“Cut out the gun-play! That doesn't go here!” Tom uttered warningly.
One swift step forward, and one hand caught Jim Duff by the throat. With the other hand Tom caught Duff's right wrist and wrenched away the pistol that instantly appeared in the gambler's hand.
The weapon Tom threw on the ground, some feet away. Then, with eyes blazing with contempt, Tom Reade struck the gambler heavily across the face with the flat of his hand. Hard work had added to the young engineer's muscle of earlier days, and the gambler was staggered.
Another instant, and Superintendent Hawkins who, with Hazelton and the foremen, had run up to them, seized Duff roughly from behind, holding his arms pinioned.
Harry Hazelton picked up the revolver. Quickly opening it, he drew out the cartridges.
“Mr. Bell!” called Harry, and the foreman of that name hastened to him.
“Take this thing back to the office and break it up with a hammer,” directed young Hazelton, as he passed the revolver to the foreman. The latter sped away on his errand.
“Let Duff go, Mr. Hawkins,” directed Tom. “I'm not afraid of him. Duff, I wish to apologize to you for striking you in the face. I wouldn't allow any man to do that to me. But your action in reaching for a pistol was so childish—or cowardly, whichever you prefer to call it—that I admit I forgot myself for a moment. Now, you are not going to erect any tents for gambling or other unworthy purposes on the railroad's property. It's bad business to let you do anything of the sort. I trust that there will be no hard feeling between us.”
“Hard feeling?” hissed Jim Duff, his wicked-looking face paler than ever. “Boy, you needn't try to crawl back into my good graces after the way you acted toward me!”
“I'm not trying to crawl into your esteem, or to get there by any other means,” Tom answered quietly, though with a firmness that caused superintendent and foremen to feel a new respect for their young chief engineer. “At the same time, Duff, I don't believe in stirring up bad blood with anyone. You and I haven't the same way of regarding your line of business. That's the main difficulty. As I can't see your point of view, it would be hardly fair to expect you to understand my way of regarding what you wished to do here. Your tents will have to come down and be moved, but I have no personal feeling in the matter. How soon can you get your tents down?”
“They are not coming down, I tell you!” snarled the gambler.
“That's where you and I fail once more to agree,” replied Tom steadily, looking the other straight in the eyes. “It's merely a question of whether you will take them down, or whether I shall set our own men to doing it.”
Jim Duff had brought with him about a dozen men of his own. They were a somewhat picturesque-looking crowd, though not necessarily dangerous men. They were mostly men who had been hired to run the gaming tables under the canvas. A judge of men would have immediately classified them as inferior specimens of manhood.
So far these men had not offered to take any part in the dispute. Now Duff moved over to them quickly, muttering the words:
“Stand by me!”
As for Tom Reade, he was backed by five men, including his chum. Though none of Reade's force was armed, the young engineer knew that he could depend upon them.
Followed by his adherents, Duff took a few quick strides forward. This brought him face to face with Reade's labors, of whom now more than two hundred were present.
“Are you men or squaws?” called, Duff loudly. “I have brought the stuff over here for a merry night of it. This boy says you can't have your enjoyment. Are you going to let him rule you in that fashion, or are you going to throw him out of here?”
There came from the crowd a gradually increasing murmur of rage.
“Throw this boy out, if you're men!” Duff jeered. “Throw him out, I say, and send word to your railroad people to put a man here in his place.”
The murmurs increased, especially from the Mexicans, for the Mexican peon, or laborer, is often a furious gambler who will stake even the shirt on his back.
Foreman Mendoza, who understood his own people, started forward, but Tom, with a signal, caused him to halt.
“Throw him out, I say!” yelled Duff shrilly. “Duff, I'm afraid you're making a fool of yourself,” remarked Tom, stepping forward, smiling cheerfully.
Yet another murmur, now growing to a yell, rose from some of the men—a few of the men, too, who were not Mexicans, and a half-hearted rush was made in the young engineer's direction.
“Throw him out! Hustle the boy out!” Duff urged.
