“Oh, he’s in it, deep,” was the reply. “Commodore Durfee’s at the Frisco Hotel in Red Hills. They say he came out over the ‘Wobbly’ on a construction train and rode through. Pretty spry yet, the Old Commodore. He’s hired a bad man named Flagg--Jack Flagg--and sent him out with a hundred or so men to seize your bridge at La Paz. Sorry I couldn’t stay there to see the excitement, but I’m hurrying east. Mr. Flint thought maybe I could pick up one of your trains running back to Sherman. If I can’t do that, I’ll strike off south for Pierrepont, and get through that way.” Young Van hesitated, and was about to reply, when he heard the chief approaching. Carhart came in from the rear, nodded to the stranger, and picked up the envelope. “You brought this, sir?” he asked. “Yes; Mr. Flint asked me to.” Very deliberately Carhart read the letter, and, without the slightest change of expression, tossed it on the table. “You must have supper with us,” he said. “If you stopped with John Flint you perhaps know how little an engineer’s hospitality amounts to, but such as we have we shall be very glad to share with you.” “Thank you,” replied the stranger. “You are a ranchman, I presume?” Carhart went on. “Yes--in northwest of Red Hills. I go to Sherman every year.” Young Van spoke, “He thought of taking one of our trains through.” Carhart smiled dryly. “I should be greatly obliged to you, sir, if you could take a train through,” he said. “That’s something we don’t seem able to do.” The wizened one glanced up with a keen expression about his eyes. “Having trouble back along the line?” he asked. “You might call it trouble. My old friend Bourke, of the H. D. & W., has cut in behind us with a small army.” He gave a little shrug. “I can’t get through. I can’t get either way now that they’ve got in between Flint and Red Hills.” “Then I’d better ride down to Pierrepont, hadn’t I?” “I’m afraid that’s the best that I can suggest, sir.” “You people certainly seem to be playing in hard luck, Mr. Carhart.” As the wizened one ventured this observation he crossed his legs and thrust his hands into his pockets. The action caused his coat to fall back, and disclosed a small gold pendant hanging from his watch guard. Young Van observed it, and glanced at Carhart, but he could not tell whether the chief had taken it in. “It’s worse than hard luck,” Carhart replied; “it begins to look like defeat. We have been dependent on the Sherman people for material, food, water,--everything. Now Bourke has shut us off.” “But you seem to have plenty of material here, Mr. Carhart.” “Rails--yes. But it takes more than rails.” “And you surely have a large enough force.” “Yes, but moving several hundred men back a hundred and forty miles, fighting it out with Bourke, clearing the track, and getting trains through from Sherman, will take time. Long before we can make any headway, the H. D. & W. will have beaten us into Red Hills.”