The working of the powerful machine had been observed from a distance. As the little party drew nearer, they could see more plainly the heaps of mud and wet dirt left in the wake of the steam shovel. Five gigantic negroes, with shovels and hoes, leveled off the piles, working slowly and languidly over the task, their legs wet to the knees and their bodies plastered with mud.

"Saws, all of them." Charley commented briefly, as they passed the sudden, slow-working group.

"Saws?" echoed Walter questioningly. "I never heard of that race before."

"They come from the Bahama Islands," Charley replied. "They all have to ship for this country by way of the port of Nassau. So they get their title from that port, but people on this side have shortened the title down to 'Saws.' They are the finest built and laziest race in existence, I believe. There, that's Mr. Murphy, right back of the machine. He hasn't seen us yet. Whew! Just listen to him."

Mr. Murphy, a short, florid-faced man, was standing with his back to them, cursing earnestly at two negroes, who guided the moving of the sections of track and cleared away all roots and brush from the machine's path. The negroes' faces were ashen with anger, but they worked on sullenly, probably because the butt of a heavy revolver protruded from the white man's pocket.

Mr. Murphy's face became wreathed in smiles, and he ceased his cursing to greet the little party cordially.

"You've just got to cuss at them Saws occasionally," he apologized, as he rubbed the sweat from his red face. "If you don't, you just simply can't get any work out of them. Well, I'm glad to see you. I expected you early and had given you up. Well, there's the machine, and you can see for yourself what kind of work it does. I've got my contract with the county commissioners back in my tent, but I'll show it to you when we go back to dinner, so that you'll see everything is O. K. Any questions you want to ask?"

"Sure," said Charley, with a smile. "We don't want to go into anything blindfolded. First, what are your monthly expenses?"

Murphy wrinkled his brow in thought. "Let's see," he said. "We work the engineers in shifts of 8 hours each. They get $85.00 a month and board; that's $255.00. Then there's two shifts for the firemen and ground men; that makes six men at $36.00 a month—a total of $216.00. Then, I have to carry two bridge builders at the same wage, which makes $72.00 more. Then there's five graders, one cook, and one teamster, and a dynamiter to blow up the trees ahead of the machine; that's eight more, at $36.00, or $288.00. That brings my total payroll up to a little over $800 a month. Then, there's the grub bill. It runs from $250 to $300 a month. Carbide for machine lights, feed for the mules, and other extras will likely bring the total expenses for a month up to $1,200, but that's a trifle compared to what the machine is earning, and $3,000 for the bunch is like giving it away. The machine alone cost $12,000, and the tents, mules, wagons, and the motor truck would be cheap at another thousand dollars." He pulled a big watch out of his pocket and looked at the time. "Chuck's ready by now at the cook tent," he said. "Let's go and have a bite, and I'll run you into Jupiter in the truck afterward. We can talk business on the way."

In the cook tent they found one long table filled up with big, black, sweating negroes. At the other smaller one were seated the teamster—a white man—and the two sleepy-eyed engineers, off duty. The food was plenty, but coarse and cheap in quality. Hungry as they were, the boys partook of it meagerly, for they could not forget that dirty bench outside, and the inside was foul from the sweating negroes crowded into it. One thing they all noticed was the sullen silence that prevailed. Even the white men at their own table had nothing to say, except to ask occasionally for the passing of some dish they could not reach. The boys were glad when the meal was at last finished and they were able to get out again into the sweet, sun-purified air. Mr. Murphy remained behind for a few minutes, arguing loudly with the two engineers.

"I don't like the looks of this outfit very much," said Walter, as the four gathered together at the base of a pine tree. "The whole camp is filthy—tents, cooking, men, and everything else. And everyone appears so sullen and ugly, as though a little thing would start a fight going. Of course, the price is dirt cheap, but I don't like the looks of things."

"We can alter things in short order," Charley declared eagerly, for he was letting his eagerness to seize this new opportunity cloud his usually clear judgment. "Why, it won't take any time to change things around. We can stop the machine for a day, and turn all hands in on the job, make them scrub the tents good with soap and water, and, after they are dry, pitch them all again in a different place. A change of cooks, and Sunday to rest up in, will take away a lot of that sullenness, I bet. I really believe that half of it is caused by Murphy cursing the men so much."

