“To-night. Gus, you find your sheriff. He can’t be far off.” “No; half a mile down the line.” “You find him, explain the situation, and tell him we want that man in half an hour.” The conference broke up sharply. Gus Vandervelt hurried out, saddled his horse, and rode off into the thickening dusk. Old Van went to select his guards. Carhart saw them go; then, pausing to note with satisfaction the prospect of only moderate darkness, he set about organizing his force. All the empty casks and barrels were loaded on wagons. Mules were hitched four and six in hand. Water, beyond a canteen for each man, could not be spared; but Charlie packed provisions enough--so he thought--for twenty-four hours. The tremulous, brilliant afterglow faded away. The stars peeped out, one by one, and twinkled faintly. The dead plain--alive only with scorpions, horned frogs, tarantulas, striped lizards, centipedes, and the stunted sage-brush--stretched silently away to the dim mountains on the horizon. The bleaching bones--ghostly white out there in the sand--began to slip off into the distance and the dark. All about was rest, patience, eternity. Here in camp were feverish laborers with shattered nerves; men who started at the swish of a mule’s tail--and swore, no matter what their native tongue, in English, that famous vehicle for profane thoughts. The mules, full of life after their enforced rest, took advantage of the dark and confusion to tangle their harness wofully. Leaders swung around and mingled fraternally with wheelers, whereupon boy drivers swore horrible oaths in voices that wavered between treble and bass. Lanterns waved and bobbed about. Men shouted aimlessly. Suddenly the babel quieted--the laborers were bolting a belated supper. Then, after a moment of confusion, three men rode out of the circle of lanterns, put their horses at the grade, stood out for a vivid moment in the path of light thrown by the nearest engine,--Paul Carhart, Young Vandervelt, and the easy-riding guide,--plunged down the farther side of the grade, and blended into the night. One after another the long line of wagons followed after, whips cracking, mules balking and breaking, men tugging at the spokes of the wheels. Then, at last, they were all over; the shouts had softened into silence. And Old Van stood alone on the grade and looked after them with eyes that were dogged and gloomy. * * * * *