Since French was a dead language to Mr. Arthur Jastrow, he never knew what it was that Miss Carteret named him. But she left him in no doubt as to her immediate purpose.

"If that be the case, we would better go and find my uncle at once,"

she said in her softest tone; and before he could object she had led the way to the Rajah's working-den state-room.

Mr. Darrah was deep in one of the cipher telegrams when they entered, and he looked up to glare fiercely at one and then the other of the intruders. Virginia gave her persecutor no time to lodge his accusation.

"Uncle Somerville, Mr. Winton was here an hour ago, as you know, and I told him what you had done--what I had helped you do. Also, I sent him about his business; which is to win his railroad fight if he can. Mr.

Jastrow overheard the conversation, purposely, and as he threatens to turn informer, I am saving him the trouble. Perhaps I ought to add that he offered to hold his peace if I would promise to marry him."

What the unlucky Jastrow might have said in his own behalf is not to be here set down in peaceful black and white. With the final word of Virginia's explanation the fierce old master of men was up and clutching for the secretary's throat, and the working complement of the Rosemary suffered instant loss.

"You'll spy upon a membeh of my family, will you, seh!" he stormed.

"Out with you, bag and baggage, befo' I lose my tempeh and forget what is due to this young lady you have insulted, seh, with your infamous proposals! Faveh me instantly, while you have a leg to run with! Go!"

Jastrow disappeared; and when the door closed behind him Virginia faced her irate clan-chief bravely.

"He was a spy, and he would have been a traitor. But I am little better. What will you do to me?"

The Rajah's wrath evaporated quickly, and a shrewd smile, not unkindly, wrinkled the ruddy old face.

"So it was a case of the trappeh trapped, was it, my deah? I'm sorry--right sorry. I might have known how it would be; a youngeh man would have known. But you have done no unpahdonable mischief: Misteh Winton would have found out for himself in a few hours, and we are ready for him now."

"Oh, dear! Then he will be beaten?"

"Unquestionably. Faveh me by going to bed, my deah. Your roses will suffeh sadly for all this excitement, I feah. Good night."

XI. THE RIGHT OF WAY

It seemed to Virginia that she had but just fallen asleep when she was rudely awakened by the jar and grind of the Rosemary's wheels on snow-covered rails. Drawing the curtain, she found that a new day was come, gray and misty white in the gusty swirl of a mountain snow-squall.

Without disturbing the sleeping Bessie, she dressed quickly and slipped out to see what the early-morning change of base portended.

The common room was empty when she entered it, but before she could cross to the door the Reverend Billy came in, stamping the snow from his feet.

"What is it?" she asked eagerly. "Are we off for California?"

"No, it's some more of the war. Winton has outgeneraled us. During the night he pushed his track up to the disputed crossing, 'rushed' the guarded engine, and ditched it."

Virginia felt that she ought to be decorously sorry for relationship's sake, but the effort ended in a little paean of joy.

"But Uncle Somerville--what will he do?"

"He is with McGrath on the engine, getting himself--and us--to the front in a hurry, as you perceive."

"Isn't it too late to stop Mr. Winton now?"

"I don't know. From what I could overhear I gathered that the ditched engine is still in the way; that they are trying to roll it over into the creek. Bless me! McGrath is getting terribly reckless!"--this as a spiteful lurch of the car flung them both across the compartment.

"Say Uncle Somerville," she amended. "Don't charge it to Mr. McGrath.

Can't we go out on the platform?"

"It's as much as your life is worth," he a.s.serted, but he opened the door for her.

The car was backing swiftly up the grade with the engine behind serving as a "pusher." At first the fiercely-driven snow-whirl made Virginia gasp. Then the speed slackened and she could breathe and see.

The shrilling wheels were tracking around a curve into a scanty widening of the canyon. To the left, on the rails of the new line, the big octopod was heaving and grunting in the midst of an army of workmen swarming thick upon the overturned guard engine.

"Goodness! it's like a battle!" she shuddered. As she spoke the Rosemary stopped with a jerk and McGrath's fireman darted past to set the spur-track switch.

The points were snow-clogged, and the fireman wrestled with the lever, saying words. The delay was measurable in heart-beats, but it sufficed. The big octopod coughed thrice like a mighty giant in a consumption; the cl.u.s.tering workmen scattered like chaff to a ringing shout of "Stand clear!" and the obstructing ma.s.s of iron and steel rolled, wallowing and hissing, into the stream.

"Rails to the front! Hammermen!" yelled Winton; and the scattered force rallied instantly.

But now the wrestling fireman had thrown the switch, and at the Rajah's command the Rosemary shot out on the spur to be thrust with locked brakes fairly into the breach left defenseless by the ditched engine. With a mob-roar of wrath the infuriated track-layers made a rush for the new obstruction. But Winton was before them.

"Hold on!" he shouted, bearing them back with outflung arms. "Hold on, men, for G.o.d's sake! There are women in that car!"

The wrathful wave broke and eddied murmurous while a square-shouldered old man with fierce eyes and huge white mustaches, and with an extinct cigar between his teeth, clambered down from the Rosemary's engine to say:

"Hah! a ratheh close connection, eh, Misteh Winton? Faveh me with a match, if you please, seh. May I a.s.sume that you won't tumble my private car into the ditch?"

Winton was white-hot, but he found a light for the Rajah's cigar, easing his mind only as he might with Virginia looking on.

"I shall be more considerate of the safety of the ladies than you seem to be, Mr. Darrah," he retorted. "You are taking long chances in this game, sir."

The Rajah's laugh rumbled deep in his chest. "Not so vehy much longer than you have been taking during the past fo'tnight, my deah seh. But neveh mind; all's fair in love or war, and we appeah to be having a little of both now up heah in Qua'tz Creek, hah?"

Winton flushed angrily. It was no light thing to be mocked before his men, to say nothing of Miss Carteret standing within arm's reach on the railed platform of the Rosemary.

"Perhaps I shall give you back that word before we are through, Mr.

Darrah," he snapped. Then to the eddying mob-wave: "Tools up, boys. We camp here for breakfast. Branagan, send the Two-fifteen down for the cook's outfit."

The Rajah dropped his cigar b.u.t.t in the snow and trod upon it.

"Possibly you will faveh us with your company to breakfast in the Rosemary, Misteh Winton--you and Misteh Adams. No? Then I bid you a vehy good morning, gentlemen, and hope to see you lateh." And he swung up to the steps of the private car.

Half an hour afterward, the snow still whirling dismally, Winton and Adams were cowering over a handful of hissing embers, drinking their commissary coffee and munching the camp cook's poor excuse for a breakfast.

"Jig's up pretty definitely, don't you think?" said Adams, with a glance around at the idle track force huddling for shelter under the lee of the flats and the octopod.

Winton shook his head and groaned. "I'm a ruined man, Morty."

Adams found his cigarette case.

"I guess that's so," he said quite heartlessly. Then: "h.e.l.lo! what is our friend the enemy up to now?"