"Then why doesn't Blaisdell look out that no such treacherous
work is done by any member of the engineer corps?" flared Harry.

"'Gene Black is plainly a very competent man," Reade argued.
"The work has had to be rushed of late, and, on so simple a matter
as leveling, I don't suppose Blaisdell has thought it at all necessary
to dig into Black's field notes."

"I hope Black is fired out of this outfit, neck and crop!" finished
Hazelton.

"That's something with which we have nothing to do," Reade retorted.
"Harry, we'll confine ourselves to doing our work well and reporting
our results. Mr. Thurston is intelligent enough to form all his
own conclusions when he has our report. Come, it's high time
for us to be putting the ponies to real speed on the trail back."

Not long afterwards the young engineers rode into the engineer
camp. Harry dismounted, seating himself on the ground, while
Tom hurried toward the chief's big tent.

It was Blaisdell who sat in the chief's chair when Tom entered.

"Oh, hello, Reade," was the assistant's pleasant greeting.

"Where's the chief?"

"Gone back to the track builders. You know, they're within fourteen
miles of us now."