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Updated: May 11, 2025
The peasants, who knew nothing of letters and had never so much as heard of local colour, could not explain her chattering with this backward child; and to them she seemed a very homely lady and far from beautiful: the most famous man-killer of the age appealed so little to Velaisian swine-herds!
"I have heard both of you young men spoken of most warmly, as real engineers who are going to solve the problem of the Man-killer," declared Clarence Farnsworth, as, alighting from the barber's chair, he strolled past the pair. "Thank you," nodded Tom, with all his usual simple good nature.
Reade!" gasped Superintendent Hawkins, leaping into the car beside the general manager. "Turn your speed on, man make a lightning lash across the Man-killer!" Away shot the automobile, not wholly to the liking of two eastern men who sat in the directors' car. Tom Reade had realized his danger. Having nothing with which to fight, Reade had sprung his horse eastward and was racing for life.
By the time it struck the edge of the possibly conquered quicksand it was moving at the rate of forty miles an hour. Across the Man-killer the train continued for a mile in the direction of Paloma. "Now, let us all inspect the track," suggested the president of the railroad company. "Call up the autos." "Will you let me make a suggestion, sir!" queried Tom. "Go ahead, Mr. Reade."
"Harry, I wish you could get that sort of foolishness out of your head. A revolver is of no possible use to a man who hasn't any killing to do. I'm trying to learn to be a civil engineer, not a man-killer." "Then I believe that Bad Pete will 'get' you one of these days," sighed Hazelton. "Wait until he does," smiled Tom. "Then you can have the fun of coming around and saying 'I told you so."
On each flat car were piled ten tons of steel rails, to be used further along in the construction work. With engine, cars and all, the load amounted to one hundred and fifty tons, the pressure of which would be exerted over a comparatively short strip of the new track that now glistened over the Man-killer. Mounted on his pony, Harry Hazelton had galloped a considerable distance down the track.
"If he does, he'll most likely attribute them to the Pueblo Indians or the Aztecs, and he'll write a learned volume about the high state of civilization that existed among the savages here before the white man came." "I'm mighty glad, Tom, that General Manager Ellsworth isn't out here to see how many dozens of steel piles we're feeding hopelessly to the Man-killer."
I ain't no man-killer, honey." "But you're rich, Jude." "Tolerable. They may be one or two has more than me, around these parts." "And money buys men!" "Don't it, though?" said Jude, expanding. "Why, when they found that I was a spender they started in hounding me. One gent wanted me to help him on a mortgage only fifty bucks to meet a payment.
Then the party sat up, chatting, after most of the workmen had turned in for the night. "I'll be thankful when the material gets here," sighed Tom. "I'm tired of loafing." "It seems to me that you have been doing anything but loafing," smiled the general manager. "I want to get to work on the Man-killer. Besides, idleness is costing the road a lot of money in wages for these men."
They have dynamited the most ticklish part of the work on the Man-killer!" "The scoundrels!" cried General Manager Ellsworth. He was a man who believed in working along easy lines when possible. His career as a railroad man had taught him the value of meeting other people half way. Now the general manager's white face and flashing eyes revealed the fighter in him.
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