“It’s touch and go, sure enough,” considered Ralph. “I wonder just how much power that Andy McCarrey has over the men employed by the Great Northern? Of course, he has no standing with any of the Brotherhoods; but these roughnecks—Hullo! Who goes there?” He had passed the shop and had turned toward a small gate in the stockade which he believed would be unlocked. A shadowy figure flashed into a deeper covert of shadow beside one of the tool houses. “And only one of two classes try to hide around a railroad yard—a crook or a yard detective. Humph!” muttered Ralph. He walked on toward the gate. But just as he got to the end of the shed he jumped sidewise and dived into the deeper shadow with arms outstretched. He grabbed somebody almost instantly. “Stand still!” he commanded. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Instantly the struggling person he had seized stood still. He no longer offered to fight for his liberty. Ralph made out that he was tall—taller than himself—roughly dressed, and that he had lost his hat. Then, as the young dispatcher passed his hand over the mop of hair the fellow wore and his palm traversed the other’s face, he marked a big and high-arched nose and high cheekbones. He had a wide mouth. “By George!” exclaimed Ralph, “I believe you are the fellow I am looking for.” “Just so,” chuckled his prisoner. “Zeph!” “Same to you, Ralph!” The two shook hands warmly, and then Zeph picked up his cap and stuck it sideways upon his thatch of hair. “How’s the boy?” asked Zeph, and Ralph knew he was grinning. “I’ll tell you,” chuckled Ralph. “I’m gravely disturbed over a friend of mine——” “Is his name Andy McCarrey?” whispered Zeph, with his lips close to his friend’s ear. “Goodness!” gasped the dispatcher. “What do you mean? I’ve been troubled about a fellow named Dallas. But what do you know about McCarrey?” “I know enough to believe it is not best to take his name in vain around these yards,” muttered Zeph. “Come on out of here. I’ll give it up for to-night. It was you I wanted to talk to, anyway, Ralph.” “I don’t understand you at all, Zeph,” complained the young dispatcher, as they walked toward the gate in the yard fence. “Come on over to the Owl Lunch, and I’ll give you an earful,” said Zeph. “The missus all right?” “She is fine, and was asking after you. When you come to town, Zeph, you should come to our house.” “Can’t do it. No knowing who or what may be trailing me,” declared the vagabond. “Nonsense!” “That’s the truth. Right now I got the tail end of something that I want to look up. This McCarrey——” “Is the leader of the men who are trying to engineer the wildcat strike,” explained Ralph. “Uh-huh? He’s more than that.” “What do you mean?” Ralph asked curiously. They stepped into the narrow space in the owl car and climbed on two stools. “Milk and mince pie,” said Zeph. “What a stomach!” exclaimed Ralph, smiling. “Don’t you ever have indigestion?”