“Well, even if you put it that impersonally, still I’m glad,” replied the young Texan. “I’ve got to go on with the outfit, but I promise you one thing--that, if there’s any murder done, my hands won’t be red.” Just then, from around the corner of the station, came the sound of men’s voices, in a cowboy song. “They’re coming,” said the girl. “I don’t want them to see me. I’m going to be on the northbound train that goes just ahead of yours.” “But your name, and where can I see you?” persisted the cowboy, clinging to the soft little hand which he found in his big fist. “If you’ll let go my hand, I’ll give you a card,” said the girl, with a nervous laugh. Bertram reluctantly released her hand. He felt a card thrust into his fingers, and an instant later the girl had disappeared around the end of the station. He followed her swiftly moving form with his glance, as she passed along the dimly-lighted platform and vanished through the gate leading to the tracks. Then he stepped to a light and read the card eagerly. “Alma Caldwell!” he exclaimed, repeating the name several times. “Pretty name for a prettier girl! I wonder why a girl like her knows about Swingley’s little expedition, and why she’s so anxious to keep ahead of us.” CHAPTER III BERTRAM MAKES A GO-DEVIL. The men detrained at a little northern Wyoming town, the terminus of the railroad, after an all-night journey from Denver. Swingley was everywhere, asserting his leadership. There was none of the jocularity about him now, which he had assumed during the long journey. His orders were sharp and imperative. They were accompanied by blows, on two or three occasions, when cowpunchers did not move quickly enough to suit him. One of the men, who had made a move to draw his gun, was knocked bleeding and insensible before he could drag the weapon from its holster. Evidently things were moving according to a prearranged program. There were chuck wagons on hand, into which food and cooking utensils were piled. Also there were wagons for the bedding. Twenty or thirty additional men had joined the outfit at Denver, and these were reinforced by as many more, who were waiting at the station when the special train arrived, followed in an hour or two by the train carrying the horses. The new men were apparently of the same ilk as those who had joined from the start--sunburned, hardy-looking fellows in cowboy garb, and every one of them was heavily armed. There were greetings between some of their number and a few of the new arrivals, as the long trails abounded with men who were accustomed to drifting from one ranch to another, and whose circle of acquaintances was correspondingly large. The only accident preparatory to getting the cavalcade under way was one that was destined to affect Bertram strangely.