Dave Porter's Great Search; Or, The Perils of a Young Civil Engineer

“What do you think of that sky, Dave?”

“It looks to me as if we were in for a storm, Roger,” answered Dave Porter, a trace of anxiety crossing his usually pleasant features.

“Perhaps it is only wind,” vouchsafed Roger Morr, after he brought his horse to a standstill so that he might scan the distant horizon minutely. “You know they do have some terrible wind storms out here in Montana.”

“Oh, yes. I remember the big winds we had when we were out at Star Ranch,” answered Dave. “Don’t you remember once we thought we were in for a regular tornado?”

“I surely do remember. Say, Dave, those were certainly great days on the ranch, weren’t they?”

“Now that we’ve moved up here to Montana I hope some day to get the chance to run out to the ranch,” continued Dave. “I would like very much to meet Belle Endicott and her folks.”

“I’ll wager you’ll find Phil Lawrence sneaking out this way some day,” laughed Roger.

“Can you blame him, Roger? Belle is an awfully nice girl.”

“Of course I shouldn’t blame him, any more than I’d blame myself for—for——”

“Than you would blame yourself for sneaking off to Crumville to see my sister,” laughed Dave.

“Humph! I guess you wouldn’t mind being back in Crumville this moment, calling on Jessie Wadsworth.”

“I don’t deny it. But say, let us get on our way. Those black clouds are coming up altogether too rapidly to suit me.”

“How many miles do you suppose we are from the camp?”

“Six or eight at least. You know we followed this trail for a long time before we stopped to have lunch.”

“If that new branch of the M. C. & D. Railroad comes through this way it will certainly follow a picturesque route,” declared Roger.

“That will suit the summer tourists, even if it doesn’t cut any ice with the natives. But come on, we had better not waste any more time. Before you know it it will be dark and that storm will be upon us.”

The two young civil engineers were high up on a trail among the mountains of Montana. Far below them stretched a rugged valley, containing more rocks than grazing lands. Off to the southward could be seen a small stream which some time before had been shimmering in the sunlight, but which now was almost lost in the sudden gloom that was overspreading the sky.

“What a difference between the scenery here and that along the Rio Grande,” remarked Roger, as the two chums made their way along the narrow trail leading to the camp of the Mentor Construction Company.

“I’m glad of the change, Roger. I was getting tired of the marsh land along that river, and I was also mighty tired of those greasers.”

“Not to say anything about the raids the Mexicans made on us,” laughed the chum. “Say, we came pretty close to having some hot times once or twice, didn’t we?”

“I hope, Roger, we are able to make as good a showing up here on this railroad work as we did on that Catalco Bridge. That certainly was a superb piece of engineering.”

Dave was silent for a few minutes while the horses trotted along the stony trail. Then, pleased by a passing thought, his face and eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

“Wouldn’t it be grand, Roger, if some day you and I could put through some big engineering feat all on our own hook?” he cried. “Think of our putting up some big bridge, or building some big tunnel, or some fine skyscraper, or something like that!”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to do it some day. The men who are at the head of the Mentor Construction Company had to start as we are doing—at the foot of the ladder. What one man has done, some other fellow ought to be able to do after him.”

“Right you are! But ride slow now. If you’ll remember, the trail is rather dangerous just ahead of us.”

The admonition that had been given was not necessary, for both young men knew only too well the danger which lay ahead of them. At this point the trail became exceedingly narrow and wound in and out around a cliff which towered at least a hundred feet above their heads. In some spots the trail was less than a yard wide, and on the outer edge the rough rocks sloped downward at an angle of forty-five degrees.

“If a fellow slipped down there I wonder where he would land,” murmured Roger, as he held back his steed so as to give his companion a chance to pick his way with care.

“If you went over there you’d probably tumble down several hundred feet,” answered Dave. “And if you did that, you and your horse would most likely be killed. You be careful and keep your horse as close to the cliff as possible.”

At one point in the trail where it would have been utterly impossible to pass another person, the young civil engineers stopped to give a long, loud whistle, to announce to any one coming in the opposite direction that they were approaching. No whistle or call came in return, so they took it for granted that the trail was clear and proceeded again on their way.

By the time the vicinity of the cliff had been left behind, more than three quarters of the sky was overcast. Far off in the distance they could hear a murmur which gradually increased.

“It’s the wind coming up between the mountains,” announced Dave. And he was right. Soon the murmur had increased to a strange humming, and then, in a moment more, the wind came rushing down upon them with a violence that was anything but comfortable.

“Come on! Don’t linger here!” shouted Dave, as he urged his horse forward. “We’ll soon be out on the regular road.”

A quarter of a mile farther brought them to another turn in the trail, and in a minute more they went down a long slope and then came out on a broad trail running to a number of mines and ranches in that part of Montana. Here for over a mile riding was much easier, and the chums made good progress in the direction of the construction camp at which they were making their headquarters.

“Do you think we can make it before the rain comes?” questioned Roger, as they dashed along.

“No such luck. Here comes the rain now,” answered Dave.

As he spoke, both of the young civil engineers felt the first drops of the on-coming storm. Then the rain became a steady downpour which threatened every minute to turn into a deluge.

Fortunately for the two young men, they were not hampered by any of their civil-engineering outfit. They had been asked that morning by Mr. Ralph Obray, the manager of the construction gang, to ride up the trail and make sure that certain marks had been left there by the surveyors for the railroad. The work done by the railroad had been merely of a preliminary nature, but this preliminary work, crude as it was, was to be used as a basis for the more accurate survey by the engineers of the construction company.

“I don’t think we can make camp in such a downpour as this,” gasped Roger, after another half-mile had been covered.

“Maybe you’re right,” responded Dave. “It certainly is coming down to beat the band! But what are we going to do? I don’t believe in standing still and getting ourselves drenched to the skin.”

“We ought to be able to find some sort of shelter near by. Come on, let us take a look around.”