. "Why, it's the
night of Dan Haggerty's dance," he pointed out indignantly. "Doesn't the
superintendent know that?"

"The superintendent didn't--and didn't care," was the response to the
wired protest. "The driver was supposed to remain at all times. It was an
old understanding."

Understanding or not, Big Bill declined to remain, and stormed out the
door, announcing that he would get someone down from the Bar-O ranch.
Half an hour later Muskoka Jones appeared.

"Good evening. I'm sorry it was necessary to trouble you, sir,"
apologized Wilson.

"Good evening, Willie. Don't mention it," was the big cowman's scornful
response. Then, having momentarily paused to cast a contemptuous eye over
the lad's neat attire, he threw himself on the floor in the farthermost
corner of the room, and promptly fell fast asleep.

Some time after darkness had fallen the young telegrapher, dozing in his
chair at the instrument table, was startled into consciousness by the
sound of approaching hoofbeats. With visions of Indians or robbers he
sprang to the window, to discover a dim, tall figure dismounting on the
platform. In alarm he turned to call the sleeping guard, but momentarily
hesitating, looked again, the figure came into the light of the window,
and with relief he recognized Iowa Burns, another of the Bar-O cowmen.

"Hello, kid," said the newcomer, entering. "Where's Old Muskoke?"

"Good evening. Over there, asleep, sir. I suppose you knew he was taking
Mr. Smith's place, guarding the gold until the train came in?"

"Sure, yes. I was there when Bill come up." He crossed to the side of the
snoring Jones, and kicked him sharply on the sole of his boots. "M'skoke!
Git up!" he shouted. "Here's something to keep out the chills."

Again, and more sharply, he kicked the sleeping man, while the boy looked
on, smiling.

Suddenly the smile disappeared, and the lad's heart leaped into his
throat. He was gazing into the black, round muzzle of a pistol, and
beyond it was a face set with a deadly purpose. Instinctively his staring
eyes flickered towards the box of bullion.

"Yep, that's it. But wink an eye agin, an' y' git it!" said Burns coldly,
advancing. "Now, git back there up agin the corner of the table, an'
stand, so 'f anyone comes along you'll appear to be leanin' there,
conversin'. Go on, quick!"

Dazed, cold with fear, the boy obeyed, and Iowa, producing a sheaf of
hide thongs, proceeded to bind his arms to his side.

As