“Thank you, sir,” murmured Tom. Then he signaled Fulsbee to get out of the tent, and followed that new official.
“Never hang around, Dave, after you’ve got what you want,” chuckled Tom. “Hello, Mr. Sheriff! This is just a line to tell you that Fulsbee has a steady job with the company, and that he’ll need the services of at least forty men, all of whom must be voters in this county. The pay will be seventy-five a month and keep, with extra allowance for horses.”
Sheriff Grease didn’t look much more pleasant than he felt.
“Are you homeward bound—-when you go?” continued Reade.
The sheriff nodded.
“Then you might spread the word that men are needed, and tell the best men to apply to Dave Fulsbee, at this camp,” suggested Tom. “Be strong on the point that all applicants have to be voters in this county.”
“I will,” nodded the sheriff, choking down his wrath by a great effort. “Dave won’t have any trouble in getting good men when I spread the word. You’re a mighty good fellow, Dave. I always said it,” added the sheriff. “I’m sorry I had to be rough with you, but—-but——-”
“Of course we understand here that orders from a political boss have to be obeyed,” Tom added good-naturedly. “We won’t over-blame you, Mr. Grease.”
The sheriff rode away, Tom’s smiling eyes following him.
“That touch about your having forty voters at your beck and call must have stuck in the honorable sheriff’s crop, Dave,” chuckled the cub chief engineer.