ne to-day, repairing between
Bitter Creek and Castle Springs. He didn't get done and camped beside
the track for the night, to finish in the morning."

"Go on," exclaimed Scott.

"They shot a jack-rabbit----"

"Hang the jack-rabbit," cried Scott. "What about the trains?"

"You can't hurry Bill Dancing, Bob," pleaded Bucks. "You know that.
Faster, Bill, faster," he telegraphed urgently.

"You will get it faster," returned the distant lineman far out in the
mountains under the stars, as he talked calmly with the despatcher,
"if you will go slower."

Bucks strangled his impatience. Dancing resumed, and the despatcher
again translated for Scott.

"They cooked the jack-rabbit for supper----"

Scott flung his book violently across the room. "It tasted good,"
continued Dancing exasperatingly. "But the night was awfully cold, so
they built a big camp-fire near the curve. The freight engineer saw
the fire and thought it was a locomotive head-light. Then he
remembered he had run past his meeting point. He stopped his train to
find out what the fire was. When he told Bill what had happened they
grabbed up the burning logs, carried them down the track, and built a
signal fire for No. 2. And it came along inside five minutes----"

"And there they are!" concluded Bucks, wiping the dampness from his
forehead.

The receiver continued to click. "Bill thought I would be worried and
he cut in on the line right away to tell me what had happened."

"Now give your orders to No. 2 to back up to Castle Springs and let
the rail train get by. Recall your relief train," added Scott. "And
bring that freight engineer in here in the morning and let Stanley
talk to him for just about five minutes." The key rattled for a
moment. Scott, going to the farthest corner of the room, picked up
"The Last of the Mohicans." "Bucks," he murmured insinuatingly, as he
sat down to look into the book again, "I want to ask you now, once for
all, whether this is a true story?"

"Bob, put that book where it belongs and stop talking about it."

Scott hitched one shoulder a bit and returned to the fire, but he was
not silenced.

"That reminds me, Bucks," he resumed after a pause, "there is another
friend of yours here at the door, waiting to congratulate you. Shall
I let him in?"

"I don't want any congratulations, Bob."

"I'll promise he doesn't say a single word, Bucks." As he spoke, Scott
opened the hall door and whistled into the darkness. For an