The Young Engineers in Arizona; or, Laying Tracks on the Man-killer Quicksand. H. Irving Hancock

pitching his tent on the railroad's dirt, isn't he!”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Come along. We'll have a look at that place.”

      A few minutes of brisk walking brought the young engineers, the superintendent and the three foremen to the spot.

      Tent number one had been pitched. It was a circular tent, some forty feet in diameter. The second tent, only a little smaller, was now being hoisted.

      “Who's in charge of this work?” asked Tom in his usual pleasant tone.

      “My manager, Mr. Bemis—Dock Bemis,” answered Jim Duff suavely, as he moved forward to meet the party. “Dock, come here. I want you to know Mr. Reade, the engineer in charge of this job.”

      Duff's manners were impudently easy and assured. The fellow known as Dock Bemis, an unprepossessing, shabbily dressed man of thirty-five, with a mean face and an ugly-looking eye, came forward.

      “I'll take Mr. Bemis's acquaintance for granted,” Tom continued, with an easy smile. “You own this outfit, don't you, Mr. Duff?”

      “I've rented it, if you mean the tents, tables and chairs,” assented the gambler. “I've a stock of liquors coming over as soon as I send one of the wagons back.”

      “What do you propose to do with all this?” Tom inquired.

      “Why, of course, you see,” smiled Duff, with all the suavity in the world, “as your boys are going to be paid off this afternoon they'll want to go somewhere to enjoy themselves. As the day is very hot I thought it would be showing good intentions if I brought an outfit over here. I'll have everything ready within an hour.”

      “So that you can get our men intoxicated and fleece them more easily?” asked Tom, with his best smile. “Is that the idea?”

      Jim buff flushed angrily. Then his face became pale.

      “It's a crude way you have of expressing it, Mr. Reade, if you Ill allow me to say so,” the gambler answered, in a voice choked with anger. “I am going to offer your men a little amusement. It's what they need, and what they'll insist upon. Do you see? There's a small mob coming this way now.”

      Tom turned, discovering about a hundred railroad laborers coming down the road.

      “Mr. Duff,” asked the young chief engineer, “can you show any proof of your authority to erect tents on the railroad's land?”

      “What other place around here, Mr. Reade, would be as convenient?” demanded the gambler.

      “I repeat my question, sir! Have you any authority or warrant for erecting tents here?”

      “Do you mean, have I a permit from the railroad company?”

      “You know very well what I mean, Duff.”

      Though Reade's tone was somewhat sharper, his smile was as genial as ever.

      “I didn't imagine you'd have any objection to my coming here,” the gambler replied evasively.

      “Have you any authority to be on the railroad's land's?” persisted Tom Reade. “Yes or no?”

      “No-o-o-o, I haven't, unless I can persuade you to see how reasonable it is that your men should be provided with enjoyment right at their own camp.”

      “Take the tents down, then, as quickly as you can accomplish it,” directed Tom, though in a quiet voice.

      “And—if I don't?” asked Duff, smiling dangerously and displaying his white, dog-like teeth.

      “Then I shall direct one of the foremen to call a sufficient force, Mr. Duff, to take down your tents and remove them from railroad property. I am not seeking trouble with you, sir; I don't want trouble. But, as long as I remain in charge here no gambling or drinking places are going to be opened on the railroad's land.”

      “Mr. Reade,” inquired the gambler, his smile fading, “do you object to giving me a word in private?”

      “Not at all,” Tom declared. “But it won't help your plans.”

      “I'd like just a word with you alone,” coaxed the gambler.

      Nodding, Reade stepped away with the gambler to a distance of a hundred feet or so from the rapidly increasing crowd.

      “I expect to make a little money out of this tent outfit, of course,” explained Jim Duff.

      “I expect that you won't make a dollar out of it—on railway property,” returned Reade steadily.

      “I'm going to make a little money—not much,” Duff went on. “Now, if I can make the whole deal with you, and if no one else is allowed to bother me, I can afford to pass you one hundred dollars a day for the tent privilege.”

      Before even expectant Tom realized what was happening, Duff had pressed a wad of paper money into his hand.

      “What is this?” demanded Reade.

      “Don't let everyone see it,” warned the gambler. “You'll find two hundred dollars there, in bills. That's for the first two days of our tent privilege here.”

      “You contemptible hound!” exclaimed Tom angrily.

      Whish! The tightly folded wad of bank notes left Tom's hand, landing squarely in Jim Duff Is face.

      In an instant the gambler's face turned white. His hand flew back to a pocket in which he carried a pistol.