"Maybe you're right," Walter admitted. "Anyway, I would like to learn to run that steam shovel. I bet I could do it in a week."

"I don't ever want to have to climb aboard that critter," Captain Westfield observed; "but I reckon I could stay on the ground and keep the other fellows up to scratch. I ain't nowise anxious to go into the business, but I leave it up to you, Charley. I've never had much to do with shore business. Just do as you think best, boy."

"I leave it up to you, too, so far as I'm concerned," Walter agreed.

"I hopes you-alls do buy it," Chris said, earnestly; "I sho' wants to do de cookin'; dat dirty nigger what's doing it now ain't fitting to do hit, no way."

"All right," Charley agreed, reluctantly. "If it's left up to me to do the deciding, I'll do it, though I had rather not take all the responsibility. Well, I'm going to buy——"

He had no time to continue what he was going to say, for at that moment Mr. Murphy stepped out of the tent and called to them. "Come around here to the next tent; that's where my motor truck is housed."

Walter examined the motor truck carefully. It was almost new, but it was evident that it had received rough treatment at the hands of inexperienced drivers, but its main parts were still good and unworn.

"Well, what have you decided to do?" asked Mr. Murphy, as they all clambered aboard the truck.

"We would like until to-morrow morning to talk it over," Charley said cautiously.

"Sorry, but the way it stands, I've got to close up at once," said Mr. Murphy briefly. "I've just got to get back home to my wife. I've got another man on my string, and if you fellows don't want the business I'll just run down to his place and see him to-night. I'm pretty sure he'll take it."

"All right, then; we'll take it," said Charley promptly. "Machine, truck, contract, and all equipment for $3,000."

"Agreed," said Mr. Murphy, equally prompt. "I'll give you a regular bill of sale, covering everything, as soon as I get to Jupiter. We'll get there in time to find a notary, I guess."

There was no further chance for conversation, for, as soon as it was started up, the motor truck kept all hands busy trying to retain their seats. The dirt road was full of hollows, bumps and ruts that sent the truck's occupants bouncing and jarring from side to side, so that they were not at all sorry when Jupiter was at last reached. Once arrived, the notary was hunted up, and the transfer papers made out. "I'll stay with you two weeks and show you how to run the thing," said Mr. Murphy. "I ought to go at once, but I promised you I would stay, and I will. I suppose you will want to pack up and not go back until morning. So, I guess I'll take this check for $3,000 down to Palm Beach, and get it cashed, and come back on the early morning train. There's a local train due for Palm Beach in about five minutes, so I'll say so long until morning."

The boys were up at the first crack of day, packing up their few belongings, taking down their tents, and pulling out their little launch and concealing it back among the bushes. By sunrise they were at Jupiter, having rowed over in the skiff, which they hauled out and left, feeling confident that it would not be molested until they returned.

They found, upon inquiry at the little station, that the train would not arrive until nine o'clock.

"Want tickets?" inquired the station agent, who had answered their questions.

"No," said Charley. "We are waiting for Mr. Murphy. He's coming up on the train to take us out to camp. We have bought out his machine and contracts."

"Whew!" whistled the agent. "What did you pay him?"

"We got the whole outfit for $3,000," said Charley proudly.

"Good Lord!" murmured the agent. "Cash or check?"

"Check on the Bank of West Palm Beach," answered Charley less proudly.

The agent glanced at the clock. "Ten minutes of nine," he said musingly. "The bank opens at eight. You have got a chance—just a bare chance." He shoved over a pad of telegraph blanks. "Just wire the bank to stop payment on that check."

"Why?" asked Charley, bewildered.

"Because, it's a rotten proposition," declared the agent earnestly; "rotten all the way through. If you can stop payment on that check you'll save losing $3,000, that's all."

Reluctantly Charley filled in a blank and shoved it over to the agent, who clicked it off rapidly on the key. When he had finished he came around from behind the partition. "It was none of my business, butting in in that way," he apologized, "but I hate to see a man robbed of his money."