g
siding and came to a gentle stop. It was in the center of a wide
mountain valley with nothing to indicate human life except a solitary
section house, painted a dull red, and, beyond it a short distance, a
water tank of the same color.

"I guess that didn't jar any of those sleeping beauties back there, when
I stopped her," said Bob quietly, as he stepped down from the cab.

"Couldn't have done better myself," replied Jim whimsically, "but I
would have been tempted to give them a jolt just to make them sit up for
a minute."

"Some of the boys do shake 'em up when they feel sort of cranky,"
admitted Ketchel.

"That's the kind I have always traveled with," remarked Jim, "but what
are we waiting here for?"

"No. 10 is due in a few minutes. Here's where we oil up." Jim watched
the operation with interest while the engineer and his fireman went
methodically from part to part of the engine with their long billed oil
cans.

"She must be late," said Ketchel, looking keenly up the track and then
at his heavy, open-faced watch. "What do you suppose is the matter with
her? No need of losing time on a night like this," he continued.

"Maybe she has been held up," said the fireman.

"That's more likely to happen to us," replied the engineer shortly. "No.
10 doesn't carry anything but the money the newsboy gets out of the
passengers for peanuts and bum dime novels but we have something in that
express car that's going to California and it's valuable."

"I'm going to California," put in Jim mildly.

"But you ain't valuable," replied the engineer with a grin.

"Except with this," said Jim, putting his hand on his revolver, with a
touch of seeming bravado.

"That's where you come in," said the engineer.

"I thought you weren't giving me a ride just for the fresh air, and to
get a view of the 'mountings' by moonlight. But where do you expect
these villains to jump you?" inquired Jim.

"Well, there are numerous, romantic, little spots along the trail ahead
where they might stop us for an interview," said Ketchel.

"I'm thinking they will be a lurking in 'Boxwood Canyon,'" said Bill
Sheehan, the fireman. "It's the likes of a dirty black gang that will do
the deed, the same that shot poor Jimmie McGuire last month because he
wouldn't give up his train to 'em, and him with three childer at home."

"There comes 'No. 10.'" cried Jim, "and it will be all aboard for
Boxwood Canyon."

"Aye, but you have sharp ears, I don't