twice today, of meeting Mr. Peter," replied
Tom, with equal gravity.

"See here, tenderfoot," scowled Bad Pete, looking up from his plate, "don't you call me 'Peter' again. Savvy?"

"We don't know your other name, sir," rejoined Tom, eyeing the bad man with every outward sign of courtesy.

"I'm just plain Pete. Savvy that?

"Certainly, Plain Pete," Reade nodded.

Pete dropped his soup spoon with a clatter letting his right hand fall to the holster.

"Be quiet, Pete," warned Blaisdell, his eyes shooting a cold glance at the angry man. "Reade is a newcomer, not used to our ways yet. Remember that this is a gentleman's club."

"Then let him get out," warned Pete blackly.

"He belongs here by right, Pete, and you're a guest. Of course we enjoy having you here with us, but, if you don't care to take us as you find us, the fellows in the chainmen's mess will be glad to have you join them."

"That tenderfoot is only a boy," growled Pete. "If he can't hold his tongue when men are around, then I'll teach him how."

"Reade hasn't done anything to offend you," returned Blaisdell, half sternly, half goodhumoredly. "You let him alone, and he'll let you alone. I'm sure of that."

"Blaisdell, if you don't see that I'm treated right in this mess,
I'll teach you something, too," flared Bad Pete.

"Threatening the president of the mess is a breach of courtesy on the part of any guest who attempts it," spoke Blaisdell again. "Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?"

"I move," suggested Slim Morris quietly, "that Pete be considered no longer a member or guest of this mess."

"Second the motion," cried Rutter, Rice and Grant together.

"The motion appears to have been carried, without the necessity for putting it," declared Mr. Blaisdell. "Pete, you have heard the pleasure of the mess."

"Huh!" scowled Bad Pete, picking up his soup plate and draining it.

Jake Wren, at this moment, entered with a big platter of roast beef, Bob, the helper, following with dishes of vegetables. Then Bob came in with plates, which he placed before Blaisdell. The latter counted the plates, finding eight.

"We shan't need this plate, Bob," declared Blaisdell evenly, handing it back. Then he began to carve.

"Put that plate back with the rest, Bob, you pop-eyed coyote," ordered Bad Pete.

Bob, looking uneasy, started to do so, but Blaisdell waved him away. At that instant Jake Wren came back into the tent.

"For the present, Jake," went on the assistant engineer, "serve only for seven in this tent. Pete is leaving us."

"Do you mean——-" flared Pete, leaping to his feet and striding toward the engineer.

"I mean," responded Blaisdell, without looking up, "that we hope the chainmen's mess will take you on. But if they don't like you, they don't have to do so."

For ten seconds, while Pete stood glaring at Blaisdell, it looked as though the late guest would draw his revolver. Pete was swallowing hard, his face having turned lead color.

"Won't you oblige us by going at once, Pete?" inquired Blaisdell coolly.

"Not until I've settled my score here," snarled the fellow. "Not until I've evened up with you, you——-"

At the same time Pete reached for his revolver in evident earnest.
Both his words and his movement were nipped short.

Morris and Rice were the only men in the engineers' party who carried revolvers. They carried weapons, in the day time, for protection against a very real foe, the Rocky Mountain rattlesnakes, which infested the territory through which the engineers were then working.

Both these engineers reached swiftly for their weapons.

Before they could produce them, however, or ore Pete could finish what he was saying, Tom Reade leaped up from his campstool, closing in behind the bad man.

"Ow-ow! Ouch!" yelled Pete. "Let go, you painted coyote."

"Walk right out of the tent, and I shall rejoice to let you depart," responded Tom steadily.

Standing behind the fellow, he had, with his strong, wiry fingers, gripped Pete hard right over the biceps muscle of each arm. Like many another of his type Pete had developed no great amount of bodily strength. Though he struggled furiously, he was unable to wrench himself free from this youth who had trained hard in football training squads.

"Step outside and cool off, Peter," advised Tom, thrusting the bad man through the doorway. "Have too much pride, man, to force yourself on people who don't want your company."

Reade ran his foe outside a dozen feet, then released him, turning and reentering the tent.

"No, you don't! Put up your pistol," sounded the warning voice of Cook Jake Wren outside. "You take a shot at that young feller, Pete, and I'll never serve you another mouthful as long as I'm in the Rockies!"

Bad Pete gazed fiercely toward the engineers' tent, hesitated a moment, and then walked wrathfully away.

CHAPTER III

THE DAY OF REAL WORK DAWNS

The meal was finished in peace after that. It was so hearty a meal that Tom and Harry, who had not yet acquired the keen edge of appetite that comes to hard workers in the Rockies, had finished long before any one else.

"You fellers had better hurry up," commanded Jake Wren finally.
"It'll soon be dark, and I'm not going to furnish candles."

As the cook was an autocrat in camp, the engineers meekly called for more pie and coffee, disposed of it and strolled out of the mess tent over to their own little village under canvas.

"Bring over your banjo, Matt," urged Joe. "Nothing like the merry old twang to make the new boys feel at home in our school."

Rice needed no further urging. As darkness came down a volume of song rang out.

"What time do we turn out in the morning?" Tom asked, as Mr.
Blaisdell brought over a camp stool and sat near them.

"At five sharp," responded the assistant engineer. "An hour later we hit the long trail in earnest. This isn't an idling camp."

"I'm glad it isn't," Reade nodded.

Then Blaisdell chatted with the boys, drawing out of them what they knew, or thought they knew, of civil engineering, especially as applied to railroad building.

"I hope you lads are going to make good," said Blaisdell earnestly. "We're in something of a fix on this work at best, and we need even more than we have, of the very best hustling engineers that can be found."

"I am beginning to wonder," said Tom, "how, when you have such need of men of long training, your New York office ever came to pick us out."

"Because," replied the assistant candidly, "the New York office doesn't know the difference between an engineer and a railroad tie. Tim Thurston has been making a long yell at the New York offices of the company for engineers. Knowing the little that they do, our New York owners take anyone who says he's an engineer, and unload the stranger on us."

"I hope we prove up to the work," sighed Harry.

"We're going to size up. We've got to, and that's all there is to it," retorted Tom. "We've been thrown in the water here, Harry, and we've got to swim—-which means that we're going to