INVESTIGATING.
THE working of the powerful machine had been observed from a distance.
As the little party drew nearer, they could see more plainly the heaps
of mud and wet dirt left in the wake of the steam shovel. Five gigantic
negroes, with shovels and hoes, leveled off the piles, working slowly
and languidly over the task, their legs wet to the knees and their
bodies plastered with mud.
"Saws, all of them." Charley commented briefly, as they passed the
sudden, slow-working group.
"Saws?" echoed Walter questioningly. "I never heard of that race
before."
"They come from the Bahama Islands," Charley replied. "They all have
to ship for this country by way of the port of Nassau. So they get
their title from that port, but people on this side have shortened
the title down to 'Saws.' They are the finest built and laziest race
in existence, I believe. There, that's Mr. Murphy, right back of the
machine. He hasn't seen us yet. Whew! Just listen to him."
Mr. Murphy, a short, florid-faced man, was standing with his back
to them, cursing earnestly at two negroes, who guided the moving of
the sections of track and cleared away all roots and brush from the
machine's path. The negroes' faces were ashen with anger, but they
worked on sullenly, probably because the butt of a heavy revolver
protruded from the white man's pocket.
Mr. Murphy's face became wreathed in smiles, and he ceased his cursing
to greet the little party cordially.
"You've just got to cuss at them Saws occasionally," he apologized, as
he rubbed the sweat from his red face. "If you don't, you just simply
can't get any work out of them. Well, I'm glad to see you. I expected
you early and had given you up. Well, there's the machine, and you
can see for yourself what kind of work it does. I've got my contract
with the county commissioners back in my tent, but I'll show it to you
when we go back to dinner, so that you'll see everything is O. K. Any
questions you want to ask?"
"Sure," said Charley, with a smile. "We don't want to go into anything
blindfolded. First, what are your monthly expenses?"
Murphy wrinkled his brow in thought. "Let's see," he said. "We work the
engineers in shifts of 8 hours each. They get $85.00 a month and board;
that's $255.00. Then there's two shifts for the firemen and ground
men; that makes six men at $36.00 a month--a total of $216.00. Then, I
have to carry two bridge builders at the same wage, which makes $72.00
more. Then there's five graders, one cook, and one teamster, and a
dynamiter to blow up the trees ahead of the machine; that's eight more,
at $36.00, or $288.00. That brings my total payroll up to a little over
$800 a month. Then, there's the grub bill. It runs from $250 to $300
a month. Carbide for machine lights, feed for the mules, and other
extras will likely bring the total expenses for a month up to $1,200,
but that's a trifle compared to what the machine is earning, and $3,000
for the bunch is like giving it away. The machine alone cost $12,000,
and the tents, mules, wagons, and the motor truck would be cheap at
another thousand dollars." He pulled a big watch out of his pocket and
looked at the time. "Chuck's ready by now at the cook tent," he said.
"Let's go and have a bite, and I'll run you into Jupiter in the truck
afterward. We can talk business on the way."
In the cook tent they found one long table filled up with big, black,
sweating negroes. At the other smaller one were seated the teamster--a
white man--and the two sleepy-eyed engineers, off duty. The food was
plenty, but coarse and cheap in quality. Hungry as they were, the boys
partook of it meagerly, for they could not forget that dirty bench
outside, and the inside was foul from the sweating negroes crowded into
it. One thing they all noticed was the sullen silence that prevailed.
Even the white men at their own table had nothing to say, except to ask
occasionally for the passing of some dish they could not reach. The
boys were glad when the meal was at last finished and they were able
to get out again into the sweet, sun-purified air. Mr. Murphy remained
behind for a few minutes, arguing loudly with the two engineers.
"I don't like the looks of this outfit very much," said Walter, as the
four gathered together at the base of a pine tree. "The whole camp is
filthy--tents, cooking, men, and everything else. And everyone appears
so sullen and ugly, as though a little thing would start a fight going.
Of course, the price is dirt cheap, but I don't like the looks of
things."
"We can alter things in short order," Charley declared eagerly, for
he was letting his eagerness to seize this new opportunity cloud
his usually clear judgment. "Why, it won't take any time to change
things around. We can stop the machine for a day, and turn all hands
in on the job, make them scrub the tents good with soap and water,
and, after they are dry, pitch them all again in a different place.
