Before they could produce them, however, or ore Pete could finish
what he was saying, Tom Reade leaped up from his campstool, closing
in behind the bad man.

"Ow-ow! Ouch!" yelled Pete. "Let go, you painted coyote."

"Walk right out of the tent, and I shall rejoice to let you depart,"
responded Tom steadily.

Standing behind the fellow, he had, with his strong, wiry fingers,
gripped Pete hard right over the biceps muscle of each arm. Like
many another of his type Pete had developed no great amount of
bodily strength. Though he struggled furiously, he was unable
to wrench himself free from this youth who had trained hard in
football training squads.

"Step outside and cool off, Peter," advised Tom, thrusting the
bad man through the doorway. "Have too much pride, man, to force
yourself on people who don't want your company."

Reade ran his foe outside a dozen feet, then released him, turning
and reentering the tent.

"No, you don't! Put up your pistol," sounded the warning voice
of Cook Jake Wren outside. "You take a shot at that young feller,
Pete, and I'll never serve you another mouthful as long as I'm
in the Rockies!"

Bad Pete gazed fiercely toward the engineers' tent, hesitated
a moment, and then walked wrathfully away.

CHAPTER III

THE DAY OF REAL WORK DAWNS

The meal was finished in peace after that. It was so hearty a
meal that Tom and Harry, who had not yet acquired the keen edge
of appetite that comes to hard workers in the Rockies, had finished
long before any one else.

"You fellers had better hurry up," commanded Jake Wren finally.
"It'll soon be dark, and I'm not going to furnish candles."

As the cook was an autocrat in camp, the engineers meekly called
for more pie and coffee, disposed of it and strolled out of the
mess tent over to their own little village under canvas.

"Bring over your banjo, Matt," urged Joe. "Nothing like the merry
old twang to make the new boys feel at home in our school."

Rice needed no further urging. As darkness came down a volume
of song rang out.

"What time do we turn out in the morning?" Tom asked, as Mr.
Blaisdell brought over a camp stool and sat near them.

"At five sharp," responded the assistant engineer. "An hour later
we hit the long trail in earnest. This isn't an idling camp."

"I'm glad it isn't," Reade nodded.

Then Blaisdell chatted with the boys, drawing out of them what
they knew, or thought they knew, of civil e