Yes,—he recognized the landmarks,—the high trestle over the deep ravine, the cut, the long grade, the embankment along the river. It seemed almost that he knew every foot of the track; but he did not know it so well as he thought, for his eyes did not detect what Welsh’s more critical ones saw on the instant,—traces of gravel dug out, of whitewash rubbed away, of a guard-fence broken down. The gravel had been replaced, the whitewash touched up anew, the fence had been repaired, but Welsh knew that the section was not as he had left it the night before, and in a flash he understood. “It was some of Dan Nolan’s work,” he said to himself, and, the moment the train stopped in the yards at Wadsworth, he called to Allan and hurried away to the section-shanty to hear the story. CHAPTER VIII. GOOD NEWS AND BAD His men were waiting for him, as he knew they would be, and the story was soon told. They had started out in the morning, according to his instructions, for a last run over the section, and soon discovered the work of the enemy. Ties which had been piled neatly at the side of the right of way had been thrown down, whitewashed boulders around the mile-posts had been torn up, in many places holes had been dug in the road-bed,—in short, the section was in a condition which not only would have lost them the prize, but would have brought unbearable disgrace upon their foreman. They set to work like Trojans righting the damage, for they knew they had only a few hours, beginning at the western end and working slowly back toward the city. More than once it seemed that they could not get through in time; but at last the work was done, just as the whistle of the inspection train sounded in the distance. “An’ mighty well done,” said Jack, approvingly, when the story was ended. “You’ve done noble, m’ boys, an’ I won’t fergit it! Th’ section’s in as good shape as it was last night.” “But what dirty criminal tore it up?” asked one of the men. “I know who it was,” and Jack reddened with anger. “It was that loafer of a Dan Nolan. He threatened he’d git even with me fer firin’ him, but I didn’t pay no attention. I didn’t think he’d got that low! Wait till I ketch him!” And his men echoed the threat in a tone that boded ill for Daniel. “Come on, Allan, we’ve got t’ be gittin’ back,” said Jack. “An’ thank y’ ag’in, boys,” and together he and Allan turned back toward the waiting train. Section Twenty-one was the last inspected before dinner, which was awaiting them in the big depot dining-room at Wadsworth. The officers came down from division headquarters to shake hands with the men as they sat grouped about the long tables, and good-natured chaff flew back and forth. But at last the engine-bell announced that the green-decked train was ready to be off again eastward, over the last hundred miles of the division, which ended at Parkersburg.