“I'll wager you ten dollars that my fly gets off the mirror before yours
does.”
“I'll take that bet, friend.”
The dozen or so of waiting customers lounging in Abe Morris's barber
shop looked up with signs of renewed life.
“I'll make it twenty,” continued the first speaker.
“I follow you,” assented the second speaker.
*Truly, if men must do so trivial a thing as squander their money on
idle bets, here was a novel enough contest.
Each of the bettors sat in a chair, tucked up in white to the chin. Each
was having his hair cut.
At the same moment a fly had lighted on each of the mirrors before the
two customers.
The man who had offered the bet was a well known local character--Jim
Duff by name, by occupation one of the meanest and most dishonorable
gamblers who had ever disgraced Arizona by his presence.
There is an old tradition about “honest gamblers” and “players of
square games.” The man who has been much about the world soon learns to
understand that the really honest and “square” gambler is a creature of
the imagination. The gambler makes his living by his wits, and he who
lives by anything so intangible speedily finds the road to cheating and
trickery.
Jim Duff had been no exception. His reputation was such that he could
find few men among the residents of this part of Arizona who would meet
him at the gaming table. He plied his trade mostly among simple-minded
tourists from the east--the class of men who are known in Arizona as
“tenderfeet.”
Rumor had it that Jim Duff, in addition to his many years of unblushing
cheating for a living, had also shot and killed three men in the past on
as many different occasions.
Yet he was a sleek, well-groomed fellow, tall and slim, and, in
the matter of years, somewhere in his forties. Duff always dressed
well--with a foundation of the late styles of the east, with something
of the swagger of the plains added to his raiment.
“Stranger, you might as well hand me your money now,” drawled Duff,
after a few moments had passed. “It'll save time.”
“Your fly hasn't hopped yet,” retorted the second man, with the air and
tone of one who could afford to lose thousands on such stupid bets.
The second man was of the kind on which Jim Duff fattened his purse.
Clarence Farnsworth, about twenty-five years of age, was as verdant a
“tenderfoot” as had lately graced Paloma, Arizona, with his presence.
Even the name of Clarence had moved so many men to laughter in this
sweltering little desert town that Farnsworth had lately chopped his
name to “Clare.” Yet this latter had proved even worse; it sounded too
nearly like a girl's name.
So far as his financial condition went, Clarence had the look of one
who possessed money to spend. He was well-dressed, lived at the Mansion
House, often hired automobiles, entertained his friends lavishly, and
was voted a good enough fellow, though a simpleton.
“My fly's growing skittish, stranger,” smiled Jim Duff. “He's on the
point of moving. You'd better whisper to your fly.”
“I believe, friend,” rejoined Clarence, “that my fly is taking nap. He
appears to be sound asleep. You certainly picked the more healthy fly.”
Jim Duff gave his barber an all but imperceptible nudge in one elbow.
Though he gave no sign in return, that barber understood, and shifted
his shears in a way that, even at distance, alarmed the fly on the
mirror before Duff.
“Buzz-zz!” The fly in front of the gambler took wing and vanished toward
the rear of the store.
Some of the Arizona men looking on smiled knowingly. They had realized
from the start that young Farnsworth had stood no show of winning the
stupid wager.
“You win,” stated young Clarence, in a tone that betrayed no annoyance.
Drawing a roll of bills from his pocket, he fumbled until he found a
twenty. This he passed to Duff, sitting in the next chair.
“You're not playing in luck to-day,” smiled Duff gently, as he tucked
away the money in one of his coat pockets. “You're a good sportsman,
Farnsworth, at any rate.”
“I flatter myself that I am,” replied Clarence, blushing slightly.
Jim Duff continued calmly puffing at the cigar that rested between his
teeth. They were handsome teeth, though, in some way, they made one
think of the teeth of a vicious dog.
“Coming over to the hotel this afternoon?” continued Duff.
“I--I--” hesitated Clarence.
“Coming, did you say?” persisted Duff gently.
“I shall have to see my mail first. There may be letters--”
“Oh,” nodded Duff, with just a trace of irony as the younger man again
hesitated.
“Life is not all playtime for me, you know,” Farnsworth continued,
looking rather shame-faced. “I--er--have some business affairs
attention at times.”
“Oh, don't try to join me at the hotel this if you have more interesting
matters in prospect,” smiled the gambler.
Again Clarence flushed. He looked up to Jim Duff as a thorough “man
of the world,” and wanted to stand well in the gambler's good opinion.
