covered that the train had
parted, he slowed down and stopped.

"When he had picketed the highwayman out on the tank-deck with a piece
of bell-cord, one end of which was fixed to the fellow's left foot and
the other to the whistle lever, Yank set his fireman, with a white light
and the robber's gun, on the rear car and flagged back to the rescue.
The robbers, seeing the blunder they had made, took a few parting shots
at the trainmen on the top of the train, mounted their horses, and rode
away.

"When the train had coupled up again, they pulled on up to the next
station, where the conductor reported the cause of delay, and from which
station the account of the attempted robbery had been wired.

"I put the paper down and walked over to a window that overlooked the
yards. The second section of the White Mail was coming in. As the engine
rolled past, Yank looked up; and there was a devilish grin on his black
face. The fireman was sitting on the fireman's seat, the gun across his
lap. A young fellow, wearing a long black coat, a bell-rope, and a
scared look, was sweeping up the deck.

"When I returned to my desk, the Superintendent of Motive Power was
standing near it. When I sat down, he spread a paper before me. I
glanced at it and recognized Yank Hubbard's appointment to the post of
master-mechanic at Effingham.

"I dipped a pen in the ink-well and wrote across it in red, 'O--K.'"

OPPRESSING THE OPPRESSOR

"Is this the President's office?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can I see the President?"

"Yes,--I'm the President."

The visitor placed one big boot in a chair, hung his soft hat on his
knee, dropped his elbow on the hat, let his chin fall in the hollow of
his hand, and waited.

The President of the Santa Fe, leaning over a flat-topped table, wrote
leisurely. When he had finished, he turned a kindly face to the visitor
and asked what could be done.

"My name's Jones."

"Yes?"

"I presume you know about me,--Buffalo Jones, of Garden City."

"Well," began the President, "I know a lot of Joneses, but where is
Garden City?"

"Down the road a piece, 'bout half-way between Wakefield and Turner's
Tank. I want you folks to put in a switch there,--that's what I've come
about. I'd like to have it in this week."

"Anybody living at Garden City?"

"Yes, all that's there's livin'."

"About how many?"

"One and a half when I'm away,--Swede and Injin."

The President of the Santa Fe smiled and rolled his lea