first wheels left the track, and they left on
the inside of the curve; a thin flange under the first refrigerator
broke. I've got the wheel itself back there for evidence. They can't
talk fast running against that. Damn a private car-line, anyway!
Give me a cigar--haven't got any? Great guns, man, there's a case
of Key Wests open up ahead; go fill your pockets and your grip. Don't
be bashful; you've got friends on the division if you are Irish, eh?"

"Sure, only I don't smoke," said Stevens, with diplomacy.

"Well, you drink, don't you? There's a barrel of brandy open at the
switch."

The brandy-cask stood up-ended near the water-butt, and the men dipped
out of both with cups. They were working now half naked at the wreck.
The sun hung in a cloudless sky, the air was still, and along the
right of way huge wrecking fires added to the scorching heat. Ten feet
from the water-butt lay a flattened mass of rags. Crusted in smoke and
blood and dirt, crushed by a vise of beams and wheels out of human
semblance, and left now an aimless, twitching thing, the tramp
clutched at Stevens's foot as he passed. "Water!"

"Hello, old boy, how the devil did you get here?" exclaimed Stevens,
retreating in alarm.

"Water!"

Stevens stepped to the butt and filled a cup. The tramp's eyes were
closed. Stevens poured the water over his face; then he lifted the
man's head and put a cupful to his lips.

"Is that hobo alive yet?" asked Sinclair, coming back smoking a cigar.
"What does he want now? Water? Don't waste any time on him."

"It's bad luck refusing water," muttered Stevens, holding the cup.

"He'll be dead in a minute," growled Sinclair.

The sound of his voice roused the failing man to a fury. He opened his
bloodshot eyes, and with the dregs of an ebbing vitality cursed
Sinclair with a frenzy that made Stevens draw back. If Sinclair was
startled he gave no sign. "Go to hell!" he exclaimed harshly.

With a ghastly effort the man made his retort. He held up his
blood-soaked fingers. "I'm going all right--I know that," he gasped,
with a curse, "but I'll come back for you!"

Sinclair, unshaken, stood his ground. He repeated his imprecation more
violently; but Stevens, swallowing, stole out of hearing. As he
disappeared, a train whistled in the west.

CHAPTER II

AT SMOKY CREEK

Karg, Sinclair's crew foreman, came running over to him from a pile of
merchandise that had been set off the right of way on the wagon-ro