"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."

THE END