boarding-train.

Jack's hope, as far as it concerned the three boys being together, was
soon shattered. As they reached the telegraph-car, Superintendent Finnan
appeared, and having cordially shaken hands with Jack and Wilson, turned
to Alex. "Ward," he said, "I have just decided to send you on to the
Antelope viaduct. A courier has brought word from Norton, the engineer in
charge, that trouble appears to be brewing amongst his Italian laborers,
and I would like to get in direct touch with him. The telegraph line was
strung within two miles of the bridge yesterday, and should reach
Norton's camp to-day. How soon could you start?"

"As soon as I have breakfast, sir," responded Alex, stifling his
disappointment. "It's twenty miles there, isn't it, Mr. Finnan? How am I
to go?"

"You can ride a horse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Elder will have a pony here for you by the time you are ready. And you
had better take an extra blanket with you," advised the superintendent as
he turned away. "You will be living in a tent, you know."

Half an hour later Alex, mounted on a spirited little cow-pony, with a
few necessities in a sweater, strapped to the saddle, and a blanket over
his shoulder, army fashion, waved a good-by to Jack and Wilson, and was
off over the prairie at a lope, following the telegraph poles.

It was a beautiful morning, and with the sun shining and the sparkling
air brushing his cheeks and tingling in his nostrils, Alex quickly forgot
his disappointment at being so quickly separated from Jack and Wilson,
and soon was enjoying every minute of his ride. Keeping on steadily at a
hand-gallop, before he realized he had covered half the distance, he came
upon the wire-stringing and pole-erecting gangs. A half mile farther, a
long, dark break appeared in the plain, and a muffled din of pounding
began to reach him. And pushing ahead, Alex drew up on the brink of a
wide, deep gully, from either side of which reached out a great wooden
frame, dotted with busy men.

It was the bed of the old Antelope river, which years before had changed
its course, and which the railroad finally proposed crossing with a
permanent fill.

Directly below, in a group of shrubby trees on the border of the stony
creek which alone remained of the river, was a village of white tents.
From Alex's feet a rough trail slanted downward toward it. Giving his
pony free rein, he descended.

"Where is Mr. Norton?" he asked of a water-boy at the foot of the