oward it, Bucks confronted him with his
poker.

"Let that gate alone or I'll brain you," he cried, hardly realizing
what he was saying, but well resolved what to do.

The gambler, infuriated, pointed to Baggs. "Throw that cur out here,"
he yelled.

Baggs, now less exposed to his enemies, summoned the small remnant of
his own courage and began to abuse his pursuer.

[Illustration: "LET THAT GATE ALONE OR I'LL BRAIN YOU," HE CRIED.]

Bucks, between the two men with his poker, tried to stop the din long
enough to get information. He drew the enraged gambler into a
controversy of words and used the interval to step to his key. As he
did so, Baggs, catching up a monkey-wrench that Bucks ordinarily used
on his letter-press, again defied his enemy.

It was only a momentary burst of courage, but it saved the situation.
Taking advantage of the instant, Bucks slipped the fingers of his left
hand over the telegraph key and wired the despatchers upstairs for
help. It was none too soon. The men, leaning against the railing,
pushed it harder all along the line. It swayed with an ominous crack
and the fastening gave way. Baggs cowered. His pursuers yelled, and
with one more push the railing crashed forward and the confidence man
sprang for the engineer. Baggs ran back to where Bucks stood before
his table, and the latter, clutching his revolver, warned Baggs's
pursuers not to lay a hand on him.

Defying the single-handed defender, the gambler whipped out his own
pistol to put an end to the fight. It was the signal for his
followers, and in another minute half a dozen guns covered Bucks and
his companion.

Seconds meant minutes then. Bucks understood that only one shot was
needed as the signal for his own destruction. What he did not quite
realize was that the gambler confronting him and his victim read
something in Bucks's eye that caused him to hesitate. He felt that if
a shot were fired, whatever else happened, it would mean his own death
at Bucks's hand. It was this that restrained him, and the instant
saved the operator's life.

He heard the clattering of feet down the outside stairway, and the
next moment through the open door on the run dashed Bill Dancing,
swinging a piece of iron pipe as big as a crowbar. The yardmaster,
Callahan, was at his heels, and the two, tearing their way through the
room, struck without mercy.

The thugs crowded to the door. The narrow opening choked with men
trying to dodge the blows rai