The Young Engineers in Nevada | Page 3

grow on trees in Nevada."
With a sniff of scorn Ferrers tramped away.
"I guess, perhaps, what you need, Drew is a friend," remarked Tom, resting a hand on the boy's nearer shoulder. "Make up your mind that you can't have a cigarette this afternoon, take a walk with me, in this fresh air and the good old sunshine. Let's drop all talk of cigarettes, and give a little thought to brains and a strong body. They don't flourish where you find boys smoking cigarettes. Come along! I'm going to show you how to step out right, and just how to breathe like a human being. Let's try it."
Tom had almost to drag the boy, to make him start. But Reade had no intention of hectoring the, dough-faced little fellow.
It was rough ground along this mountain trail in the Indian Smoke Range of mountains, in Nevada. Soon the pulses of both began to beat more heavily. Tom took in great breaths of the life-giving air, but Alf was soon panting.
"Let's stop, now," proposed Tom, in a kindly voice. "After you've rested a couple of minutes I'm going to show you how to breathe right and fill your lungs with air."
Soon they were trying this most sensible "stunt." Alf, however, didn't succeed very well. Whenever he tried hard it set him to coughing.
"You see, it's mostly due to the cigarettes," said Tom gravely. "Alf, you've simply got to turn over a new leaf. You're headed just right to have consumption."
"Cigarettes don't give a fellow consumption!" retorted the younger boy sullenly.
"I don't believe they do," Tom admitted, thoughtfully. "Consumption is caused by germs, I've heard. But germs take hold best in a weakened part of the body, and your lungs, Alf, are weak enough for any germ to find a good place to lodge. What you've got to do is to make your lungs so strong that they'll resist germs."
"You talk like a doctor!"
"No; I'm trying to talk like an athlete. I used to be a half-way amateur athlete, Drew, and I'm still taking care of my body. That's why I've never allowed any white-papered little 'coffin-nails' to fool around me. Bad as your lungs are, Alf, they're not one whit worse than your nerves. You'll go to pieces if you find yourself under the least strain. You'll get to shivering and crying, if you don't stop smoking cigarettes."
"Don't you believe it," muttered the boy, sullenly.
"Alf," smiled Tom, laying a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, "you don't know me yet. You haven't any idea how I can hang to a thing until I win. I'm going to keep hammering at you until I make you throw your cigarettes away."
"I'm never going to stop smoking 'em," retorted Drew. "There wouldn't be any comfort in life if I stopped."
"Is it as bad as that?" queried Tom, with ready sympathy. "Then all the more reason for stopping. Come; let's finish our walk."
"Say, I don't want to go down and through that thick brush," objected Alf Drew, slowing his steps.
"Why not?"
"Snakes!"
"Are you afraid of snakes, Alf?"
"Some kinds."
"What kinds?"
"Well, rattlers, f'r instance."
"There are none of that kind on this part of the Indian Smoke Range," Reade rejoined. "Come along with me."
There was something mildly though surely compelling in Tom's manner. Alf Drew went along, though he didn't wish to. The two were just at the fringe of the thick underbrush when there came a warning sound just ahead of them.
Click! cl-cl-click!
"Whee! Me for outer this!" gasped Alf, going whiter than ever as he turned. But Tom caught him by the shoulder.
"What's the matter?" demanded Reade.
Click cl-cl-click!
"There it is again," cried Alf, in fear.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Tom demanded.
Once more the dread sound smote the air.
"Rattlers!" wailed Drew, perspiring from fear. "Lemme get away from this."
"Nonsense!" retorted Reade, retaining a strong clutch on the boy's shoulder, though once more the sound reached their ears.
"It's all your nerves, Alf," Tom insisted. "You just imagine such things. That's what cigarettes do to your nerves."
"But don't you hear the rattlesnake?"
"I don't," Tom gravely informed him, though once more the nerve-disturbing sound rose clearly on the air. "See here, Alf, rattlers, whatever their habits, certainly don't climb trees. I'll put you up on that limb."
Tom's strong young arms lifted Alf easily until he could clutch at the lowest limb of a tree.
"Climb up there and sit down," Reade ordered. Drew sat on the limb, shaking with terror.
"Now, I'll show you that there isn't a snake anywhere in that clump of brush," Tom proposed, and forthwith stepped into the thicket, beating about lustily with his heavy boots.
"L-l-l-look out!" shivered Drew. "You'll be bitten!"
"Nonsense, I tell you. There isn't a rattler anywhere on this part of the Range. It's your nerves, Alf. Cigarettes are destroying 'em. There! I've beaten up every bit