"How about his son?" Ralph's voice rang out clearly above the excited tones of the others. "Waal, I reckon he could, but he ain't here." "He isn't, eh?" demanded Ralph, hopping out of the tonneau, "well, my name happens to be Ralph Stetson." "Oh, quit joking. You're Americans, like myself, and I'd like ter help you out, but I can't do it." "Will you give me a chance to prove to you I'm Ralph Stetson?" asked Ralph eagerly. "Sure; a dozen, if yer want 'em," grinned the agent, gazing at the ragged, tattered figure before him. Ralph dived into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of letters and papers. Motioning the agent to sit beside him at the edge of the platform, he skimmed through them for the other's benefit. The group in the auto watched anxiously. A whole lot depended on Ralph's proving his identity. "Say, blazes!" burst out the agent suddenly, "_you are_ Ralph Stetson, ain't you?" "I think those letters and papers prove it," answered the boy. "Now, do we get that loco?" "I reckon so, if you say so. But, will you sign a paper, releasing me of responsibility?" With what speed that paper was signed, may be imagined. In the meantime, Buck Bradley, who knew a thing or two about railroading himself, had his coat off, and was hard at work waking up the banked fires. Presently the forced draught began to roar, and black smoke to roll from the smoke-stack. By the time the auto had been wheeled in under a shed, and Bill Whiting asked to communicate with the government troops as soon as possible, all was ready for the start. The engine was trembling under a good head of steam, white jets gushing from her safety valves. "All ab-o-a-r-d!" yelled Pete, in the manner of a conductor, and Buck Bradley, who had stepped off after his labors to cool up a bit, began to climb back again. "Why, are you going with us, Mr. Bradley?" demanded Jack amazedly. "What about your show?" "Oh, Sam Stow kin look after that," was the easy rejoinder. "It won't be the first time. I've worked long enough; now I'm off for a little play." "Won't be much play about it, I'm thinking," grunted Pete. The engine bell clanged, a hoarse shriek came from her whistle, and the wheels began to revolve. Ralph was at the throttle, while Bill Whiting was up ahead to throw the switch. "Good luck!" he cried, waving his hand as the locomotive swept by and rolled out upon the main line. "Good-by!" cried the crowd of adventurers in the cab, waving their hands back at him. Buck threw the furnace door open, and sent a big shovelful of coal skittering into the glaring interior. The cumbrous machine gave a leap forward, like a scared greyhound, as Ralph jerked the throttle open. The Border Boys were off on what was to prove one of the most adventurous incidents of their lives. CHAPTER XXIII. JACK MERRILL'S "SPECIAL."