“If we were heading the other way, I’d swear it was a Mexican revolutionary project of some sort,” thought Bertram. “But there’s no doubt that we’re going north. I can’t think what it is, unless it has something to do with the cattle trouble that’s been going on in Wyoming. Anyway we’ll find out soon enough. Gee, but I hate the job of having to tie up with Tom Hoog and that gang in there!” As he rose and put on his coat and stepped out of the station into the darkness at the poorly lighted entrance, Bertram’s attention was attracted by a young woman. He had noticed her a few minutes before in the station. She had come in alone, and, when the northbound train was called, had arisen and started for the door leading to the gate. But apparently she had lost her ticket, as, after a hurried search, she stood irresolute. Then, as if at a loss what to do, she had turned, and walked out of the station. “You seem to be having trouble, ma’am,” said Bertram, raising his hat. “Is there anything I can do?” The girl, for she seemed to be hardly more than eighteen, drew back in alarm at first, but something in Bertram’s voice apparently reassured her, as she answered: “I’ve lost my railroad ticket.” “Where are you going?” “To Denver. I must go on this train, and I’m ashamed to confess that I haven’t enough money to buy another ticket.” The girl’s voice was as appealing as her face, the beauty of which had attracted Bertram’s attention in the waiting room. She was of medium height and of slender proportions, but life and determination were reflected in her quick, graceful movements and in her speech, which just now seemed to have lost some of the certainty which was a natural part of it. Her level brows were drawn together in a frown, and, in the light from the station window, Bertram could see something like tears glistening in the brown eyes. “Have you inquired in the station?” asked Bertram. “No, because I know that would be of no use. The ticket was stolen by somebody who wanted me to miss this train.” The cowboy’s eyebrows were raised slightly, and he whistled. “Who’d want to stop you?” “I can’t tell you, but I have known that an attempt would be made to prevent me from going to Denver--and beyond. I noticed a rough-looking man next to me at the ticket window, an hour or so ago, when I bought my transportation. Then he was beside me again when I was checking my baggage. It must have been at the baggage window that he took the ticket from this bag.” “Well, your train goes in five minutes,” answered Bertram. “There’s only one thing to do, and that’s to get another ticket pronto. Or, if there is any one watching you, maybe it’d be better if I bought the transportation. You wait here, and I’ll see what I can do.”