"Ain't he great! Ain't he great!" exclaimed Plover, brightening into enthusiasm. "And don't he hit Wall Street some awful whacks?" "He certainly is great," replied Harley. "But you wait until we get to Weeping Water. That's the last stop, and he'll just turn himself loose there. You mustn't miss a word." "I won't," replied Plover. "I'll have time, because the Denver Express, on which I'm going to 'Frisco, don't leave there till twelve-forty. No, I won't miss the big speech at Weeping Water." They reached Weeping Water at last, although it was full midnight, and they were far behind time, and together they walked to the speaker's stand. Harley saw Plover in his accustomed place in the front rank, just under the light of the torches, where he would meet the speaker's eye, his face rapt and worshipful. Then he looked at his watch. "Twelve-fifteen," he said to himself. "The Denver Express will be here in another fifteen minutes, and Susan will fall on the neck of her Billy." Then he stopped to listen to Grayson. Never had Harley seen him more earnest, more forcible. He knew that the candidate must be sinking from physical weakness--his pale, drawn face showed that--but his spirit flamed up for this last speech, and the crowd was wholly under the spell of his powerful appeal. Harley met, presently, the cousin, Sandidge. "This is Grayson's greatest speech of the day," Harley said, "and how it must please Mr. Plover!" "That's so," replied Sandidge; "but Billy's all broke up over it." "Why, what's the matter?" asked Harley, in sudden alarm. "The Denver Express is nearly two hours and a half late--won't be here until three, and at Denver it'll miss the 'Frisco Express; won't be another for a day. So Billy, who's in a hurry to get to the coast--the old Nick's got into him, I reckon--is goin' by the express on the B. P.; the train on the branch line that goes out there at two-ten connects with it, and so does the accommodation freight at two-forty. It's hard on Billy--he hates to miss any of Jimmy Grayson's speeches, but he's bound to go." Harley was touched by real sorrow. He drew his pencil-pad from his pocket, hastily wrote a few lines upon it, pushed his way to the stage, and thrust what he had written into Mr. Grayson's hands. The speaker, stopping to take a drink of water, read this note: "DEAR MR. GRAYSON,--The Denver Express is two hours and a half late. For God's sake speak until it comes; you will hear it at three, when it pulls into the station. It is a matter of life and death, and while you are speaking don't take your eye off the little man with the whiskers, who has been with us all day, and who always stands in front and looks up at you. I'll explain everything later, but please do it. Again I say it's a matter of life and death. "JOHN HARLEY."