ith the air of a
sergeant-major.

"Our two head-spikers had a disagreement this morning, and have gone
across the yards to settle it," explained one of the time-keepers through
his towel. "Couldn't you go after them, and interfere? They may put each
other out of commission. Refused to listen to me or the foreman."

"The childish idiots! Certainly," agreed Elder, turning back to the door.
"Which way did they go?"

"Straight across the yard. But hadn't you better take your gun?" the
time-clerk suggested. "They are a pair of pretty tough customers."

"Well--perhaps I had, since you mention it," Elder responded. Going to
his bunk, he secured and buckled on the belt, drew the revolver from its
holster to examine it, and set forth grimly. As he disappeared the men in
the car broke into barely-subdued splutterings of laughter, and crowding
to the door, waited expectantly.

With an air of responsibility and determination the clerk made his way
between the adjacent cars. There were six tracks filled with the long
trains of construction material. He had passed the fifth, and was
stooping beneath the couplings of two flats beyond, when from the other
side he heard footsteps.

One hand on the butt of his revolver, he leaped forth. Uttering a choking
cry he sprang back. Within a foot of his eyes were the barrels of two big
Colt's-pistols, and looking over the tops of them was a villainous
handkerchief-masked face.

"Hands up!" ordered the tramp hoarsely.

Elder's hands flew into the air. Immediately, despite his fright, there
returned a remembrance of his boast that morning. He half made as though
to bring his hands down. Instantly the cold muzzles of the pistols were
pressed close beneath his nose. With a wild flutter Elder's fingers shot
upward to their fullest stretch.

"Come out!" ordered the tramp.

Quaking, and almost on tiptoes in his effort to keep his hands aloft,
Elder obeyed. Lowering one of the pistols and thrusting it into his belt,
the tramp reached forward and secured the clerk's revolver, dropping it
to the ground beneath his feet.

"Now, Mr. Superintendent," he ordered gruffly, "hand over your roll!"

"Why, I'm not the superintendent," quavered Elder hopefully. "I am--only
a clerk."

"Clerk nothing! Don't you think I know a superintendent when I see one?
Out with those yellowbacks you drew yesterday, or by gum--" The pistol
was again thrust under his nose, and Elder blanched.

"But I'm not the supe