BAD PETE MIXES IN SOME
Forty-Eight hours later Professor Coles arrived in camp with thirty
healthy, joyous young students of engineering.
It didn’t take Tom half an hour to discover that he had some excellent
material here. As for the professor himself, that gentleman was
a civil engineer of the widest experience.
“I shall need you to advise me, professor,” Tom explained. “While
I had the nerve to take command here, I’m only a boy, after all,
and you’ll be surprised when you find out how much there is that
I don’t know.”
“It’s very evident, Mr. Reade,” smiled the professor, “that you
know the art of management, and that’s the important part in any
line of great work.”
The student party had brought their own tents and field equipment
with them. Their arrival had been a total surprise in camp, as
none of the other engineers, save Harry, had known what was in
the wind.
“If these boys don’t make mistakes by wholesale,” declared Jack
Butter, “we’ll just boost the work along after this. I wonder
why Mr. Thurston never hit upon the idea of adding such a force?”
“It’s very likely he has been thinking of it all along,” Tom rejoined.
“The main point, however, is that we seem to have a bully field
force.”
Four of the students had been selected to serve as map-making
force under Harry Hazelton. The rest were going out into the
field, some of them as engineers in embryo, the rest as chainmen
and rodmen.
Though the field outfit now presented a lively appearance, all
was kept as quiet as possible in and near the camp, for neither
Mr. Thurston nor Mr. Blaisdell knew what was going on about them.
Both were still delirious, and very ill.
“Now I see why you could afford to ‘fire’ me and let the work
slack up for a while,” sneered Black, meeting Reade after dark.
“Do you?” asked Tom.
“These boys will spoil the whole business. You don’t seem to
have any idea of the numbers of fool mistakes that boys can make.”
“They’re good fellows, anyway, and honest,” Tom rejoined.
“Give some of ’em leveling work out on Section Nineteen,” suggested
’Gene, apparently seized with a sudden thought. “Then compare
their field notes with mine, and see how far out they are.”
“I happen to know all about your leveling notes on Nineteen,”
Reade retorted rather significantly.
“What do you mean?” flared Black.
“Just before Mr. Thurston was taken ill, as it happened, Hazelton
and I took a leveling instrument out on Nineteen one day and ran
your sights over after you.”
“So that’s why you ‘fired’-----” began Black, his thoughts moving
swiftly. Then, realizing that he was about to say too much, he
went on: “What did you find wrong with my sights on Nineteen?”
“I didn’t say that anything was wrong with your work,” Reade rejoined.
“What I was about to say was that, if I put any of the students
at leveling on Nineteen, by way of test, I shall have my own notes
with which to compare theirs.”
“Humph!” muttered the fellow. Then shaking with anger, he walked
away from the young chief.
“Now, Black knows that much against himself,” smiled Reade inwardly.
“He doesn’t yet know, however, that I heard him talking with
Bad Pete.”
Though he was pretending to take things easily, Tom’s head was
all but whirling with the many problems that presented themselves
to him. To get away from it all for a while Tom strolled a short
distance out of camp, seating himself on the ground under a big
tree not far from the trail.
Five minutes later the young chief heard halting footsteps that
struck his ear as being rather stealthy. Someone, from camp,
was heading that way. Stealth in the other’s movements made Reade
draw himself back into the shadow.
’Gene Black halted not far from the tree. Turning back toward
the camp, the fellow shook his fist violently in that direction.
“He’s certainly thinking of me,” grimaced Reade.
“You young cub, you may laugh for a day or two more!” muttered
Black, with another shake of his fist.
“If that’s meant for me, I’m much obliged, I’m sure,” thought
Reade. “Laughing is always a great pleasure for me.”
“It’s your turn now,” continued Black, in the same low, passionate
tone, “but I’ll soon have you blocked---or else under the sod!”
“Oho!” reflected the young acting chief engineer, not without
a slight shudder. “Is assassination in the plans of the people
behind ’Gene Black’s treachery? Or is putting me under the sod
merely an addition that Black has made for his own pleasure?”
The plotter, still unaware of the eavesdropper, had now turned
and was walking down the trail. He was now so far from camp that
he did not need to be soft-footed.
Out of the shadow, after a brief pause, stole Tom Reade.
“If Black is going to meet anyone tonight I’d better be near to
the place of meeting. I might hear something that would teach
me just what to do to checkmate the plotters against us.”
For fully half a mile the chase continued. Two or three times Reade
stepped against some slight obstacle in the darkness, making a
sound which, he feared, would travel to the ears of Black. But
the latter kept on his way.
Finally ’Gene Black halted where three trees grew in the form
of a triangle and threw a dense shadow. In the same instant the
young chief engineer dropped out of sight behind a boulder close
to the path.
Black’s low, thrilling whistle sounded. A night bird’s call answered.
Soon afterwards, another form appeared, and Tom, peering anxiously,
was sure that he recognized the man whom he expected to see---Bad
Pete.
What Tom heard came disjointedly---a few words here and there,
but enough to set him thinking “at the rate of a mile a minute,”
as he told himself.
Up the trail came the pair, after some minutes. Tom crouched
flat behind his boulder.
“Great! I hope they’ll halt within a few feet and go on talking
about the things that I want to hear---_must_ hear!” quivered Reade.
It was provoking! Black and Bad Pete passed so close, yet the
only sound from either of them, while within earshot, was a chuckle
from Pete.
“That’s right! Laugh,” gritted disappointed Tom. “Laughing is in
your line! You’re planning, somehow, to put the big laugh over the
whole line of the S.B. & L. railroad. If I could only hear a little
more I might be able to turn the laugh on you!”
The pair went on out of sight. Tom waited where he was for more
than half an hour.
“Now, the coast is surely clear,” thought Reade at last. He rose
and started campward.
“The soft-foot, the rubber shoe won’t work now,” Tom decided.
“If I were to go along as if trying not to run into anyone, and
that pair got first sight of me, it would make them suspicious.
I haven’t been eavesdropping---oh, no! I’m merely out taking
a night stroll to ease my nerves.”
Therefore the cub chief puckered his lips, emitting a cheery whistling
as he trudged along up the trail.
As it happened the pair whom Tom sought had not yet parted. From
behind a boulder a man stepped out in his path. From the other
side of the boulder another man moved in behind him.
“Out for the air, Reade?” asked the sneering voice of ’Gene Black.
“Hello, Black---is that you?”
“Now, Black,” broke in the voice of Bad Pete, “you wanted this
cub, and he’s all yours! What are you going to do with him?”