colonel adam craigmiles--the king of arcadia. didn't mr. pelham tell you----" "hold on a minute," ballard cut in; and he got out of his chair to pace back and forth on his side of the table while he was gathering up the pieces scattered broadcast by this explosive petard of a name. at first he saw only the clearing up of the little mysteries shrouding miss elsa's suddenly changed plans for the summer; how they were instantly resolved into the commonplace and the obvious. she had merely decided to come home and play hostess to her father's guests. and since she knew about the war for the possession of arcadia, and would quite naturally be sorry to have her friend pitted against her father, it seemed unnecessary to look further for the origin of lassley's curiously worded telegram. "lassley's," ballard called it; but if lassley had signed it, it was fairly certain now that miss craigmiles had dictated it. ballard thought her use of the fatalities as an argument in the warning message was a purely feminine touch. none the less he held her as far above the influences of the superstitions as he held himself, and it was a deeper and more reflective second thought that turned a fresh leaf in the book of mysteries. was it possible that the three violent deaths were not mere coincidences, after all? and, admitting design, could it be remotely conceivable that adam craigmiles's daughter was implicated, even to the guiltless degree of suspecting it? ballard stopped short in his pacing sentry beat and began to investigate, not without certain misgivings. "loudon, what manner of man is this colonel craigmiles?" bromley's reply was characteristic. "the finest ever--type of the american country gentleman; suave, courteous, a little inclined to be grandiloquent; does the paternal with you till you catch yourself on the edge of saying 'sir' to him; and has the biggest, deepest, sweetest voice that ever drawled the southern 'r.'" "humph! that isn't exactly the portrait of a fire-eater." "don't you make any mistake. i've described the man you'll meet socially. on the other side, he's a fighter from away back; the kind of man who makes no account of the odds against him, and who doesn't know when he is licked. he has told us openly and repeatedly that he will do us up if we swamp his house and mine; that he will make it pinch us for the entire value of our investment in the dam. i believe he'll do it, too; but president pelham won't back down an inch. so there you are--irresistible moving body; immovable fixed body: the collision imminent; and we poor devils in between." ballard drew back his chair and sat down again. "you are miles beyond my depth now," he asserted. "i had less than an hour with mr. pelham in denver, and what he didn't tell me would make a good-sized library. begin at the front, and let me have the story of this feud between the company and colonel craigmiles." again bromley said: "i supposed, of course, that you knew all about it"--after which he supplied the missing details. "it was braithwaite who was primarily to blame. when the company's plans were made public, the colonel did not oppose them, though he knew that the irrigation scheme spelled death to the cattle industry. the fight began when braithwaite located the dam here at elbow canyon in the foothill hogback. there is a better site farther down the river; a second depression where an earthwork dike might have taken the place of all this costly rockwork." "i saw it as we came up this evening." "yes. well, the colonel argued for the lower site; offered to donate three or four homesteads in it which he had taken up through his employees; offered further to take stock in the company; but braithwaite was pig-headed about it. he had been a government man, and was a crank on permanent structures and things monumental; wherefore he was determined on building masonry. he ignored the colonel, reported on the present site, and the work was begun." "go on," said ballard. "naturally, the colonel took this as a flat declaration of war. he has a magnificent country house in the upper valley, which must have cost him, at this distance from a base of supplies, a round half-million or more. when we fill our reservoir, this house will stand on an island of less than a half-dozen acres in extent, with its orchards, lawns, and ornamental grounds all under water. which the same is tough." ballard was elsa craigmiles's lover, and he agreed in a single forcible expletive. bromley acquiesced in the expletive, and went on. "the colonel refused to sell his country-house holding, as a matter of course; and the company decided to take chances on the suit for damages which will naturally follow the flooding of the property. meanwhile, braithwaite had organised his camp, and the foundations were going in. a month or so later, he and the colonel had a personal collision, and, although craigmiles was old enough to be his father, braithwaite struck him. there was blood on the moon, right there and then, as you'd imagine. the colonel was unarmed, and he went home to get a gun. braithwaite, who was always a cold-blooded brute, got out his fishing-tackle and sauntered off down the river to catch a mess of trout. he never came back alive." "good heavens! but the colonel couldn't have had any hand in braithwaite's drowning!" ballard burst out, thinking altogether of colonel craigmiles's daughter. "oh, no. at the time of the accident, the colonel was back here at the camp, looking high and low for braithwaite with fire in his eye. they say he went crazy mad with disappointment when he found that the river had robbed him of his right to kill the man who had struck him." ballard was silent for a time. then he said: "you spoke of a mine that would also be flooded by our reservoir. what about that?" "that came in after braithwaite's death and sanderson's appointment as chief engineer. when braithwaite made his location here, there was an old prospect tunnel in the hill across the canyon. it was boarded up and apparently abandoned, and no one seemed to know who owned it. later on it transpired that the colonel was the owner, and that the mining claim, which was properly patented and secured, actually covers the ground upon which our dam stands. while sanderson was busy brewing trouble for himself with manuel, the colonel put three mexicans at work in the tunnel; and they have been digging away there ever since." "gold?" asked ballard. bromley laughed quietly. "maybe you can find out--nobody else has been able to. but it isn't gold; it must be something infinitely more valuable. the tunnel is fortified like a fortress, and one or another of the mexicans is on guard day and night. the mouth of the tunnel is lower than the proposed level of the dam, and the colonel threatens all kinds of things, telling us frankly that it will break the arcadia company financially when we flood that mine. i have heard him tell mr. pelham to his face that the water should never flow over any dam the company might build here; that he would stick at nothing to defend his property. mr. pelham says all this is only bluff; that the mine is worthless. but the fact remains that the colonel is immensely rich--and is apparently growing richer." "has nobody ever seen the inside of this golconda of a mine?" queried ballard. "nobody from our side of the fence. as i've said, it is guarded like the sultan's seraglio; and the mexicans might as well be deaf and dumb for all you can get out of them. macpherson, who was loyal to the company, first, last, and all the time, had an assay made from some of the stuff spilled out on the dump; but there was nothing doing, so far as the best analytical chemist in denver could find out." for the first time since the strenuous day of plan-changing in boston, ballard was almost sorry he had given up the cuban undertaking. "it's a beautiful tangle!" he snapped, thinking, one would say, of the breach that must be opened between the company's chief engineer and the daughter of the militant old cattle king. then he changed the subject abruptly. "what do you know about the colonel's house-hold, loudon?" "all there is to know, i guess. he lives in state in his big country mansion that looks like a world's fair forest products exhibit on the outside, and is fitted and furnished regardless of expense in its interiors. he is a widower with one daughter--who comes and goes as she pleases--and a sister-in-law who is the dearest, finest piece of fragile old china you ever read about." "you've been in the country house, then?" "oh, yes. the colonel hasn't made it a personal fight on the working force since braithwaite's time." "perhaps you have met miss--er--the daughter who comes and goes?" "sure i have! if you'll promise not to discipline me for hobnobbing with the enemy, i'll confess that i've even played duets with her. she discovered my weakness for music when she was home last summer." "do you happen to know where she is now?" "on her way to europe, i believe. at least, that is what miss cauffrey--she's the fragile-china aunt--was telling me." "i think not," said ballard, after a pause. "i think she changed her mind and decided to spend the summer at home. when we stopped at ackerman's to take water this evening, i saw three loaded buckboards driving in this direction." "that doesn't prove anything," asserted bromley. "the old colonel has a house-party every little while. he's no anchorite, if he does live in the desert." ballard was musing again. "adam craigmiles," he said, thoughtfully. "i wonder what there is in that name to set some sort of bee buzzing in my head. if i believed in transmigration, i should say that i had known that name, and known it well, in some other existence." "oh, i don't know," said bromley. "it's not such an unusual name." "no; if it were, i might trace it. how long did you say the colonel had lived in arcadia?" "i didn't say. but it must be something over twenty years. miss elsa was born here." "and the family is southern--from what section?" "i don't know that--virginia, perhaps, measuring by the colonel's accent, pride, hot-headedness, and reckless hospitality." the clue, if any there were, appeared to be lost; and again ballard smoked on in silence. when the pipe burned out he refilled it, and at the match-striking instant a sing-song cry of "fire in the rock!" floated down from the hill crags above the adobe, and the jar of a near-by explosion shook the air and rattled the windows. "what was that?" he queried. "it's our quarry gang getting out stone," was bromley's reply. "we were running short of headers for the tie courses, and i put on a night-shift." "whereabouts is your quarry?" "just around the shoulder of the hill, and a hundred feet, or such a matter, above us. it is far enough to be out of range." a second explosion punctuated the explanation. then there was a third and still heavier shock, a rattling of pebbles on the sheet-iron roof of the adobe, and a scant half-second later a fragment of stone the size of a man's head crashed through roof and ceiling and made kindling-wood of the light pine table at which the two men were sitting. ballard sprang to his feet, and said something under his breath; but bromley sat still, with a faint yellow tint discolouring the sunburn on his face. "which brings us back to our starting-point--the hoodoo," he said quietly. "to-morrow morning, when you go around the hill and see where that stone came from, you'll say that it was a sheer impossibility. yet the impossible thing has happened. it is reaching for you now, breckenridge; and a foot or two farther that way would have--" he stopped, swallowed hard, and rose unsteadily. "for god's sake, old man, throw up this cursed job and get out of here, while you can do it alive!" "not much!" said the new chief contemptuously. and then he asked which of the two bunks in the adjoining sleeping-room was his. vi elbow canyon ballard had his first appreciative view of his new field of labor before breakfast on the morning following his arrival, with bromley as his sightsman. viewed in their entirety by daylight, the topographies appealed irresistibly to the technical eye; and ballard no longer wondered that braithwaite had overlooked or disregarded all other possible sites for the great dam. the basin enclosed by the circling foothills and backed by the forested slopes of the main range was a natural reservoir, lacking only a comparatively short wall of masonry to block the crooked gap in the hills through which the river found its way to the lower levels of the grass-lands. the gap itself was an invitation to the engineer. its rock-bound slopes promised the best of anchorages for the shore-ends of the masonry; and at its lower extremity a jutting promontory on the right bank of the stream made a sharp angle in the chasm; the elbow which gave the outlet canyon its name. the point or crook of the elbow, the narrowest pass in the cleft, had been chosen as the site for the dam. through the promontory a short tunnel was driven at the river-level to provide a diverting spillway for the torrent; and by this simple expedient a dry river-bed in which to build the great wall of concrete and masonry had been secured. "that was braithwaite's notion, i suppose?" said ballard, indicating the tunnel through which the stream, now at summer freshet volume, thundered on its way around the building site to plunge sullenly into its natural bed below the promontory. "nobody but a government man would have had the courage to spend so much time and money on a mere preliminary. it's a good notion, though." "i'm not so sure of that," was bromley's reply. "doylan, the rock-boss, tells a fairy-story about the tunnel that will interest you when you hear it. he had the contract for driving it, you know." "what was the story?" bromley laughed. "you'll have to get mike to tell it, with the proper irish frills. but the gist of it is this: you know these hogback hills--how they seem to be made up of all the geological odds and ends left over after the mountains were built. mike swears they drove through limestone, sandstone, porphyry, fire-clay, chert, mica-schist, and _mud_ digging that tunnel; which the same, if true, doesn't promise very well for the foundations of our dam." "but the plans call for bed-rock under the masonry," ballard objected. "oh, yes; and we have it--apparently. but some nights, when i've lain awake listening to the peculiar hollow roar of the water pounding through that tunnel, i've wondered if doylan's streak of mud mightn't under-lie our bed-rock." ballard's smile was good-naturedly tolerant. "you'd be a better engineer, if you were not a musician, loudon. you have too much imagination. is that the colonel's country house up yonder in the middle of our reservoir-that-is-to-be?" "it is." ballard focussed his field-glass upon the tree-dotted knoll a mile away in the centre of the upper valley. it was an ideal building site for the spectacular purpose. on all sides the knoll sloped gently to the valley level; and the river, a placid vale-land stream in this upper reach, encircled three sides of the little hill. among the trees, and distinguishable from them only by its right lines and gable angles, stood a noble house, built, as it seemed, of great tree-trunks with the bark on. ballard could imagine the inspiring outlook from the brown-pillared greek portico facing westward; the majestic sweep of the enclosing hills, bare and with their rocky crowns worn into a thousand fantastic shapes; the uplift of the silent, snow-capped mountains to right and left; the vista of the broad, outer valley opening through the gap where the dam was building. "the colonel certainly had an eye for the picturesque when he pitched upon that knoll for his building-site," was his comment. "how does he get the water up there to make all that greenery?" "pumps it, bless your heart! what few modern improvements you won't find installed at castle 'cadia aren't worth mentioning. and, by the way, there is another grouch--we're due to drown his power-pumping and electric plant at the portal of the upper canyon under twenty feet of our lake. more bad blood, and a lot more damages." "oh, damn!" said ballard; and he meant the imprecation, and not the pile of masonry which his predecessors had heaped up in the rocky chasm at his feet. bromley chuckled. "that is what the colonel is apt to say when you mention the arcadia company in his hearing. do you blame him so very much?" "not i. if i owned a home like that, in a wilderness that i had discovered for myself, i'd fight for it to a finish. last night when you showed me the true inwardness of this mix-up, i was sick and sorry. if i had known five days ago what i know now, you couldn't have pulled me into it with a two-inch rope." "on general principles?" queried bromley curiously. "not altogether. business is business; and you've intimated that the colonel is not so badly overmatched in the money field--and when all is said, it is a money fight with the long purse to win. but there is a personal reason why i, of all men in the world, should have stayed out. i did not know it when i accepted mr. pelham's offer, and now it is too late to back down. i'm a thousand times sorrier for colonel craigmiles than ever you can be, loudon; but, as the chief engineer of the arcadia company, i'm pledged to obliterate him." "that is precisely what he declares he will do to the company," laughed bromley. "and there,"--pointing across the ravine to an iron-bound door closing a tunnel entrance in the opposite hillside--"is his advanced battery. that is the mine i was telling you about." "h'm," said the new chief, measuring the distance with his eyes. "if that mining-claim is the regulation size, it doesn't leave us much elbow room over there." "it doesn't leave us any--as i told you last night, the dam itself stands upon a portion of the claim. in equity, if there were any equity in a law fight against a corporation, the colonel could enjoin us right now. he hasn't done it; he has contented himself with marking out that dead-line you can see over there just above our spillway. the colonel staked that out in billy sanderson's time, and courteously informed us that trespassers would be potted from behind that barricade; that there was a machine-gun mounted just inside of that door which commanded the approaches. just to see if he meant what he said, some of the boys rigged up a scarecrow dummy, and carefully pushed it over the line one evening after supper. i wasn't here, but fitzpatrick says the colonel's mexican garrison in the tunnel fairly set the air afire with a volley from the machine-gun." ballard said "h'm" again, and was silent what time they were climbing the hill to the quarries on their own side of the ravine. when he spoke, it was not of the stone the night shift had been getting out. "loudon, has it ever occurred to you that the colonel's mine play is a very large-sized trump card? we can submerge the house, the grounds, and his improvements up yonder in the upper canyon and know approximately how much it is going to cost the company to pay the bill. but when the water backs up into that tunnel, we are stuck for whatever damages he cares to claim." "sure thing," said bromley. "no one on earth will ever know whether we've swamped a five-million-dollar mine or a twenty-five-cent hole in the ground." "that being the case, i mean to see the inside of that tunnel," ballard went on doggedly. "i am sorry i allowed mr. pelham to let me in for this; but in justice to the people who pay my salary, i must know what we are up against over there." "i don't believe you will make any bad breaks in that direction," bromley suggested. "if you try it by main strength and awkwardness, as macpherson did, you'll get what he very narrowly escaped--a young lead mine started inside of you by one of the colonel's mexican bandits. if you try it any other way, the colonel will be sure to spot you; and you go out of his good books and miss elsa's--no invitations to the big house, no social alleviations, no ice-cream and cake, no heavenly summer nights when you can sit out on the greek-pillared portico with a pretty girl, and forget for the moment that you are a buccaneering bully of labouring men, marooned, with a lot of dry-land pirates like yourself, in the arcadia desert. no, my dear breckenridge; i think it is safe to prophesy that you won't do anything you say you will." "won't i?" growled the new chief, looking at his watch. then: "let's go down to breakfast." and, with a sour glance at the hill over which the roof-smashing rock of the previous night must have been hurled: "don't forget to tell quinlan to be a little more sparing with his powder up here. impress it on his mind that he is getting out building stone--not shooting the hill down for concrete." vii the polo players ballard gave the saturday, his first day in the new field, to bromley and the work on the dam, inspecting, criticising, suggesting changes, and otherwise adjusting the wheels of the complicated constructing mechanism at the elbow canyon nerve centre to run efficiently and smoothly, and at accelerated speed. "that's about all there is to say," he summed up to his admiring assistant, at the close of his first administrative day. "you're keyed up to concert pitch all right, here, and the _tempo_ is not so bad. but 'drive' is the word, loudon. wherever you see a chance to cut a corner, cut it. the fitzpatricks are a little inclined to be slow and sure: crowd the idea into old brian's head that bonuses are earned by being swift and sure." "which means that you're not going to stay here and drive the stone and concrete gangs yourself?" queried bromley. "that is what it means, for the present," replied the new chief; and at daybreak monday morning he was off, bronco-back, to put in a busy fortnight quartering the field in all directions and getting in touch with the various subcontractors at the many subsidiary camps of ditch diggers and railroad builders scattered over the length and breadth of the kingdom of arcadia. on one of the few nights when he was able to return to the headquarters camp for supper and lodging, bromley proposed a visit to castle 'cadia. ballard's refusal was prompt and decided. "no, loudon; not for me, yet a while. i'm too tired to be anybody's good company," was the form the refusal took. "go gossiping, if you feel like it, but leave me out of the social game until i get a little better grip on the working details. later on, perhaps, i'll go with you and pay my respects to colonel craigmiles--but not to-night." bromley went alone and found that ballard's guess based upon his glimpse of the loaded buckboards _en route_ was borne out by the facts. castle 'cadia was comfortably filled with a summer house-party; and miss craigmiles had given up her european yachting voyage to come home and play the hostess to her father's guests. also, bromley discovered that the colonel's daughter drew her own conclusions from ballard's refusal to present himself, the discovery developing upon miss elsa's frank statement of her convictions. "i know your new tyrant," she laughed; "i have known him for ages. he won't come to castle 'cadia; he is afraid we might make him disloyal to his arcadia irrigation salt. you may tell him i said so, if you happen to remember it." bromley did remember it, but it was late when he returned to the camp at the canyon, and ballard was asleep. and the next morning the diligent new chief was mounted and gone as usual long before the "turn-out" whistle blew; for which cause miss elsa's challenge remained undelivered; was allowed to lie until the dust of intervening busy days had quite obscured it. it was on these scouting gallops to the outlying camps that ballard defined the limits of the "hoodoo." its influence, he found, diminished proportionately as the square of the distance from the headquarters camp at elbow canyon. but in the wider field there were hindrances of another and more tangible sort. bourke fitzpatrick, the younger of the brothers in the contracting firm, was in charge of the ditch digging; and he had irritating tales to tell of the lawless doings of colonel craigmiles's herdsmen. "i'm telling you, mr. ballard, there isn't anything them devils won't be up to," he complained, not without bitterness. "one night they'll uncouple every wagon on the job and throw the coupling-pins away; and the next, maybe, they'll be stampeding the mules. two weeks ago, on dan moriarty's section, they came with men and horses in the dead of night, hitched up the scrapers, and put a thousand yards of earth back into the ditch." "wear it out good-naturedly, if you can, bourke; it is only horse-play," was ballard's advice. that grown men should seriously hope to defeat the designs of a great corporation by any such puerile means was inconceivable. "horse-play, is it?" snapped fitzpatrick. "don't you believe it, mr. ballard. i can take a joke with any man living; but this is no joke. it comes mighty near being war--with the scrapping all on one side." "a night guard?" suggested ballard. fitzpatrick shook his head. "we've tried that; and you'll not get a man to patrol the work since denny flaherty took his medicine. the cow-punchers roped him and skidded him 'round over the prairie till it took one of the men a whole blessed day to dig the cactus thorns out of him. and me paying both of them overtime. would you call that a joke?" ballard's reply revealed some latent doubt as to the justification for bromley's defense of colonel craigmiles's fighting methods. "if it isn't merely rough horse-play, it is guerrilla warfare, as you say, bourke. have you seen anything to make you believe that these fellows have a tip from the big house in the upper valley?" the contractor shook his head. "the colonel doesn't figure in the details of the cow business at all, as far as anybody can see. he turns it all over to manuel, his mexican foreman; and manuel is in this guerrilla deviltry as big as anybody. flaherty says he'll take his oath that the foreman was with the gang that roped him." ballard was feeling less peaceable when he rode on to the next camp, and as he made the round of the northern outposts the fighting strain which had come down to him from his pioneer ancestors began to assert itself in spite of his efforts to control it. at every stopping-place fitzpatrick's complaint was amplified. depredations had followed each other with increasing frequency since macpherson's death; and once, when one of the subcontractors had been provoked into resistance, arms had been used and a free fight had ensued. turning the matter over in his mind in growing indignation, ballard had determined, by the time he had made the complete round of the outlying camps, upon the course he should pursue. "i'll run a sheriff's posse in here and clean up the entire outfit; that's about what i'll do!" he was saying wrathfully to himself as he galloped eastward on the stage trail late in the afternoon of the final day. "the lord knows i don't want to make a blood-feud of it, but if they will have it----" the interruption was a little object-lesson illustrating the grievances of the contractors. roughly paralleling the stage trail ran the line of the proposed southern lateral canal, marked by its double row of location stakes. at a turn in the road ballard came suddenly upon what appeared to be an impromptu game of polo. flap-hatted herdsmen in shaggy overalls, and swinging long clubs in lieu of polo sticks, were riding in curious zigzags over the canal course, and bending for a drive at each right and left swerve of their wiry little mounts. it took the kentuckian a full minute to master the intricacies of the game. then he saw what was doing. the location stakes for the ditch boundaries were set opposite and alternate, and the object of the dodging riders was to determine which of them could club the greatest number of stakes out of the ground without missing a blow or drawing rein. ballard singled out the leader, a handsome, well-built _caballero_, with the face, figure, and saddle-seat of the cid, and rode into the thick of things, red wrath to the fore. "hi! you there!" he shouted. "is your name manuel?" "_si, señor_," was the mild reply; and the cavalier took off his bullion-corded sombrero and bowed to the saddle-horn. "well, mine is ballard, and i am the chief engineer for the arcadia company." "ha! señor ballar', i am ver' much delight to meet you." "never mind that; the pleasure isn't mutual, by a damned sight. you tell your men to stop that monkey-business, and have them put those stakes back where they found them." ballard was hot. "you give-a the h-order in this valley, señor?" asked the mexican softly. "i do, where the company's property is concerned. call your men off!" "señor ballar', i have biffo to-day killed a man for that he spik to me like-a that!" [illustration: "señor ballar', i have biffo' to-day killed a man for that he spik to me like-a-that!"] "have you?" snorted ballard contemptuously. "well, you won't kill me. call your men off, i say!" there was no need. the makeshift polo game had paused, and the riders were gathering about the quarrelling two. "bat your left eye once, and we'll rope him for you, manuel," said one. "wonder if i c'd knock a two-bagger with that hat o' his'n without mussin' his hair?" said another. "say, you fellers, wait a minute till i make that bronc' o' his'n do a cake-walk!" interposed a third, casting the loop of his riata on the ground so that ballard's horse would be thrown if he lifted hoof. it was an awkward crisis, and the engineer stood to come off with little credit. he was armed, but even in the unfettered cattle country one cannot pistol a laughing jeer. it was the saving sense of humour that came to his aid, banishing red wrath. there was no malice in the jeers. "sail in when you're ready, boys," he laughed. "i fight for my brand the same as you'd fight for yours. those pegs have got to go back in the ground where you found them." one of the flap-hatted riders dropped his reins, drummed with his elbows, and crowed lustily. the foreman backed his horse deftly out of the enclosing ring; and the man nearest to ballard on the right made a little cast of his looped rope, designed to whip ballard's pistol out of its holster. if the engineer had been the tenderfoot they took him for, the trouble would have culminated quickly. with the laugh still on his lips, the kentuckian was watching every move of the mexican. there was bloodthirst, waiting only for the shadow of an excuse, glooming in the handsome black eyes. ballard remembered sanderson's fate, and a quick thrill of racial sympathy for the dead man tuned him to the fighting pitch. he knew he was confronting a treacherous bully of the type known to the west as a "killer"; a man whose regard for human life could be accurately and exactly measured by his chance for escaping the penalty for its taking. it was at this climaxing moment, while ballard was tightening his eye-hold upon the one dangerous antagonist, and foiling with his free hand the attempts of the playful "scotty" at his right to disarm him, that the diversion came. a cloud of dust on the near-by stage trail resolved itself into a fiery-red, purring motor-car with a single occupant; and a moment later the car had left the road and was heading across the grassy interspace. manuel's left hand was hovering above his pistol-butt; and ballard took his eyes from the menace long enough to glance aside at the approaching motorist. he was a kingly figure of a man well on in years, white-haired, ruddy of face, with huge military mustaches and a goatee. he brought the car with a skilful turn into the midst of things; and ballard, confident now that the mexican foreman no longer needed watching, saw a singular happening. while one might count two, the old man in the motor-car stared hard at him, rose in his place behind the steering-wheel, staggered, groped with his hands as the blind grope, and then fell back into the driving-seat with a groan. ballard was off his horse instantly, tendering his pocket-flask. but the old man's indisposition seemed to pass as suddenly as it had come. "thank you, suh," he said in a voice that boomed for its very depth and sweetness; "i reckon i've been driving a little too fast. youh--youh name is ballard--breckenridge ballard, isn't it?" he inquired courteously, completely ignoring the dissolving ring of practical jokers. "it is. and you are colonel craigmiles?" "at youh service, suh; entiahly at youh service. i should have known you anywhere for a ballard. youh mother was a hardaway, but you don't take after that side. no, suh"--with calm deliberation--"you are youh father's son, mistah ballard." then, as one coming at a bound from the remote past to the present: "was thah any--ah--little discussion going on between you and--ah--manuel, mistuh ballard?" five minutes earlier the engineer had been angry enough to prefer spiteful charges against the polo players all and singular. but the booming of the deep voice had a curiously mollifying effect. "it is hardly worth mentioning," he found himself replying. "i was protesting to your foreman because the boys were having a little game of polo at our expense--knocking our location stakes out of the ground." the kingly old man in the motor-car drew himself up, and there was a mild explosion directed at the mexican foreman. "manuel, i'm suhprised--right much suhprised and humiliated, suh! i thought it was--ah--distinctly undehstood that all this schoolboy triflin' was to be stopped. let me heah no more of it. and see that these heah stakes are replaced; carefully replaced, if you please, suh." and then to the complainant: "i'm right sorry, i assure you, mistuh ballard. let me prove it by carrying you off to dinneh with us at castle 'cadia. grigsby, heah, will lead youh horse to camp, and fetch any little necessaries you might care to send for. indulge me, suh, and let me make amends. my daughter speaks of you so often that i feel we ought to be mo' friendly." under much less favourable conditions it is conceivable that the kentuckian would have overridden many barriers for the sake of finding the open door at castle 'cadia. and, the tour of inspection being completed, there was no special duty call to sound a warning. "i shall be delighted, i'm sure," he burbled, quite like an infatuated lover; and when the cow-boy messenger was charged with the errand to the headquarters camp, ballard took his place beside the company's enemy, and the car was sent purring across to the hill-skirting stage road. viii castle 'cadia it was a ten-mile run to the bowl-shaped valley behind the foothills; and colonel craigmiles, mindful, perhaps, of his late seizure, did not speed the motor-car. recalling it afterward, ballard remembered that the talk was not once suffered to approach the conflict in which he and his host were the principal antagonists. miss elsa's house-party, the matchless climate of arcadia, the scenery, ballard's own recollections of his kentucky boyhood--all these were made to do duty; and the colonel's smile was so winning, his deep voice so sympathetic, and his attitude so affectionately paternal, that ballard found his mental picture of a fierce old frontiersman fighting for his squatter rights fading to the vanishing point. "diplomacy," mr. pelham had suggested; and ballard smiled inwardly. if it came to a crossing of diplomatic weapons with this keen-eyed, gentle-voiced patriarch, who seemed bent on regarding him as an honoured guest, the company's cause was as good as lost. the road over which the motor-car was silently trundling avoided the headquarters camp at the dam by several miles, losing itself among the hogback foothills well to the southward, and approaching the inner valley at right angles to the course of the river and the railway. the sun had sunk behind the western mountain barrier and the dusk was gathering when the colonel quickened the pace, and the car topped the last of the hills in a staccato rush. ballard heard the low thunder of the boiling water in its upper canyon, and had glimpses of weird shapes of eroded sandstone looming in huge pillars and fantastic mushroom figures in the growing darkness. then the lights of castle 'cadia twinkled in their tree-setting at the top of the little knoll; the drought-hardened road became a gravelled carriage-drive under the pneumatic tires; and a final burst of speed sent the car rocketing to the summit of the knoll through a maple-shadowed avenue. the great tree-trunk-pillared portico of the country house was deserted when the colonel cut out the motor-battery switch at the carriage step. but a moment later a white-gowned figure appeared in the open doorway, and the colonel's daughter came to the step, to laugh gayly, and to say: "why, mr. ballard, i'm astounded! have you really decided that it is quite safe to trust yourself in the camp of the enemy?" ballard had seen castle 'cadia at field-glass range; and he had bromley's enthusiastic description of the house of marvels to push anticipation some little distance along the way to meet the artistic reality. none the less, the reality came with the shock of the unexpected. in the softened light of the shaded electric pendants, the massive pillars of the portico appeared as single trees standing as they had grown in the mountain forest. underfoot the floor was of hewn tree-trunks; but the house walls, like the pillars, were of logs in the rough, cunningly matched and fitted to conceal the carpentry. a man had come to take the automobile, and the colonel paused to call attention to a needed adjustment of the motor. ballard made use of the isolated moment. "i have accounted for you at last," he said, prolonging the greeting hand-clasp to the ultimate limit. "i know now what has made you what you are." "really?" she questioned lightly. "and all these years i have been vainly imagining that i had acquired the manner of the civilized east! isn't it pathetic?" "very," he agreed quite gravely. "but the pathos is all on my side." "meaning that i might let you go and dress for dinner? i shall. enter the house of the enemy, mr. ballard. a cow-punching princess bids you welcome." she was looking him fairly in the eyes when she said it, and he acquitted her doubtfully of the charge of intention. but her repetition, accidental or incidental, of his own phrase was sufficiently disconcerting to make him awkwardly silent while she led the way into the spacious reception-hall. here the spell of the enchantments laid fresh hold on him. the rustic exterior of the great house was only the artistically designed contrast--within were richness, refinement, and luxury unbounded. the floors were of polished wood, and the rugs were costly daghestans. beyond portières of curious indian bead-work, there were vistas of harmonious interiors; carved furnishings, beamed and panelled ceilings, book-lined walls. the light everywhere came from the softly tinted electric globes. there was a great stone fireplace in the hall, but radiators flanked the openings, giving an added touch of modernity. ballard pulled himself together and strove to recall the fifty-mile, sky-reaching mountain barrier lying between all this twentieth-century country-house luxury and the nearest outpost of urban civilisation. it asked for a tremendous effort; and the realising anchor dragged again when miss craigmiles summoned a japanese servant and gave him in charge. "show mr. ballard to the red room, tagawi," she directed. and then to the guest: "we dine at seven--as informally as you please. you will find your bag in your room, and tagawi will serve you. as you once told me when i teased you in your boston workshop--'if you don't see what you want, ask for it.'" the kentuckian followed his guide up the broad stair and through a second-floor corridor which abated no jot of the down-stair magnificence. neither did his room, for that matter. hangings of pompeian red gave it its name; and it was spacious and high-studded, and critically up to date in its appointments. the little brown serving-man deftly opened the bag brought by the colonel's messenger from ballard's quarters at the elbow canyon camp, and laid out the guest's belongings. that done, he opened the door of the bath. "the honourable excellency will observe the hot water; also cold. are the orders other for me?" ballard shook his head, dismissed the smiling little man, and turned on the water. "i reckon i'd better take it cold," he said to himself; "then i'll know certainly whether i'm awake or dreaming. by jove! but this place is a poem! i don't wonder that the colonel is fighting berserk to save it alive. and mr. pelham and his millionaires come calmly up to the counter and offer to buy it--with mere money!" he filled the porcelain bath with a crystal-clear flood that, measured by its icy temperature, might have been newly distilled glacier drip; and the cold plunge did something toward establishing the reality of things. but the incredibilities promptly reasserted themselves when he went down a little in advance of the house-party guests, and met elsa, and was presented to a low-voiced lady with silvery hair and the face of a chastened saint, named to him as miss cauffrey, but addressed by elsa as "aunt june." "i hope you find yourself somewhat refreshed, mr. ballard," said the sweet-voiced châtelaine. "elsa tells me you have been in the tropics, and our high altitudes must be almost distressing at first; i know i found them so." "really, i hadn't noticed the change," returned ballard rather vaguely. then he bestirred himself, and tried to live up to the singularly out-of-place social requirements. "i'm not altogether new to the altitudes, though i haven't been in the west for the past year or two. for that matter, i can't quite realise that i am in the west at this moment--at least in the uncitied part." miss cauffrey smiled, and the king's daughter laughed softly. "it does me so much good!" she declared, mocking him. "all through that dining-car dinner on the 'overland flyer' you were trying to reconcile me with the western barbarities. didn't you say something about being hopeful because i was aware of the existence of an america west of the alleghanies?" "please let me down as easily as you can," pleaded the engineer. "you must remember that i am only a plain workingman." "you are come to take poor mr. macpherson's place?" queried miss cauffrey; which was ballard's first intimation that the arcadian promotion scheme was not taboo by the entire house-hold of castle 'cadia. "that is what i supposed i was doing, up to this evening. but it seems that i have stumbled into fairyland instead." "no," said the house-daughter, laughing at him again--"only into the least arcadian part of arcadia. and after dinner you will be free to go where you are impatient to be at this very moment." "i don't know about that," was ballard's rejoinder. "i was just now wondering if i could be heroic enough to go contentedly from all this to my adobe shack in the construction camp." miss craigmiles mocked him again. "my window in the alta vista sleeper chanced to be open that night while the train was standing in the denver station. didn't i hear mr. pelham say that the watchword--your watchword--was to be 'drive,' for every man, minute, and dollar there was in it?" ballard said, "oh, good lord!" under his breath, and a hot flush rose to humiliate him, in spite of his efforts to keep it down. now it was quite certain that her word of welcome was not a mere coincidence. she had overheard that brutal and uncalled-for boast of his about making love to "the cow-punching princesses"; and this was his punishment. it was a moment for free speech of the explanatory sort, but miss cauffrey's presence forbade it. so he could only say, in a voice that might have melted a heart of stone: "i am wholly at your mercy--and i am your guest. you shouldn't step on a man when he's down. it isn't christian." whether she would have stepped on him or not was left a matter indeterminate, since the members of the house-party were coming down by twos and threes, and shortly afterward dinner was announced. by this time ballard was growing a little hardened to the surprises; and the exquisitely appointed dining-room evoked only a left-over thrill. and at dinner, in the intervals allowed him by miss dosia van bryck, who was his table companion, there were other things to think of. for example, he was curious to know if wingfield's air of proprietorship in miss craigmiles would persist under colonel craigmiles's own roof. apparently it did persist. before the first course was removed ballard's curiosity was in the way of being amply satisfied; and he was saying "yes" and "no" like a well-adjusted automaton to miss van bryck. in the seating he had major blacklock and one of the cantrell girls for his opposites; and lucius bigelow and the other sharer of the common cantrell christian name widened the gap. but the centrepiece in the middle of the great mahogany was low; and ballard could see over it only too well. wingfield and elsa were discussing playmaking and the playmaker's art; or, rather, wingfield was talking shop with cheerful dogmatism, and miss craigmiles was listening; and if the rapt expression of her face meant anything.... ballard lost himself in gloomy abstraction, and the colours of the electric spectrum suddenly merged for him into a greenish-gray. "i should think your profession would be perfectly grand, mr. ballard. don't you find it so?" thus miss dosia, who, being quite void of subjective enthusiasm, felt constrained to try to evoke it in others. "very," said ballard, hearing nothing save the upward inflection which demanded a reply. miss van bryck seemed mildly surprised; but after a time she tried again. "has any one told you that mr. wingfield is making the studies for a new play?" she asked. again ballard marked the rising inflection; said "yes," at a venture; and was straightway humiliated, as he deserved to be. "it seems so odd that he should come out here for his material," miss van bryck went on evenly. "i don't begin to understand how there can be any dramatic possibilities in a wilderness house-party, with positively no social setting whatever." "ah, no; of course not," stammered ballard, realising now that he was fairly at sea. and then, to make matters as bad as they could be: "you were speaking of mr. wingfield?" miss van bryck's large blue eyes mirrored reproachful astonishment; but she was too placid and too good-natured to be genuinely piqued. "i fear you must have had a hard day, mr. ballard. all this is very wearisome to you, isn't it?" she said, letting him have a glimpse of the real kindness underlying the inanities. "my day has been rather strenuous," he confessed. "but you make me ashamed. won't you be merciful and try me again?" and this time he knew what he was saying, and meant it. "it is hardly worth repeating," she qualified--nevertheless, she did repeat it. ballard, listening now, found the little note of distress in the protest against play-building in the wilderness; and his heart warmed to miss dosia. in the sentimental field, disappointment for one commonly implies disappointment for two; and he became suddenly conscious of a fellow-feeling for the heiress of the van bryck millions. "there is plenty of dramatic material in arcadia for mr. wingfield, if he knows where to look for it," he submitted. "for example, our camp at the dam furnishes a 'situation' every now and then." and here he told the story of the catapulted stone, adding the little dash of mystery to give it the dramatic flavour. miss dosia's interest was as eager as her limitations would permit. "may i tell mr. wingfield?" she asked, with such innocent craft that ballard could scarcely restrain a smile. "certainly. and if mr. wingfield is open to suggestion on that side, you may bring him down, and i'll put him on the trail of a lot more of the mysteries." "thank you so much. and may i call it my discovery?" again her obviousness touched the secret spring of laughter in him. it was very evident that miss van bryck would do anything in reason to bring about a solution of continuity in the sympathetic intimacy growing up between the pair on the opposite side of the table. "it is yours, absolutely," he made haste to say. "i should never have thought of the dramatic utility if you hadn't suggested it." "h'm!