Their chainmen were ahead of the “cub” engineers on the trail. Tom and Harry were talking earnestly when they heard a pony’s hoofs behind them. Hazelton turned with a start.
“Oh, it’s Rutter mounted,” Hazelton said, with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid it was Bad Pete.”
“Take my word for it, Harry. Peter is a good deal of a coward. He won’t dare to show up until he has some real cartridges. The temperance kind do not give a man like Peter any real sense of security in the world.”
Rutter rode along on his sure-footed mountain pony at a rapid jog. When he came close, Tom and Harry stepped aside into the brush to let him go by on the narrow trail.
“Don’t get off into the brush that way,” yelled Rutter from the distance.
“We’re trying to give you room,” Tom called.
“I don’t need the room yet. I won’t run over you, anyway. Stand out of the brush, I tell you.”
Tom good-humoredly obeyed, Harry moving, too, though starting an instant later.
Prompt as he was, however, Tom Reade was a fraction of a second too late.
Behind them there was a half-whirring, half-clicking sound.