you haven't sense enough to see is, that it won't be an
hour before the sheriff's after him with a warrant, and if Breifogle
dies he'll swing, sure as death. He was raving when they threw him out
of the gate, and swore he would get even with Breifogle, and when it
comes to trial there'll be a dozen witnesses to swear that he _did_.
What kind of a trial do you think he'd have here at Argenta, with half
the town owned by Breifogle & Co.?"

This was, indeed, putting a new face on it, and still Graham listened
in silence, trying to control the quiver and tingle of his nerves.

There came a sudden call from the office. Shoving his way through the
little mass of miners on the platform, the station-agent stepped to the
edge and waved a hand to Cullin, but the hand was empty. The release
order had not come. The big Mogul and the freight were still held, and
now it was much after seven, and Argenta all astir. Cullin turned
doggedly away. He seemed to know what was coming and did not half like
it. Leaping down from the platform and striding over the
cinder-blackened ties, the agent met him before he crossed the second
track--met him and spoke in tone so low even Big Ben could not hear.
All three men at the cab, they could not help it, were listening
eagerly. It was easy to see, however, that the station-master was
seeking information Cullin could not or dared not give. Every gesture,
the upheaved shoulders, the sideward droop of the head, the forward
toss of the hands, palms to the front, all as much as said, "Don't ask
me." Then the agent turned slowly away, walked a dozen steps, looked
back, and called:

"I'll tell 'em what you say, but you'd better come yourself. Narrow
Gauge'll get 'the Old Man' on the wire presently, then you'll have to.
I'm betting they hold you here till you do."

"Not if I know myself or--my orders," growled Cullin, as he returned,
black-browed, to the cab.

"What's up?" asked Big Ben, presently, seeing that the conductor waited
to be asked.

"Why, those Narrow Gauge fellows--they're owned here, you know--claim
that two of their men were shot by the same gang that did up Breifogle.
They're wiring both ways from the Junction, up here for sheriff and
detectives, and down to the Springs for Bob Anthony. They say No. 4
and I both know things about the slugging we haven't told. They say No.
4 took three of the sluggers away, and that we're hiding some to take
up into the mountains and turn 'em loose whe