--ha!" broke in the major. "what are you two young people plotting about over there?" ballard turned the edge of the query; blunted it permanently by attacking a piece of government engineering in which, as he happened to know, the major had figured in an advisory capacity. this carrying of the war into africa brought on a battle technical which ran on unbroken to the ices and beyond; to the moment when colonel craigmiles proposed an adjournment to the portico for the coffee and the tobacco. ballard came off second-best, but he had accomplished his object, which was to make the shrewd-eyed old major forget if he had overheard too much; and miss van bryck gave him his meed of praise. "you are a very brave man, mr. ballard," she said, as he drew the portières aside for her. "everybody else is afraid of the major." "i've met him before," laughed the kentuckian; "in one or another of his various incarnations. and i didn't learn my trade at west point, you remember." ix the brink of hazard the summer night was perfect, and the after-dinner gathering under the great portico became rather a dispersal. the company fell apart into couples and groups when the coffee was served; and while miss craigmiles and the playwright were still fraying the worn threads of the dramatic unities, ballard consoled himself with the older of the cantrell girls, talking commonplace nothings until his heart ached. later on, when young bigelow had relieved him, and he had given up all hope of breaking into the dramatic duet, he rose to go and make his parting acknowledgments to miss cauffrey and the colonel. it was at that moment that miss elsa confronted him. "you are not leaving?" she said. "the evening is still young--even for country folk." "measuring by the hours i've been neglected, the evening is old, very old," he retorted reproachfully. "which is another way of saying that we have bored you until you are sleepy?" she countered. "but you mustn't go yet--i want to talk to you." and she wheeled a great wicker lounging-chair into a quiet corner, and beat up the pillows in a near-by hammock, and bade him smoke his pipe if he preferred it to the castle 'cadia cigars. "i don't care to smoke anything if you will stay and talk to me," he said, love quickly blotting out the disappointments foregone. "for this one time you may have both--your pipe and me. are you obliged to go back to your camp to-night?" "yes, indeed. i ran away, as it was. bromley will have it in for me for dodging him this way." "is mr. bromley your boss?" "he is something much better--he is my friend." her hammock was swung diagonally across the quiet corner, and she arranged her pillows so that the shadow of a spreading potted palm came between her eyes and the nearest electric globe. "am i not your friend, too?" she asked. jerry blacklock and the younger miss cantrell were pacing a slow sentry march up and down the open space in front of the lounging-chairs; and ballard waited until they had made the turn and were safely out of ear-shot before he said: "there are times when i have to admit it, reluctantly." "how ridiculous!" she scoffed. "what is finer than true friendship?" "love," he said simply. "cousin janet will hear you," she warned. then she mocked him, as was her custom. "does that mean that you would like to have me tell you about mr. wingfield?" he played trumps again. "yes. when is it to be?" "how crudely elemental you are to-night! suppose you ask him?" "he hasn't given me the right." "oh. and i have?" "you are trying to give it to me, aren't you?" she was swinging gently in the hammock, one daintily booted foot touching the floor. "you are so painfully direct at times," she complained. "it's like a cold shower-bath; invigorating, but shivery. do you think mr. wingfield really cares anything for me? i don't. i think he regards me merely as so much literary material. he lives from moment to moment in the hope of discovering 'situations.'" "well,"--assentingly. "i am sure he has chosen a most promising subject--and surroundings. the kingdom of arcadia reeks with dramatic possibilities, i should say." her face was still in the shadow of the branching palm, but the changed tone betrayed her changed mood. "i have often accused you of having no insight--no intuition," she said musingly. "yet you have a way of groping blindly to the very heart of things. how could you know that it has come to be the chief object of my life to keep mr. wingfield from becoming interested in what you flippantly call 'the dramatic possibilities'?" "i didn't know it," he returned. "of course you didn't. yet it is true. it is one of the reasons why i gave up going with the herbert lassleys after my passage was actually booked on the _carania_. cousin janet's party was made up. dosia and jerry blacklock came down to the steamer to see us off. dosia told me that mr. wingfield was included. you have often said that i have the courage of a man--i hadn't, then. i was horribly afraid." "of what?" he queried. "of many things. you would not understand if i should try to explain them." "i do understand," he hastened to say. "but you have nothing to fear. castle 'cadia will merely gain an ally when wingfield hears the story of the little war. besides, i was not including your father's controversy with the arcadia company in the dramatic material; i was thinking more particularly of the curious and unaccountable happenings that are continually occurring on the work--the accidents." "there is no connection between the two--in your mind?" she asked. she was looking away from him, and he could not see her face. but the question was eager, almost pathetically eager. "assuredly not," he denied promptly. "otherwise----" "otherwise you wouldn't be here to-night as my father's guest, you would say. but others are not as charitable. mr. macpherson was one of them. he charged all the trouble to us, though he could prove nothing. he said that if all the circumstances were made public--" she faced him quickly, and he saw that the beautiful eyes were full of trouble. "can't you see what would happen--what is likely to happen if mr. wingfield sees fit to make literary material out of all these mysteries?" the kentuckian nodded. "the unthinking, newspaper-reading public would probably make one morsel of the accidents and your father's known antagonism to the company. but wingfield would be something less than a man and a lover if he could bring himself to the point of making literary capital out of anything that might remotely involve you or your father." she shook her head doubtfully. "you don't understand the artistic temperament. it's a passion. i once heard mr. wingfield say that a true artist would make copy out of his grandmother." ballard scowled. it was quite credible that the lester wingfields were lost to all sense of the common decencies, but that elsa craigmiles should be in love with the sheik of the caddish tribe was quite beyond belief. "i'll choke him off for you," he said; and his tone took its colour from the contemptuous under-thought. "but i'm afraid i've already made a mess of it. to tell the truth, i suggested to miss van bryck at dinner that our camp might be a good hunting-ground for wingfield." "_you said that to dosia?_" there was something like suppressed horror in the low-spoken query. "not knowing any better, i did. she was speaking of wingfield, and of the literary barrenness of house-parties in general. i mentioned the camp as an alternative--told her to bring him down, and i'd--good heavens! what have i done?" even in the softened light of the electric globes he saw that her face had become a pallid mask of terror; that she was swaying in the hammock. he was beside her instantly; and when she hid her face in her hands, his arm went about her for her comforting--this, though wingfield was chatting amiably with mrs. van bryck no more than three chairs away. "don't!" he begged. "i'll get out of it some way--lie out of it, fight out of it, if needful. i didn't know it meant anything to you. if i had--elsa, dear, i love you; you've known it from the first. you can make believe with other men as you please, but in the end i shall claim you. now tell me what it is that you want me to do." impulsively she caught at the caressing hand on her shoulder, kissed it, and pushed him away with resolute strength. "you must never forget yourself again, dear friend--or make me forget," she said steadily. "and you must help me as you can. there is trouble--deeper trouble than you know or suspect. i tried to keep you out of it--away from it; and now you are here in arcadia, to make it worse, infinitely worse. you have seen me laugh and talk with the others, playing the part of the woman you know. yet there is never a waking moment when the burden of anxiety is lifted." he mistook her meaning. "you needn't be anxious about wingfield's material hunt," he interposed. "if miss dosia takes him to the camp, i'll see to it that he doesn't hear any of the ghost stories." "that is only one of the anxieties," she went on hurriedly. "the greatest of them is--for you." "for me? because----" "because your way to arcadia lay over three graves. that means nothing to you--does it also mean nothing that your life was imperilled within an hour of your arrival at your camp?" he drew the big chair nearer to the hammock and sat down again. "now you are letting bromley's imagination run away with yours. that rock came from our quarry. there was a night gang getting out stone for the dam." she laid her hand softly on his knee. "do you want to know how much i trust you? that stone was thrown by a man who was standing upon the high bluff back of your headquarters. he thought you were alone in the office, and he meant to kill you. don't ask me who it was, or how i know--i _do_ know." ballard started involuntarily. it was not in human nature to take such an announcement calmly. "do you mean to say that i was coolly ambushed before i could----" she silenced him with a quick little gesture. blacklock and miss cantrell were still pacing their sentry beat, and the major's "h'm--ha!" rose in irascible contradiction above the hum of voices. "i have said all that i dare to say; more than i should have said if you were not so rashly determined to make light of things you do not understand," she rejoined evenly. "they are things which i should understand--which i must understand if i am to deal intelligently with them," he insisted. "i have been calling them one part accident and three parts superstition or imagination. but if there is design----" again she stopped him with the imperative little gesture. "i did not say there was design," she denied. it was an _impasse_, and the silence which followed emphasised it. when he rose to take his leave, love prompted an offer of service, and he made it. "i cannot help believing that you are mistaken," he qualified. "but i respect your anxiety so much that i would willingly share it if i could. what do you want me to do?" she turned to look away down the maple-shadowed avenue and her answer had tears in it. "i want you to be watchful--always watchful. i wish you to believe that your life is in peril, and to act accordingly. and, lastly, i beg you to help me to keep mr. wingfield away from elbow canyon." "i shall be heedful," he promised. "and if mr. wingfield comes material-hunting, i shall be as inhospitable as possible. may i come again to castle 'cadia?" the invitation was given instantly, almost eagerly. "yes; come as often as you can spare the time. must you go now? shall i have otto bring the car and drive you around to your camp?" ballard promptly refused to put the chauffeur to the trouble. it was only a little more than a mile in the direct line from the house on the knoll to the point where the river broke through the foothill hogback, and the night was fine and starlit. after the day of hard riding he should enjoy the walk. elsa did not go with him when he went to say good-night to miss cauffrey and to his host. he left her sitting in the hammock, and found her still there a few minutes later when he came back to say that he must make his acknowledgments to her father through her. "i can't find him, and no one seems to know where he is," he explained. she rose quickly and went to the end of the portico to look down a second tree-shadowed avenue skirting the mountainward slope of the knoll. "he must have gone to the laboratory; the lights are on," she said; and then with a smile that thrilled him ecstatically: "you see what your footing is to be at castle 'cadia. father will not make company of you; he expects you to come and go as one of us." with this heart-warming word for his leave-taking ballard sought out the path to which she directed him and swung off down the hill to find the trail, half bridle-path and half waggon road, which led by way of the river's windings to the outlet canyon and the camp on the outer mesa. when he was but a little distance from the house he heard the _pad pad_ of soft footfalls behind him, and presently a great dog of the st. bernard breed overtook him and walked sedately at his side. ballard loved a good dog only less than he loved a good horse, and he stopped to pat the st. bernard, talking to it as he might have talked to a human being. afterward, when he went on, the dog kept even pace with him, and would not go back, though ballard tried to send him, coaxing first and then commanding. to the blandishments the big retriever made his return in kind, wagging his tail and thrusting his huge head between ballard's knees in token of affection and loyal fealty. to the commands he was entirely deaf, and when ballard desisted, the dog took his place at one side and one step in advance, as if half impatient at his temporary master's waste of time. at the foot-bridge crossing the river the dog ran ahead and came back again, much as if he were a scout pioneering the way; and at ballard's "good dog! fine old fellow!" he padded along with still graver dignity, once more catching the step in advance and looking neither to right nor left. at another time ballard might have wondered why the great st. bernard, most sagacious of his tribe, should thus attach himself to a stranger and refuse to be shaken off. but at the moment the young man had a heartful of other and more insistent queryings. gained ground with the loved one is always the lover's most heady cup of intoxication; but the lees at the bottom of the present cup were sharply tonic, if not bitter. what was the mystery so evidently enshrouding the tragedies at elbow canyon? that they were tragedies rather than accidents there seemed no longer any reasonable doubt. but with the doubt removed the mystery cloud grew instantly thicker and more impenetrable. if the tragedies were growing out of the fight for the possession of arcadia park, what manner of man could colonel craigmiles be to play the kindly, courteous host at one moment and the backer and instigator of murderers at the next? and if the charge against the colonel be allowed to stand, it immediately dragged in a sequent which was clearly inadmissible: the unavoidable inference being that elsa craigmiles was in no uncertain sense her father's accessory. ballard was a man and a lover; and his first definition of love was unquestioning loyalty. he was prepared to doubt the evidence of his senses, if need be, but not the perfections of the ideal he had set up in the inner chamber of his heart, naming it elsa craigmiles. these communings and queryings, leading always into the same metaphysical labyrinth, brought the young engineer far on the down-river trail; were still with him when the trail narrowed to a steep one-man path and began to climb the hogback, with one side buttressed by a low cliff and the other falling sheer into the boiling water on the left. on this narrow ledge the dog went soberly ahead; and at one of the turns in the path ballard came upon him standing solidly across the way and effectually blocking it. "what is it, old boy?" was the man's query; and the dog's answer was a wag of the tail and a low whine. "go on, old fellow," said ballard; but the big st. bernard merely braced himself and whined again. it was quite dark on the high ledge, a fringe of scrub pines on the upper side of the cutting blotting out a fair half of the starlight. ballard struck a match and looked beyond the dog; looked and drew back with a startled exclamation. where the continuation of the path should have been there was a gaping chasm pitching steeply down into the boiling water. more lighted matches served to show the extent of the hazard and the trap-like peril of it. a considerable section of the path had slid away in a land- or rock-slide, and ballard saw how he might easily have walked into the gulf if the dog had not stopped on the brink of it. "i owe you one, good old boy," he said, stooping to pat the words out on the st. bernard's head. "i'll pay it when i can; to you, to your mistress, or possibly even to your master. come on, old fellow, and we'll find another way with less risk in it," and he turned back to climb over the mesa hill under the stone quarries, approaching the headquarters camp from the rear. when the hill was surmounted and the electric mast lights of the camp lay below, the great dog stopped, sniffing the air suspiciously. "don't like the looks of it, do you?" said ballard. "well, i guess you'd better go back home. it isn't a very comfortable place down there for little dogs--or big ones. good-night, old fellow." and, quite as if he understood, the st. bernard faced about and trotted away toward castle 'cadia. there was a light in the adobe shack when ballard descended the hill, and he found bromley sitting up for him. the first assistant engineer was killing time by working on the current estimate for the quarry subcontractor, and he looked up quizzically when his chief came in. "been bearding the lion in his den, have you?" he said, cheerfully. "that's right; there's nothing like being neighbourly, even with our friend the enemy. didn't you find him all the things i said he was--and then some?" "yes," returned ballard, gravely. then, abruptly: "loudon, who uses the path that goes up on our side of the canyon and over into the castle 'cadia valley?" "who?--why, anybody having occasion to. it's the easiest way to reach the wing dam that sanderson built at the canyon inlet to turn the current against the right bank. fitzpatrick sends a man over now and then to clear the driftwood from the dam." "anybody been over to-day?" "no." "how about the cow-puncher--grigsby--who brought my horse over and got my bag?" "he was riding, and he came and went by way of our bridge below the dam. you couldn't ride a horse over that hill path." "you certainly could not," said ballard grimly. "there is a chunk about the size of this shack gone out of it--dropped into the river, i suppose." bromley was frowning reflectively. "more accidents?" he suggested. "one more--apparently." bromley jumped up, sudden realization grappling him. "why, breckenridge!--you've just come over that path--alone, and in the dark!" "part way over it, and in the dark, yes; but not alone, luckily. the craigmiles's dog--the big st. bernard--was with me, and he stopped on the edge of the break. otherwise i might have walked into it--most probably should have walked into it." bromley began to tramp the floor with his hands in his pockets. "i can't remember," he said; and again, "i can't remember. i was over there yesterday, or the day before. it was all right then. it was a good trail. why, breckenridge"--with sudden emphasis--"it would have taken a charge of dynamite to blow it down!" ballard dropped lazily into a chair and locked his hands at the back of his head. "and you say that the hoodoo hasn't got around to using high explosives yet, eh? by the way, have there been any more visitations since i went out on the line last tuesday?" bromley was shaking his head in the negative when the door opened with a jerk and bessinger, the telegraph operator whose wire was in the railroad yard office, tumbled in, white faced. "hoskins and the two!" he gasped. "they're piled up under a material train three miles down the track! fitzpatrick is turning out a wrecking crew from the bunk shanties, and he sent me up to call you!" bromley's quick glance aside for ballard was acutely significant. "i guess i'd better change that 'no' of mine to a qualified 'yes,'" he corrected. "the visitation seems to have come." then to bessinger: "get your breath, billy, and then chase back to fitzpatrick. tell him we'll be with him as soon as mr. ballard can change his clothes." x hoskins's ghost the wreck in the rocky hills west of the elbow canyon railroad yard proved to be less calamitous than bessinger's report, handed on from the excited alarm brought in by a demoralized train flagman, had pictured it. when ballard and bromley, hastening to the rescue on fitzpatrick's relief train, reached the scene of the accident, they found hoskins's engine and fifteen cars in the ditch, and the second flagman with a broken arm; but hoskins himself was unhurt, as were the remaining members of the train crew. turning the work of track clearing over to bromley and the relief crew, ballard began at once to pry irritably into causes; irritably since wrecks meant delays, and president pelham's letters were already cracking the whip for greater expedition. it was a singular derailment, and at first none of the trainmen seemed to be able to account for it. the point of disaster was on a sharp curve where the narrow-gauge track bent like a strained bow around one of the rocky hills. as the débris lay, the train seemed to have broken in two on the knuckle of the curve, and here the singularity was emphasised. the overturned cars were not merely derailed; they were locked and crushed together, and heaped up and strewn abroad, in a fashion to indicate a collision rather than a simple jumping of the track. ballard used galliford, the train conductor, for the first heel of his pry. "i guess you and hoskins both need about thirty days," was the way he opened upon galliford. "how long had your train been broken in two before the two sections came in collision?" "if we was broke in two, nobody knew it. i was in the caboose 'lookout' myself, and i saw the two's gauge-light track around the curve. next i knew, i was smashin' the glass in the 'lookout' with my head, and the train was chasin' out on the prairie. i'll take the thirty days, all right, and i won't sue the company for the cuts on my head. but i'll be danged if i'll take the blame, mr. ballard." the conductor spoke as a man. "somebody's got to take it," snapped the chief. "if you didn't break in two, what did happen?" "now you've got me guessing, and i hain't got any more guesses left. at first i thought hoskins had hit something 'round on the far side o' the curve. that's what it felt like. then, for a second or two, i could have sworn he had the two in the reverse, backing his end of the train up against my end and out into the sage-brush." "what does hoskins say? where is he?" demanded ballard; and together they picked their way around to the other end of the wreck, looking for the engineman. hoskins, however, was not to be found. fitzpatrick had seen him groping about in the cab of his overturned engine; and bromley, when the inquiry reached him, explained that he had sent hoskins up to camp on a hand-car which was going back for tools. "he was pretty badly shaken up, and i told him he'd better hunt the bunk shanty and rest his nerves awhile. we didn't need him," said the assistant, accounting for the engine-man's disappearance. ballard let the investigation rest for the moment, but later, when bromley was working the contractor's gang on the track obstructions farther along, he lighted a flare torch at the fire some of the men had made out of the wreck kindling wood, and began a critical examination of the derailed and débris-covered locomotive. it was a baldwin ten-wheel type, with the boiler extending rather more than half-way through the cab, and since it had rolled over on the right-hand side, the controlling levers were under the crushed wreckage of the cab. none the less, ballard saw what he was looking for; afterward making assurance doubly sure by prying at the engine's brake-shoes and thrusting the pinch-bar of inquiry into various mechanisms under the trucks and driving-wheels. it was an hour past midnight when bromley reported the track clear, and asked if the volunteer wrecking crew should go on and try to pick up the cripples. "not to-night," was ballard's decision. "we'll get williams and his track-layers in from the front to-morrow and let them tackle it. williams used to be upham's wrecking boss over on the d. & u. p. main line, and he'll make short work of this little pile-up, engine and all." accordingly, the whistle of the relief train's engine was blown to recall fitzpatrick's men, and a little later the string of flats, men-laden, trailed away among the up-river hills, leaving the scene of the disaster with only the dull red glow of the workmen's night fire to illuminate it. when the rumble of the receding relief train was no longer audible, the figure of a man, dimly outlined in the dusky glow of the fire, materialised out of the shadows of the nearest arroyo. first making sure that no watchman had been left to guard the point of hazard, the man groped purposefully under the fallen locomotive and drew forth a stout steel bar which had evidently been hidden for this later finding. with this bar for a lever, the lone wrecker fell fiercely at work under the broken cab, prying and heaving until the sweat started in great drops under the visor of his workman's cap and ran down to make rivulets of gray in the grime on his face. whatever he was trying to do seemed difficult of accomplishment, if not impossible. again and again he strove at his task, pausing now and then to take breath or to rub his moist hands in the dry sand for the better gripping of the smooth steel. finally--it was when the embers of the fire on the hill slope were flickering to their extinction--the bar slipped and let him down heavily. the fall must have partly stunned him, since it was some little time before he staggered to his feet, flung the bar into the wreck with a morose oath, and limped away up the track toward the headquarters camp, turning once and again to shake his fist at the capsized locomotive in the ditch at the curve. it was in the afternoon of the day following the wreck that ballard made the laboratory test for blame; the office room in the adobe shack serving as the "sweat-box." first came the flagmen, one at a time, their stories agreeing well enough, and both corroborating galliford's account. next came hoskins's fireman, a green boy from the alta vista mines, who had been making his first trip over the road. he knew nothing save that he had looked up between shovelfuls to see hoskins fighting with his levers, and had judged the time to be ripe for the life-saving jump. last of all came hoskins, hanging his head and looking as if he had been caught stealing sheep. "tell it straight," was ballard's curt caution; and the engineman stumbled through a recital in which haziness and inconsistency struggled for first place. he had seen something on the track or he thought he had, and had tried to stop. before he could bring the train under control he had heard the crashing of the wreck in the rear. he admitted that he had jumped while the engine was still in motion. "which way was she running when you jumped, john?--forward or backward?" asked ballard, quietly. bromley, who was making pencil notes of the evidence, looked up quickly and saw the big engine-man's jaw drop. "how could she be runnin' any way but forrards?" he returned, sullenly. ballard was smoking, and he shifted his cigar to say: "i didn't know." then, with sudden heat: "but i mean to know, hoskins; i mean to go quite to the bottom of this, here and now! you've been garbling the facts; purposely, or because you are still too badly rattled to know what you are talking about. i can tell you what you did: for some reason you made an emergency stop; you _did_ make it, either with the brakes or without them. then you put your engine in the reverse motion and _backed_; you were backing when you jumped, and the engine was still backing when it left the rails." hoskins put his shoulders against the wall and passed from sullenness to deep dejection. "i've got a wife and two kids back in alta vista, and i'm all in," he said. "what is there about it that you don't know, mr. ballard?" "there are two or three other things that i do know, and one that i don't. you didn't come up to the camp on the hand-car last night; and after we left the wreck, somebody dug around in the two's cab trying to fix things so that they would look a little better for john hoskins. so much i found out this morning. but i don't care particularly about that: what i want to know is the first cause. what made you lose your head?" "i told you; there was something on the track." "what was it?" "it was--well, it was what once was a man." ballard bit hard on his cigar, and all the phrases presenting themselves were profane. but a glance from bromley enabled him to say, with decent self-control: "go on; tell us about it." "there ain't much to tell, and i reckon you won't believe a thing 'at i say," hoskins began monotonously. "did you or mr. bromley notice what bend o' the river that curve is at?" ballard said "no," and bromley shook his head. the engineman went on. "it's where _he_ fell in and got drownded--mr. braithwaite, i mean. i reckon it sounds mighty foolish to you-all, sittin' here in the good old daylight, with nothin' happening: but i _saw_ him. when the two's headlight jerked around the curve and picked him up, he was standing between the rails, sideways, and lookin' off toward the river. he had the same little old two-peaked cap on that he always wore, and he had his fishin'-rod over his shoulder. i didn't have three car lengths to the good when i saw him; and--and--well, i reckon i went plumb crazy." hoskins was a large man and muscular rather than fat; but he was sweating again, and could not hold his hands still. ballard got up and walked to the window which looked out upon the stone yard. when he turned again it was to ask hoskins, quite mildly, if he believed in ghosts. "i never allowed to, before this, mr. ballard." "yet you have often thought of braithwaite's drowning, when you have been rounding that particular curve? i remember you pointed out the place to me." hoskins nodded. "i reckon i never have run by there since without thinking of it." ballard sat down again and tilted his chair to the reflective angle. "one more question, john, and then you may go. you had a two-hour lay-over in alta vista yesterday while the d. & u. p. people were transferring your freight. how many drinks did you take in those two hours?" "before god, mr. ballard, i never touched a drop! i don't say i'm too good to do it: i ain't. but any man that'd go crookin' his elbow when he had that mountain run ahead of him would be _all_ fool!" "that's so," said ballard. and then: "that will do. go and turn in again and sleep the clock around. i'll tell you what is going to happen to you when you're better fit to hear it." "well?" queried bromley, when hoskins was gone. "say your say, and then i'll say mine," was ballard's rejoinder. "i should call it a pretty harsh joke on hoskins, played by somebody with more spite than common sense. there has been some little ill blood between fitzpatrick's men and the railroad gangs; more particularly between the stone-cutters here at the dam and the train crews. it grew out of fitzpatrick's order putting his men on the water-wagon. when the camp canteen was closed, the stone 'buckies' tried to open up a jug-line from alta vista. the trainmen wouldn't stand for it against macpherson's promise to fire the first 'boot-legger' he caught." "and you think one of the stone-cutters went down from the camp to give hoskins a jolt?" "that is my guess." ballard laughed. "mine isn't quite as practical, i'll admit; but i believe it is the right one. i've been probing hoskins's record quietly, and his long suit is superstition. half the 'hoodoo' talk of the camp can be traced back to him if you'll take the trouble. he confessed just now that he never passed that point in the road without thinking of braithwaite and his taking-off. from that to seeing things isn't a very long step." bromley made the sign of acquiescence. "i'd rather accept your hypothesis than mine, breckenridge. i'd hate to believe that we have the other kind of a fool on the job; a man who would deliberately make scare medicine to add to that which is already made. what will you do with hoskins?" "let him work in the repair shop for a while, till he gets the fever out of his blood. i don't want to discharge him." "good. now that is settled, will you take a little walk with me? i want to show you something." ballard found his pipe and filled it, and they went out together. it was a perfect summer afternoon, still and cloudless, and with the peculiar high-mountain resonance in the air that made the clink of the stone hammers ring like a musical chorus beaten out upon steel anvils. peaceful, orderly industry struck the key-note, and for the moment there were no discords. out on the great ramparts of the dam the masons were swinging block after block of the face wall into place, and the _burr-r_ and cog-chatter of the huge derrick hoisting gear were incessant. back of the masonry the concrete mixers poured their viscous charges into the forms, and the puddlers walked back and forth on their stagings, tamping the plastic material into the network of metal bars binding the mass with the added strength of steel. bromley led the way through the stone-yard activities and around the quarry hill to the path notched in the steep slope of the canyon side. the second turn brought them to the gap made by the land-slide. it was a curious breach, abrupt and clean-cut; its shape and depth suggesting the effect of a mighty hammer blow scoring its groove from the path level to the river's edge. the material was a compact yellow shale, showing no signs of disintegration elsewhere. "what's your notion, loudon?" said ballard, when they were standing on the edge of the newly made gash. bromley wagged his head doubtfully. "i'm not so sure of it now as i thought i was when i came up here this morning. do you see that black streak out there on the shale, just about at the path level? a few hours ago i could have sworn it was a powder burn; the streak left by a burning fuse. it doesn't look so much like it now, i'll confess." "you've 'got 'em' about as bad as hoskins has," laughed ballard. "a dynamite charge that would account for this would advertise itself pretty loudly in a live camp five hundred yards away. besides, it would have had to be drilled before it could be shot, and the drill-holes would show up--as they don't." "yes," was the reply; "i grant you the drill-holes. i guess i have 'got 'em,' as you say. but the bang wouldn't count. quinlan let off half a dozen blasts in the quarry at quitting time yesterday, and one jar more or less just at that time wouldn't have been noticed." ballard put his arm across the theorist's shoulders and faced him about to front the down-canyon industries. "you mustn't let this mystery-smoke get into your nostrils, loudon, boy," he said. "whatever happens, there must always be two cool heads and two sets of steady nerves on this job--yours and mine. now let's go down the railroad on the push-car and see how williams is getting along with his pick-up stunt. he ought to have the two standing on her feet by this time." xi gun play three days after the wreck in the lava hills, ballard was again making the round of the outpost camps in the western end of the valley, verifying grade lines, re-establishing data stakes lost, or destroyed by the craigmiles range riders, hustling the ditch diggers, and, incidentally, playing host to young lucius bigelow, the forestry service member of miss elsa's house-party. bigelow's inclusion as a guest on the inspection gallop had been planned, not by his temporary host, but by miss elsa herself. mr. bigelow's time was his own, she had explained in her note to ballard, but he was sufficiently an enthusiast in his chosen profession to wish to combine a field study of the arcadian watersheds with the pleasures of a summer outing. if mr. ballard would be so kind ... and all the other fitting phrases in which my lady begs the boon she may strictly require at the hands of the man who has said the talismanic words, "i love you." as he was constrained to be, ballard was punctiliously hospitable to the quiet, self-contained young man who rode an entire day at his pace-setter's side without uttering a dozen words on his own initiative. the hospitality was purely dutiful at first; but later bigelow earned it fairly. making no advances on his own part, the guest responded generously when ballard drew him out; and behind the mask of thoughtful reticence the kentuckian discovered a man of stature, gentle of speech, simple of heart, and a past-master of the wood- and plains-craft that a constructing engineer, however broad-minded, can acquire only as his work demands it. "you gentlemen of the tree bureau can certainly give us points on ordinary common sense, mr. bigelow," ballard admitted on this, the third day out, when the student of natural conditions had called attention to the recklessness of the contractors in cutting down an entire forest of slope-protecting young pines to make trestle-bents for a gulch flume. "i am afraid i should have done precisely what richards has done here: taken the first and most convenient timber i could lay hands on." "that is the point of view the forestry service is trying to modify," rejoined bigelow, mildly. "to the average american, educated or ignorant, wood seems the cheapest material in a world of plenty. yet i venture to say that in this present instance your company could better have afforded almost any other material for those trestle-bents. that slope will make you pay high for its stripping before you can grow another forest to check the flood wash." "of course it will; that says itself, now that you have pointed it out," ballard agreed. "luckily, the present plans of the company don't call for much flume timber; i say 'luckily,' because i don't like to do violence to my convictions, when i'm happy enough to have any." bigelow's grave smile came and went like the momentary glow from some inner light of prescience. "unless i am greatly mistaken, you are a man of very strong convictions, mr. ballard," he ventured to say. "think so? i don't know. a fair knowledge of my trade, a few opinions, and a certain pig-headed stubbornness that doesn't know when it is beaten: shake these up together and you have the compound which has misled you. i'm afraid i don't often wait for convincement--of the purely philosophical brand." they were riding together down the line of the northern lateral canal, with bourke fitzpatrick's new headquarters in the field for the prospective night's bivouac. the contractor's camp, a disorderly blot of shanties and well-weathered tents on the fair grass-land landscape, came in sight just as the sun was sinking below the elks, and ballard quickened the pace. "you'll be ready to quit for the day when we get in, won't you?" he said to bigelow, when the broncos came neck and neck in the scurry for the hay racks. "oh, i'm fit enough, by now," was the ready rejoinder. "it was only the first day that got on my nerves." there was a rough-and-ready welcome awaiting the chief engineer and his guest when they drew rein before fitzpatrick's commissary; and a supper of the void-filling sort was quickly set before them in the back room of the contractor's quarters. but there was trouble in the air. ballard saw that fitzpatrick was cruelly hampered by the presence of bigelow; and when the meal was finished he gave the contractor his chance in the privacy of the little cramped pay-office. "what is it, bourke?" he asked, when the closed door cut them off from the forest service man. fitzpatrick was shaking his head. "it's a blood feud now, mr. ballard. gallagher's gang--all irishmen--went up against four of the colonel's men early this morning. the b'ys took shelter in the ditch, and the cow-punchers tried to run 'em out. some of our teamsters were armed, and one of the craigmiles men was killed or wounded--we don't know which: the others picked him up and carried him off." ballard's eyes narrowed under his thoughtful frown. "i've been afraid it would come to that, sooner or later," he said slowly. then he added: "we ought to be able to stop it. the colonel seems to deprecate the scrapping part of it as much as we do." fitzpatrick's exclamation was of impatient disbelief. "any time he'll hold up his little finger, mr. ballard, this monkey-business will go out like a squib fuse in a wet hole! he isn't wanting to stop it." ballard became reflective again, and hazarded another guess. "perhaps the object-lesson of this morning will have a good effect. a chance shot has figured as a peacemaker before this." "don't you believe it's going to work that way this time!" was the earnest protest. "if the craigmiles outfit doesn't whirl in and shoot up this camp before to-morrow morning, i'm missing my guess." ballard rapped the ashes from his briar, and refilled and lighted it. when the tobacco was glowing in the bowl, he said, quite decisively: "in that case, we'll try to give them what they are needing. are you picketed?" "no." "see to it at once. make a corral of the wagons and scrapers and get the stock inside of it. then put out a line of sentries, with relays to relieve the men every two hours. we needn't be taken by surprise, whatever happens." fitzpatrick jerked a thumb toward the outer room where bigelow was smoking his after-supper pipe. "how