Tom went back, called for his horse and rode to the westward for another look at the Man-killer. He found Harry, also in saddle, beneath the scanty shade of a struggling tree. Hazelton's quick eyes were taking in every detail of the work being done by the several large gangs of workmen.
“Tom, if we're away from here by Christmas, there's one present you needn't make me,” smiled Hazelton wanly, as he caught sight of the camera hanging in its leather field case at his chum's side.
“What present is that?” Tom inquired.
“Don't make me a present of a photograph of this awful place. It's photographed on my brain now, and burned in and baked there. If we ever get through with the Man-killer, and get our money, I never want to see this spot again.”
“I'm not thinking at all of the money,” Reade retorted lightly yet seriously. “I don't care about the money at present. Nothing will ever satisfy me in life again until I've beaten the Man-killer fairly and squarely. It's the one thing I think about by day and dream of at night.”
“I know it,” sighed Harry half pityingly.
“Well, what else should we think about?” Tom demanded in a low voice. “Harry, we have the very job, the identical problem, that has thrown down nearly a dozen engineers of fine reputation. Why, boy, this place may be out on the blazing desert, and there may be a dozen discouragements every hour, but we've the finest chance, the biggest unsolved problem in engineering that we could possibly have. It's glorious.”
Tom's eyes glowed.
“Go away,” grinned Hazelton mischievously, “or I'll catch some of your enthusiasm.”
“You don't need any of it,” Reade retorted laughingly. “You've tons of enthusiasm stowed away for future use. You know you have.”