Twenty seconds later the telegraph operator at the lonely little way station of Tierra Blanca saw a heroic bit of man-play. The upward-bound Carbonate train was whistling in the gorge below when out of the snow-wreaths shrouding the new line a big engine shot down to stop with fire grinding from the wheels, and a man dropped from the high cab to dash across to the station platform. At the same instant a runaway passenger car thundered out of the canyon above. The man crouched, flung himself at it in passing, missed the forward hand-rail, caught the rear, was snatched from his feet and trailed through the air like the thong of a whip-lash, yet made good his hold and clambered on. This was all the operator saw, but when he had snapped his key and run out he heard the shrill squeal of the brakes on the car and knew that the man had not risked his life for nothing. And on board the Rosemary? Winton, spent to the last breath, was lying prone on the railed platform, where he had fallen when the last twist had been given to the shrieking brakes. “Run, Calvert! Run ahead and--stop--the--up-train!” he gasped; then the light went out of the gray eyes and Virginia wept unaffectedly and fell to dabbling his forehead with handfuls of snow. “Help me get him in to the divan, Cousin Billy,” said Virginia, when all was over and the Rosemary was safely coupled in ahead of the upcoming train to be slowly pushed back to Argentine. But Winton opened his eyes and struggled to his feet unaided. “Not yet,” he said. “I've left my automobile on the other side of the creek; and besides, I have a railroad to build. My respects to Mr. Darrah, and you may tell him I'm not beaten yet.” And he swung over the railing and dropped off to mount the octopod and to race it back to the front. * * * * * Three days afterward, to a screaming of smelter whistles and other noisy demonstrations of mining-camp joy, the Utah Short Line laid the final rail of its new Extension in the Carbonate yards. The driving of the silver spike accomplished, Winton and Adams slipped out of the congratulatory throng and made their way across the C. G. R. tracks to a private car standing along the siding. Its railed platform, commanding a view of the civic celebration, had its quota of onlookers--a fierce-eyed old man with huge mustaches, an athletic young clergyman, two Bisques, and a goddess. “Climb up, Misteh Winton, and you, Misteh Adams; climb up and join us,” said the fierce-eyed one heartily. “Virginia, heah, thinks we ought to call one anotheh out, but I tell her--” What the Rajah had told his niece is of small account to us. But what Winton whispered in her ear when he had taken his place beside her is more to the purpose of this history. “I have built my railroad, as you told me to, and now I have come for my--” “Hush!” she said softly. “Can't you wait?” “No.” “Shameless one!” she murmured.