The Young Engineers in Colorado | Page 8

them all the wickedness you know. Reade, this is Jack Rutter, the spotted hyena of the camp. If he ever gets in your way just push him over a cliff."
A pleasant-faced young man in khaki hastily dried his face and hands on a towel, then smilingly held out his right hand.
"Glad to know you, Reade," he laughed. Hope you'll like us and decide to stay."
"Hazelton," continued the announcer, "shake hands with Slim Morris, whether he'll let you or not. And here's Matt Rice. We usually call him 'Mister' Rice, for he's extremely talented. He knows how to play the banjo."
The assistant engineer then turned away, while one young man, at the farther end of the long wash bench stood unpresented.
"Oh, on second thoughts," continued Blaisdell, "I'll introduce you to Joe Grant."
The last young man came forward.
"Joe used to be a good fellow---once," added the assistant engineer. "In these days, however, you want to keep your dunnage boxes locked. Joe's specialty is stealing fancy ties---neckties, I mean."
Joe laughed good-humoredly as he shook hands, adding:
"We'll tell you all about Blaisdell himself, boys, one of these days, but not now. It's too far from pay day, and old Blaze stands in too thickly with the chief."
"If you folks don't come into supper soon," growled the voice of the cook, Jake Wren, from the doorway of the engineer's mess tent, "I'll eat your grub myself."
"He'd do it, too," groaned Slim Morris, a young man who nevertheless weighed more than two hundred pounds. "Blaze, won't you take us inside and put us in our high chairs?"
There was infinite good humor in this small force of field engineers. As was afterwards learned, all of them were graduates either of colleges or of scientific schools but not one of them affected any superiority over the young newcomers.
Just as the party had seated themselves there was a step outside, and Bad Pete stalked in looking decidedly sulky.
"Evening," he grunted, and helped himself to a seat at the table.
"Reade and Hazelton, you've had the pleasure of meeting Pete, I believe?" asked Blaisdell, without the trace of a smile.
"Huh!" growled Pete, not looking up, for the first supply of food was on the table.
"We've had the pleasure, twice today, of meeting Mr. Peter," replied Tom, with equal gravity.
"See here, tenderfoot," scowled Bad Pete, looking up from his plate, "don't you call me 'Peter' again. Savvy?"
"We don't know your other name, sir," rejoined Tom, eyeing the bad man with every outward sign of courtesy.
"I'm just plain Pete. Savvy that?
"Certainly, Plain Pete," Reade nodded.
Pete dropped his soup spoon with a clatter letting his right hand fall to the holster.
"Be quiet, Pete," warned Blaisdell, his eyes shooting a cold glance at the angry man. "Reade is a newcomer, not used to our ways yet. Remember that this is a gentleman's club."
"Then let him get out," warned Pete blackly.
"He belongs here by right, Pete, and you're a guest. Of course we enjoy having you here with us, but, if you don't care to take us as you find us, the fellows in the chainmen's mess will be glad to have you join them."
"That tenderfoot is only a boy," growled Pete. "If he can't hold his tongue when men are around, then I'll teach him how."
"Reade hasn't done anything to offend you," returned Blaisdell, half sternly, half goodhumoredly. "You let him alone, and he'll let you alone. I'm sure of that."
"Blaisdell, if you don't see that I'm treated right in this mess, I'll teach you something, too," flared Bad Pete.
"Threatening the president of the mess is a breach of courtesy on the part of any guest who attempts it," spoke Blaisdell again. "Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?"
"I move," suggested Slim Morris quietly, "that Pete be considered no longer a member or guest of this mess."
"Second the motion," cried Rutter, Rice and Grant together.
"The motion appears to have been carried, without the necessity for putting it," declared Mr. Blaisdell. "Pete, you have heard the pleasure of the mess."
"Huh!" scowled Bad Pete, picking up his soup plate and draining it.
Jake Wren, at this moment, entered with a big platter of roast beef, Bob, the helper, following with dishes of vegetables. Then Bob came in with plates, which he placed before Blaisdell. The latter counted the plates, finding eight.
"We shan't need this plate, Bob," declared Blaisdell evenly, handing it back. Then he began to carve.
"Put that plate back with the rest, Bob, you pop-eyed coyote," ordered Bad Pete.
Bob, looking uneasy, started to do so, but Blaisdell waved him away. At that instant Jake Wren came back into the tent.
"For the present, Jake," went on the assistant engineer, "serve only for seven in this tent. Pete is leaving us."
"Do you mean-----" flared Pete, leaping to his feet and striding toward the engineer.
"I mean," responded Blaisdell, without looking up, "that