Fort Reynolds, as has been told in the earlier story of George Graham's cadet days, lay among the eastward foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains, with a bustling little frontier city only six miles away down the winding valley of what was, in the early eighties, a clear, cold, and beautiful mountain stream that shone in the sun like molten silver.
Silver Run it was called when Uncle Sam built the picturesque frontier fort of hewn logs and unseasoned pine soon after the Civil War. Silver Run, cold, pure, and glistening, it remained when Fort Reynolds became an important military post. Then the —th Cavalry took station at Reynolds, and there Geordie Graham found them when, with his father and mother and "Bud," hehad come from cold Montana to the finest station they yet had known, and to the firmest friends, many of whom they had met before, when Geordie, as a little boy, was "Corporal Pops" to every man at old Camp Sandy.
But Silver Run, though it ran more silver than it ever knew before, was beautiful no longer. Mines of remarkable value, mines of gold and silver, had been discovered twenty and thirty miles back in the mountains. Mining towns had sprung up along the steep and rocky banks. Mining methods had turned a limpid stream into a turbid torrent. Two railways had run their lines, hewing, blasting, boring, and tunnelling up the narrow valley, first to reach the mines and finally to merge in a "cut-off" to the great Transcontinental, so that now huge trains of Pullmans went straining slowly up-grade past the site of old Fort Reynolds, or came coasting down with smoking tires and fire-spitting brake-shoes, and between the loss of the water for his horses, and the hemming in of his rifle-ranges by rail right of way,Uncle Sam declared Fort Reynolds no longer tenable for cavalry. The regiment had been sent elsewhere, and only a quartermaster-sergeant and a squad of men remained.
Yet Reynolds stood in the midst of thriving industries and swarming men. The First National Bank in town had now a marble front and a thousand depositors. The town was now a city and a railway centre, and the backbone of its business was no longer cattle, but mines and mining, full of fabulous wealth for those "on the inside," but of dark and devious measures for those "on the outside" or away, and of these were half a dozen army officers who had been dazzled by the easily acquired dollars of the earliest arrivals, and of these officers was one of the last men his friends thought possible to mislead—shrewd, calculating, cautious, canny old "Sawny" Graham, post surgeon at Fort Reynolds in the late eighties.
Yet prospectors and explorers ten years earlier had declared gold would be found up the banks of Silver Run. In the glorious park country back of Squaw Cañon, whereGeordie and Bud had camped and fished and hunted as boys, the signs of the restless scouts of the great army of miners were to be seen at every hand. And then finally, in the very September that followed the return of Graham and Connell to take up the last half of their course at the Academy, there came sudden and thrilling announcement of "big finds" along Lance Creek, the upper tributary of Silver Run; then even finer indications on the Run itself, and the West went wild. All of a sudden the mountain-sides bristled with armed men and theirburros. Camps sprang up in a night and shafts were sunk in a day. Yampah County, from primeval wilderness, leaped to renown, with a population of ten thousand. Gold and silver came "packed" down the trails to the First National. Then, faster than the precious metal came down, costly machinery, and prices, went up. Fortunes were declared in a week. Officers and men at Reynolds caught the craze.
Many an old sergeant took his discharge and his savings and went to the mines; andyoung troopers without discharges took their lead and followed suit, and the colonel wired the War Department that if the regiment wasn't ordered away there wouldn't be anything left to order in the spring. Luckily, heavy snow-storms came and blocked the trails, and there was a lull at the mines, but unluckily, not before the few officers at Reynolds who had saved a dollar had invested every cent of their savings in the shares of the Golconda, the White Eagle, the Consolidated Denver, and especially the Silver Shield, and the man who, through frugality and good management, had the most to invest, and who had invested all, was Major Graham. When he left there for West Point the August following he had refused four times what he paid for his shares, and saw fortune smiling on his pathway to the Hudson. Now, less than ten months thereafter, on the borders of the Hudson, he saw ruin staring him in the face.
For there had been assessments, and he had borrowed to meet them. There had come rumors of "leaks" and he had keptthem to himself. McCrea, his boy's best friend in the regiment, had consulted him only ten days back as to whether it were not wise to realize on a portion at least of their holdings, and Graham, dreading a "bear" movement on the market, had said, "Hold fast."
And now McCrea had turned back. He must go at once, he said, to the telegraph office. So Graham, his sorrowing wife, and his silent boys went on. She led him into their cheery quarters, and seated him in his old arm-chair and came and nestled beside him.
