 CHAPTER XXI. The moonlight had given place to darkness, and Alex was thoroughly exhausted from his long walk when the fence of a corral, then a group of small buildings loomed up, and his captor announced that they were at their destination. "'Do you live here all alone?' Alex asked, seeing no lights. "'Since you fell as captured bucks, yes,' responded the cowboy, hauling at the corral bars. Dismounting he whipped saddle and bridle from the pony as it passed inside, and replacing the bars led the way to the house. It was a small, meagerly furnished room that a match, then a lamp, disclosed. Against the rear wall was a small stove, in the center a rough table, at either end a low cot, and in one corner a cupboard. Two or three chairs, some pictures and calendars, and two or three saddles completed the contents. The floor was of hard earth. "'That'll be your buck there,' said the owner, indicating one of the cots. "'And you can turn in just as soon as you like.' Using the room he stood at the foot of the bed, thinking. "'What's the trouble? It looks comfortable enough,' observed Alex, following. "'I have it,' said the cowman, and going to the saddles he returned with a coiled lariat. Alex laughed uncomfortably. "'Lie down,' the man directed. "'Or hold on. Let's see first if you have any knives about you.' Objection would have been fruitless, and Alex of his own accord surrendered his pocket-knife. "'Now lie down.' With what grace he could, Alex complied. Making a slip-loop in the center of the lariat, the cowman passed it over one of the boy's ankles, and made the holding knot as firm as he could draw it. Then passing the two ends of the rope inside one of the lower legs of the cot, he ran them across the room and secured them to his own bed. "'That'll leave you comfortable, and put the knots out of temptation,' he remarked. "'Also, if you start any wriggling, this old shakedown of mine will act as watch-dog. It squeaks if you look at it, and I'm a powerful light-snoozer, a powerful quick with a gun when it's necessary.' He added with an emphasis which Alex could not doubt. Nevertheless, when presently the cowman blew out the light and retired, Alex only waited until a steady, deep snore announced that the man was asleep. Suddenly he sat up and reached toward his encircled ankle. The knots had been secured cleverly and tightly, to pry and pull as he could. They gave no more than if they had been made of wire. Working lower, Alex sought to reach the cot leg to see whether it was fixed to the floor. With some difficulty, because of the sitting position made necessary, he was straining toward it, when suddenly the bound foot lunged from him, the rope tightened, and from the cot opposite came a squeak, the snoring instantly ceased, and Alex sat motionless holding his breath. The ominous silence continued, and finally he lay back with a movement as though turning in his sleep. Minute after minute passed and still the breathing of the man across the room did not resume. Then suddenly, it seemed, Alex found himself sitting upright and daylight flooding the room. He had fallen asleep. The second cot was empty but a moment after the door opened and the cowman appeared. "'How did you sleep, stranger?' he inquired. "'I thought for a spell last night you were trying some funny business.'" Alex laughed. "'I slept like a log,' he declared truthfully, ignoring the last remark. "'Are you going to keep me tied up here all day?' "'Until after breakfast, anyway,' responded his host, proceeding to start a fire in the stove. "'Suppose you'll have some bacon and coffee?' "'Thank you, yes. I'm more than hollow after that marathon run you gave me last night.'" As the cowman turned to the cupboard, Alex seized the opportunity to examine the leg of the cot about which the lasso was passed. With disappointment he discovered it to be a stout post driven into the floor. Despite the discomfort of his position, Alex enjoyed the simple breakfast of biscuits and bacon. He was passing his cup for a third filling of the fragrant coffee when his host abruptly sat the coffee pot down and listened. "'Someone coming,' he remarked. Alex also heard the hoof beats. They approached rapidly. There was a step at the door and a tall, well-dressed figure in riding-breaches and leggings appeared. At sight of Alex he halted in surprise. "'Who's this, Monson?' he demanded. The cowman led the way outside and closed the door, and low words told Alex that he was explaining the previous night's occurrences. More, they told him that this well-dressed man was the connecting link between the K and Z and the men who were seeking to interfere with the Middle Western in the race for the Yellow Creek Pass. "'What would be the outcome of the man's visit for him?' Alex asked himself, for the newcomer would not fail to appreciate the disadvantage of having been seen there by the young employee of the M.W. The young operator was not left long in doubt. The door again opened and the stranger re-entered, followed by the cowman, and without preliminary placed a chair before Alex and dropped into it. "'Look here, my boy,' he began. "'How would you like to earn some extra money? A good decent sum.' At once, seeing the man's intention, Alex bridled indignantly. But suppressing his feelings, he responded, "'I'd like to as well as any one else, I suppose. If I can earn it honorably.' At the last word a flush mounted to the stranger's cheeks, but he continued. "'Well, that's all a matter of opinion, you know. Every man has his own particular code of honor. However—' "'You probably have guessed who I am—' "'A K&Z man.' "'Yes. Now look here. Suppose the K&Z was anxious to know from day to day that precise progress the M.W. is making in this race for Yellow Creek, and suppose they were willing to pay a hundred dollars a month for the information. Would that proposition interest you?' Alex replied promptly. "'No, sir. And anyway it's not the information you want. It's my silence.'" The man's face darkened. He had one more card to play, however. "'Well, let it go at that, then. And suppose, in addition to a hundred a month to keep silent as to seeing me here, and what you have learned generally, I should give you—' He thrust his hand into an inside pocket and brought forth a long pocket-book. "'Suppose I should give you, say, two hundred dollars cash?' Alex caught a knee between his hands and