"I have ridden thirty miles to talk with Mr. Durfee and he sees fit to treat me like a d--n fool. I came here to see if we couldn't avoid bloodshed. Evidently we can't."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Carrington.

Instead of replying, Carhart, after a moment's thought, turned inquiringly to Durfee.

"Out with it," cried that gentleman. "What do you want?"

"I want you to call off Jack Flagg."

"Evidently you _are_ a d--n fool," said Durfee.

But Carrington saw deeper. "You've got something up your sleeve, Mr.

Carhart," he said. "What is it?"

Again Carhart turned to Durfee. And Durfee said, "What is it?"

"It's this." Carhart drew from a pocket his sketch-map of the region about the trestle. "Here is Flagg--along this ridge, at the foot of these two knolls. His line lies, you see, across our right of way. Of course, everybody knows that he was sent there for a huge bluff, everybody thinks that I wouldn't dare make real war of it. Flagg opened up the ball by shooting Flint, my engineer in charge at the La Paz. The shooting was done at night, when Flint was out in the valley looking things over, unarmed and alone."

"What Flint is that?" asked Carrington, sharply.

"John B."

"Hurt him much?"

"There is a chance that he will live."

Carrington pursed his lips.

"We foresaw Bourke's move," Carhart pursued, "some time ago. And as it was plain that the mills in Pennsylvania--" he smiled a little here, straight into Durfee's eyes--"and the Queen and c.u.mberland Railroad were planning to find it impossible to deliver our materials, we took up the rails and ties of the Paradise Southern and brought them out to the end of the track. In fact, we have our materials and supplies so well in hand that even if Bourke could hold Barker Hills, we are in a position to work right ahead. Track-laying is going on this minute.

But we can't cross the La Paz if Flagg doesn't move."

"No, I suppose not," said Durfee.

"So it is necessary to make him move."

"It is, eh?"

"Yes, and--" Carhart's eyes were firing up; his right fist was resting in the palm of his left hand--"and we're going to do it, unless you should think it worth while to forestall us. Possibly you thought I would send a force back to Barker Hills. But I didn't--I brought it up this way instead. I have three times as many men as your Mr. Flagg has, and a third of them are on the knolls behind Flagg."

"And the fighting comes next, eh?" said Carrington.

"Either Mr. Durfee will call Flagg off at once, or there will be a battle of the La Paz. I think you see what I am getting at, Mr.

Durfee. Whatever the courts may decide, however the real balance of control lies now, is something that doesn't concern me at all. That issue lies between you and my employer, Mr. De Reamer. But since you have chosen to attack at a point where I am in authority, I shan't hesitate to strike back. It isn't for me to say which side would profit by making it necessary for the governor and his militia to take hold, but I will say that if the governor does seize the road, he will find Mr. De Reamer in possession from Sherman to Red Hills. I am prepared to lose a hundred--two hundred--men in making that good. I have left orders for the shooting to begin at noon to-morrow. If you choose to give any orders, the news must reach Mr. Tiffany by that time. I shall start back at midnight, as my horse is tired, and I wish to allow plenty of time. You can find me here, then, at any time up to twelve o'clock to-night." He rose. "That, Mr. Durfee, is what I came here to say."

"Wait a minute, Mr. Carhart," said General Carrington. "Did I understand you to say that you have enough materials on the ground to finish the line?"

"Practically. Certainly enough for the present."

"That's interesting. Even to firewood, I suppose."

Carhart bowed slightly. "Even to firewood," he replied,--and walked away.

Byers was asleep in a chair, tipped back against the office wall.

Carhart woke him, and engaged a room, where, after eating the meal which Byers had ordered, they could sleep all day.

That evening, as Carhart and Byers were walking around from the stable, they found General Carrington standing on the piazza.

"Oh, Mr. Carhart!" said he.

"Good evening, sir," said Carhart.

The General produced a letter. "Would you be willing to get this through to Flagg?"

"Certainly."

"Rather nice evening."

"Very."

"Suppose we sample their liquid here--I'm sorry I can't say much for it. What will you gentlemen have?"

It was ten o'clock in the morning. Carhart, Byers, Dimond, and Tiffany stood on the north knoll.

"I'll take it down," said Byers, his eyes glowing through his spectacles on either side of his long nose.

"Go ahead," said Carhart. "And good luck to you!"

The instrument man took the message and started down the hill. Halfway there was a puff of smoke from Flagg's camp, and he fell. It was so peaceful there on the hillside, so quiet and so bright with sunshine, the men could hardly believe their eyes. Then they roused. One lost his head and fired. But Dimond, his eyes blazing, swearing under his breath, handed his rifle to Carhart and went running and leaping down the hillside. When he reached the fallen man, he bent over him and took the letter from his hand and, standing erect, waved it. Still holding it above his head, he went on down the hill and disappeared among the rocks that surrounded the camp.

Late that afternoon Flagg's men straggled out through the hollow, bound for Red Hills. And every large rock on either hillside concealed a man and a rifle. Here and there certain rocks failed in their duty, and Flagg's men caught glimpses of blue-steel muzzles. So they did not linger.

For a number of reasons, after an attempt to communicate by wire with a little New Hampshire town, and after an unavailing search for representatives of the clergy at La Paz and at Red Hills, it was decided to bury the instrument man where he had fallen. "Near the track," Young Van suggested. "He would like it that way, I think."

At six in the morning a long procession filed out of the camp. At the head went the rude coffin on the shoulders of six surveyors and foremen. Paul Carhart and Tiffany followed, the chief with a prayer book in his hand; and after them came the men. The grave was ready.

The laborers and the skilled workmen stood shoulder to shoulder in a wide circle, baring their heads to the sun. Carhart opened the book and slowly turned the pages in a quiet so intense that the rustle of the leaves could be heard by every man there. For the ungoverned emotions of these broken outcasts were now swayed to thoughts of death and of what may come after.

"I am the resurrection and the life ..." Carhart read the immortal words splendidly, in his even, finely modulated voice. "... I know that my Redeemer liveth.... Yet in my flesh shall I see G.o.d.... We brought nothing into this world and it is certain we can carry nothing out.... For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them."

Gus Vandervelt raised his eyes involuntarily and glanced from one to another of the l.u.s.tful, weak, wicked faces that made up the greater part of the circle.

"It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power."

Could it be that these wretches were to be raised in incorruption? Was there something hidden behind each of these animal faces, something deeper than the motives which lead such men to work with their hands only that they may eat and drink and die?