," he said. "I don't know you, and that loco's railroad
property. I'm responsible fer it. Suppose you'd ditch her?
No--blazes!--it wouldn't do at all."

"I'll give yer a hundred dollars gold fer two hours use uv that
ingine," cried Buck Bradley.

"No good," declared Bill, shaking his head; "it's railroad property.
I've got my job to look after, even if Chihuahua is turned inside out."

"But this is a matter of the utmost urgency," argued Jack. "Listen."

He rapidly detailed the outlines of their situation to the agent. The
man was obdurate, however.

"Couldn't nobody touch that ingine but old man Stetson himself."

"How about his son?" Ralph's voice rang out clearly above the excited
tones of the others.

"Waal, I reckon he could, but he ain't here."

"He isn't, eh?" demanded Ralph, hopping out of the tonneau, "well, my
name happens to be Ralph Stetson."

"Oh, quit joking. You're Americans, like myself, and I'd like ter help
you out, but I can't do it."

"Will you give me a chance to prove to you I'm Ralph Stetson?" asked
Ralph eagerly.

"Sure; a dozen, if yer want 'em," grinned the agent, gazing at the
ragged, tattered figure before him.

Ralph dived into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of letters and
papers. Motioning the agent to sit beside him at the edge of the
platform, he skimmed through them for the other's benefit. The group
in the auto watched anxiously. A whole lot depended on Ralph's proving
his identity.

"Say, blazes!" burst out the agent suddenly, "_you are_ Ralph Stetson,
ain't you?"

"I think those letters and papers prove it," answered the boy. "Now,
do we get that loco?"

"I reckon so, if you say so. But, will you sign a paper, releasing me
of responsibility?"

With what speed that paper was signed, may be imagined. In the
meantime, Buck Bradley, who knew a thing or two about railroading
himself, had his coat off, and was hard at work waking up the banked
fires. Presently the forced draught began to roar, and black smoke to
roll from the smoke-stack. By the time the auto had been wheeled in
under a shed, and Bill Whiting asked to communicate with the government
troops as soon as possible, all was ready for the start.

The engine was trembling under a good head of steam, white jets gushing
from her safety valves.

"All ab-o-a-r-d!" yelled Pete, in the manner of a conductor, and Buck
Bradley, who had stepped off after his labors to cool up a bit, began
to climb