dge.

"No," and Grant sighed, "not until the State takes hold instead of me, or
the trouble's through."

Breckenridge said nothing further, and Grant sat huddled in a corner with
the thin blue cigar-smoke curling about him. He knew it was possible he
was taking a very heavy risk just then, since the homesteaders might have
changed their plans again; and his task was a double one, for he had not
only to save the stock train, but prevent an encounter between his
misguided followers and the cavalry. So there was silence between them
while, lurching, rocking, roaring, the great locomotive sped on through
the night, until the engineer, turning half-round, glanced at Grant.

"Is she making good enough time to suit you? Perry's siding is just ahead,
and we'll be on the Bitter Creek trestle five minutes after that," he
said.

Grant rose and leaned forward close to the glasses. He could see nothing
but the radiance from the headlamp whirling like a meteor through the
filmy haze; but the fierce vibration of everything, and the fashion in
which the snow smote the glasses, as in a solid stream, showed the pace at
which they were travelling. He looked round and saw that Breckenridge's
eyes were fixed upon him. His comrade's voice reached him faint and
strained through the hammering of the wheels.

"You feel tolerably sure Harper was right about the bridge?"

Grant nodded. "I do."

"What if he was mistaken, and they meant to try there after all? There are
eight of us."

"We have got to take the risk," said Grant very quietly, "and it is a big
responsibility; but if the boys got their work in and fell foul of Cheyne,
we would have half the State ablaze."

He signed for silence, and Breckenridge stared out through the glasses,
for he feared his face would betray him, and fancied he understood the
burden that was upon the man who, because it seemed the lesser evil, was
risking eight men's lives.

As he watched, a blink of light crept out of the snow, grew brighter, and
swept back to them. Others appeared in a cluster behind it, a big
water-tank flashed by, and the roar of wheels and scream of whistle was
flung back by a snow-covered building. Then, as Breckenridge glanced to
the opposite side, the blaze of another headlamp dazzled his eyes and he
had a blurred vision of a waiting locomotive and a long row of
snow-smeared cars. In another second cars and station had vanished as
suddenly as they had sprung up out of the night,