“No, you oughtn’t to have to think of it. That’s our business, but it’s been worrying us considerable. Then there’s the connections, too. The rails have to come into Sherman by way of the Queen and Cumberland,--a long way ‘round--” “And the Queen and Cumberland has ‘Commodore Durfee’ written all over it.” “Yes, I guess it has.” “And knowing that, you fellows have been sitting around waiting for the Commodore to deliver your material. No, Tiffany, don’t tell me that; I hate to think it of you.” “I know we’re a pack of fools, Carhart, but--” the sentence died out. “But what can we do, man? We can’t draw a new map of the United States, can we? We’ve got our orders from the old man--!” [Illustration: “‘Look here, Tiffany,’ Carhart began, ‘something’s going to happen to this man Peet.’”] “Could you have the stuff sent around by the Coast and Crescent, and transferred over to Sherman by wagon?” “Wait a minute; who owns the Coast and Crescent? Who’s got it all buttoned up in his pants pocket?” “Oh,” said Carhart. They stood for a little while, then sat down on a pile of culls which had been brought up by the tie squad for supporting tent floors. “It begins to occur to me,” Carhart went on, “that we are working under the nerviest president that ever--But perhaps he can’t help it. He’s fixed pretty much as Washington was in the New Jersey campaign; he’s surrounded by the enemy and he’s got to fight out.” “That’s it, exactly,” cried Tiffany. “He’s got to cut his way out. He ain’t a practical railroad man, and he’s just ordered us to do it for him. Don’t you see our fix?” “Yes,” Carhart mused, “I see well enough. Look here, Tiffany; how far can I go in this business,--extra expenses, and that sort of things?” Tiffany’s face became very expressive. “Well,” he said, “I guess if you can beat the H. D. & W. to Red Hills there won’t be any questions asked. If you can’t beat ’em, we’ll all catch hell. Why, what are you thinking of doing?” “Not a thing. My mind’s a blank.” From Tiffany’s expression it was plain that he was uncertain whether to believe this or not. “It comes to about this,” Carhart went on. “It all rests on me, and if I’m willing to run chances, I might as well run ’em.” Tiffany’s eyes were searching the lean, spectacled face. “I guess it’s for you to decide,” he replied. “I don’t know what else Mr. Chambers was thinking of when he the same as told me to leave you be.” “By the way, Tiffany,”--Carhart was going through his pockets,--“how long is it since you people left Sherman?” “More than a week. Mr. Chambers wanted some shooting on the way out.” “Do you suppose he knows about this?” And Carhart produced the torn sheet of the _Pierrepont Enterprise_. Tiffany read the headlines, and slowly shook his head. “I’m sure he don’t. There was no such story around Sherman when we left. But we found a message waiting here to-day, asking Mr. Chambers to hurry back; very likely it’s about this.”