The Road Builders Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  THE SPIRIT OF THE JOB

  In order to make plain what was taking place at the main camp duringCarhart's absence, we must go back to that evening during which somany things had come up to be disposed of before the chief could leavefor Sherman and Crockett and Paradise. To begin with, Dimond cameriding in at dusk with a canteen of clear water which he laid on thetable about which the engineers were sitting. To Carhart, when he hadunscrewed the cap and taken a deep draught, it tasted likeApollinaris. "First rate!" he exclaimed; "first rate!" Then he passedit to Old Van, who smacked his lips over it.

  "Where did he find this?" Carhart asked.

  "Eighteen or twenty miles ahead."

  "Plenty of it?"

  "He thinks so," he says, "but he's gone on to find more."

  "Are the Apaches bothering him?"

  "We've had a pop at 'em now and then. He says he hopes to have somebeadwork for you when he sees you again. There was one fellow came toonear one night, and Mr. Scribner hit him, but the others carried himoff before we could get the beads. He sent me back to guide the wagonsto the well if you want to send 'em."

  "Well," said Carhart, when Dimond had gone, "we have water now,anyway. The next question is about these thieves. You say that fiveanimals were stolen while I was away. When the first roads wentthrough, they had regular troops to guard the work, and I don't knowthat we can improve on the plan. I'll look the matter up when I get toSherman."

  But an hour later, when he left his division engineer and steppedoutside for a last look at "Texas," he found Charlie hanging aboutnear the stable tent. The cook approached him, and made it awkwardlybut firmly plain that he had heard a rumor to the effect that Mr.Carhart was going to Sherman for regular troops, and that, if therumor were true, he, Charlie, would leave.

  No questions were necessary, for Carhart had never thought Jack Flaggthe only deserter in camp. He mused a moment; then he looked upthoughtfully at the tall, loose-jointed, but well-set-up figure of thecook. "Do you know anything about military drill and sentry duties?"he asked abruptly.

  Charlie, taken aback, hesitated.

  "Never mind answering. We'll say that you do. Now, if I were to putyou in charge of the business, give you all the men and rifles youneed, could you guarantee to guard this camp?"

  Charlie's face wore a curious mixture of expressions.

  "Well, speak up."

  "I rather guess I could."

  "I can depend on you, can I?"

  "You won't get the regulars, then?"

  "No, I won't get them."

  "Then you can depend on me."

  "I want you to get about it this morning. Mr. Gus Vandervelt will giveyou everything you need. Make the watches short and distribute themamong a good many of the men, so that nobody will be worked too hard."

  Carhart passed on, and let himself into the covered enclosure wherehis horse lay sick. It was a quarter of an hour before he returned tothe headquarters tent, to find Vandervelt standing in silence at thetable. Apparently he had risen to leave, and had paused at the soundof a step outside. Standing for a moment at the tent entrance,Carhart's eyes took on the curious expression which the sight of theelder of the oddly assorted brothers frequently aroused there. Thelamplight threw upward shadows on Old Van's face and deepened thegloom about his eyes. A moment and Carhart, sobering, stepped inside.Certain memories of Old Van's strange career came floating throughhis thoughts. It was probably the last time they would be throwntogether. Considering everything, he would not again feel likechoosing him for an assistant. Yet he admired Old Van's strongqualities, and--he was sorry, very sorry.

  "Van," he said, "I've changed my mind about the troops. I've toldCharlie, the cook, to organize an effective system of guards at night,and I've told him, too, that he will take his orders from Gus."

  Vandervelt stood motionless, looking at this man who had risen to behis chief, and his color slowly turned from bronze to red.

  "From Gus, eh?" he said with a slight huskiness.

  "Yes," replied Carhart, steadily, "from Gus. He will represent mewhile I am gone. It will be only a day or so before he'll be around."

  Old Van might have answered roughly; instead he dropped his eyes. ButCarhart's unpleasant duty was not yet done.

  "One thing more, Van," he said, looking quietly at the older man, butunable to conceal a certain tension in his speech, "are you carrying agun?"

