“Yet it seems to me,” put in Harry, “that, even if the S.B. & L. does fail to get the railroad through in time, the stockholders will get their money back when the state 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 much bed-making. The body of the cot was of canvas, and required no mattress. From out of their baggage each took a small pillow and pair of blankets. At this altitude the night was already rather chilly, despite the fact that it was July. Rapidly undressing in the dark the young engineers crawled in between their blankets.