e trickling blood, his wits
were at work. The men on No. 4 had only time to say that four miles out
from Argenta, down the Run beyond Narrow Gauge Junction, their whistle
suddenly shrieked, the air-brakes were set with a clamp that jolted the
whole train, and they slowed down just enough not to knock into
flinders a hand-car that was sailing ahead of them, down-grade. "The
pilot hit it a lick that tossed it into the ditch," No. 4's crew had
explained, and beside it they had found--this.

And "this" it was now Geordie's task and duty to keep alive until they
could turn it over to competent hands at Argenta. "This," which others
failed to know, he had recognized. "This" it was for him to make known,
yet in so doing he might betray himself and the purpose of his coming,
and so undo every hope and plan he had made. There was no Toomey to
help him now--no devoted ex-trooper and friend to back him. Engineer,
fireman, conductor, and brakemen, every man of the crew had to be at
his post as the freight panted away up the winding mountain road. The
crew of No. 4 had searched the pockets in vain for a clew as to the
injured man's identity. Everything was gone. His assailants had seen to
that. Not a scrap had been found that could account for him. Even the
shirt "tab" bore no initials; the watch-pocket of the trousers bore no
name. The garments had been purchased ready-made and gave no sign.

Then there was another matter to be considered. Badly as he was
battered and bruised, the man was not dying. Graham knew how to test
the pulse, and its strength told him not to fear. The chances were that
his patient would return to consciousness before very long. Then
recognition of his grimy attendant would probably follow. Breifogle was
no fool, as Graham remembered, and a fireman's black cap and sooty
shirt and overalls would be but scant disguise.

And to carry out his plan it was essential that he should pass through
Argenta, reach Hatch's Cove and eventually the Silver Shield mine, and
reach this latter unknown and unsuspected. Toomey and he had hit on a
plan--once Toomey could succeed in getting word to Nolan. But that,
reasoned Geordie, might be impossible now in view of this new
complication--serious trouble at the mines, and "every man out at
Silver Shield."

If only he could see Toomey again for a moment! That was impossible.
Toomey's every muscle was needed to keep that fiery and insatiable
monster fed with fuel every rod of t