ested that lantern," said Whitey. "I never
thought that it would be daylight, and its light wouldn't show."

Injun almost smiled.

"What we ought to have is a red flag," Whitey continued. "That's the
proper thing to signal a train with in daytime."

Injun grunted, and Whitey considered the matter. "I have it! Your
shirt!" he cried. "It's pink, close enough to red. We'll wave that."

Injun grunted again and looked doubtful. "Me get 'im back?" he asked.
Injun didn't care any less for that shirt than he did for his pinto or
his rifle--and he cared more for it than for his interest in the gold
mine.

"Sure, you'll get it back," said Whitey, and without a word Injun took
off the shirt and handed it to Whitey.

The boys gazed anxiously toward the west. Whitey thought of the three
armed men, who now probably had handkerchiefs tied over their faces, and
were lying in wait in the gully. Then of the oncoming train, with its
unsuspecting passengers, and in the express car the bags of ore that
were said to assay forty thousand dollars a ton. It wouldn't take much
of _that_ to make it worth while for the bandits to hold up the
shipment.

Although the mist was getting thicker, it seemed singular that the train
did not appear. The inaction of waiting was beginning to get on Whitey's
nerves--and would have affected Injun's if he'd had any. At that, they
had not been waiting very long, though they did not know it.

"It must be getting near. I'll listen again," said Whitey.

Whitey again placed his ear to the track, then looked up blankly. "It's
stopped," he said, "Mebbe there's been an accident."

Injun knew a good deal about plains and woods, and animals and birds,
but was rather in awe of trains. He gazed at Whitey's face, which wore
the same blank look as his own, and ventured no opinion. Two sharp,
faint sounds came from the east--something between the crack of whips
and the popping of corks. They were followed by three more.

Injun knew about these. "Him shoot," he said.

The startled expression on Whitey's face gradually gave way to one of
understanding and disgust. "They came from the water tank," he said.
"Don't you see? We're late, and what I heard was the train going the
other way. Then it stopped, and they're holding it up." And Whitey sat
down on one of the rails, thoroughly disgusted.

For a while nothing was said. The disappointment was too great for
words. The boys' chance for heroism had melted in the fog,