University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX
THE MAN-KILLER CLAIMS A SACRIFICE

In the days that followed Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton were more continuously and seriously busy than they had ever been before in their lives.

Sometimes it happens that engineers come upon a quicksand that apparently has no bottom. It will be filled and apparently the earth on top is solid. After a few days there will follow either a gradual shifting away or a sudden cave in, and the quicksand must once more be attacked.

This condition had been experienced more than a dozen times with the Man-killer before Tom and Harry had been called to solve the problem.

There is no definite way of attacking a quicksand. Much must depend upon the local conditions. Where it is a small one, yet of seemingly considerable depth, it is sometimes quickest and cheapest to cross it with a suspension bridge, the terminal pillars resting on sure foundations. Some quicksands are overcome by merely

filling in new sand or loam, patiently, until at last the trap is blocked and a permanently solid foundation is laid. There are many other ways of overcoming the difficulty.

The method hit upon by Tom and Harry, after looking over the situation, was one that was largely original with them.

It consisted of laying logs, of different lengths, from twelve to eighteen feet, in a transverse net work filling in earth on this and allowing the structure gradually to sink where the quicksand shifted or caved. The sideway drift, at some points, was overcome by hollow steel piles, driven in as firmly as might be, and then filled with cement from the top. A line of such piles when imbedded in the ground, helps to make an effective block to side drift.

At the outset a few feet of these steel piles were left exposed above the surface, their gradual settling serving as a reliable index to the evasive movements of the extensive quicksand underneath. At other points wooden piles were driven in for the same purpose.

General Manager Ellsworth did not spend all his time in camp. He could not do so, in fact, for he had many other pressing duties. However, he ran over frequently, and always appeared satisfied.

"Of course it's too early to talk confidently, Reade,"

said Mr. Ellsworth, one day when the work had been going on steadily for some weeks, "but I believe you have the only right method. I have so reported to our directors. You'll have disappointments, of course, but I hope you'll encounter none that you can't overcome."

"I shan't crow until I've seen the test applied to the roadbed over the Man-killer," Tom replied thoughtfully. "After I've seen that test applied a couple of times then I'm ready to go before any board and swear that the Man-killer has been tamed for all time."

"Speed the day!" replied Mr. Ellsworth, as he climbed into his private car to return. "By the way, you haven't heard anything lately from Jim Duff & Company?"

"Not a word," Reade replied. "I don't believe we're yet through with Rough-house camp, however. They're waiting only until our suspicions are allayed. Once in a while we lose one of our workmen to the enemy, and then we have to discharge the poor fellow. Some of our former men have gone away, but there are about thirty of them left in Paloma, and I imagine that they're ready to be ugly when the chance comes. The agent of the Colthwaite Company is still in Paloma. He has been here ever since we came."

"Agent of the Colthwaite Company?"

repeated the general manager, opening his eyes. "What's his name?"

"Fred Ransom," Tom replied half carelessly.

"Ransom? Fred Ransom? I never heard of any Colthwaite agent of that name."

"He's one of the Colthwaite people's troublemakers," Tom went on, opening his own eyes rather wide.

"If you were sure of this why didn't you report it to me earlier?"

"Why, I supposed your railroad detectives knew all about it. And that you had heard of it long ago," Reade declared.

"I haven't heard a word of it," continued Mr. Ellsworth, coming down the steps of his car and standing on the ground once more. "What proof have you of Ransom's business here?"

"None whatever," Tom answered cheerfully, "but I had him spotted the first time I heard him talking. He was too entirely positive that we'd fail."

"That was no proof against him."

"No; but Ransom was also certain that the Colthwaite plan was the only one that could bring the Man-killer to time."

"Have you any other reason to suspect this main?" queried Mr. Ellsworth.

"Only the fact that Ransom and Jim Duff have been close friends."

"Where does Ransom stop?"

"At the Mansion House. He has a suite of rooms there, and entertains some kinds of people, including Duff, very lavishly."

"Keep your eyes on that crowd as much as possible, Reade," directed the general manager thoughtfully, as he once more climbed to the platform of his car.

"I will, sir; and it might not be a bad idea to have your detectives do something of the sort, also."

The general manager did not answer, except by a vague nod as his train pulled out from the outskirts of the railway camp.

Tom went back, called for his horse and rode to the westward for another look at the Man-killer. He found Harry, also in saddle, beneath the scanty shade of a struggling tree. Hazelton's quick eyes were taking in every detail of the work being done by the several large gangs of workmen.

"Tom, if we're away from here by Christmas, there's one present you needn't make me," smiled Hazelton wanly, as he caught sight of the camera hanging in its leather field case at his chum's side.

"What present is that?" Tom inquired.

"Don't make me a present of a photograph of this awful place. It's photographed on my brain

now, and burned in and baked there. If we ever get through with the Man-killer, and get our money, I never want to see this spot again."

"I'm not thinking at all of the money," Reade retorted lightly yet seriously. "I don't care about the money at present. Nothing will ever satisfy me in life again until I've beaten the Man-killer fairly and squarely. It's the one thing I think about by day and dream of at night."

"I know it," sighed Harry half pityingly.

"Well, what else should we think about?" Tom demanded in a low voice. "Harry, we have the very job, the identical problem, that has thrown down nearly a dozen engineers of fine reputation. Why, boy, this place may be out on the blazing desert, and there may be a dozen discouragements every hour, but we've the finest chance, the biggest unsolved problem in engineering that we could possibly have. It's glorious."

Tom's eyes glowed.

"Go away," grinned Hazelton mischievously, "or I'll catch some of your enthusiasm."

"You don't need any of it," Reade retorted laughingly. "You've tons of enthusiasm stowed away for future use. You know you have."

"I suppose I have enough enthusiasm," Harry admitted, "but I should like to do

some actual work. I ride out on the sands every day and sit looking on while the real work is being done. This problem of conquering the Man-killer is growing monotonous. I'm tired of pegging away at the same old task day in and day out."

"Not quite as bad as that," Tom declared. "There's always something a bit new. If you want work to do right now, ride over and show those teamsters where you want them to put the logs that they're bringing up."

This was far too little to satisfy Harry's longing for "doing things," but with a grunt he turned his horse's head and jogged away at a trot.

Tom moved in under the shade of the tree.

"Harry doesn't know enough to appreciate a good thing when he has it," softly laughed Tom, grateful for the scant bit of shade. "Neither does he yet know that often times the brain works best when the body is at rest."

Just then Tom heard a sudden shout from the distance, followed by a chorus of excited voices.

Instantly the young engineer's gaze turned toward the lately filled-in edge of the big sink.

A hundred feet beyond the light platform where some laborers had been working Reade beheld only the head and shoulders of one of the workmen.

"The foolish fellow—to go out so far beyond where the men are allowed to go!" gasped the young chief engineer, setting spurs to his horse.

In a few moments Tom had reached the edge of the sink.

"A rope!" he shouted, and seized the thirty-foot lariat that was handed him. With this, Tom, now on foot, ran within casting distance of the unfortunate, who was being rapidly enveloped by the quicksand.

"Come back, Mr. Reade!" bellowed Foreman Payson. "The drift is setting in on this side of you. Back, like lightning, or you're a doomed man! You'll be swallowed up by the Man-killer yourself!"

But Tom, intent only on saving the unfortunate laborer beyond, was wholly heedless of the fact that his own life was in as great danger.