"Not only that, sir," continued the cub chief engineer, "but I doubt
if any of the officials of the W.C. & A. have any real knowledge that
such a move is contemplated. This trick proceeds from the fertile
mind of some clever, well-paid scoundrel who is employed in the
opposition railroad's gloom department. It is a cleverly thought-out
scheme to make us lose three or four days of work, which will be
enough to prevent us from finishing the road on time. So, the
enemy think that we must lose the charter, sir."

"That trick will never work," declared Mr. Newnham angrily. "Reade,
there are courts, and laws. If the State of Colorado doesn't protect
us in our work, then we can't be held to am count for not finishing
within a given time."

"That's as the legislature may decide, I imagine, sir," hazarded
the young engineer. "There are powerful political forces working
to turn this road's charter over to the W.C. & A. crowd. Your
company's property, Mr. Newnham, is entitled to protection from the
state, of course. The state, however, will be able to reply that
the authorities were not notified, and could not send protection
to us."

"But we have a telegraph running from here out into the world!"
cried the man from Broadway way, wheeling like a flash. "Reade,
we're both idiots not to have remembered, at the first shots,
to send an urgent message to Denver. Where's your operating tent?"

"Over there. I'll take you there, sir," offered Tom, after pointing.
"Still it won't do any good, Mr. Newnham, to think of telegraphing."

"Not do us any good?" echoed the other, aghast. "What nonsense
are you talking, Reade? If we are hindered the feet of our having
wired to the governor of the state will be our first proof of having
appealed to the state for protection. Can't you see that, Reade?"

The pair now turned in at the operator's tent.

"Operator," said Reade, to the young man seated before the keys on
a table, "this gentleman man is President Newnham, of the S.B. & L.
Send any messages that he dictates."

"Get Denver on the wire," commanded Mr. Newnham. "Hustle!"

Click-click-click! rattled the sounder.

"It won't do a particle of good," Tom uttered calmly. "'Gene Black,
the engineer discharged from this camp, is serving the enemy.
Black has brains enough to see that our wire was cut before he
started a thing moving."

Click-click-click! spoke the sounder again.

"I can't get a thing," explained the o