“Stop! Stop right in your tracks!” thundered Tom Reade, taking still another step toward the now angrier crowd. “Men, listen to me, and you'll get a proper understanding of this affair. Jim Duff wants me thrown out of here—”
“Yes! And out you'll go!” roared a voice from the rear of the crowd.
“That's a question that the next few minutes will settle,” Tom rejoined, with a smile. “If Jim Duff wants me thrown out of here, why don't you men tell him to do it himself?”
The force of this suggestion, with the memory of what they had recently seen, struck home with many of the men. A shout of laughter went up, followed by yells of:
“That's right—dead right!”
“Sail in, Jim!”
“Throw him out, Jim! We'll see fair play!”
Tom made an ironical bow in the direction of the gambler.
“Have you men gone crazy!” yelled Jim Duff hoarsely.
“Have you lost your nerve, Jim?” bawled a lusty American laborer. “You want this boy, as you call him, thrown out, and we're waiting to see you do it. It you haven't the nerve to tackle the job, then you're not a man to give us orders!”
Tom's smiling good humor and his fair proposition had swung the balance of feeling against the gambler. Duff saw that he had lost ground.
“Boy,” called a few voices, “if Duff won't throw you out, then you turn the tables and throw him out.”
“It isn't necessary,” laughed Tom. “After the tents are gone Duff won't have any desire to remain around here. Mr. Duff, I ask you for the last time, will you have your men take down the tents and remove them?”
“I won't!” snarled the gambler.
“Mr. Rivers!” called Tom.
“Yes, sir,” replied the foreman, stepping forward.
“Mr. Rivers, take twenty-five laborers and bring the tents down at once. Be careful to see that no damage is done. As soon as they are down you will load them on the wagons.”
“Yes, sir.”
“On second thought, you had better take fifty men. See that the work is done as promptly as possible.”
The Mexicans, who were in the majority, and nearly all of whom were wildly eager to gamble as soon as their money arrived, stirred uneasily. They might have interfered, but Foreman Mendoza ran among his countrymen, calling out to them vigorously in Spanish, and with so much emphasis that the men sullenly withdrew.
Foreman Rivers speedily had his fifty men, together, none of whom were Mexicans.
“Touch a single guy-rope at your peril!” warned Jim Duff menacingly, but big Superintendent Hawkins seized the gambler by the shoulders, gently, though, firmly, removing him from the vicinity of the tents.
All in a flash the work was done. Canvas and poles were loaded on to the wagons. Mr. Rivers's men had entered so thoroughly into the spirit of the thing that, they forced the drivers to start off, and the gambler's men to follow.
Goaded to the last ditch of desperation, Jim Duff now strode over to where Tom stood. No one opposed him, nor did Reade's smile fail.
“Boy, you've had your laugh, just now,” announced the gambler, in his most threatening, tone. “It will be your last laugh.”
“Oh, I hope not,” drawled Tom.
“You will know more within twenty-four hours. You have treated me, with your own crowd about you, like a dog.”
“You're wrong again,” laughed Tom.. “Jim is fond of dogs. They are fine fellows.”
“You may laugh as much as you want, just now,” jeered Jim Duff. “You've made an enemy, and one of the worst in Arizona! I won't waste any more talk on you—except to warn you.”
“Warn me? About what?” asked Tom curiously.
Instead of answering, Jim Duff turned on his heel, stalking off with a majesty that, somehow, looked sadly damaged.
“He has warned you,” murmured Superintendent Hawkins in an undertone. “That is your hint that Duff will fight you to the death at the first opportunity.”
“May it be long in coming!” uttered Tom devoutly.
Then, as he turned about and saw scores of laborers coming in his direction, Reade remembered what he wished to do.
“Mr. Hawkins,” he continued, turning toward the superintendent, “I see that Mr. Payson's gang is coming in from work. As all our men are now idle, I wish you would direct the foremen to see that all hands assemble here. I have something to say to them.”
Within ten minutes the five hundred laborers and mechanics had been gathered in a compact crowd. Now that the excitement of hustling the gambler off the scene had died away, many of the men were sorry that they had not made their disapproval plainer. Though Tom Reade plainly understood the mood of the men, he mounted a barrel, holding up both hands as a sign for silence.
