telegraph line. I'm afraid
you couldn't reach him by wire."

"And the president?" queried the visitor.

"Mr. Colbrith's car is at the end-of-track. You wished to join the party
in the Nadia?"

"That is what I had in mind," said Adair, not too anxiously.

Mr. North shook his head.

"I don't think you'd enjoy the run over the construction track. Mr.
Colbrith went over it last night because--well, because he believes it
to be a presidential duty to inspect everything. If you leave to-day,
you will probably meet the Nadia coming out--possibly at Saint's Rest."

Adair suddenly became wary.

"Perhaps that would be the easy thing to do," he said. "I suppose the
engineers at Saint's Rest could put me up if I have to stay over night?"

"You needn't ask them. You will have my car--with the best cook this
side of Louisiana. Keep it, live in it, till Mr. Colbrith picks you up
on his return."

"All right. But you'll give me the special. And let it make as good
time as it can, Mr. North; I'm fierce when I have to ride a slow train."

The vice-president's promise was freely given; and to expedite matters,
the division superintendent's chief clerk went down to the station with
Adair to see the special train properly equipped and started on the
mountain-climbing run. Adair left the details to this orderly from the
general offices; not knowing how to compass them himself, he had to. If
he could have seen the broad grins on the faces of his train crew when
Dobson, the clerk, gave them the despatcher's order--but at that moment
he was lounging in Mr. North's easiest chair in the central compartment
of the "01," reading for the twentieth time a crease-worn telegram.

The telegram was from Alicia, and it was dated at Denver, three days
gone. It was not very explicit; on the contrary, it was rather
incoherent.

"You would better come on as fast as you can if you want to save
your friend's life. He has been tried and found guilty--of just
what, I don't know--and will be hanged pretty soon--within a few
days, I think."

"Now that's a nice way to stir a fellow up, isn't it?" soliloquized the
pleasure-lover. "Just as I was getting ready to go up to Mount Ptarmigan
for the shooting. She knew that, too. I'll bet a picayune it's just a
girl's scare. Ford's plenty good and able to take care of himself."

That was Mr. Charles Edward Adair's care-free phrasing of it; but three
hours later, when the cook of the "01"