about your friend?" he asked. at the query ballard realised that the presence of the forest service man was rather unfortunate. constructively his own guest, bigelow was really the guest of colonel craigmiles; and the position of a neutral in any war is always a difficult one. "mr. bigelow is a member of the house-party at castle 'cadia," he said, in reply to the contractor's doubtful question. "but i can answer for his discretion. i'll tell him what he ought to know, and he may do as he pleases." following out the pointing of his own suggestion, ballard gave bigelow a brief outline of the arcadian conflict while fitzpatrick was posting the sentries. the government man made no comment, save to say that it was a most unhappy situation; but when ballard offered to show him to his quarters for the night, he protested at once. "no, indeed, mr. ballard," he said, quite heartily, for him; "you mustn't leave me out that way. at the worst, you may be sure that i stand for law and order. i have heard something of this fight between your company and the colonel, and while i can't pretend to pass upon the merits of it, i don't propose to go to bed and let you stand guard over me." "all right, and thank you," laughed ballard; and together they went out to help fitzpatrick with his preliminaries for the camp defence. this was between eight and nine o'clock; and by ten the stock was corralled within the line of shacks and tents, a cordon of watchers had been stretched around the camp, and the greater number of fitzpatrick's men were asleep in the bunk tents and shanties. the first change of sentries was made at midnight, and ballard and bigelow both walked the rounds with fitzpatrick. peace and quietness reigned supreme. the stillness of the beautiful summer night was undisturbed, and the roundsmen found a good half of the sentinels asleep at their posts. ballard was disposed to make light of fitzpatrick's fears, and the contractor took it rather hard. "i know 'tis all hearsay with you, yet, mr. ballard; you haven't been up against it," he protested, when the three of them were back at the camp-fire which was burning in front of the commissary. "but if you had been scrapping with these devils for the better part of two years, as we have----" the interruption was a sudden quaking tremor of earth and atmosphere followed by a succession of shocks like the quick firing of a battleship squadron. a sucking draught of wind swept through the camp, and the fire leaped up as from the blast of an underground bellows. instantly the open spaces of the headquarters were alive with men tumbling from their bunks; and into the thick of the confusion rushed the lately posted sentries. for a few minutes the turmoil threatened to become a panic, but fitzpatrick and a handful of the cooler-headed gang bosses got it under, the more easily since there was no attack to follow the explosions. then came a cautious reconnaissance in force down the line of the canal in the direction of the earthquake, and a short quarter of a mile below the camp the scouting detachment reached the scene of destruction. the raiders had chosen their ground carefully. at a point where the canal cutting passed through the shoulder of a hill they had planted charges of dynamite deep in the clay of the upper hillside. the explosions had started a land-slide, and the patient digging work of weeks had been obliterated in a moment. ballard said little. fitzpatrick was on the ground to do the swearing, and the money loss was his, if mr. pelham's company chose to make him stand it. what celtic rage could compass in the matter of cursings was not lacking; and at the finish of the outburst there was an appeal, vigorous and forceful. "you're the boss, mr. ballard, and 'tis for you to say whether we throw up this job and quit, or give these blank, blank imps iv hell what's comin' to 'em!" was the form the appeal took; and the new chief accepted the challenge promptly. "what are your means of communication with the towns in the gunnison valley?" he asked abruptly. fitzpatrick pulled himself down from the rage heights and made shift to answer as a man. "there's a bridle trail down the canyon to jack's cabin; and from that on you hit the railroad." "and the distance to jack's cabin?" "twenty-five miles, good and strong, by the canyon crookings; but only about half of it is bad going." "is there anybody in your camp who knows the trail?" "yes. dick carson, the water-boy." "good. we'll go back with you, and you'll let me have the boy and two of your freshest horses." "you'll not be riding that trail in the dark, mr. ballard! it's a fright, even in daylight." "that's my affair," said the engineer, curtly. "if your boy can find the trail, i'll ride it." that settled it for the moment, and the scouting party made its way up to the headquarters to carry the news of the land-slide. bigelow walked in silence beside his temporary host, saying nothing until after they had reached camp, and fitzpatrick had gone to assemble the horses and the guide. then he said, quite as if it were a matter of course: "i'm going with you, mr. ballard, if you don't object." ballard did object, pointedly and emphatically, making the most of the night ride and the hazardous trail. when these failed to discourage the young man from washington, the greater objection came out baldly. "you owe it to your earlier host to ride back to castle 'cadia from here, mr. bigelow. i'm going to declare war, and you can't afford to identify yourself with me," was the way ballard put it; but bigelow only smiled and shook his head. "i'm not to be shunted quite so easily," he said. "unless you'll say outright that i'll be a butt-in, i'm going with you." "all right; if it's the thing you want to do," ballard yielded. "of course, i shall be delighted to have you along." and when fitzpatrick came with two horses he sent him back to the corral for a third. the preparations for the night ride were soon made, and it was not until ballard and bigelow were making ready to mount at the door of the commissary that fitzpatrick reappeared with the guide, a grave-faced lad who looked as if he might be years older than any guess his diminutive stature warranted. ballard's glance was an eye-sweep of shrewd appraisal. "you're not much bigger than a pint of cider, dickie boy," he commented. "why don't you take a start and grow some?" "i'm layin' off to; when i get time. pap allows i got to'r he won't own to me," said the boy soberly. "who is your father?" the query was a mere fill-in, bridging the momentary pause while ballard was inspecting the saddle cinchings of the horse he was to ride; and evidently the boy so regarded it. "he's a man," he answered briefly, adding nothing to the supposable fact. bigelow was up, and ballard was putting a leg over his wiry little mount when fitzpatrick emerged from the dimly lighted interior of the commissary bearing arms--a pair of short-barrelled repeating rifles in saddle-holsters. "better be slinging these under the stirrup-leathers--you and your friend, mr. ballard," he suggested. "all sorts of things are liable to get up in the tall hills when a man hasn't got a gun." this was so patently said for the benefit of the little circle of onlooking workmen that ballard bent to the saddle-horn while fitzpatrick was buckling the rifle-holster in place. "what is it, bourke?" he asked quietly. "more of the same," returned the contractor, matching the low tone of the inquiry. "craigmiles has got his spies in every camp, and you're probably spotted, same as old man macpherson used to be when he rode the work. if that cussed mexican foreman does be getting wind of this, and shy a guess at why you're heading for jack's cabin and the railroad in the dead o' night----" ballard's exclamation was impatient. "this thing has got on your digestion, bourke," he said, rallying the big contractor. "up at the elbow canyon camp it's a hoodoo bogey, and down here it's the craigmiles cow-boys. keep your shirt on, and we'll stop it--stop it short." then, lowering his voice again: "is the boy trustworthy?" fitzpatrick's shrug was more french than irish. "he can show you the trail; and he hates the craigmiles outfit as the devil hates holy water. his father was a 'rustler,' and the colonel got him sent over the road for cattle-stealing. dick comes of pretty tough stock, but i guess he'll do you right." ballard nodded, found his seat in the saddle, and gave the word. "pitch out, dick," he commanded; and the small cavalcade of three skirted the circle of tents and shacks to take the westward trail in single file, the water-boy riding in advance and the forestry man bringing up the rear. in this order the three passed the scene of the assisted land-slide, where the acrid fumes of the dynamite were still hanging in the air, and came upon ground new to bigelow and practically so to ballard. for a mile or more the canal line hugged the shoulders of the foothills, doubling and reversing until only the steadily rising sky-line of the elks gave evidence of its progress westward. as in its earlier half, the night was still and cloudless, and the stars burned with the white lustre of the high altitudes, swinging slowly to the winding course in their huge inverted bowl of velvety blackness. from camp to camp on the canal grade there was desertion absolute; and even bigelow, with ears attuned to the alarm sounds of the wilds, had heard nothing when the cavalcade came abruptly upon riley's camp, the outpost of the ditch-diggers. at riley's they found only the horse-watchers awake. from these they learned that the distant booming of the explosions had aroused only a few of the lightest sleepers. ballard made inquiry pointing to the craigmiles riders. had any of them been seen in the vicinity of the outpost camp? "not since sundown," was the horse-watcher's answer. "about an hour before candle-lightin', two of 'em went ridin' along up-river, drivin' a little bunch o' cattle." the engineer gathered rein and was about to pull his horse once more into the westward trail, when the boy guide put in his word. "somebody's taggin' us, all right, if that's what you're aimin' to find out," he said, quite coolly. ballard started. "what's that?" he demanded. "how do you know?" "been listenin'--when you-all didn't make so much noise that i couldn't," was the calm rejoinder. "there's two of 'em, and they struck in just after we passed the dynamite heave-down." ballard bent his head and listened. "i don't hear anything," he objected. "nachelly," said the boy. "they-all ain't sech tenderfoots as to keep on comin' when we've stopped. want to dodge 'em?" "there's no question about that," was the mandatory reply. the sober-faced lad took a leaf out of the book of the past--his own or his cattle-stealing father's. "we got to stampede your stock a few lines, pete," he said, shortly, to the horse-watcher who had answered ballard's inquiry. "get up and pull your picket-pins." "is that right, mr. ballard?" asked the man. "it is if dick says so. i'll back his orders." the boy gave the orders tersely after the horse-guard had risen and kicked his two companions awake. the night herdsmen were to pick and saddle their own mounts, and to pull the picket-pins for the grazing mule drove. while this was doing, the small plotter vouchsafed the necessary word of explanation to ballard and bigelow. "we ride into the bunch and stampede it, headin' it along the trail the way we're goin'. after we've done made noise enough and tracks enough, and gone far enough to make them fellers lose the sound of us that they've been follerin', we cut out of the crowd and make our little _pasear_ down canyon, and the herd-riders can chase out and round up their stock again: see?" ballard made the sign of acquiescence; and presently the thing was done substantially as the boy had planned. the grazing mules, startled by the sudden dash of the three mounted broncos among them, and helped along by a few judicious quirt blows, broke and ran in frightened panic, carrying the three riders in the thick of the rout. young carson, skilful as the son of the convict stock-lifter had been trained to be, deftly herded the thundering stampede in the desired direction; and at the end of a galloping mile abruptly gave the shrill yell of command to the two men whom he was piloting. there was a swerve aside out of the pounding melée, a dash for an opening between the swelling foothills, and the ruck of snorting mules swept on in a broad circle that would later make recapture by the night herders a simple matter of gathering up the trailing picket-ropes. the three riders drew rein in the shelter of the arroyo gulch to breathe their horses, and ballard gave the boy due credit. "that was very neatly done, dick," he said, when the thunder of the pounding hoofs had died away in the up-river distances. "is it going to bump those fellows off of our trail?" the water-boy was humped over the horn of his saddle as if he had found a stomach-ache in the breathless gallop. but he was merely listening. "i ain't reskin' any money on it," he qualified. "if them cow-punch's 've caught on to where you're goin', and what you're goin' _fer_----" out of the stillness filling the hill-gorge like a black sea of silence came a measured thudding of hoofs and an unmistakable squeaking of saddle leather. like a flash the boy was afoot and reaching under his bronco's belly for a tripping hold on the horse's forefoot. "down! and pitch the cayuses!" he quavered stridently; and as the three horses rolled in the dry sand of the arroyo bed with their late riders flattened upon their heads, the inner darkness of the gorge spat fire and there was a fine singing whine of bullets overhead. xii the rustlers in defiance of all the laws of precedence, it was the guest who first rose to the demands of the spiteful occasion. while ballard was still struggling with the holster strappings of his rifle, bigelow had disengaged his weapon and was industriously pumping a rapid-fire volley into the flame-spitting darkness of the gorge. the effect of the prompt reply in kind was quickly made manifest. the firing ceased as abruptly as it had begun, a riderless horse dashed snorting down the bed of the dry arroyo, narrowly missing a stumbling collision with the living obstructions lying in his way, and other gallopings were heard withdrawing into the hill-shadowed obscurities. it was ballard who took the water-boy to task when they had waited long enough to be measurably certain that the attackers had left the field. "you were mistaken, dick," he said, breaking the strained silence. "there were more than two of them." young carson was getting his horse up, and he appeared to be curiously at fault. "you're plumb right, cap'n ballard," he admitted. "but that ain't what's pinchin' me: there's always enough of 'em night-herdin' this end of the range so 'at they could have picked up another hand 'r two. what i cayn't tumble to is how they-all out-rid us." "to get ahead of us, you mean?" "that's it. we're in the neck of a little hogback draw that goes on down to the big canyon. the only other trail into the draw is along by the river and up this-a-way--'bout a mile and a half furder 'n the road we come, i reckon." it was the persistent element of mystery once more thrusting itself into the prosaic field of the industries; but before ballard could grapple with it, the fighting guest cut in quietly. "one of their bullets seems to have nipped me in the arm," he said, admitting the fact half reluctantly and as if it were something to be ashamed of. "will you help me tie it up?" ballard came out of the speculative fog with a bound. "good heavens, bigelow! are you hit? why didn't you say something?" he exclaimed, diving into the pockets of his duck coat for matches and a candle-end. "it wasn't worth while; it's only a scratch, i guess." but the lighted candle-end proved it to be something more; a ragged furrow plowed diagonally across the forearm. ballard dressed it as well as he could, the water-boy holding the candle, and when the rough job of surgery was done, was for sending the forestry man back to the valley head and castle 'cadia with the wound for a sufficient reason. but bigelow developed a sudden vein of stubbornness. he would neither go back alone, nor would he consent to be escorted. "a little thing like this is all in the day's work," he protested. "we'll go on, when you're ready; or, rather, we'll go and hunt for the owner of that horse whose saddle i suppose i must have emptied. i'm just vindictive enough to hope that its rider was the fellow who pinked me." as it happened, the hope was to be neither confirmed nor positively denied. a little farther up the dry arroyo the candle-end, sputtering to its extinction, showed them a confusion of hoof tramplings in the yielding sand, but nothing more. dead or wounded, the horse-losing rider had evidently been carried off by his companions. "which proves pretty conclusively that there must have been more than two," was ballard's deduction, when they were again pushing cautiously down the inner valley toward its junction with the great canyon. "but why should two, or a dozen of them, fire on us in the dark? how could they know whether we were friends or enemies?" bigelow's quiet laugh had a touch of grimness in it. "your elbow canyon mysteries have broken bounds," he suggested. "your staff should include an expert psychologist, mr. ballard." ballard's reply was belligerent. "if we had one, i'd swap him for a section of mounted police," he declared; and beyond that the narrow trail in the cliff-walled gorge of the boiling water forbade conversation. three hours farther down the river trail, when the summer dawn was paling the stars in the narrow strip of sky overhead, the perpendicular walls of the great canyon gave back a little, and looking past the water-boy guide, ballard saw an opening marking the entrance of a small tributary stream from the north; a little green oasis in the vast desert of frowning cliffs and tumbled boulders, with a log cabin and a tiny corral nestling under the portal rock of the smaller stream. "hello!" said bigelow, breaking the silence in which they had been riding for the greater part of the three hours, "what's this we are coming to?" ballard was about to pass the query on to the boy when an armed man in the flapped hat and overalls of a range rider stepped from behind a boulder and barred the way. there was a halt, an exchange of words between young carson and the flap-hatted trail-watcher in tones so low as to be inaudible to the others, and the armed one faced about, rather reluctantly, it seemed, to lead the way to the cabin under the cliff. at the dismounting before the cabin door, the boy cleared away a little of the mystery. "this yere is whar i live when i'm at home," he drawled, lapsing by the influence of the propinquity into the tennessee idiom which was his birthright. "pap'll get ye your breakfas' while i'm feedin' the bronc's." ballard glanced quickly at his guest and met the return glance of complete intelligence in the steady gray eyes of the forestry man. the cabin and the corral in the secluded canyon were sufficiently accounted for. but one use could be made of a stock enclosure in such an inaccessible mountain fastness. the trail station in the heart of the boiling water wilderness was doubtless the headquarters of the "rustlers" who lived by preying upon the king of arcadia's flocks and herds. "your allies in the little war against colonel craigmiles," said bigelow, and there was something like a touch of mild reproach in his low tone when he added: "misery isn't the only thing that 'acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.'" "apparently not," said ballard; and they went together into the kitchen half of the cabin which was built, in true tennessee fashion, as "two pens and a passage." the welcome accorded them by the sullen-faced man who was already frying rashers of bacon over the open fire on the hearth was not especially cordial. "mek' ye an arm and re'ch for yerselves," was his sole phrase of hospitality, when the bacon and pan-bread were smoking on the huge hewn slab which served for a table; and he neither ate with his guests nor waited upon them, save to refill the tin coffee cups as they were emptied. neither of the two young men stayed longer than they were obliged to in the dirty, leather-smelling kitchen. there was freedom outside, with the morning world of fresh, zestful immensities for a smoking-room; and when they had eaten, they went to sit on a flat rock by the side of the little stream to fill and light their pipes, ballard crumbling the cut-plug and stoppering the pipe for his crippled companion. "how is the bullet-gouge by this time?" he questioned, when the tobacco was alight. "it's pretty sore, and no mistake," bigelow acknowledged frankly. whereupon ballard insisted upon taking the bandages off and re-dressing the wound, with the crystal-clear, icy water of the mountain stream for its cleansing. "it was a sheer piece of idiocy on my part--letting you come on with me after you got this," was his verdict, when he had a daylight sight of the bullet score. "but i don't mean to be idiotic twice in the same day," he went on. "you're going to stay right here and keep quiet until we come along back and pick you up, late this afternoon." bigelow made a wry face. "nice, cheerful prospect," he commented. "the elder cattle thief isn't precisely one's ideal of the jovial host. by the way, what was the matter with him while we were eating breakfast? he looked and acted as if there were a sick child in some one of the dark corners which he was afraid we might disturb." ballard nodded. "i was wondering if you remarked it. did you hear the sick baby?" "i heard noises--besides those that carson was so carefully making with the skillet and the tin plates. the room across the passage from us wasn't empty." "that was my guess," rejoined ballard, pulling thoughtfully at his short pipe. "i heard voices and tramplings, and, once in a while, something that sounded remarkably like a groan--or an oath." bigelow nodded in his turn. "more of the mysteries, you'd say; but this time they don't especially concern us. have you fully made up your mind to leave me here while you go on down to the railroad? because if you have, you and the boy will have to compel my welcome from the old robber: i'd never have the face to ask him for a whole day's hospitality." "i'll fix that," said ballard, and when the boy came from the corral with the saddled horses, he went to do it, leaving bigelow to finish his pipe on the flat rock of conference. the "fixing" was not accomplished without some difficulty, as it appeared to the young man sitting on the flat stone at the stream side. dick brought his father to the door, and ballard did the talking--considerably more of it than might have been deemed necessary for the simple request to be proffered. at the end of the talk, ballard came back to the flat stone. "you stay," he said briefly to bigelow. "carson will give you your dinner. but he says he has a sick man on his hands in the cabin, and you'll have to excuse him." "he was willing?" queried bigelow. "no; he wasn't at all willing. he acted as if he were a loaded camel, and your staying was going to be the final back-breaking straw. but he's a tennessean, and we've been kind to his boy. the ranch is yours for the day, only if i were you, i shouldn't make too free use of it." bigelow smiled. "i'll be 'meachum' and keep fair in the middle of the road. i don't know anything that a prosecuting attorney could make use of against the man who has given me my breakfast, and who promises to give me my dinner, and i don't want to know anything. please don't waste any more daylight on me: dick has the horses ready, and he is evidently growing anxious." ballard left the forestry man smoking and sunning himself on the flat boulder when he took the down-canyon trail with the sober-faced boy for his file leader, and more than once during the rather strenuous day to which the pocket-gulch incident was the introduction, his thoughts went back to bigelow, marooned in the depths of the great canyon with the saturnine cattle thief, the sick man, and doubtless other members of the band of "rustlers." it was therefore, with no uncertain feeling of relief that he returned in the late afternoon at the head of a file of as hard-looking miscreants as ever were gathered in a sheriff's posse, and found bigelow sitting on the step of the carson cabin, still nursing the bandaged arm, and still smoking the pipe of patience. "i'm left to do the honours, gentlemen," said the forestry man, rising and smiling quaintly. "the owner of the ranch regrets to say that he has been unavoidably called away; but the feed in the corral and the provisions in the kitchen are yours for the taking and the cooking." the sheriff, a burly giant whose face, figure, garmenting and graceful saddle-seat proclaimed the ex-cattleman, laughed appreciatively. "bat carson knows a healthy climate as far as he can see the sun a-shinin'," he chuckled; and then to his deputies: "light down, boys, and we'll see what sort o' chuck he's left for us." in the dismounting ballard drew bigelow aside. "what has happened?" he asked. "you can prove nothing by me," returned bigelow, half quizzically. "i've been asleep most of the day. when i woke up, an hour or so ago, the doors were open and the cabin was empty. also, there was a misspelled note charcoaled on a box-cover in the kitchen, making us free of the horse-bait and the provisions. also, again, a small bunch of cattle that i had seen grazing in a little park up the creek had disappeared." "um," said ballard, discontentedly. "all of which makes us accessories after the fact in another raid on colonel craigmiles's range herd. i don't like that." "nor do i," bigelow agreed. "but you can't eat a man's bread, and then stay awake to see which way he escapes. i'm rather glad i was sleepy enough not to be tempted. which reminds me: you must be about all in on that score yourself, mr. ballard." "i? oh, no; i got in five or six hours on the railroad train, going and coming between jack's cabin and the county seat." the posse members were tramping into the kitchen to ransack it for food and drink, and bigelow stood still farther aside. "you managed to gather up a beautiful lot of cutthroats in the short time at your disposal," he remarked. "didn't i? and now you come against one of my weaknesses, bigelow: i can't stay mad. last night i thought i'd be glad to see a bunch of the colonel's cow-boys well hanged. to-day i'm sick and ashamed to be seen tagging this crew of hired sure-shots into the colonel's domain." "just keep on calling it the arcadia company's domain, and perhaps the feeling will wear off," suggested the forestry man. "it's no joke," said ballard, crustily; and then he went in to take his chance of supper with the sheriff and his "sure-shots." there was still sufficient daylight for the upper canyon passage when the rough-riders had eaten carson out of house and home, and were mounted again for the ascent to the kingdom of arcadia. in the up-canyon climb, the sheriff kept the boy, dick, within easy bridle clutch, remembering a certain other canyon faring in which the cattle thief's son had narrowly missed putting his father's captors, men and horses, into the torrent of the boiling water. ballard and bigelow rode ahead; and when the thunderous diapason of the river permitted, they talked. "how did they manage to move the sick man?" asked ballard, when the trail and the stream gave him leave. "that is another of the things that i don't know; i'm a leather-bound edition of an encyclopædia when it comes to matters of real information," was the ironical answer. "but your guess of this morning was right; there was a sick man--sick or hurt some way. i took the liberty of investigating a little when i awoke and found the ranch deserted. the other room of the cabin was a perfect shambles." "blood?" queried the engineer; and bigelow nodded. "blood everywhere." "a falling-out among thieves, i suppose," said ballard, half-absently; and again bigelow said: "i don't know." "the boy knows," was ballard's comment. "he knew before he left the ranch this morning. i haven't been able to get a dozen words out of him all day." just here both stream-noise and trail-narrowing cut in to forbid further talk, and bigelow drew back to let ballard lead in the single-file progress along the edge of the torrent. it was in this order that they came finally into the arcadian grass-lands, through a portal as abrupt as a gigantic doorway. it was the hour of sunset for the high peaks of the elk range, and the purple shadows were already gathering among the rounded hills of the hogback. off to the left the two advanced riders of the posse cavalcade saw the evening kitchen-smoke of riley's ditch-camp. on the hills to the right a few cattle were grazing unherded. but two things in the prospect conspired to make ballard draw rein so suddenly as to bring him awkwardly into collision with his follower. one was a glimpse of the castle 'cadia touring car trundling swiftly away to the eastward on the river road; and the other was a slight barrier of tree branches piled across the trail fairly under his horse's nose. stuck upon a broken twig of the barrier was a sheet of paper; and there was still sufficient light to enable the chief engineer to read the type-written lines upon it when he dropped from the saddle. "mr. ballard:" it ran. "you are about to commit an act of the crudest injustice. take the advice of an anxious friend, and quench the fire of enmity before it gets beyond control." there was no signature; and ballard was still staring after the disappearing automobile when he mechanically passed the sheet of paper up to bigelow. the forestry man read the type-written note and glanced back at the sheriff's posse just emerging from the canyon portal. "what will you do?" he asked; and ballard came alive with a start and shook his head. "i don't know: if we could manage to overtake that auto.... but it's too late now to do anything, bigelow. i've made my complaint and sworn out the warrants. beckwith will serve them--he's obliged to serve them." "of course," said bigelow; and together they waited for the sheriff's posse to close up. xiii the law and the lady it touched a little spring of wonderment in the forestry man when ballard made the waiting halt merely an excuse for a word of leave-taking with sheriff beckwith; a brittle exchange of formalities in which no mention was made of the incident of the brush barrier and the type-written note. "you have your warrants, and you know your way around in the valley; you won't need me," was the manner in which the young engineer drew out of the impending unpleasantness. "when you have taken your prisoners to the county seat, the company's attorneys will do the rest." beckwith, being an ex-cattleman, was grimly sarcastic. "this is my job, and i'll do it up man-size and b'ligerent, mr. ballard. but between us three and the gate-post, you ain't goin' to make anything by it--barrin' a lot o' bad blood. the old colonel 'll give a bond and bail his men, and there you are again, right where you started from." "that's all right; i believe in the law, and i'm giving it a chance," snapped ballard; and the two parties separated, the sheriff's posse taking the river road, and ballard leading the way across country in the direction of fitzpatrick's field headquarters. rather more than half of the distance from the canyon head to the camp had been covered before the boy, carson, had lagged far enough behind to give bigelow a chance for free speech with ballard, but the forestry man improved the opportunity as soon as it was given him. "you still believe there is no hope of a compromise?" he began. "what the sheriff said a few minutes ago is quite true, you know. the cow-boys will be back in a day or two, and it will make bad blood." "excuse me," said ballard, irritably; "you are an onlooker, mr. bigelow, and you can afford to pose as a peacemaker. but i've had all i can stand. if colonel craigmiles can't control his flap-hatted bullies, we'll try to help him. there is a week's work for half a hundred men and teams lying in that ditch over yonder," pointing with his quirt toward the dynamited cutting. "do you think i'm going to lie down and let these cattle-punchers ride rough-shod over me and the company i represent? not to-day, or any other day, i assure you." "then you entirely disregard the little type-written note?" "in justice to my employers, i am bound to call colonel craigmiles's bluff, whatever form it takes." bigelow rode in silence for the next hundred yards. then he began again. "it doesn't seem like the colonel: to go at you indirectly that way." "he was in that automobile: i saw him. the notice could scarcely have been posted without his knowledge." "no," bigelow agreed, slowly. but immediately afterward he added: "there were others in the car." "i know it--four or five of them. but that doesn't let the colonel out." again bigelow relapsed into silence, and the camp-fires of fitzpatrick's headquarters were in sight when he said: "you confessed to me a few hours ago that one of your weaknesses was the inability to stay angry. will you pardon me if i say that it seems to have its compensation in the law of recurrences?" ballard's laugh was frankly apologetic. "you may go farther and say that i am ill-mannered enough to quarrel with a good friend who cheerfully gets himself shot up in my behalf. overlook it, mr. bigelow; and i'll try to remember that i am a partisan, while you are only a good-natured non-combatant. this little affair is a fact accomplished, so far as we are concerned. the colonel's cow-men dynamited our ditch; sheriff beckwith will do his duty; and the company's attorney will see to it that somebody pays the penalty. let's drop it--as between us two." being thus estopped, bigelow held his peace; and a little later they were dismounting before the door of fitzpatrick's commissary. when the contractor had welcomed and fed them, ballard rolled into the nearest bunk and went to sleep to make up the arrearages, leaving his guest to smoke alone. bigelow took his desertion good-naturedly, and sat for an hour or more on a bench in front of the storeroom, puffing quietly at his pipe, and taking an onlooker's part in the ditch-diggers' games of dice-throwing and card-playing going on around the great fire in the plaza. when the pipe went out after its second filling, he got up and strolled a little way beyond the camp limits. the night was fine and mild for the altitudes, and he had walked a circling mile before he found himself again at the camp confines. it was here, at the back of the mule drove, that he became once more an onlooker; this time a thoroughly mystified one. the little drama, at which the forestry expert was the single spectator, was chiefly pantomimic, but it lacked nothing in eloquent action. flat upon the ground, and almost among the legs of the grazing mules, lay a diminutive figure, face down, digging fingers and toes into the hoof-cut earth, and sobbing out a strange jargon of oaths and childish ragings. before bigelow could speak, the figure rose to its knees, its face disfigured with passion, and its small fists clenching themselves at the invisible. it was dick carson; and the words which bigelow heard seemed to be shaken by some unseen force out of the thin, stoop-shouldered little body: "oh, my lordy! ef it could on'y be somebody else! but ther' ain't nobody else; an' i'll go to hell if i don't do it!" now, at all events, bigelow would have cut in, but the action of the drama was too quick for him. like a flash the water-boy disappeared among the legs of the grazing animals; and a few minutes afterward the night gave back the sound of galloping hoofs racing away to the eastward. bigelow marked the direction of the water-boy's flight. since it was toward the valley head and castle 'cadia, he guessed that young carson's errand concerned itself in some way with the sheriff's raid upon the craigmiles ranch outfit. here, however, conjecture tripped itself and fell down. both parties in whatever conflict the sheriff's visit might provoke were the boy's natural enemies. bigelow was wrestling with this fresh bit of mystery when he went to find his bunk in the commissary; it got into his dreams and was still present when the early morning call of the camp was sounded. but neither at the candle-lighted breakfast, nor later, when ballard asked him if he were fit for a leisurely ride to the southern watershed for the day's outwearing, did he speak of young carson's desertion. fitzpatrick spoke of it, though, when the chief and his companion were mounting for the watershed ride. "you brought my water-boy back with you last night, didn't you, mr. ballard?" he asked. "certainly; he came in with us. why? have you lost him?" "him and one of the saddle broncos. and i don't much like the look of it." "oh, i guess he'll turn up all right," said ballard easily. it was bigelow's time to speak, but something restrained him, and the contractor's inquiry died a natural death when ballard gathered the reins and pointed the way to the southward hills. by nine o'clock the two riders were among the foothills of the southern elks, and the chief engineer of the arcadia company was making a very practical use of his guest. bigelow was an authority on watersheds, stream-basins, the conservation of moisture by forested slopes, and kindred subjects of vital importance to the construction chief of an irrigation scheme; and the talk held steadily to the technical problems, with the forestry expert as the lecturer. only once was there a break and a lapse into the humanities. it was when the horses had climbed one of the bald hills from the summit of which the great valley, with its dottings of camps and its streaking of canal gradings, was spread out map-like beneath them. on the distant river road, progressing by perspective inches toward the lower end of the valley, trotted a mixed mob of horsemen, something more than doubling in numbers the sheriff's posse that had ridden over the same road in the opposite direction the previous evening. "beckwith with his game-bag?" queried bigelow, gravely; and ballard said: "i guess so," and immediately switched the talk back to the watershed technicalities. it was within an hour of the grading-camp supper-time when the two investigators of moisture-beds and auxiliary reservoirs rode into fitzpatrick's headquarters and found a surprise awaiting them. the castle 'cadia runabout was drawn up before the commissary; and young blacklock, in cap and gloves and dust-coat, was tinkering with the motor. "the same to you, gentlemen," he said, jocosely, when he took his head out of the bonnet. "i was just getting ready to go and chase you some more. we've been waiting a solid hour, i should say." "'we'?" questioned ballard. "yes; miss elsa and i. we've been hunting you in every place a set of rubber tires wouldn't balk at, all afternoon. say; you don't happen to have an extra spark-plug about your clothes, either of you, do you? one of these is cracked in the porcelain, and she skips like a dog on three legs." ballard ignored the motor disability completely. "you brought miss craigmiles here? where is she now?" he demanded. the collegian laughed. "she's in the grand _salon_, and fitzpatrick the gallant is making her a cup of commissary tea. wouldn't that jar you?" ballard swung out of his saddle and vanished through the open door of the commissary, leaving bigelow and the motor-maniac to their own devices. in the littered storeroom he found miss craigmiles, sitting upon a coil of rope and calmly drinking her tea from a new tin can. "at last!" she sighed, smiling up at him; and then: "mercy me! how savage you look! we are trespassers; i admit it. but you'll be lenient with us, won't you? jerry says there is a broken spark-plug, or something; but i am sure we can move on if we're told to. you have come to tell us to move on, mr. ballard?" his frown was only the outward and visible sign of the inward attempt to grapple with the possibilities; but it made his words sound something less than solicitous. "this is no place for you," he began; but she would not let him go on. "i have been finding it quite a pleasant place, i assure you. mr. fitzpatrick is an irish gentleman. no one could have been kinder. you've no idea of the horrible things he promised to do to the cook if this tea wasn't just right." if she were trying to make him smile, she succeeded. fitzpatrick's picturesque language to his men was the one spectacular feature of the headquarters camp. "that proves what i said--that this is no place for you," he rejoined, still deprecating the camp crudities. "and you've been here an hour, blacklock says." "an hour and twelve minutes, to be exact," she admitted, tilting the tiny watch pinned upon the lapel of her driving-coat. "but you left us no alternative. we have driven uncounted miles this afternoon, looking for you and mr. bigelow." ballard flushed uncomfortably under the tan and sunburn. miss craigmiles could have but one object in seeking him, he decided; and he would have given worlds to be able to set the business affair and the sentimental on opposite sides of an impassable chasm. since it was not to be, he said what he was constrained to say with characteristic abruptness. "it is too late. the matter is out of my hands, now. the provocation was very great; and in common loyalty to my employers i was obliged to strike back. your father----" she stopped him with a gesture that brought the blood to his face again. "i know there has been provocation," she qualified. "but it has not been all on one side. your men have told you how our range-riders have annoyed them: probably they have not told you how they have given blow for blow, killing cattle on the railroad, supplying themselves with fresh meat from our herd, filling up or draining the water-holes. and two days ago, at this very camp.... i don't know the merits of the case; but i do know that one of our men was shot through the shoulder, and is lying critically near to death." he nodded gloomily. "that was bad," he admitted, adding: "and it promptly brought on more violence. on the night of the same day your cow-men returned and dynamited the canal." again she stopped him with the imperative little gesture. "did you see them do it?" "naturally, no one saw them do it. but it was done, nevertheless." she rose and faced him fairly. "you found my note last evening--when you were returning with sheriff beckwith?" "i found an unsigned note on a little barrier of tree-branches on the trail; yes." "i wrote it and put it there," she declared. "i told you you were about to commit an act of injustice, and you have committed it--a very great one, indeed, mr. ballard." "i am open to conviction," he conceded, almost morosely. she was confronting him like an angry goddess, and mixed up with the thought that he had never seen her so beautiful and so altogether desirable was another thought that he should like to run away and hide. "yes; you are open to conviction--after the fact!" she retorted, bitterly. "do you know what you have done? you have fallen like a hot-headed boy into a trap set for you by my father's enemies. you have carefully stripped arcadia of every man who could defend our cattle--just as it was planned for you to do." "but, good heavens!" he began, "i----" "hear me out," she commanded, looking more than ever the princess of her father's kingdom. "down in the canyon of the boiling water there is a band of outlaws that has harried this valley for years. assuming that you would do precisely what you have done, some of these men came up and dynamited your canal, timing the raid to fit your inspection tour. am i making it sufficiently plain?" "o my sainted ancestors!" he groaned. and then: "please go on; you can't make it any worse." "they confidently expected that you would procure a wholesale arrest of the arcadia ranch force; but they did not expect you to act as promptly as you did. that is why they turned and fired upon you in dry valley gulch: they thought they were suspected and pursued, not by you or any of your men, but by our cow-boys. your appearance at the cabin at the mouth of deer creek yesterday morning explained things, and they let you go on without taking vengeance for the man mr. bigelow had shot in the dry valley affray. they were willing to let the greater matter outweigh the smaller." ballard said "good heavens!" again, and leaned weakly against the commissary counter. then, suddenly, it came over him like a cool blast of wind on a hot day that this clear-eyed, sweet-faced young woman's intimate knowledge of the labyrinthine tangle was almost superhuman enough to be uncanny. would the nerve-shattering mysteries never be cleared away? "you know all this--as only an eye-witness could know," he stammered. "how, in the name of all that is wonderful----" "we are not without friends--even in your camps," she admitted. "word came to castle 'cadia of your night ride and its purpose. for the later details