As Neale dismounted a Mexican came forward.

“Look after the horse,” said Neale, and, taking his luggage, he made for a big tent with a fly extended in front.  Several men sat on camp-chairs round a table.  One of them got up and stepped out.

“Where’s Blake and Coffee?” inquired Neale.

“I’m Blake,” was the reply, “and there’s Coffee.  Are you Mr. Neale?”

“Yes.”

“Coffee, here’s our new boss,” called Blake as he took part of Neale’s baggage.

Coffee appeared to be a sunburnt, middle-aged man, rather bluff and hearty in his greeting.  The younger engineer, Blake, was a tanned, thin-faced individual, with a shifty gaze and constrained manner.  The third fellow they introduced as a lineman named Somers.  Neale had not anticipated a cordial reception and felt disposed to be generous.

“Have you got quarters for me here?” he inquired.

“Sure.  There’s lots of room and a cot,” replied Coffee.

They carried Neale’s effects inside the tent.  It was large and spare, containing table and lamp, boxes for seats, several cots, and bags.

“It’s hot.  Got any drinking-water?” asked Neale, taking off his coat.  Next he opened his bag to take things out, then drank thirstily of the water offered him.  He did not care much for this part of his new task.  These engineers might be sincere and competent, but he had been sent on to judge their work, and the situation was not pleasant.  Neale had observed many engineers come and go during his experience on the road; and that fact, together with the authority given him and his loyalty to, the chief, gave him cause for worry.  He hoped, and he was ready to believe, that these engineers had done their best on an extremely knotty problem.

“We got Lodge’s telegram last night,” said Coffee.  “Kinda sudden.  It jarred us.”

“No doubt.  I’m sorry.  What was the message?”

“Lodge never wastes words,” replied the engineer, shortly.  But he did not vouchsafe the information for which Neale had asked.

Neale threw his note-book upon the dusty table and, sitting down on the box, he looked up at the men.  Both engineers were studying him intently, almost eagerly, Neale imagined.

“Number Ten’s a tough nut to crack, eh?” he inquired.

“We’ve been here three months,” replied Blake.

“Wait till you see that quicksand hole,” added Coffee.

“Quicksand!  It was a dry, solid stream-bed when I ran the line through here and drew the plans for Number Ten,” declared Neale.

Coffee and Blake stared blandly at him.  So did the lineman Somers.

“You?  Did you draw the plans we—­we’ve been working on?” asked Coffee.

“Yes, I did,” answered Neale, slowly.  It struck him that Blake had paled slightly.  Neale sustained a slight shock of surprise and antagonism.  He bent over his note-book, opening it to a clean page.  Fighting his first impressions, he decided they had arisen from the manifest dismay of the engineers and their consciousness of a blunder.