The troop reined up, dismounted, and mopped their sweating faces. Their horses stood damp and trembling with exhaustion. All together, the little band bore witness of desperate riding, and to judge from certain signs, of fighting. “Well, Gus,” said Carhart, cheerily, “how is everything?” But Young Van was staring at the bandage. “Where have you been?” he cried. “Chasing Jack Flagg.” “But they hit you!” “Only grazed. If it hadn’t been dark, we should have got him.” “But how in--” The chief smiled. “How did I get here?” he said, completing the question. “The train was stalled last night only a dozen or fifteen miles back. The tender of that model of 1865 locomotive they gave us went off the track, and the engine got in the same fix trying to put it on again. When I left, they were waiting for the other train behind to come up and help. They ought to be along any time this morning. Where’s your brother?” Young Van had turned to look at a group of three or four prisoners, whom two of the posse were guarding. “Where’s your brother?” Carhart asked again. “My brother! Oh, back at the tent, I guess.” The chief gave him a curious glance, for the young engineer was flushing oddly. “Tell him to wait a minute for me, will you? I want to see you both before the work starts.” Young Van walked over to the headquarters tent and stood a moment at the entrance. His brother, seated at the table, heard him, but did not look up. “Mr. Carhart is back,” said the young man, finally. “He asked me to tell you to wait for him.” Old Van gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, but he waited. When the chief entered, motioning Young Van to join him, he went briskly at what he had to say. He sat erect and energetic, apparently unconscious of the red stain on his bandage, ignoring the fact that he had as yet eaten no breakfast; and at his first words the blood began to flow again through the arteries of this complicated organization that men called the Red Hills extension of the S. & W. “Now, boys,” he began, “it was rather a slow ride back from Sherman, and I had time for a little arithmetic. Through our friend Peet--” “D--n him!” interrupted Old Van. The chief paused at this for another of his questioning glances, then went quietly on. “Through our friend Peet, we have lost so much time that it isn’t very cheerful business figuring it up. But we aren’t going to lose any more.” “Oh! you saw Peet!” said Young Van. “Yes, I saw him. We won’t bother over this lost time. What we are interested in now is carrying through our schedule. And I needn’t tell you that from this moment we must work together as prettily as a well-oiled engine.” He said this significantly, and paused. Of the two men before him, the younger flushed again and lowered his eyes, the elder looked away and muttered something which could not be understood. “I’m bringing up a hundred-odd more men on this train. When they get in, put them right at work. Is Dimond in camp now?”