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AT THE TIME APPOINTED

_Chapter I_

JOHN DARRELL

Upon a small station on one of the transcontinental lines winding among
the mountains far above the level of the sea, the burning rays of the
noonday sun fell so fiercely that the few buildings seemed ready to
ignite from the intense heat. A season of unusual drought had added to
the natural desolation of the scene. Mountains and foot-hills were
blackened by smouldering fires among the timber, while a dense pall of
smoke entirely hid the distant ranges from view. Patches of sage-brush
and bunch grass, burned sere and brown, alternated with barren stretches
of sand from which piles of rubble rose here and there, telling of
worked-out and abandoned mines. Occasionally a current of air stole
noiselessly down from the canyon above, but its breath scorched the
withered vegetation like the blast from a furnace. Not a sound broke the
stillness; life itself seemed temporarily suspended, while the very air
pulsated and vibrated with the heat, rising in thin, quivering columns.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the rapid approach of the stage from
a distant mining camp, rattling noisily down the street, followed by a
slight stir within the apparently deserted station. Whirling at
breakneck pace around a sharp turn, it stopped precipitately, amid a
blinding cloud of dust, to deposit its passengers at the depot.

One of these, a young man of about five-and-twenty, arose with some
difficulty from the cramped position which for seven weary hours he had
been forced to maintain, and, with sundry stretchings and shakings of
his superb form, seemed at last to pull himself together. Having secured
his belongings from out the pile of miscellaneous luggage thrown from
the stage upon the platform, he advanced towards the slouching figure of
a man just emerging from the baggage-room, his hands thrust deep in his
trousers pockets, his mouth stretched in a prodigious yawn, the arrival
of the stage having evidently awakened him from his siesta.

"How's the west-bound--on time?" queried the young man rather shortly,
but despite the curtness of his accents there was a musical quality in
the ringing tones.

Before the cavernous jaws could close sufficiently for reply, two
distant whistles sounded almost simultaneously.

"That's her," drawled the man, with a backward jerk of his thumb over
his shoulder in the direction of the sound; "she's at Blind