another instant the wreck burst into a conflagration that rose
hissing and seething a hundred feet straight up in the air.

From where they stood, Sinclair's men looked on. They were nonplussed,
but their boss had not lost his nerve. He walked back to McCloud.
"You're going to send us back to Medicine Bend with the car, I
suppose?"

McCloud spoke amiably. "Not on your life. Take your personal stuff out
of the car and tell your men to take theirs; then get off the train
and off the right of way."

"Going to turn us loose on Red Desert, are you?" asked Sinclair
steadily.

"You've turned yourselves loose."

"Wouldn't give a man a tie-pass, would you?"

"Come to my office in Medicine Bend and I'll talk to you about it,"
returned McCloud impassively.

"Well, boys," roared Sinclair, going back to his followers, "we can't
ride on this road now! But I want to tell you there's something to eat
for every one of you over at my place on the Crawling Stone, and a
place to sleep--and something to drink," he added, cursing McCloud
once more.

The superintendent eyed him, but made no response. Sinclair led his
men to the wagon, and they piled into it till the box was filled.
Barney Rebstock had the reins again, and the mules groaned as the whip
cracked. Those that could not climb into the wagon as it moved off
straggled along behind, and the air was filled with cheers and
curses.

The wreck burned furiously, and the column of black smoke shot
straight up. Sinclair, as his cavalcade moved over the hill, followed
on foot, grimly. He was the last to cross the divide that shut the
scene on the track away from the striking wreckers, and as he reached
the crest he paused and looked back, standing for a moment like a
statue outlined in the vivid sunshine. For all his bravado, something
told him he should never handle another wreck on the mountain
division--that he stood a king dethroned. Uninviting enough to many
men, this had been his kingdom, and he loved the power it gave him. He
had run it like many a reckless potentate, but no one could say he had
not been royal in his work as well as in his looting. It was
impossible not to admire the man, his tremendous capacity, his
extraordinary power as a leader; and no one liked his better traits
more than McCloud himself. But Sinclair never loved McCloud. Long
afterward he told Whispering Smith that he made his first mistake in a
long and desperate game in not killing McCloud when he