"What is there to grieve about, dear?" she pleaded. "What does it really matter to us? We have health, home, our boys, each other—quite enough to live on—Why should it so distress you? Indeed, I almost cried aloud, 'Is that all?' when you showed me the message. I feared so much worse. Why, think, Graeme, in all the gay crowd that comes here every day, is there a woman half as happy as I am? Is there one of them really as rich as we are—we who have so many blessings?"
"It's for 'Bud' I'm thinking most now," was the mournful answer. "There can be no Columbia for him. I've borrowed money to meet the assessments, and the money's got to be paid. This isn't like having one's house burned, or his ranch blown away, his herds scattered, by the act of God. This is being robbed of the savings of years by organized, legalized swindlers, men who claimed to be our friends. It's that—and my helplessness—that hurts."
The boys had remained without, talking in low, grave tones, Bud's boisterous spirits suddenly quenched. Presently the sound of their murmuring died away. There was no answer when Mrs. Graham called. Going to the door she looked anxiously about her. From up the roadway to the north came the sound of merry voices and the shuffle of many feet—the battalion hurrying down the broad stone steps of Grant Hall and forming for the march back to camp. The young "first captain" called them to attention and gave the commands that swung them into column of platoons and striding awayunder the leafy arch to the open plain. Oh, with what pride had she not listened, night after night, from September to mid-June, to Geordie's ringing, masterful tones,herGeordie, foremost officer of the Corps! And now all that was ended with the graduation to which he had so long looked forward, and now, when but half an hour ago he had so rejoiced in his assignment to the regiment of his choice—now must come this cloud upon his young life, his and blithe-hearted Bud, who so adored him. She knew well that his first act would be to set aside a certain portion of his scanty pay for her use, and for her own part she would not so have it.
But where were the boys, and why had they gone? It was some minutes before Bud returned, alone.
"Where is Geordie?" she asked.
Bud dropped his cap on the hall table, looking dispirited and troubled.
"Gone to the hotel, mother—wants to see"—with a gulp—"McCrea—and I'm of no use to anybody."
"You can be and will be," was the gentle answer, as the mother wound an arm about and led him within. There in silence and semi-darkness they sat awhile. The doctor had gone into his little library to look over memoranda and accounts. It was nine o'clock when Geordie's quick, soldierly step was heard on the walk without. He came bounding up and in, alert, virile, and vigorous.
"You saw Mr. McCrea, Geordie?"
"Yes, mother. He's going to Newburg to catch the Pacific express on the Central, and, mother—I'm going with him."
By the general regulations of the United States army there is granted three months' leave of absence to graduated cadets of the Military Academy, to be taken advantage of immediately after graduation. It is given to these young men after their four years of rigorous discipline and hard study, that they may have abundant time to visit home and friends, and to enjoy a period of rest before reporting for duty again to begin their careers as officers of the army.
For nearly two weeks since Graham's graduation day the mother had had him for her very own, busying herself in the choice of his modest outfit, and taking it not a little to heart that he declined to order his uniform and equipment until, as he said, he knew where he was going. She longed tosee him in his "regimentals," yet shrank from it as a reminder that all too soon he would be taken from her side to wear it day after day with his comrades in arms. She could not think of that parting to come late in September. She would think only of the glory that was hers in having him here, having him now, with no bugle-call to tear him from her side. She was just beginning to realize her possession, her happiness, when that hateful telegram told of disaster at the mines, and urged her husband to have a representative at the spot. Within one hour of its receipt, George had come to say that he would be that representative, and within two hours, with at least his father's full consent, her dream was at an end and her boy was gone.
That night toward ten he and McCrea were spinning away up the west shore under the lofty, rock-ribbed scarp of Crow Nest and Storm King, to ferry over to Fishkill from Newburg, and there take the Pacific express, making its first stop out of New York City. Each had hurriedly packed suchstore of clothing as seemed most appropriate to the region and the business to which he was bound. There was no vestige of uniform or badge of rank and station. Geordie took with him his favorite rifle, and in his valise, to be exhumed when they reached the Rockies, was a revolver he knew, rather better than his classmates, how to use, for he had learned as a lad on the plains. Each had his ticket for Chicago, where they were to change for Denver. Each had a money belt and a modest sum in currency. Each had his hopes of rescuing something if not all of the imperilled property, and neither had even a vague idea of the peril, difficulty, and treachery he was destined to encounter.
Everything had promised well when Silver Shield was first exploited. Its promoters and agents showed high-grade ore, and reports of expert mining engineers promised abundance of it. All that was needed was development. "Come in now, on the ground-floor, and you'll be coining money in a year's time," said Mr. Breifogle, and to the number of seven the commissioned force at FortReynolds had "come." So long as they remained close to the spot all seemed going well. But Graham had been ordered to the Point, and the regiment over in the Oklahoma country. Then came trouble.