leaned back against the wall. "'I'm not for sale,' he replied quietly. The would-be briber thrust the book back into his pocket and sprang to his feet purple with anger. "'Very well, my young saint,' he sneered. "'Stay where you are, then, till we're good and ready to let you go.'" He strode to the door, Munson following him. "'If he tries to get away,' Alex heard him add as he mounted his horse. "'Shoot him. I'll protect you.' "'You are a young fool, all right,' Munson said, returning. "'You simply made it worse for yourself. You shall now got to stay right here indefinite.'" "'And as he ordered,' the Kalman added determinately, "'if you try to make a breakaway of it, I'll sure shoot and shoot to kill. When I go into a thing, I put it through.'" Alex, however, had no intention of staying whatever the risks, and when presently Munson, after assuring himself that the knots were secure, passed out, he immediately addressed himself to the task of making his escape. It did not look difficult at first sight, since both hands were free, and only one foot tied. But an energetic attempt to loosen the cleverly tied slip-loop failed as completely as it had the night before. Likewise, strained as he could at the cot-leg, he could not budge it, so firmly was it driven into the hard ground. With something like despair, Alex at last relinquished these endeavours, and turned to the problem of cutting the rope in some way. In the hope of finding a nail with which he might pick or fray the lariat apart, he made a thorough examination of the cot. There were nails, but they were driven in beyond hope of drawing with his fingers. Despiritedly Alex relinquished the search, and sat up. His eyes wandered to the window near him. Starting to his feet he strained toward it. The lower corner on one of the panes had been broken, and the triangle of glass leaned inward loosely. With a low expression of hope, Alex was reaching for it, when from the rear of the cabin sounded the returning footsteps of the cowmen. Speedily Alex sank back on the cot, and assumed an air of dejection. A few minutes later the boy again found himself alone. But in the meantime he had decided to leave the securing of the fragment of glass and the attempt at escape until night. In further preparation for the attempt Alex that afternoon stretched himself on the cot and slept several hours. To the young operator it seemed that the cowmen could never retire that night, and when at length he blew out the light and threw himself upon his bed he apparently lay an interminable time awake. At length, however, when the moonlight in the window pointed to approaching midnight, there came a faint, regular breathing, then a full, long snore. Without loss of time Alex got to his feet at the foot of the cot, and leaning against the wall reached toward the window. He could just touch the broken corner of pain with the tips of his fingers. Moving his supporting hand farther along the wall, he drew back and reached forward with a lunge. This time he got his wrist on the window ledge. Thus leaning he finally secured a hold on the fragment of glass with his fingers and pulled on it. A crackle caused him to falter. Monson's breathing continued undisturbed. At the next pull the peace came free. The next moment Alex was sitting on the cot end, sawing at the rope with a sharp edge of the broken glass. To his disappointment the edge, though sharp to the field, did not cut into the closely woven and seasoned twine as he had expected. Finally he sawed away, however, and at last found that the extemporized knife was taking hold. And finally, as the last gleam of moonlight died from the window pains, the remaining strand was severed and there was a faint slap as the rope fell to the floor. A restless move by the sleeper and a momentary cessation of the snoring gave Alex a thrill of fear. Then the heavy breathing resumed, and getting to his feet he slipped into the door, found the catch, lifted it, and passed out. As he closed the door Alex paused a moment to assure himself that the calmum was still breathing regularly and turned away jubilantly. Exultation over his escape was considerably tempered when Alex discovered that the moon was almost down in the west and that in addition the sky overhead was clouding. He set off immediately, however, heading straight north, and when a safe distance had been put between him and the cabin, broken to a run. At a steady jog Alex kept on for several miles over the dimly lit plane. Then the moon finally disappeared, and he fell into a rapid walk. Some time later he halted in alarm. Was he going in the right direction? On every hand was a wall of darkness, and overhead not a star was to be seen. He moved on, and again halted, to debate the situation. Certainly for the time being he was lost. What should he do? Remain where he was till daylight? Or go ahead and take the chance of circuiting back? He decided to continue. Perhaps an hour later, still pushing ahead, Alex drove full tilled into a barbed wire fence. As he staggered back a second cry broke from him, had he circled back to Munson's corral? His heart in his throat he felt hurriedly along the top wire to a post, and reached upward. A gasp of relief greeted the discovery that the top of the post was well within his reach. The corral posts were not less than eight or nine feet, with wires to the top. A further cheering idea followed. On the ride to the Antelope Viaduct he had noted a three-wire fence similar to this, paralleling the right of way for several miles. Perhaps this was the same fence? If he only knew its direction. Dropping to the ground for a brief rest, Alex set his brains at recalling every bit of woods or plains lore he had ever heard or read of for the telling of direction. It was a puff of air against his cheek that suggested the answer. What a prevailing wind! What was it here? Southwest. In a moment he was on his feet at the foot of the adjacent fence post. On the farther side, half covering the dead grass, was a small eddy of sand. Hopefully Alex hastened to the next post. The same. To make doubly sure he tried the third, and with an exulting, the same again! He started to his feet and struck on, whistling gaily, confident he was heading due north, and that this was the same fence he had seen along the new embankment. A further cheering thought occurred to the young operator presently. The