A dark and
terrible sternness actuated Casey. He projected his soul into that
clattering car of iron and wood. And it was certain he prayed. His hair
stood straight up. There! the narrow cut in the hill! the curve of the
track! He was pounding at it. The wheels shrieked. Looking up, he saw
only the rocks and gray patches of brush and the bare streak of earth.
No Indian showed.

His gaze strained to find an obstruction on the track. The car rode the
curve on two wheels. It seemed alive. It entered the cut with hollow,
screeching roar. The shade of the narrow place was gloomy. Here! It must
happen! Casey's heart never lifted its ponderous weight. Then, shooting
round the curve, he saw an open track and bright sunlight beyond.

Above the roar of wheels sounded spatting reports of rifles. Casey
forgot to dodge into his gravel shelter. He was living a strange,
dragging moment--an age. Out shot the car into the light. Likewise
Casey's dark blankness of mind ended. His heart lifted with a mighty
throb. There shone the gray endless slope, stretching out and down to
the black hills in the distance. Shrill wild yells made Casey wheel.
The hillside above the cut was colorful and spotted with moving objects.
Indians! Puffs of white smoke arose. Casey felt the light impact of
lead. Glancing bright streaks darted down. They were arrows. Two
thudded into the gravel, one into the wood. Then something tugged at
his shoulder. Another arrow! Suddenly the shaft was there in his sight,
quivering in his flesh. It bit deep. With one wrench he tore it out
and shook it aloft at the Sioux. "Oh bate yez dom' Sooz!" he yelled,
in fierce defiance. The long screeching clamor of baffled rage and the
scattering volley of rifle-shots kept up until the car passed out of
range.

Casey faced ahead. The Sioux were behind him. He had a free track. Far
down the gray valley, where the rails disappeared, were low streaks of
black smoke from a locomotive. The general's train was coming.

The burden of worry and dread that had been Casey's was now no
more--vanished as if by magic. His job had not yet been completed, but
he had won. He never glanced back at the Sioux. They had failed in
their first effort at ambushing the cut, and Casey knew the troops would
prevent a second attempt. Casey faced ahead. The whistle of wind filled
his ears, the dry, sweet odor of the desert filled his nostrils. His car
was on a straight track, rolling along down-grade, half a m