It seemed odd that stock held so high should so soon have to be assessed. But "some expensive machinery was necessary." Then came a second and larger demand. Silver Shield was so valuable that envious eyes had been directed to it, and fraudulent claims and claimants were constantly turning up. Threatened litigation would be long and expensive. It would be cheaper far to buy off the litigants. So Graham, with a sigh and sore premonition of trouble, obtained the necessary amount on his personal note. McCrea, with inward misgiving, borrowed and sent it. Officers at Reno sent up what they could, but it wasn't enough, and in May came a third appeal. The secretary wrote that litigation had begun, and there was reason to believe the courts were being "approached" by the enemy. It was absolutely essential that "these parties shouldbe bought off," and quite a sum would be necessary. The First National Bank of Argenta (which had once been robbed of a great sum by road-agents, who were run down and captured by officers and men of the —th, and the money recovered) ought in all conscience to be grateful to its benefactors, yet when Graham, McCrea, and Major Lawrence wrote, begging advice in the premises, the bank was non-committal. Some of its customers were among the litigants, as was later discovered. And so it resulted that not until near the end of June did it dawn upon the officers involved that the whole matter was nothing more nor less than a well-conceived, but rascally, scheme to "milk them dry," as was the expression, secure their shares at a sacrifice, or drive them out entirely.
And they, the absentees, were only seven against seventy or more, who were experienced in all the crafts and devices by which mines have been dug at the expense of the many and then made to enrich the few.
It was late at night when thefellow-travellers reached Denver. McCrea was depressed and silent, Geordie eager to push ahead. The former had had time to think over the situation, and in Chicago, while waiting for the Pacific express to start, he had had a fifteen-minute talk with a relative, a Western business man, to whom mining and undermining were matters well understood, and what this expert said had filled him with dismay. "You've simply been bled until you could bleed no more," said he. "Now they've no further use for you. What they want is your stock at five cents on the dollar, to sell to some new gudgeon at fifty. Why on earth, Mac, when you were considering this, didn't you consult me?" Why, indeed! Like many another man, Mac's eyes had been blinded, his ears deafened to everything but the wiles of the charmer. But with Geordie it was different. He had come because his father was bound to the wheel of duty and could not. Moreover, barring inexperience and youth, Geordie was better fitted to go and do than was his father, the doctor.
He would waste no time with agents. He would employ no lawyer—that was simply waste of both time and money. Of the former they had little and of the latter even less. But his brain was active and fertile. He had slept but little on their swift westward way until after crossing the Mississippi. His mother's grief at parting, and her speechless anxiety as to the dangers that might beset him, had affected him deeply, and at first his silence and preoccupation were due to that. But the fighting blood of the Graeme was in his veins, and against the abominable wrong these "sharks" would do his father and his scattered friends the young fellow was bent on giving valiant battle; and he thought he saw his way to strike and to strike hard.
McCrea had given him the names of most of the sergeants of the old regiment who, when their time expired, had taken their discharge and gone to the mines. Among them were three on whom he believed he could count to back him in a pinch. Among them was the veteran Nolan, on whom heknewhe could count.
McCrea had wired ahead to an old and trusted friend, a resident of Denver and a successful railway engineer. He was at the station waiting when the two alighted from their train. It was McCrea's plan to spend one day in Denver in consultation with certain officials, and then to spring a surprise on the "board" at Argenta two days later. He had wired to Fort Reno on the way, urging that one officer, at least, of those most interested should hasten to Denver and meet him, and in the hands of Mr. Warden, their engineer friend, was the reply: Captain Lee would be with them in the morning. To register at a prominent hotel would simply advertise their coming. Warden had seen to that and engaged quarters for them near his own. Thither they were to go at once, and, valises in hand, they followed Warden's lead, McCrea and their guide talking eagerly together, Geordie following, silent and observant. Toward the iron gateway they pressed, jostled and elbowed by hurrying passengers.
"It's but a few blocks' walk," Warden wassaying. "I've a cart to take your grips and we can chat as we go. I thought you'd be glad of a bite or a cup of tea or something before turning in. Mr. Ross, who wired Dr. Graham, is here, and he'll meet us at the restaurant. He thinks they are following him—shadowing him."
"Who?" asked McCrea.
"Why, the crowd that are trying to get control there of Silver Shield. Some of them live in Argenta, he says, and found out he had been in correspondence with the doctor, and that it was he who had given warning." Then, glancing over his shoulder as they neared the gate, and speaking to Geordie, he continued, "What is the name of the brewer up there who wanted your place at the Point for his son?"
