“That part is attended to,” sighed Tom. “Hang it, I wish we could get hold of some ice. I don’t know much, but I do know that ice is needed in high fevers. I wonder if anyone here knows where ice can be had? By Jove, there’s Peter! He knows more about this country than anyone else around here.” It was now within an hour of the time when the engineer parties might be expected hack into camp. Reade, however, was not of the sort to lose an hour needlessly. Tom had just caught sight of Bad Pete as the latter stepped through a little gully an eighth of a mile below the trail and vanished into some green brush. “I’ll run after him,” Tom decided. “Pete wants a little money, and this will be a chance for him to earn it---if he can find some man to drive a load of ice to camp.” Being a trained runner, Tom did not consume much time in nearing the spot where he had last seen Bad Pete. The lad put two fingers up to his mouth, intending to whistle, when he heard a twig snap behind him. Tom turned quickly, then, warned by some instinct, stepped noiselessly behind high brush. The newcomer was ’Gene Black. “Pete!” called Black softly. “Oy!” answered a voice some distance away. “That you, Pete?” called the engineer. “Yep.” “Then close in here. I have doings for you.” Tom Reade should have stepped out into sight. He was neither spy nor eavesdropper. For once, something within urged him to keep out of sight and silent. “Where be you, pardner?” called Pete’s voice, nearer at hand now. “Right here, Pete,” called Black. “What do you want, pardner?” demanded the bad man, coming through the brush. “Lend me a couple of hundred dollars, Pete,” laughed ’Gene Black. “Did you call me here for any such fool talk as that?” scowled Pete. “No,” Black admitted. “Pete, I don’t believe you have two hundred dollars. But you’d like to have. Now, wouldn’t you!” “Two hundred silver bricks,” retorted Bad Pete, his eyes gleaming, “is the price of shooting up a whole town. Pardner, just get me an extra box of cartridges and lead me to that town! But have you got the money?” “Yes,” laughed Black, holding up a roll of greenbacks. “This and more, too!” Bad Pete surveyed the money hungrily. “Some men who know me,” he muttered thickly, “would be afraid to show me a whole bankful of money when there was no one else looking.” “I’m not afraid of you, Pete,” replied Black quietly. “You might shoot me, if you felt you could get away with it. Do you notice that my left hand is in my pocket! I’m a left-handed shooter, you see.” Pete glanced covertly at that bulging left trousers’ pocket of the engineer. “You won’t have to do anything like that to get the money, Pete. Save your cartridges for other people. There, I’ve let go of my gun. Come close and listen to what I have to say---but only in your ear.”