The Young Engineers in Colorado Part 28

"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 fas.h.i.+on, 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?"