construction train should not be far from the stretch of road which paralleled the fence. Onward he pushed through the darkness at a steady swinging gate, feeling frequently for the fence, to make sure he was not wandering. For what seemed several hours Alex had been walking when a faint light appeared in the sky? It was to his right. His plainsmanship had not put him amiss. As the light brightened he gazed anxiously ahead. The ragged, thin-posted fence stretched unbroken to the northern horizon. He had hoped the light would reveal the swing to the east and the dark shape of the construction train. Alex continued steadily ahead, however, buoying up his lagging energies with pictures of a hot, appetizing meal and a pleasant meeting with Jack and the rest of his friends on the train. And finally, when the sun had been some time above the horizon, he uttered a shout. Far in front, but distinct in the beautifully clear air, the fence turned abruptly to the east, and less than a mile sunward was a long dark shape and columns of smoke rising lazily into the air. Going through the fence, Alex set off on a beeline for the train, whistling a brisk march. Five minutes later the whistler paused in the middle of a note and spun sharply about. The color left his bronzed face. A mile to the rear, on the other side of the fence, a horseman was following him at full speed. A glance at the white-faced pony told it was monson, and turning, Alex was off, running with every ounce of his remaining energy. The thud of the hoofs gained rapidly. Closer they came, and Alex headed off farther from the fence. Perhaps he'll be afraid to put the horse at the wire, he thought hopefully. He glanced back, the common was wheeling off for the jump. In despair Alex looked over the long mile still separating him from the train and again over his shoulder. Would the horse make it? He slightly slowed his steps as the animal made the rush. It went over like a bird. Gritting his teeth, Alex dashed straight back for the fence. I'll make him jump his head off before he gets me, anyway. He said grimly. Flogging the pony, the cowman endeavored to head the boy off, but Alex reached the wire and dove safely through. Scrambling to his feet he was on again, this time keeping closer to the fence. It was as the pony drew up a breast, fifty feet distant, and while the train was still a good mile away, that the idea of signalling for help on the fence wire occurred to Alex. He acted immediately. Catching up a good-sized stone, he ran forward and on the topmost wire, near one of the posts, pounded with all his might the telegraph dot letters O, O, OR, OR. Munson had pulled up as Alex ran for the fence. When the boy began pounding the wire he had once recognized its purpose and sprang from his horse drawing his pistol. Instantly Alex darted on, carrying the stone. The cowman ran after, but the man was slow on his feet and despite his fatigue Alex drew away from him. Stop or I'll shoot! cried the cow-puncher. Pull up! I will! Go ahead and they'll hear you at the train, called Alex though secretly trembling. The cowman hesitated, then returned the revolver to its holster and ran back for his horse. Immediately Alex was again at the wire, pounding out O, O, OR, OR. The cowman was again up with him, and once more he ran on, gazing anxiously toward the train for signs of commotion to show his appeal had been heard. For some distance the strange race continued. The cowman, angry and puzzled, on one side of the fence, escaping close to the wires on the other in readiness to dodge under should his pursuer jump. Finally the rider again swung off and headed in at a gallop. Grimly Alex halted. With a rush the horse came directly toward him. Waiting until it was within a few yards of him he dropped to his knees and crawled halfway through the fence. It was his undoing. Straight at him the horseman came as though to jump, then suddenly the rider whirled broadside, leaned from the saddle, and before Alex, wildly scrambling, could withdraw, had him firmly by the hair. By main force the cowboy dragged his prisoner through the fence and upright beside him. With a half stifled sob Alex lurched limply against the pony shoulders. Never mind, kid, said the cowman, not unkindly, you made a good fight of it. You did your best, but I had to do my best too. If you give me your word to go quiet, I'll let you ride behind me," he added. Promise? Alex cast a last look back toward the construction train. A few figures were moving about slowly. Clearly his signals had not been heard. All right! He said wearily, and with some difficulty mounting behind the cowboy they were off the weary way he had come. Jack, at the construction train, rose late that morning. He had been up nearly all night, awaiting news from the Viaduct Search Party, which throughout the entire day had been scouring the nearby country for his unaccountably missing chum. As he emerged from the telegraph-car door he found the Indian Little Hawk on the adjoining steps of the store-car. Good morning, Mr. Little Hawk, he said, sunning yourself. I wait for you, I hear noise, knock," the Indian said. Knock! Like little tick-knock in car! He added as Jack regarded him, mystified. Tick-knock, what do you mean? Come fence," said the Indian stolidly. Hear him twice, like this. And while Jack's eyes opened wide, with a stony held in his hand, the Indian tapped on the iron handrail of the car the telegraph words O, O, O-R. In a moment Jack was on the ground before him, all excitement. Where? Where did you hear it? He cried. Fence, sleep dare, said the Indian, pointing to the nearby fence. No tick much about. Densey horse-run, way dare. Dentech, tick-knock, and come you. Uttering a shrill shout, Jack was off on the jump to find Superintendent Finnan. And fifteen minutes later the Superintendent, Little Hawk, and one of the foremen, mounted, were away on the gallop along the ranch fence toward the point at which the Indian had seen the disappearing horseman. Alex was thoroughly exhausted when he found himself once more at the ranch. Slipping to the ground, he entered the cabin of his own accord, and threw himself dejectedly upon the couch. You've nearspawned a dinged fine rope! Observed Munson following him, and kicking at the lariat still stretched across the floor. Oh, well, I can take it out of the K and Z. Now for some breakfast. Suppose you