“Now, men,” he began, “you all know that the pay train is due here this afternoon. You are all eager to get your money—for what? It is a strange fact that gold is the carrion that draws all of the vultures. A few minutes ago you saw one of the vultures here, preparing to get his supposed share of your money away from you. Does Jim Duff care a hang about any of you? Do any of you care anything whatever for Jim Duff? Then why should you be so eager to get into one of his tents and let him take your money away from you?
“It is true that, once in a while, a solitary player gets a few dollars away from a gambler. Yet, in the end, the gambler has every dollar of the crowd that patronizes him. You men have been out in the hot sun for weeks, working hard to earn the money that the pay train is bringing you. Has Jim Duff done any work in the last few weeks? While you men have been toiling and sweating, what has Duff been doing? Hasn't he been going around wearing the clothes and the air of a gentleman, while you men have been giving all but your lives for your dollars, while you have been denied most of the comforts of living. Hasn't Duff been up at the Mansion House, living on the fat of the land and smiling to himself every time he thought of you men, who would be ready to hand him all of your money as soon as it came to you? Is the gambler, who grows fat on the toil of others, but never toils himself, any better than the vulture that feeds upon the animals killed by others? Isn't the gambler a parasite, pure and simple? On whose lifeblood does the gambler feed, unless it's on yours?”
Tom continued his harangue, becoming more and more intense, yet carrying his talk along in all simplicity, and with a directness that made scores of the workmen look sheepish.
“Whenever you find a man anywhere who professes to be working for your good, or for your amusement, and who gets all the benefit in the end, why don't you open your eyes to him?” Tom inquired presently. “Over in Paloma there are saloon keepers who are cleaning up their dives and opening new lots of liquor that they feel sure they're going to sell you to-night. These dive keepers are ready to welcome you with open arms, and they'll try to make you feel that you're royal good fellows and that they are the best friends you have in the world. Yet, to-morrow morning, how will the property be divided? The keepers of these saloons and Jim Duff will have all your money and what will you have?”
Tom paused, whipping out a white handkerchief that he deftly bound around his head, meanwhile looking miserable.
“That's what you men will have—and that's all that you'll have left,” croaked the young chief engineer dismally. “Now, friends, is the game worth a candle of that sort? How many of you have money in the bank? Let every man here who has put up his hand. Not one of you? Who's keeping your money in bank for you? Jim Duff and the sellers of poisons? Will they ever hand your money back to you? Some of you men have dear ones at home. If one of these dear ones sends a hurried, frenzied appeal for money in time of sickness or death what will your answer have to be? Just this: 'I have been working like a slave for a year, but I can send you only my love. Jim Duff, who hasn't worked in all his life, won't let me send you any money.' Friends, is that what you're burning yourselves black on the desert for?”
While Tom Reade spoke Foreman Mendoza had marshaled his Mexicans and was translating the young engineer's words into Spanish.
Nor was it long ere Tom's fine presentation of the matter caught the men in the nobler part of their feelings.
“Don't blame Duff so much,” Tom finally went on. “He may be a parasite, a vulture, a feeder on blood, but you and men just like you have helped to make the Duffs. You're not going to do so after this, are you, my friends? You're not going to keep the breath of life in monsters who drain you dry of life and manhood?”
“No!” came a thunderous shout, even though all of Reade's hearers did not join in it.
Even the Mexicans, listening to Mendoza's translation, became interested, despite their lesser degree of intelligence.
Tom continued to talk against time, though he wasted few words. All that he said went home to many of the laborers. While he was still talking the whistle of the pay train was heard.
Reade quickly sent his foremen and a few trusted workmen to head off any “runners” who might attempt to come in from Paloma while the men were being paid off.
As the train came to a stop Tom leaped upon a flat car behind the engine and introduced one of the newcomers—the vice president of a savings bank over in Tucson. This man, who knew the common people, talked for fifteen minutes, after which a clerk appeared from the pay car with a book in which to register the signatures of those who wished to open bank accounts. Then the paymaster and his assistants worked rapidly in paying off.
