"Commodore Durfee's at Red Hills, you know," said Young Van.

"The ---- he is!"

"And he's sent a force to hold the west bank of the La Paz."

By this time the chief engineer of the S. & W. had got his big frame to the ground. He bore unmistakable evidences of long and hard riding.

Even in that dim light they could see that his face was seamed with the marks of exhaustion.

"Haven't got a wee bit drappie, have you?" he asked.

"I certainly have," Young Van replied. "Come right in."

Tiffany tossed his hat on the table, reached out for the flask and tumbler, and tossed down a drink which would have done credit to the hardiest Highlander of them all. "Now show me the stable," he said.

"Want to fix my horse for the night. I've half killed him."

A quarter of an hour later the three men were back in the headquarters tent.

"How did you get through, Mr. Tiffany?" asked Young Van.

"Came out on the first train to Barker Hills. Bourke's holding the station there. He had a couple of our engines, and was working east, but we stopped that. Peet's there now with Sheriff McGraw and a bundle of warrants and a hundred and fifty men--more, I guess, by this time.

Just another thimbleful o' that-- Thanks! We've got Bourke blocked at Barker Hills, all right. Before the week's out we'll have the track opened proper for you. Mr. De Reamer's taken hold himself, you know.

He's at Sherman, with some big lawyers--and maybe he ain't mad all through!"

"Then Commodore Durfee hasn't got the board of directors?"

"Not by a good deal! I doubt if even General Carrington's votes would swing it for him now. But then, I don't know such a heap about that part of it. I was telling you--I'll take a nip o' that. Thanks!--I was telling you. We come along the Middle Division, running slow,--we were afraid of obstructions on the track,--"

"Did you find any?"

"Did we find any?--Well I guess." He held out a pair of big hands, palms up. "I got those splinters handling cross-ties in the dark. And about the middle of the Barker Hills division--at the foot of Crump's Hill,--we found some rails missing.

"Well, sir, I left 'em there to fix it up--we had a repair car in the train--and got my horse off and rode around south of the station. Had some sandwiches in my pocket, but didn't get a drop of water till I struck your first well, last night. You ain't using that now?"

"No, we've moved up to two and three--this way."

"There was a blamed fool tried to stop me, a mile south of Barker Hills Station--yelled at me; and fired when I didn't answer."-- Tiffany paused with this, and looked grimly from one to the other of the young men. Then he drew a big revolver from his belt, opened it, and exhibited the cylinder. One chamber was empty. They were silent for a time.

"You'll find Mr. Carhart's cot all ready for you, Mr. Tiffany," said Young Van, at length.

"All right. Can I get a breakfast at five? I'm going on to find Paul.

That's where the fun'll be--where you find Paul Carhart. I wonder if you boys know what it means to have the opportunity to work with that man--eh? He had us all guessing about the old Paradise. And he was right--oh, he was right. There hasn't a rail come through since."

Scribner and Young Van were looking at each other. "Then those rails didn't come from Pennsylvania?" said the former.

"He didn't tell you, eh?" Tiffany grinned. "Well, I guess it ain't a secret now. Mr. Chambers never even grunted when I told him, but he looked queer. And Mr. De Reamer ain't said anything yet. Why, Paul, he see first off that we weren't ever going to get the rest o' those rails. He see, too, that Bourke was going to cut him off if he could.

And what does he do? Why he comes down and walks off with the old Paradise Southern--rails, ties, everything. He never even tells Peet and me. It's up to him, he thinks, and if he makes good, n.o.body can kick." Tiffany was grinning again. "Yes, sir," he continued, "Paul Carhart just naturally confiscated the Paradise Southern, and it was the prettiest job anybody ever see. And it's funny--he says to me, while we were out there at Total Wreck pulling up the freight yard by the roots, 'Tiffany,' he says, 'if you hadn't told about how you stole those Almighty and Great Windy cars from the sheriff of Erie County, I'd never 'a' thought of it.' Well, I'll turn in, boys; good night."

