pper hillside. The
explosions had started a land-slide, and the patient digging work of
weeks had been obliterated in a moment.

Ballard said little. Fitzpatrick was on the ground to do the swearing,
and the money loss was his, if Mr. Pelham's company chose to make him
stand it. What Celtic rage could compass in the matter of cursings was
not lacking; and at the finish of the outburst there was an appeal,
vigorous and forceful.

"You're the boss, Mr. Ballard, and 'tis for you to say whether we throw
up this job and quit, or give these blank, blank imps iv hell what's
comin' to 'em!" was the form the appeal took; and the new chief accepted
the challenge promptly.

"What are your means of communication with the towns in the Gunnison
valley?" he asked abruptly.

Fitzpatrick pulled himself down from the rage heights and made shift to
answer as a man.

"There's a bridle trail down the canyon to Jack's Cabin; and from that
on you hit the railroad."

"And the distance to Jack's Cabin?"

"Twenty-five miles, good and strong, by the canyon crookings; but only
about half of it is bad going."

"Is there anybody in your camp who knows the trail?"

"Yes. Dick Carson, the water-boy."

"Good. We'll go back with you, and you'll let me have the boy and two of
your freshest horses."

"You'll not be riding that trail in the dark, Mr. Ballard! It's a
fright, even in daylight."

"That's my affair," said the engineer, curtly. "If your boy can find the
trail, I'll ride it."

That settled it for the moment, and the scouting party made its way up
to the headquarters to carry the news of the land-slide. Bigelow walked
in silence beside his temporary host, saying nothing until after they
had reached camp, and Fitzpatrick had gone to assemble the horses and
the guide. Then he said, quite as if it were a matter of course:

"I'm going with you, Mr. Ballard, if you don't object."

Ballard did object, pointedly and emphatically, making the most of the
night ride and the hazardous trail. When these failed to discourage the
young man from Washington, the greater objection came out baldly.

"You owe it to your earlier host to ride back to Castle 'Cadia from
here, Mr. Bigelow. I'm going to declare war, and you can't afford to
identify yourself with me," was the way Ballard put it; but Bigelow only
smiled and shook his head.

"I'm not to be shunted quite so easily," he said. "Unless you'll say
outright that I'll be a butt-in, I'm goin