nking, perhaps, that
they might have some information in regard to affairs at the mine.

The agent dived into his pocket and fished out a yellow paper.

"Here it is," he exclaimed, "and it's signed by 'King Pin' Stetson
himself: 'Keep freight moving at all hazards.'"

"It's signed by Mr. Stetson, you say?" exclaimed Ralph eagerly.

"Sure. He's the main boss on this road, you know, and----"

"I know, I know!" cried Ralph eagerly, "but is he here across the
border?"

"Huh? Not he. He's in the best hotel in El Paso, consulting and
smoking two-bit seegars. But my job's here, and here I stick."

But Ralph and Jack had not heard this speech. A light shone in the
Eastern boy's eyes, the light of a great idea.

"There's a locomotive yonder, Jack," he whispered. "I can run one. I
learned one summer when pop took me over the Squantock and Port Gloster
line. You said there was a branch connecting with the Esmeralda. Why
can't we go by rail?"

"By ginger, Ralph! Have you got the nerve?"

"Look at me."

Jack regarded his comrade an instant. There wasn't a flicker of an
eyelash to show that Ralph was the least bit nervous. The experiences
of the last few days had taught him much.

While Bill Whiting regarded them curiously, Jack hastily told the
others of what Ralph had proposed.

"That appeals ter me as a ring-tailed roarer of a good idee," announced
Buck Bradley, when he had finished.

"Waal, I'm more used ter doin' my fightin' ahorseback than from a loco,
but I guess it goes here," chimed in Pete.

"An eminently sensible suggestion," was the professor's contribution.
The maimed ankle of the man of science was now almost well, and, as he
put it, he was "restored to his customary salubriosity."

"Then, all we've got to do, is to get permission to take the
locomotive," declared Jack. He turned to Bill Whiting, who had been
eyeing them curiously.

"We've got to get through to the Esmeralda mine," he said. "Our auto
is broken down, and yet the fate of the mine, and perhaps the lives of
its defenders, hang upon our arrival there as soon as possible. Have
we your authority to run the locomotive through?"

"Say, son," drawled Bill Whiting, "put on your brakes. That's a
compound, and even supposing I could let you take her, how would you
run her?"

"There's a boy here who can run her all right," cried Jack impatiently.
"All we need to have is your authority."

Bill Whiting shook his head.

"Sorry