That railroad pay day proved a time of gloom to many in the town of Paloma. The returning pay train carried the bank officials and twenty-four thousand dollars that had been deposited as new accounts from the men. Of the money that remained in camp much of it was carried in the pockets of men who meant to keep it there until they received something worth while it exchange.
True, this did not trouble the majority of people in Paloma, who were sober, decent American citizens engaged in the proper walks of life.
But Jim Duff and a few others held an indignation meeting that night.
“We've been robbed!” complained one indignant saloon keeper.
“Gentlemen,” observed Jim Duff, in his oiliest tones, though his face was ghastly white, “you have a new enemy, who threatens your success in business. How are you going to deal with him?”
“We'll run him off the desert, or bury him there!” came the snarling response.
“I can't believe that boy, Reade, will ever succeed in laying the railroad tracks across the Man-killer,” smiled Jim Duff darkly within himself.
The next morning only a few of the men, some of those who had refused to open bank accounts, failed to show up at the railroad camp.
“There is really nothing to do this morning,” Tom remarked to Superintendent Hawkins. “However, I think you had better dock the missing men for time off. If you find that any missing man has been gone on a proper errand of rest or enjoyment, and has not been making a beast of himself, you can restore his docked pay on the lists.”
“That's a very good idea,” nodded Hawkins. “It always angers me to see these poor, hardworking fellows go away and make fools of themselves just as soon as they get a bit of pay in their pockets. Still, you can't change the whole face of human nature, Mr. Reade.”
“I don't expect to do so,” smiled Tom. “Yet, if we can get a hundred or two in this outfit to take a sensible view of pay day, and can drill it into them so that it will stick, there will be just that number of happier men in the world. How long have you been in this work on the frontier, Mr. Hawkins?”
“About twenty years, sir.”
“Then it must have angered you, many a time, to see the vultures and the parasites fattening on the men who do the real work in life.”
“It has,” nodded the superintendent. “However, I haven't your gift with the tongue, Mr. Reade, and I've never been able to lead men into the right path as you did yesterday.”
Over in the little village of tents where the idle workmen sat through the forenoon there was some restlessness. These men knew that there was nothing for them to do until the construction material arrived, and that they were required only to report in order to keep themselves on the time sheets. Having reported to their foremen and the checkers, they were quite at liberty to go over into Paloma or elsewhere. A few of them had gone. Some others had an uneasy feeling that they wouldn't like to face the contempt in the eyes of the young chief engineer if he happened to see them going away from camp.
“It's none of the business of that chap Reade,” growled one of the workmen.
“Of course it isn't,” spoke up another. “He talked to us straight yesterday, however, and showed us that it was our own business to keep out of the tough places in Paloma. I've worked under these engineers for years, and I never before knew one of them to care whether I had a hundred dollars or an empty stomach. Boys, I tell you, Reade, has the right stuff in him, if he is only a youngster. He knows the enemies he has made over in Paloma, and he understands the risks be has been taking in making such enemies. He proved to us that he can stand that sort of thing and be our friend. Look at this thing, will you?”
With something of a look of wonder the speaker drew out the bankbook that he had acquired the afternoon before.
“I've got forty dollars in bank,” he continued, in something of a tone of awe. “Forty friends of mine that I've put away to work and do good things for me! If I don't touch this money for some years then I'll find that this money has grown to be a lot more than forty dollars!”
“Or else you'll find that some bank clerk is up in Canada spending it,” jeered a companion.
“I don't care what the clerk does. The bank will be still good for the money. Joe, you read the papers as often as any come into camp.”
“Yes.”
“All right. The next time you find anything about a savings bank that has failed and left the people in the lurch for their money, you show it to me. Savings banks don't fail nowadays! No, Sir!”
Other men through the camp were taking sly peeps at their bankbooks, as though they were half ashamed at having such possessions. Yet many a hard toiler in camp felt a new sense of importance that morning. He began to look upon himself as a part of the moneyed world as, indeed, he was!