there was little dick. my father once had his father sent to the penitentiary for cattle-stealing. in pity for the boy, i persuaded some of our denver friends to start a petition for a pardon. dick has not forgotten it; and last night he rode to castle 'cadia to tell me what i have told you--the poor little lad being more loyal to me than he is to his irreclaimable wretch of a father. also, he told me another thing: to-night, while the range cattle are entirely unguarded, there will be another raid from deer creek. i thought you might like to know how hard a blow you have struck us, this time. that is why i have made jerry drive me a hundred miles or so up and down the valley this afternoon." the situation was well beyond speech, any exculpatory speech of ballard's, but there was still an opportunity for deeds. going to the door he called to bigelow, and when the forestry man came in, his part in what was to be done was assigned abruptly. "mr. bigelow, you can handle the runabout with one good arm, i'm sure: drive miss craigmiles home, if you please, and let me have blacklock." "certainly, if miss elsa is willing to exchange a good chauffeur for a poor one," was the good-natured reply. and then to his hostess: "are you willing, miss craigmiles?" "mr. ballard is the present tyrant of arcadia. if he shows us the door----" bigelow was already at the car step, waiting to help her in. there was time only for a single sentence of caution, and ballard got it in a swift aside. "don't be rash again," she warned him. "you have plenty of men here. if carson can be made to understand that you will not let him take advantage of the plot in which he has made you his innocent accessory----" "set your mind entirely at rest," he cut in, with a curtness which was born altogether of his determination, and not at all of his attitude toward the woman he loved. "there will be no cattle-lifting in this valley to-night--or at any other time until your own caretakers have returned." "thank you," she said simply; and a minute later ballard and young blacklock stood aside to let bigelow remove himself, his companion, and the smart little car swiftly from the scene. "say, mr. ballard, this is no end good of you--to let me in for a little breather of sport," said the collegian, when the fast runabout was fading to a dusty blur in the sunset purplings. "bigelow gave me a hint; said there was a scrap of some sort on. make me your side partner, and i'll do you proud." "you are all right," laughed ballard, with a sudden access of light-heartedness. "but the first thing to do is to get a little hay out of the rack. come in and let us see what you can make of a camp supper. fitzpatrick bets high on his cook--which is more than i'd do if he were mine." xiv the maxim ballard and blacklock ate supper at the contractor's table in the commissary, and the talk, what there was of it, left the kentuckian aside. the arcadian summering was the young collegian's first plunge into the manful realities, and it was not often that he came upon so much raw material in the lump as the contractor's camp, and more especially the jovial irish contractor himself, afforded. ballard was silent for cause. out of the depths of humiliation for the part he had been made to play in the plan for robbing colonel craigmiles he had promised unhesitatingly to prevent the robbery. but the means for preventing it were not so obvious as they might have been. force was the only argument which would appeal to the cattle-lifters, and assuredly there were men enough and arms enough in the fitzpatrick camps to hold up any possible number of rustlers that carson could bring into the valley. but would the contractor's men consent to fight the colonel's battle? this was the crucial query which only fitzpatrick could answer; and at the close of the meal, ballard made haste to have private speech with the contractor in the closet-like pay office. "you see what we are up against, bourke," he summed up when he had explained the true inwardness of the situation to the irishman. "bare justice, the justice that even an enemy has a right to expect, shoves us into the breach. we've got to stop this raid on the craigmiles cattle." fitzpatrick was shaking his head dubiously. "sure, now; _i'm_ with you, mr. ballard," he allowed, righting himself with an effort that was a fine triumph over personal prejudice. "but it's only fair to warn you that not a man in any of the ditch camps will lift a finger in any fight to save the colonel's property. this shindy with the cow-boys has gone on too long, and it has been too bitter." "but this time they've got it to do," ballard insisted warmly. "they are your men, under your orders." "under my orders to throw dirt, maybe; but not to shoulder the guns and do the tin-soldier act. there's plinty of men, as you say; polacks and hungarians and eyetalians and irish--and the irish are the only ones you could count on in a hooraw, boys! i know every man of them, mr. ballard, and, not to be mincin' the wor-rd, they'd see you--or me, either--in the hot place before they'd point a gun at anybody who was giving the craigmiles outfit a little taste of its own medicine." fitzpatrick's positive assurance was discouraging, but ballard would not give up. "how many men do you suppose carson can muster for this cattle round-up?" he asked. "oh, i don't know; eighteen or twenty at the outside, maybe." "you've got two hundred and forty-odd here and at riley's; in all that number don't you suppose you could find a dozen or two who would stand by us?" "honestly, then, i don't, mr. ballard. i'm not lukewarm, as ye might think: i'll stand with you while i can squint an eye to sight th' gun. but the minute you tell the b'ys what you're wantin' them to do, that same minute they'll give you the high-ball signal and quit." "strike work, you mean?" "just that." ballard went into a brown study, and fitzpatrick respected it. after a time the silence was broken by the faint tapping of the tiny telegraph instrument on the contractor's desk. ballard's chair righted itself with a crash. "the wire," he exclaimed; "i had forgotten that you had brought it down this far on the line. i wonder if i can get bromley?" "sure ye can," said the contractor; and ballard sat at the desk to try. it was during the preliminary key-clickings that blacklock came to the door of the pay office. "there's a man out here wanting to speak to you, mr. fitzpatrick," he announced; and the contractor went out, returning presently to break into ballard's preoccupied effort to raise the office at elbow canyon. "one of the foremen came in to say that the craigmiles men were coming back. for the last half-hour horsemen by twos and threes have been trailing up the river road and heading for the ranch headquarters," was the information he brought. "it's carson's gang," said ballard, at once. "yes; but i didn't give it away to the foreman. their scheme is to make as much of a round-up as they can while it's light enough to see. there'll be a small piece of a moon, and that'll do for the drive down the canyon. oh, i'll bet you they've got it all figured out to a dot. carson's plenty smooth when it comes to plannin' any devilment." ballard turned back to the telegraph key and rattled it impatiently. time was growing precious; was already temerariously short for carrying out the programme he had hastily determined upon in the few minutes of brown study. "that you, loudon?" he clicked, when, after interminable tappings, the breaking answer came; and upon the heels of the snipped-out affirmative he cut in masterfully. "ask no questions, but do as i say, quick. you said colonel had machine-gun at his mine: rally gang stone-buckies, rush that gun, and capture it. can you do it?" "yes," was the prompt reply, "if you don't mind good big bill funeral expenses, followed by labour riot." "we've got to have gun." "the colonel would lend it if--hold wire minute, miss elsa just crossing bridge in runabout. i'll ask her." ballard's sigh of relief was almost a groan, and he waited with good hope. elsa would know why he wanted the maxim, and if the thing could be done without an express order from her father to the mexican mine guards, she would do it. after what seemed to the engineer like the longest fifteen minutes he had ever endured, the tapping began again. "gun here," from bromley. "what shall i do with it?" the answer went back shot-like: "load on engine and get it down to end of branch nearest this camp quick." "want me to come with it?" "no; stay where you are, and you may be next arcadian chief construction. hurry gun." fitzpatrick was his own telegrapher, and as he read what passed through key and sounder his smile was like that which goes with the prize-fighter's preliminary hand-shaking. "carson'll need persuading," he commented. "'tis well ye've got the artillery moving. what's next?" "the next thing is to get out the best team you have, the one that will make the best time, and send it to the end of track to meet bromley's special. how far is it--six miles, or thereabouts?" "seven, or maybe a little worse. i'll go with the team myself, and push on the reins. do i bring the gun here?" ballard thought a moment. "no; since we're to handle this thing by ourselves, there is no need of making talk in the camps. do you know a little sand creek in the hogback called dry valley?" "sure, i do." "good. make a straight line for the head of that arroyo, and we'll meet you there, blacklock and i, with an extra saddle-horse." fitzpatrick was getting a duck driving-coat out of a locker. "what's your notion, mr. ballard?--if a man might be asking?" "wait, and you'll see," was the crisp reply. "it will work; you'll see it work like a charm, bourke. but you must burn the miles with that team of broncos. we'll be down and out if you don't make connections with the maxim. and say; toss a coil of that quarter-inch rope into your wagon as you go. we'll need that, too." when the contractor was gone, ballard called the collegian into the pay office and put him in touch with the pressing facts. a raid was to be made on colonel craigmiles's cattle by a band of cattle thieves; the raid was to be prevented; means to the preventing end--three men and a maxim automatic rapid-fire gun. would blacklock be one of the three? "would a hungry little dog eat his supper, mr. ballard? by jove! but you're a good angel in disguise--to let me in for the fun! and you've pressed the right button, too, by george! there's a maxim in the military kit at college, and i can work her to the queen's taste." "then you may consider yourself chief of the artillery," was the prompt rejoinder. "i suppose i don't need to ask if you can ride a range pony?" blacklock's laugh was an excited chuckle. "now you're shouting. what i don't know about cow-ponies would make the biggest book you ever saw. but i'd ride a striped zebra rather than be left out of this. do we hike out now?--right away?" "there is no rush; you can smoke a pipe or two--as i'm going to. fitzpatrick has to drive fourteen miles to work off his handicap." ballard filled his pipe and lighting it sat down to let the mental polishing wheels grind upon the details of his plan. blacklock tried hard to assume the manly attitude of nonchalance; tried and failed utterly. once for every five minutes of the waiting he had to jump up and make a trip to the front of the commissary to ease off the excess pressure; and at the eleventh return ballard was knocking the ash out of his pipe. "getting on your nerves, jerry?" he asked. "all right: we'll go and bore a couple of holes into the night, if that's what you're anxious to be doing." the start was made without advertisement. fitzpatrick's horse-keeper was smoking cigarettes on the little porch platform, and at a word from ballard he disappeared in the direction of the horse-rope. giving him the necessary saddling time, the two made their way around the card-playing groups at the plaza fire, and at the back of the darkened mess-tent found the man waiting with three saddled broncos, all with rifle holsters under the stirrup leathers. ballard asked a single question at the mounting moment. "you haven't seen young carson in the last hour or so, have you, patsy?" "niver a hair av him: 'tis all day long he's been gone, wid misther bourke swearing thremenjous about the cayuse he took." ballard took the bridle of the led horse and the ride down the line of the canal, with fitzpatrick's "piece of a moon" to silver the darkness, was begun as a part of the day's work by the engineer, but with some little trepidation by the young collegian, whose saddle-strivings hitherto had been confined to the well-behaved cobs in his father's stables. at the end of the first mile blacklock found himself growing painfully conscious of every start of the wiry little steed between his knees, and was fain to seek comfort. "say, mr. ballard; what do you do when a horse bucks under you?" he asked, wedging the inquiry between the jolts of the racking gallop. "you don't do anything," replied ballard, taking the pronoun in the generic sense. "the bronco usually does it all." "i--believe this brute's--getting ready to--buck," gasped the tyro. "he's working--my knee-holds loose--with his confounded sh--shoulder-blades." "freeze to him," laughed ballard. then he added the word of heartening: "he can't buck while you keep him on the run. here's a smooth bit of prairie: let him out a few notches." that was the beginning of a mad race that swept them down the canal line, past riley's camp and out to the sand-floored cleft in the foothills far ahead of the planned meeting with fitzpatrick. but this time the waiting interval was not wasted. picketing the three horses, and arming themselves with a pair of the short-barrelled rifles, the advance guard of two made a careful study of the ground, pushing the reconnaissance down to the mouth of the dry valley, and a little way along the main river trail in both directions. "right here," said ballard, indicating a point on the river trail just below the intersecting valley mouth, "is where you will be posted with the maxim. if you take this boulder for a shield, you can command the gulch and the upper trail for a hundred yards or more, and still be out of range of their winchesters. they'll probably shoot at you, but you won't mind that, with six or eight feet of granite for a breastwork, will you, jerry?" "well, i should say not! just you watch me burn 'em up when you give the word, mr. ballard. i believe i could hold a hundred of 'em from this rock." "that is exactly what i want you to do--to hold them. it would be cold-blooded murder to turn the maxim loose on them from this short range unless they force you to it. don't forget that, jerry." "i sha'n't," promised the collegian; and after some further study of the topographies, they went back to the horses. thereupon ensued a tedious wait of an hour or more, with no sight or sound of the expected waggon, and with anxiety growing like a juggler's rose during the slowly passing minutes. anyone of a dozen things might have happened to delay fitzpatrick, or even to make his errand a fruitless one. the construction track was rough, and the hurrying engine might have jumped the rails. the rustlers might have got wind of the gun dash and ditched the locomotive. failing that, some of their round-up men might have stumbled upon the contractor and halted and overpowered him. ballard and blacklock listened anxiously for the drumming of wheels. but when the silence was broken it was not by waggon noises; the sound was in the air--a distant lowing of a herd in motion, and the shuffling murmur of many hoofs. the inference was plain. "by jove! do you hear that, jerry?" ballard demanded. "the beggars are coming down-valley with the cattle, _and they're ahead of fitzpatrick_!" that was not strictly true. while the engineer was adding a hasty command to mount, fitzpatrick's waggon came bouncing up the dry arroyo, with the snorting team in a lather of sweat. "sharp work, mr. ballard!" gasped the dust-covered driver. "they're less than a mile at the back of me, drivin' a good half of the colonel's beef herd, i'd take me oath. say the wor-rds, and say thim shwift!" with the scantest possible time for preparation, there was no wasting of the precious minutes. ballard directed a quick transference of men, horses, and gun team to the lower end of the inner valley, a planting of the terrible little fighting machine behind the sheltering boulder on the main trail, and a hasty concealment of the waggon and harness animals in a grove of the scrub pines. then he outlined his plan briskly to his two subordinates. "they will send the herd down the canyon trail, probably with a man or two ahead of it to keep the cattle from straying up this draw," he predicted. "the first move is to nip these head riders; after which we must turn the herd and let it find its way back home through the sand gulch where we came in. later on----" a rattling clatter of horse-shoes on stone rose above the muffled lowing and milling of the oncoming drove, and there was no time for further explanations. as ballard and his companions drew back among the tree shadows in the small inner valley, a single horseman galloped down the canyon trail, wheeling abruptly in the gulch mouth to head off the cattle if they should try to turn back by way of the hogback valley. before the echo of his shrill whistle had died away among the canyon crags, three men rose up out of the darkness, and with business-like celerity the trail guard was jerked from his saddle, bound, gagged, and tossed into the bed of an empty waggon. "now for the cut-out!" shouted ballard; and the advance stragglers of the stolen herd were already in the mouth of the little valley when the three amateur line-riders dashed at them and strove to turn the drive at right angles up the dry gulch. for a sweating minute or two the battle with brute bewilderment hung in the balance. wheel and shout and flog as they would, they seemed able only to mass the bellowing drove in the narrow mouth of the turn-out. but at the critical instant, when the milling tangle threatened to become a jam that must crowd itself from the trail into the near-by torrent of the boiling water, a few of the leaders found the open way to freedom up the hogback valley, and in another throat-parching minute there was only a cloud of dust hanging between the gulch heads to show where the battle had been raging. this was the situation a little later when the main body of the rustlers, ten men strong, ambled unsuspectingly into the valley-mouth trap: dust in the air, a withdrawing thunder of hoof-beats, and apparent desertion of the point of hazard. carson was the first to grasp the meaning of the dust cloud and the vanishing murmur of hoof-tramplings. "hell!" he rasped. "billings has let 'em cut back up the gulch! that's on you, buck cummin's: i told you ye'd better hike along 'ith billings." "you always _was_ one o' them 'i-told-ye-so' kind of liars," was the pessimistic retort of the man called cummings; and carson's right hand was flicking toward the ready pistol butt when a voice out of the shadows under the western cliff shaped a command clear-cut and incisive. "hands up out there--every man of you!" then, by way of charitable explanation: "you're covered--with a rapid-fire maxim." there were doubters among the ten; desperate men whose lawless days and nights were filled with hair's-breadth chance-takings. from these came a scattering volley of pistol shots spitting viciously at the cliff shadows. "show 'em, jerry," said the voice, curtly; and from the shelter of a great boulder at the side of the main trail leaped a sheet of flame with a roar comparable to nothing on earth save its ear-splitting, nerve-shattering self. blacklock had swept the machine-gun in a short arc over the heads of the cattle thieves, and from the cliff face and ledges above them a dropping rain of clipped pine branches and splintered rock chippings fell upon the trapped ten. it is the new and untried that terrifies. in the group of rustlers there were men who would have wheeled horse and run a gauntlet of spitting winchesters without a moment's hesitation. but this hidden murder-machine belching whole regiment volleys out of the shadows.... "sojers, by cripes!" muttered carson, under his breath. then aloud: "all right, cap'n; what you say goes as it lays." "i said 'hands up,' and i meant it," rasped ballard; and when the pale moonlight pricked out the cattle-lifters in the attitude of submission: "first man on the right--knee your horse into the clump of trees straight ahead of you." it was fitzpatrick, working swiftly and alone, who disarmed, wrist-roped, and heel-tied to his horse each of the crestfallen ones as ballard ordered them singly into the mysterious shadows of the pine grove. six of the ten, including carson, had been ground through the neutralising process, and the contractor was deftly at work on the seventh, before the magnitude of the engineer's strategy began to dawn upon them. "_sufferin' jehu!_" said carson, with an entire world of disgust and humiliation crowded into the single expletive; but when the man called cummings broke out in a string of meaningless oaths, the leader of the cattle thieves laughed like a good loser. "say; how many of you did it take to run this here little bluff on us?" he queried, tossing the question to fitzpatrick, the only captor in sight. "you'll find out, when the time comes," replied the irishman gruffly. "and betwixt and between, ye'll be keeping a still tongue in your head. d'ye see?" they did see, when the last man was securely bound and roped to his saddle beast; and it was characteristic of time, place, and the actors in the drama that few words were wasted in the summing up. "line them up for the back trail," was ballard's crisp command, when fitzpatrick and blacklock had dragged the maxim in from its boulder redoubt and had loaded it into the waggon beside the rope-wound billings. "whereabouts does this here back trail end up--for us easy-marks, cap'n ballard?" it was carson who wanted to know. "that's for a jury to say," was the brief reply. "you've et my bread and stabled yo' hawss in my corral," the chief rustler went on gloomily. "but that's all right--if you feel called to take up for ol' king adam, that's fightin' ever' last shovelful o' mud you turn over in th' big valley." fitzpatrick was leading the way up the hoof-trampled bed of the dry valley with the waggon team, and blacklock was marshalling the line of prisoners to follow in single file when ballard wheeled his bronco to mount. "i fight my own battles, carson," he said, quietly. "you set a deadfall for me, and i tumbled in like a tenderfoot. that put it up to me to knock out your raid. incidentally, you and your gang will get what is coming to you for blowing a few thousand yards of earth into our canal. that's all. line up there with the others; you've shot your string and lost." the return route led the straggling cavalcade through the arroyo mouth, and among the low hills back of riley's camp to a junction with the canal line grade half way to fitzpatrick's headquarters. approaching the big camp, ballard held a conference with the contractor, as a result of which the waggon mules were headed to the left in a semicircular detour around the sleeping camp, the string of prisoners following as the knotted trail ropes steered it. another hour of easting saw the crescent moon poising over the black sky-line of the elks, and it brought captors and captured to the end of track of the railroad where there was a siding, with a half-dozen empty material cars and bromley's artillery special, the engine hissing softly and the men asleep on the cab cushions. ballard cut his prisoners foot-free, dismounted them, and locked them into an empty box-car. this done, the engine crew was aroused, the maxim was reloaded upon the tender, and the chief gave the trainmen their instructions. "take the gun, and that locked box-car, back to elbow canyon," he directed. "mr. bromley will give you orders from there." "carload o' hosses?" said the engineman, noting the position of the box-car opposite a temporary chute built for debarking a consignment of fitzpatrick's scraper teams. "no; jackasses," was ballard's correction; and when the engine was clattering away to the eastward with its one-car train, the waggon was headed westward, with blacklock sharing the seat beside fitzpatrick, ballard lying full-length on his back in the deep box-bed, and the long string of saddle animals towing from the tailboard. at the headquarters commissary blacklock tumbled into the handiest bunk and was asleep when he did it. but ballard roused himself sufficiently to send a message over the wire to bromley directing the disposal of the captured cattle thieves, who were to be transported by way of alta vista and the d. & u. p. to the county seat. after that he remembered nothing until he awoke to blink at the sun shining into the little bunk room at the back of the pay office; awoke with a start to find fitzpatrick handing him a telegram scrawled upon a bit of wrapping-paper. "i'm just this minut' taking this off the wire," said the contractor, grinning sheepishly; and ballard read the scrawl: "d. & u. p. box-car no. here all o. k. with both side doors carefully locked and end door wide open. nothing inside but a few bits of rope and a stale smell of tobacco smoke and corn whiskey. "bromley." xv hospes et hostis it was two days after the double fiasco of the cattle raid before ballard returned to his own headquarters at elbow canyon; but bromley's laugh on his friend and chief was only biding its time. "what you didn't do to carson and his gang was good and plenty, wasn't it, breckenridge?" was his grinning comment, when they had been over the interval work on the dam together, and were smoking an afternoon peace pipe on the porch of the adobe office. "it's the joke of the camp. i tried to keep it dark, but the enginemen bleated about it like a pair of sheep, of course." "assume that i have some glimmerings of a sense of humour, and let it go at that," growled ballard; adding; "i'm glad the hoodoo has let up on you long enough to give this outfit a chance to be amused--even at a poor joke on me." "it has," said bromley. "we haven't had a shock or a shudder since you went down-valley. and i've been wondering why." "forget it," suggested the chief, shortly. "call it safely dead and buried, and don't dig it up again. we have grief enough without it." bromley grinned again. "meaning that this cow-boy cattle-thief tangle in the lower valley has made you _persona non grata_ at castle 'cadia? you're off; 'way off. you don't know colonel adam. so far from holding malice, he has been down here twice to thank you for stopping the carson raid. and that reminds me: there's a castle 'cadia note in your mail-box--came down by the hands of one of the little japs this afternoon." and he went in to get it. it proved to be another dinner bidding for the chief engineer, to be accepted informally whenever he had time to spare. it was written and signed by the daughter, but she said that she spoke both for her father and herself when she urged him to come soon. "you'll go?" queried bromley, when ballard had passed the faintly perfumed bit of note-paper across the arm's-reach between the two lazy-chairs. "you know i'll go," was the half morose answer. bromley's smile was perfunctory. "of course you will," he assented. "to-night?" "as well one time as another. won't you go along?" "miss elsa's invitation does not include me," was the gentle reminder. "bosh! you've had the open door, first, last, and all the time, haven't you?" "of course. i was only joking. but it isn't good for both of us to be off the job at the same time. i'll stay and keep on intimidating the hoodoo." there was a material train coming in from alta vista, and when its long-drawn chime woke the canyon echoes, they both left the mesa and went down to the railroad yard. it was an hour later, and ballard was changing his clothes in his bunk-room when he called to bromley, who was checking the way-bills for the lately arrived material. "oh, i say, loudon; has that canyon path been dug out again?--where the slide was?" "sure," said bromley, without looking up. then: "you're going to walk?" "how else would i get there?" returned ballard, who still seemed to be labouring with his handicap of moroseness. the assistant did not reply, but a warm flush crept up under the sunburn as he went on checking the way-bills. later, when ballard swung out to go to the craigmiles's, the man at the desk let him pass with a brief "so-long," and bent still lower over his work. under much less embarrassing conditions, ballard would have been prepared to find himself breathing an atmosphere of constraint when he joined the castle 'cadia house-party on the great tree-pillared portico of the craigmiles mansion. but the embarrassment, if any there were, was all his own. the colonel was warmly hospitable; under her outward presentment of cheerful mockery, elsa was palpably glad to see him; miss cauffrey was gently reproachful because he had not let them send otto and the car to drive him around from the canyon; and the various guests welcomed him each after his or her kind. during the ante-dinner pause the talk was all of the engineer's prompt snuffing-out of the cattle raid, and the praiseful comment on the little _coup de main_ was not marred by any reference to the mistaken zeal which had made the raid possible. more than once ballard found himself wondering if the colonel and elsa, bigelow and blacklock, had conspired generously to keep the story of his egregious blunder from reaching the others. if they had not, there was a deal more charity in human nature than the most cheerful optimist ever postulated, he concluded. at the dinner-table the enthusiastic _rapport_ was evenly sustained. ballard took in the elder of the cantrell sisters; and wingfield, who sat opposite, quite neglected miss van bryck in his efforts to make an inquisitive third when miss cantrell insistently returned to the exciting topic of the carson capture--which she did after each separate endeavour on ballard's part to escape the enthusiasm. "your joking about it doesn't make it any less heroic, mr. ballard," was one of miss cantrell's phrasings of the song of triumph. "just think of it--three of you against eleven desperate outlaws!" "three of us, a carefully planned ambush, and a maxim rapid-fire machine-gun," corrected ballard. "and you forget that i let them all get away a few hours later." "and i--the one person in all this valleyful of possible witnesses who could have made the most of it--_i_ wasn't there to see," cut in wingfield, gloomily. "it is simply catastrophic, mr. ballard!" "oh, i am sure you could imagine a much more exciting thing--for a play," laughed the engineer. "indeed, it's your imagination, and miss cantrell's, that is making a bit of the day's work take on the dramatic quality. if i were a writing person i should always fight shy of the real thing. it's always inadequate." "much you know about it," grumbled the playwright, from the serene and lofty heights of craftsman superiority. "and that reminds me: i've been to your camp, and what i didn't find out about that hoodoo of yours----" it was miss elsa, sitting at wingfield's right, who broke in with an entirely irrelevant remark about a sudermann play; a remark demanding an answer; and ballard took his cue and devoted himself thereafter exclusively to the elder miss cantrell. the menace of wingfield's literary curiosity was still a menace, he inferred; and he was prepared to draw its teeth when the time should come. as on the occasion of the engineer's former visit to castle 'cadia, there was an after-dinner adjournment to the big portico, where the japanese butler served the little coffees, and the house-party fell into pairs and groups in the hammocks and lazy-chairs. not to leave a manifest duty undone, ballard cornered his host at the dispersal and made, or tried to make, honourable amends for the piece of mistaken zeal which had led to the attempted cattle-lifting. but in the midst of the first self-reproachful phrase the colonel cut him off with genial protests. "not anotheh word, my dear suh; don't mention it"--with a benedictory wave of the shapely hands. "we ratheh enjoyed it. the boys had thei-uh little blow-out at the county seat; and, thanks to youh generous intervention, we didn't lose hoof, hide nor ho'n through the machinations of ouh common enemy. in youh place, mistuh ballard, i should probably have done precisely the same thing--only i'm not sure i should have saved the old cattleman's property afte' the fact. try one of these conchas, suh--unless youh prefer youh pipe. one man in havana has been making them for me for the past ten yeahs." ballard took the gold-banded cigar as one who, having taken a man's coat, takes his cloak, also. there seemed to be no limit to the colonel's kindliness and chivalric generosity; and more than ever he doubted the old cattle king's complicity, even by implication, in any of the mysterious fatalities which had fallen upon the rank and file of the irrigation company's industrial army. strolling out under the electric globes, he found that his colloquy with the colonel had cost him a possible chance of a _tête-à-tête_ with elsa. she was swinging gently in her own particular corner hammock; but this time it was bigelow, instead of wingfield, who was holding her tiny coffee cup. it was after ballard had joined the group of which the sweet-voiced aunt june was the centre, that miss craigmiles said to her coffee-holder: "i am taking you at your sister's valuation and trusting you very fully, mr. bigelow. you are quite sure you were followed, you and mr. ballard, on the day before the dynamiting of the canal?" "no; i merely suspected it. i wasn't sure enough to warrant me in calling ballard's attention to the single horseman who seemed to be keeping us in view. but in the light of later events----" "yes; i know," she interrupted hastily. "were you near enough to identify the man if--if you should see him again?" "oh, no. most of the time he was a mere galloping dot in the distance. only once--it was when ballard and i had stopped to wrangle over a bit of deforesting vandalism on the part of the contractors--i saw him fairly as he drew rein on a hilltop in our rear." "describe him for me," she directed, briefly. "i'm afraid i can't do that. i had only this one near-by glimpse of him, you know. but i remarked that he was riding a large horse, like one of those in your father's stables; that he sat straight in the saddle; and that he was wearing some kind of a skirted coat that blew out behind him when he wheeled to face the breeze." miss craigmiles sat up in the hammock and pressed her fingers upon her closed eyes. when she spoke again after the lapse of a long minute, it was to ask bigelow to retell the story of the brief fight in the darkness at the sand arroyo on the night of the explosion. the forestry man went over the happenings of the night, and of the day following, circumstantially, while the growing moon tilted like a silver shallop in a sea of ebony toward the distant elks, and the groups and pairs on the broad portico rearranged themselves choir-wise to sing hymns for which one of the cantrell sisters went to the piano beyond the open windows of the drawing-room to play the accompaniments. when the not too harmonious chorus began to drone upon the windless night air, miss craigmiles came out of her fit of abstraction and thanked bigelow for his patience with her. "it isn't altogether morbid curiosity on my part," she explained, half pathetically. "some day i may be able to tell you just what it is--but not to-night. now you may go and rescue madge from the major, who has been 'h'm-ha-ing' her to extinction for the last half-hour. and if you're brave enough you may tell mr. ballard that his bass is something dreadful--or send him here and i'll tell him." the open-eyed little ruse worked like a piece of well-oiled mechanism, and ballard broke off in the middle of a verse to go and drag bigelow's deserted chair to within murmuring distance of the hammock. "you were singing frightfully out of tune," she began, in mock petulance. "didn't you know it?" "i took it for granted," he admitted, cheerfully. "i was never known to sing any other way. my musical education has been sadly neglected." she looked up with the alert little side turn of the head that always betokened a shifting of moods or of mind scenery. "mr. bromley's hasn't," she averred. "he sings well, and plays the violin like a master. doesn't he ever play for you?" ballard recalled, with a singular and quite unaccountable pricking of impatience, that once before, when the conditions were curiously similar, she had purposefully turned the conversation upon bromley. but he kept the impatience out of his reply. "no; as a matter of fact, we have seen very little of each other since i came on the work." "he is a dear boy." she said it with the exact shade of impersonality which placed bromley on the footing of a kinsman of the blood; but ballard's handicap was still distorting his point of view. "i am glad you like him," he said; his tone implying the precise opposite of the words. "are you? you don't say it very enthusiastically." it was a small challenge, and he lifted it almost roughly. "i can't be enthusiastic where your liking for other men is concerned." her smile was a mere face-lighting of mockery. "i can't imagine mr. bromley saying a thing like that. what was it you told me once about the high plane of men-friendships? as i remember it, you said that they were the purest passions the world has ever known. and you wouldn't admit that women could breathe the rarefied air of that high altitude at all." "that was before i knew all the possibilities; before i knew what it means to----" "don't say it," she interrupted, the mocking mood slipping from her like a cast-off garment. "i shall say it," he went on doggedly. "loudon is nearer to me than any other man i ever knew. but i honestly believe i should hate him if--tell me that it isn't so, elsa. for heaven's sake, help me to kill out this new madness before it makes a scoundrel of me!" what she would have said he was not to know. beyond the zone of light bounded by the shadows of the maples on the lawn there were sounds as of some animal crashing its way through the shrubbery. a moment later, out of the enclosing walls of the night, came a man, running and gasping for breath. it was one of the labourers from the camp at elbow canyon, and he made for the corner of the portico where miss craigmiles's hammock was swung. "'tis misther ballard i'm lukin' for!" he panted; and ballard answered quickly for himself. "i'm here," he said. "what's wanted?" "it's misther bromley, this time, sorr. the wather was risin' in the river, and he'd been up to the wing dam just below this to see was there anny logs or annything cloggin' it. on the way up or back, we don't know which, he did be stoomblin' from the trail into the canyon; and the dago, lu'gi, found him." the man was mopping his face with a red bandana, and his hands were shaking as if he had an ague fit. "is he badly hurt?" ballard had put himself quickly between the hammock and the bearer of ill tidings. "'tis kilt dead entirely he is, sorr, we're thinkin'," was the low-spoken reply. the assistant engineer had no enemies among the workmen at the headquarters' camp. ballard heard a horrified gasp behind him, and the hammock suddenly swung empty. when he turned, elsa was hurrying out through the open french window with his coat and hat. "you must not lose a moment," she urged. "don't wait for anything--i'll explain to father and aunt june. hurry! hurry! but, oh, do be careful--_careful_!" ballard dropped from the edge of the portico and plunged into the shrubbery at the heels of the messenger. the young woman, still pale and strangely perturbed, hastened to find her aunt. "what is it, child? what has happened?" miss cauffrey, the gentle-voiced, had been dozing in her chair, but she wakened quickly when elsa spoke to her. "it is another--accident; at the construction camp. mr. ballard had to go immediately. where is father?" miss cauffrey put up her eye-glasses and scanned the various groups within eye-reach. then she remembered. "oh, yes; i think i must be very sleepy, yet. he went in quite a little time ago; to the library to lie down. he asked me to call him when mr. ballard was ready to go." "are you sure of that, aunt june?" "why--yes. no, that wasn't it, either; he asked me to excuse him to mr. ballard. i recollect now. dear me, child! what has upset you so? you look positively haggard." but elsa had fled; first to the library, which was empty, and then to her father's room above stairs. that was empty, too, but the coat and waistcoat her father had worn earlier in the evening were lying upon the bed as if thrown aside hurriedly. while she was staring panic-stricken at the mute evidences of his absence she heard his step in the corridor. when he came in, less familiar eyes than those of his daughter would scarcely have recognised him. he was muffled to the heels in a long rain-coat, the muscles of his face were twitching, and he was breathing hard like a spent runner. [illustration: the muscles of his face were twitching, and he was breathing hard, like a spent runner.] "father!" she called, softly; but he either did not hear or did not heed. he had flung the rain-coat aside and was hastily struggling into the evening dress. when he turned from the dressing-mirror she could hardly keep from crying out. with the swift change of raiment he had become himself again; and a few minutes later, when she had followed him to the library to find him lying quietly upon the reading-lounge, half-asleep, as it seemed, the transformation scene in the upper room became more than ever like the fleeting impression of an incredible dream. "father, are you asleep?" she asked; and when he sat up quickly she told him her tidings without preface. "mr. bromley is hurt--fatally, they think--by a fall from the path into the lower canyon. mr. ballard has gone with the man who came to bring the news. will you send otto in the car to see if there is anything we can do?" "bromley? oh, no, child; it can't be _bromley_!" he had risen to his feet at her mention of the name, but now he sat down again as if the full tale of the years had smitten him suddenly. then he gave his directions, brokenly, and with a curious thickening of the deep-toned, mellifluous voice: "tell otto to bring the small car around at--at once, and fetch me my coat. of cou'se, my deah, i shall go myself"--this in response to her swift protest. "i'm quite well and able; just a little--a little sho'tness of breath. fetch me my coat and the doctor-box, thah's a good girl. but--but i assure you it can't be--bromley!" xvi the return of the omen loudon bromley's principal wounding was a pretty seriously broken head, got, so said luigi, the tuscan river-watchman who had found and brought him in, by the fall from the steep hill path into the rocky canyon. ballard reached the camp at the heels of the irish newsbearer shortly after the unconscious assistant had been carried up to the adobe headquarters; and being, like most engineers with field experience, a rough-and-ready amateur surgeon, he cleared the room of the throng of sympathising and utterly useless stone "buckies," and fell to work. but beyond cleansing the wound and telegraphing by way of denver to aspen for skilled help, there was little he could do. the telegraphing promised nothing. cutting out all the probable delays, and assuming the aspen physician's willingness to undertake a perilous night gallop over a barely passable mountain trail, twelve hours at the very shortest must go to the covering of the forty miles. ballard counted the slow beats of the fluttering pulse and shook his head despairingly. since he had lived thus long after the accident, bromley might live a few hours longer. but it seemed much more likely that the flickering candle of life might go out with the next breath. ballard was unashamed when the lights in the little bunk-room grew dim to his sight, and a lump came in his throat. jealousy, if the sullen self-centring in the sentimental affair had grown to that, was quenched in the upwelling tide of honest grief. for back of the sex-selfishness, and far more deeply rooted, was the strong passion of brother-loyalty, reawakened now and eager to make amends--to be given a chance to make amends--for the momentary lapse into egoism. to the kentuckian in this hour of keen misery came an angel of comfort in the guise of his late host, the master of castle 'cadia. there was the stuttering staccato of a motor-car breasting the steep grade of the mesa hill, the drumming of the released engines at the door of the adobe, and the colonel entered, followed by jerry blacklock, who had taken the chauffeur's place behind the pilot wheel for the roundabout drive from castle 'cadia. in professional silence, and with no more than a nod to the watcher at the bedside, the first gentleman of arcadia laid off his coat, opened a kit of surgeon's tools, and proceeded to save bromley's life, for the time being, at least, by skilfully lifting the broken bone which was slowly pressing him to death. "thah, suh," he said, the melodious voice filling the tin-roofed shack until every resonant thing within the mud-brick walls seemed to vibrate in harmonious sympathy, "thah, suh; what mo' there is to do needn't be done to-night. to-morrow morning, mistuh ballard, you'll make a right comfo'table litter and have him carried up to castle 'cadia, and among us all we'll try to ansuh for him. not a word, my deah suh; it's only what that deah boy would do for the most wo'thless one of us. i tell you, mistuh ballard, we've learned to think right much of loudon; yes, suh--right much." ballard was thankful, and he said so. then he spoke of the aspen-aimed telegram. "countehmand it, suh; countehmand it," was the colonel's direction. "we'll pull him through without calling in the neighbuhs. living heah, in such--ah--close proximity to youh man-mangling institutions, i've had experience enough durin' the past year or so to give me standing as a regular practitioneh; i have, for a fact, suh." and his mellow laugh was like the booming of bees among the clover heads. "i don't doubt it in the least," acknowledged ballard; and then he thanked young blacklock for coming. "it was up to me, wasn't it, colonel craigmiles?" said the collegian. "otto--otto's the house-shover, you know--flunked his job; said he wouldn't be responsible for anybody's life if he had to drive that road at speed in the night. we drove it all right, though, didn't we, colonel? and we'll drive it back." the king of arcadia put a hand on ballard's shoulder and pointed an appreciative finger at blacklock. "that young cub, suh, hasn't any mo' horse sense than one of youh dago mortah-mixers; but the way he drives a motor-car is simply scandalous! why, suh, if my hair hadn't been white when we started, it would have tu'ned on me long befo' we made the loop around dump mountain." ballard went to the door with the two good samaritans, saw the colonel safely settled in the runabout, and let his gaze follow the winding course of the little car until the dodging tail-light had crossed the temporary bridge below the camp, to be lost among the shoulders of the opposite hills. the elder fitzpatrick was at his elbow when he turned to go in. "there's hope f'r the little man, misther ballard?" he inquired anxiously. "good hope, now, i think, michael." "that's the brave wor-rd. the min do be sittin' up in th' bunk-shanties to hear ut. 