“That trick will never work,” declared Mr. Newnham angrily. “Reade, there are courts, and laws. If the State of Colorado doesn’t protect us in our work, then we can’t be held to am count for not finishing within a given time.”
“That’s as the legislature may decide, I imagine, sir,” hazarded the young engineer. “There are powerful political forces working to turn this road’s charter over to the W.C. & A. crowd. Your company’s property, Mr. Newnham, is entitled to protection from the state, of course. The state, however, will be able to reply that the authorities were not notified, and could not send protection to us.”
“But we have a telegraph running from here out into the world!” cried the man from Broadway way, wheeling like a flash. “Reade, we’re both idiots not to have remembered, at the first shots, to send an urgent message to Denver. Where’s your operating tent?”
“Over there. I’ll take you there, sir,” offered Tom, after pointing. “Still it won’t do any good, Mr. Newnham, to think of telegraphing.”
“Not do us any good?” echoed the other, aghast. “What nonsense are you talking, Reade? If we are hindered the feet of our having wired to the governor of the state will be our first proof of having appealed to the state for protection. Can’t you see that, Reade?”
The pair now turned in at the operator’s tent.
“Operator,” said Reade, to the young man seated before the keys on a table, “this gentleman man is President Newnham, of the S.B. & L. Send any messages that he dictates.”
“Get Denver on the wire,” commanded Mr. Newnham. “Hustle!”
Click-click-click! rattled the sounder.
“It won’t do a particle of good,” Tom uttered calmly. “’Gene Black, the engineer discharged from this camp, is serving the enemy. Black has brains enough to see that our wire was cut before he started a thing moving.”