To be sure she did not leave it there long, but she had to press the hand of the conductor to steady herself in the car that was now rolling like a stage-coach on the Rainbow Route. She drew her hand away, and went red to the tips of her shell-like ears; but she did not look back to see whose hand she had caressed. Looking into the narrow mirror at her side, McGuire saw her confusion and hurried past, and she wondered whether it was his hand that she had touched. She rather hoped that it might be so! Up in the forward car the two travelling men, the editor of the Ouray Solid Muldoon, and a cowboy from the Uncompahgre, were playing poker. Now McGuire knew that this was against the rules of the road, but he was slow to make protest under the circumstances. He was reasonably sure that they would all come back to Montrose, for the snow was growing deeper and deeper with each passing mile-post. He would have these men on his hands overnight, and so would avoid friction. He stood with his back to the door for a moment listening to the talk of the travelling men, the cowboy, and the editor. “Why, I know ’im like a book,” Muldoon was saying. “Name’s Landon, Ole Joe Landon of Gloucester, made his money on codfish: ante up there, Patsy.” “It’s his do,” said Patsy. “Come to the centre there, ole brandin’ iron,” said the editor to the cattleman, and the latter dropped a cartridge among the coin and other equivalent upon the impoverished poker table. Time had been when McGuire could linger and laugh for hours where these rollicking voyagers played and told stories, but now their talk seemed absolutely silly, not to say vulgar, and he turned away. “After all,” mused McGuire, “there’s not such a gulf between us. She’s a rich merchant’s daughter, I’m a poor conductor. She must ever remain a merchant’s daughter with no show for promotion. I’m due to be a superintendent, a general manager, and, possibly, the president of a railroad. And then--if she is still a merchant’s daughter! well, it’s a long, long road, but by the god o’ the wind, I’ll make the effort. If I fail, very well, I shall be better for having tried.” Seating himself in a quiet corner, McGuire began to count upon the fingers of his left hand the men who had begun far below where he now stood and worked up to positions of trust. First he counted presidents only. There were Manvill, Moffett, Newell, Blackstone, Clark of the U. P., Clark of the M. & O., Towne, Hughitt, and Van Horne. When he began on the general managers he had to go to the other hand, and when he came to count the self-made superintendents, beginning loyally with “the old man” of the mountain division, he ran out of fingers and took heart. And what a prize to work for, and she was rich. Incidentally she was an angel.