“That is what it is, then,” said the telegraph operator. “I heard an hour ago that the sky was red over that way. But there has been no report come in from Shadow Valley Station.” “Reckon the op. can’t see it there any better than you can,” said Ralph. “You know the station is on this slope of the ridge.” “I like that ‘speed up,’” growled Stilling, who had read the message over Ralph’s shoulder. “Wonder what the Great-I-Am thinks we are?” “He knows we’re on time, anyway,” said the conductor, and started back along the coaches, calling “All Aboard!” Ralph, as he eased his locomotive into smooth action, considered the difficulty ahead of him. It was more than a matter of keeping to schedule. That was important enough. He confessed to himself now that he thoroughly disliked Mr. Hopkins; but much as he disliked the supervisor, he realized that this wire was worthy of consideration. If the forest fire reached the right of way before the Flyer could descend into Shadow Valley, the train of varnished cars might not get through at all. Taking a chance with a freight train in a burning area of timber, as Ralph had actually done in the past, was an entirely different matter from plunging into a conflagration with Pullman coaches. Besides, the smoke and flames might cloud the vision of the engine crew so that they could not see clearly the right of way. An obstacle placed on the rails by the strikers, who might be the cause of the fire itself, could derail the big locomotive in the middle of the burning woods and place the crew of the train and the passengers in great peril. Ralph could not fail to remember the strange warning he had received before leaving Rockton. If he was “due for a bump” it might be that the locality of the attempted wreck was in the midst of the fire. Shadow Valley offered every opportunity for the rascals who were fighting the Great Northern to carry out a hold-up or cause a serious wreck. The lower plain of the valley was a wild country of both field and forest. There were few farmsteads, and those mostly of squatters who had broken ground in small patches. Hanging above the right of way of the railroad, as at Devil’s Den, were lofty crags, wooded for the most part, and offering plenty of hideouts for outlaws and tramps in general. Ralph remembered the recent bandit scare at Hardwell. The fellow with the flour sack over his head, of whom Fiske, the telegraph operator, had told the engineer, was a person to consider at this time. That bandit might be a free lance outlaw or he might be working with Andy McCarrey and his gang of trouble-makers. Almost, Ralph was convinced, Zeph Dallas must know about that outlaw. Did the same fellow dynamite the trestle pillar at Devil’s Den? “My gracious! how I’d like to get off this run and take a hand in dealing with these scoundrels myself,” groaned Ralph. “I’d like to find Zeph and learn what he knows. I just ache to get into the fight!”