t enraged him to see the
cowboy holding back to let him come up. But he could not prevent it.

"He's hit!" shouted Larry.

"Yes, but not badly," shouted Neale, in reply. "Spread out!"

The cowboy never swerved a foot. He watched Neale's horse with keen,
sure eyes.

"He's breakin'! Mebbe he can't last!"

Bullets whistled all around Neale now. He heard them strike the stones
on the ground and sing away; he saw them streak through the scant grass;
he felt the tug at his shoulder where one cut through his coat, stinging
the skin. That touch, light as it was, drove the panic out of him. The
strange darkness before his eyes, hard to see through, passed away. He
wheeled to shoot again, and with deliberation he aimed as best he could.
Yet he might as well have tried to hit flying birds. He emptied the
Winchester.

Then, hunching low in the saddle, Neale hung on. Slingerland was close
to the train; Brush on his side appeared to be about out of danger; the
pursuit had narrowed down to Neale and Larry. The anger and the grimness
faded from Neale. He did not want to go plunging down in front of those
lean wild mustangs, to be ridden over and trampled and mutilated. The
thought sickened him. The roar of pursuing hoofs grew distinct, but
Neale did not look back.

Another roar broke on his ear--the clamor of the Irish soldier-laborers
as they yelled and fired.

"Pull him! Pull him!" came the piercing cry from Larry.

Neale was about to ride his frantic horse straight into the work-train.
Desperately he hauled the horse up and leaped off. Larry was down,
waiting, and his mount went plunging away. Bullets were pattering
against the sides of the cars, from which puffed streaks of flame and
smoke.

"Up wid yez, lads!" sang out a cheery voice. Casey's grin and black pipe
appeared over the rim of the car, and his big hands reached down.

One quick and straining effort and Neale was up, over the side, to fall
on the floor in a pile of sand and gravel. All whirled dim round him for
a second. His heart labored. He was wet and hot and shaking.

"Shure yez ain't hit now!" exclaimed Casey.

Larry's nervous hands began to slide and press over Neale's quivering
body.

"No--I'm--all--safe!" panted Neale.

The engine whistled shrilly, as if in defiance of the Indians, and with
a jerk and rattle the train started.

Neale recovered to find himself in a novel and thrilling situation. The
car was of a gondola type, being merely a fla