“Telegram for Mr. Reade,” called one of the two camp operators, coming forward.
Tom tore the envelope open, then stared at the following message:
“Reade, Chief Engineer.
“Have complaint from merchants of Paloma that you have effectually stopped the men from spending any money in the town. Not our policy to make enemies of the towns along our line. Explain immediately.
“(Signed) ELLSWORTH,
“General Manager.”
“Hmmm!” smiled Tom, then passed the message over to Superintendent Hawkins.
“Your newly made enemies have gotten after you quickly, Sir,” commented the superintendent grimly.
“Yes,” nodded Tom. “And, of course, I can't follow any course that isn't approved by the general manager. I'll wire him the truth and see what he has to say. Operator!”
“Yes, Sir,” replied the young man, turning and coming back.
“Wait for a message,” directed Tom; then seated himself and wrote the following reply:
“Ellsworth, General Manager.
“Have not interfered in any way with honest merchants of Paloma. Men are at liberty to spend their money any way they choose. I did give the men a talk about the foolishness of spending their wages in buying liquor or in gambling. Result was that men banked about two thirds of the total pay roll with the bank people you sent on pay train yesterday at my request. Also drove off a gambler who tried to erect two tents on railroad property in order to fleece the men more speedily.
“(Signed) READE,
“Chief Engineer.”
“That will tell the general manager about the kind of merchants that I've been injuring,” smiled Tom, first showing the sheet to Superintendent Hawkins and then handing it to the waiting messenger.
“I hope Ellsworth, will be satisfied,” nodded Hawkins. “Good will is an asset for a railway, and your enemies in Paloma may be able to stir up a good deal of trouble for you. Mr. Reade, I stood with you yesterday, and I'm still with you. If Ellsworth is so cranky that you feel like throwing the job here, then I'll walk out with you.”
“Oh, I'm not going to give up the work here,” predicted Reade cheerfully. “I'm too much interested in it. Neither am I going to have my hands tied by any clique of gamblers and dive keepers. If Mr. Ellsworth isn't satisfied, then I'll run up to headquarters and talk to him in person. I'm not going to quit; neither am I going to be prevented from winning and deserving the friendship of the men who are here working for us.”
“Telegram for Mr. Reade,” grinned the operator, again looking in at the doorway.
After reading it, Tom passed over to Hawkins this message from General Manager Ellsworth:
“Unable to judge merits of case at this distance. Will be with you soon.”
“That's all right,” Reade declared.
“It looks all right,” muttered Hawkins, who knew something about the ways of railroads.
Up the track the whistle on a stationary engine blew the noon signal.
“Feel like eating, Harry?” Tom called to his chum, who had been mildly dozing in a chair in one corner of the room.
“Always,” declared Hazelton, sitting up and yawning.
“Are you going to eat in town this noon, or in camp?” Tom inquired of the superintendent of construction.
Hawkins was about to answer that he'd eat in camp, when he suddenly reconsidered.
“I guess I'll ride along with you, Mr. Reade,” he said dryly.
Horses were brought, and the three mounted and rode away. In such sizzling heat as beat down from the noonday sun Tom had not the heart to urge his mount to speed. The trio were soon at the edge of Paloma, which they had to enter through one of the streets occupied by the rougher characters.
Just as they rode down by the first buildings a low whistle sounded on the heavy, dead air.
“Signal that the locomotive is headed this way,” announced Hawkins grimly. “Look out for the crossing, Mr. Reade!”
Hardly had the superintendent finished speaking when a sharp hiss sounded from an open window. Then another and more hisses, from different buildings.
“A few snakes left in the grass,” Tom remarked jokingly.
“Oh, you've stirred up a nest of 'em, Mr. Reade,” rejoined the superintendent.
Tom laughed as Harry added:
“Let's hope that there are no poisonous reptiles among them. It would be rough on poisonous snakes to have Tom find them.”
Then the three horsemen turned the corner near the Mansion House. Superintendent Hawkins looked grave as he noted a crowd before the hotel.
