“Sure.  Oh, we’re in right, Neale,” replied Blake, with a laugh of relief.

Swift as an Indian, and as savagely, Neale sprang up.  He threw the roll of bills into Blake’s face.

“You try to bribe me!  Me!” burst out Neale, passionately.  “You think I’ll take your dirty money—­cover up your crooked job!  Why, you sneak!  You thief!  You dog!”

He knocked Blake down.  “Hold—­on—­Neale!” gasped Blake.  He raised himself on his elbow, half stunned.

“Pick up that money,” ordered Neale, and he threatened Blake again.  “Hurry! ...  Now march for camp!”

Neale walked the young engineer into the presence of his superior.  Coffee sat his table under the fly, with Somers and another man.  Colohan appeared on the moment, and there were excited comments from others near by.  Coffee stood up.  His face turned yellow.  His lips snarled.

“Coffee, here’s your side partner,” called Neale, and his voice was biting.  “I’ve got you both dead to rights, you liars! ...  You never even tried to work on my plans for Number Ten.”

“Neale, what in hell do you suppose we’re out here for?” demanded Coffee, harshly.  “They’re all getting a slice of this money.  There’s barrels of it.  The directors of the road are crooked.  They play both ends against the middle.  They borrow money from the government and then pay it out to themselves.  You’re one of these dreamers.  You’re Lodge’s pet.  But you can’t scare me.”

“Coffee, if there was any law out here for stealing you’d go to jail,” declared Neale.  “You’re a thief, same as this pup who tried to bribe me.  You’re worse.  You’ve held up the line.  You’ve ordered your rotten work done over and over again.  This is treachery to General Lodge—­to Henney, who sent you out here.  And to me it’s—­ it’s—­there’s no name low enough.  I surveyed the line through here.  I drew the plans for Number Ten.  And I’m going to prove you both cheats.  You and your contractor.”

“Neale, there’s more than us in the deal,” said Coffee sullenly.

Colohan strode close, big and formidable.  “If you mean me, you’re a liar,” he declared.  “An’ don’t say it!” Coffee was plainly intimidated, and Colohan turned to Neale.  “Boss, I swear I wasn’t in on this deal.  Lately I guessed it was all wrong.  But all I could do was obey orders.”

“Neale, you can’t prove anything,” sneered Coffee.  “If you have any sense you’ll shut up.  I tell you this is only a little deal.  I’m on the inside.  I know financiers, commissioners, Congressmen, and Senators—­and I told you before the directors are all in on this U. P. R. pickings.  You’re a fool!”

“Maybe.  But I’m no thief,” retorted Neale.

“Shut up, will you?” shouted Coffee, who plainly did not take kindly to that epithet before the gathering crowd.  “I’m no thief ...  Men get shot out here for saying less than that.”

Neale laughed.  He read Coffee’s mind.  That worthy, responding to the wildness of the time and place, meant to cover his tracks one way or another.  And Neale had not lived long with Larry Red King for nothing.