Jerry did not come home that night and consequently Bob was not forced to decide whether or not his room-mate was to be trusted. The next morning Mr. Whitney mentioned that he had sent Mr. Rutherford and his up the river to check up some topographical figures. They were to be gone several days.
This would delay for a time the necessity of taking action in regard to Jerry, and Bob was grateful for the leeway it gave him. Anything and everything might happen in the spare time he was given. Perhaps all the trouble would blow over. He certainly hoped so.
Hoyt evidently had wasted no time in carrying out Bob’s plan, for he did not show up at breakfast. His chances of success worried Bob all morning and once or twice Mr. Whitney had to call him down for some inattention to the business at hand. But when the day passed and Ted had not returned, Bob was reasonably certain that the cattleman had not refused to take in his son. That was a help.
Since becoming an aide to the Chief, Bob had not given up his unofficial trips. The dam and all the operations that were the building of it still fascinated him and his spare time was given to roaming over the job. So good an observer was he, that time after time he surprised Mr. Whitney with his knowledge of some obscure detail of the work.
“How the dickens do you happen to know that?” he would exclaim.
“Happened to be over there the other night and used my eyes,” was the usual reply of the boy.
There was a full moon the night following the day Ted had gone home and Bob had taken advantage of it to go up to the west cableway tower, from the foot of which he could see the whole work lying bathed in the intense silver light. He wanted to think and he was always able to do that better out of doors.
He did not feel he was doing his share[156] towards clearing up the trouble which threatened to break. Cudgel his brains as he would, there seemed nothing for him to do. It had been his idea to send Ted off, but since then he might just as well have been in Alaska for all the good he’d been. For a long time he lay there, without finding a way out of his difficulty.
At last he was about to get up and go home when he saw a figure from shadow to shadow and making up the hill in the general direction of his position.
Glancing about him, Bob saw no way to get away from the tower without being seen by the newcomer. The moon was high and the ground at the tower’s foot was clear of any cover. Something told him he wanted to know what the approaching figure was up to and he would spoil any chance of that if he disclosed his whereabouts. Happening to glance up he saw that one side of the tower was in shadow. He crawled around to it. Then he had an idea.
“Crazy lummox, why didn’t I think of this before,” he muttered to himself as he began to climb up the tower. It was built of steel and an iron ladder had been provided to make the oiling of the pulley wheel at the top a simple task.
Hardly had he reached a height he felt was safe, when the figure swiftly across the clearing and sat down almost in the spot he had just quitted.
Bob was surprised when he saw the man roll a cigarette and coolly light it. This display of unconcern as to whether or not he was observed, did not fit in with the dodging tactics he had employed when coming up the hill. Then the explanation came in a flash. Surely the spot had been chosen on account of the clear space around it and the impossibility of anyone’s coming upon it unobserved. The man had on his way up because he did not want to be recognized by a prowling night watchman. Once he had arrived, no one could get near enough to be dangerous.
In the of the match Bob had recognized the newcomer. It was a Mexican, Miguel Philipe, who was an underforeman at the trap rock .
But before Bob’s mind had accepted the fact that a Greaser was sitting up here in the moonlight, instead of or watching a cock fight down in the Townsite, a crackling in the underbrush to the right caught his attention. A moment later a figure stepped out into the clearing. To his dismay, he recognized the approaching man.
Jerry King!
Jerry King, who was supposed to be up country on a map-making expedition, was back and meeting a Mexican in a place that must have been agreed upon before.
All the suspicions of Jerry’s attitude that he had fought down, came back in a rush and were not when he saw by the signs of greeting displayed by Miguel, that Jerry was the person he expected to see.
Bob’s on the tower was far from comfortable, so he hoped the conference going on below him would last no great length of time. The thin iron rungs of the ladder cut into his legs and his arms had begun to ache from the strain of holding himself in place without making any noise that would give him away. To add to his , he soon realized that although he could overhear clearly every word that passed between the figures on the ground it would do him no good, as they were talking in Spanish, a language in which Bob remembered Jerry could at least make himself understood. Since his arrival at the dam, the Eastern boy had made some attempt to pick up a working knowledge of it, but his time had been so short that he had not got very far. Therefore, only a word here and there meant anything to him and as these were simple words, they gave no clue to what was being discussed.
About all he could gather was from their actions. Jerry seemed to be instructing the Mexican and emphasizing that certain things must be done. Miguel at times grew excited and waved his hands as a of words came from his lips. Finally, just as Bob was sure his muscles would force him to move his position, giving away his presence, they seemed to come to an agreement.
A moment later Jerry had slipped out of the open space into the underbrush directly behind the side of the tower to which Bob was clinging. For a long moment Bob held his breath, fearing that Jerry might turn and see his dark form making an unaccustomed against the iron work. But as the cracklings of the bushes died away, he realized that Jerry’s one desire was to get as far away as possible in the shortest space of time.
“He’ll have to hike some,” thought Bob, “if he’s going to get back to Rutherford to-night.” Then he turned his attention to the Greaser, who had not moved out of the position he was in. The ache in Bob’s muscles became almost . When the Mexican rolled and lit another cigarette as if he expected to stay where he was all night, he was almost to drop off the ladder and let the worst happen.
But this would not do except as a last resort, when all his will power and determination had fled. With infinite care Bob shifted his position a little and so gave his tortured muscles a slight rest. A few moments later he was glad he had not given up to his , for Miguel arose and sauntered down the hill, evidently not at all bothered about being seen.
When he thought it was safe, Bob dropped off the ladder and for a moment or so sat quietly, occupied in nursing his cramped limbs back to some degree of usefulness. Then, having given the Mexican plenty of time to reach the bottom of the hill, Bob follo............