Clarence Farnsworth was, as yet, too green to know that, too often, the
man who has seen much of the world has seen only its seamy and worthless
side. Possibly Farnsworth was destined to learn this later on--after the
gambler had coolly fleeced him.
“Before long,” Farnsworth went on, changing the subject, “I must get out
on the desert and take a look at the quicksand that the railroad folks
are trying to cross.”
“The railroad people will probably never cross that quicksand,” remarked
Jim Duff, the lids closing over his eyes for a moment.
“Oh, I don't know about that,” continued Farnsworth argumentatively.
“I think I do,” declared Jim Duff easily. “My belief, Farnsworth, is
that the railroad people might dig up the whole of New Mexico, transport
the dirt here and dump it on top of that quicksand, and still the
quicksand would settle lower and lower and the tracks would still break
up and disappear. There's no bottom to that quicksand.”
“Of course you ought to know all about it, Duff,” Clarence made haste
to answer. “You've lived here for years, and you know all about this
section of the country.”
That didn't quite suit the gambler. What he sought to do was to raise an
argument with the young man--who still had some money left.
“What makes you think, Farnsworth, that the railroad can win out with
the desert and lay tracks across the quicksand? That's a bad quicksand,
you know. It has been called the 'Man-killer.' Many a prospector or
cow-puncher has lost his life in trying to get over that sand.”
“The real Man-killer quicksand is a mile to the south of where the
tracks go, isn't it?” asked Farnsworth.
“Yes; and the first party of railway surveyors who went over the line
for their track thought they had dodged the Man-killer. Yet what they'll
find, in the end, is that the Man-killer is a bad affair, and that it
extends, under the earth, in many directions and for long distances. I
am certain that railway tracks will never be laid over any part of the
Man-killer.”
“Perhaps not,” assented Clarence meekly.
“What makes you think that the railroad can ever get across the
Man-killer?” persisted Duff.
“Why, for one thing, the very hopeful report of the new engineers who
have taken charge.”
“Humph!” retorted Duff, as though that one word of contempt disposed of
the matter.
“Reade and Hazelton are very good engineers, are they not?” inquired
young Farnsworth.
“Humph! A pair of mere boys,” sneered Jim Duff.
“Young fellows of about my age, you mean?” asked Farnsworth.
“Of your age?” repeated Duff, in a tone of wonder. “No! You're a man.
Reade and Hazelton, as I've told you, are mere boys. They're not of age.
They've never voted.”
“Oh, I had no idea that they were as young as that,” replied Clarence,
much pleased at hearing himself styled a man. “But these young engineers
come from one of the Colorado, railroads, don't they!”
“I wouldn't be surprised,” nodded the gambler. “However, the Man-killer
is no task for boys. It is a job for giants to put through, if the job
ever can be finished.”
“Then, if it's so difficult, why doesn't the road shift the track by two
or three miles?” inquired Clarence.
“You certainly are a newcomer here,” laughed Duff easily. “Why, my son,
the railroad was chartered on condition that it run through certain
towns. Paloma, here, is one of the towns. So the road has to come here.”
“But couldn't the road shift, just after it leaves here?” insisted
Clarence.
“Oh, certainly. Yet, if the road shifted enough to avoid any possibility
of resting on the big Man-killer, then it would have to go through the
range beyond here--would have to tunnel under the hills for a distance
of three miles. That would cost millions of dollars. No, sir; the
railroad will have to lay tracks across the Man-killer, or else it will
have to stand a loss so great as to cripple the road.”
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted a keen, brisk, breezy-looking man, who had
entered the shop only a moment or two before. “There's a way that the
railroad can get over the Man-killer.”
“What is that?” asked Duff, eyeing the newcomer's reflected image in the
mirror.
“The first thing to do,” replied the stranger, “is to drop these boy
engineers out of the game. These youngsters came down here four days
ago, looked over the scene, and promised that they could get the tracks
laid-safely--for about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Pooh!” jeered Duff, with a sidelong glance at young Farnsworth.
“Of course it is pooh!” laughed the stranger. “The thing can it be
done for any such amount as that, and it is a crazy idea, to take the
opinions of boys, anyway, on any such subject as that. Now, there's a
Chicago firm of contractors, the Colthwaite Construction Company, which
has proposed to take over the whole contract for laying tracks across
the Man-killer. These boys figure on using dirt and then more dirt,
and still more, until they've satisfied the appetite of the Man-killer,
filled up the quicksand and laid a bed of solid earth on which the
tracks will run safely for the next hundred years. The Colthwaite people
have looked over the whole proposition. They know that it can't be done.
