“It is all your fault, Harker!” he said hotly. “You ought to have had sense enough to keep your eyes or your hands on him!” “I ain’t saying a word,” said Harker. “But what can I do now?” “Do? Why, take your train and go on. There isn’t anything to stop for now that he’s gone.” The conductor obeyed, glad enough to be out of it, and Antrim turned to the marshal. “I’m sorry I got you out on a wild-goose chase,” he said. “What do you suppose became of him? Or did Harker only imagine he had him?” “Oh, he was there, right enough. I asked some of the passengers in the smoker and they all saw him. By gravy! look at that, will you?--fell plum from the top o’ the car and never turned a hair!” Antrim looked, and saw much more than did the marshal. The west-bound freight had stalled on the double curve, and during the detention of the passenger train had been backing and filling to get headway. Just as the marshal spoke a drawbar pulled out, and the sudden jerk of the forward section flung a man who was clinging to the roof-hold of a box car far out into the ditch. He was on his feet again in a twinkling, making a quick run for a hand car which stood blocked on a siding. Antrim yelled as he saw him kick the block from beneath the wheel and scramble upon the deck of the car. “That’s your man! Wing him as he goes by or he’ll get away yet! There’s a safety switch at the lower end, and the car will jump it and keep the track!” The man threw himself fiercely upon the driving lever of the hand car, and the light gear truck came spinning down the grade under his vigorous strokes. The marshal and his two aids coolly drew their weapons and waited. The fugitive would have to pass within thirty feet of the platform, and the marksmen could afford to wait until the flying target was at short range. At the critical instant the three pistols cracked as one, and the toiling figure at the lever dropped behind the gear casing as the car shot past with ever-increasing momentum. “Heavens and earth, I hope you haven’t killed him!” panted Antrim, while they were running down the track after the retreating hand car. “He’s got to talk some before he dies.” “He’ll never do that,” said the marshal confidently. “He’ll never wag his jaw any more this side of the range. I don’t miss--By gravy! do you see that?” The four pursuers stopped in speechless astoundment. The hand car had reached the safety switch, clearing it at a bound and alighting fairly upon the rails of the main line, and at the same instant the prone figure behind the gear casing straightened up and flung itself once more upon the rocking lever. Two pistols crashed simultaneously, and then the car with its labouring burden dodged out of sight and range around an elbow in the lower cañon.