The disfigured puncher grinned even wider, dropped his rope over the handle with practiced art and wheeled his horse. "What’ll I do when I git to th’ end of th’ rails?" he asked, mischievous deviltry, unabashed by what had befallen him, shining in his eyes, and there was an eager curiosity revealed by his voice. "What’ll he do, Murphy?" demanded Tex. "He’ll stop, blast him!" emphatically answered the section-boss. "You’ll stop, Thomas," said Tex. "As Hamlet said: ’Go on, I’ll follow thee!’" "But he’s not nearly a ghost yet," objected Jane. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling from the fun she was having. Many days had passed since she had had so good a time. It was a treat to get away from the ever-lasting "Yes, ma’am" and "No, ma’am" which had been the formula for conversation with everyone to whom she had talked except her brother and Murphy. "No, ma’am," said the puncher. "Not yet." Jane shuddered and grimaced at Tex as the rider turned away. "That’s all I’ve heard since I’ve been out here," she softly called down to him. "Yes, ma’am," he replied, not daring to look up. The procession wended onward to the edification of sundry stray dogs, and Costigan’s goats, tethered near the toolshed, promptly went into consultation as to what measures to pursue, apparently deciding upon a defensive course of action if the worst came to pass. The end of the rails reached, the engineer of the motive power stopped, sized up the ground roundabout and then looked hopefully at his companions. "Reckon we can manage th’ haul. Totin’ them boards afoot shore will be tirin’. Where we drivin’ to?" Jerry pointed out the little house, but shook his head. "We can’t make it." "Cowboy," said Tex, "that ain’t no plowhorse. When she feels th’ drag of this vehicle in th’ sand she’ll display her frank an’ candid thoughts about it." "Then blindfold her," suggested Tom Watkins. "She won’t know it ain’t a steer she’s fastened to. You fellers can git behind an’ push, too." "’_Sic transit gloria mundi,_’" murmured Jane, preparing to descend to earth. "’_Sic transit_’ glorious Monday," repeated Tex, stepping to assist her. "Only it ain’t Monday. Take my honest hand, lady, and jump." He turned and looked at the grinning engineer. "Now, you cactus-eatin’ burro, try yore handkerchief. If _our_ idea works, all right; if yore idea don’t work, it’s Murphy’s fault. Commence!" "I’m thinkin’ it would work better if th’ car was off th’ track," caustically commented Murphy. "I misdoubt if we can climb that buffer; th’ flanges on these wheels are deep an’ strong an’ I’m shore we can’t pull th’ rails over. If th’ engineer will lend a hand here we mebby can clear th’ track without unloadin’. I’ll take th’ off side; ye byes take th’ other, which makes it even, for it is a well-known fact that one Irish section-boss is worth two punchers. Are ye ready, now?"