Tom now settled on his beginning point, and made the dot with his pencil.  From that point he worked rapidly, making all his measurements and dotting his points.  Then he began to draw in.  The chief engineer went back to his table.

After Tom had worked an hour the chief interrupted him.

“Now, Reade, get up and let me sit down there for a little while.  I want to go over your work.”

For some minutes Mr. Thurston checked off the lad’s work.

“You really know what you are doing, Reade,” he said at last.  “Your line measurements are right, and your angles tally faultlessly, I’m glad I kept you back today.  You can help me here even more than in the field.  Tomorrow, however, I shall have to keep Rice back.  He’s our ornamental draughtsman, and puts in the fine, flowery work on our maps.  Here’s some of his work.”

Tom gazed intently at the sheet that Mr. Thurston spread for his inspection.

“Rice does it well,” remarked Reade thoughtfully.  “You’ve one other man in the corps who can do the pretty draughting about as well.”

“Who is he?”

“Hazelton.  Harry doesn’t do the mathematical part as easily as I do, but he has a fine talent for fancy drawing, sir.”

“Then I’ll try Hazelton tonight,” decided Mr. Thurston aloud.  “You may go on with your drawing now, Reade.  Hello; someone is coming into camp.”

Mr. Thurston stepped over to the doorway in time to see a young man riding up on a pony.

“Where’s the chief engineer?” called the newcomer.

“You’re looking at him,” replied Mr. Thurston.

The young man, who appeared to be about twenty-eight years of age, rode his horse to a near-by tree, then dismounted gracefully and tied his mount.

The young man was well-built, dark-haired and smooth-faced, with snapping black eyes.  There was an easy, half-swaggering grace about him suggesting one who had seen much of free life in the open air.  For one attired for riding in saddle over mountain trails the stranger was not a little of a dandy in appearance.  His khaki trousers and leggings, despite his probably long ride, were spotless.  His dark-blue flannel shirt showed no speck of dust; his black, flowing tie was perfection; his light-hued sombrero looked as though it had just left the store.

“If you are Mr. Thurston, I have the honor to present a letter,” was the stranger’s greeting as he entered the large tent.

Mr. Thurston glanced at the envelope, reading:  “Mr. Eugene Black.”

“Be seated, Mr. Black,” requested the chief, then opened the letter.

“Oh, you’re a new engineer, sent out from the offices in New York,” continued the chief.

“Yes,” smiled the newcomer.

“An experienced engineer, the vice-president of the company informs me.”

“Six years of experience,” smiled the newcomer, showing his white, handsome teeth.