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Moreover, the news that Dave Fulsbee received from Denver showed that two of the officials of the W.C. & A. were in that city, apparently ready to proceed to get possession of the rival road. Politicians asserted that it was a "cinch" that the new road would fall short of the charter requirement in the matter of time.
Then the cub added, with a sheepish grin: "I hope you'll scare 'em, instead of hitting 'em, Dave." Fulsbee stepped over to his assistant. Between them they swung the machine gun around, the assistant wrenching off the canvas cover. Fulsbee rapidly sighted the piece for six hundred yards. The assistant stood by to feed belts of cartridges, while Dave took his post at the firing mechanism.
They will cost seventy-five dollars a month, per man, with an allowance for horses, forage, etc. Hadn't Mr. Fulsbee better get his force together as soon as possible? For I am certain, sir, that the next move by the opposition will be to tear up and blow up our tracks at some unguarded points.
"They may start the firing again," uttered Dave Fulsbee. "They'll feel that you don't respect their flag of truce." "I didn't feel a heap of respect for the fellow that held up the white flag," Hazelton admitted, with another grin. "It was Bad Pete, and I wanted to see what his nerve was like when someone else was doing the shooting and he was the target."
"We have him attended to as well as we have you." "That's a lie," Reade declared coolly. "Do you want us to show him to you?" "Yes," nodded Tom. "You'd have to show me Dave Fulsbee before I'd believe you." "Yank the cub off that horse!" ordered 'Gene Black harshly. Three or four men seized Reade, dragging him out of the saddle and throwing him to earth.
"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.
"Yes; I make 'em," answered Fulsbee, after a long, keen look. Again more instructions were given to the engineers. "Say, I've got to have a rifle," insisted Harry nervously. "You know, I always have been 'cracked, on target shooting. This is the best practical chance that I'll ever have." "You'll have to wait your turn, Harry," Tom urged soothingly. "My turn?"
Then, suddenly, Dave Fulsbee swung the gun around, delivering a hailstorm of bullets against the bald knob rock and the bushes to the right of it. "There's the answer!" gleefully uttered Hazelton, who had just handed the glass back to his chum. The "answer" was a fluttering bit of white cloth tied to a rifle and hoisted over the bushes at the right of the bald knob.
Far up on the bald knob a single shot sounded, and a bullet struck the ground about six feet from where Tom Reade stood with the binocular at his eyes. Then there came a volley from the right of the rock, followed by one from the rock itself. "Easy, boys," cautioned Fulsbee, as the bullets tore up the ground back of the firing line. "I'll give you the word when the time comes."
Through the glass I can sometimes make out the flash of their rifles. Take the glass yourself, and see." Dave Fulsbee snatched the binoculars, making a rapid survey. "Reade," he admitted, "you have surely located that crowd." "Now, go after them with your patent hay rake," quivered Tom, feeling the full excitement of the thing in this tantalizing cross fire.
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