So he opened the book and read for an hour.  Then he glanced up as a stranger on horseback rode into camp.

“Tell me where I can find Mr. Reade,” said the new arrival.

“You’re looking at hire,” Tom replied.

“No, son; I want your father,” explained the horseman.

“If you go on horseback it will take you months to reach him,” Tom explained.  “My father lives ’way back east.”

“But I want the chief engineer of this outfit,” insisted the stranger.

“Then you’re at the end of your journey.”

“Don’t tell me, young man, that you’re the chief engineer,” protested the horseman.

“No,” Tom admitted modestly.  “I’m only the acting chief.  Hold on.  If you think I’m not responsible for that statement you might ask any of the fellows over in the headquarters tent.”

At that moment Harry Hazelton thrust his head out through the doorway.

“Young man,” hailed the stranger, “I want to find the chief.”

“Reach out your hand, and you can touch him on the shoulder,” answered Hazelton, and turned back.

“I know I don’t look entirely trustworthy,” grinned Tom, “but I’ve been telling you the truth.”

“Then, perhaps,” continued the stranger, looking keenly at the cub engineer, “you’ll know why I’m here.  I’m Dave Fulsbee.”

“You’re mighty welcome, then,” cried Tom, reaching out his hand.  “I’ve been wondering where you were.”

“I came as soon as I could get the wagon-load of equipment together,” grinned Fulsbee.

“Where is the wagon?”

“Coming along up the trail.  It will be here in about twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be glad to see your equipment, and to set you at work as soon as we’re ready,” Reade went on.  “Harry, show Mr. Fulsbee the tent we’ve set aside for himself and his helper.”

“Who is that party?” questioned Watson, as Hazelton started off with the newcomer in tow.

“Oh, just a new expert that we’re taking on,” Tom drawled.

Ten minutes later all other thoughts were driven from Reade’s mind.  A mountain wagon was sighted coming up the trail, drawn by a pair of grays.  The stout gentleman, on the rear seat, dressed in the latest fashion, even to his highly polished shoes, must surely be all the way from Broadway.

“Mr. Newnham?” queried Tom, advancing to the wagon as it halted.

“Yes; is Mr. Reade here?”

“You’re speaking to him, sir,” smiled the cub engineer.

Mr. Newnham took a quick look, readjusted his spectacles, and looked once more.  Tom bore the scrutiny calmly.

“I expected to find a very young man here, Mr. Reade, but you’re considerably younger than I had expected.  Yet Howe, in charge of the construction corps, tells me that you’ve been hustling matters at this field survey end.  How are you, Reade?”

Mr. Newnham descended from the wagon, at once holding out his hand.