verything that wears blue worse'n I do a mad-dog."

"And I promise you," said Shorty solemnly, "that you shall have all the
chance you want sooner'n you think for. I know a great deal more'n I
dare tell you now, but things is workin' to a head mighty fast, and
you'll hear something drop before the next change o' the moon. You kin
jest bet your shirt on that."

The day was passing, and as the evening approached the train was running
through a wilder, heavily-wooded country. Shorty's companions took their
seats on the opposite side of the car and peered anxiously out of the
window to recognize features of the darkening landscape. They were
evidently getting near their destination.

Shorty overheard the "Captain" say to his partner:

"The train'll stop for water in the middle of a big beech woods. We'll
get off there and take a path that leads right to the lodge."

"How far'll we have to tote these heavy carpetbags?" grumbled the other.

Shorty slipped his hand into his pocket, grasped his revolvers and eased
them around so that he could be certain to draw them when he wanted to.
He was determined that those men should not leave the train before the
stopping place arranged for his fellow-soldiers. He felt confident of
being able to handle the two, but did not know how many confederates
might be in waiting for them.

"I'll go it if there's a million of 'em," said he to himself. "I'll save
these two fellers anyway, if there's any good in 45-caliber bullets in
their carcasses. I'm jest achin' to put a half-ounce o' lead jest where
that old scoundrel hatches his devilment."

The engine whistled long and shrilly.

"That's the pumpin'-station," said the "Captain," rising and laying hold
of the handles of the carpetbag.

"Drop that. You can't leave this car till I give the word," said Shorty,
rising as the train stopped, and putting himself in the door.

"Can't, eh?" said the "Captain," with a look of rage as he comprehended
the situation. His dirk came out and opened with a wicked snap. "I'll
cut your black heart out, you infernal spy."

[Illustration: 'HOW DO YOU LIKE THE LOOKS OF THAT, OLD BUTTERNUT 169]

"You will, eh?" sneered Shorty, covering him with a heavy Remington.
"How'd you like the looks o' that, old butternut? Your murderin' dirk
aint deuce high. Move a step, and you'll know how it feels to have
daylight through you."

The "Captain" smashed the window with a backward blow of his fist,
thrust his hea