THE CHIEF TOTTERS FROM COMMAND
It was not like Tom Reade to waste time in wondering what to do.
“Harry,” he continued, once more turning upon his chum, “I want
you to get a pony saddled as fast as you can. You know that the
telegraph wire is being brought along as fast as it can be done.
This morning I heard Rutter say that it was hardly five miles
back of us on the trail. Get into saddle, wire the chief at the
construction camp, and bring back his orders as fast as you can
ride.”
Hazelton replied only with a nod, then broke into a sprint for
the spot where the saddle animals were tethered. Two minutes
later Harry, though not a crack horseman, left camp at a gallop.
In Blaisdell’s tent matters dragged along. Ice was needed, but
none was to be had. Cloths were wrung out in spring water and
applied to the sick man’s head. Within half an hour Tom received
word that the acting chief was “out of his head.”
Later on Hazelton galloped back into camp bearing this despatch:
“Reade, Engineer Corps.
Take charge of camp until Rutter returns. Then turn over charge
to him. Rush for the nearest physician; engage him to remain
at camp and look after Blaisdell. I return tonight.
(Signed) Thurston, Chief Engineer.”
“Men,” called Tom striding over to the little party of rodmen,
“tell me where the nearest physician is to be found.”
“Doe Jitney, at Bear’s Cave,” replied one of the men.
“How far is that?”
“Fourteen miles, by the trail.”
“Get on to a pony, then, and go after Dr. Gitney. Bring him here
and tell him we’ll want him here for the present. Tell the doctor
to bring all the medicines he’ll need, and both of you ride fast.”
“I’m not going on your orders,” retorted the man sullenly.
“Yes, you are,” Tom informed him promptly. “I’m in charge, for
the present, and acting under Mr. Thurston’s orders. If you don’t
go, you won’t eat any more in this camp, or draw any more pay
here. It’s work or jump for you---and discharge if you lose or
waste any time on the way. Mr. Blaisdell’s life is at stake.
Rustle!”
The man so ordered scowled, but he rose, went over and saddled
a pony and rode out of camp.
“That part is attended to,” sighed Tom. “Hang it, I wish we could
get hold of some ice. I don’t know much, but I do know that ice
is needed in high fevers. I wonder if anyone here knows where
ice can be had? By Jove, there’s Peter! He knows more about
this country than anyone else around here.”
It was now within an hour of the time when the engineer parties
might be expected hack into camp. Reade, however, was not of
the sort to lose an hour needlessly.
Tom had just caught sight of Bad Pete as the latter stepped through
a little gully an eighth of a mile below the trail and vanished
into some green brush.
“I’ll run after him,” Tom decided. “Pete wants a little money,
and this will be a chance for him to earn it---if he can find
some man to drive a load of ice to camp.”
Being a trained runner, Tom did not consume much time in nearing
the spot where he had last seen Bad Pete. The lad put two fingers
up to his mouth, intending to whistle, when he heard a twig snap
behind him. Tom turned quickly, then, warned by some instinct,
stepped noiselessly behind high brush. The newcomer was ’Gene
Black.
“Pete!” called Black softly.
“Oy!” answered a voice some distance away.
“That you, Pete?” called the engineer.
“Yep.”
“Then close in here. I have doings for you.”
Tom Reade should have stepped out into sight. He was neither
spy nor eavesdropper. For once, something within urged him to
keep out of sight and silent.
“Where be you, pardner?” called Pete’s voice, nearer at hand now.
“Right here, Pete,” called Black.
“What do you want, pardner?” demanded the bad man, coming through
the brush.
“Lend me a couple of hundred dollars, Pete,” laughed ’Gene Black.
“Did you call me here for any such fool talk as that?” scowled Pete.
“No,” Black admitted. “Pete, I don’t believe you have two hundred
dollars. But you’d like to have. Now, wouldn’t you!”
“Two hundred silver bricks,” retorted Bad Pete, his eyes gleaming,
“is the price of shooting up a whole town. Pardner, just get me an
extra box of cartridges and lead me to that town! But have you got
the money?”
“Yes,” laughed Black, holding up a roll of greenbacks. “This
and more, too!”
Bad Pete surveyed the money hungrily.
“Some men who know me,” he muttered thickly, “would be afraid
to show me a whole bankful of money when there was no one else
looking.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Pete,” replied Black quietly. “You might
shoot me, if you felt you could get away with it. Do you notice
that my left hand is in my pocket! I’m a left-handed shooter,
you see.”
Pete glanced covertly at that bulging left trousers’ pocket of
the engineer.
“You won’t have to do anything like that to get the money, Pete.
Save your cartridges for other people. There, I’ve let go of
my gun. Come close and listen to what I have to say---but only
in your ear.”
There followed some moments of whisperings Try as he would, Reade
could not make out a word of what was being said until at last
Bad Pete muttered audibly, in a low, hoarse voice:
“You’re not doing that on your own account, Black?”
