“All right. Can I get a breakfast at five? I’m going on to find Paul. That’s where the fun’ll be--where you find Paul Carhart. I wonder if you boys know what it means to have the opportunity to work with that man--eh? He had us all guessing about the old Paradise. And he was right--oh, he was right. There hasn’t a rail come through since.” Scribner and Young Van were looking at each other. “Then those rails didn’t come from Pennsylvania?” said the former. “He didn’t tell you, eh?” Tiffany grinned. “Well, I guess it ain’t a secret now. Mr. Chambers never even grunted when I told him, but he looked queer. And Mr. De Reamer ain’t said anything yet. Why, Paul, he see first off that we weren’t ever going to get the rest o’ those rails. He see, too, that Bourke was going to cut him off if he could. And what does he do? Why he comes down and walks off with the old Paradise Southern--rails, ties, everything. He never even tells Peet and me. It’s up to him, he thinks, and if he makes good, nobody can kick.” Tiffany was grinning again. “Yes, sir,” he continued, “Paul Carhart just naturally confiscated the Paradise Southern, and it was the prettiest job anybody ever see. And it’s funny--he says to me, while we were out there at Total Wreck pulling up the freight yard by the roots, ‘Tiffany,’ he says, ‘if you hadn’t told about how you stole those Almighty and Great Windy cars from the sheriff of Erie County, I’d never ‘a’ thought of it.’ Well, I’ll turn in, boys; good night.” “Good night,” said Young Van. “Good night,” said Scribner; “I’ll ride on with you as far as my division to-morrow, Mr. Tiffany. I can give you a fresh horse there.” The chief engineer of the S. & W. disappeared between the flaps of Carhart’s tent. They could hear him throwing off his clothes and getting into bed. Another moment and they heard him snoring. They stood gazing off down the grade. “Well, what do you think of that?” said Scribner. Young Van looked at his companion. “I think this,” he replied: “I wouldn’t miss this work and this fight under Paul Carhart for five years’ pay.” Scribner nodded. “The loss of an engineer’s pay, Gus, wouldn’t make much difference one way or the other,” he replied, and his face lighted up with enthusiasm. “But it’s a great game!” * * * * * And so it was that something like two days after Carhart’s arrival on “mile 109,” Tiffany, a little the worse for wear, but still able to ride and eat and sleep and swear, came slowly down the slope into the camp, where Flint was hovering midway between the present and the hereafter. He found the chief of construction deep in a somewhat complicated problem, and after a bite to eat he climbed up the ridge behind the camp to the tent which Carhart was occupying. “Well, Paul, how goes it?” said he. “First-rate. How much do you know?” “Precious little.”