The two hundred and fifty thousand dollars will be wasted, and then the
Colthwaite Company will have to come in, after all, drive its pillars of
steel and concrete, lay well-founded beds and get a basis that will hold
the new earth above it. Then the track will be safe, and the people of
this part of Arizona will have a railroad of which they can be proud.
But these boys--these kids in railroad building--humph!”
“Humph!” agreed Jim Duff dryly.
The gambler using the mirror before him, continued to study keenly this
stranger, even after the latter had ceased talking and had gone to one
of the chairs to wait his turn.
“You're through, sir,” announced the barber who had been trying to
improve the gambler's appearance. “Thank you, sir. Next.”
Clarence, wholly crushed by the weight of opinion, was not yet through
with his barber. Duff, after lighting a fresh cigar, stepped over to
where the newcomer was seated.
“Are you stopping at the Mansion House?” inquired the gambler.
“Yes,” answered the stranger, looking up.
“So am I,” nodded the gambler. “So I shall probably have the pleasure of
meeting you again.”
“Why, yes; I trust so,” replied the stranger, after a quick, keen look
at Duff. Undoubtedly this newcomer was accustomed to judging men quickly
after seeing them.
“These boy engineers!” chucked Duff. “Humph!”
“Humph!” agreed the stranger.
At this moment two bronzed-looking, erect young men came tramping down
the sidewalk together. Each looked the picture of health, of courage,
of decision. Both wore the serviceable khaki now so common in surveying
camps in warm climates. Below the knee the trousers were confined by
leggings. Above the belt blue flannel shirts showed, yet these were of
excellent fabric and looked trim indeed. To protect their heads and to
shade their eyes as much as possible from the glare of Arizona desert
sand, these young men wore sombreros of the type common in the Army.
“This looks like a good place, Harry,” said the taller of the two young
men. “Suppose we go inside.”
They stepped into the barber shop together, nodding pleasantly to all
inside. Then, hanging up their sombreros, they passed on to unoccupied
chairs.
Just in the act of passing out, Jim Duff had stepped back to admit them.
“They're Reade and Hazelton, the very young engineers that the railroad
has just put in charge of the Man-killer job,” whispered one knowing
citizen of Paloma. The news quickly spread about the barber shop.
Jim Duff already knew the boys by sight, since they were stopping at the
Mansion House. He uttered an almost inaudible “humph!” then passed on
outside.
Neither Tom Reade nor Harry Hazelton heard this exclamation, nor would
they have paid any heed to it if they had.
Yes; the two young men were our friends of old, the young engineers.
Our readers are wholly familiar with Tom and Harry as far back as their
grammar school days in the good old town of Gridley. Tom and Harry were
members of that famous sextet of schoolboy athletes known at home as
Dick & Co. The exploits of Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton, as of Dick
Prescott, Dave Darrin, Greg Holmes and Dan Dalzell, have been fully
told, first in the “Grammar School Boys Series,” and then in the “High
School Boys Series.”
After the close of the “High School Boys Series” the further adventures
of Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes are told in the “West Point Series,”
while all that befell Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell has already been found
in the pages of the “Annapolis Series.”
In the preceding volume of this series, “The Young Engineers in
Colorado,” our readers were made familiar with the real start in working
life made by Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton. Back in the old High School
days Reade and Hazelton had been fitting themselves to become civil
engineers. They began their real work in the east, and had made good in
sterner work in the mountains in Colorado.
Our readers all know how Tom and Harry opened their careers in Colorado
by becoming “cub engineers” with one of the field camps of the S. B. &
L. railroad. Taken only on trial, they had rapidly made good, and had
earned the confidence of the chief engineer in charge of the work. When,
owing to the sudden illness of both the chief engineer and his principal
assistant the road's work had been crippled, Tom and Harry had had the
courage as well as the opportunity to take hold, assume the direction,
and complete the building of the S. B. & L. within the time required by
the road's charter.
Had the young engineers failed, the S. B. & L., under the terms granted
by the state, might have been seized and sold at public auction. In that
case, the larger, and rival road, the W. C. & A., stood ready to buy out
the S. B. & L. and reap the profits that the latter road had planned
to earn. Not only had the young engineers succeeded in overcoming all
natural obstacles, but, in a series of wonderful adventures, they had
defeated the plots of agents of the W. C. & A. From that time on Tom and
Harry had been famous in Colorado railroad circles.