  There was a long silence. Every one of the faint evening camp soundsfell loud on their ears. A puff of wind shook the tent flaps andstirred the papers on the table. The lamp flickered. Very slowly,without looking up, Old Van reached back to his hip pocket, drew out arevolver, laid it on the table,--laid it, oddly enough, on a copy ofthe Book of Common Prayer which was acting as a paperweight, and leftthe tent and went off down the grade. And for some time after hisfootfalls had died away Carhart sat with elbows on table, chin onhands, looking at the weapon.

  * * * * *

  Paul Carhart was gone. It would probably be a week to ten days beforehe would be able to get back to the track-end. And with him had gonethe spirit of the work, the vitality and dash which had worked out atmoments through the assistants and the men in a stirring sense ofachievement, which had given to each young engineer and engineer'sassistant a touch of the glow of creating something, which had madethis ugly scene almost beautiful. That steam-leaking locomotive andthat rattle-trap of a "private car," bearing the chief away into thedawn, left a sense of depression behind it. By noon of the followingday, Old Van was growing noticeably morose. By mid-afternoon every manof the thousand felt the difference. Before supper time the heat, thegloom, the loneliness of the desert, the sense of a dead pull on thework, the queer thought that there was no such place as Red Hillsanywhere on the map, and that even if there were, the westernextension of the Shaky and Windy would never reach it, these thoughtswere preying on them, particularly on Young Van, who was up and atwork soon after noon.

  Through the second day it was worse. Young Van made stout efforts tothrow more energy into his work, and then, in looking back on theseefforts, recognized in them a confession of weakness. Paul Carhartnever seemed to drive as he had been driving,--his work was always thesame. In this frame of mind the young man, at evening, mounted ahummock to survey what had been accomplished during the day. But tohis altered eyes the track was no longer a link in the world's girdle;it was only a thin line of dirt and wood and steel, on which athousand dispirited men had been toiling.

  Later he saw Charlie bringing the wagons into corral. He heard hisbrother ordering the cook sharply about, and he noted how doggedly theorders were obeyed. Then, finally, having laid out the details of themorrow's work and smoked an unresponsive cigarette or two, he went tosleep.

  Old Van sat up later. And Charlie sat up later still, nearly all nightin fact. He found a comfortable lounging place near Dimond's post, inthe shadow of the empty train. The grade was here slightly elevated,and, lying on one elbow, he could survey the camp. Now and then hemade the rounds, looking after the half-dozen sentries whom he hadposted on knolls outside the wide circle of tents and wagons, makingsure that there was no drinking and that his men were advised as totheir duties and responsibilities. Between trips he lay back,surrounded by a number of wide-awake laborers, and listened whileDimond recited the prowess of their chief. It was very comfortablethere, stretched out upon the newly turned earth. The camp was veryquiet. Only a few lights twinkled here and there, and it was not verylate when these went out, one by one.

  "I heard Mr. Scribner telling, the other day," said Dimond, "how theboss run up against a farmer with a shotgun when he was running theline for the M. T. S. Mr. Scribner was a boy then, carrying stakes forhim. There was quite a bunch of 'em, but nobody had a gun. They comeout of a piece of woods on to the road, and there they see the farmerstanding just inside his stump fence with the two barrels of hisshotgun resting on the top of one of the stumps. Mr. Scribner says theold fellow was that excited
he hollered so they could 'a' heard 'imhalf a mile off. 'Don't you dare cross the line of my property!' heyells. 'The first man that crosses the line of my property's a deadman!' They all stopped, Mr. Scribner says, for they didn't any of 'emfeel particularly like taking in a barrel or so of buckshot. But Mr.Carhart wasn't ever very easy to stop. He just looked at the fellow aminute, and then he went right for him. 'Look out!' the man yells.'You cross the line of my property and you're a dead man!' But Mr.Carhart went right on over the fence. 'That's all right,' says he,'but you can't get away with more'n one or two of us, and there'll beenough left to hang you up to that tree over there.' And the nextthing they knew, Mr. Scribner says, Mr. Carhart had took the shotgunright out of the farmer's hands."

