They shook hands heartily at parting. It was Colorado, in the day when strangers became friends--or enemies--on the spot; when one unconsciously dropped the “Mr.” in an hour, and then slipped easily around the surname to hobnob with Tom, Dick, or Harry in the first interview. For the exile the little chat with the chief clerk was heartening in its way; and when the train was once more swaying and lurching along its crooked course down the cañon he looked at his watch and figured out the probable arriving time. “Eleven hours late; that will make it ten o’clock in Denver. I wonder if Miss Langford will find somebody to look after her when she gets in. If she doesn’t----” The interruption was the advent of the porter. The negro had been trying to get speech with his patron for half an hour, but he was much too discreet to deliver his message in Antrim’s presence. “’Bout de supper, sah; de lady in lower Six say, T’ank you kin’ly, sah, and would you-all be so kind and step back in de cyar a minute?” “Certainly.” Brant rose to comply, but he was no sooner on his feet than he was thrown violently all across the compartment. “Golly Lawd! she’s on de ties!” gasped the negro, and the exclamation ended in a yell of terror. Brant kept his head, and thought only of the young woman alone in the body of the car. With the floor heaving and bounding under him like the deck of a storm-tossed ship, he darted out of the smoking-room and flung himself against the swinging door in the narrow side vestibule. It was jammed, but the glass of the upper panel fell in fragments under his blow, and he was past the obstruction when the end came. The heavy sleeper lurched first to the right, reeled drunkenly for a critical instant on the brink of the embankment facing the river, righted itself with a jerk when draw bars and safety chains gave way, and then settled back to topple over against the cañon wall, stopping with a crash that sent Brant to his knees just as he was starting down the aisle. The broken glass was still falling from the shattered deck lights when he reached Section Six. The young woman was unhurt, but she was very pale, and the gray eyes were full of terror. “Don’t faint,” said Brant very gently, though he was wondering what he should do in case she did. “It is all over now, I think.” “But the others?” she faltered. “Let us hope that the other cars have kept the track--that it is only the ‘wreck of the Hesperus.’” She smiled at the conceit, and asked what they should do. “If you will promise not to faint while I am gone, I’ll go and find out. There is no danger now.” “I’m not going to faint; but please don’t be gone long.” He was back in a moment, gathering up her belongings. “There is nothing smashed but our car,” he explained. “They will leave flagmen with it, and go on to Denver with the remainder of the train. Will you take my arm?”