'twas all through the camp the minut' they brought him in. there isn't a man av thim that wouldn't go t'rough fire and wather f'r misther bromley--and that's no joke. is there annything i can do?" "nothing, thank you. tell the yard watchman to stay within call, and i'll send for you if you're needed." with this provision for the possible need, the young chief kept the vigil alone, sitting where he could see the face of the still unconscious victim of fate, or tramping three steps and a turn in the adjoining office room when sleep threatened to overpower him. it was a time for calm second thought; for a reflective weighing of the singular and ominous conditions partly revealed in the week agone talk with elsa craigmiles. that she knew more than she was willing to tell had been plainly evident in that first evening on the tree-pillared portico at castle 'cadia; but beyond this assumption the unanswerable questions clustered quickly, opening door after door of speculative conjecture in the background. what was the motive behind the hurled stone which had so nearly bred a tragedy on his first evening at elbow canyon? he reflected that he had always been too busy to make personal enemies; therefore, the attempt upon his life must have been impersonal--must have been directed at the chief engineer of the arcadia company. assuming this, the chain of inference linked itself rapidly. was macpherson's death purely accidental?--or braithwaite's? if not, who was the murderer?--and why was the colonel's daughter so evidently determined to shield him? the answer, the purely logical answer, pointed to one man--her father--and thereupon became a thing to be scoffed at. it was more than incredible; it was blankly unthinkable. the young kentuckian, descendant of pioneers who had hewn their beginnings out of the primitive wilderness, taking life as they found it, was practical before all things else. villains of the borgian strain no longer existed, save in the unreal world of the novelist or the playwriter. and if, by any stretch of imagination, they might still be supposed to exist.... ballard brushed the supposition impatiently aside when he thought of the woman he loved. "anything but that!" he exclaimed, breaking the silence of the four bare walls for the sake of hearing the sound of his own voice. "and, besides, the colonel himself is a living, breathing refutation of any such idiotic notion. all the same, if it is not her father she is trying to shield, who, in the name of all that is good, can it be? and why should colonel craigmiles, or anyone else, be so insanely vindictive as to imagine that the killing of a few chiefs of construction will cut any figure with the company which hires them?" these perplexing questions were still unanswered when the graying dawn found him dozing in his chair, with the camp whistles sounding the early turn-out, and bromley conscious and begging feebly for a drink of water. xvii the derrick fumbles bromley had been a week in hospital at the great house in the upper valley, and was recovering as rapidly as a clean-living, well-ancestored man should, when ballard was surprised one morning by a descent of the entire castle 'cadia garrison, lacking only the colonel and miss cauffrey, upon the scene of activities at the dam. the chief of construction had to flog himself sharply into the hospitable line before he could make the invaders welcome. he had a workingman's shrewd impatience of interruptions; and since the accident which had deprived him of his assistant, he had been doing double duty. on this particular morning he was about to leave for a flying round of the camps on the railroad extension; but he reluctantly countermanded the order for the locomotive when he saw elsa picking the way for her guests among the obstructions in the stone yard. "please--oh, please don't look so inhospitable!" she begged, in well-simulated dismay, when the irruption of sight-seers had fairly surrounded him. "we have driven and fished and climbed mountains and played children's games at home until there was positively nothing else to do. pacify him, cousin janet--he's going to warn us off!" ballard laughingly disclaimed any such ungracious intention, and proceeded to prove his words by deeds. young blacklock and bigelow were easily interested in the building details; the women were given an opportunity to see the inside workings of the men's housekeeping in the shacks, the mess-tent and the camp kitchen; the major was permitted and encouraged to be loftily critical of everything; and wingfield--but ballard kept the playwright carefully tethered in a sort of moral hitching-rope, holding the end of the rope in his own hands. once openly committed as entertainer, the young kentuckian did all that could be expected of him--and more. when the visitors had surfeited themselves on concrete-mixing and stone-laying and camp housekeeping, the chief engineer had plank seats placed on a flat car, and the invaders were whisked away on an impromptu and personally conducted railway excursion to some of the nearer ditch camps. before leaving the headquarters, ballard gave fitzpatrick an irish hint; and when the excursionists returned from the railway jaunt, there was a miraculous luncheon served in the big mess-tent. garou, the french-canadian camp cook, had a soul above the bare necessities when the occasion demanded; and he had ballard's private commissary to draw upon. after the luncheon ballard let his guests scatter as they pleased, charging himself, as before, particularly with the oversight and wardenship of mr. lester wingfield. there was only one chance in a hundred that the playwright, left to his own devices, might stumble upon the skeleton in the camp closet. but the kentuckian was determined to make that one chance ineffective. several things came of the hour spent as wingfield's keeper while the others were visiting the wing dam and the quarry, the spillway, and the cut-off tunnel, under fitzpatrick as megaphonist. one of them was a juster appreciation of the playwright as a man and a brother. ballard smiled mentally when he realised that his point of view had been that of the elemental lover, jealous of a possible rival. wingfield was not half a bad sort, he admitted; a little inclined to pose, since it was his art to epitomise a world of _poseurs_; an enthusiast in his calling; but at bottom a workable companion and the shrewdest of observers. in deference to the changed point of view, the kentuckian did penance for the preconceived prejudice and tried to make the playwright's insulation painless. the sun shone hot on the stone yard, and there was a jar of passable tobacco in the office adobe: would wingfield care to go indoors and lounge until the others came to a proper sense of the desirability of shade and quietude on a hot afternoon? wingfield would, gladly. he confessed shamelessly to a habit of smoking his after-luncheon pipe on his back. there was a home-made divan in the office quarters, with cushions and blanket coverings, and ballard found the tobacco-jar and a clean pipe; a long-stemmed "churchwarden," dear to the heart of a lazy man. "now this is what i call solid comfort," said the playwright, stretching his long legs luxuriously on the divan. "a man's den that is a den, and not a bric-a-brac shop masquerading under the name, a good pipe, good tobacco, and good company. you fellows have us world-people faded to a shadow when it comes to the real thing. i've felt it in my bones all along that i was missing the best part of this trip by not getting in with you down here. but every time i've tried to break away, something else has turned up." ballard was ready with his bucket of cold water. "you haven't missed anything. there isn't much in a construction camp to invite the literary mind, i should say." and he tried to make the saying sound not too inhospitable. "oh, you're off wrong, there," argued the playwright, with cheerful arrogance. "you probably haven't a sense of the literary values; a good many people haven't--born blind on that side, you know. now, miss van bryck has the seeing eye, to an educated finish. she tells me you have a dramatic situation down here every little so-while. she told me that story of yours about the stone smashing into your office in the middle of the night. that's simply ripping good stuff--worlds of possibilities in a thing like that, don't you know? by the way, this is the room, isn't it? does that patch in the ceiling cover the hole?" ballard admitted the fact, and strove manfully to throw the switch ahead of the querist to the end that the talk might be shunted to some less dangerous topic. "hang the tobacco!" snapped the guest irritably, retorting upon ballard's remark about the quality of his pet smoking mixture. "you and miss craigmiles seem to be bitten with the same exasperating mania for subject-changing. i'd like to hear that rock-throwing story at first hands, if you don't mind." having no good reason for refusing point-blank, ballard told the story, carefully divesting it of all the little mystery thrills which he had included for miss dosia's benefit. "um!" commented wingfield, at the close of the bald narration. "it would seem to have lost a good bit in the way of human interest since miss van bryck repeated it to me. did you embroider it for her? or did she put in the little hemstitchings for me?" ballard laughed. "i am sorry if i have spoiled it for you. but you couldn't make a dramatic situation out of a careless quarryman's overloading of a shot-hole." "oh, no," said the playwright, apparently giving it up. and he smoked his pipe out in silence. ballard thought the incident was comfortably dead and buried, but he did not know his man. long after wingfield might be supposed to have forgotten all about the stone catapulting, he sat up suddenly and broke out again. "say! you explained to miss dosia that the stone couldn't possibly have come from the quarry without knocking the science of artillery into a cocked hat. she made a point of that." "oh, hold on!" protested the kentuckian. "you mustn't hold me responsible for a bit of dinner-table talk with a very charming young woman. perhaps miss dosia wished to be mystified. i put it to you as man to man; would you have disappointed her?" the playwright's laugh showed his fine teeth. "they tell me you are at the top of the heap in your profession, mr. ballard, and i can easily believe it. but i have a specialty, too, and i'm no slouch in it. my little stunt is prying into the inner consciousness of things. obviously, there is a mystery--a real mystery--about this stone-throwing episode, and for some reason you are trying to keep me from dipping into it. conversely, i'd like to get to the bottom of it. tell me frankly, is there any good reason why i shouldn't?" ballard's salvation for this time personified itself in the figure of contractor fitzpatrick darkening the door of the office to ask a "question of information," as he phrased it. hence there was an excuse for a break and a return to the sun-kissed stone yard. the engineer purposefully prolonged the talk with fitzpatrick until the scattered sight-seers had gathered for a descent, under jerry blacklock's lead, to the great ravine below the dam where the river thundered out of the cut-off tunnel. but when he saw that miss craigmiles had elected to stay behind, and that wingfield had attached himself to the younger miss cantrell, he gave the contractor his information boiled down into a curt sentence or two, and hastened to join the stay-behind. "you'll melt, out here in the sun," he said, overtaking her as she stood looking down into the whirling vortex made by the torrent's plunge into the entrance of the cut-off tunnel. she ignored the care-taking phrase as if she had not heard it. "mr. wingfield?--you have kept him from getting interested in the--in the----" ballard nodded. "he is interested, beyond doubt. but for the present moment i have kept him from adding anything to miss dosia's artless gossip. will you permit me to suggest that it was taking rather a long chance?--your bringing him down here?" "i know; but i couldn't help it. dosia would have brought him on your invitation. i did everything i could think of to obstruct; and when they had beaten me, i made a party affair of it. you'll have to forgive me for spoiling an entire working day for you." "since it has given me a chance to be with you, i'm only too happy in losing the day," he said; and he meant it. but he let her know the worst in the other matter in an added sentence. "i'm afraid the mischief is done in wingfield's affair, in spite of everything." "how?" she asked, and the keen anxiety in the grey eyes cut him to the heart. he told her briefly of the chance arousing of wingfield's curiosity, and of the playwright's expressed determination to fathom the mystery of the table-smashing stone. her dismay was pathetic. "you should never have taken him into your office," she protested reproachfully. "he was sure to be reminded of dosia's story there." "i didn't foresee that, and he was beginning to gossip with the workmen. i knew it wouldn't be long before he would get the story of the happenings out of the men--with all the garnishings." "you _must_ find a way to stop him," she insisted. "if you could only know what terrible consequences are wrapped up in it!" he waited until a stone block, dangling in the clutch of the derrick-fall above its appointed resting-place on the growing wall of masonry, had been lowered into the cement bed prepared for it before he said, soberly: "that is the trouble--i _don't_ know. and, short of quarrelling outright with wingfield, i don't think of any effective way of muzzling him." "no; you mustn't do that. there is misery enough and enmity enough, without making any more. i'll try to keep him away." "you will fail," he prophesied, with conviction. "mr. wingfield calls himself a builder of plots; but i can assure you from this one day's observation of him that he would much rather unravel a plot than build one." she was silent while the workmen were swinging another great stone out over the canyon chasm. the shadow of the huge derrick-boom swept around and across them, and she shuddered as if the intangible thing had been an icy finger to touch her. "you must help me," she pleaded. "i cannot see the way a single step ahead." "and i am in still deeper darkness," he reminded her gently. "you forget that i do not know what threatens you, or how it threatens." "i can't tell you; i can't tell any one," she said; and he made sure there was a sob at the catching of her breath. as once before, he grew suddenly masterful. "you are wronging yourself and me, elsa, dear. you forget that your trouble is mine; that in the end we two shall be one in spite of all the obstacles that a crazy fate can invent." she shook her head. "i told you once that you must not forget yourself again; and you are forgetting. there is one obstacle which can never be overcome this side of the grave. you must always remember that." "i remember only that i love you," he dared; adding: "and you are afraid to tell me what this obstacle is. you know it would vanish in the telling." she did not answer. "you won't tell me that you are in love with wingfield?" he persisted. still no reply. "elsa, dearest, can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you do not love _me_?" she neither looked nor denied. "then that is all i need to know at present," he went on doggedly. "i shall absolutely and positively refuse to recognise any other obstacle." she broke silence so swiftly that the words seemed to leap to her lips. "there is one, dear friend," she said, with a warm upflash of strong emotion; "one that neither you nor i, nor any one can overcome!" she pointed down at the boulder-riven flood churning itself into spray in the canyon pot at their feet. "i will measure it for you--and for myself, god help us! rather than be your wife--the mother of your children--i should gladly, joyfully, fling myself into that." the motion he made to catch her, to draw her back from the brink of the chasm, was purely mechanical, but it served to break the strain of a situation that had become suddenly impossible. "that was almost tragic, wasn't it?" she asked, with a swift retreat behind the barricades of mockery. "in another minute we should have tumbled headlong into melodrama, with poor mr. wingfield hopelessly out of reach for the note-taking process." "then you didn't mean what you were saying?" he demanded, trying hard to overtake the fleeing realities. "i did, indeed; don't make me say it again. the lights are up, and the audience might be looking. see how manfully mr. bigelow is trying not to let cousin janet discover how she is crushing him!" out of the lower ravine the other members of the party were straggling, with bigelow giving first aid to a breathless and panting mrs. van bryck, and wingfield and young blacklock helping first one and then another of the four younger women. the workmen in the cutting yard were preparing to swing a third massive face-block into place on the dam; and miss craigmiles, quite her serene self again, was asking to be shown how the grappling hooks were made fast in the process of "toggling." ballard accepted his defeat with what philosophy he could muster, and explained the technical detail. then the others came up, and the buckboards sent down from castle 'cadia to take the party home were seen wheeling into line at the upper end of the short foothill canyon. "there is our recall at last, mr. ballard," gasped the breathless chaperon, "and i daresay you are immensely relieved. but you mustn't be too sorry for your lost day. we have had a perfectly lovely time." "such a delightful day!" echoed the two sharers of the common christian name in unison; and the king's daughter added demurely: "don't you see we are all waiting for you to ask us to come again, mr. ballard?" "oh, certainly; any time," said ballard, coming to the surface. notwithstanding, on the short walk up to the waiting buckboards he sank into the sea of perplexity again. elsa's moods had always puzzled him. if they were not real, as he often suspected, they were artistically perfect imitations; and he was never quite sure that he could distinguish between the real and the simulated. as at the present moment: the light-hearted young woman walking beside him up the steep canyon path was the very opposite of the sorely tried and anxious one who had twice let him see the effects of the anxiety, however carefully she concealed the cause. the perplexed wonder was still making him half abstracted when he put himself in the way to help her into one of the homeward-headed vehicles. they were a little in advance of the others, and when she faced him to say good-bye, he saw her eyes. behind the smile in them the troubled shadows were still lurking; and when the heartening word was on his lips they looked past him, dilating suddenly with a great horror. "look!" she cried, pointing back to the dam; and when he wheeled he saw that they were all looking; standing agape as if they had been shown the medusa's head. the third great stone had been swung out over the dam, and, little by little, with jerkings that made the wire cables snap and sing, the grappling-hooks were losing their hold in mid-air. the yells of the workmen imperilled rose sharply above the thunder of the river, and the man at the winding-drums seemed to have lost his nerve and his head. young blacklock, who was taking an engineering course in college, turned and ran back down the path, shouting like a madman. ballard made a megaphone of his hands and bellowed an order to the unnerved hoister engineer. "lower away! drop it, you blockhead!" he shouted; but the command came too late. with a final jerk the slipping hooks gave way, and the three-ton cube of granite dropped like a huge projectile, striking the stonework of the dam with a crash like an explosion of dynamite. dosia van bryck's shriek was ringing in ballard's ears, and the look of frozen horror on elsa's face was before his eyes, when he dashed down the steep trail at blacklock's heels. happily, there was no one killed; no one seriously hurt. on the dam-head fitzpatrick was climbing to a point of vantage to shout the news to the yard men clustering thickly on the edge of the cliff above, and ballard went only far enough to make sure that there had been no loss of life. then he turned and hastened back to the halted buckboards. "thank god, it's only a money loss, this time!" he announced. "the hooks held long enough to give the men time to get out of the way." "there was no one hurt? are you sure there was no one hurt?" panted mrs. van bryck, fanning herself vigorously. "no one at all. i'm awfully sorry we had to give you such a shock for your leave-taking, but accidents will happen, now and then. you will excuse me if i go at once? there is work to be done." "h'm--ha! one moment, mr. ballard," rasped the major, swelling up like a man on the verge of apoplexy. but mrs. van bryck was not to be set aside. "oh, certainly, we will excuse you. please don't waste a moment on us. you shouldn't have troubled to come back. so sorry--it was very dreadful--terrible!" while the chaperon was groping for her misplaced self-composure, wingfield said a word or two to dosia, who was his seat-mate, and sprang to the ground. "hold on a second, ballard!" he called. "i'm going with you. what you need right now is a trained investigator, and i'm your man. great scott! to think that a thing like that should happen, and i should be here to see it!" and then to miss craigmiles, who appeared to be trying very earnestly to dissuade him: "oh, no, miss elsa; i sha'n't get underfoot or be in mr. ballard's way; and you needn't trouble to send down for me. i can pad home on my two feet, later on." xviii the indictment in the days following the episode of the tumbling granite block, wingfield came and went unhindered between castle 'cadia and the construction camp at elbow canyon, sometimes with jerry blacklock for a companion, but oftener alone. short of the crude expedient of telling him that his room was more to be desired than his company, ballard could think of no pretext for excluding him; and as for keeping him in ignorance of the linked chain of accidents and tragedies, it was to be presumed that his first unrestricted day among the workmen had put him in possession of all the facts with all their exaggerations. how deeply the playwright was interested in the tale of disaster and mysterious ill luck, no one knew precisely; not even young blacklock, who was systematically sounded, first by miss craigmiles, and afterward at regular intervals by ballard. as blacklock saw it, wingfield was merely killing time at the construction camp. when he was not listening to the stories of the men off duty, or telling them equally marvellous stories of his own, he was lounging in the adobe bungalow, lying flat on his back on the home-made divan with his clasped hands for a pillow, smoking ballard's tobacco, or sitting in one of the lazy-chairs and reading with apparent avidity and the deepest abstraction one or another of bromley's dry-as-dust text-books on the anatomy of birds and the taxidermic art. "whatever it is that you are dreading in connection with wingfield and the camp 'bogie' isn't happening," ballard told the king's daughter one morning when he came down from bromley's hospital room at castle 'cadia and found elsa waiting for him under the portières of the darkened library. "for a man who talks so feelingly about the terrible drudgery of literary work, your playwriter is certainly a striking example of simon-pure laziness. he is perfectly innocuous. when he isn't half asleep on my office lounge, or dawdling among the masons or stone-cutters, he is reading straight through bromley's shelf of bird-books. he may be absorbing 'local color,' but if he is, he is letting the environment do all the work. i don't believe he has had a consciously active idea since he began loafing with us." "you are mistaken--greatly mistaken," was all she would say; and in the fulness of time a day came when the event proved how far a woman's intuition may outrun a man's reasoning. it was the occasion of bromley's first return to the camp at elbow canyon, four full weeks after the night of stumbling on the steep path. young blacklock had driven him by the roundabout road in the little motor-car; and the camp industries paused while the men gave the "little boss" an enthusiastic ovation. afterward, the convalescent was glad enough to lie down on the makeshift lounge in the office bungalow; but when jerry would have driven him back in time for luncheon at castle 'cadia, as his strict orders from miss elsa ran, bromley begged to be allowed to put his feet under the office mess-table with his chief and his volunteer chauffeur. to the three, doing justice to the best that garou could find in the camp commissary stores, came mr. lester wingfield, to drag up a stool and to make himself companionably at home at the engineers' mess, as his custom had come to be. until the meal was ended and the pipes were filled, he was silent and abstracted to the edge of rudeness. but when ballard made a move to go down to the railroad yard with fitzpatrick, the spell was broken. "hold up a minute; don't rush off so frantically," he cut in abruptly. "i have been waiting for many days to get you and bromley together for a little confidential confab about matters and things, and the time has come. sit down." ballard resumed his seat at the table with an air of predetermined patience, and the playwright nodded approval. "that's right," he went on, "brace yourself to take it as it comes; but you needn't write your reluctance so plainly in your face. it's understood." "i don't know what you mean," objected ballard, not quite truthfully. wingfield laughed. "you didn't want me to come down here at first; and since i've been coming you haven't been too excitedly glad to see me. but that's all right, too. it's what the public benefactor usually gets for butting in. just the same, there is a thing to be done, and i've got to do it. i may bore you both in the process, but i have reached a point where a pow-wow is a shrieking necessity. i have done one of two things: i've unearthed the most devilish plot that ever existed, or else i have stumbled into a mare's nest of fairly heroic proportions." by this time he was reasonably sure of his audience. bromley, still rather pallid and weak, squared himself with an elbow on the table. blacklock got up to stand behind the assistant's chair. ballard thrust his hands into his pockets and frowned. the moment had probably arrived when he would have to fight fire with fire for elsa craigmiles's sake, and he was pulling himself together for the battle. "i know beforehand about what you are going to say," he interjected; "but let's have your version of it." "you shall have it hot and hot," promised the playwright. "for quite a little time, and from a purely literary point of view, i have been interesting myself in the curious psychological condition which breeds so many accidents on this job of yours. i began with the assumption that there was a basis of reality. the human mind isn't exactly creative in the sense that it can make something out of nothing. you say, mr. ballard, that your workmen are superstitious fools, and that their mental attitude is chiefly responsible for all the disasters. i say that the fact--the cause-fact--existed before the superstition; was the legitimate ancestor of the superstition. don't you believe it?" ballard neither affirmed nor denied; but bromley nodded. "i've always believed it," he admitted. "there isn't the slightest doubt of the existence of the primary cause-fact; it is a psychological axiom that it _must_ antedate the diseased mental condition," resumed the theorist, oracularly. "i don't know how far back it can be traced, but engineer braithwaite's drowning will serve for our starting point. you will say that there was nothing mysterious about that; yet only the other day, hoskins, the locomotive driver, said to me: 'they can say what they like, but _i_ ain't believing that the river stove him all up as if he'd been stomped on in a cattle pen.' there, you see, you have the first gentle push over into the field of the unaccountable." it was here that ballard broke in, to begin the fire-fighting. "you are getting the cart before the horse. it is ten chances to one that hoskins never dreamed of being incredulous about the plain, unmistakable facts until after the later happenings had given him the superstitious twist." "the sequence in this particular instance is immaterial--quite immaterial," argued the playwright, with obstinate assurance. "the fact stays with us that there _was_ something partly unaccountable in this first tragedy to which the thought of hoskins--the thoughts of all those who knew the circumstances--could revert." "well?" said ballard. "it is on this hypothesis that i have constructed my theory. casting out all the accidents chargeable to carelessness, to disobedience of orders, or to temporary aberration on the part of the workmen, there still remains a goodly number of them carrying this disturbing atom of mystery. take sanderson's case: he came here, i'm told, with a decent record; he was not in any sense of the words a moral degenerate. yet in a very short time he was killed in a quarrel over a woman at whom the average man wouldn't look twice. blacklock, here, has seen this woman; but i'd like to ask if either of you two have?"--this to ballard and the assistant. ballard shook his head, and bromley confessed that he had not. "well, jerry and i have the advantage of you--we have seen her," said wingfield, scoring the point with a self-satisfied smile. "she is a gray-haired mexican crone, apparently old enough, and certainly hideous enough, to be the mexican foreman's mother. i'll venture the assertion that sanderson never thought of her as a feminine possibility at all." "hold on; i shall be obliged to spoil your theory there," interrupted bromley. "billy unquestionably put himself in manuel's hands. he used to go down to the ranch two or three times a week, and he spent money, a good bit of it, on the woman. i know it, because he borrowed from me. and along toward the last, he never rode in that direction without slinging his winchester under the stirrup-leather." "looking for trouble with manuel, you would say?" interjected wingfield. "no doubt of it. and when the thing finally came to a focus, the mexican gave billy a fair show; there were witnesses to that part of it. manuel told sanderson to take his gun, which the woman was trying to hide, get on his horse, and ride to the north corner of the corral, where he was to wheel and begin shooting--or be shot in the back. the programme was carried out to the letter. manuel walked his own horse to the south corner, and the two men wheeled and began to shoot. three or four shots were fired by each before billy was hit." "um!" said the playwright thoughtfully. "there were witnesses, you say? some of the craigmiles cow-boys, i suppose. you took their word for these little details?" bromley made a sorrowful face. "no; it was billy's own story. the poor fellow lived long enough to tell me what i've been passing on to you. he tried to tell me something else, something about manuel and the woman, but there wasn't time enough." wingfield had found the long-stemmed pipe and was filling it from the jar of tobacco on the table. "was that all?" he inquired. "all but the finish--which was rather heart-breaking. when he could no longer speak he kept pointing to me and to his rifle, which had been brought in with him. i understood he was trying to tell me that i should keep the gun." "you did keep it?" "yes; i have it yet." "let me have a look at it, will you?" the weapon was found, and wingfield examined it curiously. "is it loaded?" he asked. bromley nodded. "i guess it is. it hasn't been out of its case or that cupboard since the day of the killing." the playwright worked the lever cautiously, and an empty cartridge shell flipped out and fell to the floor. "william sanderson's last shot," he remarked reflectively, and went on slowly pumping the lever until eleven loaded cartridges lay in an orderly row on the table. "you were wrong in your count of the number of shots fired, or else the magazine was not full when sanderson began," he commented. then, as blacklock was about to pick up one of the cartridges: "hold on, jerry; don't disturb them, if you please." blacklock laughed nervously. "mr. wingfield's got a notion," he said. "he's always getting 'em." "i have," was the quiet reply. "but first let me ask you, bromley: what sort of a rifle marksman was sanderson?" "one of the best i ever knew. i have seen him drill a silver dollar three times out of five at a hundred yards when he was feeling well. there is your element of mystery again: i could never understand how he missed the mexican three or four times in succession at less than seventy-five yards--unless manuel's first shot was the one that hit him. that might have been it. billy was all sand; the kind of man to go on shooting after he was killed." "my notion is that he didn't have the slightest chance in the wide world," was wingfield's comment. "let us prove or disprove it if we can," and he opened a blade of his penknife and dug the point of it into the bullet of the cartridge first extracted from the dead man's gun. "there is my notion--and a striking example of mexican fair play," he added, when the bullet, a harmless pellet of white clay, carefully moulded and neatly coated with lead foil, fell apart under the knife-blade. [illustration: "there is my notion--and a striking example of mexican fair play."] the playwright's audience was interested now, beyond all question of doubt. if wingfield had suddenly hypnotised the three who saw this unexpected confirmation of his theory of treachery in the sanderson tragedy, the awed silence that fell upon the little group around the table could not have been more profound. it was bromley who broke the spell, prefacing his exclamation with a mirthless laugh. "your gifts of deduction are almost uncanny, wingfield," he asserted. "how could you reason your way around to that?"--pointing at the clay bullet. "i didn't," was the calm reply. "imagination can double discount pure logic in the investigative field, nine times out of ten. and in this instance it wasn't my imagination: it was another man's. i once read a story in which the author made his villain kill a man with this same little trick of sham bullets. i merely remembered the story. now let us see how many more there are to go with this." there were four of the cartridges capped with the dummy bullets; the remaining seven being genuine. wingfield did the sum arithmetical aloud. "four and five are nine, and nine and seven are sixteen. sanderson started out that day with a full magazine, we'll assume. he fired five of these dummies--with perfect immunity for manuel--and here are the other four. if the woman had had a little more time, when she was pretending to hide the gun, she would have pumped out all of the good cartridges. being somewhat hurried, she exchanged only nine, which, in an even game and shot for shot, gave manuel ten chances to sanderson's one. it was a cinch." ballard sat back in his chair handling the empty rifle. bromley's pallid face turned gray. the tragedy had touched him very sharply at the time; and this new and unexpected evidence of gross treachery revived all the horror of the day when sanderson had been carried in and laid upon the office couch to die. "poor billy!" he said. "it was a cold-blooded murder, and he knew it. that was what he was trying to tell me--and couldn't." "that was my hypothesis from the first," wingfield asserted promptly. "but the motive seemed to be lacking; it still seems to be lacking. have either of you two imagination enough to help me out?" "the motive?" queried bromley. "why, that remains the same, doesn't it?--more's the pity." the playwright had lighted the long-stemmed pipe, and was thoughtfully blowing smoke rings toward the new patch in the bungalow ceiling. "not if my theory is to stand, mr. bromley. you see, i am proceeding confidently upon the supposition that sanderson wasn't messing in manuel's domestic affairs. i can't believe for a moment that it was a quarrel over the woman, with manuel's jealousy to account for the killing. it's too absurdly preposterous. settling that fact to my own complete satisfaction, i began to search for the real motive, and it is for you to say whether i am right or wrong. tell me: was sanderson more than casually interested in the details of braithwaite's drowning? that story must have been pretty fresh and raw in everybody's recollection at that time." bromley's rejoinder was promptly affirmative. "it was; and sanderson _was_ interested. as braithwaite's successor, and with the fight between the company and the colonel transferred to him, he couldn't shirk his responsibility. now that you recall it, i remember very well that he had notions of his own about braithwaite's taking off. he was a quiet sort; didn't talk much; but what little he did say gave me to understand that he suspected foul play of some kind. and here's your theory again, mr. wingfield: if a hint of what he suspected ever got wind in the camp, it would account for the superstitious twist given to the drowning by hoskins and the others, wouldn't it?" wingfield smote the table with his fist. "there is your connecting link!" he exclaimed. "we have just proved beyond doubt that sanderson wasn't killed in a fair fight: he was murdered, and the murder was carefully planned beforehand. by the same token, braithwaite was murdered, too! recall the circumstances as they have been related by the eye-witnesses: when they found the government man and took him out of the river, his skull was crushed and both arms were broken ... see here!" he threw himself quickly into the attitude of one fishing from a riverbank. "suppose somebody creeps up behind me with a club raised to brain me: i get a glimpse of him or his shadow, dodge, fling up my arms, so--and one good, smashing blow does the business. that's all; or all but one little item. manuel's woman knows who struck that blow, and sanderson was trying to bribe her to tell." if the announcement had been an explosion to rock the bungalow on its foundations, the effect could scarcely have been more striking. ballard flung the empty gun aside and sprang to his feet. the collegian sat down weakly and stared. bromley's jaw dropped, and he glared across at wingfield as if the clever deduction were a mortal affront to be crammed down the throat of its originator. the playwright's smile was the eye-wrinkling of one who prides himself upon the ability to keep his head when others are panic-stricken. "seems to knock you fellows all in a heap," he remarked, calmly. "what have you been doing all these months that you haven't dug it out for yourselves?" bromley was moistening his lips. "go on, mr. wingfield, if you please. tell us all you know--or think you know." "there is more; a good bit more," was the cool reply. "three months ago you had a train wreck on the railroad--two men killed. 