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Page 68
"We certainly have been remarkably fortunate--so far," Harry admitted.
"Yet I must confess, Tom, that I'm still nervous."
"Then it must be over Ashby," Tom laughed.
"Ashby be hanged!" Hazelton retorted. "I haven't given him a thought
this evening. No, I'm still nervous about our job here. The first test
was all right--that is, it was all right to-day. But these quicksands
are treacherous. Our roadbed may be all right for a fortnight, and may
seem as safe as we could wish it to be. Then, all of a sudden, within
sixty seconds, it may sink before our very eyes. Suppose it were to
sink while a trainload of human beings was passing over it!"
"You might as well dismiss all such thoughts," Reade counseled. "I tell
you, Harry, we've proved that our principle is sound. Now, we will go
ahead and finish the job. When we go away from here I, for one, shall
feel certain that the Man-killer must behave for all time to come.
Harry, there's a limit to the shifting tendency of a quicksand, and
to-day's test proves to me that we've found it. We've won. I wish I were
as sure of a dozen other things as I am that we've won out here to-day."
"All right, then," smiled Hazelton. "You're a smarter engineer than I
am, Tom, old fellow. If you're satisfied, then I'm bound to be, for
I'll back your judgment in engineering against my own."
"That's rather more praise, Harry, than I expect or wish," Reade
rejoined soberly. "But I don't see how the Man-killer can ever again
assert himself against the A. G. & N. M.'s roadbed."
"Oh, I'm only an old croaker, I know," Harry confessed. "I've got a
blue streak on to-night. Or else it's a fit of apprehension about
something or other. I feel as if--"
Crack! crack!
Outside two shots rang suddenly out, to be followed by a dozen swift,
scattering reports.
"Mr. Reade! They--" began a voice outside, then stopped abruptly.
Tom hustled on his clothing again with a speed that seemed to partake of
magic. Then, with Harry close upon his heels, he rushed to the door,
jerking it open.
"Just the pair we want!" snarled a voice that proceeded from behind a
mask.
A dozen masked men pressed into the room. Tom and Harry put their fists
into instant action, but it availed them nothing.
In a twinkling they were borne to the floor. At lightning speed both
were rolled over and bound.
From the tents of the laborers, beyond hoarse voices sounded as the men
were awakened by the shots.
"Get back there, you idiots!" commanded a voice outside. "If you don't,
you'll think that a Gatling gun factory has blown up about your ears."
Reports rang out sharply as a dozen revolver shots were fired into the
air.
Now, dazed with the suddenness of the attack, Reade and Hazelton were
dragged into the open.
Their two night watchmen, who had gone down bravely, now lay wounded on
the ground, their weapons snatched from them.
"Hoist 'em along, boys," ordered a gruff voice.
Tom and Harry were carried on the shoulders of men, and moved along at a
swift pace. Only half a dozen of the raiders needed to remain somewhat
in the rear, firing an occasional shot to prevent the unarmed laborers
from swarming to the attack.
"Hoist 'em up! Tie 'em on! Get under way quick! There'll be a big
noise raised after us soon," declared the same directing voice.
Tom and Harry were fairly thrown upon the backs of horses, and there
lashed fast.
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