within twelve hours of us I want you to let Brayley know.  That is, of course, in case I am not back here.  Brayley will then double his men’s pay and keep them at work all night.  Then I’ll send half of the new men—­half of five hundred, I hope—­to Brayley, and he’ll put on a day shift and a night shift—­with all the work they can stand up under.  And I’ll have a day shift and a night shift slinging that dam across Deep Creek.  It’s up there, Tommy, that I expect you’ll have to help me out.”

“Anything I can do, Conniston.  And I’ll get busy first thing in the morning along the line you suggest.  And,” he hesitated a moment, and then finished, gravely, “I’m glad to see the way you’re tying into this.  And, do you know, I’d bet a man every cent I’ve got that we put the thing across!”

Conniston stood up, thrusting his papers into his pocket.

“If Truxton—­” he began.

“Forget Truxton.  He was all right and a mighty good man.  One of the best men I ever worked with.  But,” and his rare smile worked about the corners of his sensitive mouth and lighted up his eyes warmly—­“but I have an idea that the man who made that end run for Yale back in the old days is going to score a touchdown such as Bat Truxton would never have thought of.  Go to it, Conniston—­only let me get into the interference!”

Conniston’s plans for the next day had been founded upon his assurance that Brayley would arrive before morning.  But Brayley did not come.  And even had he arrived on time Conniston would not have dared leave.  At first he had thought to remain overnight with Tommy Garton.  Then, remembering that he alone was responsible for the camp, he told Garton good night and rode out into the desert.  It was late when at last he came to the tent and found his roll of blankets behind it.  And ten minutes later cares and responsibilities alike succumbed to bodily fatigue, and he slept soundly.

It was long after midnight, perhaps three o’clock, and still very dark, when he awoke.  Two men off in the distance were talking.  He paid little attention to them, but rolled over and went to sleep again.  And even as consciousness slipped away from him he was vaguely aware that more voices had joined the two which had awakened him.  But he thought only that some of the men were calling to one another from their sleeping-places, and attached no further importance to the matter.

It was an hour or two later when he again awoke.  There were already faint streaks of dawn lying low, close to the face of the desert.  His first connected impression was that he had overslept and that the men were already going to work.  For he saw a long line, fifty men at the least count, filing out toward the spot where the water-barrels stood in the long-bodied wagons, while other crowds of men were grouped about one of the wagons.  And then suddenly he sat bolt upright, strangely uneasy.  It was still long before day—­and something was wrong.