don't feel too bad to grub, eh? Though you sure don't deserve none. As on the previous morning, Alex and his jailer were near the conclusion of the meal when hoofbeats again told of the approach of a visitor. Going to the door, the cowman announced, "'Bennett!' "'So that's his name, is it?' said Alex quickly. "'What? Did I say—' "'Well, let it go. I don't see that it makes much difference. Yes, Bennett's his name. The mighty lucky thing I have you back here!' He added over his shoulder. "'Good mornin', Mr. Bennett,' he said. Called us at breakfast again. "'Breakfast? What are you doing at breakfast this time of day?' inquired the K and Z man, entering. When the cowman explained, the newcomer glowered at Alex threateningly. "'Why didn't you shoot?' he demanded. "'Too near the train. They would have heard it,' responded Munson. "'Well, clear off the table. I have something I want to show you,' said Bennett, producing what looked like a map from his pocket. "'And you get off to a corner,' he snarled at Alex. "'Why isn't he tied up?' he demanded of the cowboy. "'He agreed to a twenty-four hour's truce, not to make another break in that time,' the cowman answered as he swept their few dishes into the cupboard. "'Bennett's lip curled under his mustache. "'And you believe him, eh?' There was a suggestion of tartness in the cowman's prompt. "'Sure!' he rode behind me all the way back on his wood, not to attempt anything, and kept it. "'Could have pulled my own gun on me if he'd wanted to!' The more fool, muttered the railroad man as he spread the roll of paper on the table. Alex, meantime, had stepped to the window from which he had taken the fragment of glass, and was disconsolently watching a half-dozen hens scratching about below. Lifting his eyes, he glanced out over the plain. The man at the table heard a sharply in-drawn breath. It was immediately changed into a low whistling, however, and they gave their attention again to the map. Alex had discovered three horsemen heading for the ranch from the north, and the leading pony he would have known in a hundred. It was Little Hawk's heavily-modeled horse. That they were coming to his assistance, that someone had heard the knocking on the wire, he had not a doubt. The horsemen were still some distance out of hearing. Ceasing the whistling, Alex glanced casually toward the table. Seated in chairs, the two men were still deeply engrossed in the plan before them, talking in low voices. When on turning back to the window Alex recognized the second horseman as Superintendent Finnan, he shot a further glance toward the gay and z-man at the table, and a smile of anticipation and delight overspread his face. Then suddenly it occurred to him that in a few minutes the hoofbeats of the oncoming horses would be heard, and that Bennett would have time to get to the door and escape. He must haul his rescuers and signal them to reproach on foot. A moment Alex thought, then casually remarking to the cowmen, I'm going to open the window. It's hot. Unlatched and swung the sash inward. The move passed unnoticed, and leaning out he pretended to call the chickens. What he was in reality doing was energetically waving his handkerchief backwards and forwards below, making the railroad stop signal. The horseman came on. If they came much farther they would be heard. He paused and waved again, more energetically. The third horseman pulled up. Quickly Alex followed with the signal to come ahead with caution. The rear pony spurred forward, pulled up beside the second, and apparently at a call the Indian also halted. On Alex repeating the last signal, all dismounted, and he knew he had been understood. Leaving their horses where they were, the three men came on at a quick walk. Alex, continuing to talk to the hens, could scarcely contain his secret delight. When his rescuers were within a hundred yards of the cabin, he once more signalled caution, and they continued stealthily revolvers in hand. They reached the corner of the house, unheard by the men at the table. The superintendent raised his eyebrows questioningly. Alex glanced over his shoulder and nodded sharply. The next moment there was a rush of feet without, and all in a twinkle Bennett and the cowmen were out of their chairs, at the door, and staggering back before three threatening revolvers. Staring open-mouthed, they brought up beside the overturned table. Alex's words were the first. These were the chickens that was calling Mr. Bennett. He remarked gleefully. The K&Z man recovered himself and turned on the boy white with passion. He was stopped by an exclamation from Finnan. "'Bennett! George Bennett! What are you doing here?' "'Perhaps this will explain, sir,' said Alex, handing over the map, which he had caught up during the excitement. Bennett made a frantic movement to intercept him, but prominently little hawk's revolver was in his face, and he sank back into a chair, gritting his teeth. "'A plan showing every bridge encoloured on our line, and directions for blowing them all up simultaneously?' "'Well,' words failed the superintendent. "'And this is what you have come to, Bennett. I'd never have believed it.' There was a second awkward silence when Superintendent Finnan suddenly broke it with. "'Look here. I've got you now, haven't I? I've got you where I can put you in jail for a year or so, at least. Well, instead of doing that, I'll make you a proposition. Drop all this kind of work. Guarantee that there will be no more of it. Agree to make it a straight, square building race between your road and mine, the first one to reach the pass to win. Guarantee that, and I'll let you go. Do you agree?' Bennett rose to his feet and held out his hand. "'I'll give you my solemn word, Finnan. And—and I'm awfully sorry I ever consented to go into this kind of thing.' The K&Z man went on, a quaver in his voice. But it was put up to me, and when I'd taken the first step, I thought I'd have to carry it through.' He turned to Alex. "'I'm sorry for the way you have been treated, my lad. You are a plucky boy, and straight. You keep on as you have, and you'll never find yourself in the position I am.' I offered him two hundred dollars' cash in a hundred a month to keep his mouth quiet.' The speaker explained to the superintendent. And he refused it. "'How about the antelope viaduct, Mr. Finnan?' Alex asked as they rode away, he on one of Munson's loaned