"And I lose six hundred," supplemented Blake.

Neale leaned back and gazed up at his subordinates. He felt a subtle change in them. They had arrived at some momentous decision.

"But this message reads at my discretion," said Neale. "It's a plain surprise to me. I've no intention of making you lose your back pay, or of firing you, either."

"You'll probably do both--unless we can get together," a.s.serted Coffee.

"Well, can't we get together?"

"That remains to be seen," was the enigmatic reply.

"Ill need you both," went on Neale, thoughtfully. "We've a big job.

We've got to put a force of men on the piers while we're building the trestle... Maybe I'll fall down myself. Heavens! I've made blunders myself. I can't condemn you fellows. I'm willing to call off all talk about past performances and begin over again."

Neale felt that this proposition should have put another light on the question, that it should have been received appreciatively if not enthusiastically. But he was somewhat taken aback by the fact that it was not.

"Ahem! Well, we can talk it over to-morrow," yawned Coffee.

Neale made no more overtures, busied himself with his notes for an hour, and then sought his cot.

Next morning, bright and early, Neale went down to the river to make his close inspection of what had been done toward building Number Ten. From Colohan he ascertained the number of shafts and coffer-dams sunk; from the masons he learned the amount of stone cut to patterns. And he was not only amazed and astounded, but overwhelmed, and incensed beyond expression. The labor had been prodigious. Hundreds of tons of material had been sunk there; and that meant that hundreds of thousands of dollars also had been sunk.

Upon investigation Neale found that, although many cribbings had been sunk for the piers, they had never been put deep enough. And there were coffer-dams that did not dam at all--useless, senseless wastes of time and material, not to say wages. His plans called for fifty thirty-foot piles driven to bedrock, which, according to the excavations he had had made at the time of survey, was forty feet below the surface. Not a pile had been driven! There had been no solid base for any of the cribbings!

No foundations for the piers!

At the discovery the blood burned hot in Neale's face and neck.

"No blunder! No incompetence! No misreading of my plans! But a rotten, deliberate deal!... Work done over and over again! Oh, I see it all now!

General Lodge knew it without ever coming here. The same old story! That black stain--that dishonor on the great work! ... Graft! Graft!"

He clambered out of the wet and muddy hole and up the bank. Then he saw Blake sauntering across the flat toward him. Neale sat down abruptly to hide his face and fury, giving himself the task of sc.r.a.ping mud from his boots. When Blake got there Neale had himself fairly well in hand.

"h.e.l.lo, Neale!" said Blake, suavely. "Collected some mud, I see. It's sure a dirty job."

"Yes, it's been dirty in more ways than mud, I guess," replied Neale.

The instant his voice sounded in his ears it unleashed his temper.

"Sure has been a pile of money--dirty government money--sunk in there,"

rejoined Blake. He spoke with a.s.surance that surprised Neale into a desire to see how far he would go.

"Blake, it's an ill wind that blows n.o.body good."

A moment of silence pa.s.sed before Blake spoke again. "Sure. And it'll blow you good, too," he said, breathing hard.

"Every man has his price," replied Neale, lightly.

Then he felt a big, soft roll of bills stuffed into his hand. He took it, trembling all over. He wanted to spring erect, to fling that bribe in its giver's face. But he could, control himself a moment longer.

"Blake, who's the contractor on this job?" he queried, rapidly.

"Don't you know?"

"I don't."

"Well, we supposed you knew. It's Lee."

Neale started as if he had received a stab; the name hurt him in one way and was a shock in another.

"Allison Lee--the commissioner?" he asked, thickly.

"Sure. Oh, we're in right, Neale," replied Blake, with a laugh of relief.

Swift as an Indian, and as savagely, Neale sprang up. He threw the roll of bills into Blake's face.

"You try to bribe me! ME!" burst out Neale, pa.s.sionately. "You think I'll take your dirty money--cover up your crooked job! Why, you sneak!

You thief! You dog!"

He knocked Blake down. "Hold--on--Neale!" gasped Blake. He raised himself on his elbow, half stunned.

"Pick up that money," ordered Neale, and he threatened Blake again.

"Hurry!... Now march for camp!"

Neale walked the young engineer into the presence of his superior.

Coffee sat his table under the fly, with Somers and another man. Colohan appeared on the moment, and there were excited comments from others near by. Coffee stood up. His face turned yellow. His lips snarled.

"Coffee, here's your side partner," called Neale, and his voice was biting. "I've got you both dead to rights, you liars!... You never even tried to work on my plans for Number Ten."

"Neale, what in h.e.l.l do you suppose we're out here for?" demanded Coffee, harshly. "They're all getting a slice of this money. There's barrels of it. The directors of the road are crooked. They play both ends against the middle. They borrow money from the government and then pay it out to themselves. You're one of these dreamers. You're Lodge's pet. But you can't scare me."

"Coffee, if there was any law out here for stealing you'd go to jail,"

declared Neale. "You're a thief, same as this pup who tried to bribe me.

You're worse. You've held up the line. You've ordered your rotten work done over and over again. This is treachery to General Lodge--to Henney, who sent you out here. And to me it's--it's--there's no name low enough.

I surveyed the line through here. I drew the plans for Number Ten. And I'm going to prove you both cheats. You and your contractor."

"Neale, there's more than us in the deal," said Coffee sullenly.

Colohan strode close, big and formidable. "If you mean me, you're a liar," he declared. "An' don't say it!" Coffee was plainly intimidated, and Colohan turned to Neale. "Boss, I swear I wasn't in on this deal.

Lately I guessed it was all wrong. But all I could do was obey orders."

"Neale, you can't prove anything," sneered Coffee. "If you have any sense you'll shut up. I tell you this is only a LITTLE deal. I'm on the inside. I know financiers, commissioners, Congressmen, and Senators--and I told you before the directors are all in on this U. P. R. pickings.

You're a fool!"

"Maybe. But I'm no thief," retorted Neale.

"Shut up, will you?" shouted Coffee, who plainly did not take kindly to that epithet before the gathering crowd. "I'm no thief... Men get shot out here for saying less than that."

Neale laughed. He read Coffee's mind. That worthy, responding to the wildness of the time and place, meant to cover his tracks one way or another. And Neale had not lived long with Larry Red King for nothing.

"Coffee, you ARE a thief," declared Neale, striding forward. "The worst kind. Because you stole without risk. You can't be punished. But I'll carry this deal higher than you." And quick as a flash Neale s.n.a.t.c.hed some telegrams from Coffee's vest pocket. The act infuriated Coffee. His face went purple.