“Barring Duff and his gang,” laughed Hazelton.
“They're not real Arizona men. They're the kind of human vultures who flock after large pay rolls in any place where men work without having their families in near-by homes. If Duff had enough men of his own way of thinking, they might try to ride out here to camp and clean us out. If they did, then all the decent men in this part of Arizona would take to the saddle and drive Duff and his crew into hiding. After what happened to-day you won't find Duff daring to do anything too open.”
“Excuse me, Sir, but there's a train coming,” reported Foreman Rivers, thrusting his head in at the doorway of the little office building.
“Not a construction train?” Reade asked.
“Can't make it out yet, sir. The whistle was reported a minute ago.”
Tom and Harry, chafing a good deal under their enforced idleness while waiting for materials, hastened outdoors. Soon the train was close enough to be made out. It consisted of an engine, baggage car and one private car.
“It's one or more of the road's officials,” murmured Harry.
“I hope it's Mr. Ellsworth,” replied Reade, as the chums walked briskly down to the spot where the train would have to halt.
It turned out to be the general manager, a big and capable-looking man of fifty, with a belt-line just a trifle too large for comfort, who swung himself to the ground the instant that the train stopped.
“I'm glad you're here, Reade,” nodded the general manager, as he caught sight of his two young engineers. “Come back into my car. We can talk better there.”