"Breifogle."
"That's the man," answered Warden. "Ross says he's one of the leaders of the move. Most of his money has been made by freezing out other men."
And just at that moment, moving leisurely along in the rear of the train-load of belatedpassengers, they reached the exit gate, and the instant they came under the broad, blue-white glare of the electric globe overhead there was a sudden stir in the little gathering along the iron fence. A burly young man darted swiftly away, and in his haste tripped backward over an empty baby carriage. In a second he was floundering on the floor, his bowler hat rolling one way, his stick flying another. A shrill voice began to berate him as he struggled to his feet, but he paused neither to explain nor listen. He swooped for his hat and shot for a dark passage, but not before Geordie had caught a glimpse of his face.
"That was young Breifogle," said he.
There was no other train over the Transcontinental, westward, before 7.30A.M.They had reached Denver by the Pacific express, and in five minutes the sleeper in which the two had journeyed from Chicago would be whirling swiftly away for "The Springs" before beginning the long, tortuous climb over the huge bulwark between them and the watershed of the great Colorado beyond. There had really been no reason why Graham should stop over at Denver. He knew none of the officials of the Silver Shield there resident. He did not wish to know them. They had doubtless conspired with their associates at Argenta to "squeeze out" his father and friends. They hoped and expected to buy in for a song the valuable stock held by this scattered band ofsoldiers and some twenty or thirty prospective victims in the distant East. This would give them a controlling interest in the property. It would make them virtual owners of a valuable mine. It would make them richer by far than they were beforehand. This would impoverish, and it might ruin, many of the absent who had furnished the means by which Silver Shield was developed. It was robbery outright, but robbery of a kind so common in our country that people have become callous to it. It was by just such means and methods that many of the great fortunes of America have been won, and the winners ride to-day on the topmost wave of prosperity and popular acclaim, when, if the people but realized the truth, many an object of their adulation would be wearing convict stripes and prison pallor to the end of his dishonored days.
But Graham had journeyed with his long-time friend and senior officer—senior by seven years—and McCrea's plans, to a certain point, seemed to dominate those of the younger and less experienced man. McCrea's idea was to"tackle" the local directors first and compel recognition of their rights. He, as post quartermaster, had had business dealings with bankers and merchants both in Denver and Chicago. He believed that, reinforced by the presence of Captain Lee from Reno, he could make a certain impression, or else certain threats, that would bring these magnates to time.
But Dr. Graham, an older head, thought otherwise, had so instructed Geordie and so endeavored to impress McCrea. The men, said he, had planned this out. "They stand to lose little in the market if the stocks are 'beared.' They have invested little; we have invested our all. If nothing was found they could quit. If good ore was found, then it was their game to conceal the fact, to demand more and more money for more and more development, force us out, get our shares, and own the property. Why, laddie, the man that warned me dared not sign his name, for every wire was watched; yet I'd stake six months' pay he's got the rights of it. There's ore there in plenty!"
And so every indication said at the start. It wasn't until many Eastern people had been induced to invest (Dr. Graham's New York friends, the Fraziers, among them) that managers and directors began to tell dismal tales and ask for more and more. It was then that Dr. Graham bethought him of a brother Scot who dwelt near Argenta, a man once so poor that when his bairns were down with diphtheria he could not coax Argenta doctors out across the five-mile stretch of storm-swept, frozen prairie. It was the burly post surgeon from the fort who rode eight miles to and eight miles back in any kind of weather, night or day, until he snatched those babies back from death, and gave them, weak and gasping, yet alive, to the arms of their weeping and imploring and at last rejoicing mother. Oh, those are deeds that women remember so long as life remains to them, and that but few men forget, and the clansman, who couldn't begin to pay in cash for what "the Graeme" had done for him and his, could reward in fealty now. It was Donald Ross to whom the doctor hadwritten, and Ross who made investigation and reply.
And yet, though he had taken precaution to send his letter from a village post-office, and his message from a railway station ten miles east of Argenta, the spies of Silver Shield had heard of one or both, and now their watcher knew that two at least of the enemy were in their camp. For what else was young Breifogle there? For what but to give warning had he so suddenly vanished?
It was of all this that Geordie was thinking, as silently he strode along by the side of the two elders, hearing yet scarcely heeding their eager talk. He had plans and projects of his own. Father was not the only one who had a friend or two in Yampah and up the range. Veteran troopers of the old regiment were scouting there for gold and silver, where ten years earlier they had scouted for the red warriors of Colorow and Yampah Jack. If he could but get in touch with Nolan, with Feeny, with almost any one of those now mining who once rode in "E" Troop! If he could only reach some ofthe men he guided over the Divide to the successful capture of the gang that looted the First National! Oh, the shame of Breifogle's ingratitude! As one of the bank's directors at that time, he had pledged everlasting gratitude to the officers and troopers who had restored their treasure.