“Mr. Reade, I believe those men are there waiting to see you. I'm certain they've not gathered just to talk about the weather.”
There was a movement in the crowd, and a suppressed, surly murmur, as the engineer party was sighted.
Tom Reade, however, rode forward at the head of his party, alighting close to the crowd, which numbered fifty or sixty men. The young chief engineer signed to one of the stable boys, who came forward, half reluctantly, and took the bridles of the three horses to lead them away.
Jim Duff, backed by three other men, stepped forward. There was a world of menace in the gambler's wicked eyes as he began, in a soft, almost purring tone:
“Mr. Reade,” announced Jim Duff, “we are a committee, appointed by citizens, to express our belief that the air of Paloma is not going to be good for you. At the same time we wish to ask you concerning your plans for leaving the town.”
There could be no question as to the meaning of the speaker. Tom Reade was being ordered out of town.
“My plans for leaving town?” repeated Tom pleasantly. “Why, gentlemen, I'll meet your question frankly by saying that I haven't made any such plans.”
“You're going to do so, aren't?” inquired Duff casually.
“By the time that my partner and I have finished our work for the road, Mr. Duff, I imagine that we shall be making definite plans to go away, unless the railroad officials decide to keep us here with Paloma as headquarters for other work.”
“We believe that it would be much better for your health if you went away at once,” Duff insisted, with a mildness that did not disguise his meaning in the least.
Tom deemed it not worth while to pretend any longer that he did not understand.
“Oh, then it's a case of 'Here's your hat. What's your hurry?'” asked Reade smilingly.
“Something in that line,” assented Jim Duff. “I venture to assure you that we are quite in earnest in our anxiety for your welfare, Mr. Reade.”
“Whom do you men represent?” asked Tom.
“The citizens of Paloma,” returned Duff.
“All of them?” Reade insisted.
“All of them—with few exceptions.”
“I understand you, of course,” Tom nodded.
“Now, Mr. Duff, I'll tell you what I propose. I'm curious to know just how many there are on your side of the fence. Pardon me, but I really can't quite believe that the better citizens of this town are behind you. I know too many Arizona men, and I have too good an opinion of them. Your kind of crowd makes a lot of noise at times, and the other kind of Arizona crowd rarely makes any noise. I know, of course, the element in the town that your committee represents, but I don't believe that your element is by any means in the majority here.”
“I assure you that we represent the sentiment of the town,” Duff retorted steadily.
“Much as I regret the necessity for seeming to slight your opinion,” Tom went on with as pleasant a smile as at first, “I call for a showing of hands or a count of noses. I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr. Duff, if it meets with your approval. We'll hire a hall, sharing the expense. We'll state the question fairly in the local newspaper, and we'll invite all good citizens to turn out, meet in the hall, hear the case on both sides, and then decide for themselves whether they want the railroad engineers to leave the town or—”
“They do want you to leave town!” the gambler insisted.
“Or whether they want Jim Duff and some of his friends to leave town,” Tom Reade continued good-humoredly.
Jim Duff turned, gazing back at the men with him. They represented the roughest element in the town.
“No use arguing with a mule, Jim!” growled a red-faced man at the rear of the crowd. “Get a rail, boys, and we'll start the procession right now.”
“Bring a rope along, too!” called another man hoarsely.
“Get two rails and one rope!” proposed a third bad character. “The other kid doesn't seem to be sassy enough to need a rope.”
“Gentlemen,” broke in Harry Hazelton gravely, “if anyone of you imagines that I'm holding my tongue because I disapprove of my partner's course, let me assure you that I back every word he says.”
“Make it two ropes, then!” jeered another voice.
“Reade,” continued Jim Duff, “we all try to be decent men here, and the friends with me are a good and sensible lot of men. You have carried matters just a little too far. Think over what you've heard and noticed here, and then tell me again about your plans, for quitting Paloma.”
As he spoke Jim made a gesture that kept some of the men near him from rushing forward. Tom did not appear to notice the demonstration at all. Certainly he did not flinch.
