“Certainly, sir, if you’ll come into the head-quarters tent.” Leading the way into the tent where Harry Hazelton and his draughting force were at work, Tom announced: “Gentlemen, Mr. Newnham, president of the S.B. & L., wishes to look over the reports and the maps with me. You may lay off until called back to work.” As the others filed out of the tent, Tom made Harry a sign to remain. Then the three went over the details of what the field survey party was doing. “From all I can see,” remarked President Newnham, “you have done wonderfully well, Reade. I can certainly find no fault with Tim Thurston for recommending that you be placed in charge. Thurston will certainly be jealous when he gets on his feet again. You have driven the work ahead in faster time than Thurston himself was able to do.” “It’s very likely, sir,” replied Tom Reade, “that I have had an easier part of the country to work through than Mr. Thurston had. Then, again, the taking on of the engineer student party from the State University has enabled us to get ahead with much greater speed.” “I wonder why Thurston never thought to take on the students,” murmured Mr. Newnham. Bang! sounded an explosion, a mile or two to the westward. “I didn’t know that you were doing any blasting, Reade,” observed the president of the S.B. & L. “Neither did I, sir,” Tom replied, rising and listening. Bang! bang! bang! sounded a series of sharp reports. Tom ran out into the open Mr. Newnham following at a slower gait. Bang! bang! bang! “Hi, there, Riley!” roared Tom promptly. “Saddle two horses as quickly as you can. Harry, make ready to follow with me as soon as the horses are ready.” “Is anything wrong?” inquired the president. He was answered by more explosions in the distance. “I’m afraid so,” Tom muttered, showing his first trace of uneasiness. “However, I don’t want to say, Mr. Newnham, until I’ve investigated.” Before the horses were ready Tom descried, half a mile away, on a clear bit of trail, a horseman riding in at a furious gallop. “There comes a messenger, Mr. Newnham,” Tom went on. “We’ll soon know just what the trouble is.” “Trouble?” echoed Mr. Newnham, in astonishment. “Then you believe that is the word, do you?” “I’m afraid, Mr. Newnham, that you’ve reached here just in time to see some very real trouble,” was Reade’s quick answer. “But wait just two minutes, sir, and we’ll have exact information. Guessing won’t do any good.” Once or twice, through the trees, they caught sight of the on-rushing rider. Then Jack Rutter, a big splotch of red on the left sleeve of his shirt, rode hard into camp. “Reade,” he shouted, “we’re ambushed! Hidden scoundrels have been firing on us.” “You’ve ordered all the men in?” called Tom, as Rutter reined up beside him. “Every man of them,” returned Jack. “Poor Reynolds, of the student party, is rather seriously hit, I’m afraid. Some of the fellows are bringing him in.” “You’re hit yourself,” Tom remarked.