“By Jove, you’re right,” muttered Blaisdell uneasily, as he slowly stood up. “Reade, I’m going to take men and go out, carrying your notes and Black’s. Let me warn you, however, that if I find that Black is right and you’re wrong, then it will give you two cubs such a black eye that the chief will run you out of camp.” “If we had made any such gigantic blunder as that,” returned Tom firmly, “then we’d deserve to be run out. We wouldn’t have the nerve to put in another night in camp.” “Hey, you, don’t unsaddle those ponies. Hold yourselves ready to go out,” called Blaisdell from the doorway of the tent. “Will you give us our orders on drawing before you go, sir?” asked Reade. “No,” smiled Blaisdell. “If you’ve made a blunder out on Nineteen, then you’re not to be trusted with drawing. Wait until I return. Take it easy until then.” “Very good.” “And---Reade!” “Yes, sir.” “Neither you nor Hazelton are to let a word cross your lips regarding the disagreement over Section Nineteen.” “You’ll never have any trouble, sir, over our talking when we ought not to do it,” promised Reade. Two minutes later the assistant engineer rode out with a pair of rodmen whom he picked up on the way to Nineteen. “What happened?” asked Harry, coming into the big tent. Tom told him all that had taken place, adding the caution that nothing was to be said about the matter for the present. “Whew! I wish Mr. Blaisdell had let me go along,” murmured Hazelton. “I’d like to have seen his face when he finds out!” Hearing footsteps approaching outside, Reade signaled for silence. Then the flap of the tent was pulled back and Bad Pete glanced in. “Howdy, pardners?” was the greeting from the bad man, that caused Tom Reade almost to fall from his campstool. “How are you, Peter?” returned Tom. “This is, indeed, a pleasure.” “Where’s the boss?” continued Bad Pete. “If you mean Mr. Thurston, he’s away.” “Where’s Blaisdell, then?” “He hit the trail, just a few minutes ago,” Tom responded. “Then I suppose you have no objections if I sit in here a while?” “Peter,” replied Tom solemnly, “you’ll be conferring a great honor on us.” The bad man’s present mood was so amiable that Harry did not deem it desertion to go outside. Bad Pete had his cartridge belt restocked with sure-enough cartridges, and his revolver swung as jauntily in its holster as ever. Pete seemed to have no idea, however, of trying to terrify anyone with his hardware. “You’ve been away?” suggested Tom, by way of making conversation, after an awkward silence had endured for nearly two minutes. “Yep,” admitted the bad one. “Pardner, it seems like home to get back. Do you know, Reade, I’ve taken a big liking to you?” “Peter,” protested Tom, “if you don’t look out you’ll make me the vainest cub on earth.” “I mean it,” asserted Pete. “Pardner, I’ve a notion me and you are likely to become big friends.” “I never dared to hope for so much,” breathed Tom, keeping back a laugh.