"h.e.l.lo!" cried Young Van. "What's this? What are you doing with that gun?"

"I took it away from this man. He was hiding out there behind a pile of bones. I reckon he was trying to get away when his horse went lame and the daylight caught him."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'You go back to your quarters.'"]

"What has he to say for himself?"

"It's a ---- lie!" growled the stranger. "I was riding in to ask for a job, an' I hadn't more'n set down to rest--"

"You ride by night, eh?"

"Well--" the stranger hesitated--"not gen'ally. But I was so near--"

"Here, here!" cried Old Van. "What's all this talk about? I guess you know what to do with him. Get about it."

"What do you mean by that?" cried Young Van, flushing.

"What do I mean by it? What is generally done with horse thieves?"

The stranger blanched. "You call me a--"

But Young Van checked him. "We don't know that he is a horse thief."

"I do, and that's enough. Charlie, take him off, and make a clean job of it."

"Charlie," cried Young Van, "stay where you are!" He turned hotly on his brother. "The worst we have any reason to believe about this man is that he put up that placard."

"Well, doesn't that prove him one of the gang?"

"We have no proof of anything."

"You keep out of this, Gus! Charlie, do as I tell you."

Charlie hesitated, and looked inquiringly at the younger engineer.

This drove Old Van beyond reason. He suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed the revolver from the cook, shouting angrily: "If you won't obey orders, I'll see to it myself!"

But Young Van, with a quick movement, gripped the weapon, bent it back out of his brother's grasp, snapped it open, ejected the cartridges, and silently returned it. Old Van held it in his hand and looked at it, then at the five cartridges, where they had fallen on the ground.

Then, with an expression his brother had never before seen on his face, he let the weapon fall on the ground among the cartridges, and walked away to the headquarters tent.

"Charlie," said Young Van, "keep this man safe until the sheriff comes back."

"All right, sir," Charlie replied.

The cook turned away with his prisoner, and Young Van's eyes sought the ground. He had almost come to blows with his brother, and that before the men, about the worst thing that could have taken place. The incident seemed the natural culmination of these days of depression and pulling at odds.

"It looks like the sheriff coming in now, sir."

Young Van started and looked up. Charlie, still grasping the stranger, was pointing down the track, where a troop of hors.e.m.e.n could be seen approaching. They drew rapidly nearer, and soon the two leaders could be distinguished. One was unmistakably Bowlegged Bill Lane. The other was a slender man, hatless, with rumpled hair, and a white handkerchief bound around his forehead. Young Van walked out to meet them, and saw, with astonishment, that the hatless rider was Paul Carhart; and never had face of man or woman been more welcome to his eyes.

The troop reined up, dismounted, and mopped their sweating faces.

Their horses stood damp and trembling with exhaustion. All together, the little band bore witness of desperate riding, and to judge from certain signs, of fighting.

"Well, Gus," said Carhart, cheerily, "how is everything?"

But Young Van was staring at the bandage. "Where have you been?" he cried.

"Chasing Jack Flagg."

"But they hit you!"

"Only grazed. If it hadn't been dark, we should have got him."

"But how in--"

The chief smiled. "How did I get here?" he said, completing the question. "The train was stalled last night only a dozen or fifteen miles back. The tender of that model of 1865 locomotive they gave us went off the track, and the engine got in the same fix trying to put it on again. When I left, they were waiting for the other train behind to come up and help. They ought to be along any time this morning.

Where's your brother?"

Young Van had turned to look at a group of three or four prisoners, whom two of the posse were guarding.

"Where's your brother?" Carhart asked again.

"My brother! Oh, back at the tent, I guess."

The chief gave him a curious glance, for the young engineer was flushing oddly. "Tell him to wait a minute for me, will you? I want to see you both before the work starts."

Young Van walked over to the headquarters tent and stood a moment at the entrance. His brother, seated at the table, heard him, but did not look up.

"Mr. Carhart is back," said the young man, finally. "He asked me to tell you to wait for him."

Old Van gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, but he waited. When the chief entered, motioning Young Van to join him, he went briskly at what he had to say. He sat erect and energetic, apparently unconscious of the red stain on his bandage, ignoring the fact that he had as yet eaten no breakfast; and at his first words the blood began to flow again through the arteries of this complicated organization that men called the Red Hills extension of the S. & W.

"Now, boys," he began, "it was rather a slow ride back from Sherman, and I had time for a little arithmetic. Through our friend Peet--"

"D--n him!" interrupted Old Van.

The chief paused at this for another of his questioning glances, then went quietly on. "Through our friend Peet, we have lost so much time that it isn't very cheerful business figuring it up. But we aren't going to lose any more."

"Oh! you saw Peet!" said Young Van.

"Yes, I saw him. We won't bother over this lost time. What we are interested in now is carrying through our schedule. And I needn't tell you that from this moment we must work together as prettily as a well-oiled engine." He said this significantly, and paused. Of the two men before him, the younger flushed again and lowered his eyes, the elder looked away and muttered something which could not be understood. "I'm bringing up a hundred-odd more men on this train.

When they get in, put them right at work. Is Dimond in camp now?"

"Yes."

"We'll send him up to take charge of the well business. He can do it, now that it is so well started. We need Scribner."

"How much must we do a day now, to make it?" asked Young Van.

"We shall average as near as possible to two miles."