seen.
Whar'd you git them?"

"They belong to King. He's a cowboy."

"Hosses was my job. An' we can shore ride away from any redskins,"
replied King.

"Wal, good luck, an' come back soon," was Slingerland's last word.

So they parted. The cowboy led the way with the steady, easy, trotting
walk that saved a horse yet covered distance; in three hours they were
hailed by a trooper outpost, and soon they were in camp.

Shortly after their arrival the engineers returned, tired, dusty,
work-stained, and yet in unusually good spirits. They had run the line
up over Sherman Pass, and now it seemed their difficulties were to
lessen as the line began to descend from the summit of the divide.
Neale's absence had been noticed, for his services were in demand.
But all the men rejoiced in his rescue of the little girl, and were
sympathetic and kind in their inquiries. It seemed to Neale that his
chief looked searchingly at him, as if somehow the short absence
had made a change in him. Neale himself grew conscious of a strange
difference in his inner nature; he could not forget the girl, her
helplessness, her pathetic plight.

"Well, it's curious," he soliloquized. "But--it's not so, either. I'm
sorry for her."

And he remembered the strange change in her eyes when he had watched
the shadow of horror and death and blood fade away before the natural
emotions of youth and life and hope.

Next day Neale showed more than ever his value to the engineering
corps, and again won a word of quiet praise from his chief. He liked the
commendation of his superiors. He began to believe heart and soul in
the coming greatness of the railroad. And that strenuous week drove his
faithful lineman, King, to unwonted complaint.

Larry tugged at his boots and groaned as he finally pulled them off.
They were full of holes, at which he gazed ruefully. "Shore I'll be done
with this heah job when they're gone," he said.

"Why do you work in high-heeled boots?" inquired Neale. "You can't walk
or climb in them. No wonder they're full of holes."

"Wal, I couldn't wear no boots like yours," declared Red.

"You'll have to. Another day will about finish them, and your feet,
too."

Red eyed his boss with interest. "You-all cussed me to-day because I was
slow," he complained.

"Larry, you always are slow, except with a horse or gun. And lately
you've been--well, you don't move out of your tracks."

Neale often exaggerated out of a desire to tease his