to explain any
further. Carlos ran along the track, finding a few odd sticks and pieces
of wood. He made a little fire, into which he stuck one long stick, like
a staff, which he had carried from the camp; but he saw that only the
end of it burned.

Hungrily Olive ate. She believed that she must follow the railroad track
until she came to a depot. She had no way of guessing how many more
miles she must walk, nor how many trains passed over this iron pathway
through the desert; but she did know that she must save whatever
strength she had, as her only hope was to reach a city somewhere. She
had not Carlos' faith, that the train would take her straight into the
arms of her beloved friends, yet she knew that once in a town, she could
probably find a way of communicating with them.

Carlos and Olive did not dare to talk. Olive was listening for the sound
of a horse's hoofs, knowing that the journey, which had been so long on
foot, could be made on horseback in a little while, if old Laska ever
guessed the route they had taken. But Carlos listened for a louder
noise and one to him far less familiar.

The boy and girl heard it at the same instant and both sprang to their
feet. Olive's face grew white and rigid with disappointment; but the
boy's eyes flashed with excitement. The train was coming along the track
past the spot where Olive and Carlos rested. Olive feared that her only
chance of escape for that day was gone. She had hoped to reach a depot
before a train went by them.

Nearer the roar of the engine sounded. It was in sight far off across
the desert, but a very few minutes brought it close.

Olive stepped quickly back to be out of danger and seized Carlos by his
woolen shirt to drag him with her. The boy jerked away, and before Olive
could dream what he intended to do, he grabbed his burning stick from
the fire. "I'll stop the train for you," he shouted valiantly. "Only be
quick. You must get on when I command it."

Like a flash, the brave, brown figure ran along the track, waving his
tiny torch and facing with all his feeble strength the great monster of
iron and steel that was driving toward him. The blood of many centuries
of Indian chiefs must have been back of little Carlos. He dared the
unknown force of this engine to-day, as his ancestors had the bullets
and powder of their white enemies, with the same blind belief in his own
power against the forces of civilization.

Olive saw Carlos go, with a feel