rakeman.

A freight-train, eastbound, stood on the passing track. Stanley roused
Bucks and, notifying the despatchers, ordered the engine cut off from
the freight-train, swung up into the cab, and started for Medicine
Bend. As they pulled out, light, Stanley asked for every notch of
speed the lumbering engine could stand, and Oliver Sollers, the
engineman, urged the big machine to its limit.

The new track, laid hastily and only freshly ballasted, was as rough
as corduroy, and the lurching of the big diamond stack made the cab
topple at every rail joint. But Sollers was not the runner to lose
nerve under difficulties and did not lessen the pressure on the
pistons. If Stanley, determined and silent, his lips set and hanging
on for dear life as the cab jumped and swung under him, felt any
qualms at the dangerous pace he had asked for, he betrayed none. With
Bucks, open-eyed with surprise, hanging on in front of him, Stanley
gave no heed to the bouncing, and the freight-engine pounded through
the mountains like a steam-roller with a touch of crushed-stone
delirium. Hour after hour the wild pace was kept up through the Sleepy
Cat Mountains and across the Sweet Grass Plains. There was no easing
up until the frantic machine struck the gorge of the Medicine River
and whistled for the long yards above the roundhouse.

Things had so quieted down by the time Stanley, springing up the
stairs two steps at a time, reached the despatchers' office, that they
were sorry they had sent in such haste for him. Stanley himself had no
regrets. He knew better than those about him the temper of the crowd
he had to deal with and felt that he needed every minute to prepare
for what he had to do. Bucks was sent to bring in Dancing, Bob Scott,
and the more resolute among the railroad men. A brief consultation was
held, and the attitude of the gamblers carefully discussed.

Scott, who had been up town since the murder, had collected sufficient
proof that the chief outlaw, Levake, had done the shooting, and
Stanley now sent Scott to Brush, the sheriff, with a verbal message
demanding Levake's arrest.

Every man that heard the order given knew what it meant. Every one
that listened realized it was the beginning of a fight in which there
could be no retreat for Stanley; that it would be a fight to a finish,
and that no man could say where it would end.

Bob Scott hitched his trousers at the word from his sandy-haired
chief. For Bob, orders mean