"Good night," said Young Van.

"Good night," said Scribner; "I'll ride on with you as far as my division to-morrow, Mr. Tiffany. I can give you a fresh horse there."

The chief engineer of the S. & W. disappeared between the flaps of Carhart's tent. They could hear him throwing off his clothes and getting into bed. Another moment and they heard him snoring. They stood gazing off down the grade.

"Well, what do you think of that?" said Scribner. Young Van looked at his companion. "I think this," he replied: "I wouldn't miss this work and this fight under Paul Carhart for five years' pay."

Scribner nodded. "The loss of an engineer's pay, Gus, wouldn't make much difference one way or the other," he replied, and his face lighted up with enthusiasm. "But it's a great game!"

And so it was that something like two days after Carhart's arrival on "mile 109," Tiffany, a little the worse for wear, but still able to ride and eat and sleep and swear, came slowly down the slope into the camp, where Flint was hovering midway between the present and the hereafter. He found the chief of construction deep in a somewhat complicated problem, and after a bite to eat he climbed up the ridge behind the camp to the tent which Carhart was occupying.

"Well, Paul, how goes it?" said he.

"First-rate. How much do you know?"

"Precious little."

Carhart mused a moment, then pulled out from a heap of papers one on which he had sketched a map. "Here we are," said he. "The trestle is fifty to a hundred and fifty feet high, from ridge to ridge. Flagg has strung out his men along the west ridge, about a mile from here, and across the end of the trestle."

"Yes, yes," broke in Tiffany, "I see. I've been all over this ground."

"Well, now, you see these two knolls on the west ridge, a little back of Flagg's position? The one to the north is a hundred and twenty feet higher than Flagg's men; the one to the south is eighty feet higher and only a quarter of a mile away from him. His line of retreat lies through the hollow between the two knolls, where the track is to run.

Now if I put fifty or a hundred men on each knoll, I can command his position, and even shut off his retreat. His choice then would lie between moving north or south along the crest of the ridge, which is also commanded by the two knolls, or coming down the slope toward us."

"Flagg hasn't occupied the knolls, eh?"

"I believe he hasn't. I've been watching them with the gla.s.ses."

"I wonder why the Commodore put such a man in charge."

"Oh, Flagg has some reputation as a bad man. He's the sort General Carrington employed in the Colorado fights."

They talked on for a time, then Carhart put up his map and they walked out. It was evening. Across the valley, at the point where the trestle met the rising ground, they could see lights, some of them moving about. Tiffany walked with his hands deep in his trousers pockets. Finally he said thoughtfully:--

"The more I think of it, Paul, the more I'm impressed by what Commodore Durfee has done. He has got possession of our grade over there--we can't deny that. We've either got to give up, or else take the offensive and fight. And that would look rotten, now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," Carhart replied, "it would. He has made a pretty play. And as a play--as a bluff--it comes pretty near being effective."

"D--n near!" Tiffany muttered.

"But now suppose we take those knolls--quietly, in the night--and close in across Flagg's rear, hold a line from knoll to knoll, what then? Wouldn't he have to shoot first?"

"Well, perhaps. But it would put both sides in a mean light. Oh, why didn't John stand him off in the first place! Then he could have shot from our property, and been right in shooting."

They had been pacing slowly up and down. Now Carhart stopped, and sat down on a convenient stick of timber. Tiffany followed his example.

The moon was rising behind them, and the valley and the trestle and the rude intrenchments of timber and rock on the opposite ridge and the knolls outlined against the sky grew more distinct.

"Yes," Carhart said slowly, "it's a very good bluff. Commodore Durfee knows well enough that this sort of business can never settle the real question. But the question of who gets to Red Hills first is another thing altogether. The spectacle of Jack Flagg and a well-armed regiment of desperadoes in front of them, and the knowledge that the Commodore himself had organized the regiment and sent it out, would stop some engineers."