There was a long, narrow corridor, to be recognised as the kitchen portion of a dining-car; at the other end of this corridor was a swinging door, and to this Hal leaped. He heard the conductor shouting to him to stop, but he paid no heed. He slipped off his over-coat and hat; and then, pushing open the door, he entered a brightly lighted apartment--and the presence of the Coal King’s son. SECTION 12. White linen and cut glass of the dining-saloon shone brilliantly under electric lights, softened to the eye by pink shades. Seated at the tables were half a dozen young men and as many young ladies, all in evening costume; also two or three older ladies. They had begun the first course of their meal, and were laughing and chatting, when suddenly came this unexpected visitor, clad in coal-stained miner’s jumpers. He was not disturbing in the manner of his entry; but immediately behind him came a fat man, perspiring, wild of aspect, and wheezing like an old fashioned steam-engine; behind him came the conductor of the train, in a no less evident state of agitation. So, of course, conversation ceased. The young ladies turned in their chairs, while several of the young men sprang to their feet. There followed a silence: until finally one of the young men took a step forward. “What’s this?” he demanded, as one who had a right to demand. Hal advanced towards the speaker, a slender youth, correct in appearance, but not distinguished looking. “Hello, Percy!” said Hal. A look of amazement came upon the other’s face. He stared, but seemed unable to believe what he saw. And then suddenly came a cry from one of the young ladies; the one having hair the colour of molasses taffy when you’ve pulled it--but all fluffy and wonderful, with stardust in it. Her cheeks were pink and cream, and her brown eyes gazed, wide open, full of wonder. She wore a dinner gown of soft olive green, with a cream white scarf of some filmy material thrown about her bare shoulders. She had started to her feet. “It’s Hal!” she cried. “Hal Warner!” echoed young Harrigan. “Why, what in the world--?” He was interrupted by a clamour outside. “Wait a moment,” said Hal, quietly. “I think some one else is coming in.” The door was pushed violently open. It was pushed so violently that Billy Keating and the conductor were thrust to one side; and Jeff Cotton appeared in the entrance. The camp-marshal was breathless, his face full of the passion of the hunt. In his right hand he carried a revolver. He glared about him, and saw the two men he was chasing; also he saw the Coal King’s son, and the rest of the astonished company. He stood, stricken dumb.