Having come upon the ground late the night before, and from the opposite direction, he had seen nothing of the extension grade west of Argentine. Hence the enforced journey to Carbonate only anticipated an inspection trip which he had intended to make as soon as he had seated Adams firmly in the track-laying saddle. Not to miss his opportunity, at the first curve beyond Argentine he passed his cigar-case to Biggin and asked permission to ride on the rear platform of the day-coach for inspection purposes. “Say, pardner, what do you take me fer, anyhow?” was the reproachful rejoinder. “For a gentleman in disguise,” said Winton promptly. “Sim'larly, I do you; savvy? You tell me you ain't goin' to stampede, and you ride anywhere you blame please. See? This here C. G. R. outfit ain't got no surcingle on me.” Winton smiled. “I haven't any notion of stampeding. As it happens, I'm only a day ahead of time. I should have made this run to-morrow of my own accord to have a look at the extension grade. You will find me on the rear platform when you want me.” “Good enough,” was the reply; and Winton went to his post of observation. Greatly to his satisfaction, he found that the trip over the C. G. R. answered every purpose of a preliminary inspection of the Utah grade beyond Argentine. For seventeen of the twenty miles the two lines were scarcely more than a stone's throw apart, and when Biggin joined him at the junction above Carbonate he had his note-book well filled with the necessary data. “Make it, all right?” inquired the friendly bailiff. “Yes, thanks. Have another cigar?” “Don't care if I do. Say, that old fire-eater back yonder in the private car has got a mighty pretty gal, ain't he?” “The young lady is his niece,” said Winton, wishing that Mr. Biggin would find other food for comment. “I don't care; she's pretty as a Jersey two-year-old.” “It's a fine day,” observed Winton; and then, to background Miss Carteret effectually as a topic: “How do the people of Argentine feel about the opposition to our line?” “They're red-hot; you can put your money on that. The C. G. R.'s a sure-enough tail-twister where there ain't no competition. Your road'll get every pound of ore in the camp if it ever gets through.” Winton made a mental note of this up-cast of public opinion, and set it over against the friendly attitude of the official Mr. Biggin. It was very evident that the town-marshal was serving the Rajah's purpose only because he had to. “I suppose you stand with your townsmen on that, don't you?” he ventured. “Now you're shouting: that's me.” “Then if that is the case, we won't take this little holiday of ours any harder than we can help. When the court business is settled--it won't take very long--you are to consider yourself my guest. We stop at the Buckingham.”