otive.

The leader of the party was a squarely built man with a determined
countenance and a heavy mustache much blacker than his iron gray hair.
He was a bullying looking man, and he strode around the rear of the
locomotive and came forward just as though he was confident of boarding
the machine by right.

Mr. Damon, knowing himself in the wilderness and not liking the
appearance of this group of strangers, had retired at once to the cab,
and now stood in the doorway.

"Where's that young fool Swift?" growled the man with the dyed
mustache, looking up at Mr. Damon and laying one hand upon the rail
beside the ladder.

"Don't know any such person," declared Mr. Damon promptly.

"You don't know Tom Swift?" cried the man.

"Oh! That's another matter," said Mr. Damon coolly. "I don't know any
fool named Swift, either young or old. Bless my blinkers! I should say
not."

"Isn't he here?" demanded the man, gruffly.

"Tom Swift isn't here just now--no."

"I'm coming up," announced the stranger, and started to put his foot on
the first rung of the iron ladder.

"You're not," said Mr. Damon, promptly.

"What's that?" ejaculated the man.

"You only think you are coming up here. But you are not. Bless my
fortune telling cards!" ejaculated Mr. Damon, "I should say not."

At this point the black-mustached man began to splutter words and
threats so fast that nobody could quite understand him. Mr. Damon,
however, did not shrink in the least. He stood adamant in the doorway
of the cab.

Finding little relief in bad language, the enemy made another attempt
to climb up. For one thing, he was physically brave. He did not call on
his companions to go where he feared to.

"I'll show you!" he bawled, and scrambled up the rungs of the ladder.

Mr. Damon did show him. He drew from some pocket a black object with a
bulb and a long barrel. Somebody below on the cinder path shouted:

"Look out, boss he's got a gun!"

At that moment the marauder reached out to seize Mr. Damon's coat. Then
the object in Mr. Damon's hand spat a fine spray into the florid face
of the enemy!

"Whoo! Achoo! By gosh!" bawled the big man, and he fell back screaming
other ejaculations.

"Bless my face and eyes!" cried Mr. Damon. "What did I tell you? And
you other fellows want to notice it. Tom Swift isn't here just at this
precise moment; but he is guarding his locomotive just the same. He
invented this ammonia pistol, and I should say it was ef