takes the road over."

"That, one can never count on," retorted Blaisdell, shaking his
head. "The state courts would have charge of the appraising of
the value of the road, and one can never tell just what courts
will award. Ten chances to one the appraisal wouldn't cover more
than fifty per cent. of what the S.B. & L. has expended, and
thus our company would be many millions of dollars out of pocket.
Besides, if the courts could be depended upon to appraise this
uncompleted road at twenty per cent. more than has been expended
upon it, our company would still lose, for what the S.B. & L.
really expects to do is to bag the big profits that can be made
out of the section of the state that this road taps. Take it
from me, boys, the officials of this road are crazy with anxiety
to get the road through in time, and not lose the many millions
that are waiting to be earned by the S.B. & L. getting this road
through is all that Tim Thurston dreams of, by night or day.
His reputation---and he has a big one in railroad building---is
wholly at stake on his carrying this job through. It'll be a
big prize for all of us, professionally, if we can back Thurston's
fight to win."

"I'll back it to win," glowed Tom ardently "Mr. Blaisdell, I am
well aware that I'm hardly more than the lens cap on a transit
in this outfit, but I'm going to do every ounce of my individual
share to see this road through and running on time, and I'll carry
as much of any other man's burden as I can load onto my shoulders!"

"Good!" chuckled Blaisdell, holding out his hand. "I see that
you're one of us, heart and soul, Reade. What have you to say,
Hazelton?"

"I always let Tom do my talking, because he can do it better,"
smiled Harry. "At the same time, I've known Tom Reade for a good
many years, and his performance is always as good as his promise.
As for me, Mr. Blaisdell, I've just told you that Tom does my
talking, but I back up all that he promises for me."

"Pinkitty-plank-plink!" twanged Matt Rice's banjo, starting into
another rollicking air.

"I guess it's taps, boys," called Blaisdell in his low but resonant
voice. "Look at the chief's tent; he's putting out his candles now."

A glance at the gradually darkening walls of the chief engineers
big tent showed that this was the case.

"We'll all turn in," nodded Blaisdell.

So Tom and Harry hastened to their tent, where they unfolded their
camp cots and set them up. There was not