The man writhed a little in his place. But justice held--“He’s all right if he says so,” he answered. His teeth bit at the under lip, holding it firm, and he breathed hard. “He’s first-class--Tomlinson. He won’t _say_ he can take her unless he’s able. You can trust Tomlinson--same as you would me.” The pride of brotherhood breathed in the words--lifting them mightily. “I ’ll see him,” said John. The hand held him back. “Don’t urge him.” He gasped a little for breath between the words. “If he says he can do it--let him take Her.” “I understand,” said John. “I ’ll send some one for you.” He was gone from the room. As he passed the car, he hesitated a minute. Then he sprang up the step and went in. “All ready!” said Simeon looking up. “Stetson ’s sick--Shall we wait over?” “Wait over? No! Get somebody--Get _anybody!_” He threw out the words. The young man hesitated a minute. He had not mentioned Tomlinson’s name to Simeon. Something had always pulled him back when he had thought to do it. “There’s a man--” he said slowly--“lives here--He ’s not running now--” “Competent?” said Simeon. “Stetson says so.” “Get him.” Tomlinson, one foot on the sleigh, looked at him under keen, shaggy brows. He glanced toward the station, with its wreathing, drifting lines of smoke. He shook his head. “I’m going home,” he said. He threw the halter into the sleigh and knocked the snow from his boots against the side. John watched him silently, as he climbed in and gathered up the reins in big,-mittened hands. “We need you, Hugh,” he said slowly. The old man nodded--impassive. “Can’t go,” he said. “Why not!” “_She ’ll_ be waiting.” He pulled a little on the reins. “Send some one home with the team--There’s Russell! Get him.” The Scotchman glanced with indifferent eye at a man crossing the street. “I ’ve got my chores to do.” He pulled again on the reins. The old horse lifted his head. John laid a hand on the sleigh. “See here, Hugh. We need you--There’s no one else--He told me to get you.” The pull on the reins was checked. “_Who_ told you!” “President Tetlow. He ’s waiting--” He motioned toward the track where the special was blowing off steam. Hugh’s eye followed the motion. It dropped to the young man. “He told you--Sim Tetlow--” he demanded, “He wants _me_!” “Yes. He wants you--But not if you ’re not up to it--” He had remembered Stetson’s words. The old man leaned forward, winding the reins slowly around the whip. “I ’ll take Her,” he said. “You ’re not afraid!” said John. Something in the face disturbed him. “I ’ll take Her,” said Hugh briefly. “Stetson’s jumpers are in the cab,” said John as they came down the platform. “Too short,” said the old man. He was striding with mighty step. John glanced at him. “That ’s so--The coat’s all right.”