Suddenly Warden turned a corner, pushed back a swinging door, led the way into a clean, brightly lighted little "dairy" restaurant, passed on through to the less public tables partitioned off in alcoves of their own, and here, behind an outspread newspaper, sat, lonely and expectant, a broad-shouldered ranchman whose weather-beaten face beamed joyously at sight of the three, and whose big hands were on young Graham's squared shoulders before they had fairly shaken greeting to any one. "Geordie, mon, but it's glad I am to see ye!" was the whispered welcome. "Softly, now, there's—others here."
Quickly they were served with steaks, scrambled eggs, toast, tea or coffee, as they chose, and two at least were hungry, yet Geordie, brimful of eagerness to put his planinto execution, could hardly spare time to eat. Yes, Ross knew Nolan and Feeny of old. Many's the time they'd dropped in at the ranch when antelope-stalking down the foot-hills. Nolan had prospered. He and Feeny, both, when last heard of were somewhere up among the mines. Burns was in Collins's Camp on Lance Creek. Toomey and Scully had got "cleaned out" and were firing on the Transcontinental.
"Where?" demanded Geordie, his eyes dilating.
"Mountain Division, both of 'em. Toomey on the Mogul that pulls the Time Freight over the range—" And here Geordie stopped him.
"Hear this, Mr. McCrea," said he. "Toomey, of 'E' Troop, fireman on the big freight-engine! He'll surely know where the others are. Now,youknow the railway people. You say you've got to stay here a day or two. Getmepermission to ride on any freight-engine, Mountain Division, for the next three days, and I'm off for the mines before we're half a day older, and no man here or there the wiser."
"They'd spot you as you went through Argenta," said McCrea. "Breifogle will be watching every train."
"Everycarof every train, perhaps; but I'll be firing by the time we get there, black with soot and coal-dust, and they wouldn't know me if they saw me. If the division superintendent doesn't give it away—and you—who's to know I've turned fireman on a freight? There's my chance, McCrea, and you know it!"
"By Jove, Geordie, but I believe you're right," was McCrea's answer, rising to his feet and facing the eager young fellow across the table. "You're a 'dandy,' as was said of you on graduation day, only it was meant in a different sense. Who's in charge at the station now, Warden?" he asked, with sudden resolution. "I knew most of their traffic men when I was quartermaster."
Warden whipped out a railway folder. "Colorado Transcontinental," he read, and began skimming down a long list of official titles and names. Traffic managers, freight and passenger agents, superintendents,division superintendents, and then, "Here we are, Mountain Division: W.B. Anthony."
"Know him well," cried McCrea. "He brought the first passengers up to Argenta in eighty-seven. He was freight conductor on the U.P. when I was a boy at Cheyenne. We'll nab him first thing in the morning."
"Can't we nab him to-night?" asked Geordie.
McCrea laughed. "You're keen as your father, Pops," said he. "Niver put off till t'-morrow what can be done the day."
"The laddie's right," said Ross. "I'm betting you'll find him at the yards till after No. 2 comes in—the Flyer—that's due at 12.40."
And so it happened that, as the clocks were pointing to the quarter after midnight, Lieutenant Ralph McCrea and the newly appointed subaltern, both in plain travelling dress, once more appeared at the Union Station, and presently learned that Mr. Anthony was about the yard. It was not long thereafter that they found him, busy, as such men must ever be, yet recognizingMcCrea at a glance and giving him cordial welcome.
But when McCrea presented his friend, "Lieutenant Graham, whose father you probably knew as post surgeon at Reynolds," and then made his request, the official looked grave.
"It's against orders," said he. "The Old Man has jacked up more than one of the best engineers for allowing it. Why, the Governor had to get a permit from the general manager for his son to ride in the cab of the Flyer only last week, and for some reason they've shut down on our freight people entirely. Gil Frost, bringing his own brother, who used to fire on the Union Pacific, over on old 550 two weeks ago, had to dance the carpet the next morning right here in Denver."
"How do you break in yournewfiremen?" asked Geordie. "Some of our best men are firing for you now. They had to begin somehow, I suppose."
"Pitch 'em neck and crop into a cab, with a short-handled shovel and a sharp-tonguedold hand. It nigh breaks their backs, but they learn quick that way."
