A few minutes of brisk walking brought the young engineers, the superintendent and the three foremen to the spot.
Tent number one had been pitched. It was a circular tent, some forty feet in diameter. The second tent, only a little smaller, was now being hoisted.
“Who's in charge of this work?” asked Tom in his usual pleasant tone.
“My manager, Mr. Bemis—Dock Bemis,” answered Jim Duff suavely, as he moved forward to meet the party. “Dock, come here. I want you to know Mr. Reade, the engineer in charge of this job.”
Duff's manners were impudently easy and assured. The fellow known as Dock Bemis, an unprepossessing, shabbily dressed man of thirty-five, with a mean face and an ugly-looking eye, came forward.
“I'll take Mr. Bemis's acquaintance for granted,” Tom continued, with an easy smile. “You own this outfit, don't you, Mr. Duff?”
“I've rented it, if you mean the tents, tables and chairs,” assented the gambler. “I've a stock of liquors coming over as soon as I send one of the wagons back.”
“What do you propose to do with all this?” Tom inquired.
“Why, of course, you see,” smiled Duff, with all the suavity in the world, “as your boys are going to be paid off this afternoon they'll want to go somewhere to enjoy themselves. As the day is very hot I thought it would be showing good intentions if I brought an outfit over here. I'll have everything ready within an hour.”
“So that you can get our men intoxicated and fleece them more easily?” asked Tom, with his best smile. “Is that the idea?”