Alex’s words were the first. “These were the chickens I was calling, Mr. Bennet,” he remarked gleefully. The K. & Z. man recovered himself and turned on the boy, white with passion. He was stopped by an exclamation from Finnan. “Bennet! George Bennet! What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps this will explain, sir,” said Alex, handing over the map, which he had caught up during the excitement. Bennet made a frantic move to intercept him, but promptly Little Hawk’s revolver was in his face, and he sank back into a chair, gritting his teeth.
“A plan showing every bridge and culvert on our line, and directions for blowing them all up, simultaneously! Well—” Words failed the superintendent.
“And this is what you have come to, Bennet? I’d never have believed it!”
There was a second awkward silence, when Superintendent Finnan suddenly broke it with, “Look here. I’ve got you now, haven’t I? I’ve got you where I can put you in jail for a year or so at least. Well, instead of doing that, I’ll make you a proposition:
“Drop all this kind of work; guarantee that there will be no more of it—agree to make it a straight, square building race between your road and mine, the first one to reach the Pass to win—guarantee that, and I’ll let you go.
“Do you agree?”
Bennet rose to his feet and held out his hand. “I’ll give you my solemn word, Finnan.
“And—and I’m awfully sorry I ever consented to go into this kind of thing,” the K. & Z. man went on, a quaver in his voice. “But it was put up to me, and when I’d taken the first step, I thought I’d have to carry it through.”
He turned to Alex. “I’m sorry for the way you have been treated, my lad. You are a plucky boy, and straight. You keep on as you have, and you’ll never find yourself in the position I am.