Tiffany came to the point. To Peet’s question, “What is he talking about, Tiffany?” the veteran replied: “He knows and I know, Lou, that the only thing that will save the old man is a track to Red Hills. I haven’t the slightest idea what Carhart’s up to, but I’ll tell you this, I’ve seen him in one or two tight places, and I never saw him look like this before. He’s got something he wants to do, and he’s decided that it’s necessary, and it ain’t for you and me to stand in his way. When you come to know Paul Carhart, you’ll learn that he don’t do things careless. What do you suppose the Old Man meant when he told you to back him up to the limit with cars and engines, and told me to keep out of his way?” Peet did not reply for a moment. He took off his hat and brushed back the hair from a forehead that was moist with sweat. He looked from one man to the other, and from both to the roundhouse, and the depot, and the waiting cars. Finally he walked over toward Carhart. “Go ahead,” he said queerly, “I’ll stay with you.” “Good enough.” And with these two words Carhart wheeled around and surveyed the nearest line of cars--box, flat, and gondola. “Most of those are empty, aren’t they?” he asked. “About half of them. But here’s Dougherty, the yard-master. Dougherty, this is Mr. Carhart. You can take your orders from him to-night.” Carhart extended his hand. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Dougherty. I’m afraid we’ll all have to make a night of it. I want you to keep steam up in three engines. And pick up all the men you can find and start them unloading every car in the yard. Keep ’em jumping. I want to have three empty trains at Paradise by midnight.” “By mid--” Dougherty’s mouth opened a very little, and his eyes, after taking in Paul Carhart’s face and figure, settled on the superintendent. But Peet, with an expressive movement of his hands, turned away; and Tiffany, after a glance about the little group, went after him. “Brace up, Lou,” said Tiffany, in a low voice; “brace up.” Peet’s hands were deep in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on the rails before him. “Dump all that freight on the ground!” he moaned. “Look here, Tiffany, I suppose he knows what he’s doing, but--but what’ll the traffic men say!” “Never you mind the traffic men.” “But--dump all that freight out here _on the ground_!” Tiffany passed an unsteady hand across his eyes. If Peet had looked at him, he would not have felt reassured; but he did not look up.