Frisbie’s information, given after Miss Adair had gone in, was rather mystifying.  Young Benson, who was just in from the grade work beyond Copah, brought word of a party of strange engineers running lines on the opposite side of the river from the rejected S. L & W. short-cut through the canyon of shale slides.  Questioned by Benson, they had told what Frisbie believed to be a fairy tale.  The chief of the party claimed to be the newly-elected county surveyor from Copah, running the lines for some mining property recently filed for entry.  Benson had not been over curious; but he was observant enough to note that the tale was a misfit in three important particulars.  He saw no locating stakes, such as a prospector always sets up conspicuously to mark his claim; and there were no signs of the precious metal, and no holes to indicate an attempt to find it.

“What’s your guess, Dick?” said Ford tersely.

The assistant shook his head.

“I haven’t any coming to me.  But I don’t like mysteries.”

“Where was this party?”

“About a mile and a half below here.  It was going out toward Copah when Jack met it—­its work, whatever it was, all done, apparently.”

It was one of Frisbie’s gifts to be suspicious; but Ford was lacking on that side.

“It’s barely possible that the man was telling the truth, in spite of Benson’s failure to find any prospect holes,” he remarked.  “We’ll let it go at that until we know something different.  It couldn’t be a Transcontinental party, this far from home, and we haven’t anybody else to fear.”

Frisbie dropped the subject as one of the abstractions and took up the concrete.

“What are the orders for to-day?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  I’m waiting for Mr. Colbrith to say.”

“There are two buckboard teams here, in the MacMorrogh stables—­came over from Copah last night.  What are they for?”

“I don’t know.  Another of the president’s little surprises, I suppose.  We’ll know when he sends for me.”

The expected summons came at that precise moment, transmitted by Penfield.  Mr. Colbrith would like to see Mr. Ford in his private state-room in the Nadia.  The secretary had a sheaf of telegrams in his hand, and wished to be directed to the wire office.  Frisbie took him in charge, and Ford went to obey the summons.

The president was sitting very erect in his swing chair when the young engineer let himself into the box-like compartment, and his voice was at its thinnest when he said:  “Be seated, Mr. Ford.”

Ford sat down on the divan-couch, and the president plunged at once into business.

“Some time ago, you advised me, as chairman of the executive committee, that you had decided upon a change of route, Mr. Ford,” he began raspingly.  “What were your reasons for making the change?”

“I stated them in my letter of advice,” said Ford; “economy in construction and greater safety in operating, as against a slight increase in the length of the line.”