path.

"That's him at the table in front of the middle tent," the boy directed.
Thanking him, Alex urged the pony forward, and leaped to the ground
beside a dark-haired, energetic young man bending over a sheet of
figures.

"I am the operator Mr. Finnan sent on," Alex announced as the engineer
looked up.

"Glad to meet you," said the engineer, cordially rising and extending his
hand. "You are a trifle young for this rough work, though, are you not?"
he ventured, noting Alex's youthful face. "You are not the operator who
caught that K. & Z. man Sunday?"

"I helped catch him," Alex corrected.

"You'll do, then," said Norton. "And I'll give you a place here in my own
tent," he added, turning and entering a small marquee, followed by Alex.

"This corner will be yours, and the box your 'office.' It will do for the
instruments?"

"Fine," responded Alex.

As the wire-stringing gang was not due to reach the viaduct before
mid-afternoon, on completing his arrangements in the tent, Alex set out
for a tour of his new surroundings. Climbing up the western slope of the
gully, he found a large gang of foreigners, mostly Italians, working in a
cutting. Judging that this was the gang which was causing the anxiety,
Alex paused some moments to watch them.

Scattered over a system of miniature track, the men were shovelling earth
into strings of small dump-cars, which when filled were run out over the
completed western end of the viaduct, and dumped. As Alex stood regarding
the active scene, a string of cars rumbled toward him from one of the
more distant sidings. Others had been pushed by several men. This was
being driven by a single burly giant. With admiration Alex watched.
Suddenly a sense of something familiar about the figure stirred within
him. The man came opposite, and Alex uttered an involuntary ejaculation.
It was Big Tony, the Italian who had led the trouble amongst the trackmen
at Bixton two years back, and with whom he had had the thrilling
encounter at the old brick-yard.

When the Italian glanced toward him, Alex started back. But the foreigner
did not recognize the young operator, with his two years of rapid growth,
and passed on. Breathing a sigh of relief, Alex turned and made his way
to the foreman in charge of the gang.

"How do you do," he said, introducing himself. "Who is that big Italian
pushing the string of cars alone?"

"Tony Martino. The best man in the gang," responded the foreman. "Why? Do