  Dimond had other stories. "I guess there ain't nobody ever found iteasy to get around him. Once when he was a kid surveyor, before hewent North, they sent him over into southern Texas to look up an oldpiece of property. There was a fellow claimed a lot of land thatreally run over on to this property. Mr. Carhart figured it out thatthe fellow was lying, but he knew it was going to be hard to prove it.The old marks of the corners were all gone--there wasn't a soul livingwho had ever seen 'em. It was an old Spanish grant, Mr. Scribner says,and the Spanish surveyors had just blazed trees to mark the lines.Well, sir, would you believe it, Mr. Carhart worked out the placewhere this corner ought 'o be, cut down an old cedar tree that stoodthere, sawed it up into lengths before witnesses, found the blaze markall grown over with bark, and took the piece of log right into courtand proved it. No, I guess it wouldn't be so infernal easy to getahead o' Mr. Carhart."

  "That's all right," observed one of the laborers, "if you're workingfor Mr. Carhart. But s'pose you ain't--s'pose you're workin' for Mr.Vandervelt?"

  "Oh, well, of course," Dimond replied, "Mr. Vandervelt's different. Heain't nowhere near the man Mr. Carhart is."

  Charlie took in this comment quietly, but with less than the usualgood nature in his blue eyes.

  "I don't care how decent the boss is," continued the laborer, "if Ihave to have a mean old he-devil cussin' at me from six to six, andhalf the night besides, sometimes."

  Dimond grew reflective. "I know about Mr. Vandervelt," he saidmeditatively. "You see, boys, it was sort o' lonely up ahead thereboring for water, and Mr. Scribner and me we got pretty wellacquainted." Dimond was endeavoring to conceal the slight superiorityover these men of which he could not but be conscious. "It's a queercase," he went on, "Mr. Vandervelt's case. I know about it. It's histemper, you see. That's what's kep' 'im back,--that's why he's only adivision engineer to-day."

  "Keep quiet, boys," broke in the laborer, with a sneer. "Dimond knowsabout it. He's tellin' us the news. Mr. Vandervelt's got a temper, hesays."

  Dimond was above a retort. "I can tell you," he said. "Mr. Scribnergive me the facts." (In justice to Harry Scribner it should bementioned that he had told Dimond nothing whatever concerning thepersonal attributes of his colleague.) "When Mr. Vandervelt gets mad,he shoots. He don't have to be drunk, neither, or in a fight, orfrolicking careless with the boys. He shot a waiter in the Harperrestaurant at Flemington, shot 'im right down. And then he went outinto the mountains and worked for a year without ever coming near atown. And they say"--Dimond's voice lowered--"they say he shot a campboss on the Northern, a man he used to knock around with, friendly.They say he shot him." Dimond paused, in order that his words mightsink into the consciousness of each listener. "He never goes North anymore. He'll never even stay at a place like Sherman for more than aday or two, and not that when he can help it."

  The men were silent for a little while. Then Charlie got slowly to hisfeet and shook out his big frame preparatory to making his rounds. "Iguess that's why Mr. Carhart told me to take my orders from hisbrother," he said slowly. "I was wondering." Then he stepped off inthe direction of the corral.

  It was three o'clock in the morning when Charlie finally stretched outfor three winks. The laborers had long before rolled themselves up intheir blankets. The men on guard, weary of peering into the darknessand the silence, had made themselves as nearly comfortable as theycould. And it was half-past three, or near it, when a rope was cut bya stealthy hand and half a dozen sleepy, obedient mules were led outand away. Where so many animals were stirring; and where, too, lidswere perhaps drooping over hitherto watchful eyes, the slightdisturbance passed unobserved. At four the guards were changed, andthe new day began to make itself known. At five the camp was astir;and a boy, searching in vain for his team, came upon the cut, trailingends of rope at the outer edge of the corral.

  They told Charlie, whom they found bending, red-eyed, over a steamingkettle. And the cook, with a straightforward sort of moral courage,went at once to announce his failure at guarding the camp. As luckwould have it, he found the brothers Vandervelt together, at the washbasin behind their tent.

  "May I speak to you, sir?" addressing the younger.