ponies. It wasn't blown up?' "'No, but an attempt of some kind was made. Rather a mysterious affair,' the superintendent said. Late last night an Italian of the Phil gang was seen stealing to one of the main foundations, then kicking and tearing something to pieces. Norton followed him, and found some fuses and fragments of paper that had been wrapped around some strange kind of explosive, which apparently had failed to ignite. The Italian has not been seen since.' Alex was chuckling. "'I think I can guess why that strange explosive failed to go off, sir,' he said. "'It was clay!' And continuing he explained the mystery in detail. Superintendent Finnan laughed heartily. "'Well, Ward, you are certainly due a vote of thanks!' He declared seriously. "'You saved the viaduct, and now you probably have brought about the ending of the entire trouble with the K&Z people. I'll not fail to turn in a thorough report of it.'" CHAPTER XXXII THE FINAL CHAPTER OF THE YOUNG REAR ROADERS THE YOUNG REAR ROADERS BY F. LEVEL COOMS CHAPTER XXII THE DEFENSE OF THE VIADUCT Thanks to the termination of the interference from the opposition road, the work on the extension progressed rapidly, and two weeks later found the railhead seven miles beyond the Antelope viaduct in the lower slopes of the Dog Rib Mountains. The coveted pass to the Yellow Creek Goldfield lay but eight miles distant, and as the K&Z was still twenty miles east, it appeared certain that the Middle Western would win the great race. The time had passed uneventfully with the three young telegraphers, the end of the second week finding Alex and Jack together with the construction train at the railhead, and Wilson Jennings back at the temporary station and material sightings at the viaduct. Perhaps the last few days had passed least interestingly with Wilson, alone in his little boxcar station not far from the old riverbed. Saturday had seemed particularly slow, for some reason, and shortly after eight o'clock Wilson threw aside a book he had been reading, and catching up his hat made for the door for a brief stroll previous to retiring. The moon was momentarily showing through a break in the cloudy sky, and looking to the west Wilson was somewhat surprised to discover the figures of two men approaching. When as he watched they reached the first of a train of tie-cars, and leaving the rails continued forward in the shadows, Wilson stepped back in disquiet. The strangers came opposite and paused, looking toward the station window and speaking in subdued voices, convinced that something was afoot, the young operator turned quickly and stooping low that his shadow might not be seen on the window, crept to the little instrument table and reached for the telegraph key. He opened and pressed it down. The sounder did not respond. He tried again, adjusting the relay, and turned about in genuine alarm. The wire had been cut. Some mischief was surely afoot. From without came the crunch of stealthy footsteps. Springing to his bunk, Wilson secured his revolver in belt, the same taken from the would-be bullion thief he had captured at Bonepile, and stealing to the rear door, slipped out into the ground, just as the strangers approached the opposite side of the little car depot. The car was raised on a foundation of ties, and as the two men entered, Wilson crept beneath. No one here, said a gruff voice. Say, do you suppose he saw us and sneaked? Like us not. I told you to keep to the rails and come straight up. Chided the other. Perhaps he will come back. We're in charge of the station anyway. That was the real thing. Wilson waited to hear no more. Creeping forth, he stole off toward the ravine, intending to get out of sight in its shadows. A short distance from the head of the viaduct was the green light of a small target switch. The head of the downward path lay just beyond, and Wilson headed for the light. He reached it and passed on. Abruptly he halted and turned about. Like an inspiration had come the remembrance of Alex Ward's signalling feet two years before at Bickston, of which he had heard from Jack Orr. Could he not do the same? Try and signal Alex, or Jack, at the construction train. Say, from one of the box-cars at the farther corner of the yard? Casting a glance toward the little station to assure himself that all was quiet there, Wilson retraced his steps to the switch, removed the lantern, and tucking it under his coat was off between the material-cars for the farthest corner of the sidings. The outermost car was a box-car. Climbing the ladder, with this handkerchief Wilson tied the lantern to the topmost rung, the red light out, and using his hat just as Alex had done, began flashing the call of the construction train. KX, KX, V, KX, KX, V. Since the construction train had started from Yellow Creek Junction, it had been a center of attraction to coyotes for fifty miles around, and one of the few recreations enjoyed by the men of the train had been hunting them at night. This Saturday night, Alex and Jack, borrowing Winchester's from other members of the telegraph car party, had set out for a couple of good rugs, as they put it, and on leaving the train had headed east toward the aqueduct, in which direction they had heard barks of the midnight prowlers. They had gone perhaps three miles and had fired on several of the wily animals, without success, when suddenly Jack caught Alex by the arm and pointed away to the east. Look, Al, what's that? Why? It looks like. It is. It is a signal light. And calling us! KX! cried Alex. Something must be wrong with Wilson. What do we do? Back to the train? Have you a match and some paper? said Alex, going hurriedly through his own pockets. Some matches? Here's a couple of letters. Come on back to the rails, find some chips, and make a fire. See if we can't answer him and learn what the trouble is. They were already racing for the track, reached it, and quickly gathering together a little pile of dry bark and chips knocked from the ties, made a fire at the track side, and lit it. As the flames burst up, Alex threw off his coat, and using it as a curtain, raised and lowered it in a flashed I, I, KX. The call twinkled on. Wilson had not seen it. But the next moment before Alex had completed a second answer, the red light disappeared. Alex again shot forth, the gleaming I, I, KX. And in blinking response they read, Chased out of station, two