.

"Mountain Division, both of 'em. Toomey on the Mogul that pulls the
Time Freight over the range--" And here Geordie stopped him.

"Hear this, Mr. McCrea," said he. "Toomey, of 'E' Troop, fireman on the
big freight-engine! He'll surely know where the others are. Now, _you_
know the railway people. You say you've got to stay here a day or two.
Get _me_ permission to ride on any freight-engine, Mountain Division,
for the next three days, and I'm off for the mines before we're half a
day older, and no man here or there the wiser."

"They'd spot you as you went through Argenta," said McCrea. "Breifogle
will be watching every train."

"Every _car_ of every train, perhaps; but I'll be firing by the time we
get there, black with soot and coal-dust, and they wouldn't know me if
they saw me. If the division superintendent doesn't give it away--and
you--who's to know I've turned fireman on a freight? There's my chance,
McCrea, and you know it!"

"By Jove, Geordie, but I believe you're right," was McCrea's answer,
rising to his feet and facing the eager young fellow across the table.
"You're a 'dandy,' as was said of you on graduation day, only it was
meant in a different sense. Who's in charge at the station now,
Warden?" he asked, with sudden resolution. "I knew most of their
traffic men when I was quartermaster."

Warden whipped out a railway folder. "Colorado Transcontinental," he
read, and began skimming down a long list of official titles and names.
Traffic managers, freight and passenger agents, superintendents,
division superintendents, and then, "Here we are, Mountain Division:
W.B. Anthony."

"Know him well," cried McCrea. "He brought the first passengers up to
Argenta in eighty-seven. He was freight conductor on the U.P. when I
was a boy at Cheyenne. We'll nab him first thing in the morning."

"Can't we nab him to-night?" asked Geordie.

McCrea laughed. "You're keen as your father, Pops," said he. "Niver put
off till t'-morrow what can be done the day."

"The laddie's right," said Ross. "I'm betting you'll find him at the
yards till after No. 2 comes in--the Flyer--that's due at 12.40."

And so it happened that, as the clocks were pointing to the quarter
after midnight, Lieutenant Ralph McCrea and the newly appointed
subaltern, both in plain travelling dress, once more appeared at the
Union Station, and presently learned that Mr. Anthony was about the
yard. It was not long thereafter that they found him,