"Well, pitch me, neck and crop, into a cab, with as short a handle and sharp a tongue as you like, Mr. Anthony. I'm on three months' leave, and for reasons of my own want to learn how to fire an engine."
For a moment Anthony looked at the young fellow in amaze. Then the resolute, square-jawed, clean-cut face began to impress him.
"Well, I've been dealing with you army men out here nigh onto twenty years," said he, "and I'm blessed if I ever heard the like of that."
"Don't let it surprise you into telling it, Anthony, that's all," put in McCrea. "Here! Let me give you a pointer—you've got a West Pointer. I've known you for a square man ever since we were stationed at Russell," and, linking his arm in that of the astonished official, McCrea drew him a few paces away from the point where they found him, with a great passenger-engine hissing and throbbing close at hand, waiting to take the Flyerwhirling eastward toward the Missouri. Geordie stood silently and watched them. He saw the wonderment in Anthony's strong face give way to interest as McCrea talked rapidly on; saw interest deepen to sympathy and a certain excitement. In three minutes Anthony broke away and came hurrying back, looking at his watch.
"Mr. Graham," said he, "d' you want to go up the line this very night? Could you be ready in two hours?"
"I'm ready now," was the instant reply. "All I want is an old cap and overalls—the blacker the better."
Away up among the Rockies, with towering, pine-fringed, snow-sprinkled crests looming dimly about them in the moonlight, two young men stood waiting by a switch-target of the Transcontinental. Facing westward, they could see the huge bulk of the mountain range rolling up between them and the starry sky-line, black and forbidding in the middle distance, yet fading away northward and southward into faint and tender outlines—soft grays and violets—and with the earliest signals in the East of the speedy coming of the long summer's day. Facing eastward, there confronted them close at hand the huge black bulk of the mammoth Mogul engine, its dazzling head-light shining afar up the westward right of way, and throwing into heavier shade, byforce of contrast, every object outside its beams. In the solemn stillness of nature in those high levels, almost the only sound was the soft hiss of escaping steam from the cylinder-cocks or an occasional rumble from the boiler. Even murmured words seemed audible and intelligible sixty feet away, and twice big Ben Tillson, the engineer of 705, had pricked up his ears as he circled about his giant steed, oiling the grimy joints, elbows, and bearings, and pondering in his heavy, methodical way over certain parting instructions that had come to him from the lips of the division superintendent. "A young feller learning firing" would board him at Chimney Switch, forty miles out from the Springs, and the Boss desired Ben Tillson to understand that "The Road" had its reasons, and the "young feller" was to be spared the customary quizzing. Furthermore, Ben Tillson was to understand that nothing was to be said about it. If anybody at Argenta or among the mines had any questions to ask, Ben was to know next to nothing.
But what set Ben's wits to work was theodd behavior of his fireman, Jim Toomey. Toomey was a silent sort of chap as a rule, and surely, too, with a grudge against the gang over in Hatch's Cove and up the Run. Toomey had taken to firing because he had got cleaned out at the mines. Toomey ordinarily wasn't over-civil to anybody. Toomey, too, had been favored with a word from Mr. Anthony, and never had Big Ben seen his fireman more cheery over his work than he was that night as they panted and strained up the foot-hills to Chimney Switch. Ben could have sworn Toomey was "excited like" when they side-tracked there for a way-train, and never in the course of Big Ben's experience had he seen an old fireman greet a would-be as Toomey welcomed the tall "young feller" in the dirty cap, shirt, and overalls who there clambered into the cab. Twice, Ben could have further sworn, he had heard Toomey say "sir," a word Toomey used to no one less than the division superintendent.
Somewhat grudgingly and suspiciously, therefore, had Ben nodded greeting and looked the "young feller" over. He did notextend his hand. The new-comer had on a pair of oiled-buck gauntlets, "soldier gauntlets," such as the cavalry used to have at Reynolds, that "all the boys in the cabs are stuck on." Even at the hardest kind of shovelling they outlived every other kind a dozen weeks, and the fireman was a lucky malefactor who could induce a soldier to part with his.