  "Certainly, Charlie--What luck?" was the reply. And then, for amoment, they waited,--Young Van half glancing at his brother, Charliesummoning every ounce of this wonderful new sense of responsibilityfor the ordeal which he saw was to come, Old Van meaning unmistakablyto take a hand in the discussion.

  "We lost six mules last night, Mr. Vandervelt," said Charlie, atlength, plainly addressing Young Van.

  "We lost six mules, did we?" mimicked the veteran, breaking in beforehis brother could reply. "What do you mean by coming here with such astory, you--?" The tirade was on. Old Van applied to the cook suchepithets as men did not employ at that time to any great extent on theplains. All the depression of the day before, which he had notsucceeded in sleeping off, came out in a series of red-hot phrases,which, to Young Van's, and to his own still greater surprise, Charlietook. Young Van, looking every second for a blow or even for a shot,could not see that he so much as twitched a muscle. Finally Old Vanpaused, not because he was in any danger of running out of epithets,but because something in the attitude of both Charlie and his brothertended to clarify the situation in his mind. Gus was standing almostas squarely as Charlie, and there were signs of tension about hismouth. It was no time for the engineers to develop a conflict ofauthority.

  When his brother had stopped talking, Young Van said shortly, "How didyou come to let them get away, Charlie?"

  "I fell asleep, Mr. Vandervelt,--it must have been after three thismorning, and I didn't wake up until four."

  "But what was the matter with your men?"

  "That's what I'm trying to find out, sir. They must have been asleep,too."

  "Who was on guard at that point?"

  "A man named Foulk--one of the iron squad."

  "Yes, I know him. He is trustworthy, I think."

  "Oh, yes, sir, you can trust him, as far as having anything to do withthose thieves is concerned."

  "But that won't help us much if he can't keep awake a few hours. Whereis he now?"

  Charlie hesitated. "I--I tied him up."

  "Bring him here."

  Charlie went off to obey. And Old Van returned to his ablutions. Amoment more and the unfortunate sentinel was being marched across toheadquarters, under the guidance and the momentum of a huge red hand.

  "Here he is, Mr. Vandervelt."

  Young Van looked at the two. Foulk appeared honestly crestfallen.Then, "Let him go, Charlie," he said. And turning to Foulk, he merelyadded, "You'll get your night's sleep after this, my friend. We wantno men on guard who can't be relied on--and it's evident that youcan't. Now go and eat your breakfast, and get to work. See that thisdoesn't happen again, Charlie."

  Foulk hurried off in one direction, Charlie walked away in another;Old Van disappeared within the tent in order to complete his verysimple toilet; Young Van stood alone, looking after one and anotherof the retreating figures with an expression of something like dismay.He had spoken with more vigor and authority than he could suppose; buteven such as it was, his momentary grip on the situation relaxed whilehe stood there. The work was not going to stop, he knew that, yet thiscom
plicated mechanism, the job, seemed to be running on without anymainspring. Speaking for himself, there was no one of the many tasksCarhart had left in his hands which he was not competent to perform,yet, viewing them in mass, they bewildered him. There would bebickerings, sliding on from bad to worse. The work would be undertakeneach day in a dogged spirit, and it would have an ugly side which hadnot before shown itself. Earlier in the course of the undertakingthere had been moments when he had thought, looking out from his ownmountain range of details, that Carhart's work was not so trying as itseemed; that he had time to ride up and down the line, chatting withengineers and foremen; that he could relax almost as he chose,--rundown to Sherman now and then, or even slip off for a day's shooting.Now he saw it differently. And his forebodings were realized.Everybody in authority felt the unfortunate drift of the work, andeverybody felt helpless to check this drift. Attempts made now andthen by individuals were worse--because they merely succeeded indrawing attention to it--than the general failure. That evening, whenScribner came back and they all tried to be jolly, was the gloomiesttime in a gloomy week. Men took to deserting their work. On oneoccasion thirty-odd of them left in a body to join an outfit whichhalted overnight near the main camp--that was when they were living on"mile forty-five." Fights grew more frequent. Accidents seemed to bealmost a part of the week's routine.