A change of cooks, and Sunday to rest up in, will take away a lot of
that sullenness, I bet. I really believe that half of it is caused by
Murphy cursing the men so much."
"Maybe you're right," Walter admitted. "Anyway, I would like to learn
to run that steam shovel. I bet I could do it in a week."
"I don't ever want to have to climb aboard that critter," Captain
Westfield observed; "but I reckon I could stay on the ground and keep
the other fellows up to scratch. I ain't nowise anxious to go into the
business, but I leave it up to you, Charley. I've never had much to do
with shore business. Just do as you think best, boy."
"I leave it up to you, too, so far as I'm concerned," Walter agreed.
"I hopes you-alls do buy it," Chris said, earnestly; "I sho' wants to
do de cookin'; dat dirty nigger what's doing it now ain't fitting to do
hit, no way."
"All right," Charley agreed, reluctantly. "If it's left up to me to
do the deciding, I'll do it, though I had rather not take all the
responsibility. Well, I'm going to buy----"
He had no time to continue what he was going to say, for at that moment
Mr. Murphy stepped out of the tent and called to them. "Come around
here to the next tent; that's where my motor truck is housed."
Walter examined the motor truck carefully. It was almost new, but
it was evident that it had received rough treatment at the hands of
inexperienced drivers, but its main parts were still good and unworn.
"Well, what have you decided to do?" asked Mr. Murphy, as they all
clambered aboard the truck.
"We would like until to-morrow morning to talk it over," Charley said
cautiously.
"Sorry, but the way it stands, I've got to close up at once," said Mr.
Murphy briefly. "I've just got to get back home to my wife. I've got
another man on my string, and if you fellows don't want the business
I'll just run down to his place and see him to-night. I'm pretty sure
he'll take it."
"All right, then; we'll take it," said Charley promptly. "Machine,
truck, contract, and all equipment for $3,000."
"Agreed," said Mr. Murphy, equally prompt. "I'll give you a regular
bill of sale, covering everything, as soon as I get to Jupiter. We'll
get there in time to find a notary, I guess."
There was no further chance for conversation, for, as soon as it was
started up, the motor truck kept all hands busy trying to retain their
seats. The dirt road was full of hollows, bumps and ruts that sent the
truck's occupants bouncing and jarring from side to side, so that they
were not at all sorry when Jupiter was at last reached. Once arrived,
the notary was hunted up, and the transfer papers made out. "I'll
stay with you two weeks and show you how to run the thing," said Mr.
Murphy. "I ought to go at once, but I promised you I would stay, and I
will. I suppose you will want to pack up and not go back until morning.
So, I guess I'll take this check for $3,000 down to Palm Beach, and get
it cashed, and come back on the early morning train. There's a local
train due for Palm Beach in about five minutes, so I'll say so long
until morning."
The boys were up at the first crack of day, packing up their few
belongings, taking down their tents, and pulling out their little
launch and concealing it back among the bushes. By sunrise they were
at Jupiter, having rowed over in the skiff, which they hauled out
and left, feeling confident that it would not be molested until they
returned.
They found, upon inquiry at the little station, that the train would
not arrive until nine o'clock.
"Want tickets?" inquired the station agent, who had answered their
questions.
"No," said Charley. "We are waiting for Mr. Murphy. He's coming up on
the train to take us out to camp. We have bought out his machine and
contracts."
"Whew!" whistled the agent. "What did you pay him?"
"We got the whole outfit for $3,000," said Charley proudly.
"Good Lord!" murmured the agent. "Cash or check?"
"Check on the Bank of West Palm Beach," answered Charley less proudly.
The agent glanced at the clock. "Ten minutes of nine," he said
musingly. "The bank opens at eight. You have got a chance--just a bare
chance." He shoved over a pad of telegraph blanks. "Just wire the bank
to stop payment on that check."
"Why?" asked Charley, bewildered.
"Because, it's a rotten proposition," declared the agent earnestly;
"rotten all the way through. If you can stop payment on that check
you'll save losing $3,000, that's all."
Reluctantly Charley filled in a blank and shoved it over to the agent,
who clicked it off rapidly on the key. When he had finished he came
around from behind the partition. "It was none of my business, butting
in in that way," he apologized, "but I hate to see a man robbed of his
money."