And though the "young feller's" cap and clothing were strictly and unimpeachably professional and grimy, it was the face no less than the gloves and boots that told Ben Tillson this was no needy seeker after a job. The boots were new and fine, laced daintily up the front, and showed their style even through the lack of polish and the coating of dust and ashes. The gauntlets also, though worn and old, were innocent of grease. This was no cub fireman, said Ben, resentfully, as he revolved in mind a scheme or two that should take the stuffing of conceit out of him, when suddenly he paused. "Why, certainly," Ben had it, just another case such as he had been reading about,how the sons of successful railway magnates, discarding wealth and luxuries, had determined to learn the business from the bottom up and fit themselves for future eminence in railway circles. The "young feller" must be a Gould or a Vanderbilt, a Ledyard, a Huntington, a son of somebody at the financial head of things. While sacrificing none of his steady self-reliance or self-respect, Ben Tillson decided to treat his new fireman, assistant to the old, with all due civility. He would cringe or kowtow to no one, but, like the sturdy citizen he was, Ben deemed it wise to keep on the good side of the powers. It was necessary, however, that the new-comer should understand who was boss on that engine, and even as they stood waiting at the Chimney Ben had taken occasion to say, "I see you're not stuck on shovelling, young man"; then with a most knowing and suggestive wink, "I reckon you'd rather do tennis or tiddlywinks," and was surprised at the answer.
"As matters stand, I'd rather be shovelling here than playing tennis—anywhere."
"It's the first time you ever saw the West from a cab-window, I'm betting," said Ben. And George Graham, who had seen more of the West than Ben could ever hope to see, and who knew the Silver Run country before ever the railway reached the foot-hills, had the wisdom to answer, "You'd win."
And now at Buffalo Butte 705 was side-tracked, awaiting the coming of passenger No. 4, east bound, and then—then there would be a clear run to and through Argenta. Then would come the familiar scenes about old Fort Reynolds; then the wild and picturesque beauty of Squaw Cañon and Hatch's Cove, and then George Graham would be able to judge by surface indications how far his disguise had really disguised him. Toomey had already told him where Nolan and Feeny could be found. Toomey was to send word or a letter to both of them, and then it would be time to decide on the next move.
For now the scheme was to reach the heart of what might be called the enemy's country, and to get there unsuspected, unobserved, and thus far all was working well.
It was the second morning after his reaching Denver. Mr. Anthony had put him through to the Springs, and then to Chimney Switch, where he was to wait for 705 and Toomey. And even now as they stood there, he and Toomey, exchanging at intervals some low-toned words at the switch, the eastward skies were slowly taking on their early morning garb of pink and violet, the eastward fronts of the snow-sifted peaks and domes far to the north and south were lighting up with wondrous hues of gold and crimson; the stars aloft were paling and the moon was sinking low, and still big 705 stood hissing and grumbling placidly on the long siding, and the green lights back at the caboose blinked sleepily against the dawn. Two glimmering threads of light in rigid right lines, converging far beyond the rear of the train, stretched eastward from their feet until lost in the shadows of Buffalo Butte, and not yet had Toomey's accustomed ear been able to detect the faint, whirring, song of the rails that tells of the coming of far-distant, thundering wheels. "She's late again,"said Toomey, uneasily. "We should have heard her whistling for Spearman's Ranch five minutes ago, and I wanted to pull you out of Argenta before seven o'clock."
"You still think I'm not grimy enough," said Geordie, with a grin. "I can lay on a coat of coal-dust—"
"'Tisn't that," came the murmured answer, with a shake of the head. "It's the back and shoulders, sir. You couldn't turn yourself hindside-foremost, could you, and get your chest between your shoulder-blades?"
"I can cultivate a stoop," said Geordie, with a forward hunch of the shoulders. "But there you go with that 'sir' again. We're in uniform, but not that of the cavalry. You'll betray me yet, Toomey, if you're not careful. Now, about the stoop—"
"It might do, s—, if you could keep it, but from the time you came to Reynolds you were the straightest boy in the garrison, and now, with four years at West Point, you've got a back on you flat as a board. That's what's going to queer us in passing you off for a kid fireman. It was hard enough goingthrough before it was fairly light. Now, unless No. 4 gets in in five minutes, the sun will be lighting the length of the shed at Argenta, and we've got cars to cut out there, too. Confound No. 4!"
And then a certain superfluous lantern, bleary with a night of service, came dawdling up the side of the train, and the conductor hove in sight, watch in hand. "Four left Argenta on time," said he to the engineer. "What the mischief keeps her? She ought to have gone by five minutes ago. Who's yonder with Toomey?"
"Friend of his; young feller from Chimney, learning firing. Old man's orders," he added, at sight of rebuke in the conductor's eyes. "Told me himself to take him along and give him a show."
The conductor set his lantern down near the fore truck of the tender. He did not half like it that a superior should give orders to his engineer that did not come through him. He had been a soldier in his day and accustomed to military ways of doing things. He was already chafing over a delay that wouldbring him behind time to Argenta. Now he was nettled at this apparent slight. "When did he tell you, and where?" was the demand. "He was at Denver the last I saw of him."
