kes ground down, and the panting locomotive came to a stop
within a few feet of the man with the red flag. It could now be seen
that he was a small, dark Mexican, wearing a high-crowned hat.

"Why, I know that fellow, he----" began Ralph. But his recognition of
the fellow, whom he had seen in Madero's camp, came too late.

From the woods ahead of them, a perfect hailstorm of bullets began to
spit about the engine. Fortunately, none of the occupants of her cab
were struck, although the windows were splintered and the woodwork
honeycombed.

"Go ahead!" roared Buck.

"What if they've torn up the track?" gasped Ralph.

"Not likely. If they had, they wouldn't be bothering to shoot at us.
Let her out. Ouch!"

A bullet whizzed past the burly showman's ear, and just nicked the tip
of it.

With a roar of rage, like the bellowings of an angry bull, he leaned
his huge form out of the window and began pumping lead from his
revolver into the woods. It is doubtful if his fire had any effect,
but at that minute Ralph started the engine up again. A yell came from
the Mexicans within the wood, as he did so. A hundred or more poured
out, firing as they came.

"Duck, everybody!" yelled Coyote Pete, as the storm broke.

A tempest of lead rattled about the engine, but, thanks to the
protection of the steel cab, not one of the crouching occupants was
hurt. Almost before they realized it, they had swung around the curve,
and were safe. As Buck Bradley had surmised, no attempt had been made
to wreck the track beyond, the insurrectos having counted, seemingly,
on stopping the dash for the Esmeralda by their ambush in the wood.

[Illustration: A tempest of lead rattled about the engine. Almost
before they realised it, they had swung around the curve.]

"Consarn their yellow hides," grunted Pete, "that shows they kep'
closer tabs on us then we knew. I reckon they was scared to follow us
to Rosario, thinking, like we did, that the regulars was there. Waal,
that was a neat little surprise party, but it didn't work."

Round the curve they tore, at a hair-raising gait, but the engine stuck
to the metals. Ten minutes later a cheer went up, as the red-brick
station, which they knew must mark the Esmeralda switch, came in sight.

"I got the switch key from Whiting," cried Buck, as they reached the
switch, "I'll throw it."

He swung himself down from the cab, and ran rapidly ahead, down the
track, to the switch lever. As h