  One day, Young Van, chancing to pass near the track-laying work, heardhis brother swearing at the rider of the snap-mule that drew therail-truck back and forth between the material train and the work. Therider was a boy of twelve. Young Van recalled, as he listened, a sceneof a fortnight earlier (it seemed a year), when the boy, then new toit, had been found by Carhart, quietly sobbing on his horse. "What'sthe trouble, son?" the chief had inquired good-humoredly. "I'mafraid," was the lad's reply. Whereupon the chief had lifted him down,swung himself into the saddle, and, with a twinkle in his eye, hadridden a few trips in order to show the boy how to manage it safely.

  At length a man was killed, one of pile-driver crew No. 1, on OldVan's division. Other men had been killed earlier in the work, butthis death struck the workmen as bearing greater significance. In theother cases Carhart himself had done all that man could do; the lasttime he had driven the body twenty miles to a priest and decentburial. But Old Van sent out a few nerve-shaken laborers to dig agrave, and told them to waste no time about it, beyond seeing that itwas well filled after--afterward.

  * * * * *

  For several nights after the trouble with Foulk Charlie did not sleepat all. But even a frontiersman is subject to Nature's laws, and thetime came when he was overcome, shortly after midnight, while sittingon a box before his tent, and he rolled over and slept like a child.

  They woke him at daybreak, and, without a word, handed him this roughplacard:--

  Tell Mr. Carhart he'd better be carrying a gun after this. He'll need it.

  JACK FLAGG.

  "It was stuck up on the telegraph pole," explained a sleepy-eyedsentinel.

  "Where?"

  "Here in camp."

  A few moments later the cook, pale under his tan, stood before hishalf-dressed acting-chief. Again the two brothers were together.

  "So this is how you watch things, is it?" said Old Van. "What did youlose for us last night?"

  "The drivers are counting up now, sir. I only know of a mule and ahorse so far."

  "That's all you know of, is it? I'll tell you what to do. You go backto your quarters and see that you do no more meddling in thisbusiness. No, not a word. Go back and get your breakfast. That's all Iexpect from you after this."

  Charlie looked inquiringly at Young Van, who merely said: "I want toknow more about this, Charlie. Run it down, and then come to me."

  When the cook had gone, Young Van picked up the placard and read itover. He was struck by the bravado of the thing. And he wondered howmuch of a substratum of determination Jack Flagg's bravado might have.This primitive animal sort of man was still new to him. He had neitherPaul Carhart's unerring instinct, nor his experience in handling men.To him the incident seemed grave. There would be chances in plentybefore they reached Red Hills for even a coward to get in a shot, anda coward's shot would be enough to bring the career of their chief toan abrupt end. He folded the dirty paper and put it into his pocket.

  Later, with the best of intentions, he said to his brother: "You arealtogether too hard on Charlie. I happen to know that he has beendoing everything any man could do without a troop of regulars behindhim."

  To his surprise, Old Van replied with an angry outburst: "You keep outof this, Gus! When I need your advice in running this division, I'llask you for it."

  Twenty minutes later, when they were rising from breakfast, Charlieappeared, leading with an iron grip a dissolute-looking plainsman, andcarrying a revolver in his other hand.

  "Hello!" cried Young Van. "What's this? What are you doing with thatgun?"

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

  "'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 ajob, 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 youknow 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 jobof it."

  "Charlie," cried Young Van, "stay where you are!" He turned hotly onhis brother. "The worst we have any reason to believe about this manis 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 snatched the revolverfrom the cook, shouting angrily: "If you won't obey orders, I'll seeto it myself!"

  But Young Van, with a quick movement, gripped the weapon, bent it backout of his brother's grasp, snapped it open, ejected the cartridges,and silently returned it. Old Van held it in his hand and looked atit, then at the five cartridges, where they had fallen on the ground.Then, with an expression his brother had never before seen on hisface, he let the weapon fall on the ground among the cartridges, andwalked away to the headquarters tent.

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

  "All right, sir," Charlie replied.