“I haven't any such plans,” Tom laughed. “I'm hungry and I'm going inside to eat.”
With that, he turned his back on the crowd, with Harry behind him, both making for the steps of the hotel. Superintendent Hawkins stepped in after the boys.
“Gentlemen, I can't do anything more,” spoke up Jim Duff, with an air of resignation.
“But we can!” roared some of the roughs in the crowd. A dozen of them surged forward. The first of them swung a lariat to slip it over Tom Reade's neck.
Bump! Hawkins's sledge-hammer right hand shot out, landing on that fellow's face. With a moan the fellow collapsed on the sidewalk, his jaw broken.
Then Tom and Harry wheeled like a flash, eyeing the idlers and roughs sternly.
“Don't go any further,” proposed Tom, his eyes growing steely, “unless you mean it.”
Something in the attitude of the trio of athletic figures standing ready before them disquieted the crowd of roughs. There were armed men in that crowd, but all felt that they had been put in the wrong, so far, and none of them dared draw the first weapon or fire the first shot.
“Take that injured man to a surgeon and have his jaw set,” spoke Tom quietly. “Let the surgeon send me the bill. I'm sorry for the fellow, for I'm indirectly the cause of his being hurt. The main cause of his misfortune was due to his being in bad company.”
“Come out of that hotel,” ordered Jim Duff, his eyes blazing as he stepped forward, though with Hawkins's cold, hard eyes on him the gambler was careful to keep his hands at his sides. “You can't get anything to eat in there!”
“Do you own the hotel?” Tom inquired coolly.
“No; but you can't eat there.”
“Join us at lunch, Mr. Hawkins!” Tom invited, turning away from the gambler. The superintendent nodded, for he had no intention of leaving the young engineers for the present.
All three entered the hotel, while the small mob outside hooted and jeered. Tom led the way to a table in the dining room, signing to one of the waiters.
Hardly had the waiter reached them when Jim Duff and the proprietor of the Mansion House came in. Jim, after saying a few words in a low tone, halted, while the proprietor came forward.
“Good morning, Mr. Ashby,” nodded Tom, when he saw the proprietor headed their way. The latter looked rather embarrassed, but he moved a hand to signal the waiter to withdraw.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Reade, but I can't have you any longer at this hotel,” began Ashby.
“Any particular reason?” Tom inquired, looking the man straight in the eye.
“Yes; some of my other guests object to your presence here.”
“Meaning Jim Duff?” questioned Reade coolly.
“I don't care to discuss the matter with you, Mr. Reade, but I can't entertain you here any longer.”
“Does that apply even to this meal, Mr. Ashby?”
“It does.”
“Very good,” nodded Tom, rising. Harry and Hawkins shoved their chairs back, too, and stood up.
“Say, but I don't like the looks of that!” announced a voice from another table. There were five men seated there, all of them well-dressed and prosperous-looking traveling salesmen, who had arrived that morning.
“This is a very regrettable necessity on my part, gentlemen,” began Proprietor Ashby hurriedly, and plainly ill at ease. “Some of my regular guests object to the presence of these young men, and so—”
“These young gentlemen have gotten in bad by objecting to having their men fleeced here in town, haven't they?” inquired the boldest of the drummers. “I heard something about it this morning.”
“Perhaps you haven't heard all the circumstances,” suggested Ashby in growing embarrassment.
“We've heard enough, anyway,” replied the same drummer briskly. “So these young men, who are a credit to their profession and to their home towns, are ordered to leave here? Boys, I guess we leave, too, don't we?”
The other traveling salesmen assented emphatically.
Now Proprietor Ashby felt dismal, indeed. These five men were occupying the best quarters in his hotel, outside of those occupied by Jim Duff. It was not the loss of patronage from these men alone that troubled Ashby. Traveling salesmen have their own ways of “passing around the word” and downing any hotel that depends largely on their patronage.
“You can have all our rooms, then, Mr. Ashby,” proposed the same drummer. “We'll have our things out and be ready for our bills within twenty minutes.”
