“You’d better believe he was. Came out of that dining room rearin’ like a buckin’ bronco; said he was going to have the law on you, and wanted the old man to wire ahead for a policeman to meet the train.” “What old man--the conductor?” “Yes; and Harker told him he couldn’t do it, because the row didn’t happen on the train; said he didn’t know who you was, anyway. Then I chipped in, and told ’em you was Plucky George, the man that cleaned out the six toughs when they tried to run the bank up at Silverette. Holy Smoke! but you ought to’ve seen old linen duster fall apart when I said that!” The brakeman laughed joyously, but Brant groaned in spirit at this ominous hint that his reputation meant to keep pace with him. “You’d better believe he was rattled right!” the man went on. “He just went yaller, and the last I saw of him he was up ahead, looking for you so’t he could apologize. Ain’t that rich?” “Very rich,” said Brant grimly. Then he saw his advantage and made good use of it. “In fact, it is much too rich to spoil. Go find the fellow and tell him I’m in a bad humour, but that he is safe as long as he keeps away from me. Will you do that?” “Sure,” assented the brakeman, getting upon his feet. “I’ll do better than that: I’ll scare him till he won’t get a good breath this side o’ the Missouri River.” Brant’s eyes narrowed, and in the turning of a leaf the mantle of humility slipped from him and he became Brant the man-queller. “You will do nothing of the sort. You will tell him just what I say, and no word more or less. Now go.” The man of dope kettles and rear-end signals was no coward, but neither was he minded to pick a quarrel with the hero of a dozen savage battles. Brant let him get to the door and then called him back: “Where does your run end?” “Voltamo; next stop but one.” “Then you don’t go into Denver?” “No.” “But some time you may. In that case, it will be as well for you to forget what little you may happen to know about me. Do you understand?” “You’d better believe I do. I can hold my jaw with anybody when I have to; and I don’t have to be hit with a club neither.” “Good. Have a cigar--and don’t forget what I say.” The brakeman took the proffered cigar and vanished; and thereupon Brant began to repent once more and to grope for the lost mantle of humility. Here on the very heels of his good resolutions he had balked at one of the smallest of the obstacles, bullying a man in his displeasure and trading upon his reputation as a man-queller like any desperado of the camps. It was humiliating, but it proved the wisdom of the smoking-room exile. Truly, he was far enough from being a fitting companion for the young woman in Section Six. As he had predicted, the train lost time steadily throughout the day, and an early supper was served at the regular dinner station. Brant went to the dining room with the other passengers, and when Miss Langford did not appear, he sent the porter to her with a luncheon and a cup of tea.