was Black's next
order. "Now, bring him along."

'Gene Black led the way back from the track and into the woods
for a few rods. Then the party wheeled, going eastward in a line
parallel with the track.

Tom did not speak during the journey. It was not his nature to
use words where they would be worse than wasted.

After proceeding a quarter of a mile or so, Black parted the bushes
of a dense thicket and led the way inside. At the centre the
brush had been cleaned out, clearing a circular space about twenty
feet in diameter and dimly lighted by a lantern placed in the
centre of the inclosure.

"A snug little place, Reade," chuckled the scoundrel, turning about
as Reade was piloted into the retreat. "How do you like it?"

"I like the place a whole lot better than the company," Tom answered
promptly.

"What's the matter with the company?" jeered Black.

"A hangman would feel more at home in a crowd like this."

"See here, cub! Don't you try to get funny," warned Black, his
eyes snapping dangerously. "If you attempt any of your impudence
here you'll soon find out who's master."

"Master?" scoffed Tom, his own eyes flashing. "Black, do you
draw any comfort from feeling that you're boss of such an outfit?
Though I daresay that the outfit is better than its boss. However,
you asked my opinion, and you got it. I'll give you a little
more of my opinion, Black, and it won't cost you a cent."

He looked steadily into his enemy's eyes as he continued:

"Black, a good, clean dog wouldn't willingly stand by this crowd!"

Thump! 'Gene Blacks clenched fist landed in Reade's face, knocking
him down.

"Thank you," murmured Reade, as he sat up.

"Much obliged, are you?" jeered Black.

"Yes," admitted Tom. "As far as it goes. That was a coward's
act---to have a fellow's hands tied before daring to hit him."

Black's face now turned livid with passion.

"Lift the fool to his feet, if he wants to stand," ordered Black
savagely. "He's trying to make me waste my time talking to him.
Operator, call up Brewster's and ask if he held the train as
ordered by wire."

"Oho!" thought Tom. "So that's your trick? You have the wire
in your control, and you're sending supposed train orders holding
the train at a station so that it can't get through You're a worse
scoundrel than I thought!"

Off at the edge of the brush, on the inner side, a telegraph instrument
had been set up on a barrel. From the instrument a wi