Hazelton, you can go right on where you left off. Survey along
carefully until you come upon a stake marked 'Reade.' Then come
forward until you find us. Reade, I'll go along with you and
show you where to break in."

Preceded by their chainmen, Rutter and Reade trudged along the
trail for something like a mile.

"Halt," ordered Jack Rutter. "Reade, write your autograph on that
stake and begin."

Tom stepped over to the transit, adjusting it carefully and setting
the hanging plummet on dead centre with the nail head in the top
of the short stake.

"Never set up a transit again," directed Rutter, "without making
sure that your levels are absolutely true, and that your vernier
arrangement is in order."

"I don't believe you'll ever catch me at that, Mr. Rutter," Tom
answered, busying himself with the finer adjustments of the transit.
"Mr. Price pounded that into me every time that he took me out
in the field."

"Nevertheless," went on Rutter, "I have known older engineers
than you, Reade, who became careless, and their carelessness cost
their employers a lot of wasted time and money. Now, you-----"

At this juncture Jack Rutter suddenly crouched behind a low ledge
at the right.

"Get behind here, quickly, Reade!" called Rutter. "Bad Pete is
up the hillside, about two hundred yards from you-----"

"I haven't time to bother with him, now," Tom broke in composedly.

"Duck fast, boy! Pete has an ugly grin on his face, and he's
reaching for his pistol. He's got it out---he's going to shoot!"
whispered Rutter, drawing his head down where it would be safe
from flying bullets.

The chainmen, lounging nearby, had wasted no time in getting safely
to cover.

"Going to shoot, is he?" murmured Tom, without glancing away from
the instrument. "Does Peter really know how to shoot,"

"You'll find out! Jump---like a flash, boy!"

Tom went calmly on tinkering with the mechanism of his instrument.

Bang! sounded up the trail. Tom's fingers didn't falter as he
adjusted a small, brass screw.

Bang! came the second shot. Tom betrayed no more annoyance than
before. Bad Pete was aiming to drive bullets into the ground close
to the young engineer's feet, making him skip about. The sixth shot
Pete was saving for clipping Reade's hat from his head.

The shots continued to ring out. Tom, though he appeared to be
absorbed in his instrument, counted. When he had counted the
sixth shot Reade dropped suddenly, pick