men, wire cut, something wrong, help, V. OK, but we are three miles from the train, hunting. Will we come or go back for help? signalled Alex. There was a pause, and the red light blinked. Come, quick. OK, coming. Only pausing to stamp out the fire, the two boys were away at a run, heading directly for the light, which at intervals Wilson continued to show as a guide. Their open-air experience of a month had put the two boys in the best of condition, and keeping on at a smart pace, within half an hour the light showed just ahead. And a few minutes after, Wilson ran forward to greet them. I don't know what's in the air, but certainly something, he announced. As you fellas are armed, too, suppose we go back and get the two men in the station car and see if we can't make them tell, he suggested. Lead ahead, agreed the others. Stealthily they made their way amid the intervening cars and emerged opposite the little depot. In the window was the shadow of a man, smoking. They stole across to the door, and Wilson, leading, cautiously glanced within. He turned and held up one finger. Revolver in hand, he tipped out up the steps, and with a cry sprang inside and toward the man in the chair. The intruder was so taken by surprise that he tumbled over backward. In a jiffy the three boys were upon him and had pinned him to the floor, and while Alex closely clutched his mouth to prevent him calling out, the others speedily bound his hands and feet with some convenient pieces of wire. Satisfied that their prisoner was firmly secured, and having removed his pistol and cartridge belt, the boys replaced him in the chair, and Wilson, pointing his revolver at the man's head, demanded, Where is your pard? In what are you and he up to? There was a look of amusement in the man's face as Alex removed his hand, and he replied, Nothing do him, boys, you'll have to guess. I'll give you to three to tell, said Wilson, assuming a fierce expression and beginning to count. The prisoner laughed outright. You gentlemen kids wouldn't shoot a fly, he declared coolly. Wilson colored with mortification, for of course he had no intention of shooting. Even Alex and Jack were forced to smile at the turn of the situation. Wilson had his revenge, however. Gag him then, Al, he suggested, and we will stow him away beneath the car. The man's mouth opened for a shout. In a flash Alex had slapped a handkerchief between his teeth, and despite the man's struggles stuffed it well in. Then, taking from his neck a long-colored neckerchief, he bound it twice about the man's face. Now out with him this side, said Wilson, opening the rear door. Wouldn't it be better to take him over under one of the cars on the sightings? Jack suggested. His pard might return and he kick or make some kind of a noise underneath. That's so! Dragging their prisoner forth, they glanced up and down to see that no one was in sight, and with Jack at his feet, and Alex and Wilson at his arms, they hastened across the rails, passed between two freight cars, and in the deep shadow beyond, placed him on the ground and bound him firmly to a rail. Be sure you don't talk now, said Wilson derisively as they turned away. What next, Jack asked. It's pretty sure to be some mischief about the bridge. Let's have a look around there, suggested Alex. Approaching the brink of the ravine at a point some distance from the viaduct, the boys glanced below, from the three broke a simultaneous low cry of understanding and indignation. In the light of several lanterns, a party of seemingly fifteen or twenty men were piling brush about the base of one of the central wooden piers. The K&Z people again sure as you're born, exclaimed Alex hotly, and after their solemn agreement. If they succeed in burning it, they will hold back our supplies two or three weeks, and reach the pass ahead of us dead certain, added Jack through his teeth. We've got to stop them, boys. Could there a hand car or a velocipede here, Wilson? Alex inquired. No, not even a push car, and it'd take one of us an hour and a half to reach the construction train. But that's certainly the only thing to be done, Jack pointed out. Perhaps two of us, with the rifles, could hold them. A flicker of light broke out below, which was not a lantern, and approached the dimly disclosed brush pile. Quick as a flash, Jack's rifle went to his shoulder, and there was a reverberating crash. The light disappeared, and there came up a chorus of surprised shouts in the clatter of running feet. Now we are in for it. I think we'd better stick it out together, said Alex quietly. Perhaps the firing will be heard at the train. The others agreed, and at Wilson's suggestion they made their way a few feet down the slope to a ledge from which the whole structure of the bridge could dimly be seen. How are you fellows off for ammunition? whispered Wilson. I have four more rounds in the rifle, and thirty in my belt, said Jack. Five in the gun, and twenty-seven in the belt, Alex announced. Wilson had been examining the revolver and belt they had taken from the prisoner, and which he had brought with him. Fourteen in the two pistols, and nearly sixty in the two belts, he said. We ought to be able to put up all kinds of a fight, Alex declared confidently. That is, unless they— He broke off, and all leaned forward, peering down into the gloom and listening. From a little to the left rose the clatter of a pebble. Wilson stretched himself on his face, and bent over one of his pistols extended. Barely breathing they waited, and again came a faint clatter as of loose and earth nearer. Don't let him get too close! Alex whispered. There came the sound of something snapping, a smothered exclamation, and instantly Wilson fired. There was a shrill cry and the crash of something rolling downward. At the same moment from below came a crashing volley of shots and bullets snarled upwards by them like a swarm of bees. The boys shrank back flat, then leaned over and returned two quick volleys. Another cry indicated that one of their bullets had found a mark, and following a scattering return volley from the darkness there were sounds of a hurried scuttling for cover. Anyone touched? Jack asked. I think I lost a little hair, said Wilson quietly. Me too, said Alex, but a miss is as good as a mile, you know, and we have the advantage so far. Sh! warned Jack. In the silence came the sound of running footsteps