"He ran out to the Springs on No. 5; passed you at Monument, probably; spoke to me at the round-house about ten o'clock." And having thus summarily settled the matter, Big Ben clambered sulkily once more into the cab.
The conductor made a grimace expressive of much disgust. Presently he turned, left his lantern by the side of the engine, and then came angering on to the switch. He decided to see for himself what the stranger was like.
In the gray light of the dawn the two young men, one of them stockily, strongly built, the other very slender and erect, were absorbed in eager talk. Not until the conductor was within five yards of them did Graham note his coming and signal "Hush." Abruptly came the challenge:
"'Ain't you heard her whistle yet,Toomey?" and the tone implied that sheer neglect could be the only explanation for Toomey's failure in case no whistle had been heard.
"Nary whistle," was the indifferent answer.
"Well, how could you expect to hear it? You were talking a blue streak." And while the conductor's rebuke was levelled at Toomey, his sombre eyes were on Graham.
"Doing that to keep awake," was the blunt reply. "Haven't been to bed for thirty hours."
"That's nothing. In my day a-soldiering we didn't get to bed once a week. That's when we was after Morgan. You regulars couldn't stand that, I s'pose."
"In my day we didn't get to bed once a month," answered Toomey, with equal truth. "That was when we was after Sittin' Bull. The volunteers that started onthatchase petered out at Powder River."
The conductor sniffed. It had been give and take 'twixt him and Toomey ever since the discovery that each had served in the cavalry. Beaten thus far in the battle ofchaff, the conductor tried another as he studied Geordie with unfriendly eyes.
"Got a kid fireman here—'nother of y'r officers' dog-robbers?" he demanded.
Toomey whirled on him in an instant, in spite of Geordie's quick-gripping hand. "You're boss on this train, Cullin," said he, savagely, "and you know I can't jaw back as you deserve, but if Bob Anthony happens to be where he can hear ofthatremark, you'll get your time orI'ma liar."
For a moment Cullin stood and glared, wrath and humiliation commingling. Graham it was who quickly stepped forward and interposed.
"Yes, I'm playing kid fireman, Mr. Cullin," said he, quietly, "and I was told by the division superintendent if any trouble arose to give this to the conductor," whereat he held forth a card on the back of which dimly appeared some written words. Over these Cullin glanced, unappeased, until he came to the last line and signature. Then a curious change swept slowly over his face. He looked Graham carefully, doubtfullyfrom head to foot, slowly thrust the card in a waistcoat-pocket, and was turning silently away when Geordie hailed him, a ready smile on his young face.
"I'll trouble you for the card," said he. "I may meetotherconductors."
Slowly Cullin fumbled for it, twiddled it between his fingers, and finally, half reluctant, restored it. At that instant, faint, distant, but distinct, came the sound of the whistle of the belated No. 4. "That's for Spearman's now," thought Geordie, but so tense had been the scene that for a moment no man spoke.
Then Toomey gave tongue.
"She'll go by here kiting," said he. "Ten miles down-grade and a two-mile straightaway from Cimarron Bend, out yonder." Again the whistle, and nearer. "That's for the crossing at the creek. By gad, she's just jumping! Hang onto your hair when you see her head-light and scramble for the cab."
Another whistle, two short blasts and a long. Nearer still, yet still out of sight; and then presently there shot into view, overa mile away to the west, even though the gray light of the summer's dawn now overspread the landscape, the glare of a head-light. It was No. 4 coming full tilt.
And then—surprise! From steam-drum and 'scape-valve jetted clouds of flat-driven steam. No. 4 had suddenly "shut off," and was now coasting downhill like a huge toboggan.
Another blast came from the whistle. "By Jove, she's going to stop!" said Cullin. "What on earth's the meaning of that?"
With prodigious shriek and roar of steam, with clinching, crunching air-brakes on the glistening tires, with sparks flying from the whirring wheels and signal-lanterns swinging at the side, No. 4 came rushing in. As the baggage-car shot by, a little group of men stood by the doorway about a recumbent figure, and the conductor whisked up his lantern and started after it. When nearly opposite the caboose the big train settled to a stop. Four pairs of strong arms lifted the prostrate figure from one car to the other. There were brief, hurried words. A lanternwaved; the whistle sounded two quick blasts; No. 4 slowly started, quickly gained speed, and, almost as quickly as it came, was steaming away for Buffalo Butte, its pale lamps gleaming dimly in the gathering light. The conductor came running forward.
"Pull out for Argenta, Ben!" he shouted. "Say, young feller, drop shovelling and come back. I've got nobody to help me, and here No. 4's loaded me with a half-dead man to be taken home. There's a row at the mines. Every man is out from Silver Shield!"