In the background the halted crowd watched in suspense as George Ashby galloped over the treacherous sand.
Several times the pony's hoofs were seen to sink, yet each time the animal seemed able to draw his feet out of the sand and go on again.
“It's a crazy man's luck,” cried an Arizona man thickly. “Of course, here and there on the Man-killer there are safe, sound spots, and Ashby is having the luck of his life in hitting all the sound spots in getting across. But I wouldn't follow him for a thousand dollars a minute!”
The mad hotel man was soon lost to view on the other side of one of the little hills of sand.
There would have been little sense in trying to follow him or to head him off, even by more roundabout courses. Ashby was now far enough away to elude any pursuit that might start.
“I wonder if Reade has any idea of what he's up against now?” murmured the mayor of Paloma. “That crazy man is loose, and sooner or later he'll be heard from again.”
CHAPTER XX. DUFF PROMISES THE “SQUARE DEAL”
Altogether the day had been a hugely satisfactory one to the young chief engineer.
The first test had been made, and, all had passed off well, for, in Tom Reade's easy-going, fearless mind the peculiar doings of George Ashby did not figure at all as a part of the day's work.
“Harry, we've every reason to feel proud of ourselves” mused Tom aloud, as he undressed in the shack that night.
“You feel pretty certain that we've conquered the Man-killer, do you?” Hazelton asked, as he laid down the book he had been reading.
Of late, since the burning of the Cactus House, the chums had slept in the shack, though still getting many of their meals in town.
“Oh, of course you know that we haven't won, the whole fight yet,” Reade went on. “We've plenty of work to do here still before we pronounce the job finished. But to-day's shows that our plan for filling in this particular, kind of quicksand was a sound one. You know the president of the road said that words failed to express his complete approbation of our work.”
“We certainly have been remarkably fortunate--so far,” Harry admitted. “Yet I must confess, Tom, that I'm still nervous.”
“Then it must be over Ashby,” Tom laughed.
“Ashby be hanged!” Hazelton retorted. “I haven't given him a thought this evening. No, I'm still nervous about our job here. The first test was all right--that is, it was all right to-day. But these quicksands are treacherous. Our roadbed may be all right for a fortnight, and may seem as safe as we could wish it to be. Then, all of a sudden, within sixty seconds, it may sink before our very eyes. Suppose it were to sink while a trainload of human beings was passing over it!”