cover of Ralph's bunker.

"What is it, Fogg?" inquired the young railroader, to whom the ominous
sketches were a new wrinkle.

"Black Hand," explained Fogg.

"Whose--why?" inquired Ralph.

"The outcast gang. It's one of their scare tricks. Humph! I'd like to
get sight of the fellow who thought he was doing a smart trick. The
Black Hands are supposed to warn us that we're doomed by the gang,
see? It's a notification that the trouncing I gave those fellows Hall
and Wilson is a declaration of war to the knife."

"Well, let it come. Aren't we equal to it, Mr. Fogg?"

"You are, for they can't hit you hard. You've made your mark," said
the fireman, somewhat gloomily. "I'm not in the same class. I've had
my weak spots. Besides, it's me they'll be after. Dunno, Fairbanks,
maybe I'd better not be the cause of getting you into any more
trouble. Perhaps I'd better slide for a bit into some switchyard
job."

"What--scared?" cried Ralph.

"No, not scared," responded Fogg soberly, "only worried about you."

"Well," said Ralph, "the master mechanic said we were a strong team?"

"Ye-es."

"Let's prove to him that we are. Good-by to the Black Hands, Mr. Fogg,
they aren't worth thinking about."

So the young railroader rallied and cheered his comrade, and they had
got beyond the turn table and had quite forgotten the incident of the
pasters, when John Griscom mounted the cab step. He nodded genially to
both Ralph and the fireman. Griscom knew pretty much what was going on
most of the time, and the master mechanic was a close friend of his.

"Just a word, Fairbanks," he began in a confidential tone, and the
young engineer bent over towards him. "I don't want to be croaking all
the time, but railroading isn't all fun and frolic."

"What's the matter now, Mr. Griscom?" inquired Ralph.

"The old strike gang is the trouble, and will be until they're laid
out, ragtail and bobtail, dead cold. I have a friend in a certain
department of the service here. He isn't giving away official business
any, but he isn't in sympathy with Hall or Wilson. One of them sent a
wire to Riverton an hour since. It was to some one the operator never
heard of before, evidently a friend of theirs. It mentioned 999, your
name, and Fogg. The rest of it was in cipher."

"We've just had a Black Hand warning, here in the cab," said Ralph.

"Oh, you have?" muttered Griscom. "Then there's new mischief afoot.
Look out for snags at Riverton."

Ralph real