opinions of boys, anyway, on any such subject as that. Now, there's a
Chicago firm of contractors, the Colthwaite Construction Company, which
has proposed to take over the whole contract for laying tracks across
the Man-killer. These boys figure on using dirt and then more dirt, and
still more, until they've satisfied the appetite of the Man-killer,
filled up the quicksand and laid a bed of solid earth on which the
tracks will run safely for the next hundred years. The Colthwaite
people have looked over the whole proposition. They know that it can't
be done. The two hundred and fifty thousand dollars will be wasted, and
then the Colthwaite Company will have to come in, after all, drive its
pillars of steel and concrete, lay well-founded beds and get a basis
that will hold the new earth above it. Then the track will be safe, and
the people of this part of Arizona will have a railroad of which they
can be proud. But these boys--these kids in railroad building--humph!"

"Humph!" agreed Jim Duff dryly.

The gambler using the mirror before him, continued to study keenly this
stranger, even after the latter had ceased talking and had gone to one
of the chairs to wait his turn.

"You're through, sir," announced the barber who had been trying to
improve the gambler's appearance. "Thank you, sir. Next."

Clarence, wholly crushed by the weight of opinion, was not yet through
with his barber. Duff, after lighting a fresh cigar, stepped over to
where the newcomer was seated.

"Are you stopping at the Mansion House?" inquired the gambler.