"Reade, I want to shake hands with you," said the physician earnestly.
"I've looked after railroad hands before, but this is the first time I
was ever asked to be humane to one. Have no fear but I'll send this man
back to you strong and grateful. What's his name?"

"I don't know," returned Reade. "I don't even know to whose gang he
belongs, though I think he's one of Payson's men."

Late the following afternoon the laborer was brought back to camp. The
following morning he returned to his work as usual.

During the next two weeks Tom and Harry directed all their energies, as
well as the labor of all of their men, to bridging over that bad spot in
the Man-killer that had so nearly claimed two lives. One after another
six different layers of log network were put down. The open box cars
brought up thousands of tons of good soil, which was dumped down into
the layers of interlaced logs.

"The old Man-killer must feel tremendously flattered at finding himself
so persistently manicured," laughed Tom as he sat in saddle watching the
men putting down the sixth layer.

Steel piles, hollow and filled with cement, were being driven here, the
cement not going in until the top of the pile was but four feet above
the level of the desert.

"Look out yonder," nodded Harry, handing his field glass to his chum.
"You can just make out a glint on the sand. That's one of our steel
piles being sucked under."