farther up the gully, followed by a continuous rattle of falling stones. They're making a rush up another path, quick, and stop them! The boys exclaimed Wilson, starting to his feet. Hold on, Alex interrupted, as they reached the crest of the slope. Perhaps it's a roost to get us away so they can start the fire. You two run and chase them down, and I'll stay and watch here. If you need help, shout. Wilson and Jack sprang away along the brink of the ravine. A hundred yards distant the sounds of men ascending rose from beneath them. Without pause they fired. Cries of rage followed, and as the boys dropped to the ground a dozen bullets whined over them. Properly Wilson replied with the entire seven shots from one of his pistols, there was a crash as of someone falling, then a general scrambling as the entire party apparently tumbled precipitately down the steep slope. Rising to their feet, the boys fired several more shots and hastened back toward Alex. As they neared him, the crash of his rifle told he had guessed rightly that another attempt would be made to light the fire. Quick, he said, slamming the loading mechanism, they're sticking to it! Wilson and Jack saw several twinkling flames, and the roar of Alex's next shot was followed by the crash of their own weapons. A cry of agony followed, and one of the lights disappeared. Another faltered and also went out. Alex once more brought up his rifle, took careful aim. The jet of flame leaped from the muzzle, and with a shout the boys saw the last spot of light describe an arc in the air and go out. An angry howl followed, then a continuous volley from several different points. The spirit of fight had taken full possession of the three lads on the brink of the ravine, however, and lying close they gave back shot for shot, quickly but steadily. Finally a lull came, and Alex rose exultingly on an elbow and shouted below, Come on, you cowards, come! From behind one of the bridge pillars leaped a flame, and with a sharp intake of breath Alex slipped sideways. But as Wilson and Jack sprang to his side he again rose. It's nothing, he declared, just a graze inside the arm. The quiet continuing, the others insisted on removing Alex's coat and feeling found the shirt sleeve wet. Tie a handkerchief round it, Alex directed. There, that's all right. That's what I get for allowing myself to be carried away, isn't it? He added, as Wilson and Jack helped him into his coat. I didn't realize how— All three snatched up their weapons and spun about. A tall, stooped figure was standing within a few feet of them. Surrender! cried Wilson. Quick, Corral! It's me, little hawk! said a quiet voice. Why shoot? With a common cry of joy the boys sprang forward and quickly explained the situation. The Indian grunted. Not K and Z-man, he said. Bad cowboy, minor, gambler, from Yellow Creek. Think'em big bet, K and Z win. Come burn bridge, make'em win. Little hawk hear'em talk. Come follow, hear'em fight, come quick. Think'em big fight. Only three-boy fight, eh? He added in surprise. Alex had been considering. Look here, little hawk, he suggested. You ride back to the construction train and give the alarm, will you? I think we have these fellows scared now and can hold them till help comes and none of us could ride that pony of yours. I find'em another hawk, cowboy hawk, said the Indian, pointing the way he had come. You go, take'em, little hawk, stay fight. Alex thought a minute. No, I'd rather stick and see the thing through now, he declared. Me too, said Jack promptly. Same here, Wilson agreed. It's up to you then, little hawk. Say, hold on, Alex interrupted as the Indian turned away. Boys, how about little hawk taking our prisoner back with him on the other horse? The folks at the train might get some information out of him. Could you take'em, little hawk? He asked. The red-skinned grunted dissent. Tie'em to settle, he said. I'll go and show him where the rascal is, volunteered Wilson. A few minutes later, with the boy's prisoner trailing behind, securely bound to the saddle of the wandering horse he had picked up, the Indian was off across the plain to the west at the top of his mottled pony's speed. When Wilson returned to Alex and Jack, he found them busy constructing a miniature blockhouse of ties they had thrown from a neighbouring car. That's the idea, he said, joining them. We could hold out in that all night, easily. No, leave that opening, Wilson. Jack interposed as Wilson began closing a gap at one of the corners. That's to command the bridge. We're going to fire through, not over. The boys had just completed their little fort when from the top of the gully, immediately opposite, came a spit of flame followed by the plaintive hum of a pistol bullet above them. Properly they dropped below the ties, and Alex, who had that side, aimed toward the spot at which he had seen the flash, and as it spat out again, crashed back with his winchester. From several points along the opposite level a ragged fire followed, and continued intermittently. Then finally, as the boys had half expected, there came a smattering volley from amid the cars on the sidings behind them. The body of their assailants had reached the surface on their side. Now it was that the three began to experience their first real anxiety. For despite their show of confidence to one another, each secretly knew that if a determined rush was made from near at hand, there was scarcely an even chance of their standing it off. As a provision against this eventuality, Wilson did very little firing during the almost steady exchange of shots that followed, keeping the chambers of his two revolvers always full. To the same end, Alex and Jack used their magazine rifles as single shots, holding the magazines fully charged in reserve. I think I'm getting one of them now and then, Alex was saying about half an hour after the disappearance of the Indian, or else he broke off to fire again, unless their ammunition is giving out over there. Suddenly Jack snapped open his magazine. Here they come, he whispered. Alex scrambled about beside him. Wilson thrust the pistol barrels through the loophole. From the dark line of the cars rose a shouted command. There came a ripping volley of a dozen colts, and a dim group of figures rushed toward them. Now steady, warned Alex, and shoot low, fire, crash, went the Winchester's, crack, crack, crack, the pistols. Two