dashed after. He ran like a
deer, and despite the increasing speed of the velocipede, quickly gained
upon them.

"He'll get us!" Alex exclaimed.

"The creek bridge is just ahead. That'll stop him," said the oiler.

The second man appeared, and joined in the chase.

The first runner saw the bridge, and redoubled his efforts. In spite of
their best endeavors, he drew rapidly nearer. A hand shot out to clutch
the oiler's shoulder.

It reached him--and with a rumble they were on and over the bridge, and
their pursuer had sprawled forward flat on his face.

He was on his feet again like a wildcat, however, and crossing the bridge
three ties at a time, leaped to the flat ground beside the track, and was
again after the velocipede like a race-horse.

Try as they would, Alex and the oiler could get no more speed out of the
low-geared machine, and with alarm Alex saw the runner once more drawing
near. The second man they had outdistanced.

Closer the cowman came. "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! You may as well! I've
got you!"

Determinedly they held on, working the handles desperately, Alex watching
the grim, clean-shaven face and the fluttering dotted handkerchief about
the pursuing man's neck with a curious fascination.

At last he was parallel with them. Still running, he drew his revolver.
"Stop!" he ordered. "Stop, or I'll put one through you!"

"Keep it up, boy," the oiler directed sharply. "He daresn't fire. He
daresn't add murder to it. And he'd be heard at the junction."

The runner snapped his gun back into its holster, and putting on an extra
spurt, rushed slanting up the embankment, and threw himself bodily upon
the oiler. They tumbled off backwards in a struggling heap. Throwing his
weight against the handles, Alex stopped the velocipede, sprang off, and
dashed to the oiler's assistance.

The cowman's revolver had fallen from his belt. Alex caught it up and
pressed it against the back of the man's head. "Stop it! Let go!" he
cried. "I'll certainly shoot!"

The man half relaxed, and glared up sideways. Alex brought the muzzle to
his eyes, and slowly he freed his hold on the oiler. "Oh, very well," he
muttered with a curse. "You win."

"No--don't!" said Alex, as the enraged oiler spun about to strike the
half-prostrate man. "He's down, and has given up."

At that moment interruption came from another quarter. It was a shrill
cry from the direction of the creek-bed, and turning, all three saw a
round-sh