'rough track,' was the cause assigned, mr. bromley; but that was one time when your cautious chief, macpherson, fell down. the two surviving trainmen, questioned separately by me within the past week, both say that there were at least inferential proofs of pulled spikes and a loosened rail. a little later one man was killed and two were crippled by the premature explosion of a charge of dynamite in the quarry. carelessness, this time, on the part of the men involved; and _you_ said it, mr. bromley. it was nothing of the kind. some one had substituted a coil of quick-firing fuse for the ordinary slow-match the men had been using, and the thing went off before the cry of 'fire' could be given. how do i know?" "yes; how _do_ you know?" demanded bromley. "by a mere fluke, and not by any process of deduction, in this instance, as it happens. one of the survivors was crafty enough to steal the coil of substituted fuse, having some vague notion of suing the company for damages for supplying poor material. like other men of his class, he gave up the notion when he got well of his injuries; but it was revived again the other day when one of his comrades told him i was a lawyer. he made a date with me, told me his tale, and showed me the carefully preserved coil of bad fuse. i cut off a bit of it and did a little experimenting. look at this." he took a piece of fuse from his pocket, uncoiled it upon the table, and applied a match. it went off like a flash of dry gunpowder, burning through from end to end in a fraction of a second. "go on," said ballard, speaking for the first time since the playwright had begun his unravelling of the tangled threads of disaster. "we dismiss the quarry catastrophe and come to the fall of a great boulder from the hill-crags on the farther side of the river some two weeks later. this heaven-sent projectile smashed into the dam structure, broke out a chunk of the completed masonry, killed two men outright and injured half a dozen others--correct me if i distort the details, mr. bromley. this time there was no investigation worthy of the name, if i have gathered my information carefully enough. other rocks had fallen from the same slope; and after fitzpatrick had assured himself that there were no more likely to fall, the matter was charged off to the accident account. if you and michael fitzpatrick had been the typical coroner's jury, mr. bromley, you couldn't have been more easily satisfied with purely inferential evidence. i wasn't satisfied until i had climbed painfully to the almost inaccessible ledge from which the boulder had fallen. once there, however, the 'act of god' became very plainly the act of man. the 'heel' used as a fulcrum in levering the rock from the ledge was still in place; and the man in the case, in his haste or in his indifference to discovery, had left the iron crowbar with which he had pried the stone from its bed. the crowbar is still there." "is that all?" asked bromley, wetting his lips again. "by no manner of means," was the equable rejoinder. "i could go on indefinitely. the falling derrick may or may not have been aimed specially at macpherson; but it committed premeditated murder, just the same--the broken guy cable was rotted in two with acid. again you will demand to know how i know. i satisfied myself by making a few simple tests on the broken ends with chemicals filched out of colonel craigmiles's laboratory up yonder in the second story of his electric plant. no; i'm no chemist. but you will find, when you come to write stories and plays, that a smattering knowledge of every man's trade comes in handy. otherwise you'll be writing yourself down as a blundering ass in every second paragraph." wingfield paused, but it was only to relight his pipe. when the tobacco was burning again he went on, in the same even tone. "the falling derrick brings us down to your _régime_, mr. ballard. i pass by the incident of the hurled stone that made that awkward patch necessary in your ceiling: you yourself have admitted that the stone could not have come from the blasting in the quarry. but there was another railroad accident which deserves mention. no doubt hoskins has told you what he saw almost on the very spot where braithwaite's snuffing-out occurred. he thought it was braithwaite's ghost--he still thinks so. but we are less credulous; or, at least, i was. like sanderson, i have been making friends--or enemies--at the craigmiles cattle ranch. in fact, i was down there the day following hoskins's misfortune. curiously enough, there was another man who saw the braithwaite ghost--one 'scotty,' a cow-boy. he was night-herding on the ranch bunch of beef cattle on the night of the accident, and he saw the ghost, leather leggings, norfolk shooting-jacket, and double-visored british cap all complete, riding a horse down to the river a little while before the train came around the curve. and after the hullabaloo, he saw it again, riding quietly back to the ranch." bromley was gripping the edge of the table and exchanging glances with ballard. it was the kentuckian who broke the silence which fell upon the group around the table when the playwright made an end. "summing it all up, what is your conclusion, wingfield? you have reached one long before this, i take it." the amateur vidocq made a slow sign of assent. "as i have told you, i went into this thing out of sheer curiosity, and partly because there were obstructions put in my way. that's human nature. but afterward it laid hold of me and held me by its own grip. i'm not sure that there have been any simon-pure accidents at all. so far as i have gone, everything that has happened has been made to happen; has been carefully planned and prepared for in advance by some one of more than ordinary intelligence--and vindictiveness. and, unhappily, the motive is only too painfully apparent. the work on this irrigation project of yours is to be hampered and delayed by all possible means, even to the sacrificing of human life." again there was a silence in the thick-walled office room; a silence so strained that the clickings of the stone hammers in the yard and the rasping cacophonies of the hoisting engines at the dam seemed far removed. it was bromley who spoke first, and his question was pointedly suggestive. "you haven't stopped with the broad generalisation, mr. wingfield?" "meaning that i have found the man who is responsible for all these desperate and deadly doings? i am afraid i have. there would seem to be only one man in the world whose personal interests are at stake. naturally, i haven't gone very deeply into that part of it. but didn't somebody tell me there is a fight on in the courts between the arcadia company and colonel craigmiles?--a fight in which delay is the one thing needful for the colonel?" ballard came back to the table and stood within arm's-reach of the speaker. his square jaw had taken on the fighting angle, and his eyes were cold and hard. "what are you going to do about it, mr. wingfield? have you arrived at that conclusion, also?" wingfield's doubtful glance was in young blacklock's direction, and his reply was evasive. "that is a very natural question; but doesn't it strike you, mr. ballard, that this is hardly the time or place to go into it?" "no." "very well.... jerry, what we are talking about now is strictly between gentlemen: do you understand?" "sure thing," said the collegian. "you ask me what i am going to do, mr. ballard; and in return i'll ask you to put yourself in my place. clearly, it is a law-abiding citizen's plain duty to go and lay the bald facts before the nearest prosecuting attorney and let the law take its course. on the other hand, i'm only a man like other men, and----" "and you are colonel craigmiles's guest. go on," said ballard, straightening the path of hesitation for him. "that's it," nodded wingfield. "as you say, i am his guest; and--er--well, there is another reason why i should be the last person in the world to make or meddle. at first, i was brashly incredulous, as anyone would be who was mixing and mingling with the colonel in the daily amenities. later, when the ugly fact persisted and i was obliged to admit it, the personal factor entered the equation. it's bad medicine, any way you decide to take it." "still you are not telling us what you mean to do, mr. wingfield," bromley reminded him gently. "no; but i don't mind telling you. i have about decided upon a weak sort of compromise. this thing will come out--it's bound to come out in the pretty immediate hence; and i don't want to be here when the sheriff arrives. i think i shall have a very urgent call to go back to new york." bromley laid hold of the table and pulled himself to his feet; but it was ballard who said, slowly, as one who weighs his words and the full import of them: "mr. wingfield, you are more different kinds of an ass than i took you to be, and that is saying a great deal. out of a mass of hearsay, the idle stories of a lot of workmen whose idea of humour has been to make a butt of you, you have built up this fantastic fairy tale. i am charitable enough to believe that you couldn't help it; it is a part of your equipment as a professional maker of fairy tales. but there are two things for which i shall take it upon myself to answer personally. you will not leave castle 'cadia until your time is out; and you'll not leave this room until you have promised the three of us that this cock-and-bull story of yours stops right here with its first telling." "that's so," added bromley, with a quiet menace in his tone. it was the playwright's turn to gasp, and he did it, very realistically. "you--you don't believe it? with all the three-sheet-poster evidence staring you in the face? why, great joash! you must be stark, staring mad--both of you!" he raved. and then to blacklock: "are you in it, too, jerry?" "i guess i am," returned the collegian, meaning no more than that he felt constrained to stand with the men of his chosen profession. wingfield drew a long breath and with it regained the impersonal heights of the unemotional observer. "of course, it is just as you please," he said, carelessly. "i had a foolish notion i was doing you two a good turn; but if you choose to take the other view of it--well, there is no accounting for tastes. drink your own liquor and give the house a good name. i'll dig up my day-pay later on: it's cracking good material, you know." "that is another thing," ballard went on, still more decisively. "if you ever put pen to paper with these crazy theories of yours for a basis, i shall make it my business to hunt you down as i would a wild beast." "so shall i," echoed bromley. wingfield rose and put the long-stemmed pipe carefully aside. "you are a precious pair of bally idiots," he remarked, quite without heat. then he looked at his watch and spoke pointedly to blacklock. "you're forgetting miss elsa's fishing party to the upper canyon, aren't you? suppose we drive around to castle 'cadia in the car. you can send otto back after mr. bromley later on." and young blacklock was so blankly dazed by the cool impudence of the suggestion that he consented and left the bungalow with the playwright. for some little time after the stuttering purr of the motor-car had died away the two men sat as wingfield had left them, each busy with his own thoughts. bromley was absently fingering the cartridges from sanderson's rifle, mute proofs of the truth of the playwright's theories, and ballard seemed to have forgotten that he had promised fitzpatrick to run a line for an additional side-track in the railroad yard. "do you blame me, loudon?" he asked, after the silence had wrought its perfect work. "no; there was nothing else to do. but i couldn't help being sorry for him." "so was i," was the instant rejoinder. "wingfield is all kinds of a decent fellow; and the way he has untangled the thing is nothing short of masterly. but i had to tie his tongue; you know i had to do that, loudon." "of course, you had to." silence again for a little space; and then: "there is no doubt in your mind that he has hit upon the true solution of all the little mysteries?" bromley shook his head slowly. "none at all, i am sorry to say. i have suspected it, in part, at least, for a good while. and i had proof positive before wingfield gave it to us." "how?" queried ballard. bromley was still fingering the cartridges. "i hate to tell you, breckenridge. and yet you ought to know," he added. "it concerns you vitally." ballard's smile was patient. "i am well past the shocking point," he averred. "after what we have pulled through in the last hour we may as well make a clean sweep of it." "well, then; i didn't stumble over the canyon cliff that night four weeks ago: i was knocked over." "what!" "it's true." "and you know who did it?" "i can make a pretty good guess. while i was down at the wing dam a man passed me, coming from the direction of the great house. he was a big man, and he was muffled to the ears in a rain-coat. i know, because i heard the peculiar 'mackintosh' rustle as he went by me. i knew then who it was; would have known even if i hadn't had a glimpse of his face at the passing instant. it is one of the colonel's eccentricities never to go out after nightfall--in a bone-dry country, mind you--without wearing a rain-coat." "well?" said ballard. "he didn't see me, though i thought at first that he did; he kept looking back as if he were expecting somebody to follow him. he took the path on our side of the canyon--the one i took a few minutes later. that's all; except that i would swear that i heard the 'slither' of a mackintosh just as the blow fell that knocked me down and out. "heavens, loudon! it's too grossly unbelievable! why, man, he saved your life after the fact, risking his own in a mad drive down here from castle 'cadia in the car to do it! you wouldn't have lived until morning if he hadn't come." "it is unbelievable, as you say; and yet it isn't, when you have surrounded all the facts. what is the reason, the only reason, why colonel craigmiles should resort to all these desperate expedients?" "delay, of course; time to get his legal fight shaped up in the courts." "exactly. if he can hold us back long enough, the dam will never be completed. he knows this, and mr. pelham knows it, too. unhappily for us, the colonel has found a way to ensure the delay. the work can't go on without a chief of construction." "but, good lord, loudon, you're not the 'big boss'; and, besides, the man loves you like a son! why should he try to kill you one minute and move heaven and earth to save your life the next?" bromley shook his head sorrowfully. "that is what made me say what i did about not wanting to tell you, breckenridge. that crack over the head wasn't meant for me; it was meant for you. if it had not been so dark under the hill that night--but it was; pocket-dark in the shadow of the pines. and he knew you'd be coming along that path on your way back to camp--knew you'd be coming, and wasn't expecting anybody else. don't you see?" ballard jumped up and began to pace the floor. "my god!" he ejaculated; "i was his guest; i had just broken bread at his table! bromley, when he went out to lie in wait for me, he left me talking with his daughter! it's too horrible!" bromley had stood the eleven cartridges, false and true, in a curving row on the table. the crooking line took the shape of a huge interrogation point. "wingfield thought he had solved all the mysteries, but the darkest of them remains untouched," he commented. "how can the genial, kindly, magnanimous man we know, or think we know, be such a fiend incarnate?" then he broke ground again in the old field. "will you do now what i begged you to do at first?--throw up this cursed job and go away?" ballard stopped short in his tramping and his answer was an explosive "no!" "that is half righteous anger, and half something else. what is the other half, breckenridge?" and when ballard did not define it: "i can guess it; it is the same thing that made you stuff wingfield's theories down his throat a few minutes ago. you are sorry for the daughter." through the open door ballard saw fitzpatrick coming across the stone yard. "you've guessed it, loudon; or rather, i think you have known it all along. i love elsa craigmiles; i loved her long before i ever heard of arcadia or its king. now you know why wingfield mustn't be allowed to talk; why i mustn't go away and give place to a new chief who might live to see elsa's father hanged. she must be spared and defended at any cost. one other word before fitzpatrick cuts in: when my time comes, if it does come, you and one other man will know how i passed out and why. i want your promise that you'll keep still, and that you will keep wingfield still. blacklock doesn't count." "sure," said bromley, quietly; and then, with the big irish contractor's shadow fairly darkening the door: "you'll do the same for me, breckenridge, won't you? because--oh, confound it all!--i'm in the same boat with you; without a ghost of a show, you understand." ballard put his back squarely to michael fitzpatrick scraping his feet on the puncheon-floored porch of the bungalow, and gripped bromley's hand across the table. "it's a bargain," he declared warmly. "we'll take the long chance and stand by her together, old man. and if she chooses the better part in the end, i'll try not to act like a jealous fool. now you turn in and lie down a while. i've got to go with michael." this time it was bromley who saved the situation. "what a pair of luminous donkeys we are!" he laughed. "she calls you 'dear friend,' and me 'little brother.' if we're right good and tractable, we may get cards to her wedding--with wingfield." xix in the laboratory ballard had a small shock while he was crossing the stone yard with fitzpatrick. it turned upon the sight of the handsome figure of the craigmiles ranch foreman calmly rolling a cigarette in the shade of one of the cutting sheds. "what is the mexican doing here?" he demanded abruptly of fitzpatrick; and the irishman's manner was far from reassuring. "'tis you he'll be wanting to see, i'm thinking. he's been hanging 'round the office f'r the betther part of an hour. shall i run him off the riservation?" "around the office, you say?" ballard cut himself instantly out of the contractor's company and crossed briskly to the shed where the mexican was lounging. "you are waiting to see me?" he asked shortly, ignoring the foreman's courtly bow and sombrero-sweep. "i wait to h-ask for the 'ealth of señor bromley. it is report' to me that he is recover from hees sobad h-accident." "mr. bromley is getting along all right. is that all?" the mexican bowed again. "i bring-a da message from the señorita to da señor wingfiel'. he is som'where on da camp?" "no; he has gone back to the upper valley. you have been waiting some time? you must have seen him go." for the third time the mexican removed his hat. "i'll have been here one, two, t'ree little minute, señor ballar'," he lied smoothly. "and now i make to myself the honour of saying to you, _adios_." ballard let him go because there was nothing else to do. his presence in the construction camp, and the ready lie about the length of his stay, were both sufficiently ominous. what if he had overheard the talk in the office? it was easily possible that he had. the windows were open, and the adobe was only a few steps withdrawn from the busy cutting yard. the eavesdropper might have sat unremarked upon the office porch, if he had cared to. the kentuckian was deep in the labyrinth of reflection when he rejoined fitzpatrick; and the laying-out of the new side-track afterward was purely mechanical. when the work was done, ballard returned to the bungalow, to find bromley sleeping the sleep of pure exhaustion on the blanket-covered couch. obeying a sudden impulse, the kentuckian took a field-glass from its case on the wall, and went out, tip-toeing to avoid waking bromley. if manuel had overheard, it was comparatively easy to prefigure his next step. "which way did the mexican go?" ballard asked of a cutter in the stone-yard. "the last i saw of him he was loungin' off towards the elbow. that was just after you was talkin' to him," said the man, lifting his cap to scratch his head with one finger. "did he come here horseback?" "not up here on the mesa. might 'a' left his nag down below; but he wa'n't headin' that way when i saw him." ballard turned away and climbed the hill in the rear of the bungalow; the hill from which the table-smashing rock had been hurled. from its crest there was a comprehensive view of the upper valley, with the river winding through it, with castle 'cadia crowning the island-like knoll in its centre, with the densely forested background range billowing green and grey in the afternoon sunlight. throwing himself flat on the brown hilltop, ballard trained his glass first on the inner valley reaches of a bridle-path leading over the southern hogback. there was no living thing in sight in that field, though sufficient time had elapsed to enable the mexican to ride across the bridge and over the hills, if he had left the camp mounted. the engineer frowned and slipped easily into the out-of-door man's habit of thinking aloud. "it was a bare chance, of course. if he had news to carry to his master, he would save time by walking one mile as against riding four. hello!" the exclamation emphasised a small discovery. from the hilltop the entrance to the colonel's mysterious mine was in plain view, and for the first time in ballard's observings of it the massive, iron-bound door was open. bringing the glass to bear on the tunnel-mouth square of shadow, ballard made out the figures of two men standing just within the entrance and far enough withdrawn to be hidden from prying eyes on the camp plateau. with the help of the glass, the young engineer could distinguish the shape of a huge white sombrero, and under the sombrero the red spark of a cigarette. wherefore he rolled quickly to a less exposed position and awaited developments. the suspense was short. in a few minutes the mexican foreman emerged from the gloom of the mine-mouth, and with a single swift backward glance for the industries at the canyon portal, walked rapidly up the path toward the inner valley. ballard sat up and trained the field-glass again. why had manuel gone out of his way to stop at the mine? the answer, or at least one possible answer, was under the foreman's arm, taking the shape of a short-barrelled rifle of the type carried by express messengers on western railways. ballard screwed the glass into its smallest compass, dropped it into his pocket, and made his way down to the camp mesa. the gun meant nothing more than that the mexican had not deemed it advisable to appear in the construction camp armed. but, on the other hand, ballard was fully convinced that he was on his way to colonel craigmiles as the bearer of news. it was an hour later when otto, the colonel's chauffeur, kicked out the clutch of the buzzing runabout before the door of the office bungalow and announced that he had come to take the convalescent back to castle 'cadia. bromley was still asleep; hence there had been no opportunity for a joint discussion of the latest development in the little war. but when ballard was helping him into the mechanician's seat, and otto had gone for a bucket of water to cool the hissing radiator, there was time for a hurried word or two. "more trouble, loudon--it turned up while you were asleep. manuel was here, in the camp, while we were hammering it out with wingfield. it is measurably certain that he overheard all or part of the talk. what he knows, the colonel doubtless knows, too, by this time, and----" "oh, good lord!" groaned bromley. "it was bad enough as it stood, but this drags wingfield into it, neck and heels! what will they do to him?" ballard knitted his brows. "as manuel could very easily make it appear in his tale-bearing, anything that might happen to wingfield would be a pretty clear case of self-defence for colonel craigmiles. wingfield knows too much." "a great deal too much. if i dared say ten words to elsa----" "no," ballard objected; "she is the one person to be shielded and spared. it's up to us to get wingfield away from castle 'cadia and out of the country--before anything does happen to him." "if i were only half a man again!" bromley lamented. "but i know just how it will be; i sha'n't have a shadow of chance at wingfield this evening. as soon as i show up, miss cauffrey and the others will scold me for overstaying my leave, and chase me off to bed." "that's so; and it's right," mused ballard. "you've no business to be out of bed this minute; you're not fit to be facing a ten-mile drive in this jig-wagon. by jove: that's our way out of it! you climb down and let me go in your place. i'll tell them we let you overdo yourself; that you were too tired to stand the motor trip--which is the fact, if you'd only admit it. that will give me a chance at wingfield; the chance you wouldn't have if you were to go. what do you say?" "i've already said it," was the convalescent's reply; and he let ballard help him out of the mechanic's seat and into the bungalow. this is how it chanced that the chauffeur, coming back from garou's kitchen barrel with the second bucket of water, found his fares changed and the chief engineer waiting to be his passenger over the ten miles of roundabout road. it was all one to the berliner. he listened to ballard's brief explanation with true german impassiveness, cranked the motor, pulled himself in behind the pilot-wheel, and sent the little car bounding down the mesa hill to the boiling water bridge what time the hoister whistles were blowing the six-o'clock quitting signal. the kentuckian looked at his watch mechanically, as one will at some familiar reminder of the time. seven o'clock was the castle 'cadia dinner hour: thirty minutes should suffice for the covering of the ten miles of country road, and with the fates propitious there would be an empty half-hour for the cajoling or compelling of wingfield, imperilled in his character of overcurious delver into other people's affairs. so ran the reasonable prefiguring; but plans and prefigurings based upon the performance of a gasolene motor call for a generous factor of safety. five miles from a tool-box in either direction, the engines of the runabout set up an ominous knocking. a stop was made, and ballard filled and lighted his pipe while the chauffeur opened the bonnet and tapped and pried and screwed and adjusted. ten minutes were lost in the testing and trying, and then the german named the trouble, with an emphatic "_himmel!_" for a foreword. a broken bolt-head had dropped into the crank-case, and it would be necessary to take the engines to pieces to get it out. ballard consulted his watch again. it lacked only a quarter of an hour of the castle 'cadia dinner-time; and a five-mile tramp over the hills would consume at least an hour. whatever danger might be threatening the playwright (and the farther ballard got away from the revelations of the early afternoon, the more the entire fabric of accusation threatened to crumble into the stuff nightmares are made of), a delay of an hour or two could hardly bring it to a crisis. hence, when otto lighted the lamps and got out his wrenches, his passenger stayed with him and became a very efficient mechanic's helper. this, as we have seen, was at a quarter before seven. at a quarter before nine the broken bolt was replaced, the last nut was screwed home, and the engines of the runabout were once more in commission. "a handy bit of road repairing, otto," was ballard's comment. "and we did it five miles from a lemon. how long will it take us to get in?" the berliner did not know. with no further bad luck, fifteen or twenty minutes should be enough. and in fifteen minutes or less the little car was racing up the maple-shaded avenue to the castle 'cadia carriage entrance. ballard felt trouble in the air before he descended from the car. the great portico was deserted, the piano was silent, and the lights were on in the upper rooms of the house. at the mounting of the steps, the forestry man met him and drew him aside into the library, which was as empty as the portico. "i heard the car and thought it would be mr. bromley," bigelow explained; adding: "i'm glad he didn't come. there has been an accident." "to--to wingfield?" "yes. how did you know? it was just after dinner. the colonel had some experimental mixture cooking in his electric furnace, and he invited us all down to the laboratory to see the result. wingfield tangled himself in the wires in some unaccountable way and got a terrible shock. for a few minutes we all thought he was killed, but the colonel would not give up, and now he is slowly recovering." ballard sat down in the nearest chair and held his head in his hands. his mind was in the condition of a coffer-dam that has been laboriously pumped out, only to be overwhelmed by a sudden and irresistible return of the flood. the theory of premeditated assassination was no nightmare; it was a pitiless, brutal, inhuman fact. wingfield, an invited guest, and with a guest's privileges and immunities, had been tried, convicted, and sentenced for knowing too much. "it's pretty bad, isn't it?" he said to bigelow, feeling the necessity of saying something, and realising at the same instant the futility of putting the horror of it into words for one who knew nothing of the true state of affairs. "bad enough, certainly. you can imagine how it harrowed all of us, and especially the women. cousin janet fainted and had to be carried up to the house; and miss elsa was the only one of the young women who wasn't perfectly helpless. colonel craigmiles was our stand-by; he knew just what to do, and how to do it. he is a wonderful man, mr. ballard." "he is--in more ways than a casual observer would suspect." ballard suffered so much of his thought to set itself in words. to minimise the temptation to say more he turned his back upon the accident and accounted for himself and his presence at castle 'cadia. "bromley was pretty well tired out when otto came down with the car, and i offered to ride around and make his excuses. we broke an engine bolt on the road: otherwise i should have been here two hours earlier. you say wingfield is recovering? i wonder if i could see him for a few minutes, before i go back to camp?" bigelow offered to go up-stairs and find out; and ballard waited in the silence of the deserted library for what seemed like a long time. and when the waiting came to an end it was not bigelow who parted the portières and came silently to stand before his chair; it was the king's daughter. "you have heard?" she asked, and her voice seemed to come from some immeasurable depth of anguish. "yes. is he better?" "much better; though he is terribly weak and shaken." then suddenly: "what brought you here--so late?" he explained the ostensible object of his coming, and mentioned the cause of the delay. she heard him through without comment, but there was doubt and keen distress and a great fear in the gray eyes when he was permitted to look into their troubled depths. "if you are telling me the truth, you are not telling me all of it," she said, sinking wearily into one of the deepest of the easy-chairs and shading the tell-tale eyes with her hand. "why shouldn't i tell you all of it?" he rejoined evasively. "i don't know your reasons: i can only fear them." "if you could put the fear into words, perhaps i might be able to allay it," he returned gently. "it is past alleviation; you know it. mr. wingfield was with you again to-day, and when he came home i knew that the thing i had been dreading had come to pass." "how could you know it? not from anything wingfield said or did, i'm sure." "no; but jerry blacklock was with him--and jerry's face is an open book for any one who cares to read it. won't you please tell me the worst, breckenridge?" "there isn't any worst," denied ballard, lying promptly for love's sake. "we had luncheon together, the four of us, in honour of bromley's recovery. afterward, wingfield spun yarns for us--as he has a habit of doing when he can get an audience of more than one person. some of his stories were more grewsome than common. i don't wonder that jerry had a left-over thrill or two in his face." she looked up from behind the eye-shading hand. "do you dare to repeat those stories to me?" his laugh lacked something of spontaneity. "it is hardly a question of daring; it is rather a matter of memory--or the lack of it. who ever tries to make a record of after-dinner fictions? wingfield's story was a tale of impossible crimes and their more impossible detection; the plot and outline for a new play, i fancied, which he was trying first on the dog. blacklock was the only one of his three listeners who took him seriously." she was silenced, if not wholly convinced; and when she spoke again it was of the convalescent assistant. "you are not going to keep mr. bromley at the camp, are you? he isn't able to work yet." "oh, no. you may send for him in the morning, if you wish. i--he was a little tired to-night, and i thought----" "yes; you have told me what you thought," she reminded him, half absently. and then, with a note of constraint in her voice that was quite new to him: "you are not obliged to go back to elbow canyon to-night, are you? your room is always ready for you at castle 'cadia." "thank you; but i'll have to go back. if i don't, bromley will think he's the whole thing and start in to run the camp in the morning before i could show up." she rose when he did, but her face was averted and he could not see her eyes when he went on in a tone from which every emotion save that of mere friendly solicitude was carefully effaced: "may i go up and jolly wingfield a bit? he'll think it odd if i go without looking in at him." "if you should go without doing that for which you came," she corrected, with the same impersonal note in her voice. "of course, you may see him: come with me." she led the way up the grand stair and left him at the door of a room in the wing which commanded a view of the sky-pitched backgrounding mountains. the door was ajar, and when he knocked and pushed it open he saw that the playwright was in bed, and that he was alone. "by jove, now!" said a weak voice from the pillows; "this is neighbourly of you, ballard. how the dickens did you manage to hear of it?" "bad news travels fast," said ballard, drawing a chair to the bedside. he did not mean to go into details if he could help it; and to get away from them he asked how the miracle of recovery was progressing. "oh, i'm all right now," was the cheerful response--"coming alive at the rate of two nerves to the minute. and i wouldn't have missed it for the newest thousand-dollar bill that ever crackled in the palm of poverty. what few thrills i can't put into a description of electrocution, after this, won't be worth mentioning." "they have left you alone?" queried ballard, with a glance around the great room. "just this moment. the colonel and miss cauffrey and miss dosia were with me when the buzzer went off. whoever sent you up pressed the button down stairs. neat, isn't it. how's bromley? i hope you didn't come to tell us that his first day in camp knocked him out." "no; bromley is all right. you are the sick man, now." wingfield's white teeth gleamed in a rather haggard smile. "i have looked over the edge, ballard; that's the fact." "tell me about it--if you can." "there isn't much to tell. we were all crowding around the electric furnace, taking turns at the coloured-glass protected peep-hole. the colonel had warned us about the wires, but the warning didn't cut any figure in my case." "you stumbled?" the man in bed flung a swift glance across the room toward the corridor door which ballard had left ajar. "go quietly and shut that door," was his whispered command; and when ballard had obeyed it: "now pull your chair closer and i'll answer your question: no, i didn't stumble. somebody tripped me, and in falling i grabbed at one of the electrodes." "i was sure of it," said ballard, quietly. "i knew that in all human probability you would be the next victim. that is why i persuaded bromley to let me take his place in the motor-car. if the car hadn't broken down, i should have been here in time to warn you. i suppose it isn't necessary to ask who tripped you?" the playwright rocked his head on the pillow. "i'm afraid not, ballard. the man who afterward saved my life--so they all say--was the one who stood nearest to me at the moment. the 'why' is what is tormenting me. i'm not the arcadia company, or its chief engineer, or anybody in particular in this game of 'heads i win, and tails you lose.'" ballard left his chair and walked slowly to the mountain-viewing window. when he returned to the bedside, he said: "i can help you to the 'why.' what you said in my office to-day to three of us was overheard by a fourth--and the fourth was manuel. an hour or so later he came up this way, on foot. does that clear the horizon for you?" "perfectly," was the whispered response, followed by a silence heavy with forecastings. "under the changed conditions, it was only fair to you to bring you your warning, and to take off the embargo on your leaving castle 'cadia. of course, you'll get yourself recalled to new york at once?" said ballard. wingfield raised himself on one elbow, and again his lips parted in the grinning smile. "not in a thousand years, ballard. i'll see this thing out now, if i get killed regularly once a day. you say i mustn't write about it, and that's so. i'm not a cad. but the experience is worth millions to me--worth all the chances i'm taking, and more. i'll stay." ballard gripped the womanish hand lying on the coverlet. here, after all, and under all the overlayings of pose and craftsman egotism, was a man with a man's heart and courage. "you're a brave fool, wingfield," he said, warmly; "and because you are brave and a man grown, you shall be one of us. we--bromley and i--bluffed you to-day for a woman's sake. if you could have got away from the excitement of the man-hunt for a single second, i know your first thought would have been for the woman whose lifted finger silences three of us. because you seemed to forget this for the moment, i knocked you down with your own theory. does that clear another of the horizons for you?" "immensely. and i deserved all you gave me. until i'm killed off, you may comfort yourself with the thought that one of the gallant three is here, in the wings, as you might say, ready and willing to do what he can to keep the curtain from rising on any more tragedy." "thank you," said ballard, heartily; "that will be a comfort." then, with a parting hand-grip and an added word of caution to the man who knew too much, he left the room and the house, finding his way unattended to the great portico and to the path leading down to the river road. the mile faring down the valley in the velvety blackness of the warm summer night was a meliorating ending to the day of revelations and alarms; and for the first time since wingfield's clever unravelling of the tangled mesh of mystery, the kentuckian was able to set the accusing facts in orderly array. yet now, as before, the greatest of the mysteries refused to take its place in the wellnigh completed circle of incriminating discoveries. that the king of arcadia, elsa's father and the genial host of the great house on the knoll, was a common murderer, lost to every humane and christian prompting of the soul, was still as incredible as a myth of the middle ages. "i'll wake up some time in the good old daylight of the every-day, commonplace world, i hope," was ballard's summing-up, when he had traversed the reflective mile and had let himself into the office bungalow to find bromley sleeping peacefully in his bunk. "but it's a little hard to wait--with the air full of damocles-swords, and with the dear girl's heart gripped in a vise that i can't unscrew. that is what makes it bitterer than death: she knows, and it is killing her by inches--in spite of the bravest heart that ever loved and suffered. god help her; god help us all!" xx the geologist it was miss craigmiles herself who gave ballard the exact date of professor gardiner's coming; driving down to the construction camp alone in the little motor-car for that avowed purpose. a cloud-burst in the main range had made the stage road from alta vista impassable for the moment, leaving the arcadia company's railroad--by some unexplained miracle of good fortune--unharmed. hence, unless the expected guest could be brought over from alta vista on the material train, he would be indefinitely detained on the other side of the mountain. miss elsa came ostensibly to beg a favour. "of course, i'll send over for him," said ballard, when the favour had been named. "didn't i tell you he is going to be _my_ guest?" "but he isn't," she insisted, playfully. bromley was out and at work, wingfield had entirely recovered from the effects of his electric shock, and there had been no untoward happenings for three peaceful weeks. wherefore there was occasion for light-heartedness. ballard descended from the bungalow porch and arbitrarily stopped the buzzing engines of the runabout by cutting out the batteries. "this is the first time i've seen you for three weeks," he asserted--which was a lover's exaggeration. "please come up and sit on the porch. there is any number of things i want to say." "where is mr. bromley?" she asked, making no move to leave the driving-seat. "he is out on the ditch survey--luckily for me. won't you please 'light and come in?--as we say back in the blue-grass." "you don't deserve it. you haven't been near us since mr. bromley went back to work. why?" "i have been exceedingly busy; we are coming down the home-stretch on our job here, as you know." the commonplace excuse was the only one available. he could not tell her that it was impossible for him to accept further hospitalities at castle 'cadia. "mr. bromley hasn't been too busy," she suggested. "bromley owes all of you a very great debt of gratitude." "and you do not, you would say. that is quite true. you owe us nothing but uncompromising antagonism--hatred, if you choose to carry it to that extreme." "no," he returned gravely. "i can't think of you and of enmity at the same moment." "if you could only know," she said, half absently, and the trouble shadow came quickly into the backgrounding depths of the beautiful eyes. "there is no real cause for enmity or hatred--absolutely none." "i am thinking of you," he reminded her, reverting to the impossibility of associating that thought with the other. "thank you; i am glad you can make even that much of a concession. it is more than another would make." then, with the unexpectedness which was all her own: "i am still curious to know what you did to mr. wingfield: that day when he so nearly lost his life in the laboratory?" "at what time in that day?" he asked, meaning to dodge if he could. "you know--when you had him here in your office, with jerry and mr. bromley." "i don't remember all the things i did to him, that day and before it. i believe i made him welcome--when i had to. he hasn't been using his welcome much lately, though." "no; not since that day that came near ending so terribly. i'd like to know what happened." "nothing--of any consequence. i believe i told you that wingfield was boring us with the plot of a new play." "yes; and you said you couldn't remember it." "i don't want to remember it. let's talk of something else. is your anxiety--the trouble you refuse to share with me--any lighter?" "no--yes; just for the moment, perhaps." "are you still determined not to let me efface it for you?" "you couldn't; no one can. it can never be effaced." his smile was the man's smile of superior wisdom. "don't we always say that when the trouble is personal?" she ignored the query completely, and her rejoinder was totally irrelevant--or it seemed to be. "you think i came down here to ask you to send over to alta vista for professor gardiner. that was merely an excuse. i wanted to beg you once again to suspend judgment--not to be vindictive." again he dissimulated. "i'm not vindictive: why should i be?" "you have every reason; or, at least, you believe you have." she leaned over the arm of the driving-seat and searched his eyes pleadingly: "please tell me: how much did mr. wingfield find out?" it was blankly impossible to tell her the hideous truth, or anything remotely approaching it. but his parrying of her question was passing skilless. "not being a mind-reader, i can't say what wingfield knows--or thinks he knows. our disagreement turned upon his threat to make literary material out of--well, out of matters that were in a good measure my own private and personal affairs." "oh; so there _was_ a quarrel? that is more than you were willing to admit a moment ago." "you dignify it too much. i believe i called him an ass, and he called me an idiot. there was no bloodshed." "you are jesting again. you always jest when i want to be serious." "i might retort that i learned the trick of it from you--in the blessed days that are now a part of another existence." "oh!" she said; and there was so much more of distress than of impatience in the little outcry that he was mollified at once. "i'm going to crank the engines and send you home," he asseverated. "i'm not fit to talk to you to-day." and he started the engines of the motor-car. she put a dainty foot on the clutch-pedal. "you'll come up and see me?" she asked; adding: "some time when you are fit?" "i'll come when i am needed; yes." he walked beside the slowly moving car as she sent it creeping down the mesa hill on the brakes. at the hill-bottom turn, where the camp street ended and the roundabout road led off to the temporary bridge, she stopped the car. the towering wall of the great dam, with its dotting of workmen silhouetted black against the blue of the colorado sky, rose high on the left. she let her gaze climb to the summit of the huge dike. "you are nearly through?" she asked. "yes. two other weeks, with no bad luck, will see us ready to turn on the water." she was looking straight ahead again. "you know what that means to us at castle 'cadia?--but of course you do." "i know i'd rather be a 'mucker' with a pick and shovel out yonder in the ditch than to be the boss here when the spillway gates are closed at the head of the cut-off tunnel. and that is the pure truth." "this time i believe you without reservation, breckenridge--my friend." then: "will mr. pelham come out to the formal and triumphal opening of the arcadian irrigation district?" "oh, you can count on that--with all the trimmings. there is to be a demonstration in force, as major blacklock would say; special trains from denver to bring the crowd, a barbecue dinner, speeches, a land-viewing excursion over the completed portion of the railroad, and fireworks in the evening while the band plays 'america.' you can trust mr. pelham to beat the big drum and to clash the cymbals vigorously and man-fashion at the psychological instant." "for purely commercial reasons, of course? i could go a step further and tell you something else that will happen. there will be a good many transfers of the arcadia company's stock at the triumphal climax." he was standing with one foot on the car step and his hands buried in the pockets of his short working-coat. his eyes narrowed to regard her thoughtfully. "what do you know about such things?" he demurred. "you know altogether too much for one small bachelor maid. it's uncanny." "i am the cow-punching princess of arcadia, and mr. pelham's natural enemy, you must remember," she countered, with a laugh that sounded entirely care-free. "i could tell you more about the stock affair. mr. pelham has been very liberal with his friends in the floating of this great and glorious undertaking--to borrow one of his pet phrases. he has placed considerable quantities of the arcadia company's stock among them at merely nominal prices, asking only that they sign a 'gentlemen's agreement' not to resell any of it, so that my father could get it. but there is a wheel within that wheel, too. something more than half of the nominal capitalisation has been reserved as 'treasury stock.' when the enthusiasm reaches the proper height, this reserved stock will be put upon the market. people will be eager to buy it--won't they?