“You can rely on me to do my best, Mr. Obray,” answered our hero. And then with pardonable pride he drew from his pocket the letter he had received from his uncle. “I guess this will prove to you how much I am interested in the Mentor Construction Company,” and thereupon he showed the manager the paragraph pertaining to the purchase of stock in the concern by the Porters and Mr. Wadsworth.
“That certainly is evidence!” cried Ralph Obray heartily. “I am glad to know your people take such a substantial interest in this company. I might as well tell you, my folks have an interest in it, too. But now you had better be on your way, because it’s a long trip to Orella and I won’t feel entirely satisfied until I know those papers are in the hands of Mr. Carson or those other people.”
“I’ll get them there just as soon as I can make it,” answered Dave.
And a few minutes later he was on his way, never dreaming of the strange adventure in store for him.
CHAPTER VII
THE FIGHT ON THE TRAIL
The road to Orella was in the opposite direction to that taken by Dave and Roger on the day they had encountered the heavy storm. As Mr. Obray had said, the trail was well marked, so that the young civil engineer had little trouble in following it.
“But you are going to have some rough riding, Dave,” remarked Roger, when he came forward to see his chum depart. “They tell me there is one spot on the trail where riding is as dangerous as it is on any trail in Montana.”
“Well, Sport is a good horse, and I intend to be careful,” answered our hero; and then, with a wave of his hand, he galloped away and was soon out of sight of the construction camp.
Our hero felt in the best of humor, for the day promised to be a fine one and a ride on horseback through the mountains was just to his liking. He could not help but whistle gayly to himself as he sped forward; and thus the first three miles of his journey were covered in a comparatively short space of time.
Beyond these three miles the trail roughened for another mile or two, and here the young civil engineer had to pick his way among the rocks and loose stones with care. In some places where the trail was of dirt, the brushwood grew thickly, so that it often brushed his legs and the sides of his steed as they passed. This, of course, was merely the foot trail to Orella, a sort of short cut. The main trail for teams wound along farther down in the valley and was fully fifteen miles longer.