"I've seen enough of life," boasted the gambler quietly, "to be able to
judge most people at first sight. You shall soon see whether I don't
succeed in starting some hard feeling with Reade and Hazelton."
The nearer edge of the treacherous Man-killer was something more than
two miles west of the town of Paloma. In the course of a quarter of an
hour Tom and Harry drew rein near a portable wooden building that served
as an office in the field.
Mr. Hawkins, a solid-looking, bearded man of fifty, with snapping eyes
that contrasted with his drawling speech, stepped from the building.
"Hawkins," called Tom, as a Mexican boy led the horses away to the shade
of a stable tent, "I see you have some men idle."
"Nine-tenths of 'em are idle," replied the superintendent of
construction. "I warned you, Mr. Reade, that our gangs would soon eat up
the little work that you left us. Out there, by the last cave-in you'll
see that Foreman Payson, has about fifty men going. They'll be through
within an hour.
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