--with the work all done, and everything in readiness to tap the stream of sudden wealth?" "probably: that would be the natural inference." "i thought so. and, as the company's chief engineer, you could doubtless get in on the 'ground floor' that mr. pelham is always talking about, couldn't you?" the question was one to prick an honest man in his tenderest part. ballard was hurt, and his face advertised it. "see here, little girl," he said, flinging the formalities to the winds; "i am the company's hired man at the present moment, but that is entirely without prejudice to my convictions, or to the fact that some day i am going to marry you. i hope that defines my attitude. as matters stand, mr. pelham couldn't hand me out any of his stock on a silver platter!" "and mr. bromley?" "you needn't fear for loudon; he isn't going to invest, either. you know very well that he is in precisely the same boat that i am." "how shocking!" she exclaimed, with an embarrassed little laugh. "is mr. bromley to marry your widow? or are you to figure as the consolation prize for his widow? doubtless you have arranged it amicably between you." having said the incendiary thing, he brazened it out like a man and a lover. "it's no joke. i suppose i might sidestep, but i sha'n't. you know very well that bromley is in love with you--up to his chin, and i'm afraid you have been too kind to him. that is a little hard on loudon, you know--when you are going to marry some one else. but let that rest, and tell me a little more about this stock deal. why should there be a 'gentlemen's agreement' to exclude your father? to a rank outsider like myself, arcadia irrigation would seem to be about the last thing in the world colonel adam craigmiles would want to buy." "under present conditions, i think it is," she said. "_i_ shouldn't buy it now." "what would you do, o wise virgin of the market-place?" "i'd wait patiently while the rocket is going up; i might even clap my hands and say 'ah-h-h!' with the admiring multitude. but afterward, when the stick comes down, i'd buy every bit of arcadia irrigation i could find." again he was regarding her through half-closed eyelids. "as i said before, you know too much about such things--altogether too much." he said it half in raillery, but his deduction was made seriously enough. "you think your father will win his law-suit and so break the market?" "no; on the contrary, i'm quite sure he will be beaten. i am going, now. don't ask me any more questions: i've said too much to the company's engineer, as it is." "you have said nothing to the company's engineer," he denied. "you have been talking to breckenridge ballard, your future----" she set the car in motion before he could complete the sentence, and he stood looking after it as it shot away up the hills. it was quite out of sight, and the sound of its drumming motor was lost in the hoarse grumbling of the river, before he began to realise that elsa's visit had not been for the purpose of asking him to send for gardiner, nor yet to beg him not to be vindictive. her real object had been to warn him not to buy arcadia irrigation. "why?" came the unfailing question, shot-like; and, like all the others of its tribe, it had to go unanswered. it was two days later when gardiner, the assistant professor of geology, kept his appointment, was duly met at alta vista by ballard's special engine and a "dinkey" way-car, and was transported in state to the arcadian fastnesses. ballard had it in mind to run down the line on the other engine to meet the bostonian; but elsa forestalled him by intercepting the "special" at ackerman's with the motor-car and whisking the guest over the roundabout road to castle 'cadia. gardiner walked down to the construction camp at elbow canyon bright and early the following morning to make his peace with ballard. "age has its privileges which youth is obliged to concede, breckenridge, my son," was the form his apology took. "when i learned that i might have my visit with you, and still be put up at the millionaire hostelry in the valley above, i didn't hesitate a moment. i am far beyond the point of bursting into enthusiastic raptures over a bunk shake-down in a camp shanty, steel forks, tin platters, and plum-duff, when i can live on the fat of the land and sleep on a modern mattress. how are you coming on? am i still in time to be in at the death?" "i hope there isn't going to be any death," was the laughing rejoinder. "because, in the natural sequence of things, it would have to be mine, you know." "ah! you are tarred a little with the superstitious stick, yourself, are you? what was it you said to me about 'two sheer accidents and a commonplace tragedy'? you may remember that i warned you, and the event proves that i was a true prophet. i predicted that arcadia would have its shepherdess, you recollect." thus, with dry humour, the wise man from the east. but ballard was not prepared at the moment for a plunge into the pool of sentiment with the mildly cynical old schoolman for a bath-master, and he proposed, as the readiest alternative, a walking tour of the industries. gardiner was duly impressed by the industrial miracles, and by the magnitude of the irrigation scheme. also, he found fitting words in which to express his appreciation of the thoroughness of ballard's work, and of the admirable system under which it was pressing swiftly to its conclusion. but these matters became quickly subsidiary when he began to examine the curious geological formation of the foothill range through which the river elbowed its tumultuous course. "these little wrinklings of the earth's crust at the foot of the great mountain systems are nature's puzzle-pieces for us," he remarked. "i foresee an extremely enjoyable vacation for me--if you have forgiven me to the extent of a snack at your mess-table now and then, and a possible night's lodging in your bungalow if i should get caught out too late to reach the millionaire luxuries of castle 'cadia." "if i haven't forgiven you, bromley will take you in," laughed ballard. "make yourself one of us--when you please and as you please. the camp and everything in it belongs to you for as long as you can persuade yourself to stay." gardiner accepted the invitation in its largest sense, and the afternoon of the same day found him prowling studiously in the outlet canyon with hammer and specimen-bag; a curious figure of complete abstraction in brown duck and service leggings, overshadowed by an enormous cork-lined helmet-hat that had been faded and stained by the sun and rains of three continents. ballard passed the word among his workmen. the absent-minded stranger under the cork hat was the guest of the camp, who was to be permitted to go and come as he chose, whose questions were to be answered without reserve, and whose peculiarities, if he had any, were to pass unremarked. with the completion of the dam so near at hand, neither of the two young men who were responsible for the great undertaking had much time to spare for extraneous things. but gardiner asked little of his secondary hosts; and presently the thin, angular figure prowling and tapping at the rocks became a familiar sight in the busy construction camp. it was lamoine, the camp jester, who started the story that the figure in brown canvas was a mascot, imported specially by the "boss" to hold the "hoodoo" in check until the work should be done; and thereafter the boston professor might have chipped his specimens from the facing stones on the dam without let or hindrance. the masons were setting the coping course on the great wall on a day when gardiner's studious enthusiasm carried him beyond the dinner-hour at castle 'cadia and made him an evening guest in the engineer's adobe; and in the after-supper talk it transpired that the assistant in geology had merely snatched a meagre fortnight out of his work in the summer school, and would be leaving for home in another day or two. both of the young men protested their disappointment. they had been too busy to see anything of their guest in a comradely way, and they had been looking forward to the lull in the activities which would follow the opening celebration and promising themselves a more hospitable entertainment of the man who had been both mentor and elder brother to them in the boston years. "you are not regretting it half as keenly as i am," the guest assured them. "apart from losing the chance to thresh it out with you two, i have never been on more fascinatingly interesting geological ground. i could spend an entire summer among these wonderful hills of yours without exhausting their astonishing resources." ballard made allowances for scholastic enthusiasm. he had slighted geology for the more strictly practical studies in his college course. "meaning the broken formations?" he asked. "meaning the general topsyturvyism of all the formations. where you might reasonably expect to find one stratum, you find others perhaps thousands of years older--or younger--in the geological chronology. i wonder you haven't galvanised a little enthusiasm over it: you discredit your alma mater and me when you regard these marvellous hills merely as convenient buttresses for your wall of masonry. and, by the way, that reminds me: neither of you two youngsters is responsible for the foundations of that dam; isn't that the fact?" "it is," said bromley, answering for both. then he added that the specifications called for bed-rock, which fitzpatrick, who had worked under braithwaite, said had been uncovered and properly benched for the structure. "'bed-rock,'" said the geologist, reflectively. "that is a workman's term, and is apt to be misleading. the vital question, under such abnormal conditions as those presenting themselves in your canyon, is, what kind of rock was it?" bromley shook his head. "you can't prove it by me. the foundations were all in before i came on the job. but from fitzpatrick's description i should take it to be the close-grained limestone." "h'm," said gardiner. "dam-building isn't precisely in my line; but i shouldn't care to trust anything short of the granites in such a locality as this." "you've seen something?" queried ballard. "nothing immediately alarming; merely an indication of what might be. where the river emerges from your cut-off tunnel below the dam, it has worn out a deep pit in the old bed, as you know. the bottom of this pit must, in the nature of things, be far below the foundations of the masonry. had you thought of that?" "i have--more than once or twice," ballard admitted. "very well," continued the master of the rocks; "that circumstance suggests three interrogation points. query one: how has the diverted torrent managed to dig such a deep cavity if the true primitives--your workman's 'bed-rock'--under-lie its channel cutting? query two: what causes the curious reverberatory sound like distant thunder made by the stream as it plunges into this pit--a sound suggesting subterranean caverns? query three--and this may be set down as the most important of the trio: why is the detritus washed up out of this singular pot-hole a friable brown shale, quite unlike anything found higher up in the bed of the stream?" the two young men exchanged swift glances of apprehension. "your deductions, professor?" asked bromley, anxiously. "now you are going too fast. true science doesn't deduce: it waits until it can prove. but i might hazard a purely speculative guess. mr. braithwaite's foundation stratum--your contractor's 'bed-rock'--may not be the true primitive; it may in its turn be underbedded by this brown shale that the stream is washing up out of its pot-hole." "which brings on more talk," said ballard, grappling thoughtfully with the new perplexities forming themselves upon gardiner's guess. "decidedly, one would say. granting my speculative answer to query number three, the arcadia company's dam may stand for a thousand years--or it may not. its life may possibly be determined in a single night, if by any means the water impounded above it should find its way through fitzpatrick's 'bed-rock' to an underlying softer stratum." ballard's eyes were fixed upon a blue-print profile of elbow canyon pinned upon the wall, when he said: "if that pot-hole, or some rift similar to it, were above the dam instead of below it, for example?" "precisely," said the geologist. "in five minutes after the opening of such an underground channel your dam might be transformed into a makeshift bridge spanning an erosive torrent comparable in fierce and destructive energy, to nothing milder than a suddenly released niagara." silence ensued, and afterward the talk drifted to other fields; was chiefly reminiscent of the younger men's university years. it was while bromley and gardiner were carrying the brunt of it that ballard got up and went out. a few minutes later the out-door stillness of the night was shattered by the sharp crack of a rifle, and other shots followed in quick succession. bromley sprang afoot at the first discharge, but before he could reach the door of the adobe, ballard came in, carrying a hatful of roughly crumbled brown earth. he was a little short of breath, and his eyes were flashing with excitement. nevertheless, he was cool enough to stop bromley's question before it could be set in words. "it was only one of the colonel's mexican mine guards trying a little rifle practice in the dark," he explained; and before there could be any comment: "i went out to get this, gardiner"--indicating the hatful of earth. "it's a sample of some stuff i'd like to have you take back to boston with you for a scientific analysis. i've got just enough of the prospector's blood in me to make me curious about it." the geologist examined the brown earth critically; passed a handful of it through his fingers; smelled it; tasted it. "how much have you got of this?" he asked, with interest palpably aroused. "enough," rejoined the kentuckian, evasively. "then your fortune is made, my son. this 'stuff,' as you call it, is the basis of colonel craigmile's millions. i hope your vein isn't a part of his." again ballard evaded the implied question. "what do you know about it, gardiner? have you ever seen any of it before?" "i have, indeed. more than that, i have 'proved up' on it, as your western miners say of their claims. a few evenings ago we were talking of expert analyses--the colonel and young wingfield and i--up at the house of luxuries, and the colonel ventured to wager that he could stump me; said he could give me a sample of basic material carrying fabulous values, the very name of which i wouldn't be able to tell him after the most exhaustive laboratory tests. of course, i had to take him up--if only for the honour of the institute--and the three of us went down to his laboratory. the sample he gave me was some of this brown earth." "and you analysed it?" inquired ballard with eagerness unconcealed. "i did; and won a box of the colonel's high-priced cigars, for which, unhappily, i have no possible use. the sample submitted, like this in your hat, was zirconia; the earth-ore which carries the rare metal zirconium. don't shame me and your alma mater by saying that this means nothing to you." "you've got us down," laughed bromley. "it's only a name to me; the name of one of the theoretical metals cooked up in laboratory experiments. and i venture to say it is even less than that to breckenridge." "it is a very rare metal, and up to within a few years has never been found in a natural state or produced in commercial quantities," explained the analyst, mounting and riding his hobby with apparent zest. "a refined product of zirconia, the earth itself, has been used to make incandescent gas-mantles; and it was m. léoffroy, of paris, who discovered a method of electric-furnace reduction for isolating the metal. it was a great discovery. zirconium, which is exceedingly dense and practically irreducible by wear, is supplanting iridium for the pointing of gold pens, and its value for that purpose is far in excess of any other known substance." "but colonel craigmiles never ships anything from his mine, so far as any one can see," ballard cut in. "no? it isn't necessary. he showed us his reduction-plant--run by water-power from the little dam in the upper canyon. it is quite perfect. you will understand that the actual quantity of zirconium obtained is almost microscopic; but since it is worth much more than diamonds, weight for weight, the plant needn't be very extensive. and the fortunate miner in this instance is wholly independent of the transportation lines. he can carry his output to market in his vest pocket." after this, the talk, resolutely shunted by ballard, veered aside from arcadian matters. later on, when bromley was making up a shake-down bed in the rear room for the guest, the kentuckian went out on the porch to smoke. it was here that bromley found him after the bostonian had been put to bed. "now, then, i want to know where you got that sample, breckenridge?" he demanded, without preface. ballard's laugh was quite cheerful. "i stole it out of one of the colonel's ore bins at the entrance of the mine over yonder." "i thought so. and the shots?" "they were fired at me by one of the mexican night guards, of course. one of them hit the hat as i was running away, and i was scared stiff for fear gardiner's sharp old eyes would discover the hole. i'm right glad for one thing, loudon; and that is that the mine is really a mine. sometimes i've been tempted to suspect that it was merely a hole in the ground, designed and maintained purely for the purpose of cinching the arcadia company for damages." bromley sat up straight and his teeth came together with a little click. he was remembering the professor's talk about the underlying shales, and a possible breach into them above the dam when he said: "or to--" but the sentence was left unfinished. instead, he fell to reproaching ballard for his foolhardiness. "confound you, breckenridge! you haven't sense enough to stay in the house when it's raining out-of-doors! the idea of your taking such reckless chances on a mere whiff of curiosity! let me have a pipeful of that tobacco--unless you mean to hog that, too--along with all the other risky things." xxi mr. pelham's game-bag the _fête champêtre_, as president pelham named it in the trumpet-flourish of announcement, to celebrate the laying of the final stone of the great dam at the outlet of elbow canyon, anticipated the working completion of the irrigation system by some weeks. that the canals were not yet in readiness to furnish water to the prospective farmer really made little difference. the spectacular event was the laying of the top-stone; and in the promoter's plans a well-arranged stage-effect was of far greater value than any actual parcelling out of the land to intended settlers. accordingly, no effort was spared to make the celebration an enthusiastic success. for days before the auspicious one on which the guest trains began to arrive from alta vista and beyond, the camp force spent itself in setting the scene for the triumph. the spillway gate, designed to close the cut-off tunnel and so to begin the impounding of the river, was put in place ready to be forced down by its machinery; the camp mesa was scraped and raked and cleared of the industrial litter; a platform was erected for the orators and the brass band; a towering flagstaff--this by the express direction of the president--was planted in the middle of the mesa parade ground; and with the exception of camp cook garou, busy with a small army of assistants over the barbecue pits, the construction force was distributed among the camps on the canals--this last a final touch of mr. pelham's to secure the degree of exclusiveness for the celebration which might not have been attainable in the presence of an outnumbering throng of workmen. in the celebration proper the two engineers had an insignificant part. when the trains were in and side-tracked, and the working preliminaries were out of the way, the triumphal programme, as it had been outlined in a five-page letter from the president to ballard, became automatic, moving smoothly from number to number as a well-designed masterpiece of the spectacular variety should. there were no hitches, no long waits for the audience. mr. pelham, carrying his two-hundred-odd pounds of avoirdupois as jauntily as the youngest promoter of them all, was at once the genial host, the skilful organiser, prompter, stage-manager, chorus-leader; playing his many parts letter-perfect, and never missing a chance to gain a few more notches on the winding-winch of enthusiasm. while the band and the orators were alternating, ballard and bromley, off duty for the time, lounged on the bungalow porch awaiting their cue. there had been no awkward happenings thus far. the trains had arrived on time; the carefully staged spectacle was running like a well-oiled piece of mechanism; the august day, despite a threatening mass of storm cloud gathering on the distant slopes of the background mountain range, was perfect; and, thanks to mr. pelham's gift of leadership, the celebrators had been judiciously wrought up to the pitch at which everything was applauded and nothing criticised. hence, there was no apparent reason for ballard's settled gloom; or for bromley's impatience manifesting itself in sarcastic flings at the company's secretary, an ex-politician of the golden-tongued tribe, who was the oratorical spellbinder of the moment. "for heaven's sake! will he never saw it off and let us get that stone set?" gritted the assistant, when the crowd cheered, and the mellifluous flood, checked for the applausive instant, poured steadily on. "why in the name of common sense did mr. pelham want to spring this batch of human phonographs on us!" "the realities will hit us soon enough," growled ballard, whose impatience took the morose form. then, with a sudden righting of his tilted camp-stool: "good lord, loudon! look yonder--up the canyon!" the porch outlook commanded a view of the foothill canyon, and of a limited area of the bowl-shaped upper valley. at the canyon head, and on the opposite side of the river, three double-seated buckboards were wheeling to disembark their passengers; and presently the castle 'cadia house-party, led by colonel craigmiles himself, climbed the left-hand path to the little level space fronting the mysterious mine. "by jove!" gasped bromley; "i nearly had a fit--i thought they were coming over here. now what in the name of----" "it's all right," cut in ballard, irritably. "why shouldn't the colonel want to be present at his own funeral? and you needn't be afraid of their coming over here. the colonel wouldn't wipe his feet on that mob of money-hunters around the band-stand. see; they are making a private box of the mine entrance." the remark framed itself upon the fact. at the colonel's signal the iron-bound tunnel door had swung open, and wingfield and blacklock, junior, with the help of the buckboard drivers, were piling timbers on the little plateau for the party's seating. it was colonel craigmiles's own proposal, this descent upon the commercial festivities at the dam; and elsa had yielded only after exhausting her ingenuity in trying to defeat it. she had known in advance that it could not be defeated. for weeks her father's attitude had been explainable only upon a single hypothesis; one which she had alternately accepted and rejected a hundred times during the two years of dam-building; and this excursion was less singular than many other consequences of the mysterious attitude. she was recalling the mysteries as she sat on the pile of timbers with wingfield, hearing but not heeding the resounding periods of the orator across the narrow chasm. with the inundation of the upper valley an impending certainty, measurable by weeks and then by days, and now by hours, nothing of any consequence had been done at castle 'cadia by way of preparing for it. coming down early one morning to cut flowers for the breakfast-table, she had found two men in mechanics' overclothes installing a small gasolene electric plant near the stables; this, she supposed, was for the house-lighting when the laboratory should be submerged. a few days later she had come upon otto, the chauffeur, building a light rowboat in a secluded nook in the upper canyon. but beyond these apparently trivial precautions, nothing had been done, and her father had said no word to her or to the guests of what was to be done when the closed-in valley should become a lake with castle 'cadia for its single island. meanwhile, the daily routine of the country house had gone on uninterruptedly; and once, when mrs. van bryck had asked her host what would happen when the floods came, elsa had heard her father laughingly assure his guest in the presence of the others that nothing would happen. that wingfield knew more than these surface indications could tell the keenest observer, elsa was well convinced; how much more, she could only guess. but one thing was certain: ever since the day spent with ballard and bromley and jerry blacklock at the construction camp--the day of his narrow escape from death--the playwright had been a changed man; cynical, ill at ease, or profoundly abstracted by turns, and never less companionable than at the present moment while he sat beside her on the timber balk, scowling up and across at the band-stand, at the spellbound throng ringing it in, and at the spellbinding secretary shaming the pouring torrent in the ravine below with his flood of rhetoric. "what sickening rot!" he scoffed in open disgust. and then: "it must be delightfully comforting to ballard and bromley to have that wild ass of the market-place braying over their work! somebody ought to hit him." but the orator was preparing to do a little of the hitting, himself. the appearance of the party at the mine entrance had not gone unremarked, and the company's secretary recognised the company's enemy at a glance. he was looking over the heads of the celebrators and down upon the group on the opposite side of the narrow chasm when he said: "so, ladies and gentlemen, this great project, in the face of the most obstinate, and, i may say, lawless, opposition; in spite of violence and petty obstruction on the part of those who would rejoice, even to-day, in its failure; this great work has been carried on to its triumphant conclusion, and we are gathered here on this beautiful morning in the bright sunshine and under the shadow of these magnificent mountains to witness the final momentous act which shall add the finishing stone to this grand structure; a structure which shall endure and subserve its useful and fructifying purpose so long as these mighty mountains rear their snowy heads to look down in approving majesty upon a desert made fair and beautiful by the hand of man." hand-clappings, cheers, a stirring of the crowd, and the upstarting of the brass band climaxed the rhetorical peroration, and elsa glanced anxiously over her shoulder. she knew her father's temper and the fierce quality of it when the provocation was great enough to arouse it; but he was sitting quietly between dosia and madge cantrell, and the publicly administered affront seemed to have missed him. when the blare of brass ceased, the mechanical part of the spectacle held the stage for a few brief minutes. the completing stone was carefully toggled in the grappling-hooks of the derrick-fall, and at ballard's signal the hoisting engine coughed sharply, besprinkling the spectators liberally with a shower of cinders, the derrick-boom swung around, and the stone was lowered cautiously into its place. with a final rasping of trowels, the workmen finished their task, and ballard walked out upon the abutment and laid his hand on the wheel controlling the drop-gate which would cut off the escape of the river through the outlet tunnel. there was a moment of impressive silence, and elsa held her breath. the day, the hour, the instant which her father had striven so desperately to avert had come. would it pass without its tragedy? she saw ballard give the last searching glance at the gate mechanism; saw president pelham step out to give the signal. then there was a stir in the group behind her, and she became conscious that her father was on his feet; that his voice was dominating the droning roar of the torrent and the muttering of the thunder on the far-distant heights. "mistuh-uh pelham--and you otheh gentlemen of the arcadia company--you have seen fit to affront me, suhs, in the most public manneh, befo' the members of my family and my guests. this was youh privilege, and you have used it acco'ding to youh gifts. neve'theless, it shall not be said that i failed in my neighbo'ly duty at this crisis. gentlemen, when you close that gate----" the president turned impatiently and waved his hand to ballard. the band struck up "the star-spangled banner," a round ball of bunting shot to the top of the flagstaff over the band-stand and broke out in a broad flag, and elsa saw the starting-wheel turning slowly under ballard's hand. the clapping and cheering and the band clamour drowned all other sounds; and the colonel's daughter, rising to stand beside wingfield, felt rather than heard the jarring shock of a near-by explosion punctuating the plunge of the great gate as it was driven down by the geared power-screws. what followed passed unnoticed by the wildly cheering spectators crowding the canyon brink to see the foaming, churning torrent recoil upon itself and beat fiercely upon the lowered gate and the steep-sloped wall of the dam's foundation courses. but elsa saw ballard start as from the touch of a hot iron; saw bromley run out quickly to lay hold of him. most terrible of all, she turned swiftly to see her father coming out of the mine entrance with a gun in his hands--saw and understood. it was wingfield, seeing all that she saw and understanding quite as clearly, who came to her rescue at a moment when the bright august sunshine was filling with dancing black motes for her. "be brave!" he whispered. "see--he isn't hurt much: he has let go of the wheel, and bromley is only steadying him a bit." and then to the others, with his habitual air of bored cheerfulness: "the show is over, good people, and the water is rising to cut us off from luncheon. sound the retreat, somebody, and let's mount and ride before we get wet feet." a movement toward the waiting vehicles followed, and at the facing about elsa observed that her father hastily flung the rifle into the mine tunnel-mouth; and had a fleeting glimpse of ballard and bromley walking slowly arm-in-arm toward the mesa shore along the broad coping of the abutment. at the buckboards wingfield stood her friend again. "send jerry blacklock down to see how serious it is," he suggested, coming between her and the others; and while she was doing it, he held the group for a final look down the canyon at the raging flood still churning and leaping at its barriers like some sentient wild thing trapped and maddened with the first fury of restraint. young blacklock made a sprinter's record on his errand and was back almost immediately. mr. ballard had got his arm pinched in some way at the gate-head, he reported: it was nothing serious, and the kentuckian sent word that he was sorry that the feeding of the multitude kept him from saying so to miss elsa in person. elsa did not dare to look at wingfield while blacklock was delivering his message; and in the buckboard-seating for the return to castle 'cadia, she contrived to have bigelow for her companion. it was only a few minutes after jerry blacklock had raced away up the canyon path with his message of reassurance that bromley, following ballard into the office room of the adobe bungalow and locking the door, set to work deftly to dress and bandage a deep bullet-crease across the muscles of his chief's arm; a wound painful enough, but not disabling. "well, what do you think now, breckenridge?" he asked, in the midst of the small surgical service. "i haven't any more thinks coming to me," was the sober reply. "and it is not specially comforting to have the old ones confirmed. you are sure it was the colonel who fired at me?" "i saw the whole thing; all but the actual trigger-pulling, you might say. when mr. pelham cut him off, he turned and stepped back into the mouth of the mine. then, while they were all standing up to see you lower the gate, i heard the shot and saw him come out with the gun in his hands. i was cool enough that far along to take in all the little details: the gun was a short-barrelled winchester--the holster-rifle of the cow-punchers." "_ouch!_" said ballard, wincing under the bandaging. then: "the mysteries have returned, loudon; we were on the wrong track--all of us. wingfield and you and i had figured out that the colonel was merely playing a cold-blooded game for delay. that guess comes back to us like a fish-hook with the bait gone. there was nothing, less than nothing, to be gained by killing me to-day." bromley made the negative sign of assenting perplexity. "it's miles too deep for me," he admitted. "three nights ago, when i was dining at castle 'cadia, colonel craigmiles spoke of you as a father might speak of the man whom he would like to have for a son-in-law: talked about the good old gentlemanly kentucky stock, and all that, you know. i can't begin to sort it out." "i am going to sort it out, some day when i have time," declared ballard; and the hurt being temporarily repaired, they went out to superintend the arrangements for feeding the visiting throng in the big mess-tent. after the barbecue, and more speech-making around the trestle-tables in the mess-tent, the railroad trains were brought into requisition, and various tours of inspection through the park ate out the heart of the afternoon for the visitors. bromley took charge of that part of the entertainment, leaving ballard to nurse his sore arm and to watch the slow submersion of the dam as the rising flood crept in little lapping waves up the sloping back-wall. the afternoon sun beat fiercely upon the deserted construction camp, and the heat, rarely oppressive in the mountain-girt altitudes, was stifling. down in the cook camp, garou and his helpers were washing dishes by the crate and preparing the evening luncheon to be served after the trains returned; and the tinkling clatter of china was the only sound to replace the year-long clamour of the industries and the hoarse roar of the river through the cut-off. between his occasional strolls over to the dam and the canyon brink to mark the rising of the water, ballard sat on the bungalow porch and smoked. from the time-killing point of view the great house in the upper valley loomed in mirage-like proportions in the heat haze; and by three o'clock the double line of aspens marking the river's course had disappeared in a broad band of molten silver half encircling the knoll upon which the mirage mansion swayed and shimmered. ballard wondered what the house-party was doing; what preparations, if any, had been made for its dispersal. for his own satisfaction he had carefully run bench-levels with his instruments from the dam height through the upper valley. when the water should reach the coping course, some three or four acres of the house-bearing knoll would form an island in the middle of the reservoir lake. the house would be completely cut off, the orchards submerged, and the nearest shore, that from which the roundabout road approached, would be fully a half-mile distant, with the water at least ten feet deep over the raised causeway of the road itself. surely the colonel would not subject his guests to the inconvenience of a stay at castle 'cadia when the house would be merely an isolated shelter upon an island in the middle of the great lake, ballard concluded; and when the mirage effect cleared away to give him a better view, he got out the field-glass and looked for some signs of the inevitable retreat. there were no signs, so far as he could determine. with the help of the glass he could pick out the details of the summer afternoon scene on the knoll-top; could see that there were a number of people occupying the hammocks and lazy-chairs under the tree-pillared portico; could make out two figures, which he took to be bigelow and one of the cantrell sisters, strolling back and forth in a lovers' walk under the shade of the maples. it was all very perplexing. the sweet-toned little french clock on its shelf in the office room behind him had struck three, and there were only a few more hours of daylight left in castle 'cadia's last day as a habitable dwelling. and yet, if he could trust the evidence of his senses, the castle's garrison was making no move to escape: this though the members of it must all know that the rising of another sun would see their retreat cut off by the impounded flood. after he had returned the field-glass to its case on the wall of the office the ticking telegraph instrument on bromley's table called him, signing "e--t," the end-of-track on the high line extension. it was bromley, wiring in to give the time of the probable return of the excursion trains for garou's supper serving. "how are you getting on?" clicked ballard, when the time had been given. "fine," was the answer. "everything lovely, and the goose honks high. enthusiasm to burn, and we're burning it. just now the baa-lambs are surrounding mr. pelham on the canal embankment and singing 'for he's a jolly good fellow' at the tops of their voices. it's great, and we're all hypnotised. so long; and take care of that pinched arm." after bromley broke and the wire became dumb, the silence of the deserted camp grew more oppressive and the heat was like the breath of a furnace. ballard smoked another pipe on the bungalow porch, and when the declining sun drove him from this final shelter he crossed the little mesa and descended the path to the ravine below the dam. here he found food for reflection, and a thing to be done. with the flow of the river cut off, the ground which had lately been its channel was laid bare; and recalling gardiner's hint about the possible insecurity of the dam's foundations, he began a careful examination of the newly turned leaf in the record of the great chasm. what he read on the freshly-turned page of the uncovered stream-bed was more instructive than reassuring. the great pit described by gardiner was still full of water, but it was no longer a foaming whirlpool, and the cavernous undercutting wrought by the diverted torrent was alarmingly apparent. in the cut-off tunnel the erosive effect of the stream-rush was even more striking. dripping rifts and chasms led off in all directions, and the promontory which gave its name to the elbow, and which formed the northern anchorage of the dam, had been mined and tunnelled by the water until it presented the appearance of a huge hollow tooth. the extreme length of the underground passage was a scant five hundred feet; but what with the explorations of the side rifts--possible only after he had gone back to the bungalow for candles and rubber thigh-boots--the engineer was a good half-hour making his way up to the great stop-gate with the rising flood on its farther side. here the burden of anxiety took on a few added pounds. there was more or less running water in the tunnel, and he had been hoping to find the leak around the fittings of the gate. but the gate was practically tight. "that settles it," he mused gloomily. "it is seeping through this ghastly honeycomb somewhere, and it's up to us to get busy with the concrete mixers--and to do it quickly. i can't imagine what braithwaite was thinking of; to drive this tunnel through one of nature's compost heaps, and then to turn a stream of water through it." the sun was a fiery globe swinging down to the sky-pitched western horizon when the kentuckian picked his way out of the dripping caverns. there were two added lines in the frown wrinkling between his eyes, and he was still talking to himself in terms of discouragement. at a conservative estimate three months of time and many thousands of dollars must be spent in lining the spillway tunnel with a steel tube, and in plugging the caverns of the hollow tooth with concrete. and in any one of the ninety days the water might find its increasing way through the "compost heap"; whereupon the devastating end would come swiftly. it was disheartening from every point of view. ballard knew nothing of the financial condition of the arcadia company, but he guessed shrewdly that mr. pelham would be reluctant to put money into work that could not be seen and celebrated with the beating of drums. none the less, for the safety of every future land buyer with holdings below the great dam, the work must be done. otherwise---- the chief engineer's clean-cut face was still wearing the harassed scowl when bromley, returning with the excursionists, saw it again. "the grouch is all yours," said the cheerful one, comfortingly, "and you have a good right and title to it. it's been a hard day for you. is the arm hurting like sin?" "no; not more than it has to. but something else is. listen, bromley." and he briefed the story of the hollow-tooth promontory for the assistant. "great ghosts!--worse and more of it!" was bromley's comment. then he added: "i've seen a queer thing, too, breckenridge: the colonel has moved out, vanished, taken to the hills." "out of castle 'cadia? you're mistaken. there is absolutely nothing doing at the big house: i've been reconnoitring with the glass." "no, i didn't mean that," was the qualifying rejoinder. "i mean the ranch outfit down in the park. it's gone. you know the best grazing at this time of the year is along the river: well, you won't find hair, hoof or horn of the colonel's cattle anywhere in the bottom lands--not a sign of them. also, the ranch itself is deserted and the corrals are all open." the harassed scowl would have taken on other added lines if there had been room for them. "what do you make of it, loudon?--what does it mean?" "you can search me," was the puzzled reply. "but while you're doing it, you can bet high that it means something. to a man up a tall tree it looks as if the colonel were expecting a flood. why should he expect it? what does he know?--more than we know?" "it's another of the cursed mysteries," ballard broke out in sullen anger. "it's enough to jar a man's sanity!" "mine was screwed a good bit off its base a long time ago," bromley confessed. then he came back to the present and its threatenings: "i'd give a month's pay if we had this crazy city crowd off of our hands and out of the park." "we'll get rid of it pretty early. i've settled that with mr. pelham. to get his people back to denver by breakfast-time to-morrow, the trains will have to leave here between eight and eight-thirty." "that is good news--as far as it goes. will you tell mr. pelham about the rotten tooth--to-night, i mean?" "i certainly shall," was the positive rejoinder; and an hour later, when the evening luncheon in the big mess-tent had been served, and the crowd was gathered on the camp mesa to wait for the fireworks, ballard got the president into the bungalow office, shut the door on possible interruptions, and laid bare the discouraging facts. singularly enough, as he thought, the facts seemed to make little impression upon the head of arcadia irrigation. mr. pelham sat back in macpherson's home-made easy-chair, relighted his cigar, and refused to be disturbed or greatly interested. assuming that he had not made the new involvement plain enough, ballard went over the situation again. "another quarter of a million will be needed," he summed up, "and we shouldn't lose a single day in beginning. as i have said, there seems to be considerable seepage through the hill already, with less than half of the working head of water behind the dam. what it will be under a full head, no man can say." "oh, i don't know," said the president, easily. "a new boat always leaks a little. the cracks, if there are any, will probably silt up in a few days--or weeks." "that is a possibility," granted the engineer; "but it is scarcely one upon which we have a right to depend. from what the secretary of the company said in his speech to-day, i gathered that the lands under the lower line of the ditch will be put upon the market immediately; that settlers may begin to locate and purchase at once. that must not be done, mr. pelham." "why not?" "because any man who would buy and build in the bottom lands before we have filled that hollow tooth would take his life in his hands." the president's smile was blandly genial. "you've been having a pretty strenuous day of it, mr. ballard, and i can make allowances. things will look brighter after you have had a good night's rest. and how about that arm? i didn't quite understand how you came to hurt it. nothing serious, i hope?" "the arm is all right," said ballard, brusquely. mr. pelham's effort to change the subject was too crude and it roused a spirit of bulldog tenacity in the younger man. "you will pardon me if i go back to the original question. what are we going to do about that undermined hill?" the president rose and dusted the cigar-ash from his coat-sleeve. "just at present, mr. ballard, we shall do nothing. to-morrow morning you may put your entire force on the ditch work, discharging the various camps as soon as the work is done. let the 'hollow tooth' rest for the time. if a mistake has been made, it's not your mistake--or mr. bromley's. and a word in your ear: not a syllable of your very natural anxiety to any one, if you please. it can do no good; and it might do a great deal of harm. i shouldn't mention it even to bromley, if i were you." "not mention it?