When the light was full, the boys drew up, and looked off toward the southwest. Whitey had been depending on Injun's never-failing sense of direction to carry them aright. This ability to point toward any point of the compass, in the dark, was one of Injun's gifts--though he didn't know what a compass was. And sure enough, away off there against the gray of the clouds was a line of high, tiny crosses, telegraph poles, near which stretched the tracks of the road. When he saw them, Whitey could not resist a whoop of joy. "If we ride straight for them, how far do you think we'll be from the water tank?" he asked. "Mebbe one mile, mebbe two," replied Injun, who seldom committed himself to an exact answer. "That's all right, come on!" cried Whitey, and they galloped straight for the railroad. When they reached the tracks, they dismounted and tied their ponies to neighboring telegraph poles, fearing the effect the noise of the train would have on the spirited animals. Then the boys went to the roadbed to await the coming of the train. The line stretched straight toward the west, until the rails seemed to join in the distance. But toward the east was a curve as the road approached a gully, at the bottom of which was a creek. It was from this creek that the water was drawn for the tank. The sunrise had seemed to promise a fair day, but the promise failed, for a mist was forming over the plains. The train was not in sight, and Whitey kneeled, and placed an ear to the track, knowing that he could detect the vibration caused by the train before it appeared. He rose and nodded his head. "I hear it," he said. For once Whitey had it on Injun. He knew about railroads and Injun didn't. "Light the lantern," said Whitey. Then he began to laugh. Injun gazed at the lantern, then at Whitey. He could see no cause for laughter. "I was wise when I suggested that lantern," said Whitey. "I never thought that it would be daylight, and its light wouldn't show." Injun almost smiled. "What we ought to have is a red flag," Whitey continued. "That's the proper thing to signal a train with in daytime." Injun grunted, and Whitey considered the matter. "I have it! Your shirt!" he cried. "It's pink, close enough to red. We'll wave that." Injun grunted again and looked doubtful. "Me get 'im back?" he asked. Injun didn't care any less for that shirt than he did for his pinto or his rifle--and he cared more for it than for his interest in the gold mine. "Sure, you'll get it back," said Whitey, and without a word Injun took off the shirt and handed it to Whitey.