CHAPTER XVII.
THE REAL ATTACK BEGINS Hearing the moving wheels of a wagon on the trail, Tom looked outside, then seized Mr.Newnham's arm rather roughly.
"Come along, sir, and come quickly, if you want to see something that will beat a carload of telegrams," urged the cub engineer.
Having gotten the president of the road outside, Tom let go of his arm and raced on before that astonished man from Broadway.
"Here, you fellows," called Tom, almost gayly, as he ran to where engineers and chainmen men were standing in little groups, talking gloomily over the forenoon's work.

"Get in line, here---a whole crowd of you!" Dave Fulsbee was now riding briskly toward the centre of the camp, ahead of the wagon for which he had gone down the trail.

Laughing quietly, Tom hustled group after group of young men into one long line.
"Hold up your right hands!" called out the young cub engineer.
Wondering, his subordinates obeyed.

Fulsbee reined up, dismounting before the line.
"They're all ready for you, friend," called Tom gayly.
"Listen, boys!" commanded Dave Fulsbee, as he faced the line on foot.

"You do each and all of you, singly and severally, hereby swear that you will serve truly and well as special deputy sheriffs, and obey all lawful orders, so help you God ?" Almost in complete silence the hands fell as their owners nodded.
Both the engineers and rodmen felt a trifle dazed.