--to bromley? but bromley knows; and we agree fully----" "well, see to it that he doesn't talk. and now i must really beg to be excused, mr. ballard. my duties as host----" ballard let him go, with a feeling of repulsive disgust that was almost a shudder, and sat for a brooding hour in silence while the fireworks sputtered and blazed from the platform on the mesa's edge and the full moon rose to peer over the background range, paling the reds and yellows of the rockets and bombs. he was still sitting where the president had left him when bromley came in to announce the close of the _fête champêtre_. "it's all over but the shouting, and they are taking to the pullmans. you don't care to go to the foot of the pass with one of the trains, do you?" "not if you'll go. one of us ought to stay by the dam while the lake is filling, and i'm the one." "of course you are," said bromley, cheerfully. "i'll go with the first section; i'm good for that much more, i guess; and i can come back from ackerman's ranch in the morning on one of the returning engines." then he asked the question for which ballard was waiting: "how did mr. pelham take the new grief?" "he took it too easily; a great deal too easily, loudon. i tell you, there's something rotten in denmark. he was as cold-blooded as a fish." hoskins, long since reinstated, and now engineman of the first section of the excursion train, was whistling for orders, and bromley had to go. "i've heard a thing or two myself, during the day," he averred. "i'll tell you about them in the morning. the company's secretary has been busy making stock transfers all day--when he wasn't spellbinding from some platform or other. there is something doing--something that the baa-lambs don't suspect. and mr. pelham and his little inside ring are doing it." ballard got up and went to the door with the assistant. "and that isn't the worst of it, loudon," he said, with an air of sudden and vehement conviction. "this isn't an irrigation scheme at all, it's a stock deal from beginning to end. mr. pelham knows about that hollow tooth; he knew about it before i told him. you mark my words: we'll never get orders to plug that tunnel!" bromley nodded agreement. "i've been working my way around to that, too. all right; so let it be. my resignation goes in to-morrow morning, and i take it yours will?" "it will, for a fact; i've been half sorry i didn't saw it off short with mr. pelham when i had him here. good-night. don't let them persuade you to go over the pass. stop at ackerman's, and get what sleep you can." bromley promised; and a little later, ballard, sitting in the moonlight on the office porch, heard the trains pull out of the yard and saw the twinkling red eyes of the tail-lights vanish among the rounded hills. "good-by, mr. howard pelham. i shouldn't be shocked speechless if you never came back to arcadia," he muttered, apostrophising the departing president of arcadia irrigation. then he put away the business entanglement and let his gaze wander in the opposite direction; toward the great house in the upper valley. at the first eastward glance he sprang up with an exclamation of astonishment. the old king's palace was looming vast in the moonlight, with a broad sea of silver to take the place of the brown valley level in the bridging of the middle distance. but the curious thing was the lights, unmistakable electrics, as aforetime, twinkling through the tree-crownings of the knoll. the kentuckian left the porch and went to the edge of the mesa cliff to look down upon the flood, rising now by imperceptible gradations as the enlarging area of the reservoir lake demanded more water. the lapping tide was fully half way up the back wall of the dam, which meant that the colonel's power plant at the mouth of the upper canyon must be submerged past using. yet the lights were on at castle 'cadia. while he was speculating over this new mystery, the head-lamps of an automobile came in sight on the roundabout road below the dam, and presently a huge tonneau car, well filled, rolled noiselessly over the plank bridge and pointed its goblin eyes up the incline leading to the camp mesa. when it came to a stand at the cliff's edge, ballard saw that it held mrs. van bryck, bigelow, and one of the cantrell girls in the tonneau; and that elsa was sharing the driving-seat with young blacklock. "good evening, mr. ballard," said a voice from the shared half of the driving-seat. and then: "we are trying out the new car--isn't it a beauty?--and we decided to make a neighbourly call. aren't you delighted to see us? please say you are, anyway. it is the least you can do." xxii a cry in the night the little french office clock--bromley's testimonial from his enthusiastic and admiring classmates of the _École polytechnique_--had chimed the hour of ten; the august moon rose high in a firmament of infinite depths above the deserted bunk shanties and the silent machinery on the camp mesa; the big touring car, long since cooled from its racing climb over the hills of the roundabout road, cast a grotesque and fore-shortened shadow like that of a dwarfed band-wagon on the stone-chip whiteness of the cutting yard; and still the members of the auto party lingered on the porch of the adobe bungalow. for ballard, though he was playing the part of the unprepared host, the prolonged stay of the castle-'cadians was an unalloyed joy. when he had established mrs. van bryck in the big easy-chair, reminiscent of engineer macpherson and his canny skill with carpenter's tools, and had dragged out the blanket-covered divan for miss cantrell and bigelow, he was free. and freedom, at that moment, meant the privilege of sitting a little apart on the porch step with elsa craigmiles. for the first time in weeks the kentuckian was able to invite his soul and to think and speak in terms of comfortable unembarrassment. the long strain of the industrial battle was off, and mr. pelham's triumphal beating of drums had been accomplished without loss of life, and with no more serious consequences than a lamed arm for the man who was best able to keep his own counsel. having definitely determined to send in his resignation in the morning, and thus to avoid any possible entanglement which might arise when the instability of the great dam's foundations should become generally known, the burden of responsibility was immeasurably lightened. and to cap the ecstatic climax in its sentimental part, elsa's mood was not mocking; it was sympathetic to a heart-mellowing degree. one thing only sounded a jarring note in the soothing theme. that was young blacklock's very palpable anxiety and restlessness. when the collegian had placed the big car, and had stopped its motor and extinguished its lights, he had betaken himself to the desert of stone chips, rambling therein aimlessly, but never, as ballard observed, wandering out of eye-reach of the great gray wall of masonry, of the growing lake in the crooking elbow of the canyon, and the path-girted hillside of the opposite shore. blacklock's too ostentatious time-killing was the latest of the small mysteries; and when the kentuckian came to earth long enough to remark it, he fancied that jerry was waiting for a cue of some kind--waiting and quite obviously watching. it was some time after mrs. van bryck, plaintively protesting against being kept out so late, had begun to doze in her chair, and bigelow had fetched wraps from the car wherewith to cloak a shuddery miss cantrell, that ballard's companion said, guardedly: "don't you think it would be in the nature of a charity to these two behind us if we were to share jerry's wanderings for a while?" "i'm not sharing with jerry--or any other man--just now," ballard objected. none the less, he rose and strolled with her across the stone yard; and at the foot of the great derrick he pulled out one of the cutter's benches for a seat. "this is better than the porch step," he was saying, when blacklock got up from behind a rejected thorough-stone a few yards away and called to him. "just a minute, mr. ballard: i've got a corking big rattler under this rock. bring a stick, if you can find one." ballard found a stick and went to the help of the snake-catcher. "don't give him a chance at you, jerry," he warned. "where is he?" the collegian drew him around to the farther side of the great thorough-block. "it was only a leg-pull," was the low-toned explanation. "i've been trying all evening to get a word with you, and i had to invent the snake. wingfield says we're all off wrong on the mystery chase--'way off. you're to watch the dam--that's what he told me to tell you; watch it close till he comes down here from castle 'cadia." "watch the dam?" queried the engineer. "what am i to look for?" "i don't know another blessed thing about it. but there's something doing; something bigger than--'sh! miss elsa's asking about the snake. cut it out--cut it all out!" "it was a false alarm," ballard explained, when he rejoined his companion at the derrick's foot. "jerry has an aggravated attack of imaginationitis. you were saying----?" "i wasn't saying anything; but i shall begin now--if you'll sit down. you must be dying to know why we came down here to-night, of all the nights that ever were; and why we are staying so long past our welcome." "i never felt less like dying since the world began; and you couldn't outstay your welcome if you should try," he answered, out of a full heart. "my opportunities to sit quietly in blissful nearness to you haven't been so frequent that i can afford to spoil this one with foolish queryings about the whys and wherefores." "hush!" she broke in imperatively. "you are saying light things again in the very thick of the miseries! have you forgotten that to-day--a few hours ago--another attempt was made upon your life?" "no; i haven't forgotten," he admitted. "be honest with me," she insisted. "you are not as indifferent as you would like to have me believe. do you know who made the attempt?" "yes." he answered without realising that the single word levelled all the carefully raised barriers of concealment; and when the realisation came, he could have bitten his tongue for its incautious slip. "then you doubtless know who is responsible for all the terrible happenings; the--the _crimes_?" denial was useless now, and he said "yes," again. "how long have you known this?" "i have suspected it almost from the first." she turned upon him like some wild creature at bay. "why are you waiting? why haven't you had him arrested and tried and condemned, like any other common murderer?" he regarded her gravely, as the hard, white moonlight permitted. no man ever plumbs a woman's heart in its ultimate depths; least of all the heart of the woman he knows best and loves most. "you seem to overlook the fact that i am his daughter's lover," he said, as if the simple fact settled the matter beyond question. "and you have never sought for an explanation?--beyond the one which would stamp him as the vilest, the most inhuman of criminals?" she went on, ignoring his reason for condoning the crimes. "i have; though quite without success, i think--until to-day." "but to-day?" she questioned, anxiously, eagerly. he hesitated, picking and choosing among the words. and in the end he merely begged her to help him. "to-day, hope led me over into the valley of a great shadow. tell me, elsa, dear: is your father always fully accountable for his actions?" her hands were tightly clasped in her lap, and there were tense lines of suffering about the sweet mouth. "you have guessed the secret--my secret," she said, with the heart-break in her tone. and then: "oh, you don't know, you can't imagine, what terrible agonies i have endured: and alone, always alone!" "tell me," he commanded lovingly. "i have a good right to know." "the best right of all: the right of a patient and loving friend." she stopped, and then went on in the monotone of despair: "it is in the blood--a dreadful heritage. do you--do you know how your father died, breckenridge?" "not circumstantially; in an illness, i have been told. i was too young to know anything more than i was told; too young to feel the loss. did some one tell me it was a fever?" "it was not a fever," she said sorrowfully. "he was poisoned--by a horrible mistake. my father and his brother abner were practising physicians in lexington, your old home and ours; both of them young, ardent and enthusiastic in their profession. uncle abner was called to prescribe for your father--his life-long friend--in a trivial sickness. by some frightful mistake, the wrong drug was given and your father died. poor uncle abner paid for it with his reason, and, a few months later, with his own life. and a little while after his brother's death in the asylum, father threw up his practice and his profession, and came here to bury himself in arcadia." the kentuckian remembered colonel craigmiles's sudden seizure at his first sight of the dead ballard's son, and saw the pointing of it. nevertheless, he said, soberly: "that proves nothing, you know." "nothing of itself, perhaps. but it explains all the fearful things i have seen with my own eyes. two years ago, after the trouble with mr. braithwaite, father seemed to change. he became bitterly vindictive against the arcadia company, and at times seemed to put his whole soul into the fight against it. then the accidents began to happen, and--oh, i can't tell you the dreadful things i have seen, or the more dreadful ones i have suspected! i have watched him--followed him--when he did not suspect it. after dinner, the night you arrived, he left us all on the portico at castle 'cadia, telling me that he was obliged to come down here to the mine. are you listening?" "you needn't ask that: please go on." "i thought it very strange; that he would let even a business errand take him away from us on our first evening; and so i--i made an excuse to the others and followed him. breckenridge, i saw him throw the stone from the top of that cliff--the stone that came so near killing you or mr. bromley, or both of you." there had been a time when he would have tried to convince her that she must doubt the evidence of her own senses; but now it was too late: that milestone had been passed in the first broken sentence of her pitiful confession. "there was no harm done, that time," he said, groping loyally for the available word of comforting. "it was god's mercy," she asserted. "but listen again: that other night, when mr. bromley was hurt ... after you had gone with the man who came for you, i hurried to find my father, meaning to ask him to send otto in the little car to see if there was anything we could do. aunt june said that father was lying down in the library: he was not there. i ran up-stairs. his coat and waistcoat were on the bed, and his mackintosh--the one he always wears when he goes out after sundown--was gone. after a little while he came in, hurriedly, secretly, and he would not believe me when i told him mr. bromley was hurt; he seemed to be sure it must be some one else. then i knew. he had gone out to waylay you on your walk back to the camp, and by some means had mistaken mr. bromley for you." she was in the full flood-tide of the heart-broken confession now, and in sheer pity he tried to stop her. "let it all go," he counselled tenderly. "what is done, is done; and now that the work here is also done, there will be no more trouble for you." "no; i must go on," she insisted. "since others, who have no right to know, have found out, i must tell you." "others?" he queried. "yes: mr. wingfield, for one. unlike you, he has not tried to be charitable. he believes----" "he doesn't love you as i do," ballard interrupted quickly. "he doesn't love me at all--that way; it's dosia. hadn't you suspected? that was why he joined aunt janet's party--to be with dosia." "thus vanishes the final shadow: there is nothing to come between us now," he exulted; and his unhurt arm drew her close. "don't!" she shuddered, shrinking away from him. "that is the bitterest drop in the cup of misery. you refuse to think of the awful heritage i should bring you; but i think of it--day and night. when your telegram came from boston to mr. lassley at new york, i was going with the lassleys--not to norway, but to paris, to try to persuade doctor perard, the great alienist, to come over and be our guest at castle 'cadia. it seemed to be the only remaining hope. but when you telegraphed your changed plans, i knew i couldn't go; i knew i must come home. and in spite of all, he has tried three times to kill you. you know he must be insane; tell me you know it," she pleaded. "since it lifts a burden too heavy to be borne, i am very willing to believe it," he rejoined gravely. "i understand quite fully now. and it makes no difference--between us, i mean. you must not let it make a difference. let the past be past, and let us come back to the present. where is your father now?" "after dinner he went with mr. wingfield and otto to the upper canyon. there is a breakwater at the canyon portal which they hoped might save the power-house and laboratory from being undermined by the river, and they were going to strengthen it with bags of sand. i was afraid of what might come afterward--that you might be here alone and unsuspecting. so i persuaded cousin janet and the others to make up the car-party." from where they were sitting at the derrick's foot, the great boom leaned out like a giant's arm uplifted above the canyon lake. with the moon sweeping toward the zenith, the shadow of the huge iron beam was clearly cut on the surface of the water. ballard's eye had been mechanically marking the line of shadow and its changing position as the water level rose in the elbow. "the reservoir is filling a great deal faster than i supposed it would," he said, bearing his companion resolutely away from the painful things. "there have been storms on the main range all day," was the reply. "father has a series of electrical signal stations all along the upper canyon. he said at the dinner-table that the rise to-night promises to be greater than any we have ever seen." ballard came alive upon the professional side of him with a sudden quickening of the workaday faculties. with the utmost confidence in that part of the great retaining-wall for which he was personally responsible--the superstructure--he had still been hoping that the huge reservoir lake would fill normally; that the dam would not be called upon to take its enormous stresses like an engine starting under a full load. it was for this reason that he had been glad to time the closing of the spillway in august, when the flow of the river was at its minimum. but fate, the persistent ill-fortune which had dogged the arcadian enterprise from the beginning, seemed to be gathering its forces for a final blow. "cloud-bursts?" he questioned. "are they frequent in the head basin of the boiling water?" "not frequent, but very terrible when they do occur. i have seen the elbow toss its spray to the top of this cliff--once, when i was quite small; and on that day the lower part of our valley was, for a few hours, a vast flood lake." "was that before or after the opening of your father's mine over yonder?" queried ballard. "it was after. i suppose the mine was flooded, and i remember there was no work done in it for a long time. when it was reopened, a few years ago, father had that immense bulkhead and heavy, water-tight door put in to guard against another possible flood." ballard made the sign of comprehension. here was one of the mysteries very naturally accounted for. the bulkhead and iron-bound door of the zirconium mine were, indeed, fortifications; but the enemy to be repulsed was nature--not man. "and the electric signal service system in the upper canyon is a part of the defence for the mine?" he predicated. "yes. it has served on two or three occasions to give timely warning so that the miners could come up and seal the door in the bulkhead. but it has been a long time since a cloud-burst flood has risen high enough in the elbow to threaten the mine." silence supervened; the silence of the flooding moonlight, the stark hills and the gently lapping waters. ballard's brain was busy with the newly developed responsibilities. there was a little space for action, but what could be done? in all probability the newly completed dam was about to be subjected to the supreme test, violently and suddenly applied. the alternative was to open the spillway gate, using the cut-off tunnel as a sort of safety-valve when the coming flood water should reach the elbow. but there were an objection and an obstacle. now that he knew the condition of the honeycombed tunnel, ballard hesitated to make it the raceway for the tremendously augmented torrent. and for the obstacle there was a mechanical difficulty: with the weight of the deepening lake upon it, the stop-gate could be raised only by the power-screws; and the fires were out in the engine that must furnish the power. the kentuckian was afoot and alert when he said: "you know the probabilities better than any of us: how much time have we before these flood tides will come down?" she had risen to stand with him, steadying herself by the hook of the derrick-fall. "i don't know," she began; and at that instant a great slice of the zirconium mine dump slid off and settled into the eddying depths with a splash. "it is nothing but a few more cubic yards of the waste," he said, when she started and caught her breath with a little gasp. "not that--but the door!" she faltered, pointing across the chasm. "it was shut when we came out here--i am positive!" the heavy, iron-studded door in the bulkhead was open now, at all events, as they could both plainly see; and presently she went on in a frightened whisper: "look! there is something moving--this side of the door--among the loose timbers!" the moving object defined itself clearly in the next half-minute; for the two at the derrick-heel, and for another--young blacklock, who was crouching behind his rejected thorough-stone directly opposite the mine entrance. it took shape as the figure of a man, slouch-hatted and muffled in a long coat, creeping on hands and knees toward the farther dam-head; creeping by inches and dragging what appeared to be a six-foot length of iron pipe. the king's daughter spoke again, and this time her whisper was full of sharp agony. "_breckenridge!_ it is my father--just as i have seen him before! that thing he is dragging after him: isn't it a--merciful heaven! he is going to blow up the dam! oh, for pity's sake can't you think of some way to stop him?" there are crises when the mind, acting like a piece of automatic machinery, flies from suggestion to conclusion with such facile rapidity that all the intermediate steps are slurred and effaced. ballard marked the inching advance, realised its object and saw that he would not have time to intervene by crossing the dam, all in the same instant. another click of the mental mechanism and the alternative suggested itself, was grasped, weighed, accepted and transmuted into action. it was a gymnast's trick, neatly done. the looped-up derrick-fall was a double wire cable, running through a heavy iron sheave which carried the hook and grappling chains. released from its rope lashings at the mast-heel, it would swing out and across the canyon like a monster pendulum. ballard forgot his bandaged arm when he laid hold of the sheave-hook and slashed at the yarn seizings with his pocket-knife; was still oblivious to it when the released pendulum surged free and swept him out over the chasm. xxiii deep unto deep mechanically as such things are done, ballard remembered afterward that he was keenly alive to all that was passing. he heard elsa's half-stifled cry of horror, blacklock's shout of encouragement from some point higher up on the mesa, and mingled with these the quick _pad-pad_ of footfalls as of men running. in mid-air he had a glimpse of the running men; two of them racing down the canyon on the side toward which his swinging bridge was projecting him. then the derrick-fall swept him on, reached the extreme of its arc, and at the reversing pause he dropped, all fingers to clutch and tensely strung muscles to hold, fairly upon the crouching man in the muffling rain-coat. for blacklock, charging in upon the battle-field by way of the dam, the happenings of the next half-minute resolved themselves into a fierce hand-to-hand struggle between the two men for the possession of the piece of iron pipe. at the pendulum-swinging instant, the collegian had seen the sputtering flare of a match in the dynamiter's hands; and in the dash across the dam he had a whiff of burning gunpowder. when the two rose up out of the dust of the grapple, ballard was the victor. he had wrested the ignited pipe-bomb from his antagonist, and turning quickly he hurled it in a mighty javelin-cast far up the elbow. there was a splash, a smothered explosion, and a geyser-like column of water shot up from the plunging-point, spouting high to fall in sheets of silver spray upon the two upcoming runners who were alertly springing from foothold to foothold across the dissolving mine dump. so much young blacklock noted at the moment of uprushing. in the next breath he had wrapped the mackintoshed bomb-firer in a wrestler's hug from behind, and the knife raised to be driven into ballard's back clattered upon the stones of the path. there was a gasping oath in a strange tongue, a fierce struggle on the part of the garroted one to turn and face his new assailant, and then the collegian, with his chin burrowing between the shoulder-blades of his man, heard swift footsteps approaching and a deep-toned, musical voice booming out a sharp command: "manuel! you grand scoundrel!--drop that thah gun, suh!" something else, also metallic, and weightier than the knife, clicked upon the stones; whereupon blacklock loosed his strangler's grip and stepped back. ballard stooped to pick up the knife and the pistol. wingfield, who had been the colonel's second in the race along the hazardous mine path, drew aside; and master and man were left facing each other. the mexican straightened up and folded his arms. he was breathing hard from the effect of blacklock's gripping hug, but his dark face was as impassive as an indian's. the white-haired king of arcadia turned to ballard, and the mellow voice broke a little. "mistuh-uh ballard, you, suh, are a kentuckian, of a race that knows to the fullest extent the meaning of henchman loyalty. you shall say what is to be done with this po' villain of mine. by his own confession, made to me this afte'noon, he is a cutthroat and an assassin. undeh a mistaken idea of loyalty to me"--the deep voice grew more tremulous at this--"undeh a mistaken idea of loyalty to me, suh, he has been fighting in his own peculiah fashion what he conceived to be my battle with the arcadia company. without compunction, without remo'se, he has taken nearly a score of human lives since the day when he killed the man braithwaite and flung his body into the riveh. am i making it cleah to you, mistuh ballard?" how he managed to convey his sense of entire comprehension, ballard scarcely knew. one thought was submerging all others under a mounting wave of triumphant joy: colonel adam, the father of the princess of heart's delight, was neither a devil in human guise nor a homicidal madman. elsa's trouble was a phantom appeased; it had vanished like the dew on a summer morning. "i thank you, suh," was the courtly acknowledgment; and then the deep voice continued, with an added note of emotion. "i am not pleading for the murderer, but for my po' liegeman who knew no law of god or man higheh than what he mistakenly took to be his masteh's desiah. how long all this would have continued, if i hadn't suhprised him in the ve'y act of trying to kill you as you were lowering that thah stop-gate to-day, we shall neveh know. but the entiah matteh lies heavy on my conscience, suh. i ought to have suspected the true sou'ce of all the mysterious tragedies long ago; i should have suspected it if i hadn't been chin-deep myself, suh, in a similah pool of animosity against mr. pelham and his fellow-robbehs. what will you do with this po' scoundrel of mine, mistuh ballard?" "nothing, at present," said ballard, gravely, "or nothing more than to ask him a question or two." he turned upon the mexican, who was still standing statue-like with his back to the low cliff of the path ledge. "did you kill macpherson?--as well as braithwaite and sanderson?" "i kill-a dem all," was the cool reply. "you say--he all say--'i make-a da dam.' i'll say: '_caramba!_ you _no_ make-a da dam w'at da colonel no want for you to make.' dass all." "so it was you who hit bromley on the head and knocked him into the canyon?" the statuesque foreman showed his teeth. "dat was one bad _mees_take. i'll been try for knock _you_ on da haid, dat time, for sure, señor ballar'." "and you were wearing that rain-coat when you did it?" the mexican nodded. "i'll wear heem h-always w'en da sun gone down--same like-a da colonel." "also, you were wearing it that other night, when you heaved a stone down on my office roof?" another nod. "but on the night when you scared hoskins and made him double up his train on dead man's curve, you didn't wear it; you wore a shooting-coat and a cap like the one braithwaite used to wear." the posing statue laughed hardily. "dat was one--w'at you call heem?--one beeg joke. i'll been like to make dat 'oskins break hees h'own neck, _si_: hees talk too much 'bout da man w'at drown' heself." "and the carson business: you were mixed up in that, too?" "dat was one _mees_take, al-so; one ver' beeg _mees_take. i'll hire dat dam'-fool carson to shoot da ditch. i t'ink you and da beeg h-irishman take-a da trail and carson keel you. carson, he'll take-a da money, and make for leetle scheme to steal cattle. som' day i keel heem for dat." "not in this world," cut in ballard, briefly. "you're out of the game, from this on." and then, determined to be at the bottom of the final mystery: "you played the spy on mr. wingfield, bromley, blacklock and me one afternoon when we were talking about these deviltries. afterward, you went up to castle 'cadia. that evening mr. wingfield nearly lost his life. did you have a hand in that?" again the mexican laughed. "señor wingfiel' he is know too moch. som' day he is make me ver' sorry for myself. so i'll hide be'ind dat fornace, and give heem one leetle push, so"--with the appropriate gesture. "that is all," said ballard, curtly. and then to the colonel: "i think we'd better be moving over to the other side. the ladies will be anxious. jerry, take that fellow on ahead of you, and see that he doesn't get away. i'm sorry for you, colonel craigmiles; and that is no empty form of words. as you have said, i am a kentuckian, and i do know what loyalty--even mistaken loyalty--is worth. my own grudge is nothing; i haven't any. but there are other lives to answer for. am i right?" "you are quite right, suh; quite right," was the sober rejoinder; and then blacklock said "_vamos!_" to his prisoner, airing his one word of spanish, and in single file the five men crossed on the dam to the mesa side of the rising lake where bigelow, with elsa and miss cantrell and a lately awakened mrs. van bryck, were waiting. at the reassembling, ballard cut the colonel's daughter out of the storm of eager questionings swiftly, masterfully. "you were wrong--we were all wrong," he whispered joyously. "the man whom you saw, the man who has done it all in your father's absolute and utter ignorance of what was going on, is manuel. he has confessed; first to his master, and just now to all of us. your father is as sane as he is blameless. there is no obstacle now for either of us. i shall resign to-morrow morning, and----" it was the colonel's call that interrupted. "one moment, mistuh ballard, if you please, suh. are there any of youh ditch camps at present in the riveh valley below heah?" ballard shook his head. "not now; they are all on the high land." then, remembering bromley's report of the empty ranch headquarters and corrals: "you think there is danger?" "i don't think, suh: i _know_. look thah," waving an arm toward the dissolving mine dump on the opposing slope; "when the wateh reaches that tunnel and finds its way behind the bulkhead, mistuh ballard, youh dam's gone--doomed as surely as that sinful world that wouldn't listen to preachuh noah!" "but, colonel--you can't know positively!" "i do, suh. and mistuh pelham knows quite as well as i do. you may have noticed that we have no pumping machinery oveh yondeh, mistuh ballard: _that is because the mine drains out into youh pot-hole below the dam!_" "heavens and earth!" ejaculated ballard, aghast at the possibilities laid bare in this single explanatory sentence. "and you say that mr. pelham knows this?" "he has known it all along. i deemed it my neighbo'ly duty to inform him when we opened the lower level in the mine. but he won't be the loseh; no, suh; not mistuh howard pelham. it'll be those po' sheep that he brought up here to-day to prepare them for the shearing--if the riveh gives him time to make the turn." "the danger is immediate, then?" said bigelow. the white-haired king of arcadia was standing on the brink of the mesa cliff, a stark figure in the white moonlight, with his hand at his ear. "hark, gentlemen!" he commanded; and then: "youh ears are all youngeh than mine. what do you heah?" it was ballard who replied: "the wind is rising on the range; i can hear it singing in the pines." "no, suh; that isn't the wind--it's wateh; torrents and oceans of it. there have been great and phenomenal storms up in the basin all day; storms and cloud-bursts. see thah!" a rippling wave a foot high came sweeping down the glassy surface of the reservoir lake, crowding and rioting until it doubled its depth in rushing into the foothill canyon. passing the mine, it swept away other tons of the dump; and an instant later the water at the feet of the onlookers lifted like the heave of a great ground-swell--lifted, but did not subside. ballard's square jaw was out-thrust. "we did not build for any such brutal tests as this," he muttered. "another surge like that----" "it is coming!" cried elsa. "the power dam in the upper canyon is gone!" and the sharer of the single cantrell christian name shrieked and took shelter under bigelow's arm. far up the moon-silvered expanse of the lake a black line was advancing at railway speed. it was like the ominous flattening of the sea before a hurricane; but the chief terror of it lay in the peaceful surroundings. no cloud flecked the sky; no breath of air was stirring; the calm of the matchless summer night was unbroken, save by the surf-like murmur of the great wave as it rose high and still higher in the narrowing raceway. instinctively ballard put his arm about elsa and drew her back from the cliff's edge. there could be no chance of danger for the group looking on from the top of the high mesa; yet the commanding roar of the menace was irresistible. when the wave entered the wedge-shaped upper end of the elbow it was a foam-crested wall ten feet high, advancing with the black-arched front of a tidal billow, mighty, terrifying, the cold breath of it blowing like a chill wind from the underworld upon the group of watchers. in its onrush the remains of the mine dump melted and vanished, and the heavy bulkhead timbering at the mouth of the workings was torn away, to be hurled, with other tons of floating débris, against the back-wall of the dam. knowing all the conditions, ballard thought the masonry would never withstand the hammer-blow impact of the wreck-laden billow. yet it stood, apparently undamaged, even after the splintered mass of wreckage, tossed high on the crest of the wave, had leaped the coping course to plunge thundering into the ravine below. the great wall was like some massive fortification reared to endure such shocks; and elsa, facing the terrific spectacle beside her lover, like a reincarnation of one of the battle-maidens, gave him his rightful meed of praise. "you builded well--you and the others!" she cried. "it will not break!" but even as she spoke, the forces that sap and destroy were at work. there was a hoarse groaning from the underground caverns of the zirconium mine--sounds as of a volcano in travail. the wave retreated for a little space, and the white line of the coping showed bare and unbroken in the moonlight. silence, the deafening silence which follows the thunderclap, succeeded to the clamour of the waters, and this in turn gave place to a curious gurgling roar as of some gigantic vessel emptying itself through an orifice in its bottom. the white-haired king was nearest to the brink of peril. at the gurgling roar he turned with arms outspread and swept the onlooking group, augmented now by the men from garou's cook camp, back and away from the dam-head. out of the torrent-worn pit in the lower ravine a great jet of water was spurting intermittently, like the blood from a severed artery. "that is the end!" groaned ballard, turning away from the death grapple between his work and the blind giant of the boiling water; and just then blacklock shouted, snatched, wrestled for an instant with a writhing captive--and was left with a torn mackintosh in his hands for his only trophy. they all saw the mexican when he slipped out of the rain-coat, eluded blacklock, and broke away, to dart across the chasm on the white pathway of the dam's coping course. he was half-way over to the shore of escape when his nerve failed. to the spouting fountain in the gulch below and the sucking whirlpool in the elbow above was added a second tidal wave from the cloud-burst sources; a mere ripple compared with the first, but yet great enough to make a maelstrom of the gurgling whirlpool, and to send its crest of spray flying over the narrow causeway. when the barrier was bared again the mexican was seen clinging limpet-like to the rocks, his courage gone and his death-warrant signed. for while he clung, the great wall lost its perfect alignment, sagged, swayed outward under the irresistible pressure from above, crumbled, and was gone in a thunder-burst of sound that stunned the watchers and shook the solid earth of the mesa where they stood. * * * * * "are you quite sure it wasn't all a frightful dream?" asked the young woman in a charming house gown and pointed turkish slippers of the young man with his left arm in a sling; the pair waiting the breakfast call in the hammock-bridged corner of the great portico at castle 'cadia. it was a colorado mountain morning of the sort called "italian" by enthusiastic tourists. the air was soft and balmy; a rare blue haze lay in the gulches; and the patches of yellowing aspens on the mountain shoulders added the needed touch of colour to relieve the dun-browns and grays of the balds and the heavy greens of the forested slopes. save for the summer-dried grass, lodged and levelled in great swaths by the sudden freeing of the waters, the foreground of the scene was unchanged. through the bowl-shaped valley the boiling water, once more an august-dwindled mountain stream, flowed murmurously as before; and a mile away in the foothill gap of the elbow, the huge steel-beamed derrick lined itself against the farther distances. "no, it wasn't a dream," said ballard. "the thirty-mile, nerve-trying drive home in the car, with the half-wrecked railroad bridge for a river crossing, ought to have convinced you of the realities." "nothing convinces me any more," she confessed, with the air of one who has seen chaos and cosmos succeed each other in dizzying alternations; and when ballard would have gone into the particulars of that with her, the king of arcadia came up from his morning walk around the homestead knoll. "ah, you youngstehs!" he said, with the note of fatherly indulgence in the mellow voice. "out yondeh undeh the maples, i run across the bigelow boy and madge cantrell;--'looking to see what damage the water had done,' they said, as innocent as a pair of turtle-doves! oveh in the orcha'd i stumble upon mistuh wingfield and dosia. i didn't make them lie to me, and i'm not going to make you two. but i should greatly appreciate a word with you, mistuh ballard." elsa got up to go in, but ballard sat in the hammock and drew her down beside him again. "with your permission, which i was going to ask immediately after breakfast, colonel craigmiles, we two are one," he said, with the frank, boyish smile that even his critics found hard to resist. "will you so regard us?" the colonel's answering laugh had no hint of obstacles in it. "it was merely a little matteh of business," he explained. "will youh shot-up arm sanction a day's travel, mistuh ballard?" "surely. this sling is wholly miss elsa's idea and invention. i don't need it." "well, then; heah's the programme: afteh breakfast, otto will drive you oveh to alta vista in the light car. from there you will take the train to denver. when you arrive, you will find the tree of the arcadia company pretty well shaken by the news of the catastrophe to the dam. am i safe in assuming so much?" "more than safe: every stockholder in the outfit will be ducking to cover." "ve'y good. quietly, then, and without much--ah--ostentation, as youh own good sense would dictate, you will pick up, in youh name or mine, a safe majority of the stock. do i make myself cleah?" "perfectly, so far." "then you will come back to arcadia, reorganise youh force--you and mistuh bromley--and build you anotheh dam; this time in the location below the elbow, where it should have been built befo'. am i still cleah?" "why, clear enough, certainly. but i thought--i've been given to understand that you were fighting the irrigation scheme on its merits; that you didn't want your kingdom of arcadia turned into a farming community. i don't blame you, you know." the old cattle king's gaze went afar, through the gap to the foothills and beyond to the billowing grass-lands of arcadia park, and the shrewd old eyes lost something of their militant fire when he said: "i reckon i was right selfish about that, in the beginning, mistuh ballard. it's a mighty fine range, suh, and i was greedy for the isolation--as some otheh men are greedy for money and the power it brings. but this heah little girl of mine she went out into the world, and came back to shame me, suh. here was land and a living, independence and happiness, for hundreds of the world's po' strugglers, and i was making a cattle paschuh of it! right then and thah was bo'n the idea, suh, of making a sure-enough kingdom of arcadia, and it was my laying of the foundations that attracted mr. pelham and his money-hungry crowd." "your idea!" ejaculated ballard. "then pelham and his people were interlopers?" "you can put it that way; yes, suh. thei-uh idea was wrapped up in a coin-sack; you could fai'ly heah it clink! thei-uh proposal was to sell the land, and to make the water an eve'lasting tax upon it; mine was to make the water free. we hitched on that, and then they proposed to _me_--to _me_, suh--to make a stock-selling swindle of it. when i told them they were a pack of damned scoundrels, they elected to fight me, suh; and last night, please god, we saw the beginning of the end that is to be--the righteous end. but come on in to breakfast; you can't live on sentiment for always, mistuh ballard." they went in together behind him, the two for whom arcadia had suddenly been transformed into paradise, and on the way the elsa whom ballard had first known and learned to love in the far-distant world beyond the barrier mountains reasserted herself. "what do you suppose mr. pelham will say when he hears that you have really made love to the cow-punching princess?" she asked, flippantly. "do you usually boast of such things in advance, mr. ballard?" but his answer ignored the little pin-prick of mockery. "i'm thinking altogether of colonel adam craigmiles, my dear; and of the honour he does you by being your father. he is a king, every inch of him, elsa, girl! i'm telling you right now that we'll have to put in the high speed, and keep it in, to live up to him." and afterward, when the house-party guests had gathered, in good old kentucky fashion, around the early breakfast-table, and the story of the night had been threshed out, and word was brought that otto and the car were waiting, he stood up with his hand on the back of elsa's chair and lifted his claret class with the loyal thought still uppermost. "a toast with me, good friends--my stirrup-cup: i drink to our host, the knight commander of castle 'cadia, and the reigning monarch of the land of heart's delight--long live the king of arcadia!" and they drank it standing. the end