d that you get well paid. Now come home
with me, and my wife will look out for you."

"Oh! no," cried the girl, shrinking back, "I must run away. You're
mighty kind, but I daren't go with you." Detecting a shade of doubt in
his eye, she added: "Don't be afeared; I'll die before they'll know
I've given them away to you!" and she disappeared in the darkness.

At the other end of the wire, the superintendent had quietly impressed
secrecy on his operator and clerk, ordered his fast mare harnessed, and
gone to his private office.

"Read that!" said he to his secretary. "It was about time for some
trouble of this kind, and now I'm going to let Uncle Sam take care of
his mails. If I don't get to the reservation before the General's
turned in, I shall have to wake him up. Wait for me, please."

The gray mare made the six miles to the military reservation in just
half an hour. The General was smoking his last cigar, and was alert in
an instant; and before the superintendent had finished the jorum of
"hot Scotch" hospitably tendered, the orders had gone by wire to the
commanding officer at Fort ------, some distance east of Barker's, and
been duly acknowledged.

Returning to the station, the superintendent remarked to the waiting
secretary:

"The General's all right. Of course we can't tell that this is not a
sell; but if those Perry hounds mean business they'll get all the fight
they want--and if they've got any souls--which I doubt--may the Lord
have mercy on them!"

He prepared several despatches, two of which were as follows:

"MR. HENRY SINCLAIR:

"On No. 17, Pawnee Junction:

This telegram your authority to take charge of train on which you are,
and demand obedience of all officials and trainmen on road. Please do
so, and act in accordance with information wired station agent at
Pawnee Junction."

To the Station Agent:

"Reported Perry gang will try wreck and rob No. 17 near --xth
mile-post, Denver Division, about nine Thursday night. Troops will
await train at Fort ------. Car ordered ready for them. Keep everything
secret, and act in accordance with orders of Mr. Sinclair."

"It's worth about ten thousand dollars," sententiously remarked he,
"that Sinclair's on that train. He's got both sand and brains.
Good-night," and he went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.

III

The sun never shone more brightly and the air was never more clear and
bracing than when Sinclair helped his wife off the train at