going on?"

Something in Fitzpatrick's manner made Neighbor laugh. Other things
crowded in and no more was said.

No more was thought in fact. The 313 rolled as kindly for Fitzpatrick as
for Siclone, and the new engineer, a quiet fellow like Foley, only a
good bit heavier, went on and off her with never a word for anybody.

One day Fitzpatrick dropped into a barber shop to get shaved. In the
next chair lay Siclone Clark. Siclone got through first, and, stepping
over to the table to get his hat, picked up Fitzpatrick's, by mistake,
and walked out with it. He discovered his change just as Fitz got out of
his chair. Siclone came back, replaced the hat on the table--it had
Fitzpatrick's name pasted in the crown--took up his own hat, and, as
Fitz reached for his, looked at him.

Everyone in the shop caught their breaths.

"Is your name Fitzpatrick?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mine is Clark."

Fitzpatrick put on his hat.

"You're running the 313, I believe?" continued Siclone.

"Yes, sir."

"That's my engine."

"I thought it belonged to the company."

"Maybe it does; but I've agreed to kill the man that takes her out
before this trouble is settled," said Siclone, amiably.

Fitzpatrick met him steadily. "If you'll let me know when it takes
place, I'll try and be there."

"I don't jump on any man without fair warning; any of the boys will tell
you that," continued Siclone. "Maybe you didn't know my word was out?"

Fitzpatrick hesitated. "I'm not looking for trouble with any man," he
replied, guardedly. "But since you're disposed to be fair about notice,
it's only fair to you to say that I did know your word was out."

"Still you took her?"

"It was my orders."

"My word is out; the boys know it is good. I don't jump any man without
fair warning. I know you now, Fitzpatrick, and the next time I see you,
look out," and without more ado Siclone walked out of the shop greatly
to the relief of the barber, if not of Fitz.

Fitzpatrick may have wiped a little sweat from his face; but he said
nothing--only walked down to the round-house and took out the 313 as
usual for his run.

A week passed before the two men met again. One night Siclone with a
crowd of the strikers ran into half a dozen of the new men, Fitzpatrick
among them, and there was a riot. It was Siclone's time to carry out his
intention, for Fitzpatrick would have scorned to try to get away. No
tree ever breasted a tornado more sturdily than the Irish engi