as not the shadow of a chance to win the strikers
over. "This lets all of you out, you understand, boys," he added; "and
you can never work again for the company on this division if you don't
take hold now."

"Boys," exclaimed Sinclair, better-humored every moment, "I'll
guarantee you work on this division when all the fresh superintendents
are run out of the country, and I'll lay this matter before Bucks
himself, and don't you forget it!"

"You will have a chilly job of it," interposed McCloud.

"So will you, my hearty, before you get trains running past here,"
retorted the wrecking boss. "Come on, boys."

The disaffected men drew off. The emptied wagon, its load scattered on
the ground, stood deserted on the hillside, and the mules drooped in
the heat. Bill Dancing, a giant and a dangerous one, stood lone guard
over the loot, and Young had been called over by McCloud. "How many
men have you got with you, Reed?"

"Eleven."

"How long will it take them to clean up this mess with what help we
can run in this afternoon?"

Young studied the prospect before replying. "They're green at this
sort of thing, of course; they might be fussing here till to-morrow
noon, I'm afraid; perhaps till to-morrow night, Mr. McCloud."

"That won't do!" The two men stood for a moment in a study. "The
merchandise is all unloaded, isn't it?" said McCloud reflectively.
"Get your men here and bring a water-bucket with you."

McCloud walked down to the engine of the wrecking train and gave
orders to the train and engine crews. The best of the refrigerator
cars had been rerailed, and they were pulled to a safe distance from
the wreck. Young brought the bucket, and McCloud pointed to the
caskful of brandy. "Throw that brandy over the wreckage, Reed."

The roadmaster started. "Burn the whole thing up, eh?"

"Everything on the track."

"Bully! It's a shame to waste the liquor, but it's Sinclair's fault.
Here, boys, scatter this stuff where it will catch good, and touch her
off. Everything goes--the whole pile. Burn up everything; that's
orders. If you can get a few rails here, now, I'll give you a track by
sundown, Mr. McCloud, in spite of Sinclair and the devil."

The remains of many cars lay in heaps along the curve, and the
trackmen like firebugs ran in and out of them. A tongue of flame
leaped from the middle of a pile of stock cars. In five minutes the
wreck was burning; in ten minutes the flames were crackling fiercely;
then in