of the leading runners went to their hands and knees. The others rushed on, shouting and spitting flames. Keeping well under cover, the boys fired as quickly as they could work their weapons. Wilson fell to stinging snip at his right ear, and a warm stream trickling down his neck. He emptied the first pistol, and began with the second. Crash, crash! Roared the Winchester's. The attackers held on. They had made half the distance. In spite of themselves the boys began firing nervously. Closer the running figures came. Jack snapped back his reloading mechanism and pulled the trigger. There was no report. His cry of consternation was echoed by Alex. They had fired their last shots. With a wild shout of triumph two of their assailants were upon them. From a clear patch of sky bright moonlight flooded the construction train, and the gray slope of the hill to the southeast about which the rails had crept that day. Grouped on the rear steps of the store-car, Superintendent Finnan and several of his foremen sat and smoked, and listened. Yes, it's a horse, said one of the foremen. Two horses, declared the superintendent, and coming as though old Nick were after them. Over the moonlit rise swept a figure on horseback, then another. On discovering the group at the car, the leader uttered a shrill whoop and tore down the slope toward them. The first is Little Hawk. The other is a prisoner. What's wrong? cried the superintendent, springing to the ground. The Indian pulled up in a cloud of dust before him and threw himself from his reeking pony. Want Burnham Bridge? He said, indicating his prisoner. Five, ten, more, much more. Three boy, tick-knock boy, fight him. Here? Here? He placed his hand to his ear. The incredulous group turned to the east and listened. As from infinitely far away, half heard, half felt, came a low deaden, plough, plough, plough, plough. A moment the startled rear of men stared at each other, then quickly the superintendent spoke. Ryan, route out the engineer and fireman, the rest of you run for your guns and a dozen good men from your gangs. Don't lose a minute. The group scattered with a rush. Fifteen minutes later, with men filling her cab and clustered on the tender, the engine was underway, rushing eastward. As rapidly the speed was increased, the locomotive rocked and leaped over the new roadbed. But with the superintendent at his elbow, the engineer drove her up to the last notch and the prairie streamed by them like a blanket. Half the distance was made and above the noise of the engine came a sharp tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. On the engine rushed and the distant shapes of cars appeared. Simultaneously there came a crashing volley of shots and a chorus of shouting. The men on the engine gripped their guns and stared ahead into the space lit up by the headlight. With reducing speed they struck a curve and the stream of light swung about toward the bridge. The next moment, into the glare, broke a group of madly struggling figures. On the flash of the light, the fighting ceased. There were cries of alarm and the renegades began to break in flee. A small party stood and fired toward the engine, but with a roar the rarer men leaped and tumbled to the ground and rushed at them, and they too broke and fled. And the great fight was over and won. The superintendent was first to reach the little barricade. Jack he found unconscious from a blow on the head. Wilson had fainted, and Alex drooped limply on the wall of ties, exhausted past speaking. The faces, hands and clothes of all bore mute witness to the desperate struggle they had put up during those last terrible minutes. Within a short time, however, all three boys had somewhat recovered and were able to take their places in the engine cab. And a half hour later the party headed back for the construction train, coupled behind them a boxcar containing eighteen prisoners. Ten of the captured men were found to have been wounded, several seriously, but to the relief of the boys none had been killed outright. When rescued, rescuers and prisoners arrived at the construction train they found an excited crowd of over three hundred men awaiting them. And on the details of the affair quickly spreading, the three boys were literally swept from their feet by the enthusiastic foreigners, hoisted into the air, and carried to the telegraph car to a continuous roar of hurrahs and bravos. The following Wednesday a special train, to which was attached Division Superintendent Cameron's private car, drew up at the rear of the boarding train. Proceeding thither in response to a message, Alex and Jack found Wilson, who had been picked up at the Viaduct Station, Construction Superintendent Finnan and several other Middle-Western officials. Having greeted them warmly, the Division Superintendent took a small package from his desk and opened it. "'I know you don't like speeches, boys,' he began, "'and in any case, I'm not sure I could do justice to the occasion. But here, these three gold watches, the very finest the company's money could buy, I may say, will show you what we think of the loyalty to the company and the splendid courage you three lads displayed last Saturday night in defense of the Antelope Viaduct. I might just read one of the inscriptions,' he said, opening Alex's watch. To Alex Ward, from the Middle-Western Railroad, in recognition of the heroic part he played in the defense of the Antelope Viaduct, November 2, 1876, and in thus ensuring the victory of the Middle-Western in its memorable race with the K and Z for the Yellow Creek Pass. For that is precisely what it meant,' declared the Superintendent, "'the pass is ours now, beyond any chance.' And finally,' he concluded, as Alex, Jack and Wilson, scarcely knowing what to say, took the three beautiful watches. I would just like to remark that if you three boys do not some day stand where I stand or hire, I'll be both greatly surprised and disappointed.' That this prediction was justified you can today learn from any directory of railroad officials, for there, in the pages devoted to the Middle-Western, you will find the name of Alexander Ward, Superintendent, Western Division, John Orr, Superintendent, Central Division, and as General Superintendent of Telegraphs, Wilson A. Jennings. This is the end of the chapter and end of the book, The Young Railroaders. Thank you for listening.