“But I want the chief engineer of this outfit,” insisted the stranger.
“Then you’re at the end of your journey.”
“Don’t tell me, young man, that you’re the chief engineer,” protested the horseman.
“No,” Tom admitted modestly. “I’m only the acting chief. Hold on. If you think I’m not responsible for that statement you might ask any of the fellows over in the headquarters tent.”
At that moment Harry Hazelton thrust his head out through the doorway.
“Young man,” hailed the stranger, “I want to find the chief.”
“Reach out your hand, and you can touch him on the shoulder,” answered Hazelton, and turned back.
“I know I don’t look entirely trustworthy,” grinned Tom, “but I’ve been telling you the truth.”
“Then, perhaps,” continued the stranger, looking keenly at the cub engineer, “you’ll know why I’m here. I’m Dave Fulsbee.”
“You’re mighty welcome, then,” cried Tom, reaching out his hand. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”