“No, Pete; I’m not.”
“Then you must really be working for the road that wants to steal
the charter away---the W.C. & A.?”
“Perhaps so, Pete. You don’t need to know that. All you have
to know is what I want done. I’m a business man, Pete, and money
is the soul of business. Here!”
Black peeled some banknotes from his roll.
“Ten twenties, Pete. That makes the two hundred I was talking
to you about. Understand, man, that isn’t your pay. That’s simply
your expense money, for you to spend while you’re hanging about.
Stick to me, do things just as I want them done, and your pay
will run several times as high as your expense money.”
“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for this sort o’ thing,
pardner?” Pete inquired huskily.
“No; of course not,” rejoined ’Gene Black rather impatiently.
“All my life,” returned Bad Pete solemnly. “Pardner, I’ll sell
myself to you for the money you’ve been talking about.”
“Come along, then. We’re too near the camp. I want to talk with
you where we’re not so likely to be interfered with by people who
have too much curiosity.”
“If that means me,” quoth Tom Reade inwardly, “the shoe fits to
a nicety.”
Tom followed the pair for a little way, with a stealth that was
born in him for the present need. Then the plotters stepped into
a rocky, open gully, where the cub engineer could not have followed
without being seen.
“Oh, dear! I never wanted to follow anyone as much in my life!”
groaned Reade in his disappointment.
There was nothing to do but to go back. Then, too, with a guilty
start, Tom remembered the great need of ice for poor, fever-tossed,
big-hearted Bill Blaisdell, who had been so kind to the two cubs
from the hour of their arrival in the field camp.
Just as he stepped into the camp area Tom espied Jack Rutter,
who also saw him and came quickly forward.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Reade,” said Rutter, in
a tone that was close to carrying reproach with it.
“I’ve been absent on real business, Rutter,” Tom answered, with
a flush, nevertheless. “Mr. Blaisdell must have ice a lot of it.”
“Great Scott! Where shall we find it in these mountains in midsummer?”
Rutter demanded.
“We’ve got to have it, haven’t we?” Tom urged. “It will be the
first thing that the doctor will call for.”
“Then he should bring it with him,” returned Rutter.
“Would you want the doctor to be hampered with a ton or so of
ice!” asked Reade.
“Would we need that much?” Rutter seemed hopelessly ignorant in
such matters.
“I imagine we’d want a lot of it,” Tom answered. “By the way,
Mr. Rutter-----”
“Well?” Jack inquired.
Tom was on the point of giving a hint of what he had heard in
the gully during the meeting between Black and Bad Pete. Then,
on second thought, the cub engineer decided to hold that news
for the ear of Mr. Thurston alone.
“What were you going to say?” pressed Rutter.
“Probably Hazelton has told you,” Tom continued, “that you’re
in charge here until Mr. Thurston arrives.”
“Yes; and I’m mighty glad that the chief will be here before daylight
tomorrow,” returned Jack. “I may be a fair sort of engineer, but I’m
not cut out for a chief engineer.”
Later, one of the rodmen was sent to guide Harry to the nearest
small town, twenty-eight miles away, for ice. If they succeeded
in obtaining it they might be back by dark of the following day.
Supper in camp was a gloomy meal. No one felt light-hearted.
“Mr. Rutter,” asked Tom, approaching the temporary chief, soon
after the evening meal, “what do you want Hazelton and myself
to do this evening?”
“Don’t ask me,” returned Jack, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“What have you been doing? Drawing?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you go on with it?”
“We’re at a point where we need orders, for we’ve had to lay down
one part of the work while waiting for further instructions.”
“I can’t help you any, then,” replied Rutter. “Sorry, but before
I could give any orders I’d need a few myself.”
At eleven o’clock that night Dr. Gitney arrived, with saddle-bags
full of medicines and other necessaries. He saw Blaisdell, and
pronounced the assistant engineer a very sick man.
Shortly after midnight Mr. Thurston rode into camp. He tottered
from saddle and reeled until Tom, on the lookout for him, ran
forward and supported the chief engineer to his tent.
Then Dr. Gitney was sent for and came.
“Your chief has mountain fever, too,” said the medical attendant
to Tom, after stepping outside the tent.
“How long will it take them to get well?” asked Wade anxiously.
“Weeks! Hard to say,” replied the physician vaguely.
“Weeks!” groaned Tom Reade. “And the camp now in charge of Jack
Rutter, who’s a fine workman but no leader! Doc Gitney doesn’t
know it, but he has sentenced the S.B. & L. railroad to death!”
It was a trying situation. The cub engineer felt it keenly, for
he had set his heart on seeing the S.B. & L. win out over its rival.
Then, too, all in a flash, the memory of ’Gene Black’s treachery
to his employers came back to the mind of Tom Reade.