d her cousin were safe in the
privacy of their state-room, Miss Carteret added her word.

"Do you know, Bessie, I think it was Mr. Adams who scored this
afternoon?" she said.

"How so?" inquired _la petite_ Bisque, who was too sleepy to be
over-curious.

"I think he 'took a rise' out of me, as he puts it. Mr. Winton is
precisely all the kinds of man Mr. Adams said he wasn't."

III. IN WHICH AN ITINERARY IS CHANGED

It was late breakfast time when the Transcontinental Limited swept
around the great curve in the eastern fringe of Denver, paused for a
registering moment at "yard limits," and went clattering in over the
switches to come to rest at the end of its long westward run on the
in-track at the Union Depot.

Having wired ahead to have his mail meet him at the yard limits
registering station, Winton was ready to make a dash for the telegraph
office the moment the train stopped.

"That is our wagon, over there on the narrow-gage," he said to Adams,
pointing out the waiting mountain train. "Have the porter transfer our
dunnage, and I'll be with you as soon as I can send a wire or two."

On the way across the broad platform he saw the yard crew cutting out
the Rosemary, and had a glimpse of Miss Virginia clinging to the
hand-rail and enjoying enthusiastically, he fancied, her first view of
the mighty hills to the westward.

The temptation to let the telegraphing wait while he went to say good
morning to her was strong, but he resisted it and hastened the more
for the hesitant thought. Nevertheless, when he reached the telegraph
office he found Mr. Somerville Darrah and his secretary there ahead of
him, and he observed that the explosive gentleman who presided over
the destinies of the Colorado and Grand River appeared to be in a more
than usually volcanic frame of mind.

Now Winton, though new to the business of building railroads for the
Utah Short Line, was not new to Denver or Colorado. Hence when the
Rajah, followed by his secretarial shadow, had left the office, Winton
spoke to the operator as to a friend.

"What is the matter with Mr. Darrah, Tom? He seems to be uncommonly
vindictive this morning."

The man of dots and dashes nodded.

"He's always crankier this time than he was the other. He's a holy
terror, the Rajah is. I wouldn't work on his road for a farm down
East--not if my job took me within cussing distance of him. Bet a hen
worth fifty dollars he is up in Mr. Colbert's office rig