Old Van gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, but he waited. When the chief entered, motioning Young Van to join him, he went briskly at what he had to say. He sat erect and energetic, apparently unconscious of the red stain on his bandage, ignoring the fact that he had as yet eaten no breakfast; and at his first words the blood began to flow again through the arteries of this complicated organization that men called the Red Hills extension of the S. & W.
“Now, boys,” he began, “it was rather a slow ride back from Sherman, and I had time for a little arithmetic. Through our friend Peet—”
“D—n him!” interrupted Old Van.
The chief paused at this for another of his questioning glances, then went quietly on. “Through our friend Peet, we have lost so much time that it isn’t very cheerful business figuring it up. But we aren’t going to lose any more.”
“Oh! you saw Peet!” said Young Van.
“Yes, I saw him. We won’t bother over this lost time. What we are interested in now is carrying through our schedule. And I needn’t tell you that from this moment we must work together as prettily as a well-oiled engine.” He said this significantly, and paused. Of the two men before him, the younger flushed again and lowered his eyes, the elder looked away and muttered something which could not be understood. “I’m bringing up a hundred-odd more men on this train. When they get in, put them right at work. Is Dimond in camp now?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll send him up to take charge of the well business. He can do it, now that it is so well started. We need Scribner.”
“How much must we do a day now, to make it?” asked Young Van.
“We shall average as near as possible to two miles.”