ord?" he asked, when he brought the
night mail down for the superintendent to look over.

"Yes," said Ford absently.

"You'll let me know where to reach you from time to time, I suppose?"
ventured Penfield.

Ford looked up quickly.

"It won't be necessary. You can handle the office work, as you have
heretofore, and Mr. Frisbie will have full charge out of doors."

Penfield looked a little crestfallen.

"Am I to take orders from Mr. Frisbie?" he asked, as one determined to
know the worst.

"Just the same as you would from me," said the superintendent, swinging
up to the step of the moving car. And the chief clerk went back to his
office busily concocting another cipher message to the general manager.

On the way down the canyon Ford was saying to himself that he was now
fairly committed to the scheme over which he had spent so many toilful
days and sleepless nights, and that he would have it out with Mr. North
to a fighting conclusion before he slept.

But a freight wreck got in the way while the down passenger train was
measuring the final third of the distance, and it was long after office
hours in the Pacific Southwestern headquarters when Ford reached Denver.

By consequence, the crucial interview with the general manager had to be
postponed; and the enthusiast was chafing at his ill luck when he went
to his hotel--chafing and saying hard words, for the waiting had been
long, and now that the psychologic moment had arrived, delays were
intolerable.

Now it sometimes happens that seeming misfortunes are only blessings in
disguise. When Ford entered the hotel cafe to eat his belated dinner, he
saw Evans, the P. S-W. auditor, sitting alone at a table-for-two. He
crossed the room quickly and shook hands with the man he had meant to
interview either before or after the meeting with North.

It was after they had chatted comfortably through to the coffee that
the auditor said, blandly: "What are you down for, Ford?--anything
special?"

"Yes. I am down to get leave of absence to go East," said Ford warily.

"But that isn't all," was the quiet rejoinder. "In fact, it's only the
non-committal item that you'd give to a _Rocky Mountain News_ reporter."

Ford was impatient of diplomatic methods when there was no occasion for
them.

"Give it a name," he said bluntly. "What do you think you know, Evans?"

The auditor smiled.

"There is a leak in your office up at Saint's Rest, I'm afraid. What
sort of a bombs