“But, gentlemen, be calm about this,” begged Ashby. “Finish your meals first. There may be some way of arranging—”
“There is,” returned the drummer, with a smile that was a fine duplicate of Tom's own. “We know just where to arrange for the kind of accommodations that we want. Mr. Reade,” turning to Tom and Harry, “will you allow me to introduce ourselves. We are aching to shake hands with you, for we've heard all about you.”
Proprietor Ashby fidgeted at the side, while the eight departing guests paused long enough to make their names known to each other.
Jim Duff had vanished early, leaving the hotel man to his own humiliation.
The introductions concluded, Hawkins followed the young engineers to their room while the drummers went to their own more costly quarters and hastily packed their belongings.
Fifteen minutes later the party stood in the office and porters were bringing down trunks. Tom and Harry, keeping most of their belongings at camp, had only suit cases to carry.
“Gentlemen, I think you are making a mistake,” began Mr. Ashby, as he met the salesmen in the lobby near the clerk's desk.
“We made a mistake in coming here,” retorted the leader of the salesmen, pleasantly as to tone, “but we're rectifying it now. Are our bills ready?”
The proprietor went behind the desk to make change, while the clerk receipted seven bills. Ashby's hands shook as he manipulated the money.
“Dobson,” he said, in a low tone to one of the drummers, “I had intended ordering a ton of hams from you. Now, of course, I can't—”
“Quite right,” nodded Mr. Dobson cheerfully. “You couldn't get them from our house at four times the market price. We wouldn't want our brand served here.”
The last bill was paid. Proprietor Ashby stiffened, his backbone, trying to look game.
“Gentlemen,” he inquired, “where are you going from here? Won't you let me call the 'bus to take you?”
“Never mind the 'bus, Ash,” smilingly replied the leader of the drummers, a man named Pritchard. “If you'll send the 'bus over to the Cactus House with our trunks we'll be greatly obliged.”
“Certainly, gentlemen, it's a pleasure to oblige you,” murmured Ashby, with a ghastly effort to look pleasant. He watched the eight men step outside. Duff and his crowd had vanished. It would never do to try any mob tricks on so many strangers who had done nothing. The most easy-going citizens of an Arizona town would turn out to punish such a mob.
The three railroad men had their horses brought around, but they rode slowly, chatting with the salesmen on the sidewalk.
In this order they reached the Cactus House, which, thirty years ago, had been famous in and around the old Paloma of the frontier days. The proprietor, a young man named Carter, had succeeded his father in the ownership of the property. It was a neat hotel, but a small one. The elder Carter had lost a good deal of money before his death, and the son was now trying to build up the property with hardly any reserve capital.
At the Cactus there was a great flurry when five such important guests arrived and the young railroad engineers were also most heartily welcomed.
“Our meal time is nearly over, but I'll have something special cooked for you right away, gentlemen,” cried young Carter, bustling about, his eyes aglow.
“Before you get that meal ready,” said Pritchard, drawing young Carter aside, “I want to ask you whether any man can ever be driven from this hotel, just for being decent?”
“He certainly cannot,” replied Proprietor Carter with emphasis.
“Live up to that, son,” advised the drummer, “and I half suspect that you'll prosper.”
The meal finished, the three men from the railroad camp took leave of their new salesmen friends, mounted and rode back to camp.
“The snakes are not all dead yet,” mused Tom quizzically, as, in riding through the “tough” street again they heard hisses from open windows at which no heads appeared.
“There's a letter here for you, Mr. Reade,” announced Foreman Payson, who was sitting alone in the office.
“Who brought it?”
“I don't know his name. Never saw him before. He rode out here on horseback.”
The envelope, though a good one as to quality, was dirty on the outside. Tom Reade hastily broke the seal and read:
“If you don't get away from Paloma pretty soon your presence will hold the railroad up for a longtime to come! Get out, if you're wise, or the railroad will suffer with you!”
“I reckon the fellow who wrote that was sincere enough,” said Tom, as he passed the letter over to his chum. “However, I don't like to feel that I can be seared by any man who's too cowardly to sign his name to a letter.”