“Wait a minute, Mr. Carhart,” said General Carrington. “Did I understand you to say that you have enough materials on the ground to finish the line?” “Practically. Certainly enough for the present.” “That’s interesting. Even to firewood, I suppose.” Carhart bowed slightly. “Even to firewood,” he replied,--and walked away. Byers was asleep in a chair, tipped back against the office wall. Carhart woke him, and engaged a room, where, after eating the meal which Byers had ordered, they could sleep all day. That evening, as Carhart and Byers were walking around from the stable, they found General Carrington standing on the piazza. “Oh, Mr. Carhart!” said he. “Good evening, sir,” said Carhart. The General produced a letter. “Would you be willing to get this through to Flagg?” “Certainly.” “Rather nice evening.” “Very.” “Suppose we sample their liquid here--I’m sorry I can’t say much for it. What will you gentlemen have?” * * * * * It was ten o’clock in the morning. Carhart, Byers, Dimond, and Tiffany stood on the north knoll. “I’ll take it down,” said Byers, his eyes glowing through his spectacles on either side of his long nose. “Go ahead,” said Carhart. “And good luck to you!” The instrument man took the message and started down the hill. Halfway there was a puff of smoke from Flagg’s camp, and he fell. It was so peaceful there on the hillside, so quiet and so bright with sunshine, the men could hardly believe their eyes. Then they roused. One lost his head and fired. But Dimond, his eyes blazing, swearing under his breath, handed his rifle to Carhart and went running and leaping down the hillside. When he reached the fallen man, he bent over him and took the letter from his hand and, standing erect, waved it. Still holding it above his head, he went on down the hill and disappeared among the rocks that surrounded the camp. * * * * * Late that afternoon Flagg’s men straggled out through the hollow, bound for Red Hills. And every large rock on either hillside concealed a man and a rifle. Here and there certain rocks failed in their duty, and Flagg’s men caught glimpses of blue-steel muzzles. So they did not linger. * * * * * For a number of reasons, after an attempt to communicate by wire with a little New Hampshire town, and after an unavailing search for representatives of the clergy at La Paz and at Red Hills, it was decided to bury the instrument man where he had fallen. “Near the track,” Young Van suggested. “He would like it that way, I think.”