Mr. Bates—Thomas F. Bates, called “Tom” by those who knew him—was not only the chief of the party but also head engineer of the whole Pacific Division of the company. He had recovered enough to talk.
“By what you’ve seen of the Bates party, and by what you’ve heard and seen of the Browne party, you all will appreciate the stuff that our engineer corps is composed of, gentlemen,” General Dodge was proudly saying. “Yes, and some of the difficulties connected with these advance surveys. Winter and summer the men are out, and they never know from day to day what is before them. But I’ve yet to learn of a coward among them, from the chief down to the greenest stake-driver. What are your plans now, Tom?”
“I mean to check up, sir, and revise my notes; and then if you’ll lend us a little water we’ll run our lines.”
“Your year’s work is done, if you say so,” offered the general. “You ought to take a rest. You’d better go on into Fort Sanders, to check your notes.”
“No, sir.” And Engineer Bates smiled out of a haggard face. “It’s early in the season. I’ll have to travel light, but I want to run our lines. I’ll have plenty more checking over to do, this winter.”
The general’s eyes flashed, but he pondered.
“All right. Just as you say, Tom. I’ll give you a wagon or two, and a small escort—eh, colonel?”
“By all means, sir,” nodded Colonel Mizner.
“But you’d better cut down your force, Tom.”
“How much, general?”