“All right; I will attend to it. I told the sheriff we came down here as peaceful railroad builders, not as border fighters; but he said what we came for hasn’t much to do with it,--I couldn’t repeat his language if I tried,--it’s how we’re going back that counts; whether it’s to be on a ‘red plush seat, or up in the baggage car on ice.’ But so much for that. It seems that his men, mixing in with ours, found out that we are short of water. They promptly said that there is a first-rate pool, with all the water we could use, only about thirty-five miles southwest of here.” He was coming now, having purposely brought up the minor matters first, to the real business. Carhart heard him out. “It didn’t take long to see that something was the matter with the men. Before the posse rode off the sheriff spoke to me about it, and offered to let us have a man to guide us to the pool if we wanted him. I am in favor of accepting. The men are trembling on the edge of an outbreak. If there was a Jack Flagg here to organize them, they would have taken the mules and started before you got back; and if they once got started, I’m not sure that even shooting would stop them. They are beyond all reason. It’s nothing but luck that has kept them quiet up to now,--nobody has happened to say the word that would set them off. I think we ought to reassure them,--tell the sheriff we’ll take the guide, and let the men know that a wagon train will start the first thing in the morning.” “That’s it! That’s it!” Old Van broke out angrily. “Always give in to those d--n rascals! There’s just one thing to do, I tell you. Order them to their quarters and stand a guard over them from the iron squad.” “But you forget,” Young Van replied hotly, “that they are not to blame.” “Not to blame! What the--!” “Wait a minute!--They are actually suffering now. We are not dealing with malicious men--they are not even on strike for more pay. We’re on the edge of a panic, that’s what’s the matter. And the question is, What is the best way to control that panic?” “Wait, boys,” said Carhart. “Gus is right. This trouble has its roots away down in human nature. If water is to be had, those men have a right to it. If we should put them under guard, and they should go crazy and make a break for it, what then? What if they call our bluff? We must either let them go--or shoot.” “Then I say shoot,” cried Old Vandervelt. “No, Van,” Carhart replied, “you’re wrong. As Gus says, we are uncomfortably close to a panic. Well, let them have their panic. Put them on the wagons and let them run off their heat. Organize this panic with ourselves at the head of it.” His voice took on a crisper quality. “Van, you stay here in charge of the camp. Pick out a dozen of the iron squad, give them rifles, and keep three at a time on extra watch all night.” “Hold on,” said the veteran, bewildered, “when are you going to start on this--?” “Now.” “Now? To-night?”