After the S. B. & L. had been finished and put in operation, Tom Reade
had remained with the railroad for several months, still serving as
chief engineer, with Harry Hazelton as his trusted and dependable
assistant.
Now, at last, they had been lured away from the S. B. & L. by the offer
of a new chance to overcome difficulties of the sort that all
fighting engineers love to encounter. The Arizona, Gulf & New Mexico
Railroad--more commonly known as the A., G. & N. M.--while laying its
tracks in an attempt at record-beating, had come afoul of the problem
of the quicksand, as already outlined. Three different sets of engineers
had attempted the feat of filling up the quicksand, only to abandon it.
There was little doubt that the Colthwaite Construction Company, a
contracting firm with years of successful experience, could have,
“stopped” the quicksand, but this Chicago firm wanted far more money for
the job than the railroad people felt they could afford to spend.
So, in a moment of doubt, and harassed by troubles, one of the directors
of the A., G. & N. M. had remembered the names and the performances
of Tom and Harry. This director of the Arizona road, being a friend
of President Newnham, of the S. B. & L. road, had written the latter,
asking whether the services of Tom and Harry could be secured. The reply
had been in the affirmative, and Tom and Harry had speedily traveled
down into Arizona. In the few days they had been at this little town of
Paloma, they had gone thoroughly over the ground, they had studied
the problem, and had expressed their opinion that the job could be
put through creditably at a cost not exceeding a quarter of a million
dollars.
“Go to it, then!” General Manager Curtis had replied. “You have our
road's credit at your command, and we look to you to make good. You are
both very young, but Newnham's word is quite good enough for us.”
The day before this story opens this general manager had boarded one of
the rough-looking construction trains and had gone back to the road's
headquarters.
As they sat in the barber shop now Tom and Harry were quite unaware of
the interested notice they were receiving. This was not surprising, for
both were good, sane, wholesome American boys, with no more than the
average share of conceit, and neither believed himself to be as much of
a wonder as some experienced railroad men credited them with being.
“Stranger, excuse me, but you're Reade, aren't you?” inquired one of the
men of Paloma who was present.
“Yes, sir,” nodded Tom, looking up pleasantly from the weekly paper that
he had been scanning.
“You're head of the new job on the Man-killer, aren't you?” questioned
the same man. By this time every man in the barber shop was secretly
watching the young engineers, a fact that was plain to Harry Hazelton,
as he glanced up from a magazine.
“Yee, sir,” Tom answered again. “In a way I'm at the head of it, but
my friend, Hazelton, is really as much at the head as I am. We are
partners, and we work together in everything.”
“Do you think, Reade, that you're going to win out on the job?” inquired
another man.
“Yes, sir,” nodded Tom.
“You seem very confident about it,” smiled another.
“It's just a way we have,” Tom assented good-naturedly. “We always try
to keep our nerve and our confidence with us.”
“Yet you are really sure?”
“Oh! yes,” Reade answered. “We have looked the quicksand over, and we
feel sure that we see a way of stopping the Man-killer, and forcing it
to sustain railroad ties and steel rails.”
“How are you going; to go about it?” questioned still another interested
citizen. These men of Paloma had good reason for being interested. When
the iron road was finished, Paloma would be an intimate part of the
now outside world. It was certain that Paloma real estate would rise to
three or four times its present value.
“I know you'll excuse us,” replied Tom, still speaking pleasantly, “if
we don't go into precise details.”
“Then you are going to make a secret of your plans?” inquired another
barber-shop idler. His tone expressed merely curiosity; Arizona men are
proverbially as polite as they are frank.
“We're somewhat secretive--yes, sir,” Tom replied. “That is only because
we regard the method we are going to use as being mainly the concern of
the A., G. & N. M. No offense meant, sir, either.”
“No offense taken,” replied the late questioner.
Tom had already, within a few minutes, made an excellent impression on
the majority of these Arizona men present.
As to the other newcomer, who had lately spoken so warmly of the
Colthwaite Company, he was now silent, apparently greatly absorbed in a
three-days-old newspaper that he had picked up. Yet he managed to cast
more than one covert glance at the boys.
“I have heard both of you young men spoken of most warmly, as real
engineers who are going to solve the problem of the Man-killer,”
declared Clarence Farnsworth, as, alighting from the barber's chair, he
strolled past the pair.
