"Harry, could anything be tougher? The chief away, the acting chief down with fever and on the verge of delirium---and a crooked engineer in our crowd who's doing his best to sell out the S.B.

& L.---bag, baggage and charter!"

CHAPTER XI

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, hoa.r.s.e 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.?"