“Your price puts your services out of the question for my company,” replied Mr. Dunlop, with a shake of his head.

“Very good, sir,” Tom rejoined pleasantly.  “No harm done, and we need not talk it over any more.  We wish you good luck in finding proper engineers for your work.  You will probably motor back to Dugout tomorrow morning, won’t you?”

“We’ll have to,” Mr. Dunlop answered.  “We’re not safe here until we hire a few good men to come out here to keep Gage and his fellows at a distance.”

“That’s true, sir,” Tom nodded.  “As you’ll need a good many men here by the time you start work on your mine you’ll do well to bring at least a score of them down at once.  Twenty good, rough men, used to this life and not afraid of bullets, ought to make you feel wholly safe and secure on your own property.”

There was more talk, but neither Tom nor Harry again referred to their serving the new company as engineers.

In due course of time Jim Ferrers, with such help as Alf was able to give, had supper ready to serve.  It was a rough meal, of hard tack, pilot bread, potatoes, canned meats and vegetables, but outdoor life had given all a good appetite and the meal did not long remain on the camp table.

For guard duty that night it was arranged that Jim Ferrers and Joe Timmins should relieve each other.  Tom also offered to stay up with Ferrers, Harry taking the watch trick with Timmins, though neither of the young engineers was armed or cared to be.

Harry and Timmins were to take the first watch.  The others retired early.  Tom Reade was about to begin undressing when Hazelton came in for a moment.

While the chums were chatting, Alf Drew’s forlorn figure showed at the doorway of the tent.

“Say, boss,” complained Alf, “I haven’t any place to sleep.”

“What?” Reade demanded in pretended surprise, “with nearly all the ground in Nevada at your disposal?”

“But that isn’t a bed,” contended Alf.

“Right you are there, lad” agreed Tom.

“Now, see here, boss, only one of you two is going to sleep at a time tonight.  I’m tired—–­I ache.  Why can’t I sleep on the other cot in this tent?”

“Come here,” ordered Tom.

Alf wonderingly advanced.

Whiff! whiff! moved the young engineer’s nostrils.

“Just as I thought,” sighed Reade.  “You’ve been smoking cigarettes without any let-up ever since supper.”

“Well, I have ter,” argued Drew.

“And now you smell as fragrant as a gas-house, Alf.  Mr. Hazelton is rather particular about the little matter of cleanliness.  If you were to sleep on his cot the smell of cigarettes would be so strong that I don’t believe Mr. Hazelton could stay on his cot when it came his time to turn in.”

“But say!  If you knew how dead, dog-tired I am!” moaned Alf.

“Oh, let him sleep on my cot,” interposed Harry, good-heartedly.  “If I can’t stand the cot when I come to use it, then it won’t be the first night that I’ve slept on hard ground and rested well.”