“Thank you,” nodded Tom, with all his usual simple good nature.
“If you make a successful job of it is will be a splendid thing for you
in your professional careers,” continued Farnsworth, rather aimlessly.
“Undoubtedly,” nodded Harry.
The stranger who had held so much converse with Jim Duff was through
with the barber at last. Though the day was scorchingly hot in this
desert town, the stranger stepped along briskly until he had reached the
hotel.
The Mansion House would scarcely have measured up to the hotel standards
of large cities. Yet it was a very good hotel, indeed, for this part of
Arizona, and the proprietor did all in his power for the comfort of his
guests.
As the stranger ascended the steps to the broad porch he caught sight of
Jim Duff, approaching the doorway from the inside.
“Oh, how do you do?” was Duff's greeting. “Hot, isn't it?”
“Very,” nodded the stranger.
“I usually have my luncheon in my room, which is large and airy,”
continued Duff. “As I dislike to eat alone, I have ordered the table
spread for two. I shall be very glad of your company, stranger, if you
care to honor me.”
“That is kind of you,” nodded the other. “I shall accept with much
pleasure, for I, too, like to eat in good company.”
After a little more conversation the two ascended to Duff's room on the
next floor. Certainly it was the largest and most comfortable guest room
in the hotel, and was furnished in good taste. The main apartment was
set as a gentlemen's lounging room, Duff's bedroom furniture being in a
little room at the rear.
Hardly had Duff pressed the bell button before there came a tap at the
door. One waiter brought in a table for two, with the napery. This he
quickly arranged. As he turned toward the door two other waiters entered
with dishes containing a dainty meal for a hot day.
“You may arrange everything and then leave us, John,” directed Duff.
Soon the two new acquaintances were alone together, the gambler serving
the light meal with considerable grace.
“How long have you been with the Colthwaite Company?” asked Jim Duff
presently.
“I didn't say that I had ever been with the Colthwaite Company,” smiled
the stranger.
“No,” admitted the gambler; “but I took that much for granted.”
Again the eyes of the two men met in an exchange of keen looks, Then the
stranger laughed.
“Mr. Duff, I realize that it is a waste of time to try to conceal rather
evident facts from you. I am Frederick Ransom, a special agent for the
Colthwaite Company.”
“You are down here to get the contract for filling up the Man-killer
quicksand?” Duff continued, with an air of polite curiosity.
“The contract is not to be awarded,” Ransom answered. “The A., G. & N.
M. has decided to do the work itself, with the assistance of two young
engineers who have been retained.”
“Reade and Hazelton,” nodded Jim Duff.
“Yes.”
“They may fail--are almost sure to do so. Then, of course, Mr. Ransom,
you will have a very excellent chance of securing the contract for the
Colthwaite Company.”
“Why, yes; if the young men do fail.”
“Will you pardon a stranger's curiosity, Mr. Ransom? Have you laid your
plans yet for the way in which the young men are to fail?”
From most strangers this direct questioning would have been offensive.
Jim Duff, however, from long experience in fleecing greenhorns, had
acquired a manner and way, of speaking that stood him in good stead.
After a moment's half-embarrassed silence Fred Ransom burst into a laugh
that was wholly good-natured.
“Mr. Duff, You are unusually clever at reading other's motives,” he
replied.
“I went to school as a youngster, and learned how to read the pages of
open books,” the gambler confessed modestly. “So you have, as yet,
no plan for compelling the young engineers to fail and quit at the
Man-killer?”
This was such a direct, comprehensive question that Fred Ransom remained
silent for some moments before he admitted:
“No; as yet I haven't been able to form a plan.”
“Then engage me to help you,” spoke Jim Duff slowly, coolly. “I know the
country here, and the people. I know where to lay my finger on men who
can be trusted to do unusual things. I shall come high, Mr. Ransom, but
I am really worth the money. Talk it over with me, and convince me that
your company will be sufficiently liberal in return for large favors.”
“Oh, the Colthwaite Company would be liberal enough,” protested Ransom,
“and quick to hand out the cash, at that.”
“I took that for granted,” smiled Duff, showing his white teeth. “Your
people, the Colthwaites, have always been accustomed to paying
for favors that require unusual talent, some courage-and perhaps a
persistency of the shooting kind.”
Then the two rascals, who now thoroughly understood each other, fell to
plotting. An hour later the outlook was dark, indeed, for the success of
Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton.