Slowly, jerkily, the Time Freight began to gather headway as the big Mogul pulled, hissing loudly, from the siding to the main track, the ugly brown cars winding grudgingly after. This was before the days of mile-long freight-trains with air-brakes and patent couplers. Over the grades of the Transcontinental no engine yet had pulled more than twenty "empties." There was ever the danger of breaking in two. In the dim interior of the caboose the conductor, with Geordie Graham by his side, was bending over a battered and dishevelled form. As the rear trucks went clicking over the switch-points, the former sprang to the open doorway to see that his brakeman reset and locked the switch, and with a swift run overtook the caboose and swung himself aboard.
"I'll be up in a minute, Andy," cried Cullin to his aid, already scrambling up the iron ladder for his station on the roof. "This poor devil's battered into pulp and I can't leave him." And again he was by Graham's side—Graham who, kneeling now and sponging with cold water the bruised, hacked, disfigured face of the senseless victim, had made a startling discovery.
Here, with his clothing ripped, torn, and covered with dirt and blood, with one arm obviously broken and his head beaten, kicked, and cruelly gashed—here, beyond a doubt, lay the man who nearly five years earlier had been the one obstacle between him and the goal of his ambition, the cadetship at West Point; here lay the son of the man probably most prominent in the conspiracy against the absent shareholders of Silver Shield; here, in fine, lay the almost lifeless body of the youth he had seen spying upon their arrival at Denver—young Breifogle himself.
By this time the Mogul was grinding her way up the track, in determined effort to landthe Time Freight in the yards at Argenta before the whistle blew for seven o'clock. It was a twelve-mile pull up-grade, every inch of the way—twisting, turning, and tunnelling, as has been said—and the caboose reeled and swayed from side to side as it rounded the reverse curves and swung at the tail of the train. Cullin, lantern in hand, had climbed to his seat in the lookout.
"I've got to be up here," he explained, "till we are through the tunnels. Do what you can. I suppose sponging is all wecando."
Graham nodded. He had stripped the leather-covered cushion from the conductor's chair, and with this and a rolled coat made a support for the senseless head. He had a fire-bucket of cold water, and even as he plied the wet sponge and sought to stanch the trickling blood, his wits were at work. The men on No. 4 had only time to say that four miles out from Argenta, down the Run beyond Narrow Gauge Junction, their whistle suddenly shrieked, the air-brakes were set with a clamp that jolted the whole train,and they slowed down just enough not to knock into flinders a hand-car that was sailing ahead of them, down-grade. "The pilot hit it a lick that tossed it into the ditch," No. 4's crew had explained, and beside it they had found—this.
And "this" it was now Geordie's task and duty to keep alive until they could turn it over to competent hands at Argenta. "This," which others failed to know, he had recognized. "This" it was for him to make known, yet in so doing he might betray himself and the purpose of his coming, and so undo every hope and plan he had made. There was no Toomey to help him now—no devoted ex-trooper and friend to back him. Engineer, fireman, conductor, and brakemen, every man of the crew had to be at his post as the freight panted away up the winding mountain road. The crew of No. 4 had searched the pockets in vain for a clew as to the injured man's identity. Everything was gone. His assailants had seen to that. Not a scrap had been found that could account for him. Even the shirt "tab" bore no initials;the watch-pocket of the trousers bore no name. The garments had been purchased ready-made and gave no sign.
Then there was another matter to be considered. Badly as he was battered and bruised, the man was not dying. Graham knew how to test the pulse, and its strength told him not to fear. The chances were that his patient would return to consciousness before very long. Then recognition of his grimy attendant would probably follow. Breifogle was no fool, as Graham remembered, and a fireman's black cap and sooty shirt and overalls would be but scant disguise.
And to carry out his plan it was essential that he should pass through Argenta, reach Hatch's Cove and eventually the Silver Shield mine, and reach this latter unknown and unsuspected. Toomey and he had hit on a plan—once Toomey could succeed in getting word to Nolan. But that, reasoned Geordie, might be impossible now in view of this new complication—serious trouble at the mines, and "every man out at Silver Shield."
If only he could see Toomey again for a moment! That was impossible. Toomey's every muscle was needed to keep that fiery and insatiable monster fed with fuel every rod of the way to Argenta. There was no intermediate stop. There could be no signals—no sending of a message. Half the distance had they gone, panting and straining, barely fifteen miles to the hour. Broad daylight, and then the rejoicing sunshine, had come to cheer and gladden and revive, and Cullin shouted inquiry, as he bent down from his perch, and Graham nodded or shook his head by way of reply. Swiftly and scientifically he kept up the play of the sponges; shook his head to Cullin's suggestion of a little more whiskey—the frontier's "first aid" for every kind of mishap. The pulse said there was no further need of it, at the moment at least. And then, as they rumbled over some resounding bridge-work and crossed the swift and foaming Run, the train crept under the shadow of the cliff and stretched away over a bit of open, undulating grassland, and then the racket ceased for awhile and it was possible, by bending down, to catch the patient's breathing.
And it gave Geordie an idea.
The poor, bruised head was turning in restless pain; the puffed and swollen lips were moving; the still unconscious man was muttering. Not a word could Geordie distinguish. It was all guesswork. But, glancing up at Cullin, he called: "He's trying to talk. Perhaps I can get his name," and again inclined his ear and bent down over the luckless fellow's face. "Yes," he said, loudly, so that Cullin could hear—"yes, I understand.... Don't worry.... You're with friends.... Tell us your name and home.... What? Try once again.... Bry—what? Oh, Breifogle?... Yes. Argenta? That's just where we're going. We'll be there very soon. Don't try to talk more now." And again the sponge was busily plied, and then the grimy nurse glanced upward at Cullin, now shinning down from his perch in the skylight. "His home's right ahead at Argenta. Breifogle's the name."
"Breifogle!" shouted Cullin, aghast."Why, that's the big brewer, banker, mine-owner, and Lord knows what all—that owns half of Yampah County and wants to own the rest. Could he tell who slugged him? Does he know anything about it? Ask him."
Obediently Geordie put the question, but no answer came. "Seems to have wandered off," he said. "Perhaps we'd be wise to worry him with no more questions. If he's what you say, they'll be looking everywhere for him. When did the men at Silver Shield go out?"
"Yesterday morning at ten o'clock, so they said on No. 4. There was a pack of 'em come down to Argenta to get to the owners, they said. By gad, they seem to have gotatone of 'em!"
A moan from the sufferer was the only answer. Graham shook his head. "How soon can you make it?" he asked. "The sooner this man's in expert hands the better 'twill be."
"Twelve minutes," said Cullin, with a snap of his silver watch-lid. "Youseem no slouch of a handler yourself. Where'd you learn?"
"I lived with a doctor awhile," was the quiet answer. "He had to patch men upoccasionally." And Geordie could barely suppress the grin that twitched the corners of his mouth. How strangely already his adventure was faring! "I suppose after hammering him senseless they set him adrift on that hand-car, hoping it would finish him and hide their crime," he hazarded.
"Looks like it," was Cullin's short answer as once more he climbed to his station.
Ten minutes later they were slowly trundling in among a maze of tracks and sidings, with long trains of gondolas, coal-cars, and dingy-brown freight-boxes on both sides. Cullin was shouting to invisible switchmen, and presently the train came bumping to a stand. Another minute and two or three early birds among the yardmen were climbing aboard and curiously, excitedly, peering over Geordie's head. He never looked up. Calmly he continued his sponging. Then Cullin's voice was heard again. A stretcher was thrust in at the rear door. Three or four men, roughly dressed, but with sorrow and sympathy in their careworn faces, bent over the prostrate body.They seemed to look to Graham for instructions.
"BIG BEN WAS BUSY WITH HIS OIL-CAN""BIG BEN WAS BUSY WITH HIS OIL-CAN"ToList
"BIG BEN WAS BUSY WITH HIS OIL-CAN"ToList
"You know where to take him?" he asked. "All right, then, I'll leave him with you." And before the station-master or other official could come, Graham had seen his patient transferred to the stretcher, borne forth into the sunshine and away to the passenger-room. Then, slipping from the left rear steps, with the train between him and the building, Geordie sauntered, softly whistling, up to the front again, and in five minutes was helping Toomey at the cab.
It was not yet seven. Big Ben was busy with his oil-can. Three cars had been cut out from the train and run to a platform close at hand. It was high time they were off again, but the conductor was held in the office, whither he had gone for orders, as well as to report concerning their unsought passenger. Toomey was still angered against Cullin, between whom and himself there was ever more or less friction, but Geordie had begun to take a fancy to him. Cullin would never have said what he did had heknown the identity of Toomey's pupil, and Geordie argued that Cullin's gruff and insolent greeting was in reality a tribute to his powers—a recognition of the fact that he looked the part he was trying to play.
With so very much at stake depending on Graham's remaining unrecognized, with old Fort Reynolds only six miles ahead, and Silver Shield only twenty-six farther, it would be foolish to become involved in a squabble. But Toomey had been nursing his wrath. Big Ben was not too fond of Cullin, and Geordie found that they were quite bent on making trouble at first opportunity. In spite of the early hour an air of excitement pervaded the station. Many men were idling about the passenger platform, and here and there little groups could be seen in muttered conversation. There was no laughter, no light-hearted chaff. It was noted by both men in the cab, before Geordie rejoined them, that as the injured man was borne on his stretcher across the yard into the passenger station, these groupsseemed rather to edge away instead of crowding about in morbid curiosity.
No need to ask who or what they were. The pallor of the faces, so startling in contrast to the healthy tan of the ranch folk or the swarthy grime of the railway men—the mud-splashed boots and trousers told their tale. They were miners to a man, and miners in ugly mood.
"The town's been full of 'em since noon yesterday," said a yardman to Ben, in answer to his question. "They are here to see the Silver Shield officers, and have been told they'd be up from Denver on No. 3. They chased old Breifogle out of his office yesterday afternoon, and he's been hiding ever since. Young Breifogle has been missing ever since yesterday noon."
"That's him on the stretcher," said Big Ben, gloomily, for the news was already flying round. "Cullin says he's about done for. This young feller in here took care of him all the way up from Buffalo Butte. No. 4 picked him up down the gulch and put him aboard us there."
A long whistle was the only comment. At the first words spoken by the yardman, a quick glance passed between the two young men on the opposite, the fireman's, side of the cab. They could not see the speaker, but they knew the voice. It was that of a former trooper of the —th, another soldier who had sought to treble his savings at the mines and had lost them all; then, too proud to return and "take on" again, had found starvation-wages at Argenta.
"Stay here," whispered Toomey, "and keep sittin'." Then, wiping his hands on a wad of waste, and with an affable grin on his face, he swung over behind Ben and leaned out of the cab.
"Hullo, Scotty! Any of our fellers in that outfit?"
"Hullo, Toomey! None of 'em withthatgang, but there's three of 'em came, and old Nolan's head of the whole caboodle. He's their cap' and spokesman."
"Nolan! Nolan here?" cried Toomey, in great excitement, while Geordie felt his heart beating hard.
"Nolan, as big as life and twice as wicked."
For a moment Graham's spirits sank like lead. Nolan, the stanch old soldier who had been his foremost trooper friend and guide, was the man of all others on whom he pinned his faith, on whose help he had relied, and upon whose loyalty and devotion he was ready to stake his every hope of success. And now—so said this former soldier and comrade—now Nolan was here in Argenta, instead of up at the mines, here with a mob of strikers, their leader and spokesman, chief of the crew, possibly, that had nearly done to death the son of one of the principal directors of Silver Shield.
That Breifogle was his father's enemy, and a leading spirit in the plot to rob him, Geordie Graham knew full well. That Breifogle the younger had been sent to Denverto watch for the coming of Dr. Graham, McCrea, or others of the officers, all of whom he knew by sight and name, there was every reason to believe; but that Nolan should take part in or countenance the mobbing of the Breifogles, or any others of the mine-owners, was abhorrent, if not impossible.
Now for the moment Geordie longed for the presence of McCrea, who had remained in Denver in hopes of bringing local officials to their senses and his terms. And McCrea, for his part, was at the same moment wishing to Heaven he had followed Geordie's lead and pushed ahead for the field of battle. The Denverite members of the board, warned of his presence, had easily managed to elude him, and with others were now on their way to Argenta for a special meeting, while McCrea was still held at a distance, lured by an appointment for a conference to come off that very morning at eleven, long three hours after the other conferees had vanished from town.
But no older head was there to advise. Graham alone, representing the aggrievedshareholders, was at the scene of action. He could take counsel with no man on the ground. Win or lose he must decide and act for himself. Here he sat in the cab of the Mogul, impatient only five minutes back to push ahead for the mines, to get away without recognition. Now it might well be that the point at which to act was right here in town.
"The mine is being operated at heavy expense and loss," had been the latest wail from the secretary. "There is not ore enough in sight to begin to pay the wages of the men. Yet every test convinces us that abundant results must follow further development." Another assessment, therefore, on top of all previous levies, had been the imperative demand. Geordie did not know it, but that pound was the last that broke the hold of three. They had sold their stock for what it would bring, and Breifogle and his clique were laughing in their sleeves. They knew there was ore in abundance, both in sight and touch. Geordie and McCrea believed it, and believed that if the one couldestablish the fact, and the other could bring the directors to book with proof of foul measures to squeeze out the small shareholders, victory would be in their hands.
But what was to be done now? By this time the fact that young Breifogle had been fearfully beaten must be known to every man about the station, and was swiftly racing to the opening doors of every shop, office, and homestead in town. By this act the miners had destroyed every hope of sympathy, or even, possibly, of justice. Whatever their grievance it could not warrant murder. But whatwastheir grievance? What could have precipitated trouble at the mines and a wholesale walkout at Silver Shield? What could have brought the miners, nearly a hundred strong, here to Argenta, with Nolan at their head—Nolan, who had been the company's faithful servant, the best manager of men, the most level-headed and reliable "boss" at the Silver Shield?
Toomey's friend had hurried away, for sound of increasing excitement came from the groups, now merging into one, about thetelegraph office. Big Ben swung himself out of the cab once more, and with arms akimbo stood watching the distant gathering, wishing Cullin would come with orders or else with explanation of the delay. This left Graham and Toomey alone in the cab, and Toomey's first question was, "What can you do now, sir?"
"Find Nolan," was the brief answer, "and get to the bottom of this."
"Orders may come any minute," said Toomey, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "We'll have to pull out and go ahead. You couldn't—stay here at Argenta, could you?"
"I mayhaveto. Here's Cullin now."
"But no orders," said Toomey, with a gasp of relief, for from far over the tracks, catching sight of his watchful engineer, Cullin had waved his hand, palm towards them, twice to and fro, a gesture so like the Indian sign "No go" that Geordie knew its meaning at a glance. Silently they awaited his coming and listened, breathless, for his tidings when he came.
"What's the row about?" asked Ben, as Cullin reached them, breathing hard.
"Why, about their boss, it seems. The company gave him the bounce yesterday, and ordered him off the premises. He demanded fair play and a hearing, and then young Breifogle, who had gone up with the order for his discharge, began abusing him. Nolan—that's the man's name—called him down, and then Breifogle broke loose and cursed him, called him traitor and all manner of names, and ordered some of his men to throw him out. They did it, too, and brought on a fight. Breifogle and his friends were armed and the men were not. They shot two miners, arrested the 'ringleaders,' as they called 'em, and locked 'em up. Then the men quit the mine and laid for Breifogle when he tried to get out. He hired a rig and drove t'other way, out to Miners' Joy, slid out on the Narrow Gauge last night, and there was a dozen of 'em headed him off down at the Junction. Nolan and his crowd had come down here to see the directors and get their rights. Of course some of them did it, and there you are!"
"Where's Nolan now?" asked Toomey.
"Whereishe? Over at the company's office waiting for the directors, when he ought to be making tracks for Mexico."
Graham's heart had been beating harder with every word. It bounded with wrath as he listened to this, yet listened in silence and stern self-control. But Toomey got a dig in the ribs that plainly said, "Make him say why."
"'Twouldn't be like Long Nolan to be skipping when he's needed by his friends," growled Toomey. "He's no quitter, if hewasat Powder River," whereby it was Cullin's turn to get a dig, and little did he relish it.
"That's another I owe you, Toomey," said he, "and we'll settle it by-and-by. Just now I'm thinking for your friend, if you are not. I knew him before ever you did, and would go ten miles to your one to help him. What you haven't sense enough to see is, that it won't be an hour before the sheriff's after him with a warrant, and if Breifogle dies he'll swing, sure as death. He was raving when they threw him out of the gate, and swore he would get even with Breifogle,and when it comes to trial there'll be a dozen witnesses to swear that hedid. What kind of a trial do you think he'd have here at Argenta, with half the town owned by Breifogle & Co.?"
This was, indeed, putting a new face on it, and still Graham listened in silence, trying to control the quiver and tingle of his nerves.
There came a sudden call from the office. Shoving his way through the little mass of miners on the platform, the station-agent stepped to the edge and waved a hand to Cullin, but the hand was empty. The release order had not come. The big Mogul and the freight were still held, and now it was much after seven, and Argenta all astir. Cullin turned doggedly away. He seemed to know what was coming and did not half like it. Leaping down from the platform and striding over the cinder-blackened ties, the agent met him before he crossed the second track—met him and spoke in tone so low even Big Ben could not hear. All three men at the cab, they could not help it, were listening eagerly. It was easy to see,however, that the station-master was seeking information Cullin could not or dared not give. Every gesture, the upheaved shoulders, the sideward droop of the head, the forward toss of the hands, palms to the front, all as much as said, "Don't ask me." Then the agent turned slowly away, walked a dozen steps, looked back, and called:
"I'll tell 'em what you say, but you'd better come yourself. Narrow Gauge'll get 'the Old Man' on the wire presently, then you'll have to. I'm betting they hold you here till you do."
"Not if I know myself or—my orders," growled Cullin, as he returned, black-browed, to the cab.
"What's up?" asked Big Ben, presently, seeing that the conductor waited to be asked.
"Why, those Narrow Gauge fellows—they're owned here, you know—claim that two of their men were shot by the same gang that did up Breifogle. They're wiring both ways from the Junction, up here for sheriff and detectives, and down to the Springs for BobAnthony. They say No. 4 and I both know things about the slugging we haven't told. They say No. 4 took three of the sluggers away, and that we're hiding some to take up into the mountains and turn 'em loose where they'll be safe. The only man with us is—this kid," and Cullin looked up darkly into the cab, his gloomy eyes on Geordie's coal-blackened face.
Now, indeed, it was time for action, and, quietly as he could, Geordie put the question:
"Did you tell them you had a stranger in the cab?"
"Told 'em you were the only thing—or kind—I had."
"But you told them I'd come all the way with you from Chimney Switch, did you not?"
"I didn't tell 'em anything except what I said to Folder here—the station-master. I told 'em, through him, if they wanted anything on this train they needn't ask me. I wasn't responsible."
Graham and Toomey exchanged quick glances. A wretched end would it be to alltheir planning if Geordie should now be dragged off the cab as accessory to the assault on young Breifogle, his helpless charge and patient of the early morning hours.
Yet that was just what now was likely to happen. Resentful of there being a mystery about the cab, a secret he was not allowed to share—an outsider made known by Cullin's superiors to Cullin's subordinates, yet not presented to him—true to human nature Cullin had told what Geordie would conceal. In less than no time the enemy would know 705 had brought a stranger within their gates who was too wary to come by passenger-train. In less than ten minutes they might be there with a warrant for his arrest.
And at that very moment there went up a shout from the group of miners at the office. One of their kind had come running in, breathless and alarmed. Three or four words only had he spoken, but they were enough. As one man the twoscore turned and ran for the broad street beyond the passenger station, were swallowed up in the gap between the express and baggage sheds and the passengerwaiting-rooms, and could be heard shouting loudly beyond the high board fence—a chorus of cheers that seemed to start near the main entrance and went travelling on the wings of the wind westward up the lively street.
And a moment later, even while they were wondering, out came "Folder here," the agent—this time paper in hand and waving for Cullin. "Orders at last," said Cullin, and sprang to get them. And this time both Graham and Toomey swung from the cab and eagerly followed. "Warrant out for Nolan!" they heard Folder say, "but they'll not get him here. The gang has whisked him away to the Fort and beyond, I reckon; and the sheriff who goes to Silver Shield takes his life in his hands." Then his eyes fell on the two firemen. "One ofyou'swanted," he added, "but I don't know which, and they're coming now."
He pointed down the yard toward the east entrance. Almost on the run, two men came hurrying in. Toomey grabbed Geordie's sleeve. "They sha'n't have youhere, anyhow. Jump for the cab." And jump theydid, all three. Moved now by some indefinable sympathy he had not felt before, Cullin urged them on, and thrust the order into Big Ben's hairy fist as it swung from the window. Ben gave one glance, his left hand grasping the lever; Toomey made a flying leap for the bell-cord; Geordie scrambled in after; hiss went the steam-cocks; clang went the bell, and with an explosive cough that shook her big frame almost free of the rails the Mogul heaved slowly ahead. The shortened "Time Freight" picked up its heels and came jerkily after, and with her ponderous drivers rolling swifter and swifter, and the heavy panting speedily changing to short, quick, and quickening puffs, faster and faster big 705 swung clear of the switch-points, smoothly rounded to the main line, and with its dozen brown chickens following close, Indian file, after the fussy old hen in the lead, away went the fast freight, flaunting its green flags at the rear in the face of the pursuit, and the deputies drew up disgusted at the edge of the yard, their signals and their shouts unheeded.
Three miles out and the Mogul's six drivers were spinning like so many tops. Flat along the grimy roofs of the heaving freight-cars behind, the cloud of coal smoke from her stunted chimney fled rearward until clear of the train, then drifted idly across the rolling uplands. Ahead and to right and left, distant, snow-capped summits barred the sky-line. On either side the gray-green slopes, bare and treeless, billowed away, higher and higher toward the range, with here and there a bunch of fattening cattle gazing stupidly at the invaders of their peace and quietude. Close at hand to the left the murky waters of the stream flashed quickly by. Close at hand to the right the hard-beaten prairie road meandered over the sod. There had been a ridge or two andsome sharp curves just west of town, and now, as they rounded the last of these and flew out upon an almost level track, the bottom of some prehistoric mountain lake, the eyes of two of the three silent occupants of the cab were strained along the gleaming rails ahead, and almost at the same instant the same thought sprang to the lips of each—Big Ben, with his left hand at the throttle, hunched up on his shelf, his cap pulled down over the bushy brows, and Geordie, across the cab on the fireman's seat, clinging to the window-frame to withstand the lurching of the throbbing monster, while between them, on the coal-blackened floor, Toomey, with his big shovel flinging open the iron gate to the blazing furnace for every new mouthful he fed it, and snapping it shut when he turned away for another, for not a whiff of the draught could be wasted. Once past the deserted station at the Fort there would come eight miles of twisting and turning and struggling up-grade, and every pound of steam would be needed to pull even this baker's dozen of heavily laden cars now thundering merrily along behind.
"NOT A WHIFF OF THE DRAUGHT COULD BE WASTED""NOT A WHIFF OF THE DRAUGHT COULD BE WASTED"ToList
"NOT A WHIFF OF THE DRAUGHT COULD BE WASTED"ToList
Only two short, smooth miles ahead lay the low ridge that formed the eastern boundary of the old reservation. Beyond it, on the broadmesa, stood the buildings of the frontier garrison, once Geordie's home and refuge. The tall flag-staff came suddenly into view, and in less than four minutes they would be rushing by. Over forty miles to the hour were they flying now. Big Ben had just let out another notch as they swung into the two-mile tangent, when at the same instant he and Geordie caught sight of three or four black dots dimly bobbing in the midst of a little dust-cloud on the roadway far ahead, and almost at the same instant came from each the low cry, "There they are!"
Toomey dropped his shovel and glanced forward over Ben's burly shoulder, then, grabbing the vertical handrails on cab and tender, leaned out and gazed astern. The wagon road twisted over the bleak "divide" the train had just rounded, and, barring a team or two jogging slowly into town, was bare of traffic. "No chasers so far," he shouted, as he again stooped to his tools.
"No chasers but us could catch 'em," growled Ben. "We'll give 'em a toot of the whistle!" he shouted across to Geordie, and the steam blast shrieked through the keen morning air in obedience to the quick pull at the cord.
And now 705 was fairly flying, the green flags at the rear flattened like shingles in the whistling wind, and a cloud of mingled dust and smoke rolling furiously after the caboose. Big Ben had "pulled her wide open," and under full head of steam the powerful engine tore like a black meteor up the glistening track. In eagerness and excitement almost uncontrollable George Graham clung to his perch and gazed with all his eyes. Barely a mile ahead now spurred the fugitives, his old friend Nolan in their midst—Nolan whom he had come all those miles to see!
And then a strange thing happened. So far from finding reassurance, friendship, sympathy in the whistle blast, the riders had read the very opposite. So far from slackening speed and letting the signalling train comeup on them, they had suddenly veered to the left, the south, and, bending low like jockies over their coursers' manes, they shot across the track, dived down into the pebbly bottom, and the next thing Geordie saw they were plunging breast-deep through the brown and heaving torrent, the waters foaming at their knees.
"Might 'a' known it!" bellowed Toomey, disgusted. "'Course they reason we've got the sheriff and posse aboard, and they're taking the short-cut to the—you know," he said, with a sudden significant gulp, to Geordie, and a warning glance at Ben. Even now that he had left the trooper habits months behind, Toomey could not forget or disregard trooper ethics. Ben might be friendly to Nolan, just as he claimed, but—would Ben keep other's secrets?
And even under his coat of coal and tan Geordie's face blazed suddenly. As a lad whom the troopers knew and loved and trusted, he could not help knowing in by-gone days of the ranch just south of the post—"Saints' Rest," they called it,laughingly—the shack owned and occupied by an old soldier with a numerous family: the rendezvous for many a revel, the resting-place of many a hunting-party, the refuge of many a home-bound squad of "the boys," before the days of the canteen that brought comfort and temperance into the army for the short but blessed spell of its existence—boys just back from an unhallowed frolic in town, and not yet sober enough to face their first sergeant and "the Old Man" at the orderly room. Oh, wonderful things were told of old Shiner and his ranch! In the eyes of some straitlaced commanders he had been little better than a receiver of stolen goods, a soldier Shylock who loaned moneys at usurious interest, a gambler who fleeced the trooper folk of their scanty pay, a dispenser of bad liquors and worse morals. Some truth there may have been in some of these tales, yet Shiner had been a strangely useful man. He supplied the post with milk and cream, butter and eggs, of better quality and lower price than could possibly be had in town. He knew the best hunting and fishing onthe range. He had teams and "rigs" at all times at the service of officers and soldiers, when the post ambulance was forbidden by an unfeeling government. He had a corral and stockade that had more than once bidden stout defiance to both the law and the lawless. He had, so the fort children firmly believed, a subterranean passage from his stockade to the sentry-lines. He was hated by both sheriff and sutler in days when the latter lived and thrived; he overreached the one, undersold the other, and outwitted both. He befriended every soldier in a scrape, whether the offence were against the majestic letter of the civil law or only the unimportant spirit of the military. In the eyes of the few he was much of a sinner; in the eyes of the many no less of a saint; and, after careful casting up of accounts, the colonel of the —th Cavalry had declared Shiner far more good than bad, treated him accordingly, and won a surprised and devoted friend and ally. Another officer Shiner swore by was Dr. Graham, and for reasons similar to those of his fellow, and farther-distant, ranchman Ross.
Yet Geordie had often heard of mysterious doings at Shiner's that would not bear official investigation—had heard and kept silent. In those days Shiner dwelt close under the sheltering wing of a sympathetic garrison. Now, if still there, he must be living in the light, and for the first time it dawned upon Geordie that what he heard of Shiner in by-gone days and kept to himself, he could not hear and know and keep to himself now. It was one thing to be a garrison boy; it was another to be an officer in the army of the United States.
The instant that it dawned upon him that Nolan and his friends were heading across country for Shiner's old plant, riding hard in the belief that they were pursued by rail, it flashed upon him that he could not join Nolan there—indeed, he must, if a possible thing, guide or direct him elsewhere.
Already the pursued were through the ford and, with dripping flanks, were scrambling up the opposite shore. Already big 705 was almost abreast of them, and in another moment would be swiftly speeding by.It was two years since Geordie last set eyes on Nolan, but there was no mistaking, even at that distance, the tall, gaunt figure and the practised seat in saddle. Behind him trailed three comrades, two of whom, at least, were tyros in the art of horsemanship. They were hanging on for dear life as their steeds labored on after the leader. The object of all four was obviously to get beyond easy rifle range of the rushing train before drawing rein to reconnoitre, and now, probably noting that the engine was driving on full speed, with no sign of stopping, the tall horseman in the lead circled swiftly to his right, along the crest of a low ridge perhaps three hundred yards away, then peered from under his broad hatbrim at the supposed enemy.
And then it was that Graham and Toomey, both, sprang back to the coal-pile in the tender, clambered high as possible on the shifting slope, and, balancing as best they could, whipped off their caps, swung them joyously about their heads, and eagerly gave the old-time, well-known cavalry signal, "Forward!" "Forward!" They saw Nolanand his friends seated on their panting horses, staring after them in amaze and wonderment, then resolutely following.
A mile now would bring them whistling by the site of old Fort Reynolds, and a lump rose in Geordie's throat, for the weather-beaten, ramshackle stables came in view as the Mogul rounded a long, easy curve, and there, beyond them and on the level bench before them, stood the trim rows of officers' quarters, now deserted and tenantless, yet guarded by the single sergeant and his little squad of men. To the right, afar up the track near the foot-bridge and ford, lay the station building, wellnigh useless now since the greater interests and industries, that had made the railway possible and forced the Indian farther back, had also fouled the mountain stream and spoiled the site for a cavalry post.
There stood the freight sheds; there were the chutes for horses and mules; there, beyond them, the now abandoned office and waiting-room; and there, still glistening white and towering, the semaphore signal-mast ofthe railway; and then and there, sure and sudden, there dropped the black arm straight across and above their glistening path in the never-to-be-neglected order—Stop!
Big Ben's lined face went swiftly gray through its coat of grime, but the firm hand did its instant work with the throttle. Then, swinging from his seat, he grasped the glistening lever and, peering intently forward, stood ready to throw it in reverse. Toomey sprang for the cord and jerked one fierce toot out of the whistle, the old-time signal for down-brakes before Westinghouse and his science put everything at the touch of the engineer. Almost at the moment the swift rush of the train became jarring and rough. Two daring men scampered, monkey-like, along the top of the cars, twisting a brake on each, then darting to the next. A furious gust of steam tore from the escape-valve and streamed away overhead. Not a thing was in sight on the track, not a soul on the platform, to account for the alarming signal. A switch-target clanked as they tore over the points; a vagrant dog scurried away toward theonce thriving saloon, and not until they drove in, hissing, grinding, and bumping, to the side of the dusty platform, did Ben's keen eyes catch sight of two herdsmen's horses—cow ponies—tethered back of the shanty beside the saloon, and up went the lid of his box at the instant, in went his right hand, and then out it came full grasp on a brown-barrelled six-shooter.
"A hold-up," muttered Toomey, as, obedient to Big Ben's orders, "Duck, you two!" he and Geordie crouched for the moment in the dark interior of the cab. But who would hold up a freight bound to, not away from, the mines? Twice, thrice, indeed, since the cavalry had been sent from Fort Reynolds, the overland express had been flagged between Argenta and Summit Siding, and masked men had boarded the train, despoiled the passengers and Pullmans; and once old Shiner had come under suspicion because certain plunder was found at his place.
"The robbers are discharged soldiers," swore the sheriff of Yampah; "their haunt is at Shiner's." Yet not so much as a scrap of other evidence was there found. Shiner threw open his doors to the officers, badethem search high and low, declared upon honor as he would upon oath that he himself had found the damaging evidence—two pocket-books and some valueless papers—on the open prairie a mile from his place the day after the third of the "hold-ups." There had long been bad blood betwixt him and the sheriff, and this time the man of the law gave the lie, and but for prompt work of bystanders—deputy Shiners and sheriffs both—there would have been cause for a coroner's inquest on the spot. Before that day it had been avowed hostility between them; now it was war to the knife. Much of this was known to the men of the railway, who sided according to their lights. Few of them knew Shiner; many knew the sheriff. It was patent at a glance that Big Ben held to the views of the latter and looked upon Shiner's hand, or Shiner's hands, as the cause of the hold-up. Nor was he entirely wrong. Even as Cullin came running up the track from the rear of the train, and brakemen running atop of it, eager to learn the cause of the stop, two men with saddle-bags slung overthe left arm stepped out from behind the passenger depot and met the conductor half-way. Glancing back, Ben caught sight of them and, pistol in hand, started to swing from the engine, crying "Come on!" to Toomey. Springing to his feet, Toomey gave one look back to the platform. His keen eyes danced with excitement and joy. "Hold on!" he shouted to Ben. "It's all right. Lay low," he whispered to Geordie. "It's Shiner himself!"
And old Shiner it was, cool, quiet, pale, resolute in face of a furious conductor and a threatening crew—Shiner, presently backed by a sergeant of regulars and two of his men, who had come running over the foot-bridge at the stop of the train, and now silently ranged themselves in tacit support. What Cullin had demanded was how Shiner dared tamper with the signals—how, in fact, he had managed to, since they had been carefully locked—and who was he, anyhow. And Shiner had simply answered: "I've a boy shot and dying at Silver Shield. I only heard it late in the night. There's no other wayto get to him. I pay full fare and all damages"—but he got no further, for Toomey came atrot from the engine, threw himself upon him, and grasped his hand.
"What's the trouble, old man?" was the instant question.
And Shiner, turning, saw an old friend and beneficiary, and should have taken heart at the sight. Instead of which, at sound of a sympathetic voice, he who had been firm and fearless in the face of abuse and opposition now wellnigh broke down. "They've killed—little Jack!" he almost sobbed. "Thank Godyou'rehere, Toomey!"
"Of course you'll take him!" cried Toomey, turning sharp on Cullin.
"Of course Iwon'ttake him!" snarled Cullin, wrath and temper stiffening his back, "but the law shall, quick as I can fix it. Back to your cab, both of you!" he waved, for Ben, too, was bulkily climbing the platform steps. "Pull out at once and don't you stop for no more snidework!"
"And leave this man here?" shouted Toomey. "Then you can do your ownfiring from here on, Cullin. Hold on, Ben, till I get my things off. You can obey if you like, but it's the last run I make with this—faugh! And you sayyou'vebeen a soldier!" It was Toomey's chance, after weeks of pent-up rage for battle, and he couldn't throw it away. Seeing that Ben, dull, heavy, and uncomprehending, was staring stupidly about him, not knowing what to do; seeing that even Cullin was melting at sight of the grief in Shiner's face; seeing the sympathy in the eyes of the bluecoats and the shame in those of the brakemen, Toomey turned loose on his adversary, and Toomey, when fairly started, could talk to the point. It was a tongue-lashing, indeed, and one that left the conductor no chance to reply.
"It's 'gainst orders, and you know it, Toomey," was his futile gasp, when Toomey stopped for breath.
"'Gainst orders you've broken time and again, and you know it! 'Gainst orders Bob Anthony would break your head for not breaking! It's 'gainst orders for you to pull out now when you're blocked, tillyou get further orders—and yet you say go."
"How can I get orders without a man or a wire at the station?" burst in Cullin, grasping at straws. "How can I get authority to take this man along? He's liable to arrest anyhow for tampering with the signals."
And then another voice was interjected, another disputant stepped quickly forward, and Toomey checked himself in the first breath of an impassioned outburst; his black hand suddenly shot half-way up to the cap-visor, then came down with a jerk; his heels had clicked together and his knees straightened out, then as suddenly went limp. The new-comer had sprung up the steps. The form was slender and sinewy. Hands, face, and dress were black with soot, but the young voice was deep and the ring of accustomed command was in every word. "That's your cue, Mr. Cullin. Arrest him and fetch him along." Then turning to Toomey: "There's no one at the cab. Better get back, quick!" he added. And Toomey went.
Big Ben gave one look and, without a word,waddled after his fireman. The tears that stood in old Shiner's eyes dashed away at the brush of a sleeve. A light of astonishment, comprehension, relief suddenly gleamed in their place. The sergeant stared for a moment, looked blankly at his men, then side-stepped for another long gaze at the new-comer's face. Cullin turned sharply, resentful at first at the tone of authority, wrath in his heart and rebuke on his tongue, but then came sudden reminder of Anthony's card—the card the strange young fellow had presented only when needed to convince, the card he had been so sagacious as to retain, the card that proclaimed him a friend of the powers and a person to be considered. Moreover, the friend and person had suggested a means by which actual surrender to the situation might appear as virtual and moral victory. One more look at Shiner and then Shiner settled it. "I submit to arrest, Mr. Cullin. Let me go with you—and settle."
"Get aboard the caboose," was the gruff answer, and, all apparent meekness, Shinerobeyed. "Not you," added Cullin, as Shiner's saddle-bag-bearing friend would have followed. "Give me the bags," said Shiner, "and you look to—" A significant glance at the signal told the rest. Cullin followed it with his eyes, saw the arm still lowered to the "stop," knew that it should not be left there, and for a moment held back.
"He'll fix it," said Shiner, from the platform of the caboose, while his eyes sought the face of the tall young fellow at Cullin's back. Cullin strode to the corner of the office and followed the ranchman with curious eyes. That sun-tanned, bow-legged person straddled down the back steps, his big spurs jingling, a high boot-heel catching on next to the lowermost and pitching him forward. He clamped his broadbrim on his head with one hand and steadied his holster with the other, straightened up with half-stifled expletive, and the next minute was swarming up the slender iron rungs of the signal-ladder. "He's got to prop it up where it belongs," said the sergeant. "Reckon he must have shot the wire that held it." Andof a truth the wire was severed. But when Cullin turned back to his train with the mystery cleared, the sight and sound of new commotion blocked his own signal to start.
Two horsemen, on foam-spattered broncos, were spurring vehemently down the road from the eastward ridge. Two others were trailing exhaustedly two hundred lengths behind, only just feebly popping over the divide. And to these persons both his prisoner and his prisoner's advocate, who were clasping hands as he whirled and saw them, were now signalling cheer and encouragement. Ten cars ahead, at the cab, Big Ben and Toomey, too, were leaning far out and eagerly watching the chase; the sergeant and his men, wondering much at the sight, but professionally impassive, strode to the end of the platform for better view, then all of a sudden began to shout and swing their caps, and before Cullin could recover from his surprise the foremost rider, tall, spare, with long, grizzled mustache and fiery eyes, threw himself from saddle and came bounding up the steps. He wassurrounded in an instant, only one man hanging back. The slender young fellow in the grimy cap and overalls quietly stepped into the dark interior of the caboose.
In the glare of the unclouded sunshine, breathing hard from his exertion, his hand grasped successively by Shiner and the three soldiers, the veteran trooper told his hurried tale, while, one after another, his followers, wellnigh exhausted, labored after him, and finally rolled stiffly toterra firmaat the station, their wretched livery mounts, with dripping, quivering flanks and drooping heads, stood straddling close at hand, too utterly used up to stagger away.
Nolan's story was brief but explicit. Somebody in the swarm that overwhelmed the Narrow Gauge train the previous night had crept back to town after midnight and started the story that young Breifogle had been slugged by the gang. By early morning it got to the father's ears. With the sheriff and some friends he had driven down in the wake of No. 4, found plenty of men who could tell of the mobbing, but none whocould tell of his son. The miners had scattered; the few passengers also, glad that they were not "wanted" by that infuriated crowd. It was then after sunrise, and, almost crazed by anxiety and wrath, Breifogle had hurried back to Argenta. His first thought seemed to be vengeance on Nolan, whom rumor declared the ringleader of his son's assailants, and a warrant was out for his arrest, even as the big Mogul was rolling into the yard, with its dingy-brown train of freight-cars and the battered body of that luckless youth, Nolan's assailant at Silver Shield.
The first full peril of his situation broke upon Nolan the instant the news was rushed to him. Innocent of any part in the assault though he was—ignorant of it, in fact, until dawn—he well knew that every artifice would be played against him, and that all the power, the means, and methods of the Breifogle clique would be lavishly used. Long imprisonment would be sure, harsh trial certain, acquittal improbable, hanging almost a certainty.
"Away with you! Get back to the minesand the mountains!" was the instant warning, and without the loss of a minute, mounted on such horses as his friends could hire, he and three of his trustiest followers had galloped away. They thought the sheriff was at their heels when the Fast Freight came thundering after them, but hailed, with amaze and joy, the signal from the tender, and, feeling sure the train would await them here, had spurred on to the station.
"You'll send the horses back for us, will you, sergeant?" he finished. Then eagerly, "Now, conductor, shall we pull out for Summit?"
"Pull out for nothing," was the astounding answer. "You know perfectly no Time Freight on this road takes a passenger of any kind, and it would be more'n my job's worth to take you!"
"Then, in God's name, why did you signal?" was the almost agonized question.
"Signal be jiggered! I never signalled. No man ofmycrew signalled. If you want to get back to the mines, stay here and flag No. 5. She'll be along at eleven."
"Along ateleven! Man alive, the sheriff will be here with a posse of forty long before that!"
"Longbefore that!" almost screamed old Shiner. "Look, there, what you see! He's coming now!"
And then Geordie Graham, listening with beating heart within the open doorway of the caboose, could stand the strain no longer. The man he must see, the man on whom everything depended, the old friend whom he most trusted and believed in stood in sore peril. The cause for which he had come all these miles must fail so sure as Nolan slipped into the power of the adversary, even though grasped by the hand of the law. It was no time for ethics—no time for casuists. He let his voice out in the old tone of authority:
"You've no time to lose, Mr. Cullin. Arrest them, too, and come on!"
With wonderment in his eyes, with Shiner whispering caution in his ear, "Long" Nolan was hustled aboard the caboose just as the wheels began to turn, his breathless followersclambering after, while afar up the divide toward the east, by twos and threes, in eager pursuit, egged on by lavish promise of reward, the sheriff of Yampah, with a score of his men, spurred furiously on the trail of a train that, starting slowly and heavily, speedily gained headway and soon went thundering up the grade, "leaving the wolves behind."