emary stopped with a jerk and McGrath's fireman darted past to set
the spur-track switch.

The points were snow-clogged, and the fireman wrestled with the lever,
saying words. The delay was measurable in heart-beats, but it
sufficed. The big octopod coughed thrice like a mighty giant in a
consumption; the clustering workmen scattered like chaff to a ringing
shout of "Stand clear!" and the obstructing mass of iron and steel
rolled, wallowing and hissing, into the stream.

"Rails to the front! Hammermen!" yelled Winton; and the scattered
force rallied instantly.

But now the wrestling fireman had thrown the switch, and at the
Rajah's command the Rosemary shot out on the spur to be thrust with
locked brakes fairly into the breach left defenseless by the ditched
engine. With a mob-roar of wrath the infuriated track-layers made a
rush for the new obstruction. But Winton was before them.

"Hold on!" he shouted, bearing them back with outflung arms. "Hold on,
men, for God's sake! There are women in that car!"

The wrathful wave broke and eddied murmurous while a square-shouldered
old man with fierce eyes and huge white mustaches, and with an extinct
cigar between his teeth, clambered down from the Rosemary's engine to
say:

"Hah! a ratheh close connection, eh, Misteh Winton? Faveh me with a
match, if you please, seh. May I assume that you won't tumble my
private car into the ditch?"

Winton was white-hot, but he found a light for the Rajah's cigar,
easing his mind only as he might with Virginia looking on.

"I shall be more considerate of the safety of the ladies than you seem
to be, Mr. Darrah," he retorted. "You are taking long chances in this
game, sir."

The Rajah's laugh rumbled deep in his chest. "Not so vehy much longer
than you have been taking during the past fo'tnight, my deah seh. But
neveh mind; all's fair in love or war, and we appeah to be having a
little of both now up heah in Qua'tz Creek, hah?"

Winton flushed angrily. It was no light thing to be mocked before his
men, to say nothing of Miss Carteret standing within arm's reach on
the railed platform of the Rosemary.

"Perhaps I shall give you back that word before we are through, Mr.
Darrah," he snapped. Then to the eddying mob-wave: "Tools up, boys. We
camp here for breakfast. Branagan, send the Two-fifteen down for the
cook's outfit."

The Rajah dropped his cigar butt in the snow and trod upon it.

"Possibly you will faveh us with your comp