  The cook turned away with his prisoner, and Young Van's eyes soughtthe ground. He had almost come to blows with his brother, and thatbefore the men, about the worst thing that could have taken place. Theincident seemed the natural culmination of these days of depressionand 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 horsemen could be seenapproaching. They drew rapidly nearer, and soon the two leaders couldbe distinguished. One was unmistakably Bowlegged Bill Lane. The otherwas a slender man, hatless, with rumpled hair, and a whitehandkerchief bound around his forehead. Young Van walked out to meetthem, and saw, with astonishment, that the hatless rider was PaulCarhart; and never had face of man or woman been more welcome to hiseyes.

  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 desp
erate riding, and to judge fromcertain signs, of fighting.

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

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

  "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 thequestion. "The train was stalled last night only a dozen or fifteenmiles back. The tender of that model of 1865 locomotive they gave uswent off the track, and the engine got in the same fix trying to putit on again. When I left, they were waiting for the other train behindto 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 wasflushing oddly. "Tell him to wait a minute for me, will you? I want tosee you both before the work starts."

  Young Van walked over to the headquarters tent and stood a moment atthe entrance. His brother, seated at the table, heard him, but did notlook up.

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

  Old Van gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, but hewaited. When the chief entered, motioning Young Van to join him, hewent briskly at what he had to say. He sat erect and energetic,apparently unconscious of the red stain on his bandage, ignoring thefact that he had as yet eaten no breakfast; and at his first words theblood began to flow again through the arteries of this complicatedorganization 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, thenwent quietly on. "Through our friend Peet, we have lost so much timethat it isn't very cheerful business figuring it up. But we aren'tgoing 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 areinterested in now is carrying through our schedule. And I needn't tellyou that from this moment we must work together as prettily as awell-oiled engine." He said this significantly, and paused. Of the twomen before him, the younger flushed again and lowered his eyes, theelder looked away and muttered something which could not beunderstood. "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."

  Young Van whistled, then recovered himself. "All right, Mr. Carhart,"he said. "Two miles is good. Beginning to-day, I suppose?"

  "Beginning to-day."

  The chief spent very little time on himself. He was soon out andriding along the grade, showing no nervousness, yet making it plain toevery man on the job that he meant to give an exhibition of "thefanciest track-laying ever seen in these United States." That was theway Young Van, in the exuberance of his new-found spirits, expressedit to the foreman of the iron squad.

  But even Young Van's enthusiasm was not equal to the facts. When thenight whistle blew, and the dripping workmen dropped their picks andsledges, and rails, and ties, and reins, and sat down to breathebefore washing up for supper,--there was water for washing now,--theconductor of the material train called to Young Van, and waved towarda stake beside the track. "See that stick," he shouted.

  "Yes, I see it."

  "Well, sir,"--the conductor was excited too,--"I've been setting upone of those things for every time we moved ahead a train length. Mytrain's a little over a thousand foot long, and--and how many of thosesticks do you suppose I've set up since morning? Give a guess now!"

  "I should say eight or ten. We've been getting over the ground prettyrapidly."

  "No, sir! No, sir! Fifteen there were, fifteen of 'em!"

  "Fifteen thousand feet--three miles!" The young man stood a moment,then turned and walked soberly away.

  It was early the next morning that Young Van recalled Jack Flagg'scommunication, which he still had in his pocket. He saw that the chiefwas about starting off for his breakfast, and called him back and gavehim the paper. Carhart read it, smiled rather contemptuously, andhanded it back.

  "That man," he said, "was just about big enough to stir up a littletrouble in the camp. I'm glad we're through with him."

  "I wish I was sure we were," replied Young Van.

  "Hello! you're right, Gus. Here he is again."

  Charlie was approaching with another dirty paper in his hand. "Ididn't think anybody could get in last night, Mr. Carhart," he saidruefully, "but--here is what they left."

  The chief took this second paper and read it aloud:--

  MY DEAR MR. CARHART: My shooting's getting bum. Better luck next time.

  JACK FLAGG.

  "Flagg ought to be on the stage," he said when he had tossed the paperaway. "He is the sort of man that can't get along without anaudience."