The landscape swam by, the telegraph poles flashed past, as the flying locomotive gained headway. The ponderous compound jolted and swung along over the rough tracks like a ship in a stormy sea. But the thrill of adventure, the buoyant sense of facing a big enterprise, rendered the lads oblivious to everything but the track ahead. From time to time, Buck Bradley stopped his shoveling, and, holding by a hand-rail, leaned far out from the footplate, scanning the metals that stretched out in two parallel lines ahead. "Be like them varmints to hev blown up a bridge, or spiked a track," he muttered. All eyes were now on the alert for the first sight of the red-brick station--the only one on the line--which Bill Whiting had told them marked the Esmeralda switch. As yet it had not come into view, but they judged it must be around a curve which lay ahead, the far side of which was hidden from them by a clump of woods. Suddenly, from this clump emerged a figure, waving a red flag. He stopped in the middle of the track, waving his flag frantically. "Shut down!" yelled Buck. "There's danger ahead!" "Looks more like a trick, to me," growled the wary Coyote Pete. "Can't afford to take chances," rejoined Buck. "How do we know what's the tother side of that curve?" "That's so," agreed Pete; "them critters might hev planted a ton of dynamite there, fer all we know." The brakes ground down, and the panting locomotive came to a stop within a few feet of the man with the red flag. It could now be seen that he was a small, dark Mexican, wearing a high-crowned hat. "Why, I know that fellow, he----" began Ralph. But his recognition of the fellow, whom he had seen in Madero's camp, came too late. From the woods ahead of them, a perfect hailstorm of bullets began to spit about the engine. Fortunately, none of the occupants of her cab were struck, although the windows were splintered and the woodwork honeycombed. "Go ahead!" roared Buck. "What if they've torn up the track?" gasped Ralph. "Not likely. If they had, they wouldn't be bothering to shoot at us. Let her out. Ouch!" A bullet whizzed past the burly showman's ear, and just nicked the tip of it. With a roar of rage, like the bellowings of an angry bull, he leaned his huge form out of the window and began pumping lead from his revolver into the woods. It is doubtful if his fire had any effect, but at that minute Ralph started the engine up again. A yell came from the Mexicans within the wood, as he did so. A hundred or more poured out, firing as they came. "Duck, everybody!" yelled Coyote Pete, as the storm broke.