Big Chief Whitney laughed. “It would have come sooner or later, so don’t worry your head about it. I’ve got to beat this some time and it might as well be now. I’ll find a way. But don’t let this bother you, kid. These are my exclusive troubles. Some day or other, if you stay with the Service, I suppose you’ll be a Chief Engineer and then you’ll have to worry over things like this. No use in borrowing trouble.” And with this he closed the talk.
Bob could hardly wait until the quitting whistle blew. He wanted to see Ted, and wanted to see him in a hurry. When he finally located the other boy, he sketched out rapidly what Mr. Whitney had said.
“You’re with us—the Service, I mean—aren’t you?” finished Bob seriously. “Even if it means going against what your father thinks is best?”
“You can just bet your boots I am,” returned Ted, holding out his hand. Bob shook it warmly.
“Well, then, I want you to help. The Chief needs to know who’s back of the trouble and I believe you can find out!”
“Me?” the other boy echoed. “How? Shoot!”
“This is the plan. You go back home and say you are sick of engineering—that riding range is good enough for you. If you do that your father will be likely to take you back, won’t he?”
“Mebbe so. I dunno, but go on.”
“The Chief thinks the cattlemen are behind the trouble. I guess if you get home and can mingle with ’em, you ought to find out what’s up. Don’t you?”
“I get you. I can try it anyhow. But, Bob, I figger there’s a lot in that trouble down at the border. Before I left home some broncho busters happened in from Columbus and they said somethin’ was liable to bust most any time. The Greasers are sore as pups since we sent a bunch of troops down there. If some yellow half-breed could blow up what we’ve got finished of the dam, wouldn’t it be a mighty fine feather to stick in his sombrero?”